T E V E R I N O : 
 
 ROMANCE BY GEORGE SAND 
 
 TRANSLATED BY A LADT. 
 
 PBKCEDBD BY A 
 
 3}ingriijr!itral Ifetrlj nf ik BistmgmHliA antlmrm 
 
 BY OLIVER S. LELAND. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 W. P. FETRIDGE & CO., PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 ^ BOSTON: FETRIDGE & CO., 100 WASHINGTON-ST. 
 
 1855. 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congres*, in the year one thousand eight 
 hundred and fifty-five, % 
 
 By W. FETRIDGE & CO., 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for 
 the Southern District of Ne-w York. 
 
 GIF 
 
A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
 
 OP 
 
 GEORGE SAND 
 
 One fine morning, in the first years of the Restoration, the 
 aristocratic convent of the " Dairies Anglaises,'^ which at that 
 period' monopolized the education of the daughters of all the 
 patrician families of Paris, opened its doors to a new, young, 
 and most interesting pensionnaire. 
 
 The new-comer, who was scarcely fourteen years old, had 
 just arrived from Berry : her religious education seemed to 
 have been much neglected, for the good sisters remarked with 
 a holy horror, that she made the sign of the cross with a phi- 
 losophical awkwardness, denoting a total want of practice. 
 She was, nevertheless, a fine and noble-looking-girl : her fea- 
 tures, very decided and strongly marked, breathed an air of 
 native pride : she bore, without the least embarrassment, those 
 glances, which, at the convent as at the college, are never 
 spared to freshly arrived provincials, and in her every move- 
 ment there was such an impress of rustic brusquerie, that in 
 a few days her noble companions, sportively, but unanimously 
 had given her the nickname of " the little hoyP But this young 
 girl, in point of birth, was the peer of the most illustrious 
 heiresses of France : for if, on her father's side, she was related 
 only to a wealthy financial family, Amantine-Aurore Dupin^ 
 
 M141154 
 
IV GEORGE SAND. 
 
 afterwards Madame Dudevant, but now known by her pen 
 and by her genius as '• George Sand," is a descendant of Au- 
 gustus II., king of Poland. 
 
 She was born in the year of the coronation of Napoleon, the 
 twelfth year of the French Republic (1804). Her name is not 
 Marie- Aurore de Saxc, Marchioness of Dudevant, as several 
 of her biographers have discovered; but Amantine Lucile 
 Aurore Dupin, and her husband, M. Franfois Dudevant, bears 
 no title : he is only a sub-lieutenant of infantry, and at the 
 time of his marriage was but twenty-seven years old. In 
 making him an old Colonel of the Empire, he has perhaps 
 been confounded with M. Delmare, a character of one of the 
 romances of his wife : for it is, in truth, only too easy to write 
 the biography of a novelist by supposing the fiction of her 
 works the reality of her existence. It requires no great out- 
 lay of imagination. 
 
 Her birth, which has so often and so singularly been made 
 the subject of reproach, by both branches of her family, is a 
 fact in itself most curious, and one that affords much food for 
 reflection upon the question of genealogy. 
 
 We are not alone the children of our fathers : we are, I 
 think, fully as much the children of our mothers. I even 
 believe that we are a little more so, and to her who has borne 
 us we hold a more immediate, a more powerful, and a more 
 sacred relation. Though, therefore, the father of George Sand 
 .was the great-grandson of Augustus II. King of Poland, and 
 though thus she was, illegitimately, perhaps, but still most 
 nearly related to Charles X. and Louis XVIII., it is no less 
 true that she was connected as nearly and as directly with 
 the people ; perhaps even more so, for on this side there was 
 no bastardy. 
 
 Her mother was a pogr .girl^f the old ^vf fif_ Pa^^ whose 
 father, Antoine Delaborde, was a master bird-seller j that is, 
 he sold wrens and canary-birds on the Quai des Oiseaux, after 
 having kept a little billiard-room in some out-of-the-way cor- 
 per pf Paris, where^ indeed, he did not pay his expenses. Her 
 
GEORGE SAND. V 
 
 mother's godfather, it is true, stood high in the bird-trade ; he 
 was named Barra, and this name may still be seen on the 
 Boulevard du Temple, over a store where bird-cages of all sizes 
 are for sale, and where a crowd of feathered songsters are ever 
 warbling. These little birds George Sand, to quote her own ] 
 words, " has ever regarded as so many godfathers and god- 
 mothers, mysterious patrons with whom I have ever had a 
 
 particular affinity I have even written a romance \ 
 
 wherein the birds play an important part, and wherein I have / 
 endeavored to say something on this affinity and this occult / 
 influence. This is Teverino, to which I refer my readers. I / 
 know well that I do not write for the world at large ; man- 
 kind, in general, has far more important occupations than 
 reading a collection of romances, or caring for the history of 
 an individual, a stranger to the busy world. People of my 
 profession write only for a certain class, placed in situations 
 or lost in reveries analogous to those with which they are 
 occupied. 
 
 " Thus, in Teverino, I have imagined a young girl possess- 
 ing power, like the first Eve, over the birds of creation, and I 
 wish to observe here, that it is not purely a fictitious creation ; 
 no more than the wonders told of the poetic and admirable 
 impostor, Apollonius of Tyana, are fables contrary to the 
 spirit of Christianity. We live in an age in which the natu- 
 ral causes, which have heretofore passed for miracles, are not 
 as yet wholly explained, but in which it is already undenia- 
 ably established that on earth there are no miracles, and that 
 the laws of the universe, though not all as yet fathomed and 
 defined, are not, on that account, less conformable to eternal 
 order." But it is time to return to the chapter of her birth. 
 
 Augustus, King of Poland, after having conquered Stanis- 
 laus, and secured himself in the possession of the throne, re- 
 posed from the toil and torments of politics in the arms of 
 love. By the beautiful Countess of Koenigsmark he had one 
 son, who under the name of Maurice, Count de Saxe. was 
 destined to rival the Duke de Richelieu in gallant adventures, 
 
VI GEORGE SAND, 
 
 and to surpass him in warlike heroism. He was the acknow- 
 ledged lover of a celebrated actress, and by her he had one 
 daughter, Mario Aurore, recognized as legitimate by a decree 
 of parliament, and who married, in 1793, the Count de Horn, 
 formerly President of the Diet of Sweden. At the end of three 
 years of married life, the Countess de Horn was left a widow, 
 and retiring to the Abbaye-aux-Bois, in that sanctuary destined 
 in after years to shelter a glory of beauty, immortalized by 
 grace and goodness, she presided over one of the most distin- 
 guished of those bureaus d^ esprit, so famous in the French his- 
 tory of the eighteenth century. Young and remarkably beau- 
 tiful, it was not long ere the beauteous widow inspired M. 
 Dupin de Franceuil with a most ardent passion, and accepting 
 the offer of his hand, she went with him to reside at Chateau- 
 roux, from whence they afterwards removed to the Chateau 
 de Nohant. One son, Maurice Dupin, was the offspring of this 
 union, who, marrying at an early age, was the father of the 
 celebrated woman whose biography we are writing. 
 
 We have mentioned that Antoine Delaborde, the maternal 
 grandfather of George Sand, finding the proprietorship of a 
 small billiard-room inadequate to his support, took to the sale 
 of Jbirds. George Sand's knowledge of this relative is very 
 vague, for it seems that her mother herself knew very little of 
 him. But more definite recollections are entertained, by the 
 mother of George Sand, of a good and pious grandmother, who 
 brought up her and her sister. It appears that this venerable 
 lady was a staunch royalist, and instilled into the minds of 
 her grardchildrcn a proper sentiment of abhorrence for the 
 Revolution. When the eldest, who was named Sophie- Vic- 
 toire- Antoinette, (the latter name being in honor of the unfor- 
 tunate Marie- Antoinette.) was fifteen or sixteen years of age, 
 Wr grandmother, dressing her in white, and garnishing her 
 head with powder and roses, conducted her to the Hotel-de- 
 Ville, where, having previously been taught a pretty speech 
 in verse, by the actor Collot-d'Herbois, she was instructed to 
 deliver it to the citizens Bailly and Lafayette, a task which 
 
GEORGE SAND. VII 
 
 she accomplished with great eclat and self-gratification at 
 being the only one among a bevy of pretty girls present on the 
 occasion, selected for the honor. 
 
 She was accompanied by the good dame Cloquart, and her 
 sister Lucille, and after having delivered her poetic compli- 
 ment, and presented the crown of flowers to the citizen La- 
 fayette, all delighted at the honor the distinguished man 
 conferred upon her by placing the garland upon her head, the 
 young gill, with her sister and grandmother, proceeded to par- 
 ticipate in the banquet that was prepared. But the press of 
 the crowd was so great that the worthy dame Cloquart and 
 Lucille became separated from Sophie- Victoire, and, being 
 alarmed, left the scene, to wait for her without. After a long 
 and anxious waiting, as the young girl did not return, her 
 sister and grandmother were fain to return home without her. 
 The rest of the day was spent in much sorrow and anxiety, 
 happily dispelled at night-fall by the appearance of the young 
 girl, escorted in triumph by a band of patriots of both sexes, 
 who, such was their respect for their protegee, had not suffered 
 even her robe to be rumpled by the profane contact of the 
 multitude. Although much doubt existed in the family rela- 
 tive to the precise nature of this political event, we are in- 
 clined to believe that it must have been the occasion of La- 
 fayette announcing that the king had decided to return once 
 more to his good city of Paris. This event probably gave the 
 young girl a taste for the Revolution, though it may be 
 imagined that her enthusiasm was somewhat damped when 
 subsequently she beheld the lovely features and beautiful 
 blond hair of the Princess de Lamballe paraded through the 
 streets upon the point of a pike-staff. They were at this 
 period so poor that Lucie took in needle- work, and Victoire 
 helped to eke out their scanty subsistance by her duties as 
 a supernumerary at a small theatre. Lucie denied this latter 
 fact, but George Sand states that it was true, for her mother 
 frequently mentioned the circumstance to her, in certain con- 
 
VIU GEORGE SAND. 
 
 nections which fixed the truth of the matter and stamped it 
 indelibly upon her memory. 
 
 From this period, all trace of the mother of George Sand is 
 lost for a long time, nor is it known with certainty how the 
 _youns and wealthy patrician, Maurice Dupin, became ac- 
 quainted with the poor and humble daughter of the people. 
 But the chapter of their loves is all a romance. It .seems 
 most probable that in some way they had first met at Milan, 
 where Maurice had loved her, and afterwards at Asola, where 
 his passion became most ardent, and where his love was re- 
 turned. In a letter written to his mother at this time ho 
 says : 
 
 " You know that at Milan I have been in love. You have 
 guessed it because I have 7iot told you. Sometimes I thought 
 that I was loved m return, and again 1 saw, or thought 1 saw, 
 that I was not. I sought to forget her. I went away, striv- 
 ing to think of her no more. 
 
 " But this charming woman is here : we had scarcely 
 spoken, scarcely looked at each other, for I was vexed at I 
 know not what, and she seemed to have for me an air of pride 
 and coolness, though her heart is most tender and passionate. 
 But this morning at breakfast we heard afar off the firing of 
 cannon. The general ordered me to go and seek the cause. I 
 arose, and in two bounds had descended the stairs and ran to 
 the stable. As I mounted my horse, I cast one glance behind 
 me, and saw this dear girl blushing, embarrassed, regarding 
 me with eyes expressing fear, interest, love. I could have 
 pressed her to my heart, but then it was impossible. When 
 I returned, she was still there. Ah ! how I ^s received, and 
 how gay and pleasant was that dinner! How many little 
 delicate attentions she had for me ! 
 
 " In the evening, by an unhoped-for chance, I found myself 
 alone with her. Everybody, tired out with the excessive labors 
 of the day, had retired. I lost no time in telling her how 
 much I loved her, and she, bursting into tears, threw herself into 
 my arms. Then, disengaging herself from my embrace, she 
 
GEOKGE SAND. IX 
 
 ran and locked herself in her chamber. I wished to follow 
 her. She begged, prayed, and conjured me to leave her to her- 
 self, and, like a submissive lover, I obeyed. Ah ! how sweet 
 it is to be loved !" 
 
 For the first time Maurice Dupin had experienced a true 
 passion. This charming woman, of whom he speaks with a 
 mingled enthusiasm and levity, this fascinating amour which 
 he thought to forget as he had forgotten so many others, was 
 henceforth to take possession of his soul, and to involve him in 
 a strife against himself, which was all the happiness, all the 
 despair, all the grandeur of the last years of his life. Yes, 
 this lovely woman, whom he had sighed for at Milan, and 
 conquered at Asola, was no other than the pretty daughter of 
 the people, whom we have seen presenting to Lafayette her 
 garland of flowers, and who was destined to be the mother of 
 George Sand, 
 
 But as the course of true love never did run smooth, so 
 Maurice Dupin met with the most violent opposition on the 
 part of his mother, a mother whom he dearly loved, and 
 whose slightest wish he had ever been accustomed to regard 
 as law. By all sorts of endearments, and by the most touch- 
 ing letters, she sought to recall her son to herself, to separate 
 him from this love which she regarded as a rival to her own. 
 Great, indeed, was the torture, many were the hours of an- 
 guish and suffering that poor Maurice was fated to experience ; 
 but true love overcomes all obstacles, breaks down all barriers. 
 Maurice acted like a true and loyal gentleman, and though it 
 cost him much to disobey his mother's wish, yet he owed a 
 higher duty to her who had sacrificed all for him, and whera 
 he had given his heart, there he hesitated not to give his hand. 
 And Sophie Delaborde, though she was but the child of -the 
 people, and though her youth had been given up, by force of 
 circumstances, to the most frightful hazards, from which she 
 had perchance not come forth all undefiled, still was a noble 
 woman,_and made a fond, a loving and devoted wife. She 
 had even strength of mind to urge Maurice not to disobey his 
 
X GEORGE SAND. 
 
 mother's wishes, though she knew her o-vvii shame must bo 
 the consequence of such obedience, and, at the last moment, 
 clad in a little muslin dress, and having only a little fillet of 
 gold upon lier finger, for their finances did not allow the ex- 
 travagance of a real wedding-ring, Sophie, happy and trem- 
 bling, most interesting from her approaching confinement, and 
 careless of her own future, offered to forego the marriage-rite, 
 which, she said, could, in no way, add to or change their 
 loves. But Maurice was resolute, and when they had returned 
 home after the performance of the ceremony, he buried his 
 face in his hands, and gave an hour to his sorrow for having 
 disobeyed the best of mothers. He tried to write to her, but 
 was able to pen only a few lines, which express his grief and 
 his remorse. Then, asking pardon of his wife for this moment 
 given to nature, pressing her fondly to his heart, and swear- 
 ing that he would ever love her, he departed for Nohant, 
 intending to avow all, and hoping that all would be forgiven. 
 But his resolution and his hopes were all in vain ; and he 
 returned to Paris without having dared to betray his secret. 
 His wife's sister Lucie was on the eve of marriage with an 
 officer, the friend of Maurice, and in his quiet and retired 
 house some friends of the family were one day assembled in 
 honor of the approaching nuptials. As Maurice was playing 
 on his violin a contradance for the amusement of the guests, 
 Sophie, who, on that day, wore a pretty rose-colored dress, 
 feeling a little unwell, left the dance, and passed into her 
 chamber. As her figure was not perceptibly altered, and as 
 she went out very quietly, the dancing w^as continued. At 
 the last chassez-all Lucie entered her chamber, and imme- 
 diately exclaimed : " Come, come Maurice ; you have a 
 daughter !" 
 
 " She shall be named Aurore, for my poor mother, who is 
 not here to bless her, but who will one day bless her," said 
 Maurice, taking the babe in his arms. 
 
 It was the 5th of July, 1804, the last year of the Republic, 
 the first year of the Empire. 
 
GEORGE SAND. XI 
 
 " She was 'born among the roses, to the sound of music ; sho 
 will be fortunate/' said Lucie. 
 
 The old violin to the sound of which she came into the 
 world, George Sand still possesses, a most precious relic. 
 
 On the 5th of July 1804, George Sand came thus into the 
 world, her father playing on the violin, and her mother wear- 
 ing a pretty rose-colored dress. She came into the world a 
 legitimate daughter, thanks to her father's resolution in not 
 yielding to the prejudices of his family ; and though his mo- 
 ther was for a long time much incensed at his act of filial 
 disobedience, she at length relented, and, at the death of 
 Maurice, Amantine-Aurore was entrusted to her care. 
 
 This child, who was destined to become the famous George 
 Sand, was at first brought up after the manner of Jean- Jacques. 
 She was a little Emile, sporting all the day on the banks of 
 the Indre, chasing the butterflies along the winding ravines 
 of the '' Dark Valley, ^^ and who, returning at night-fall from 
 her poetic wanderings, listened to marvellous tales, told of the 
 pomps of Versailles, the pleasures of Trianon, the mysteries 
 of the Parc-aux-Cerfs, the roues and the philosophers of the 
 olden time. These recitals were not lost, and by the aid of 
 reminiscences of this kind, we may perhaps explain how a 
 talent so original, so subdued in style, and ordinarily so pro- 
 foundly impassioned, has sometimes been able, in such charm- 
 ing sketches as " The Marchioness,^^ for instance, to go back, 
 and to reproduce in all their truth the elegant customs, the 
 flowery passions, and the sparkling language of the eighteenth 
 century. 
 
 At the age of fifteen, Aurore was perfect in the use of the 
 gun and the sword, and danced and rode with an irresistible 
 grace. She was an adorable and petulant little amazon, a 
 charming little feminine demon, who, like her beautiful grand- 
 mother, could have well borne her part in a hunt in the woods 
 of Marly, but who knew not how to make the sign of the cross. 
 But the religious reaction which followed the Restoration 
 having rendered the doctrines of Jean- Jacques most unpopular, 
 
 ^: 
 
Xll GEORGE SAND. 
 
 Madame Dupin thought it time to sacrifice her philosophical 
 method of education to the new and more "wholesome system 
 of ideas which was then received with favor, and to give to 
 her grand-daughter an education analogous to the situation 
 which both her birth and her wealth called her to occupy 
 in the world. Then it was that the beautiful child of the 
 country was forced to leave her " Dark Valley " for the con- 
 vent " Des Anglaises,^^ at Paris, where we have already seen 
 her enter, there to receive her religious education, of which as 
 yet she had not the least knowledge. 
 
 This separation from her grandmother was most painful, 
 and the contrast to her former life very great, — that life in 
 which she was so free, and which she has so charmingly de- 
 scribed, when, after a day spent in the fields, she is suddenly 
 overtaken by the shadows of night and must return. 
 
 " Yes, it is so. The lambs are bleating, the flocks have 
 returned to the fold, the cricket is chirping in the fields : you 
 must return. 
 
 " The way is stony, the stepping-stones are wet and slip- 
 pery, the hill-side is rough. 
 
 " You are covered with perspiration ; but all in vain : you 
 will arrive too late ; supper has been served. 
 
 " In vain the old servant who loves you has kept it back as 
 long as possible : you will have the humiliation to enter the 
 last, and the good grandmother, inexorable on all points of 
 etiquette, with a voice at once sweet and sad, will reproach 
 you very lightly, very tenderly, — a reproach which you will 
 feel more than the most severe punishment. 
 
 " But when in the evening she will demand how and where 
 you have passed the day, and when you, all blushing, shall 
 confess that you have been absorbed in reading in some 
 meadow, and when you shall be summoned to produce the 
 book, you shall, all trembling, draw from your pocket, what ? 
 Estelle and Nemorin ! 
 
 " Q}i ! then, grandmother smiles. 
 
I 
 
 GEORGE SAND. XlXL 
 
 *' Calm yourself : your treasure will be restored to you; but 
 you must not again forget the supper-hour. 
 
 " Oh, happy time ! oh, my Dark Valley ! oh, Corinne ! oh, 
 Bernardin de Saint-Pierre ! oh, Atala ! oh, willows by the 
 river's bank ! oh, my past youth ! oh, my old dog, who did 
 not forget the supper-hour, and who answered to the sound of 
 the distant village clock, by a mournful howl of mingled re- 
 gret and gluttony !" 
 
 Truly these little details are delicious, and, in comparison, 
 the convent life was indeed gloomy. Yet, scarce had a month 
 elapsed ere the young girl was no longer recognizable : that 
 ardent and mobile imagination which will afterwards shine 
 through the most abrupt eccentricities of the great authoress, 
 began to develop itself in all its power. The pomp and 
 majesty of the Catholic ceremonies, the uniform life, the pious 
 and peaceable atmosphere of the cloister, produced a complete 
 revolution in her soul. Like Saint Theresa, she passed whole 
 hours in ecstasy, at the foot of the altar; the rules did not 
 appear to her sufficiently severe, and the superior was often 
 obliged to moderate her religious exaltation through /x)nsidera- 
 tion for her health. 
 
 Six years later, in the Chateau de Nohant, there was a 
 woman who was dying of sadness and ennui : it was the pious 
 pensionnaire of the convent " des Anglaises," weeping over her 
 lost liberty, and deploring a yoke which she was soon to break. 
 Scarcely had she bade farewell to convent life, when she was 
 called to mourn the loss of that dear grandmother whom she 
 had so much loved : and then, alone, without a guide, without a 
 counsellor, young, rich, and an orphan, she had been forced to 
 marry a man whom she did not love. Lively and impression- 
 able as Indiana, candid and enthusiastic as Valentine, haughty 
 and indomitable as Lelia, she found herself united to M. Fran- 
 fois Dudevant, a gentleman farmer, like the many others with 
 which old Aquitaine is full, considering the refinements of the 
 heart as so much folly and nonsense, taking life for what it 
 is worth, not too learned, but well versed in the raising of 
 
XIV GEORGE SAND. 
 
 cattle. Never, indeed, could a marriage be more discordant with 
 a nature at once so proud and tender as that of the young 
 wife. But she had a fortune of nearly half a million, and her 
 husband, in touching this dowry, hastened to extend his agri- 
 cultural operations. He filled his sheep-folds with pure- 
 blooded merinos, bought magnificent bulls, doubled the num- 
 ber of his ploughs, and occupied himself with every thing except 
 his wife, and did not appear to perceive that Aurore, with her 
 seventeen years, her delicate soul, and her extreme sensibility, 
 was dying by inches in the midst of this prosaic existence. 
 
 But the first few years of her married life, if not happy, 
 were at least peaceable. Madame Dudevant supported her 
 sorrows with the resignation of an angel : two beauteous chil- 
 dren stretched out to her their arms, and consoled her by their 
 smiles. But soon, says the author of a sketch, traced some 
 fifteen years since in the Galerie de la Presse, she found herself 
 forestalled in the affections of her children. Then she could 
 endure no longer, she became seriously ill, and her physicians 
 prescribed a journey to the springs of the Pyrenees. M. Du- 
 devant, wholly engaged with his merinos and his ploughs, 
 could not accompany his wife. 
 
 At Bordeaux, where she first stopped, and where she was 
 eagerly welcomed by the old friends of her family, Madame 
 Dudevant could at last know the world. She was over- 
 whelmed with attentions, the praises of the rare qualities 
 with which she was endowed, were heard on every side. A 
 thousand homages, a thousand adorations, unceasingly sur- 
 rounded her. One of the first shipping merchants of Bordeaux, 
 a young man of merit and distinction, fell desperately in love 
 with the young wife : but she had sufficient power over her 
 heart not to yield to this passion. In the valley of Argeles, 
 at the foot of the lofty Pyrenees, in the presence of a magnifi- 
 cent nature which elevated their souls to the sublimity of the 
 sacrifice, they bade each other an eternal farewell. 
 
 Returning home, Madame Dudevant, thanks to the negative 
 amiability of her husband, resumed the old monotonous and 
 
GEORGE SAND. XV 
 
 weary life : but the impressions of this journey, the aspect of 
 a wild and romantic nature, and that first illusion of love, in 
 awakening the imagination of the artist and the heart of the 
 woman, served on her return only to increase still more the 
 burden of this arid and dreary life. She received with open 
 arms, as so many saviours, the arts, poetry, and science ; but 
 in vain did she combat the rebellious thoughts of which she 
 was no longer the mistress ; and at last, after many struggles, 
 after many a grievous scene, of which the bitter memory may 
 be traced in more than one page of George Sand, the wife 
 violently freed herself, the poetess took her flight, and one day 
 the Chatelaine of Nohaut was sought in vain ; she had disap- 
 peared. What had become of her ? whither had she gone ? — 
 None could tell. 
 
 Here, I find in notes which I have every reason to believe 
 correct, a fact which clearly shows the fluctuations of a noblo 
 and ardent soul in its state of unrest. 
 
 In 1828, the father-confessor of the convent of the "^n- 
 glaises^^^ who had formerly directed the conscience of Made- 
 moiselle Dupin, came one day to beg the Lady Superior to 
 grant him a favor. He related to her how one of his penitents, 
 a former boarder at the convent, being in a most painful and 
 difficult situation, desired in the bosom of her old home to find 
 a pious retreat. The Lady Superior at first refused, alleging 
 the custom and the rule ; but the good priest insisted, at last 
 obtained his demand, and the fugitive of Nohant recrossed the 
 threshold of that peaceful refuge, where, all pure and untrou- 
 bled, the days of her youth had flown so quickly by. But her 
 destiny called her elsewhere, genius reclaimed its due, and in 
 a few days she boldly re-entered the world, to give herself up 
 henceforth to all the hazards, to all the passions, to all the 
 joys, and to all the sorrows of the irregular life of the artiste. 
 
 The period on which we are now entering is a delicate one, 
 and one difficult of access. A biographer may indeed be des- 
 titute of all wit or talent; but there is imperiously demanded 
 of him dignity and good faith, especiallv when there is 
 
XVI GEORGE SAND. 
 
 question of a genius that ho may pity, hlame, or praise, but 
 which has a double title to his respect. But for those who 
 are never contented without facts, I will here transcribe this 
 touching page from George Sand's " Lcttres (Tun VoyageurP 
 
 " I care but little that I am growing old : I care far more 
 that I am growing old alone^ butu have never yet met with the 
 being with whom I would have wished to live and die : or, if I 
 have met with such a one, I have not been able to keep him.^ 
 Listen to a story, and weep. There was a good artist named 
 Watelet, who was a better aqua-fortis engraver than any man 
 of his time. He loved Marguerite Lecomte, and taught her to 
 engrave as well as himself. She left her husband, her pro- 
 perty, and her country, to go and live with Watelet : the world 
 blamed them, but they were poor and humble, so they were 
 soon forgotten. Forty years afterwards, there were found in the 
 outskirts of Paris, in a little house called the ' Pretty-Mill,' 
 an old man who was an aqua-fortis engraver and an old wo- 
 man who worked with him, seated at the same table 
 
 The last design that they engraved together, represented the 
 * Pretty- Mill,' the house of Marguerite with this device, ' Cur 
 voile permutem Sabina divitias operosioresV It is hung in 
 my chamber above a portrait, the original of which no person 
 here has seen. For a whole year, he who gave me this por- 
 trait, was seated with me every night at a little table, and he 
 has lived by the same labor as I have done. At daybreak we 
 consulted together about our little work, and we supped at the 
 same table, talking of art and of the future. The future has 
 not kept its promises to us — oh ! Marguerite Lecomte, pray for 
 me!" 
 
 This page, "WTitten with the tears of George Sand, is the 
 finest eulogy on her old friend and' collaborateur, Jules Sandeau. 
 Here is another story more or less connected with the first. 
 
 Some time after the Revolution of July, there appeared a 
 little book entitled " Rose and Blanche, or The Actress and tho 
 Nun?^ This book, which at first attracted but little notice, 
 fell by chance into the hands of a publisher, who, on reading 
 
GEORGE SAND. XVU 
 
 it, struck by the descriptive richness of certain scenes, and by 
 the novelty of the situations, sought out the residence of the 
 author. He was directed to a modest little house, and ascend- 
 ing to the attic, he there found a young man who was writing 
 at a little table, and a young woman who was coloring flowers 
 by his side. They were Watelet and Marguerite Lecomte — 
 in other words, Madame Dudevant and Jules Sandeau. He 
 spoke of the book, and he found that Marguerite, who knew 
 how to write even better than Watelet, had written a good 
 part of this one ; but as books did not sell very well, to her 
 literary employments she added the more lucrative one of 
 painting. Encouraged by the praise of the publisher, she drew 
 forth a manuscript written wholly in her own hand : the pub- 
 lisher examined it, and bought it; it was the manuscript of 
 Indiana. Madame Dudevant wished it to be published under 
 the same signature as Rose and Blanche, namely, Jules Sand, 
 but Sandeau, who had had not written a line of this book^ 
 refused. She insisted, but he was resolute. In the dilemma 
 they had recourse to the publisher. '• Sand,^^ said he, " is 
 common property. All you have to do is to choose another 
 prsenomen. Hold, here is the calendar : it is the 23d of April, 
 Saint George's day. Call yourself George Sand, and it is 
 done." Such was the origin of this name, which to-day 
 shines so brightly among the greatest and most glorious names 
 of France. 
 
 In less than ten years, George Sand produced more than 
 thirty volumes, which provoked nearly four times as many 
 volumes of criticism, offensive and defensive. To me it seems 
 that all this time criticism was battling against nothing ; it 
 began by supposing what did not exist, and, as George Sand 
 has somewhere said, " it mistopk bladders for lanterns, that is, 
 passions for reasoning, eloquent laments for systems, and the 
 cries of the heart for conclusions." 
 
 Repulse, as much as you please, the sterile theories of art 
 as art, blame the artist for not arriving at conclusions, or 
 rather for speaking when there are no conclusions to arrive 
 
XVUl GEORGE SAND. 
 
 at : but do not tramsform him, do not force him to como to a 
 conclusion in spite of himself, do not elevate a brilliant poet- 
 ical individuality into a eocial power, either to attack or to 
 defend it. Let conviction operate with the poet in his own 
 sphere, you will gain nothing by forcing it. In truth, we 
 now-a-days look upon our poets too practically : the geome- 
 trician who asked of them " what does all that prove ?" was 
 hardly more ridiculous than we who endeavor to find in them 
 the proof of every thing. This is in fact the result of a gen- 
 eral waywardness of the age : — a word of explanation may 
 not be here out of place. 
 
 French society and literature, at the time that George Sand 
 first appeared as a writer, was in a confused, peculiar state. 
 Nations, as they grow old, are subject to all the infirmities 
 and manias of old men. The ancients took near-sighted views 
 of things ; punctilious analysts, they exliausted their faculties 
 in minute speculations : we, on the contrary, wander in the 
 vague, peer into the infinite ; we moderns leave history for 
 narrow minds, while we ourselves investigate the philosophy 
 of history. With a dozen stupendous substantives and two or 
 three classifications of universal adaptation, the first-comer 
 will describe a priori the vicissitudes of the Chinese or the 
 Mongolese Empire, of which he knows, in reality, absolutely 
 nothing. In religion, there are no more Catholics or Protes- 
 tants, nor Atheists or Theists, but only Pantheists, which, 
 indeed, is very grand and high-sounding, but which is not at all 
 perspicuous. In politics, individual and national interests are 
 lost sight of in our solicitude for Humanity in general. Once, 
 the simple-minded wrote poetry and music, and cultivated 
 the arts ; in our days, we make social poetry, apocalyptic 
 music, and metaphysical painting. We have discovered the 
 Iliad to be a myth, the iEneid a symbol ; and if Dante and 
 Shakspeare were to return to us in this age, I fancy they 
 would be surprised at having said so many sage things, of 
 which they had not the least idea. I once considered Raphael 
 
GEORGE SAND. XIX 
 
 a great painter ; but now we read in learned books that he 
 was the greatest theologian of his time. 
 
 When this period of confusion was at its height, a woman 
 appeared upon the scene with all the qualities and defects 
 that constitute the poet. She was wanting in nothing, neither 
 in impetuosity of imagination, nor in flexible and passionate 
 organization, warmth of inspiration, or richness of language ; 
 even the precarious and exceptional life of the artist was there. 
 Unfortunate in her married state, she discarded marriage ; 
 rich, she left behind her her whole fortune, sacrificing all for 
 Liberty, that household god which always graces the barren 
 fireside of bohemians and poets. She must live. Ignorant 
 of her own powers, she was counselled to write, and she 
 wrote ; and the profoundly philosophic, or perverse idea which 
 gave birth to her first book was, as she herself has in many 
 places said, simply to gain her daily bread. The book was 
 prodigiously successful : it was a story of the heart, burning 
 with passion, grief, and anger. The plot was by no means 
 new : it was of a wife, a husband, and a lover. The portrait 
 of the husband was anything but flattered : how could it have 
 been otherwise ? The lover himself — and this seems a first 
 deception — ^the lover, which a writer has called, why, I know 
 not, the king of the books of George Sand, presented, in this as 
 in other works, a very odious and pitiable appearance; the 
 fine character, very naturally, was the woman. Criticism, 
 which is surprised at everything, wondered at such a success 
 achieved without its aid, and got over the affair, by declaring 
 that all women have a romance in their hearts, and that when 
 once this secret is revealed, there is nothing more to be told. 
 Six months later, Valentine palpably gave criticism the lie. 
 Here again, in sooth, was the same basis : a woman, a hus- 
 band and a lover. The author, having but little experience, 
 had but one string to her bow ; but the arrow that she hurled 
 was of a novel kind. From brutal and ignorant, the husband 
 had become coldly polished, and a profound egotist ; the lover 
 had improved in every respect : he was noble, generous, and 
 
XJC GEORGE SAND. 
 
 handsome ; with certain m.nute differences, the woman had 
 remained substantially the same. In Jacques, the third novel, 
 written before Lelia, although it appeared subsequently, the 
 principal characters are still the wife, the husband, and the 
 lover, only in this case it is the husband that has the fine 
 part. Jacques has all the qualities requisite to insure the 
 happiness of a woman : he is great and good ; and, although 
 his heart has lost its freshness, he has so much nobleness of 
 soul, that it is impossible not to love him : the indispensable 
 rival is not equal to the competition : Octave is a common 
 vaudeville lover, and yet Fernando falls. It is generally 
 allowed that this novel is the most immoral of all of George 
 Sand's productions. It is said to set forth an absolute denial 
 of love in the married state. I do not know what may have 
 been the primitive idea of the author, but it seems to me that 
 the true morality of the work, and the impression left in the 
 mind of the unprejudiced reader is, that Fernando is a little 
 simpleton, who loves her husband without understanding him, 
 ceases to love without knowing why, and whose act of deceit 
 is unpardonable. Far from considering this work dangerous 
 in its tendency. I am convinced, on the contrary, that there is 
 no woman, have she never so little delicacy, who is not men- 
 tally disgusted with the denouement. 
 
 After Jacques, came Lelia. Since Indiana the authoress 
 had lived ; she had loved, and, by turns, had ceased to love or 
 to be loved ; she had suifered, and, after having despaired of 
 love in marriage, she had despaired of love, of life, of God, of 
 everything ; and, one fine day, in a paroxysm of intermittent 
 fever, between the burning and the chill, Lelia was written. 
 
 When this book appeared, the mingled emotions of enthu- 
 siasm and repulsion excited around the name of George Sand 
 reached their height. While the philosophical phalanx 
 stretched forth to her their arms, crying : " Welcome ! oh, pro- 
 phetess !" the moralists shook their clenched hands at her, 
 stigmatizing her as " Poisoner !" But, in truth, she was 
 neither a Pythoness nor a Borgia : she was but a poet, all 
 
GEORGE SAND. XXI 
 
 whose faculties had been over-excited by a species of delirium, 
 to the detriment of the principal one : the reason. 
 
 After this great cry of suffering, the soul of George Sand 
 appeared to grow more calm, and little by little, to resume its 
 serenity. Her social position became fixed. She legally se- 
 parated herself from her husband, regained the possession of 
 her fortune, and went to seek, fiom the mountains of Switzer- 
 land, from the beautiful skies of Florence and of Venice, less 
 sombre thoughts, more smiling inspirations. She wrote two 
 or three charming novels, as Leone Leonie, in which the in- 
 variable types of her former works are laid aside. Her 
 thoughts became less bitter and more purely artistic, and this 
 soothing, quieting influence, gradually increased. Then, she 
 wrote Andre^ that delicious little book, which would be the 
 worthy brother of " Paul et Virginie," were it not for a certain 
 coarseness, humiliating and most grievous, but happily false 
 and impossible in the plan of the character of Andre. George 
 Sand has herself said : " Angels are less pure than the heart 
 of a young man of twenty, when he loves with passion." 
 And that is not only well said, but most true ; for all corrupt- 
 ed, all vicious, as we are, there is perhaps not one among us 
 all who does not cherish in some secret corner of his heart the 
 holy memory of some first mystery of pure love, of chaste 
 abandon, and of, alas ! too easy a renunciation. 
 
 After Andre, appeared Simon, Mauprat, the Lettres d^un 
 Voyageur, &c., &c. The period of passion was gradually 
 losing itself in one of calmness, poetry, and truth. The re- 
 ligious phase was- about to appear. A noble friendship grew 
 ap between two souls, bearing in different spheres an equal 
 talent and an equal freedom of poetic flexibility. M. deLa- 
 mennais assumed the direction of " ig 3fonrfe," and in this 
 journal George Sand pul)lished those five letters to Marcia, 
 which bear the impress of a purely Christian resignation, and 
 which gave the lie to all those social consequences that 
 philosophy was endeavoring to draw from the individual sor- 
 rows of Lelia. 
 
XXll GEORGE SAND. 
 
 However, this period of Christian resignation was but short : 
 the adventurous and turbulent poetess had merely passed 
 through this peaceful country on her way to join the camp of 
 pantheism. Spiridion was published. This book, composed 
 under the refreshing shades of Palma, was a veritable re- 
 cantation, for it boldly reproduced in the religious sphere all 
 the moral contradictions of Lelia. The edifice scarcely de- 
 lineated in the letters to Marcia was utterly overthrown, and 
 the progressive Christianity of M. de Lamennais was dropped 
 as impotent. From this time forward the social ideas of 
 George Sand acquired a tinge of radicalisrn which, if not moro 
 perspicuous, was at least more boldly defined. 
 
 Space does not permit us to follow George Sand throughout 
 all her works, and trace therein the workings and the progress 
 of her mind : to do this, would require a volume, and our 
 sketch is limited to a few pages. But ere we close this hasty 
 notice, we ought perhaps to trace the portrait of this most 
 remarkable woman, and for this purpose we will translate 
 from a sketch published some few years since, in Paris. " I 
 beheld," says the author, " a plump little woman, in no re- 
 spect resembling the Dantesque. She wore a simple robe-de- 
 chambre of a somewhat masculine cut ; her beautiful hair 
 still perfectly black, in spite of slanderous tongues, parted 
 upon her broad and polished brow, fell gracefully upon her 
 cheek, as in the portrait of Raphael ; a silk handkerchief was 
 loosely tied about her neck ; her eyes, which some painters 
 persist in representing as most piercing, had, on the contrary, 
 a remarkable expression of soft melancholy ; the sound of her 
 voice was melodious and subdued ; her mouth was singularly 
 graceful, and in her every attitude there was a striking 
 character of simplicity, of nobleness, and of calmness. From 
 the breadth of the temples, and from the rich development of 
 the brow, Gall would have devined the existence of genius. 
 In the frankness of her glance, in the graceful contour, and 
 in the pure though somewhat weary expression of the face, 
 Lavater would have read an unfortunate past, a barren pre- 
 sent, an extreme propensity to enthusiasm, and, consequently, 
 
GEORGE SAND. XXlll 
 
 to discouragement ; but he would have read neither instahility, 
 nor bitterness, nor hatred, for of them there was no trace on 
 this face at once so sad and so serene. The Lelia of my 
 imagination disappeared before the reality, and it was simply 
 a good, sweet, melancholy, intelligent, and beautiful face 
 that I saw before me." 
 
 At present George Sand passes nearly all the year at her 
 chateau of Nohant. Here she has constructed a little theatre 
 where her plays are all studied and tried, act by act, and 
 scene by scene, before they receive the honor of a Parisian 
 representation. Her life in this retirement is most pleasant, 
 though somewhat patriarchal : her revenue, amounting to ten, 
 or twelve thousand francs per annum, she spends in deeds of 
 charity : for all the neighboring villagers she has ever a kindly 
 word of welcome. She receives them at her table, listens to 
 them, encourages and consoles them in their troubles, and when 
 they are ill dispenses to them medicines for themselves and for 
 their children. To her they apply as to a kind Providence, 
 ever sure of aid" and comfort. 
 
 Her house is by no means a lordly mansion : in it there 
 reigns an almost vulgar simplicity, and the furniture bears 
 witness to the filial piety of the chatelaine, rather than to 
 her taste in matters of ornament: drawings, sketches, and 
 needle- work, souvenirs of the happy triumphs of a petted 
 childhood, form nearly all the adornments of the apartments — 
 for George Sand clings to all that recalls to her the love of her 
 relations. 
 
 She sleeps but little, five or six hours at the most : the rest 
 of her time being consecrated to her literary labors. At eleven 
 o'clock the bell rings for breakfast. She does not appear at 
 first, (in her absence her son Maurice presides,) but about the 
 middle of the repast she enters, embraces her son, presses the 
 hand of each guest, and takes her usual seat. Her table is 
 sumptuously and delicately provided. She eats but little, and 
 takes cofiee morning and evening. She is silent and reserved, 
 
XXIV GEORGE SAND. 
 
 but sho loves to listen to the conversation, and in her you ever 
 find a smiling and attentive listener. 
 
 After breakfast Madame Sand takes the arm of one of her 
 guests, and goes to walk in the park. A little wood, border- 
 ing on a beautiful meadow, is the promenade that she most 
 loves, and here in the midst of the spring flowers, the gay but- 
 terflies, and the singing birds, she gives herself up to charming 
 botanical digressions, which her guests are never weary of 
 hearing : but at the end of half an hour, she returns to the 
 house, and leaves each one master of his time and of his 
 actions. 
 
 Dinner is served at six o'clock. The blouses and other 
 loose morning garments are not here admissible, and the ladies 
 appear more elaborately attired , than at the breakfast-table. 
 We do not mean that there is the least restraint, or that a 
 strict decorum is observed : that would be too much in disac- 
 cordance with the known principles of the chatelaine. But in 
 the house of the grand-daughter of a king, of the cousin of Marie 
 Antoinette, we must not be astonished to find some vestiges 
 of aristocratic manners. After dinner comes another walk in 
 the park, singing under the trees, playing with the dogs, or 
 some rustic game. If it rains, the drawing-room is opened, 
 Madame Sand places herself at the piano, where she im- 
 provises like Listz, her friend and teacher, or executes some 
 of Mozart's choicest gems. Sometimes she gives the manu- 
 script of a new work, a romance, or a comedy, to her guests 
 to read, and such days are always looked upon as holy-days. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the books are closed, the papers are laid 
 aside, and all join eagerly in a game of dominos. This finishes 
 the evening, and thus, except Sundays, is each day passed. 
 
 But on Sundays a public performance is given, and the hall 
 is filled with a crowd of honest peasants, whose artless joy and 
 candid criticism are not the least part of the evening's plea- 
 sures. When the piece is over, the dining-room is thrown 
 open, and the audience is admitted to supper with the per- 
 formers, after which they quietly disperse. 
 
GEORGE SAND. XXV 
 
 Perchance you may find this simple and unostentatious life 
 of the Chateau de Nohant but little in accordance with the 
 idea that certain of her brilliant works give of the character 
 of her wiio inhabits it. If so, there is only one word to be 
 said, and that is, if George Sand writes with her imagination, 
 she lives according to her judgment. 
 
 One word now as to the influence of her books, and we have 
 done. This influence has been often called baneful and per- 
 nicious ] but we think most unjustly. If there are passions 
 and faults, there is, too, much sorrow and remorse, and their 
 tendency is by no means vicious ; they may torture and bewil- 
 der our souls, but they do not degrade, neither do they corrupt. 
 In the perusal of these pages, where the most opposite senti- 
 ments speak the same language, a language almost divine, we 
 feel a painful kind of admiration, and when we close the book 
 more than ever do we aspire to the truth : we comprehend that 
 all that is not life, that the imagination is not the reason, and 
 that poets will always be poets, that is, in the words of one 
 of the greatest and wisest of their number, " melodious birds 
 whom every noise causes to sing." Whether this noise comes 
 from without or from within, whether it charms or terrifies, 
 attracts or repulses, whether it be an innate desire or a mur- 
 muring brook, a nation in a state of unrest, or the roaring of 
 the ocean, a falling throne or a fading illusion, the bird sings, 
 sings at all times, in all places, and in every tone : do not ask 
 the reason of its song — it sings because it is a bird.* 
 
 * In the preparation of this sketch we have had recourse to the 
 best and most reliable French authorities, translating from them 
 freely whatever has seemed suited to our purpose. The facts, there- 
 fore, may be relied on as strictly correct, and for them we are espe- 
 cially indebted to the brochure of M. de Mirecourt, to the critical 
 notice of " Un Homme de Rien" and to George Sand's autobiogra- 
 phy now in course of publication. We do not claim any originality 
 for our sketch ; we have simply endeavored to give a true idea of 
 the character of the distinguished authoress, making the best use 
 of such facts as the short time allowed us for preparation has ena- 
 bled us to collect. O. S. L. 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 Teverino is a pure fantasy, from which each reader 
 must draw his own conchision. It was begun in Paris, 
 in 1845, and finished in the country, without any plan, 
 and with no other end in view, than that of painting an 
 original character, a strange destiny, improbable to 
 people of rank, but well known to those who have 
 mingled freely with the various classes of artists. These 
 natures, so admirably endowed, which cannot or will not 
 employ to advantage the rich faculties of their minds in 
 the drudgery of official society, are not rare; and this 
 independence, this idleness, this exaggerated disinterest- 
 edness, is even the proper tendency of minds so peculiarly 
 the recipients of tlie gifts of Providence. Men of special 
 aptitudes discover and pursue, in face of all obstacles, the 
 path of lifd marked out for them. My hero is of a 
 different type : his is one of those rich natures, which, 
 feeling itself capable of equal development in every 
 direction, never undertakes or accomplishes anything 
 In Teveriuo, I have taken the liberty of slightly poeti» 
 
XXVlll PREFACE. 
 
 ing the excessive candor and delicacy of sentiment found 
 in a soul struggling with the expedients of misery. Of 
 coui-se, the paradoxes which seduce his imagination are 
 not to be taken literally, nor must the reader believe 
 that the author aims at the absurdity of attempting to 
 pix)ve tliat the soul's perfection is to be found in a 
 liberty bordering on license. A fantasy proves nothing, 
 and the artist who gives himself up to a pure fantasy 
 should make no such pretension. Can it, then, be 
 necessary, before appealing to the imagination of the 
 reader by a work of the imagination, to warn him that a 
 certain exceptional type is not proposed as a model? 
 That would be to give him little credit for penetration, 
 strength of mind, or self-control ; and should any indi- 
 vidual really need this caution, it might be better to 
 advise him to abstain from reading any romances what- 
 ever, for all such reading is pernicious, nay, almost fatal 
 to weak and ill-regulated ntiinds. 
 
 I have been sometimes accused of portraying danger- 
 ous, sometimes unnatural characters ; in both cases, it is 
 apparent that I have relied too much on the good sense 
 and judgment of my readers. I have no other excuse to 
 make. 
 
 I maintain here only the possibility, not the reality of 
 such a character as Teverino. Many persons, by con- 
 sulting their own memories, can attest its possibility for 
 themselves. Most persons have known a sort of Teve- 
 rino, male or female, at some period of their lives. It is 
 
PREFACE. XXIX 
 
 true, that for one of these privileged souls, who, in this 
 life of vagabondage, remains great and noble, there are 
 hundreds who contract incurable vices, especially in the 
 career of the arts. They oftener degrade than elevate 
 it. But, having faith in the dignity and progress of the 
 race, I believe that a man never falls so low as to be un- 
 able to rise again, if he do not^ lack courage and a true 
 hearty This is my firm faith ,for all humanity, in all its 
 errors, for all its misfortunes^ and in all conditions of life.) 
 If this doctrine be true, will it do harm to preach it ? 
 
 George Sand. 
 NoHANT, May, 1852. ^\\xs. v . ,, 
 
%i 
 
TEVERINO. 
 
 00MB WHAT MAY. 
 
 PuNCTtrAL to tlie hour of rendezvous, L^once left 
 the Hotel dea Etramgers before day-light, and the 
 sun had not yet risen, as he entered the winding 
 and shady alley leading to the villa. 
 
 The light wheels of his beautiful German britz- 
 ska left scarcely an impression on the fine white 
 sand, which, covering the path, deadened the re- 
 sounding steps of his superb horses, as they flew 
 rapidly over the ground. A profound silence 
 reigned in the residence of the elegant lady, and 
 perceiving no indication that any carriage had pre- 
 ceded his own, he feared to have committed the 
 blunder of being too early. 
 
 Alighting in front of a rustic porch, over which 
 were trained beautiful, flowering vines, he directed 
 his servant to drive to the stables, and then ascer- 
 
20 TEVERLNO. 
 
 taining that the glass doors, opening from the 
 piazza into the ordinary reception-room, wore still 
 closed, he approached the window of Sabina's 
 chamber, and hummed, in a low tone, the air from 
 the Ba/tbier^ 
 
 " Ecco ridente il cielo 
 Gi£l spunta la bella aurora . . . 
 > . . . E puvi dormir cosi 1 " 
 
 Presently the window was opened, and Sabina^ 
 enveloped in a tov/mous of white cashmere, raised 
 a corner of the curtain, and addressing him with 
 affectionate nonchalance, said : 
 
 " I perceive, my friend, that my note of last 
 evening has not reached you, and that you are un- 
 aware of what has happened. The Duchess has 
 the vapors, and will not allow her lovers to drive 
 out without her. The Marchioness must have had 
 a family quarrel, for she sends word that she is ill. 
 The Count is really unwell. The Doctor has busi- 
 ness. So you see that everybody fails me, and 
 begs me to postpone imtil next week our contem- 
 plated excursion." 
 
 " Thus, in consequence of not having received 
 your intelligence, I arrive most mal ct propos^^"* 
 said L^once, " and have behaved like a clown, in 
 coming to disturb your slumbers. I am so much 
 
TEVERINO. 21 
 
 annoyed at my awkwardness, as to find not a 
 word to say in extenuation." 
 
 " Oh I give yourself no uneasiness on that 
 score ; I have been awake a long time. The 
 caprice of these women so enraged me last night 
 that I threw their notes into the fire, and, early as 
 it was, retired to bed, and slept soundly. I am 
 truly glad to see you. I was just longing for 
 some one with whom I could abuse all projects of 
 amusement, country parties, men of the world, 
 and handsome women." 
 
 " You will abuse them alone, then ; for at this 
 moment I bless them with all my heart." 
 
 And Ldonce, inclining over the edge of the win- 
 dow upon which Sabina leaned, was tempted to 
 clasp one of those beautiful white hands — but her 
 quietly bantering manner restrained him, and he 
 was fain to content himself with casting a most 
 significant glance upon her lovely arm, lefl^ par- 
 tially uncovered by the bournous. 
 
 " L^once," said she — ^gathering up the folds of 
 the iaumous with a disdainful grace — "If you 
 pay me insipid compliments, I shall shut the win- 
 dow in your face, and go to bed again. JSTothing 
 makes me so sleepy as ennui. It has for a long 
 time been my most serious trouble, and if it is to 
 continue, I believe I shall finally be compelled to 
 
22 TEYERINO. 
 
 devote all my energies to taking care of my 
 health and good looks, after the example of the 
 Duchess. But listen : call up all your amiability, 
 and apply your mind to the task of entertaining 
 me with your usual wit and good taste. Promise 
 to observe my conditions, and we can pass the 
 morning more agreeably, t^te4-t^te together, than 
 in the midst of all that brilliant society." 
 
 " With all my heart I Come then out of your 
 sanctuary, and let us stroll into the park, to see 
 the sun rise." 
 
 " Oh, the Park I It is beautiful, I admit ; but 
 that is a resource I wish to keep for the days 
 when I have to entertain tiresome visitors. I 
 show my guests the grounds, and take a great 
 deal of quiet enjoyment by myself, while appa- 
 rently listening to their stupid conversation. 
 Therefore, I wish to use the attractions of this 
 residence moderately, lest I wear them out too 
 soon. Do you know that I regret extremely hav- 
 ing hired it for three months. I have been only 
 a week here, yet I find myself already tired of 
 both the country and the neighborhood." 
 
 " Thank you I Shall I withdraw ? " 
 
 "Nonsense I Why feign this susceptibility? You 
 know perfectly well that you are not included in 
 my anathema against the human race. We are old 
 
TEVERINO. 23 
 
 friends, and shall always remain so, I trust, if we 
 have the wisdom to persist in loving each other 
 moderately, as yon have promised me." 
 
 " Yes, the old proverb, ' Love little, if you would 
 love long^ But see here, you promise me a plea- 
 sant morning, and then threaten to shut your win- 
 dow at the first word I utter which may displease 
 you. Eeally, I do not find my position particularly 
 agreeable, and shall only breathe at my ease, wheri 
 you are out of that formidable fortress." 
 
 " Well, give me an hour for my toilet arrange- 
 ments ; meantime, your breakfast shall be served 
 in the arbor. I will come and take a cup of tea 
 with you, and then we can invent some cheerful 
 amusement, wherewith to beguile the morning." 
 
 " First listen to my proposition, Sabina. Leave 
 to me alone all the morning arrangements, for if 
 you have anything to do with them, we shall pass 
 the day, I, in proposing all sorts of amusements, 
 and you, in proving to me that each plan is more 
 stupid and tiresome than the others. Have faith 
 in my inventive genius ; take half an hour for your 
 toilet, postpone the breakfast, and then, let me 
 lead you where I choose." 
 
 " Ah ! you touch the magic chord, the Unknown ! 
 I see, Leonce, that you alone understand me. Well, 
 I accept. Let us go !" 
 
24 TEVERINO. 
 
 Lady G pronounced these last words with a 
 
 smile and a glance which made L^once tremble. 
 
 " Oh ! coldest of women !" he cried, in a tone of 
 mingled raillery and bitterness. " I know you well, 
 and know that your ruling passion is to escape in- 
 deed all human passions. Well, I yield to your 
 coldness, and banish from my memory all that 
 might distract me from this fantasy which we have 
 arranged together." 
 
 "You assure me, then, that I shall not expe- 
 rience ennui to-day while with you ? You are in- 
 deed, the best of men. I feel already the effect 
 of your promise, just as invalids feel their suffer- 
 ings mitigated by the sight of a physician, and are 
 cured in advance, by the certainty that he intends 
 to cure them. I obey you, then, doctor improvise, 
 skilful, admirable doctor. I will dress quickly, let 
 us set out before breakfast, and then go — wherever 
 you direct. "What carriage shall I order?' 
 
 " None. You are to interfere in nothing — ^you 
 are to know nothing. It is for me to provide and 
 direct, since it is I who invent." 
 
 " Ah ! that is something like ! That is charm- 
 ing," cried she ; and, shutting her window, she rang 
 for her maid, who lowered the heavy damask cur- 
 tain between her and L^once. He went away to 
 give some orders, then returning, he threw him- 
 
TEVERINO. - 25 
 
 self down on the ground, at the foot of a statue, 
 not far from Sabina's window, and was soon lost 
 in a revery. 
 
 " Is this the way you prepare for our departure ? 
 You promise me marvellous inventions, unheard 
 of surprises, and there you are, dreaming over the 
 statue, like a man without an idea." 
 
 " All is ready," said Leonce, rising and passing 
 Sabina's arm within his own. " My britzska awaits 
 you, and I have hit upon some admirable inven- 
 tions." 
 
 " Are we going t6te4-t6te?" observed Lady G — . 
 
 " That is a coquettish movement of which I did 
 not believe her capable," thought Ldonce. " Well, 
 I shall not take advantage of it." 
 
 " "We will take the negress," he replied. 
 
 " Why take the negress ?" said Sabina. 
 
 " Because my jockey likes her. At his age, all 
 women are white, and it is important that our tra- 
 velling companions should be pleased with each 
 other, otherwise they will be troublesome to us." 
 
 In an instant, the jockey had received his in- 
 structions, unperceived by Sabina. The negress, 
 armed with a large white parasol, her face radiant 
 with smiles, was seated on the front seat with the 
 jockey. Lady G reclined listlessly on the back 
 
 seat of the britzska, and Leonce, placed respectfully 
 2 
 
26 TEVERINO. 
 
 opposite, silently regarded the country throngh 
 which they were flying with the speed of the wind. 
 
 It was the first time that Sabina had ventured 
 on so long and uninterrupted a t^te4-t^te with 
 Ldonce as this promised to be, and for a few mo- 
 ments, she was embarrassed. True, she had mere- 
 ly gone out to ride with L^once ; moreover, the 
 presence of the two young domestics, (who, by the 
 way, with their backs to the lady and gentleman, 
 were too well pleased with each other, to occupy 
 themselves with any one else) gave an air of pro- 
 priety to the adventure. Yet she felt that she was 
 too young for it to be viewed from the world's point 
 of view in any other light than that of an indis- 
 cretion. 
 
 But Ldonce seemed so little disposed to profit by 
 his good fortune, he was so serious, and so absorbed 
 by the splendors of the rising sun, just then gilding 
 the edge of the horizon, that she dared not show 
 any embarrassment ; on the contrary, she endea- 
 vored to conceal it, and appear as tranquil as he. 
 
 They followed a steep road, whence could be 
 seen the whole extent of the surrounding valley, 
 the course of the torrents, the summits of moun- 
 tains covered with eternal snow, beautifully tinted 
 by the rays of the rising sun, in hu§9 of purple and 
 gold. 
 
TEYERINO. 27 
 
 " Sublime !" said Sabina at last, in reply to an 
 exclamation from L^once. "But do you know, 
 apropos of the sun, that in spite of myself, I am at 
 this moment thinking of my husband." 
 
 " Apropos, indeed !" said L^once, " where is he ?" 
 
 " At the villa, asleep." 
 
 " Does he wake early V 
 
 " That depends on circumstances. Lord G 
 
 is more or less matutinal in his habits, according 
 to the quantity of wine he drinks at supper. And 
 how can I know anything about that, compelled 
 as I am to submit to that barbarous English cus- 
 tom, which seems to have been expressly invented 
 to prevent wives from moderating the intempe- 
 rance of their husbands." 
 
 "But what is his average hour?" 
 
 " Koon. We shall be at home before that, shall 
 we not?" 
 
 " I do not know, madam. That does not depend 
 on your will." 
 
 " Really, it is very agreeable to hear you joke 
 thus. It gratifies my thirst for the unknown. But 
 seriously, Ldonce ?" 
 
 " Yery seriously, Sabina. I don't know at what 
 hour you will return. You have authorized me to 
 regulate the employment of your day." 
 
 " Not at all. Of the morning only." 
 
28 TEVERINO. 
 
 " Pardon me. You have not limited the period 
 of our excursion ; and as regards my projects, I 
 shall only waive the right of invention when in- 
 spiration fails me. If you put a curb to my genius, 
 I will no longer be responsible for anything." 
 
 "That is to say?" 
 
 "I will abandon you to your mortal enemy, 
 ennui." 
 
 " What tyranny I But if by a strange chance, 
 Lord G should have been sober last night ?" 
 
 " Who were his companions at supper ? " 
 
 « Lord H , M. D , Sir I ; in short, 
 
 half a dozen of his dear fellow countrymen." 
 
 " In that case, give yourself no uneasiness. He 
 will sleep until night." 
 
 " But, if you should be deceived ?" 
 
 "Ah, Madam, if you already mistrust Provi- 
 dence ; that is to say, if you mistrust me, who 
 watch over your destiny to-day in the place of 
 Providence; if you have no faith, but look 
 behind and before, the present moment escapes 
 us, and with it all my power." 
 
 " You are right, L^once. I destroy my imagi- 
 nation by these memories of real life." 
 
 "First of all, he is not jealous of me." 
 
 " He is jealous of no one. But his sense of 
 propriety — his British prudery ! " 
 
TEVEEINO. 29 
 
 « What is the worst he will do ? " 
 
 " He will curse the day on which he took it 
 into his head to espouse a French woman, and for 
 three hours, at least, will occupy himself with 
 extolling the charms of the great English dolls. 
 He will murmur between his teeth that England 
 is the first nation in the universe — that our coun- 
 try is a lunatic asylum — that Lord Wellington is 
 superior to ITapoleon, and that the London docks 
 are better built than the palaces of Yenice." 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 "Pray is not that enough? To be compelled 
 to hear him say such things, without ridiculing or 
 contradicting him ? " 
 
 "And what is the consequence, if you break 
 this disdainful silence ? " 
 
 " He sups with Lord H , Sir I , and M. 
 
 D ; after which he sleeps twenty-four hours." 
 
 " Did you provoke him yesterday ? " 
 
 " Dreadfully. I told him that his English horse 
 was a stupid beast." 
 
 " Be easy then. He will sleep until this 
 evening." 
 
 " You answer for it ? " 
 
 " I order it." 
 
 "That is glorious! Huzza I May his soul 
 repose in peace, and may marriage weigh lightly 
 
30 TEVERINO. 
 
 on his slumbers. Do you know, L^once, that I 
 find it a fearful yoke, this marriage ? " 
 
 " Yes, some husbands beat their wives.*' 
 
 " That is nothing. Others kill them with 
 ennui." 
 
 "Is that, then, the cause of your spleen? I 
 think not, milady." 
 
 •" I beg you will not address me as milady. It 
 always makes me fancy myself an English 
 woman. It is bad enough to have them try to 
 persuade me when I am in England, that my hus- 
 band has denationalized me." 
 
 " But you do not reply to my question, 
 Sabina?" 
 
 "And what can I reply? Do I know the 
 cause of my unhappiness ? " 
 
 " Do you wish me to tell you ? " 
 
 " You have already told it to me a hundred 
 times — it is useless to renew the subject." 
 
 "Your pardon, madam. You regard me as a 
 skilful, admirable doctor — you have invested me 
 with the right to cure you, though the cure last 
 but for one day " 
 
 " Oh ! To cure me by amusing me — and what 
 you are going to say will, I know, weary me." 
 
 " Useless evasion of a modesty which a tender 
 
TEVERINO. 81 
 
 lover would doubtless find charming : your grave 
 doctor, however, thinks it superlatively childish." 
 
 " Well. If you are severe and brutal, I shall 
 like you better. Speak on, then." 
 
 " The absence of love exasperates you. Your 
 ennui is an impatience, not a disgust of life. 
 Your exaggerated pride betrays an incredible 
 weakness. You must love, Sabina." 
 
 ^' You speak of loving as you would speak of 
 drinking a glass of water. Is it my fault that no 
 one pleases me ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is your fault. Your mind has taken a 
 false turn — your temper has become soured — you 
 have pampered your self-love ; and, consequently, 
 you estimate yourself so high, that nobody seems 
 worthy of you. Yery rude in me to say these 
 things, is it not ? Do you prefer insipid compli- 
 ments?" 
 
 " On the contrary, I find you perfectly charm- 
 ing to-day," replied Lady G , with a laugh — 
 
 notwithstanding which, a faint flush of anger 
 passed over her beautiful countenance. " Permit 
 me, however, to offer a word in my own justifica- 
 tion, and then show me one human being who 
 blames me. I find all the men by whom I am 
 surrounded, either vain and stupid, or intellectual 
 and cold. I pity the former, I fear the latter." 
 
KS TEVERINO. 
 
 "You are not to blame. But why not seek 
 beyond the world ? " 
 
 " And can a woman seek ? For shame 1 " 
 
 " But she may sometimes travel, may encoun- 
 ter a friend unexpectedly, and then she must not 
 always fly away." 
 
 " No, we cannot go out of the world. The 
 world follows us everywhere, when we are in the 
 great world. And then, what is there beyond the 
 world? There are the bourgeoisie, vulgar and 
 insolent — the people, brutalized and filthy — artists, 
 ambitious and profoundly egotistical. All these 
 are no better than we, Leonce. Moreover, to be 
 entirely candid with you, I must confess that I 
 believe a little in the superiority of our patrician 
 blood. If all is not degenerated and corrupt in 
 the human race, it is there, only, we can hope to 
 find elevated types and refined natures. I do not 
 deny the possibility of transformations in the 
 future, but, up to the present time, I see the 
 stamp of vassalage on the foreheads of the 
 recently enfranchised. I neither hate nor despise, 
 still less do I fear this race, that comes, we are 
 told, to turn us out, and take our places. It may 
 be so. I acquiesce. I might have esteem, respect 
 and friendship for certain plebeians — but my love 
 is a delicate flower, that will not flourish in every 
 
TEVERINO. S3 
 
 Boil. I have the. nerves of a marchioness, and 
 cannot change or control them. The more I 
 incline to accept the idea of future equality, the 
 less do I feel myself capable of accepting that 
 which inequality has defiled in the past. That is 
 my theory, Leonce, and, certainly, you have no 
 right to preach to me. "Would you have me 
 become a * Sister of Charity ? ' I ask nothing bet- 
 ter than to overcome my fastidiousness, for the 
 very sake of charity ; but shall I seek the happi- 
 ness of my soul where I see no other prospect 
 than a life of penitence and sacrifice ? " 
 
 " I do not intend to preach to you, Sabina ; I am 
 neither better nor worse than you ; only I believe 
 that my instincts are warmer than yours, and that 
 I have a more ardent faith in the true dignity of 
 man, and this ardor was born in me the day on 
 which I found myself an artist. Since that day, 
 the human race has appeared to me, not divided 
 into castes, but disseminated over the earth, the 
 superior types by themselves. I believe that no 
 habit can have so great an influence over the soul, 
 can be so destructive of the Divine Power, as to be 
 able to brand forever the posterity of slaves. If 
 God pleases that the Fomarina should be beauti- 
 ful, and that Raphael should have genius, they love 
 
 each other, without demanding tke name of their 
 2* 
 
84 TEVERINO. 
 
 ancestors. Beauty of soul and body I Behold 
 there what is noble and respectable. The flower 
 of the eglantine is none the less fragrant and charm- 
 ing, because plucked from a brier." 
 
 " Yes, but in order to inhale its sweet perfume, 
 one must run the risk of being torn to pieces by 
 the savage bushes ; and then, L^once, you and I 
 cannot see the same ideal beauty. You are a man 
 and an artist ; that is to say, you have a perception 
 of form, at once more material and exalted than I. 
 Your art is materialistic. It is the divine Eaphael, 
 enamored of the robust Fornarina. "Well, yes I 
 Titian's mistress also appears to me as a beautiful, 
 gross, sensual woman, not in the least ideal. Now, 
 
 we patricians, we do not conceive But, good 
 
 heavens ! here comes an equipage, which looks 
 very much like that of the marchioness." 
 
 " And it is she herself with the young doctor." 
 
 " Look, L^once, there is a woman more easily 
 satisfied than I. We are about to surprise an in- 
 trigue. She represented herself as an invalid, and 
 behold her, riding out with — " 
 
 " With her physician, and you with yours, madam. 
 She amuses herself according to prescription." 
 
 " Yes, but you are only the physician of my 
 soul." 
 
 "You are cruel, Sabina. How do you know 
 
TEVERINO. 35 
 
 that this fine young man does not rather address 
 himself to her heart than to her senses ? And if 
 she should think as badly of you, would she not be 
 profoundly unjust ? For I, although tete4-tete with 
 you, neither address you heart nor — " 
 
 " Just heavens, L^once ! You make me think 
 of my own position. She is malicious, and has 
 great need to justify herself by the example of 
 others — we shall meet her — she possesses great as- 
 surance ; instead of concealing herself, she will ob- 
 serve us, will recognize me' — perhaps she has 
 already done so." 
 
 "1^0, Madam," replied L^once, "your veil is 
 down, and she is yet at some distance ; besides — 
 turn to the left, the road to St. Apollinaire !" call- 
 ing to the jockey, who acted as coachman, and 
 drove with great skill. 
 
 The britzska plunged immediately into a narrow- 
 road, where it was screened from observation, and 
 in a few moments, the caUohe of the marchioness 
 flew along on the highway. 
 
 " You see now, madam," said L^once, " that Pro- 
 vidence watches over you to-day, and that it is 
 incarnated in me. It is often necessary to travel 
 a long distance among these mountains, in order 
 to find a road fit for carriages, and here is one 
 
86 TEVERINO. 
 
 opened as if by miracle, at the moment your con- 
 venience makes it desirable." 
 
 " Really, this is so marvellous," smilingly replied 
 
 Lady G , " that I am compelled to attribute it 
 
 to a stroke of your magic wand. Oh I what a de- 
 licious enchantment! "What beautiful flowering 
 hedges I What rich foliage 1 And how astonish- 
 ing it is, that you should have thought of every 
 thing, even to supplying us with cool shade and 
 flowers, of which we were sadly in want on the 
 highway. These centennial chestnut trees, which 
 you have planted, are truly magnificent. There is 
 no disputing the fact, Ldonce, that you are a great 
 artist, and do your work thoroughly." 
 
 " It is very pleasant to hear you say these charm- 
 ing things, Sabina, but you are pale as death. 
 How dreadfully afraid you are of public opinion. 
 This adventure, and the consequent danger of sus- 
 picion, has filled your heart with terror. I never 
 should have suspected that a woman as strong and 
 as proud as you are, could be at the same time, so 
 timid." 
 
 " The world says that it is only in the country 
 that we learn to know each other. For the word 
 * country,' substitute tete-^tete, and you have the 
 idea. Thus, L^once, we shall reveal to each other 
 this morning, many imperfections as well as vir- 
 
TEVERINO. 87 
 
 tues, of which we have hitherto remained ignorant. 
 My timidity, for instance, is either a virtue or a 
 weakness. I don^t know which." 
 
 " It is a weakness." 
 
 " And you despise it ?" 
 
 " I shall censure it, perhaps. I shall find in it 
 an explanation of that extreme refinement of taste 
 and that habit of exquisite disdain, of which you 
 were just now speaking. You, perhaps, do not 
 know yourself so thoroughly as you imagine you 
 do. It is possible that you too often attribute to 
 the exaggerated delicacy of your aristocratic per^ 
 ception, what is in reality, only the fear of raillery 
 and censure from your equals." 
 
 "My equals are yours also, L^once; are you, 
 then, entirely indiflferent to the opinions of others? 
 Would you have me make a choice for which I 
 should be compelled to blush? That would be 
 singular." 
 
 " It would indeed be too singular, and I do not 
 dream of such a thing. But a more decided, cou- 
 rageous independence would be, I think, a most in- 
 valuable resource for you, and I see that you lack 
 it. There is no question here of choice, neither in 
 one sphere nor in another. I only say that in gen- 
 eral, whatever choice you may make, you will be 
 more occupied with the opinions of the world, than 
 
88 TEVERU^ro. 
 
 with the happiness you are personally to derive 
 from it." 
 
 " I do not believe it ; and now, Ldonce, you are 
 going beyond the limits of plain truth. This is 
 malicious teasing ; a system of ill-natured accusa- 
 tions." 
 
 " See now, we are beginning to quarrel,*' said 
 Ldonce. " All will go well, if I succeed in irritat- 
 ing you against me. I shall have at least dispelled 
 your ennui.'* 
 
 " If the marchioness could hear our conversation," 
 said Sabina, resuming her gaiety, " I think she 
 would scarcely find anything to carp at." 
 
 " But as she does not hear it, and as it is possi- 
 ble we may meet other parties, it is best perhaps 
 to break our t6te-a-t^te, and surround ourselves 
 with some travelling companions." 
 
 "And is it your turn to be out of humor, L^once ?" 
 
 " By no means ; but it is a part of my plan that 
 you should be provided with a chaperon more re- 
 spectable than I. Here he is coming to meet me. 
 Destiny or my magic power leads him hither." 
 
 Obedient to a sign from his master, the jockey 
 checked his horses. Ldonce leaped lightly to the 
 ground, and ran forward to meet the Cur^ of St. 
 ApoUinaire, who, with a breviary in his hand, was 
 slowly approacing the entrance of the village. 
 
1» > 
 
 TEVERUSrO. 89 
 
 n. 
 
 HAPPEN WHAT "WTLL. 
 
 " MoNSiETjR Le Cuee," Said L^once, " I sincerely 
 regret the necessity which compels me to break in 
 upon your studies, knowing full well as I do, that 
 when a priest is interrupted in reading his brevi- 
 ary, he is obliged to begin it again, even though 
 he were at the last page. I observe, however, that 
 you are fortunately only at the second, and as the 
 motive which leads me to you, is of great urgency, 
 I trust your charitable heart will kindly excuse the 
 indiscretion." 
 
 The Cur^ sighed, closed his breviary, took off his 
 spectacles, and, turning uponLeonce a pair of large 
 blue eyes, not devoid of intelligence — " To whom 
 have I the honor of speaking ?" said he. 
 
 "To an honorable and sincere young man," 
 gravely replied Lionel, " who comes to submit to 
 your judgment, a very delicate question. This 
 morning, I very innocently persuaded the young 
 lady whom you perceive in the open carriage, just 
 
40 TfiVERINO. 
 
 below there, to ride out witli me among your beau- 
 tiful mountains. We are both strangers to the 
 usages of the country; our sentiments for each 
 other are those of a fraternal friendship ; the lady 
 merits all consideration and respect ; but a scruple 
 concerning the propriety of her situation has en- 
 tered her head on the road hither, and I deem it 
 my duty to acquiesce. She says that her driving 
 about the country, alone with a young man, may 
 possibly excite the curiosity of its inhabitants, and 
 the fear of being the cause of scandal, has become 
 BO strong in her mind, as to make me regard the 
 happy accident of meeting you, in the light of a 
 Providential occurrence. I have therefore decided 
 to solicit the favor of your society, while we pro- 
 long our ride for an hour or two, or at least, while 
 I reconduct her to her residence. You are so good, 
 that you would not certainly deprive an amiable 
 lady of a pleasure truly edifying, for the soul never 
 more earnestly glorifies the Eternal, than when 
 contemplating his work, beautiful nature." 
 
 " But sir," said the Curd, evincing a little distrust, 
 and attentively regarding the carriage, ** you are 
 not alone ; you have two other persons with you." 
 
 " These are domestics, whom an instinctive sen- 
 timent of propriety induced us to bring along." 
 
 " Well, then, I see no reason why you should 
 
3 ;^' 
 
 TEVERINO. 41 
 
 fear slanderous tougues. One is not apt to behave 
 very improperly before domestics." 
 
 " The presence of domestics counts for nothing 
 in the eyes of the world." 
 
 " That shows too much contempt for those who 
 are our brothers." 
 
 " You speak justly, Monsieur Cur^, and I am of 
 your opinion. But you will agree with me, that, 
 placed as they are upon the front seat of the car- 
 riage, I might easily hold too tender a conversation 
 with this lady, might kiss her hand by stealth — " 
 
 The Cur^ gave a start as though he were shocked, 
 but this was merely for form's sake. His counte- 
 nance betrayed no emotion whatever. He had 
 passed the age in which burning thoughts torment 
 the priest. Or, very possibly, he had never carried 
 his abstemiousness to the point of hating life and 
 condemning happiness. L^once was amused to see 
 how puerile and frivolous his pretended scruples 
 appeared to the good man. 
 
 " If that is all," resumed the Cur^, you can place 
 the negress in the carriage between you and milady. 
 Her presence will surely put to flight the demon 
 of scandal." 
 
 " Such an arrangement is not according to cus- 
 tom," said the young man, embarrassed by the 
 judgment of the old priest. "It would appear 
 
42 TEVERINO. 
 
 affected. The malicious would say the danger 
 must be great indeed, since they are forced to put 
 an ugly negress between them. Now, in place of 
 this, the presence of a priest sanctifies everything. 
 A worthy pastor like you is the natural friend of 
 the faithful, and everybody must easily compre- 
 hend why we should seek your society." 
 
 " You are very kind, my dear sir, and I should 
 ask nothing better than to oblige you," replied the 
 Cur^, upon whose unsuspicious nature flattery was 
 gradually producing its effect. " But I have not 
 yet offered mass, and the bell is just ringing. 
 Wait twenty minutes, or rather, come and attend 
 mass with me. It is not obligatory upon you 
 during the week, but it can do you no harm : 
 afterwards, permit me to take my breakfast, and 
 then I will be at your service." 
 
 " We will attend mass," replied Ldonce ; " but 
 immediately after it is finished, we propose to 
 carry you off to breakfast with us in the woods." 
 
 "Then you will get a very poor breakfast," 
 hastily observed the Cur^ — to whom this proposi- 
 tion appeared of more serious consequence than 
 any before made. " You will find nothing to 
 tempt the appetite in this country, which is as 
 poor as it is picturesque." 
 
 " We have some substantial provisions and 
 
TEVERINO. 48 
 
 excellent wine in the carriage box,"' returned 
 L^once. " We had made an appointment with 
 several friends for a pic-nic excursion to-day, and 
 each one was to contribute a portion of the feast. 
 All, however, have failed in their engagement but 
 I ; and, therefore, I find myself sufficiently well 
 provided with food for our small party." 
 
 "Very good," said the Curd, quite decided. "I 
 see the prospect of a pleasant excursion, and that 
 if I do not join your party you will be troubled 
 and embarrassed by this dangerous tete-a-tete. I 
 do not wish to mar the anticipated pleasure, and 
 will, therefore, go with you, provided it is not too 
 far ; for I have a great deal of business to occupy 
 me at home, and cannot spare much time. It 
 pleases one to be born and another to die ; and 
 every day these duties are to be done over again. 
 Now then, go and inform your lady, while I pro- 
 ceed to the church." 
 
 " Oh ! here you come at last ! " exclaimed 
 Sabina — who, while waiting the return of Ldonce, 
 had taken a book from the pocket of the carriage, 
 entitled " Wilhelm Meister^^ — "I thought you 
 had forgotten me, and I was consoling myself 
 with this delightful story." 
 
 " It was brought expressly for you," said Ldonce. 
 
4A TEVERINO. 
 
 «I knew you had not yet read it, and it is just 
 
 the sort of reading to interest you for the time." 
 
 "Your attentions are really charming. But 
 what are we to do now ?" 
 
 " We are going to mass." 
 
 " What a strange idea I Is it in looking after the 
 salvation of my soul that you expect to amuse me ?" 
 
 " You are prohibited from scrutinizing my 
 thoughts or divining my intentions. From the 
 moment you are able to divine all that is passing 
 in my brain, in reference to your at present 
 unknown future, my power will cease, and I shall 
 not be able to finish what I have undertaken." 
 
 " That is true. Let us go to mass, then. But 
 what are you going to do with this Curd ? " 
 
 " What ! more questions — when you know that 
 the oracle should be dumb ? " 
 
 " Your oddities begin to interest me. And 
 am I not to be permitted even to try to com- 
 prehend ?" 
 
 " Certainly you are. I run no risk of being 
 found out." 
 
 The britzska traversed the hamlet, and stopped 
 before the rustic church. Ordinarily, the celebra- 
 tion of mass, on week days, was very thinly 
 attended, but this morning the church was filled 
 with women and children, attracted thither by 
 
TEVERINO. 45 
 
 the presence of the two noble travellers. The 
 greater number, however, soon came out again 
 under the porch, to admire the horses, touch the 
 carriage, and particularly to look at the negress, 
 whom they regarded with a mixture of astonish- 
 ment, terror, and contempt. 
 
 The sacristan conducted Sabina and L^once to 
 the seat of honor, which, by the way, they were 
 not long compelled to occupy ; for the keen and 
 invigorating air of the mountains had so stimu- 
 lated the Curd's appetite as to cause him to make 
 unusual haste in the discharge of his duty. 
 
 Lady G picked up a respectable looking 
 
 missal from the midst of a number of old books 
 of devotion scattered over the prie-Bieu. She 
 appeared wholly intent on the service, but Leonce 
 presently observed that she held Wilhelm Meister^ 
 concealed beneath her shawl, and that she gradu- 
 ally shpped it over the missal before her, and was 
 entirely absorbed in reading it, during the whole 
 of the confitem\ 
 
 Kneeling at her side, he whispered in her ear, 
 " I would pledge my word that this simple pastor 
 and these good people are greatly edified by your 
 piety, Sabina ! But it is very evident to me, that 
 you respect only the externals of a religion in 
 which you no longer believe." 
 
46 TEVERINO. 
 
 She replied only by pointing with her finger to 
 the word pedant^ which is often made use of in 
 Wilhelm Meister^ in reference to one of the mem- 
 bers of a troop of vagabonds. 
 
 "You know perfectly well that I am not a 
 bigot," said she, resuming the conversation, as 
 after the conclusion of the service they strolled 
 leisurely down the nave, on the sides of which, 
 were a number of small chapels. " I have the 
 religion of my time." 
 
 " That is to say, you have none at all." 
 
 " On the contrary, I think that no epoch has 
 been more religious than this, if viewed in refer- 
 ence to the vast amount of lofty intellect struggling 
 with the Past, and aspiring towards the Future. 
 But the Present can shelter itself under no temple. 
 Why have you made me enter this ?" 
 
 " Do you not attend mass every Sunday?" 
 
 " That is merely in obedience to the conventional 
 laws of society ; and I have no ambition to be 
 thought a latitudinarian. Sunday is a day of re- 
 ligious obligation, sanctioned by the world gene- 
 rally." 
 
 " Alas ! you are a hypocrite." 
 
 " In religion ! Not at all. I conceal from none 
 that I obey only a custom." 
 
 " You make to yourself, then, a god of this pro- 
 
TEVERINO. 47 
 
 fane world, and him you find it. easier to worship, 
 than the God of the universe." 
 
 ^' Leonce, could jou be a bigot?" said she, look- 
 ing at him earnestly. 
 
 " I am an artist," replied he. " I everywhere feel 
 the presence of God, even while surrounded by 
 these rude images, relics of the Middle Ages, which 
 give to this place the air of some barbarous pa- 
 goda." 
 
 " You are more impious than I. These fright- 
 ful fetiches, these exvoto cynics fill me with terror." 
 
 " I see. The Past is your fear. It spoils your 
 Present. Oh ! why can you not comprehend the 
 Future ? You would then be in the ideal." 
 
 " Stay, Artist, look there !" exclaimed Sabina, 
 calling his attention to a figure kneeling upon the 
 pavement, in the gloomy darkness of a funereal 
 chapel. 
 
 It was a young girl, almost a child, poorly, but 
 neatly dressed. She was not handsome, but her 
 countenance was touchingly expressive, and her 
 attitude betokened a singular nobility of soul. A 
 ray of sun, streaming into the damp cave she had 
 selected for her devotions, fell upon her dewy neck 
 and upon a magnificent tress of pale blond, almost 
 white hair, which was gathered up by a band of 
 scarlet velvet, embroidered with tarnished gold, 
 
48 TEVERINO. 
 
 and trimmed with black lace, after the fashion of 
 the country. Her skin was dark, notwithstanding 
 the pale tint of her hair, and her soft, blue eye was 
 rendered almost dazzlingly brilliant, by the long 
 and heavy golden lashes, edged with silver. Her 
 profile was rather too short, but its curves indicated 
 an extraordinary degree of energy and shrewdness. 
 
 " Come, Leonce. Pray do not entirely lose your- 
 felf in admiration," said Sabina to her companion 
 who remained as if petrified, before the young 
 villager. " It is I alone who am to occupy your 
 thoughts to-day. If any thing takes your attention 
 from me, then I am lost. My enemy, ennui, will 
 resume his sway." 
 
 " I think only of you while looking at her. Look 
 at her also, I entreat you. You should be able to 
 understand that?" 
 
 " That ? That is blind and stupid faith. It is 
 the past which yet lives. It is the people. It may 
 be curious for the artist, but I am a poet, and I 
 require something more than what is merely 
 strange ; I seek the beautiful. This little creature 
 is ugly." 
 
 " That is because you know nothing about it. 
 She is beautiful acording to the rare type to which 
 she belongs." 
 
 « Type of Albinos." 
 
TEVEEINO. 49 
 
 "No! It is the coloring of Eubens with the 
 austere expj-ession of the virgins of the Lower Em- 
 pire. And the attitude !" 
 
 " Is as stiff as the drawings of the Old Masters. 
 Do you like that?" 
 
 " It has a grace of its own, because it is naive 
 and unpremeditated. The position of Canova's 
 Madeleine is studied, and all the virgins of the Re- 
 naissance know that they are beautiful. The pri- 
 mitive models are all of one cast, of one piece ; it 
 might be said of one growth, like the thought which 
 gave them birth." 
 
 " And which petriJBes them. Stay, she has fin- 
 ished her prayer ; speak to her. You will find out 
 that she is stupid, although her countenance is so 
 expressive." 
 
 " My child," said L^once, addressing the young 
 girl, " you seem to be very pious. Is there any 
 particular kind of devotion attached to this cha- 
 pel?" 
 
 " Ko, sir," replied the young girl, with a low 
 reverence. " I come here to pray in order to con- 
 ceal myself from the Cur^." 
 
 " And why should you fear the observation of 
 the Cur^ ?" demanded Lady G . 
 
 " I am afraid he will drive me away," answered 
 
 the mountaineer. " He does not wish me to come 
 3 
 
50 TEVERINO. 
 
 into the church anj more, because he says I am in 
 a state of mortal sin." 
 
 She made this response with so much self-pos- 
 session, and with an air so ingenuous and decided, 
 that Sabina could not help laughing. 
 
 " And is that true ?" she asked. 
 ■ " I think the Cur^ is mistaken, and that God 
 sees more clearly into my heart than he can," re- 
 plied the young girl. 
 
 Hereupon, she made another low reverence, and 
 ran away, for the Cur^ having finished disrobing 
 himself of his priestly garments, appeared at the 
 end of the nave. 
 
 Interrogated by our two travellers, the Cur^ cast 
 a glance upon the flying sinner, shrugged his shoul- 
 ders, and said in an angry tone, " Pay no attention 
 to that miserable creature, she is a lost soul." 
 
 " That is very strange," said Sabina. " One 
 would not believe it from looking at her face." 
 
 " Kow, sir," said the Cur^, " I am at your orders." 
 
 They resumed their places in the carriage. After 
 a few words of general conversation, the Cur^ de- 
 manded permission to read his breviary, and soon 
 became so absorbed in this devotion, that L^once 
 and Sabina were, once more, as it were, tete-a-tete. 
 The old gentleman not appearing to understand 
 English, they carried on tlieir conversation in that 
 
TEVERINO. 51 
 
 language, in order not to distract Ms attention from 
 his book. 
 
 " This intolerant priest, the slave of his pater- 
 nosters, does not promise to afford us much plea- 
 sure," said Sabina. " I suspect you have recruited 
 him as a punishment for the ill-nature I displayed 
 on meeting the Marchioness." 
 
 " Perhaps my motive was more serious," replied 
 Ldonce. " Do you not guess it?" 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 " I have no objection to tell it ; but on condition 
 that you listen to me very seriously." 
 
 " You make me uneasy." 
 
 *' That is already something gained. You must 
 know, then, that 1 have added this third person to 
 our party, from a motive of self-preservation." 
 
 " Preservation from what, may it please you V* 
 
 " From the danger concealed in all conversations 
 between young people founded on love." 
 
 " Speak for yourself, Leonce. As far as I am 
 concerned. I am not conscious of any danger. 
 You promised that ennui should not come near 
 me to-day ; I relied on your word, and was tran- 
 quil." 
 
 " You are jesting. That is too weak. You pro- 
 mised me to be serious." 
 
52 TEVERINO. 
 
 " Come, then, I am very grave, grave as this 
 Cur^. "What would you say ?" 
 
 " That, alone with you, I am in danger of expe- 
 riencing emotions which might deprive me of that 
 calmness on which depends my power over you 
 to-day. My office is to magnetize, and allay your 
 habitual irritation. Now, you know that the first 
 condition of magnetic power is an absolute phlegm ; 
 it is an application of the will to the idea of imma- 
 terial domination. It demands the absence of all 
 emotion foreign to the mysterions influence. I 
 might allow myself to be disturbed and affected 
 by the glance of your eye, by the sound of your 
 voice, or, in one word, by your magnetic fluid, and 
 then, our parts would have become inverted." 
 
 " Is this a declaration, Ldonce ?" said Sabina, 
 with ironical hauteur. 
 
 "E"o, madam; just the contrary," he replied 
 very quietly. 
 
 "An impertinence, perhaps?" 
 
 " By no means. I have been your friend a long 
 time, and a true friend, as you very well know, 
 although you are a strange, and sometimes, an 
 unjust woman. We have been intimate from 
 childhood ; our affection has always been loyal and 
 tender. You have cultivated it with frankness, I, 
 with devotion. Yery few men are as much my 
 
TEVERINO. 63 
 
 friends as you are, and the society of none of them 
 attracts me so strongly as yom's; yet you some 
 times cause me an indescribable suffering. This 
 is not the moment to seek its cause ; that is an in- 
 ternal problem, which as yet I have not tried to 
 solve. One thing, however, is certain, that I am 
 not in love with you now, and never have been. 
 Without entering into explanations, which, after 
 this declaration, might, perhaps, be rather too 
 plain, I think that you now imderstand why I have 
 not chosen to run the danger of being moved by 
 so beautiful a woman as you, and why the rotund 
 and peaceful countenance before us was necessary 
 to prevent my regarding you with too tender an 
 admiration." 
 
 " That is enough, L^once," replied Sabina, affect- 
 ing to arrange her ruffles, in order to conceal the 
 blushes which mantled her cheeks. " It is even 
 too much. There is something in your thoughts 
 humiliating to me." 
 
 " I defy you to prove it." 
 
 " I shall not make the attempt. Your conscience 
 should accuse you." 
 
 " ISTot at all. I cannot give you a stronger evi- 
 dence of my respect, than by driving love from 
 my thoughts." 
 
 " Love, indeed ! It is very far from your heart. 
 
54 TEVERINO. 
 
 That you believe you have reason to fear it, flatters 
 me but little. I am not an old coquette, to pride 
 myself on such triumphs." 
 
 " Nevertheless, if it were love, love of the heart 
 as you understand it, you would be still more irri- 
 tated." 
 
 " Afflicted, perhaps, because I could not respond 
 to it, but much less irritated than I am now, by 
 the avowal of- your indescribable suffering." 
 
 " Be frank, my friend, you would not even be 
 afflicted. You would laugh at it, that is all." 
 
 " Do you accuse me of coquetry ? You have no 
 right. And how can you know any thing about 
 it, since you have not loved me, and you have 
 never seen me in love with any one ?" 
 
 " Listen, Sabina. I have certainly never tried 
 to please you. So many others have been foiled in 
 tl^e attempt. Do I even know if any man has ever 
 succeeded in winning your love? I remember, 
 however, that one day, when you were unusually 
 sad and communicative, you acknowledged to have 
 felt the power of the wily god, but I am not sure 
 that your enthusiasm did not deceive you. If I 
 had shown to you that I am capable of loving 
 ardently, you might have admitted that I merited 
 something more than your friendship merely. But 
 to have made you comprehend that, it would have 
 
TEVERINO. 65 
 
 been necessary for me to love you thus, whicli I 
 did not, or to feign it, and to intoxicate myself 
 with my own asseverations. That would have been, 
 unworthy of the nobility of my attachment for 
 you, and I cannot stoop "to such artifices ; or, worse 
 yet, I should have been obliged to reveal to you 
 the secrets of my life, to paint my true character, 
 in one word, to sound my own trumpet of self- 
 praise. And then, not to be understood — to be 
 laughed at ! Just punishment of a childish vanity ! 
 Far be it from me to suffer disgrace like that !" 
 
 " From what are you vindicating yourself, 
 Leonce ? Do I complain that you give me only 
 your friendship ? Have I ever asked for anything 
 more ? " 
 
 " 'No ; but because I watch myself so scrupulously, 
 you might very naturally think me a brute, if you 
 did not understand my motives." 
 
 " Of what use is it to watch yourself so closely, 
 since there is nothing to fear. Love is spontane- 
 ous. It surprises and invades ; it never reasons ; 
 it has no need to interrogate itself, to surround 
 itself with defences, plans of attack and projects 
 of retreat. It betrays itself, and then only is it 
 restrained." 
 
 " A good lesson," thought Leonce, " and it is 
 she who gives it to me." He felt the necessity of 
 
66 TEYERINO. 
 
 concealing his annoyance, and taking Lady G — 'b 
 hand^ and pressing it affectionately, he said to 
 her- — "You see, dear Sabina, that love between 
 you and me is entirely out of the question. There 
 is nothing of the new or mysterious in our hearts 
 for each other. We know each other too well ; 
 we are like brother and sister." 
 
 "You utter a falsehood and a blasphemy," 
 replied the proud lady, withdrawing her hand. 
 "Brothers and sisters never know each other, 
 since the most vital and profound emotions of their 
 souls are never in contact, and never revealed to 
 each other. Above all, do not say that you and I 
 know each other too well. I assert, on the con- 
 trary, that you do not comprehend me at all, and 
 never will. Therefore, all the rude and disagree- 
 able things you have said to me this morning, 
 instead of exciting my anger only cause me to 
 smile. Even more, I prefer likewise not to com- 
 prehend you any better. If you would preserve 
 your * magnetic fluid,' leave me to believe that 
 there are in your heart treasures of passion and 
 tenderness, of which our peaceful friendship is only 
 the shadow." 
 
 " And if you believed it, you would love me, 
 Sabina ! I am very certain, then, that you do not^- 
 believe it." 
 
TEVERINO. M 
 
 " I may say as much as that. But must, then, 
 the condusion inevitably follow, that, being only 
 friends, we cannot have a high opinion of each 
 other?" 
 
 " She is piqued," thought L6once, " and now 
 we are at the point of hating or loving." 
 
 " In my opinion," said the Curd, closing his bre- 
 viary, "we had better now break our fast, if 
 agreeable to Madam and Monsieur." 
 
 " I agree with you," replied Ldonce, " and all the 
 more readily, that there is a few steps from here a 
 plateau of rocks, with plenty of shade, where we 
 may obtain a charming view." 
 
 " What, above there ? " cried the Curd, who was 
 somewhat inclined to corpulency. " Would you 
 climb up the Idoche Vert? We shall be alto- 
 gether more comfortable in this thicket of firs, 
 just on the edge of the road." 
 
 " But we shall have no view," said Lady G , 
 
 playfully passing her arm within that of the old 
 priest. " And can we get along without a view 
 of these beautiful mountains ?" 
 
 " I think we can very well, while eating," re- 
 plied the Cure — submitting, however, meekly to 
 her guidance. 
 
 The jockey conducted the britzska into the 
 
 shady thicket, and in a few moments numerous 
 3* 
 
68 TEVERINO. 
 
 servitors presented themselves, to assist in feeding 
 the horses and driving away the flies. These 
 were the little herdsmen, ^yho, stationed at various 
 points among the mountains, had, in the twink- 
 ling of an eye, surrounded our travellers, like a 
 flight of curious and hungry birds. One took the 
 cushions of the carriage, and placed tliem on the 
 rocks, as seats for the guests ; another charged 
 himself with the game pies; a third, with the 
 wines : each striving to be useful in his own way, 
 either by carrying or breaking something. The 
 " dejeuner chamjpetre " was quickly installed on the 
 Roche Vert, and the Curd, seeing how splendid and 
 substantial it was, wiped his forehead, while his 
 almost breathless body gave utterance to a sigh of 
 rejoicing. Everybody partook of the repast, inclu- 
 ding the domestics and the little ragged pages, for 
 there was an ample supply. Ldonce had not done 
 things by halves. One might have thought that 
 he had foreseen for what an enormous priestly 
 stomach he should- be called upon to provide. 
 Sabina was very merry and cheerful, and admit- 
 ted, that for a long time her appetite had not 
 been so good as at the present moment. Ldonce, 
 having at last served every one else, was just pre- 
 paring to help himself, when the children, seated 
 in a group near by, all at once began to make a 
 
TEVEEINO. 59 
 
 great commotion, to leap up, to motion with 
 their arms, as if beckoning to some one in the 
 ravine, and to cry — '^ The bird-tamer ! The bird- 
 tamer ! " 
 
 m. 
 
 ENLEVONS HEKMIONE. 
 
 " Hold your tongues, senseless brood," said the 
 Cur(5. "Don't call that foolish girl this way. 
 We want nothing to do with her jugglery." 
 
 The children, however, paid no attention to his 
 commands, but continued to call and gesticulate ; 
 whereupon Sabina, stooping down and looking 
 over the edge of the rock, saw a most extraordi- 
 nary spectacle. A young mountaineer was climb- 
 ing the steep bank leading to the Roche Vert — 
 and this child moved, literally, through a dense 
 cloud of birds, who fluttered around her — some 
 pecking at her hair, some planting themselves on 
 her shoulders, and others, very young ones, hop- 
 ping along at her feet, in the sand. All seemed 
 to dispute the pleasure of touching or the advan- 
 tage of imploring her, and filled the air with their 
 cries of joy and impatience. When the yoimg 
 
60 TEVERINO. 
 
 girl was near enough to be distinguished through 
 her whirling crowd of attendants, Ldonce and 
 Sabina recognized the blonde, with vermillion 
 cheeks and golden hair, whom they had seen in 
 the church, an hour previous. 
 
 At this moment, the Curd, also leaning over the 
 Bide of the rock which commanded a view of the 
 ravine, began gesticulating to her most vehe- 
 mently his displeasure at her presence, and his 
 positive orders that she should instantly leave the 
 spot. The priest's large full face produced upon 
 her an effect like that of the head of Medusa. 
 She remained transfixed and motionless, while the 
 birds, alarmed at the abrupt halt, flew off to the 
 neighboring trees for refuge. 
 
 The entreaties, however of Lady G , and 
 
 perhaps the sight of his glass filled with excellent 
 Grecian wine, she had just poured out for him, 
 calmed the ire of the holy man, and he at last con- 
 sented to call back the child. 
 
 "Here, now, come perform your pasquinades 
 before the lady and gentleman, vagabond that 
 you are." 
 
 The young girl held concealed in her hand a 
 quantity of grain, which at these words she threw 
 behind her as far as possible, and so skilfully, that 
 it appeared as if she were only making an impera- 
 
TEVKEINO. 
 
 ^ 
 
 tive gesture to the little birds, who were again 
 beginning to surround her. They immediately 
 alighted in the thicket which she pretended to 
 point out to them, and there remained, apparently 
 in obedience to her commands, but, in reality, 
 occupied in picking up the grain scattered on the 
 ground. The other children were not duped by 
 this manoeuvre, but Sabina experienced that plea- 
 sure in its fullest extent. 
 
 " Well, indeed I Yery well done, my hardened 
 little sinner," said L^once, extending his hand to 
 the mountaineer, to aid her in reaching the pla- 
 teau, which was particularly steep and difficult of 
 access on this side. But his assistance was not 
 required, for she bounded up the rock like a 
 young chamois, and placing both hands on her 
 forehead, asked permission to work. 
 
 " Let us see. Let us see quickly, idle child," 
 said the Cure, " what it is you are pleased to call 
 your work." 
 
 Availing herself of the permission thus ungra- 
 ciously accorded, she turned to the children, and 
 requested them to keep their dogs close at their 
 side, and also to remain perfectly quiet them- 
 selves. She then took from her shoulders a small 
 red, woollen mantle, and climbing a neighboring 
 rock, higher than the " Roche Yert^'^ she waved 
 
62 TEVERINO. 
 
 it like a flag in the air above her head. At the 
 same instant, a throng of birds of every species — • 
 sparrows, fauvets, linnets, bullfinches, black-birds, 
 ring-doves, and even swallows, with forked tails 
 and large black wings, flew out from all the sur- 
 rounding bushes, precipitating themselves upon 
 her. She played with them a few minutes, repul- 
 sed them, gesticulated to them, shook the mantle 
 as if to frighten them, caught some flying and 
 threw them back again into the air — all without 
 succeeding in disgusting them with their amorous 
 pursuit. Then, when she had shown to what 
 extent she was the adored and absolute sovereign 
 of this ffee people, she covered her head with the 
 mantle, threw herself upon the ground, and pre- 
 tended to be asleep. Whereupon, these little 
 winged creatures instantly alighted on her body, 
 each struggling for a hiding place in the plaits of 
 her garments, and appearing as if magnetized by 
 her slumber. Finally, she rose, repeated her 
 stratagem, and, with the aid of more grain, sent 
 them back to the bushes, where they disappeared, 
 and ceased their chattering. 
 
 The whole pantomime was at once so graceful 
 and poetic, her power over the inhabitants of the 
 air seemed so truly marvellous, as to cause our 
 travellers unmitigated sensations of delight at tho 
 
TEVERINO. 68 
 
 little scene. The negress had no hesitation in 
 attributing it to enchantment, and even the Cur^ 
 himself could not help smiling at the charming 
 tricks of the pupils, although he forebore to 
 applaud their instructress. 
 
 " She is really a little fairy," said Sabina, draw- 
 ing the bird-tamer towards her ; " and I acknow- 
 ledge, L^once, that I am reconciled to her amber 
 eye-lashes. Mignon had done her injustice in my 
 imagination. I should have preferred her as a 
 brunette and playing the guitar, but now I accept 
 this rustic and blonde Mignon^ and I like this 
 magic scene as well as the ^' Egg Danced Tell 
 me first, dear child, what is your name ? " 
 
 " I am called Madeleine Mel^ze." said the bird- 
 tamer, " at your ladyship's service." 
 
 " "What beautiful names I and in harmony with 
 yourself. Come, take a seat here by me, and 
 breakfast with us ; provided, however, that your 
 subjects, the birds, do not appear, like the plagues 
 of Egypt, and devour our repast." 
 
 " Oh ! have no fear, Madam. My children 
 never approach me when other people are near." 
 
 "In that case," said the Cur^, in a tone of 
 rebuke, " if you wish to retain this foolish busi- 
 ness, by which you get your living, I advise you 
 not to be so often accompanied in your walks by 
 
64 ' TEVERINO. 
 
 the vagabonds whom you meet ; for you will soon 
 discover, that, although their presence is respected 
 by these birds of passage, the birds of the country 
 will no longer know you, Madeleine." 
 
 "But M. le Cur^, you have been deceived," 
 replied the bird-tamer. " I have never had but 
 one companion in my rambles, and that is only 
 lately ; we two are always alone, never have any 
 one else with us, and whoever has told you the 
 contrary, has told you a falsehood." 
 
 The serious air with which she accompanied 
 this response, amused L^once, but excited the 
 Cure's anger. 
 
 " See there, what a beautiful reply to make !" 
 said he. " Was there ever a more brazen-faced 
 sinner than this little girl !" 
 
 " It seems to me that you do not understand 
 the child," said Sabina to the Cur^: "Her sur- 
 prise and boldness are the effect of a candor and 
 serenity of soul, whose harmony your evil thoughts 
 may disturb. Permit me to tell you, my dear 
 Cur^, that, good as your intentions doubtless are, 
 you are nevertheless doing all in your power to 
 deprive her of the innocence and purity of her 
 mind." 
 
 " And is it you. Madam, who thus speak?" 
 replied the Cur^, in a low tone. "You, who, 
 
TEVERINO. 65 
 
 from motives of prudence and virtue, objected to 
 a tete4-tete drive with this noble gentleman, not- 
 withstanding the propriety of his conduct and the 
 presence of your domestics ?" 
 
 Sabina regarded the Cur^ with astonishment; 
 then darting upon L^once a glance full of reproach 
 and derision, she added, in a spirit of noble self- 
 renunciation : 
 
 " If you thus interpret the motive which led us 
 to seek your society, M. le Cur^, you should find 
 in it the confirmation of my opinion regarding 
 this child : it is, that her thoughts are more pure 
 than ours." 
 
 " Pure as you will. Madam," resumed the Cur^, 
 whom Sabina had already mentally surnamed the 
 Growler^ occupied as she was in tracing resem- 
 blances between her companions in the adven- 
 tures of the morning, and the characters in Wil- 
 helm Meister — " but let me tell you, that with 
 girls of her condition, living as they do, a life of 
 hazard and unrestraint, the excess of innocence is 
 the worst of dangers. The first comer abuses it ; 
 and this will be the case with her, if she is not 
 already a victim." 
 
 " Ah I If it were so, she would be confused at 
 your suspicions, whereas she is only frightened at 
 your menaces. You priests, learned as you are, 
 
99 TEVERINO. 
 
 yet know nothing of the nature of woman. You 
 pitilessly wound her youthful modesty." 
 
 " I maintain," interrupted the Cur^, " that what 
 is true for people of your class, is not applicable 
 to the lower orders of society. The modesty of 
 such children as Madeleine is no more nor less 
 than stupidity and thoughtlessness. They do 
 wrong without knowing what it is they do." 
 
 " In that case, perhaps it is not wrong for them, 
 and I can verily believe that God will not hold 
 them guilty !" 
 
 " That is heresy, Madam." 
 
 "As you will, M. le Cur^. If you wish to 
 argue the question, I have no objection. I am 
 well convinced, however, that you are better than 
 you would appear ; and that, at the bottom of 
 your heart, you don't dislike my morality." 
 
 " Well. Yes. We will argue the question -after 
 breakfast," answered the Cur^. 
 
 " Meantime," said Sabina, gracefully filling his 
 glass, and bestowing upon him one of her sweet- 
 est glances, the malice of which he did not com- 
 prehend, " you are going to accord me a favor, 
 are you not, my dear Cur^ ?" 
 
 " How can I refuse you anything?" he replied, 
 carrying the glass to his lips, and swallowing the 
 
TEVEKINO. 67 
 
 bumper of Cyprus wine — " especially if it be a 
 reasonable and Christian demand." 
 
 " You are to make a conditional peace with the 
 
 bird-tamer," resumed Lady G . " I take her 
 
 under my protection; you must not put her to 
 flight, nor speak harshly to her ; you will leave 
 to me the care of gently confessing her; and then, 
 after hearing the account I shall render to you 
 concerning her, you are at liberty to be indulgent 
 or severe, according to th^ merits of the case." 
 
 " Granted !" exclaimed the Cure, becoming 
 amiable and yielding, in proportion as he satisfied 
 his robust appetite. " See here, now," said he, 
 addressing Madeleine, who was talking with 
 L^once, " I pardon you for to-day, and will allow 
 you to come to confession to-morrow, on condition 
 that from this moment you submit yourself to all 
 the commands of this noble and virtuous lady, 
 who has kindly interested herself in your behalf, 
 and wishes to assist you in forsaking your paths 
 of sin." 
 
 The word sin produced on Madeleine, the same 
 effect of astonishment and doubt as at first ; but 
 convinced of the friendly disposition of her pas- 
 tor, and particularly of the interest evinced for 
 her by the noble lady, she made a reverence to 
 the one, and kissed the hand of the other. 
 
ii TEVERINO. 
 
 Interrogated by L^once, respecting the means 
 she employed to gain the love and obedience of 
 her birds, she refused to explain them to him, 
 and pretended that she was possessed of a great 
 secret. 
 
 " Come, Madeleine, this is not right," said the 
 Cur^. "If you would have me pardon every- 
 thing, you must begin by divorcing yourself from 
 falsehood. To seek to keep alive superstition is a 
 grave fault, especially when the object is to profit 
 by it. Here, moreover, it will not serve you. At 
 the fairs you are in the habit of attending to 
 exhibit your talent, (very much against my judg- 
 ment — for this life of vagabondage is not such as 
 a pious maiden should lead,) you may be able to 
 persuade silly people that you possess a charm, 
 whereby you can attract to you any bird that 
 comes in your way, and keep it near you as long 
 as you please. But your little comrades here well 
 know that in these mountains, where birds are 
 scarce, you make it the business of your life to 
 run all over, seeking out the nests they build, seiz- 
 ing upon the young brood as soon as it is hatched; 
 thus compelling the parents to come to you, and 
 feed their little ones upon your knees. Every- 
 body knows the patience with which you remain 
 standing for hours, immovable as a statue or a 
 
TEVERINO. . 69 
 
 tree, in order to accustom these little creatures to 
 regard you without fear. Everybody knows that 
 as soon as they become tame, they follow you all 
 over, to receive their accustomed food at your 
 hands, and that they bring with them their 
 family, as it increases ; thus following an admi- 
 rable instinct of memory and attachment, with 
 which many species of birds seem to be endowed. 
 A.11 this is not sorcery. Each one of us, if, like 
 you, we were enemies of useful and reasonable 
 labor, could do as much. I entreat you, therefore, 
 Qo longer to assume the role of magician, pretend- 
 ing that you are inspired, like certain celebrated 
 impostors of antiquity — among others, the misera- 
 ble Apollonius of Thyane, who claimed to under- 
 stand the language of sparrows, and whom the 
 Church condemns as false prophets. As to these 
 noble persons, do not hope to make fools of them. 
 Their intelligence and their education make it 
 impossible for them to believe that a child like 
 you can be invested with supernatural power." 
 
 " Indeed, M. le Cur^," said Lady G , " you 
 
 could not have chosen a less agreeable subject of 
 conversation. Your sermon on superstition is 
 most mal-d-a^To^os. The explanation you give is 
 death to poetry, and I would, a hundred times 
 prefer to believe that poor Madeleine is endowed 
 
70 TEVERINO. 
 
 with some mysterious gift, miraculous even, if you 
 will, than to chill my imagination by accepting 
 your common-place realities. Console yourself," 
 said she, turning to the bird-tamer, who, shedding 
 tears of vexation, regarded the Cur^ with a sort 
 of naive and proud indignation, '' we still look 
 upon you as a fairy, and submit ourselves to your 
 enchantments." 
 
 " Besides," said L^once, " the explanations of M. 
 le Cur^, in reality, explain nothing. They state 
 facts, but do not develop the causes. In order to be 
 able thus to tame these beings, naturally wild and 
 free, a particular kind of intelligence, a sort of 
 secret magnetism, entirely exceptional, is neces- 
 sary. Each one of us might consecrate ourselves 
 in vain, to an education which the mysterious 
 fatality of instinct has unveiled to this young girl." 
 
 " Yes, yes !" cried Madeleine, her eyes sparkling 
 with intelligence, as if she perfectly comprehended 
 the argument of L^once. '* I challenge M. le Cur^ 
 to tame even a chicken in his yard, and I, I tame 
 the eagles on the mountains." 
 
 " The eagles ! You I" exclaimed the Cur^, stung 
 to the quick as he saw Sabina convulsed with 
 laughter. " I challenge you to do it. Eagles can- 
 not be tamed like the larks. See now, then, what 
 is gained by foolish practices and ridiculous pre- 
 
TEVERINO. 71 
 
 tensions. Those wlio assume them become liars, 
 and that is exactly your case, shameless child." 
 
 " Pardon, Monsieur le Cure," said a young goat- 
 herd, who had separated himself from the group 
 of children, to listen to the conversation of the 
 gentle folks, " Madeleine does tame the eagles ; she 
 has done it for a long time ; I have seen her do it. 
 Her power increases continually, and I have no 
 doubt but that she will soon succeed in taming 
 the bears." 
 
 " 'No, no, never !" replied the bird-tamer, with 
 a mixture of terror and disgust painted on her 
 countenance, " my mind accords only with that 
 which flies in the air." 
 
 " Indeed ! What did I tell you ?" cried L^once, 
 struck by her words. " She feels, although she 
 cannot account for it to herself or others, that 
 there are indefinable affinities which attract cer- 
 tain beings to her. These intimate relations are 
 marvellous to us, because we are ignorant of their 
 natural laws : but the world of physical facts is full 
 of such miracles, although they escape our cogni- 
 zance. And be assured of one thing, M. le Curd, 
 the devil has nothing to do in the matter; God 
 alone possesses the secrets of all enigmas, and pre- 
 sides over all mysteries." 
 
 " Yery good !" said the Curd, pleased with this 
 
fd TEVERINO. 
 
 explanation. " It is your belief, then, that there 
 are unknown relations existing between certain 
 different organizations. Perhaps this child exhales 
 a bird odor, perceptible only to the subtle sense 
 of these winged creatures." 
 
 " She certainly has the profile of a bird," said 
 Sabina, laughing. " The small hooked nose, the 
 prominent and piercing eye, together with the 
 lightness of her movements, the grace with which 
 she moves her arms, buoyant as wings ; her limbs 
 delicate and firm as the claws of a bird ; and you 
 see her resemblance to a young eagle." 
 
 " As you please," said Madeleine, who appeared 
 endowed with a quick intelligence, and compre- 
 hended all that was said in relation to her. " But 
 besides the gift of making myself loved, I have 
 also that of making myself understood. It is a 
 science with me, and I defy any one else to disco- 
 ver my secret. Which of you can tell at what 
 hour birds will obey you, and what hour they will 
 not ; what cry can be heard the farthest ; in what 
 places to station yourselves; what influences to 
 avoid ; what weather is propitious ? Ah I Monsieur 
 le Cur^, if you knew how to persuade human 
 beings as I know how to attract the brute creation, 
 your churches would be better filled, and your 
 saints have more influence." 
 
TEVERINO. 
 
 ^**Slie does not lack wit," said the clerical growl- 
 er, who was at heart a kind and jovial churchman, 
 especially after drinking ; " but it is a diabolical 
 sort of wit, and some day I must exorcise it. 
 Meanwhile, Madeleine, call your eagles to you." 
 
 "And where shall I find them at this hour?" 
 she said maliciously. " Do you know where they 
 are. Monsieur le Cur^ ? If you know, tell me. I 
 will go and seek them for you." 
 
 " Go, then, since you pretend to know." 
 
 " They are where I cannot go now. I see plain- 
 ly. Monsieur le Cure, that you do not know. But 
 if you are not afraid, and will come with me this 
 evening at sunset, I will show you something that 
 shall astonish you." 
 
 The Curd shrugged his shoulders, but Sabina's 
 ardent imagination seized hold of the fantasy. " I 
 will go there," she exclaimed ; " I wish to be afraid 
 and astonished. I wish to believe in the devil and 
 see him if possible." 
 
 " Grently," whispered Ldonce in her ear. " You 
 have not yet my permission, dear invalid." 
 
 " I demand it. I will extort it from you, ami- 
 able doctor." 
 
 " Well, we shall see. I will interrogate the ma- 
 gician, and decide according to my judgment." 
 
 " I count, then, upon your desire, your promise 
 4 
 
74 TEVERINO. 
 
 to amuse me. And now, is it not time to return 
 to the villa, to see how my Lord G has slept." 
 
 " K you have a decided will, I give in my resig- 
 nation." 
 
 " God forbid I During the whole morning, until 
 this moment, I have not experienced an instant of 
 ennui. Do, then, whatever you may judge expe- 
 dient ; but wherever you conduct me, I beg you 
 will allow me to take the bird-tamer." 
 
 *' That was, in truth, my intention. Do you 
 believe, then, that we find her here by accident ?" 
 
 '' You are acquainted with her, then ? You had 
 arranged to meet her here ?" 
 
 " Ask me no questions." 
 
 "I forgot. Keep your secrets: I hope, how- 
 ever, that you have other surprises in store for 
 me." 
 
 " Certainly, I have others, and I announce to 
 you, madam, that the day will not pass without 
 your experiencing emotions which shall trouble 
 your slumbers to-night." 
 
 "Emotions I Ahl what happiness I" cried Sa- 
 bina. " And shall I long preserve the remem 
 brance of them ?" 
 
 " All your life," said Ldonce, so seriously as to 
 indicate that he no longer jested. 
 
 " You are a very singular man," she resumed. 
 
--^i 
 
 » 
 
 TEVERINO. 75 
 
 *^ One might really suppose that you believe in 
 your power over me, as Madeleine believes in hers 
 over the eagles." 
 
 " You have the pride and ferocity of these kings 
 of the air, and I have, perhaps, Madeleine's deli- 
 cacy of observation, as well as her patience and 
 cunning." 
 
 " Cunning ! You inspire me with fear." 
 
 " Precisely what I wish. Hitherto, you have 
 laughed at me, merely because you have not 
 known me." 
 
 " I !" said she, a little excited and disturbed by 
 the singular turn the mind of L^once was taking. 
 " I, not know the friend of my childhood, my loyal 
 knight-errant ? That, in truth, is about as reason- 
 able as to tell me that I dream of laughing at you." 
 
 " You have nevertheless said, madam, that bro- 
 thers and sisters are eternally unknown to each 
 other, because the most interesting and vital points 
 of their souls, are never in contact. A mystery, 
 profound as this abyss, separates us. But, madam, 
 I now claim to know you, remaining myself un- 
 known. That is to say," he added, seeing mistrust 
 and terror depicted in Sabina's face, "I resign 
 myself to love you more than is my will, having 
 no claim to be loved by you." 
 
 " Provided we remain friends, Ldonce," said 
 
tft TEVERINO. 
 
 Lady Q , suddenly overpowered by an anguish 
 
 she could not explain to herself, " I consent to let 
 you continue this badinage ; otherwise, it is my 
 wish to return immediately to the villa, and place 
 myself under the leaden weight of conjugal love." 
 
 " J£ you exact it, I obey ; I am again the man 
 of the world, and abandon the marvellous cure that 
 you have permitted me to undertake." 
 
 " But for which you are, however, answerable. 
 That would be too bad." 
 
 " I can answer for it yet, if you do not resist. 
 A complete, unheard of revolution may to-day 
 take place in your moral and intellectual life, if 
 you will consent to abjure until this evening, the 
 empire of your will." 
 
 "But what confidence I must have in your 
 honor, to submit so unreservedly to your control ?" 
 
 " Do you then believe me capable of abusing 
 it ? If so, the Cur^ will accompany you back to 
 the villa. I will go through the mountains in 
 search of the eagles, less prudent and suspicious 
 than you." 
 ' " With Madeleine, doubtless ?" 
 
 "Whynotr 
 
 " Friendship has its jealousies as well as love. 
 You shall not go without me." 
 
 "Come, then!" 
 
I 
 
 TEVEKINO. ' 77 
 
 "Come!" 
 
 Lady G rose impetuously, seized tlie arm 
 
 of the bird-tamer, as if clutcliing her prey, and 
 drew it within her own. In the twinkling of an 
 eye, the children had carried back to the carriage 
 the whole of the breakfast paraphernalia. Every 
 thing was washed, ranged and packed as if by 
 magic. The negress presided over the operation 
 with the air of a busy sybil ; the liberality of Ld- 
 once gave wings to the idlest, and skill to the awk- 
 wardest. 
 
 " It seems to me," remarked Sabina to him, as 
 she watched the little creatures running about in 
 every direction, " that I am at the fantastical 
 wedding, in the story of Gracieuse and Percinet. 
 When the wandering princess opens the box in 
 the enchanted forest, out comes an army of minia- 
 ture scullions and all sorts of servants — who turn 
 the spit, cook, and serve up a wonderful feast to 
 the joyous band of Lilliputians — all singing and 
 dancing at the same time, like the^e little rustic 
 pages." 
 
 " The apologue is truer than you think," replied 
 L^once. "Eecall well to your mind the story, 
 that charming fantasy, which Hoffman has never 
 surpassed. It is at the moment when the Princess 
 Gracieuse, punished for her restless curiosity, by 
 
78 TEVERINO. 
 
 the force even of the charm she could not dispel, 
 saw all her little enchanted world take flight, and 
 disperse themselves among the bushes. The cooks 
 carry the fuming spit, the musicians their violins, 
 the bridegroom drags away his bride, the parents 
 scold, the guests laugh, the servants swear, and all 
 mock at Gracieuse, who, with her beautiful hands, 
 seeks in vain to catch them, and collect them 
 together in the box again. Like nimble ants, they 
 escape, running ao^oss her fingers, dispersing and 
 disappearing under the moss and violets, which 
 are to them a protecting; forest of impenetrable 
 wood. The casket remains empty, and the terri- 
 fied Gracieuse is on the point of falling again into 
 the power of her bad genius, when '' 
 
 " When the amiable Ldonce — I should say, the 
 all-powerful Prince Percinet," resumed Sabina, 
 " the proteg^ of good fairies, comes to her assist- 
 ance, and with a stroke of his wand, causes 
 parents and lovers, scullions and spits, musicians 
 and violins, all to re-enter the box." 
 
 "Then he said to her," continued Leonce, 
 " Know, dear Princess Gracieuse, that you are not 
 wise enough to govern the world of your fanta- 
 sies. You sow them by handfuls on the barren 
 soil of reality, and then, more agile and cunning 
 than you, they escape and betray you. Without 
 
TEVEKINO. >fB 
 
 me, they would lose themselves like the insect 
 which the eye vainly pursues into its mysterious 
 retreats of turf and leaves ; and then you would 
 find yourself alone, with fear and regret, in this 
 solitary and disenchanted place. No more cool 
 shadows, no more murmuring cascades, no more 
 fragrant flowers, no more singing and dancing, 
 or laughing, on this verdant carpet : no more 
 of anything but the wind whistling through the 
 leafless trees, and the distant voices of savage 
 beasts, mounting in the air with the bloody 
 star of night. But thanks to me, whom you 
 shall never implore in vain, your treasures are 
 all once more in your magic box, and we may 
 follow our route, certain of finding them when- 
 ever we wish, and wherever we may halt in the 
 kingdom of dreams." 
 
80 TEVEKINO. 
 
 IV. 
 
 FALSE ROUTE. 
 
 " What a beautiful story ! I must try to 
 remeuiber it, so as to repeat it this evening," 
 said the bird-tamer, whose arm Sabina still 
 retained. 
 
 " Prince Percinet," cried Lady G , passing 
 
 her other arm within that of L^once, and moving 
 with him towards the carriage awaiting them — 
 "you are my good genius, and I surrender to 
 your admirable wisdom." 
 
 "I hope that we are going to take the road 
 leading to Saint Apollinaire," said the Cur^, pla- 
 cing himself in the britzska, at the side of Sabina, 
 while L^once and Madeleine were seated oppo- 
 site. "I am sure that my parishioners are already 
 in want of me to perform some sacrament." 
 
 " May your will be done, dear pastor," replied 
 L^once, giving orders to the jockey. 
 
 " What !" exclaimed Sabina, after a few min- 
 
■ 
 
 TEVERINO. 81 
 
 "must we retrace our steps, and see the 
 same places over again V 
 
 " Give yourself no uneasiness," replied L^once, 
 pointing to the Cur^, whom two or three turns of 
 the wheels had thrown into a profound slumber. 
 " We will go wherever it pleases us. Turn to the 
 right," said he to the young charioteer, " and take 
 the road I first spoke of." 
 
 The boy obeyed, and the Cur^ snored ! 
 
 " This is indeed perfectly delightful," said 
 Sabina, laughing heartily. " To carry off a grum- 
 bling old Cur^; what a new idea! At last, I 
 begin to perceive how much pleasure his presence 
 may procure for us. How surprised he will be, 
 and how he will growl when he wakes up, and 
 finds himself two leagues from this place !" 
 H|k " Neither you nor our good Cur^ are at the end 
 of your impressions of travel," replied Ldonce. 
 
 "Come, little one, tell me your history, and 
 confess your sin," said Sabina — taking with irre- 
 sistible grace the two hands of the bird-tamer, as 
 they were seated face to face. "Ldonce, you 
 must not listen — these are women's secrets." 
 
 " Oh ! His lordship may listen to everything," 
 
 replied Madeleine, with perfect self-possession. 
 
 " My sin is not so heavy, nor are my secrets so 
 
 great, that I cannot easily speak of them. If M. 
 4* 
 
 » 
 
^ 
 
 TEVERINO. 
 
 le Cui'^ were not in the habit of interrupting me 
 at every word of my confession with his scold- 
 ings, but would listen to it, he would not be so 
 displeased with me ; or at least, he would perhaps 
 make me understand in what respect I give him 
 cause for so much anger. I have a good friend, 
 your highness," she added, addressing Sabina, 
 " and that is the whole story." 
 
 " I find it more difficult to preserve my gravity 
 
 than one might suppose," said Lady G to 
 
 L^once. " So much candor renders questions em- 
 barrassing." 
 
 " Not as embarrassing as you may think," he 
 replied. " See here, Madeleine, does he love you 
 much?" 
 
 " He, loves me as much as I love him." 
 
 " And do you not love him too much ?" 
 demanded Lady G . 
 
 " Too much ? That is a droll question ! I love 
 him as much as I can. I do not know if it is too 
 much or not enough." 
 
 " How old is he ?" said L^once. 
 
 " I do not know. He has told me, but I do not 
 remember. But wait a moment . . . ! He is at 
 least ten years older than I. I am fourteen years 
 old, and that would make twenty-four or twenty- 
 five years ; would it not ?" 
 
TEVERINO. 83 
 
 " Then there is great danger for you. You are 
 too young to be married, Madeleine." 
 
 " Too young by a year or two. That fault will 
 soon be remedied." 
 
 " But your lover may become impatient ?" 
 
 " No. He does not speak of it." 
 
 " So much the worse ! And you, are you also 
 as indifferent ?" 
 
 " I must be. I cannot make time travel as I 
 can make the birds fly." 
 
 " And you both intend to be married to each 
 other?" 
 
 "I do not know. We have never spoken 
 of it." 
 
 " But do you not yourself wish it V 
 
 " Not yet, for I am too young." 
 
 " And if he does not marry you ?" said Lady 
 G . 
 
 " Oh ! That is impossible. He loves me." 
 
 " Has he loved you long ?" resumed Sabina. 
 
 « A week." 
 
 " Oime r said L6once. " And you already 
 have so much confidence in him V 
 
 " Doubtless, since he has told me that be loves 
 me." 
 
 " And do you thus believe everybody who 
 speaks to you of love ?" 
 
84 TEVERINO. 
 
 " No one has ever yet spoken to me of love but 
 lie : and he is the only one I shall believe as long 
 as I live, because he is the only one I love." 
 
 " Ah ! Cur^," said Sabina, casting a glance upon 
 the sleeping growler ; " here is something you can 
 not comprehend 1 It is faith, it is love." 
 
 " No, madam," resumed the bird-tamer, " he 
 cannot comprehend it. He said at the beginning, 
 that no one knew my lover, and that he must be 
 a bad fellow. Now, tlie truth is very simple. Ho 
 is a stranger here, and chanced to stop at our cabin ; 
 he has neither relations nor friends to speak a good 
 word for him ; and he has remained with us ever 
 since, because he saw me and was pleased with 
 me. Thus I am the only person who knows him, 
 and who can say that he is an honest man. M. le 
 Curd wants him to leave the country, and threat- 
 ens to send the gens Warmes after him to drive him 
 away. I do all in my power to conceal him, and 
 certainly that is not strange." 
 
 " Where do you conceal him ?" 
 
 " In my cabin." 
 
 " Have you parents?" 
 
 " I have a brother, who is — with your permis- 
 sion, a smuggler — ^but.you must not mention it, 
 even to M. le Curd." 
 
 " And, therefore, he passes the nights out in the 
 
TEVERINO. 85 
 
 mountains, and takes his rest during the day ; is it 
 not so?" said L^once. 
 
 " Nearly ; but he knows that my good friend 
 Bleeps in his bed when he is absent from home." 
 
 " And is he not displeased at thati" 
 
 " No ; he has a good heart." 
 
 " And is he not uneasy ?" 
 
 " For what should he be uneasy ?" 
 
 " Does your brother love you much?" 
 
 " Oh ! he is too good to me ; we have been or- 
 phans a long time, and he has been both father 
 and mother to me." 
 
 " I think we may be perfectly easy regarding 
 her," said Lady G to her friend. 
 
 "For the present, yes," he replied; "but for 
 the future? I fear, Madeleine, that your good 
 friend will, some day, take his departure, either 
 from compulsion or inclination, and leave you to 
 weep." 
 
 " If he goes, I will follow him." 
 
 "And your birds ?" 
 
 " They will go with me. I sometimes travel ten 
 leagues with them." 
 
 " Do they follow you now ? 
 
 " You do not see them, then, flying from tree 
 to tree, the whole length of the road ? They do 
 not come near me, because I am not alone, and 
 
86 TEVERINO. 
 
 the carriage scares them ; but I see them very . 
 plainly, and they see me, poor little creatures." 
 
 " The world covers more than ten leagues ; sup- 
 pose your good friend should carry you more than 
 a hundred leagues from here ?" 
 
 " Wherever I shall go, there will be birds, and 
 I will make them know me." 
 
 " But will you not regret those you have brought 
 up?" 
 
 " Oh ! certainly I shall. There are two or three 
 that have as much intelligence as M. le Cur^ him- 
 self. My good friend is the only one I know, who 
 has more. But I assure you that all my birds will 
 follow me, as I shall follow my good friend. They 
 begin to know him, and do not fly away when he 
 is with me." 
 
 " Provided your good friend is not more volatile 
 than the birds !" said Sabina. " Is he then very 
 handsome, this good friend ?** 
 
 " I think he is ; I do not know." 
 
 " You dare not, then, look at him ?" said Ldonce. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! I look at him when he is asleep, 
 and he seems to me as beautiful as the sun, but I 
 do not know that others would think so." 
 
 " When he is asleep ! You enter into his cham- 
 ber, then?" 
 
 " I have not the trouble of entering it, since I 
 sleep there mvself. We are not rich, vour hisrh- 
 
TEVERINO. 87 
 
 ness ; we have but one room for us all, including 
 my goat and my brother's horse." 
 
 " That is really primitive life. But it seems you 
 do not sleep much, since you pass the night in 
 contemplating your good friend." 
 
 " Oh ! that only occupies a quarter of an hour 
 or so after he is asleep. He goes to bed and falls 
 asleep, while I, with my back to him, recite my 
 prayers at the other end of the room. Sometimes, 
 however, I forget myself, and look at him longer 
 than I am aware of. But sleep soon overtakes me, 
 and I seem to sleep better afterwards." 
 
 "From which it results, nevertheless, that he 
 sleeps more than you ?" 
 
 " But he sleeps very well, and why should he 
 not? Our house is clean, though poor, and I al- 
 ways take great pains in making his bed." 
 
 " He never wakes, then, to look at you while 
 you are asleep ?" 
 
 " It may be ; I do not think he does ; I sleep as 
 lightly as a bird." 
 
 " He loves you, then, less than you love him?" 
 
 "It is possible," tranquilly replied the bird- 
 tamer, after a moment's reflection ; " and that may 
 very well be, since I am too young to marry." 
 
 " In short, you feel certain that he will one day 
 love you enough to marry you ?" 
 
 " He has never promised me that h^ wonld. but 
 
^ TEVERINO. 
 
 he says to me every day, "Madeleine, you are 
 good as an angel, and I never wish to leave you. 
 It makes me very unhappy to think that soon, 
 perhaps, I shall be obliged to go away." I never 
 make him any answer, but I am determined to 
 follow him, so that he shall not be unhappy ; and, 
 since he finds me good, and desires never to leave 
 me, it is certain he will marry me when I am of 
 the proper age." 
 
 " Oh, Ldonce !" said Sabina in English, to her 
 friend, "let us admire, and be careful not to disturb 
 the holy faith with which this child's soul overflows. 
 It is possible that her lover will seduce and abandon 
 her; it is possible that she will be crushed by 
 shame and grief; but yet, in her disaster, there 
 would still be an existence worthy of envy. I 
 would give all that I have ever lived, all that I 
 shall yet live, for one day of this boundless love, 
 without reservation, without hesitation, blindly 
 sublime, penetrating every pore of my being." 
 
 " She certainly lives in an ecstasy, and her pas- 
 sion transfigures her," said L^once. "See how 
 charming she is when speaking of him she loves, 
 although nature has bestowed upon her none of 
 those attractions which render you the most beau- 
 tiful of women. Indeed, she is at this moment 
 handsomer than you. Do you not think so, your- 
 self?" 
 
TEVERINO. 89 
 
 " Yon have a strange way of saying rude things, 
 but you cannot wound me to-day, do what you 
 will. Your friendship is, nevertheless, most piti- 
 kss in its demonstrations. Surely, my misfortune 
 in not having hitherto known this ecstatic love, is 
 already sufficiently great, without the addition of 
 your reproaches, just at the moment in which I 
 fathom the extent of my misery. If I thought to 
 revenge myself on you, might I not say that you 
 are as miserable as I, fully as incapable of blind 
 confidence and boundless love ? that, in fact, the 
 same abyss of knowledge and experience separates 
 both of us from the condition of soul in which we 
 find this child?" 
 
 "Of that you know nothing, nothing what- 
 ever," replied L^once, with an energy which 
 rendered it impossible to interpret the almost im- 
 perceptible emotion of his voice : his eyes wan- 
 dered over the landscape. 
 
 "What a frightful country we are passing 
 
 through," said Lady G , breaking a long 
 
 silence. " These naked rocks, this angry torrent, 
 this narrow patch of sky walled in by mountains, 
 this oppressive heat, and the heavy slumber of this 
 churchman, all combine to give me a wofully 
 gloomy and terror-stricken feeling." 
 
 " A little patience," said Ldonce. " We shall 
 soon be indemnified." 
 
90 TEVERINO. 
 
 And in truth, the contracted and sterile gorge 
 suddenly expanded as they ascended the hill, and 
 a delicious valley, cast like an oasis in a desert, 
 met Sabina's charmed gaze. Other mountainous 
 defiles, as deep and narrow, opened into this ver- 
 dant amphitheatre, and mingled their calm and 
 smooth waters with those of the principal course. 
 
 Their greenish torrents were clear as crystal ; 
 carpets of emeralds covered each bank, and the 
 silence of this solitude was only disturbed by the 
 noise of murmuring streams and the distant tink- 
 ling of cow-bells. Far up the opening made by 
 these granite gorges, the eye took in long vistas of 
 blue perspective, while, at the base of the moun- 
 tains, meandered sparkling, silver waters. It was 
 an enchanting spot, where everything invited to 
 repose, and where also the imagination continually 
 soared into mysterious regions of the unknown. 
 
 " What a ravishing surprise !" said Sabina, 
 stepping from the carriage upon the fine sand that 
 covered the bank. " Here is a charming asylum 
 against the noonday heat, which is becoming intol- 
 erable. Suppose, L^once, that we leave our equi- 
 page and quit the beaten track. Here are some 
 nice, well-trodden paths, this tree thrown across 
 the torrent may serve as a bridge ; farther beyond, 
 there are plenty of flowers to gather, and a thicket 
 of firs, which promises a delightful shade and fra- 
 

 TEVERIXO. 91 
 
 grant odors. The absence of cultivation, and the 
 remoteness of every thing appertaining to civilized 
 life, gives the spot a peculiar fascination." 
 
 " Yes, you are really in the heart of the moun- 
 tains. Here, we begin to find the homes of the 
 nomadic shepherds; who live after the manner of 
 primitive ages, conducting their flocks from one 
 pasturage to another, exploring deserts that belong 
 only to him who discovers and takes possession, 
 inhabiting temporary cabins built by their own 
 hands, which they transport from one place to 
 another on the back of an ass', and set up on the 
 first convenient rock.. Look up there towards the 
 clouds, and you will see several of them. They 
 are never found in the lower regions of the moun- 
 tains. One stormy day would so swell the torrents 
 as to wash them all away. This is the hour of 
 siesta, and the herdsmen are sleeping beneath their 
 verdant roofs. Behold yourself, then, in a desert, 
 with perfect liberty to choose the spot where it 
 shall please you to taste an hour or two of sleep, 
 while the horses are resting from their toils and 
 gathering fresh strength. I have it ! the thicket so 
 attractive to you is the very spot. L^l^ shall sus- 
 pend your hammock there." 
 
 " My hammock ! And is it possible you should 
 have thought to bring that ?" 
 
 " Is it not my duty to think of everything ?" 
 
92 TEVERINO. 
 
 The negress L6\6 followed them, carrying the 
 net- work hammock, made of the fibre of the palm 
 tree, bordered with fringes, and tassels, and feath- 
 ers, of a thousand hues, artistically intermingled. 
 
 Madeleine, enraptured with this specimen of 
 Indian workmanship, ran alongside of the negress, 
 asking her innumerable questions about the mar- 
 vellous birds that had furnished these brilliant fea- 
 thers, trying to form some idea of the parrots and 
 humming-birds, which L^l^, in her mysterious and 
 almost unintelligible jargon, attempted to describe. 
 
 Every one had forgotten the Cur6, who, no 
 longer rocked by the swinging and regular motion 
 of the carriage, at last awoke. 
 
 " Corpo di BacGO /" (This was the only oath he 
 allowed himself) — cried he, rubbing his eyes, 
 " where are we, and what bad joke is this V 
 
 " Alas ! Monsieur TAbb^," said the jockey, who 
 was as malicious as a page, and fully appreciated 
 the facetious caprices of his master. " We are lost 
 in the mountains, and we none of us know where 
 we are, any more than you do. My horses are 
 tired, and it is absolutely necessary that we should 
 stop here." 
 
 " Eeally," said the Curd, " we cannot be far from 
 Saint Apollinaire ; I have been asleep only a few 
 minutes." 
 
TEVERINO. 93 
 
 *^Tour pardon, Monsieur PAbbd, "you have 
 been asleep four hours." 
 
 " Ko, no ! You are mistaken, my lad. The sun 
 is now perpendicularly over our heads, and it can- 
 not be later than twelve o'clock, that is, if he has 
 not stopped in his course, as happened to him once 
 before. You must, then, have travelled like the 
 wind, for we are more than four leagues distant 
 from the Roche Vert. I am certain of it ; here is 
 the neck of Za JPorquette, for I recognize Saint 
 Basil's Cross. It is only two steps to the frontier. 
 Stay ! On the other side of these high mountains 
 is Italy, beautiful Italy, on whose soil it has never 
 yet been my happiness to tread ! But, Oorpo di 
 Bacco! if you are going to stop here, if your 
 beasts are tired, I shall not be able to return to my 
 parish before night." 
 
 " And how angry your housekeeper will be 1" 
 said the malicious groom, in a dolorous tone. 
 
 " Uneasy, surely," replied the Cur^, " very un- 
 easy, poor Barbara ! Well, she must bear her mis- 
 fortune patiently. Where are their excellencies ?" 
 
 " Below there, on the other side of the stream. 
 Do you not see them ?" 
 
 " What caprice has impelled them to cross that 
 frail plank 1 I am not anxious to risk my weight 
 upon it. Now, if I had at least a Hne with me, I 
 
M TEVERINO. 
 
 might catch some trout. This place is celebrated 
 for them." 
 
 The Cur^, herewith, began to search his pockets, 
 and, to his great satisfaction, found several lines 
 with hooks attached. The j ockey assisted him to cut 
 a pole and find bait, and maliciously offered a book 
 with which to beguile the time. The good man used 
 no ceremony ; but took Wilhelm Meister as much 
 from curiosity to know the principles of his com- 
 panions, as to divert himself, and re-ascending the 
 course of the stream, he seated himself among the 
 rocks, with his attention divided between the arti- 
 fices of the trout, and those of Philine. He was 
 just at the place of les^etits souliers when the first 
 trout nibbled. History does not inform us whether 
 he closed the book or lost the fish. 
 
 Meantime the black L^l^ and the blond bird- 
 tamer had firmly attached the hammock to the 
 branches of the fir trees. The beautiful Sabina, 
 gracefully reclining upon this aerial couch, pre- 
 sented herself to the gaze of Ldonce, in an attitude i 
 of chaste voluptuousness. Her large silk sleeves 
 were turned back to the elbow, and the tip of her 
 small foot, just peeping out below her dress, hung 
 down amid the fringe of feathers, less delicate and 
 light than it. 
 
 L^once had thrown his cloak upon the grass, and 
 
TEVERINO. 95 
 
 seated on it at the feet of the handsome woman, 
 he slightly pulled the cord attached to the ham- 
 mock, so as to give it a gently undulating motion. 
 L^le also arranged herself comfortably for a siesta 
 on the grass, while Madeleine penetrated into the 
 thickest of the woods, followed at every step by 
 the cries of birds, like a flourish of trumpets in 
 celebration of the march of a sovereign. 
 
 Sabina and L^once thus found themselves placed 
 in rather an exciting t6te4-tete, for burning ideas, 
 clothed as they were in freezing terms, had been 
 agitated between them. L^once remained pro- 
 foundly silent, and fixed upon Lady G , a 
 
 penetrating gaze, which, although it expressed 
 nothing tender, she found extremely embarrassing. 
 
 " Why don't yoit answer me ?" said she, after 
 having vainly endeavored to engage him in light 
 conversation. " You certainly hear me, for you 
 look at my eyes with an obstinacy that must be 
 very tiresome to you." 
 
 " I !" said he. " I am not looking at your eyes. 
 They are stars which shine only for the purpose of 
 shining, without communicating any of their glow 
 and warmth to the eyes of men. I am looking at 
 your arm and the folds of your robe outlined by 
 the wind." 
 
96 TEVERINO. 
 
 " Yes ; sleeves and drapery, that is the only ideal 
 for you artists." 
 
 " Does it displease you to be regarded as a fine 
 model?" 
 
 " Provided I am only such to you, I am satisfied," 
 said she haughtily, for the eyes of Ldonce no longer 
 expressed the cold contemplation of the statuary. 
 At these disdainful words, they resumed their in- 
 difference. 
 
 " You would make a superb Sybil," he remarked, 
 pretending not to have heard her. 
 ^. "No. I have not dishevelled hair, nor a wild, 
 passionate nature. 
 
 " The Sybils of the Renaissance are grand and 
 severe. Have you not seen those of Raphael? 
 they combine the grandeur and majesty of the an- 
 tique with the movement and thought of another 
 age." 
 
 " Alas I I have never been in Italy. Once we 
 
 touched its borders, but Lord G , seized by a 
 
 ferocious caprice, was pleased to install himself on 
 the frontier, as if on purpose to tantalize me into 
 a fever, and then prevented my going any farther, 
 under pretext that it was too hot for me." 
 
 " While, on the contrary, it was too cold for 
 you. Certainly, your husband is the man who 
 comprehends you least of any one." 
 
TEVERINO. 97 
 
 " It is the eternal order of things." 
 
 " Whence it follows, that you ought to adore 
 your husband, since he is the indefatigable adula- 
 tor of your assertion that you are not compre- 
 hended." 
 
 " And you— you claim to comprehend me better 
 than my husband does. To tell me so, does not 
 prove to me that you are right." 
 
 " And if I prove it to you this very instant ?" 
 said Ldonce, rising, and stopping the hammock so 
 rudely as to draw forth a cry of terror from Lady 
 G . " If I should say to you, that there is no- 
 thing to comprehend where nothing exists, and 
 that this marble breast conceals a marble heart?" 
 
 "Ah, what terrible words!" said Lady G , 
 
 putting her feet to the ground, as if to take flight. 
 "I will never forgive you, L^once, for having 
 brought me hither. Your conduct is the refine- 
 ment of perfidy and cruelty. You rescue me 
 from my sad indifference, you surround me with 
 delicate cares and attentions, you wander with me 
 'mid the beauties of nature, you delight me with 
 the poetry of your thoughts, you flatter my foolish 
 imagination, — all this you do merely to tell me, 
 after fifteen years of friendship without a cloud, 
 that you no longer esteem — nay! you actually 
 
 hate me !" 
 
 5 
 
i^ TEVERINO. 
 
 " Of what do you complain, Madam ? You are 
 a woman of the world, and you wish, beyond 
 everything else, to* be respected as a virtuous 
 woman of that very world. "Well, I declare you 
 invulnerable, I, who have known you fifteen 
 years, and yet your pride is not satisfied !" 
 
 " Yirtuous from insensibility ! Yirtuous, be- 
 cause heartless ! What a strange eulogy ! "Well 
 may I take pride in it I" 
 
 " And, indeed, you possess an immense pride, 
 allied to an immense vanity," replied L6once, with 
 increasing irritation. " You wish it to be under- 
 stood that you are impeccable, and that the purest 
 crystal is dim by the side of your glory. But 
 that does not sufiice. You desire to have it be- 
 lieved that your soul is ardent, and that there is 
 nothing so powerful as your love, excepting, per- 
 haps, your strength. If a man is calm and self- 
 possessed in presence of your wisdom, you are 
 uneasy and discontented. You would have him 
 torment himself to divine the mystery of love 
 which you pretend is concealed in your bosom. 
 You would have him believe that you hold the 
 key to a paradise of voluptuousness and ineffable 
 tenderness, which nothing can penetrate ; in short, 
 you would have him experience all the paroxysms 
 of love, jealousy, and disappointnient, with their 
 
TEVERINO. 99 
 
 intolerable sufferings. Avow this, and you will 
 have proclaimed the secret of your ennui, for 
 there is no role more tiresome to play, or more 
 bitter in its results, than that to which you have 
 sacrificed all the hopes of your youth, and all the 
 advantages of your beauty." 
 
 " It is beneath me to attempt my justification," 
 replied Sabina, pale and trembling with indigna- 
 tion ; " but you have given me the right, in my 
 turn, to judge you. This portrait which you have 
 drawn of me, is your own ; it requires only to be 
 adapted to the size of a man, and I am going to 
 do it." 
 
 THE FAWN. 
 
 "Speak, Madam," said Ldonce. "I shall bo 
 only too happy to see myself through your eyes." 
 
 " You will not be, I assure you," continued Sa- 
 bina, greatly provoked, but externally calm. "Man 
 and artist, intelligent and handsome, rich and pa- 
 trician, you know yourself to be a privileged 
 being. Nature and society having thus generously 
 endowed you, you have ardently seconded them, 
 
100 TEVERINO. 
 
 stimulated as you have been from earliest cliild- 
 hood by the desire to be an accomplished man. 
 You have so well cultivated your brilliant talents, 
 and so nobly governed your fortune, as to have 
 become a most exquisite artist and a most liberal 
 rich man. If you had been born poor and ob- 
 scure, you would have had more difficulty and 
 more merit in conquering the palm of glory. You 
 would also have had more endurance and more 
 fire, less science and more genius. In place of a 
 talent of the first order, always correct and often 
 cold, you would have had an unequal but a glow- 
 ing inspiration." 
 
 " Ah ! Madam," said L^once, interrupting her, 
 "you have but little invention, for you are only 
 repeating what I myself have said a hundred 
 times. But, at the same time, you do me justice 
 concerning another point, that the man of the 
 people is equal to, and in many respects surpasses, 
 the man of the world." 
 
 " You think to prove a noble heart and a great 
 mind by saying such things ? It is a fashion, a 
 most refined and elegant fashion, which is given 
 to but few individuals to wear gracefully. You 
 never carry it to excess, because at the bottom of 
 your heart, you are not less aristocratic than I. I 
 should, therefore, utterly distrust the possibility 
 
TEVERINO. 101 
 
 of your being seriously in love with the bird- 
 tamer, notwithstanding all your theories of God's 
 direct paternity to the slave. But let me finish 
 my comparison, and you will see that you have 
 not always been able to preserve your emphatic 
 incog7iito with me. Jealously anxious for admira- 
 tion, you have not wasted your youth in frivolity, 
 and you clearly comprehend that a man is not 
 long the ideal of an intelligent woman, if he is 
 intimately associated with her, every hour of his 
 life. Therefore, you have never loved, and it has 
 always been your aim to afi"ect the minds of our 
 curious sex, without allowing us to influence your 
 own will. You have passions and indulge them, 
 I know, but that does not prove my assertions un- 
 founded. That which makes the essential differ- 
 ence between you and me is, the privilege of your 
 sex; it also makes my pride more meritorious 
 than yours. You have not sacrificed vulgar plea- 
 sures to the cultivation of your dignity. Your 
 models have been models of choice, maidens, 
 young and supremely beautiful, so that you would 
 have no cause to blush before the eyes of the 
 world for having made them your mistresses. 
 These divine children of the people! You per- 
 suaded yourself that you loved them, and, to 
 pique the self-love of women of the world, you 
 
102 TEVERINO. 
 
 affected to say that pliysical beauty involved 
 moral beauty, and that, in the simplicity of these 
 uncultivated minds, was to be found the temple 
 of true love. They are truths, perhaps, I know 
 not, but they are truths in which you have never 
 believed, even while proclaiming them, for none 
 of these plebeian divinities have ever completely 
 captivated or fixed you for any length of time. 
 Statuary — ^you have regarded them only as statues 
 — and as for women of your own class, you have 
 never really sought those of intellect. With them, 
 you play precisely the same role you attribute to 
 me, spreading out before them, with consummate 
 art and poetic eloquence, the power of the By- 
 ronic passions, and yet permitting no one to ap- 
 proach near enough your heart to pluck thence 
 the moth of vanity which destroys its life." 
 
 Ldonce remained silent a long while after Sabina 
 had ceased speaking. He appeared profoundly 
 cast down, and this sadness, offering no resistance 
 to the whip of his censor, rendered him at that 
 moment superior to the vindictive woman who 
 lashed him. Sabina herself perceived it, and fully 
 comprehended that penchant for, or rather, irri- 
 sistible submission to truth so thoroughly perva- 
 dimr the male character, but which the education 
 and habits of women aim, too victoriously, to com- 
 
TEVERINO. 103 
 
 bat. She felt remorse for having given way to 
 her passion, as she saw how Ldonce reproached 
 himself for his own conduct, and with what dis- 
 may he probed his heart. She would have given 
 much to console him for the pain her words had 
 inflicted, but the suspicion that his thoughtfulness 
 concealed only some project of deep hatred or 
 refined vengeance, kept her silent. This fear 
 struck her to the heart, for she, as well as L^oncB, 
 was better than her portrait, and the sources of 
 affection were not dried up within her. She tried 
 in vain to repress her tears ; L^once heard her 
 sobs, and kneeling at her feet, took her hand 
 within his own and said, 
 
 " Why do you weep ?" 
 
 " I weep our lost friendship," she replied, lean- 
 ing towards him, and letting fall her tears on his 
 beautiful hair. " We have mortally wounded 
 each other, Leonce ; there is no more love between 
 us. But now that it is all over ; now that there is 
 no longer danger that love will spoil the Past, let 
 me weep over that Past, so pure and beautiful. 
 Let me confess to you, what you have apparently 
 not comprehended, since in the lightness of your 
 heart, you have dared to enter upon this deadly 
 struggle. I have loved you with a tender and ear- 
 nest friendship ; I have reposed on your heart as 
 
104: TEVERINO. 
 
 upon that of a brother ; and I have thought to 
 seek of you counsel and protection as long as my 
 life shall last. Your faults have appeared to me 
 insignificant, your talents and virtues great. But 
 now, adieu, L^once. Take me back to my husband. 
 With reason did you predict that I should this day 
 experience unforeseen emotions; unforeseen, in- 
 deed, and so terrible, that their remembrance will 
 never leave me. I could have anticipated nothing 
 BO bitter, and I do not understand why you should 
 have wished to give me so painful an experience. 
 Nevertheless, at this moment, when I feel that all 
 is ended between us, I feel also that grief surpasses 
 anger, and that our last adieu must not be a male- 
 diction." 
 
 Sabina touched with her lips the forehead of 
 L^once, and this chaste and mournful kiss, the 
 first she had ever bestowed upon him, renewed 
 the bond she had thought broken. 
 
 " ISTo, my dear Sabina," said he, covering her 
 hands with passionate kisses ; " this is not an 
 adieu ; the tie that bound us together is not bro- 
 ken. You are more dear to me than ever, and it 
 shall be the aim of my life to win back the affec- 
 tion I have risked losing to-day. With patience 
 I shall persevere in the struggle, until at last you 
 must be touched by my devotion, whether you 
 
TEVERINO. 105 
 
 will or not. Compose yourself there, noble friend ; 
 your tears fall refreshingly upon my heart, as the 
 generous dew falls upon a plant ready to die. 
 There is truth in what we have mutually said to 
 each other ; much truth, but it is relative, not ab- 
 stract truth. ^Understand well this distinction. 
 We are both artists ; neither of us can treat a 
 subject spiritedly without viewing it from a logi- 
 cal, a plastic point of view, if you please, so that 
 we are carried from consequence to consequence, 
 until we have formed an admirable synthesis. 
 But this synthesis is, I am certain, a fiction for 
 both you and me. We possess the faults with 
 which we have reproached each other ; but these 
 are the accidents of our character and the result 
 of circumstances. In looking at them passionately 
 we have been inspired to transform them into 
 essential vices of our nature, into shameless habits 
 of conduct. All this is nothing, however, since 
 here we are, heart to heart, weeping over the 
 idea of separation, and feeling that it is impos- 
 sible." 
 
 "Indeed, Leonce, you are right," said Lady 
 
 G , brushing away a tear, and passing her 
 
 beautiful hands across his eyes, moved, perhaps, 
 by unaffected tenderness, and perhaps, also, by 
 
 a wish to convince herself that the drops she 
 5* 
 
106 TEVERINO. 
 
 saw glistening on his cheeks were .veritable tears. 
 " We have done with art, have wd not ? and 
 now it only remains for us to- decide which has 
 been the most skilful ; that is to say, the most 
 deceitful." 
 
 "It is I, for I began the play, and I claim the 
 prize. What shall it be ?" 
 " Your pardon." 
 
 " And a long kiss on this beautiful arm, which 
 has already caused me so much terror." 
 "See, now, you are an artist again." 
 "Well, why not?" 
 
 " No kisses, Leonce — better than that. Let us 
 pass the remainder of the day together ; you may 
 resume your role of doctor, provided you treat 
 me to weaker doses." 
 
 " We will try Homeopathy," said Leonce, kiss- 
 ing the arm which she seemed to abandon to 
 him mechanically, but which she instantly with- 
 drew, on observing that the negress was awake. 
 " Lie down again in your hammock, and try to 
 get some sleep. I will rock you very gently; 
 these tears have wearied you, the heat is extreme, 
 and we must wait until the shadows are longer 
 before we leave the woods." 
 
 The siugularity and variableness of the impres- 
 sions of Leonce disturbed Lady G . His eyes 
 
TEVERINO. 107 
 
 wore an expression slie had never before discov- 
 ered in them, and it was easy for her to perceive 
 by the unsteady motion of the hammock, that he 
 held the cord with a trembling and agitated hand. 
 It was with delight, then, that she welcomed the 
 reappearance of Madeleine, who, after having 
 teazed the negress to her heart's content, by tick- 
 ling her lips and eye-lids with a blade of grass, 
 approached them to admire the hammock and 
 relieve L^once, against his will, in his employ- 
 ment. 
 
 " She is entirely too familiar ; yon have already 
 spoiled her," said L^once, in English to Sabina. 
 " Let me drive away this importunate bird." 
 
 " No, let her swing me," replied Lady G , 
 
 with evident uneasipess. "Her movements are 
 more gentle than yours; moreover, you are too 
 intellectual for me to go to sleep easily, while 
 you are near. I am tired of being served on 
 the bended knee." 
 
 Whereupon she closed her eyes, and pretended 
 to sleep. Leonce withdrew, more vexed than 
 ever. He forsook the wood, and wandered about 
 for some time, at random. Presently, he per- 
 ceived the Cur^ fishing, and the jocky bearing 
 him company ; the carriage was drawn up in the 
 shade of a clump of trees, while the horses 
 
108 TEVERINO. 
 
 grazed at liberty in an adjoining meadow. Cer- 
 tain of finding them all when wanted, L^once 
 plunged into a savage gorge and walked as rap- 
 idly as possible, in order to calm his over-excited 
 and troubled mind. The silent influences of beau- 
 tiful nature soon dissipated his ill-humor. After 
 winding round numerous craggy rocks, he found 
 himself on the borders of a microscopic lake, or 
 rather pool of water, embosomed in a granite 
 basin. Deep and brilliant as the sky, whose gol- 
 den clouds and heavenly azure were reflected on 
 its surface, it presented an image of happiness in 
 repose. Leonce seated himself on the bank in 
 the cleft of a rock, which there formed itself into 
 a natural staircase, as if to invite the traveler to 
 ascend to the margin of these tranquil waters. 
 
 For a time, he was interested in watching the 
 insects with bodies of turquoise and rubies, skim- 
 ming the surface of the aquatic plants ; then, his 
 attention was diverted by a flock of pigeons, 
 which, reflected in the mirror of the lake, attracted 
 his eye as it flew through the air with the rapidity 
 of thought, and disappeared like a vision. Leonce 
 said to himself, that the pleasures of life passed 
 as rapidly and as indistinctly away from us, and 
 that like this reflection of the flying image, they 
 were only shadows. The next moment, it seemed 
 
TEVERINO. 109 
 
 to him supremely ridiculous to waste time in tra- 
 cing these metaphorical relations, and he could 
 not refrain from envying the tranquillity of the 
 Cure, who would have merely looked upon this 
 beautiful lake as a fine reservoir for trout. 
 
 Hearing a light noise above his head, he thought 
 for an instant that Sabina had come to join him, 
 but the quick beating of his heart at' the antici- 
 pation, subsided as he caught a glimpse of the 
 individual descending the rocky stairs, at the foot 
 of which he was sitting. 
 
 It was a tall young fellow, miserably clad, and 
 carrying a small bundle tied in a red and blue 
 handkerchief, and fastened to the end of a stick, 
 which was thrown across his shoulders. His rags, 
 his long hair, falling in masses over pale and 
 strongly marked features, his thick beard, black 
 as ink, his careless gait and a sort of indescribable 
 air of contempt, which characterizes the manners 
 of a vagabond when he meets a gentleman face 
 to face, all gave him the aspect of a real scape- 
 grace. 
 
 The thought occurred to L^once that the spot 
 was very lonely, and that the stranger had all the 
 advantage of position ; the path being too narrow 
 for two, but an instant would be required to dis- 
 pute its passage, and throw into the silent and 
 
110 TEVEEINO. 
 
 mysterioTis depths of the lake, the one who had 
 not the best fists and the best place. 
 
 With this contingency in view, which, however, 
 gave L^once but little uneasiness, he assumed an 
 indifferent manner, and awaited with philosophi- 
 cal calmness the encounter with the Unknown. 
 Nevertheless, it was with some little impatience 
 that he counted the steps as they sounded on the 
 rock, until he heard the last, and found the vaga- 
 bond at his side. 
 
 " Pardon me, sir, if I disturb you," said the 
 stranger, in a sonorous voice, and with a strongly 
 marked southern accent, " but would you have 
 the courtesy to stand aside, so that I may take a 
 drink?" 
 
 " With pleasure," replied Ldonce, allowing him 
 to pass, and stepping up so as to place himself di- 
 rectly behind him. 
 
 The Unknown took off his tattered straw hat, 
 and kneeling upon the rock, he plunged his un- 
 kempt beard and the half of his face into the wa 
 ter. L^once could hear him swallow like a horse, 
 and was seized with the mischievous desire to 
 whistle a tune, as is often done to soothe this impa- 
 tient and skittish animal, when he is drinking. 
 He abstained, however, from this pleasantry, but 
 envied the sublime confidence with which the fel- 
 
TEVERINO. Ill 
 
 low placed himself, as it were, at the feet of an 
 utter stranger, with head to the ground and body 
 exposed, in a tete-a-tete, whose termination might 
 have been disastrous, in case of a misunderstand- 
 ing. 
 
 " Herein consists the only happiness of the poor 
 man," thought Ldonce, continuing his mental spe- 
 culations. " He feels perfect security in such en- 
 counters. Here we are, two men, about equal in 
 strength. One can hardly drink under the eye of 
 the other, without looking carefully behind him, 
 and he who can quench his thirst gratis, with such 
 evident enjoyment, is not the rich man!" 
 
 When the fellow had done drinking, he straight- 
 ened himself up, and resting a moment on his heels. 
 " This water," said he, " is rather warm to drink, 
 it quenches thirst better by entering the pores of 
 the body, than by passing down the throat. What 
 does your lordship think of it ?" 
 
 " Have you a fancy to take a bath ?"said L^once, 
 uncertain if this remark were not intended as a 
 menace. 
 
 " Yes, sir. I have such a fancy," replied the 
 other. Whereupon, he quietly commenced to dis- 
 robe himself, a work, which, by the way, occupied 
 but an instant, for he was not encumbered with a 
 
112 TEVERINO. 
 
 snperfluous toilet, and scarcely a buttonhole in ajl 
 his dress was unbroken. 
 
 " You know how to swim, at least ?" demanded 
 L^once. " This is a large well ; you will find no 
 foothold on the side where we are, for the rock 
 apparently descends perpendicularly to a great 
 depth." 
 
 " Oh I sir, trust confidently to the skill of an ex- 
 professor of swimming in the Gulf of Baja," re- 
 plied the stranger, and nimbly discarding the rag 
 that served him as a shirt, he darted into the water 
 with the freedom of an amphibious bird. 
 
 L^once was amused and delighted with his an- 
 tics, his evolutions, his various feats of dexterity 
 and skill, all of which he accomplished with ease, 
 vigor, and natural grace. Presently, he returned 
 to the foot of the rock, and as the side was really 
 very steep, he asked L^once to reach out a hand 
 to help him up. L^once assisted him with a good 
 grace, at the same time, keeping on his guard 
 against unfair play and awkward surprises. When 
 the fellow had attained the bank, he went and 
 seated himself on a rock in the sunshine, display- 
 ing as he did so, the wonderful strength and beauty 
 of his body, whose whiteness presented a strong 
 contrast to the bronzed color of his face and hands. 
 
 " The water is colder than I thought," said the 
 
I 
 
 TEVERINO. 113 
 
 swimmer. " It is warm only on the surface, and I 
 have no wish to plunge into it a second time. Now 
 I think of it, here is an opportunity to make a 
 slight toilet." 
 
 Saying this, he drew from his scanty bundle, a 
 large shell, evidently intended to serve as a cup, 
 but of which he had disdained to make use in 
 drinking. He filled the shell several times with 
 water and dashed it over his head and beard, wash- 
 ing and rubbing with extreme care and minute 
 voluptuousness, this black fleece, which, all drip- 
 ping as it was, made him look like some savage 
 river god. Then, as the rays of the sun, falling 
 directly on his head and neck, became trouble- 
 some, he pulled up great tufts of the yf'ildi fleur de 
 lis, and rolling them together, made a hat or rather 
 crown of leaves and flowers. Either from accident 
 or from a certain natural taste, he arranged this 
 head-dress so artistically as to make himself the 
 complete ideal of an antique Neptune. 
 
 A second time he bounded into the lake, swam 
 across it, reached the opposite bank, and running 
 up its gentle slope, covered with vegetation, he 
 gathered some splendid flowers of the white nym- 
 <pliea, which he placed in his crown. Finally, as 
 if divining the intense admiration with which L^- 
 once regarded him, he made a sort of garment, 
 
114 TEVERINO. 
 
 with a girdle of reeds and aquatic leaves, and then, 
 free, proud, and beautiful as the first man, he ex- 
 tended himself on a sand bank, in an attitude of 
 majestic repose. 
 
 Struck with the perfection of the model before 
 him, Ldonce opened his album, and attempted to 
 sketch this strange creature, who, with the reflec- 
 tion on the water, presented an exquisite tableau, 
 such as an artist has rarely the happiness to study, 
 set in a natural frame work of sombre rocks, bril- 
 liant foliage, and silver sands, marvellously appro- 
 priate to the subject. 
 
 All at once he shut his album, and throwing it 
 from him, " Presumptuous that I am," said he, to 
 himself, "for essaying to trace a scene that Ra- 
 phael or YSron^se, Giorgion, Rubens, and Poussin, 
 might have envied me the contemplation ! Yes ; 
 the great masters of painting were alone worthy 
 to reproduce an image, upon which I have stum- 
 bled, as it were by stealth, and owe to the kind- 
 ness of chance. Enough for me, who have no 
 skill with the pencil, to see it, to feel it, and to 
 engrave it on the tablet of my memory." 
 
 The vagabond seemed intuitively to divine his 
 thoughts, for, to his great surprise, he called out 
 in Italian, after inquiring if Ldonce understood 
 that language, "This is the antique, is it not, 
 
TEVERINO. 115 
 
 Signer ? Will you have Michel Angelo ? Behold 
 him !" and he assumed a more singular attitude, 
 but still beautiful, although constrained. "JSTow 
 for Raphael," he resumed, changing his posture. 
 " It is more graceful and natural ; but whatever 
 may be said about it,. the muscle yet plays a part 
 rather too conspicuous. Jules Komain has also 
 something of this stiffness, but he is not to be des- 
 pised." When he had represented Jules Momain, 
 he threw himself again into his first position, add- 
 ing, " This is the best ; it is that of Phidias, and 
 one may seek in vain to find anything superior." 
 
 " You follow, then, the occupation of a model?" 
 said L^once, slightly disenchanted with what had 
 at first appeared naive and unstudied in the man. 
 
 " Yes, sir, that and many others," replied the 
 swimmer, who at that moment was to be seen 
 standing erect, like a statue on a pedestal, upon a 
 rocky island in the middle of the lake. "If I 
 had an old pitcher, I could with my reeds, here 
 represent to you a group after the taste of Yer- 
 sailles, although I have never been there. We 
 have, however, many things in this style at ITaples. 
 If I had a tambourine, I w^ould show you various 
 ISTeapolitan figures, which have more intellect and 
 grace in their little finger than all the blocks of 
 marble and bronze of your great age. But, since 
 
116 TEVEEINO. 
 
 I can do nothing more to cliarm your eyes, I will 
 at least delight your ears. If you arc Apollo, treat 
 ' me not, I pray you, as you treated Marsyas : if 
 you are a renowned master, you must admit that 
 the voice is fine. I feel that this cold water and 
 these vigorous postures have expanded my chest, 
 and now I am seized with a foolish desire to 
 
 sing." 
 
 " Sing, then, comrade," said L^once. " If your 
 warbling correspond to your plumage, you have 
 no cause to fear my judgment." 
 
 VI. 
 
 AITDACES F0RT[JNA JUVAT. 
 
 The Italian then sang three strophes, marked by 
 the hyperbolical genius of his nation, and of 
 which we here give the free translation. He 
 adapted them to one of those airs of Southern 
 Italy, concerning which we cannot tell whether 
 they are chefs d'cmvres of unknown masters, or 
 casual manly inspirations of the popular muse. 
 
 "Pass on, noble lords, in your parti-colored 
 gondolas. You urge in vain the speed of your 
 
TEVERDTO. 117 
 
 intrepid oarsmen. My arms, pliant as the wave, 
 and wHte as the foam, shall excel you in swift- 
 ness. Covered with my rags, I am one of the 
 lowest on earth; but naked and free, I am king 
 of the wave, and your master in every thing I 
 
 "Fly, noble ladies, in your barks adorned with 
 flags. In vain do you turn away your heads, in 
 vain does the fan conceal your chaste counte- 
 nances ; my features continually attract your gaze, 
 and your eyes furtively pursue my black hair 
 floating upon the water. With my rags, I make 
 you recoil in disgust, but naked and free, I am 
 king of the world, and master of your hearts I 
 
 " Swim, birds of the sea and the river. Divide 
 with your feet of coral, the briny wave on which 
 you poise. "With my chest as strong as a vessel's 
 prow, with my arms as flexible as your shining 
 necks, I will follow you to your nests of sea- weed 
 and of shells. Covered with my rags, I frighten 
 you ; but naked and free, I am king of the wave, 
 and you take me for one of yourselves I" 
 
 The voice of the singer was magnificent, and 
 the most famous artists could not have surpassed 
 him in purity of accent, in naivete of manner, or 
 in the power of exalted sentiment. Ldonce ima- 
 gined himself transported to the Gulf of Salerno 
 
118 TKVEBINO. 
 
 or Tarento, under the uky of inspiration* and 
 «f poetry. 
 
 " By Amphytrion !" cried ho, " thou art a great 
 poet and a great idnger, noble young man I and I 
 know not how to recompense thee for the plcasrire 
 thou hast just given me» What is this admirable 
 •oog ? What strange words are these ?" 
 
 "Tlic song is by some god, bewildered on the 
 summit of thc-Appeninc» ; he confided it to the 
 echoes, and they, in their turn, murmured it to 
 the ears of shepherds and fishermen. But tlie 
 words are mine, Sign or, for, with your permission, 
 I am improvisator, when it pleases me to be. Our 
 melodious language is at everybody's service, and 
 lirhen we have an idea, we, natural poets, children 
 of the sun, we have not long to wait for its ex- 
 pression." 
 
 " Will you repeat these words for mo ? I wish 
 t() write them down." 
 
 " If I repeat them, they will bo different. My 
 songs fly away from me like the flame from the 
 hearth. I can renew, but not retain tliem. You 
 find them, perhaps, too much of the braggadocio 
 style; that is the poet's privilege. Take from 
 him his vain-glory, arid you take away IjIh genius." 
 
 " You have the right to boa^t of your«cif, for 
 yours is a privileged nature," replied Ldonco, 
 
TEVEKINO. 119 
 
 " and wliatovor may bo your condition, you 
 
 doscrvo to tjiko nu oxaltod pluco among mon. 
 
 ^Oii liavo cbarmod mo. Como Lore, and toll mo 
 
 your uuHcry ; it may bo in my power to roHovo it." 
 
 Tlio mOvnown roturnod to tho bank. "Alaal" 
 
 Hiiiil he, " You bavo scon tJio antique fawn in all 
 
 Jiis lilx'i'ly, tlio man of luitimi in nil bis poetry. 
 
 Now, you are about to see tlio bearer of rags in 
 
 all bis deformity, and in all bin misery; for ncces- 
 
 Bity compelH mo to rcHume tluB Had livery, wbicb, 
 
 I liiisl- in l*rovidonce, may of itself leave mo, or 
 
 that my genius nuiy iintl Home occupation wborcby 
 
 to renew my wardrobe. You Hoem surprised? 
 
 Your looks plainly indicated, when I iirst ap- 
 
 l)roacbed you, that my appearance filled you with 
 
 disgust. You found mo ugly, frightful, perhaps. 
 
 But when I bavo laid aHide my beggar's robes, 
 
 :ind thirt limpid water has puriliod my skin from 
 
 ilie dust of tho roads; when you have seen this 
 
 l»ody, which has often served as a model to tho 
 
 iirst sculptors of my country ; this countenance, 
 
 wliieb has never yet been degraded by debauch, 
 
 and from which fatigue and ju'ivation bavo not 
 
 yet Hioloii ilH youtli and beauty; thoso limbs, 
 
 upon whicli nature has been luxuriously lavish, 
 
 and this sentiment of tho beautiful, the impress 
 
 of which tho intelligent man boars stampetl on his 
 
120 TEVERINJO. 
 
 forclicad and in all his habits ; when you have 
 Been all this, Signor, you are at last convinced, 
 that naked, I am the equal and perhaps the supe- 
 rior of men more sumptuously clothed, and you 
 have tried to enrol me among your artistic impres- 
 Bions. But you have not succeeded, I am sure, 
 for the works of art are nothing, when they 
 attempt to surpass the works of God. If you are 
 a true artist, my image will be laid away in the 
 store-house of your memory, to be brought forth 
 again in some future moment of inspiration. To- 
 day, you cannot reproduce me, inasmuch as the 
 performance is over, and my divinity is about to 
 disappear, under the withering blight of indi- 
 gence." 
 
 The man spoke with an extraordinary facility 
 and purity of accent. His countenance, now 
 lighted up by a ray of enthusiasm, and now, 
 quickly veiled by a profound sentiment of woe, 
 was of an unearthly beauty. Never had the eyes 
 of L^once dwelt upon more noble features, with 
 so refined and intelligent an expression. 
 
 " Sir," said he, impelled by an involuntary 
 emotion of respect, " you are certainly above the 
 miserable condition in which you appear. It may 
 be that you are some unfortunate artist. Accept 
 of my assistance, I entreat you, as a slight testi- 
 
TEVERINO. 121 
 
 monial of my gi-atitude for the pleasure you have 
 been the means of procuring me." 
 
 But the unknown appeared not to hear the 
 words of L^once. Bending down over the margin 
 of the lake, he picked up with visible repugnance 
 the worthless clothes he was obliged to resume, in 
 order to cover his nakedness. 
 
 " This," said he, letting the rags fall again upon 
 the ground — " this is a punishment I hope you may 
 never experience. The Italian loves finery, the 
 artist loves comfort, luxury, odors, cleanliness; 
 that exquisite indolence which renews both mind 
 and body, after manly and healthful exercises. 
 No human being can comprehend how much it 
 costs me to show myself to the world, to women 
 especially, with a torn blouse and threadbare 
 pantaloons." 
 
 " I both understand and pity you," replied 
 Leonce, " and God be praised, I can help you out 
 of your trouble this very instant. If you will 
 remain here and warm yourself in the sun, I pro- 
 mise you to return in a quarter of an hour, with 
 a wardrobe that shall satisfy your honest and 
 legitimate fancy. Wait for me." 
 
 And before the Italian could utter a word, 
 either of assent or remonstrance, Leonce darted 
 
 p the path, ran to the carriage, drew from it a 
 
 f 
 
122 TEVEBINO. 
 
 light and elegant valise, and carried it with him 
 to the lake. He found his Italian in the water, 
 occupied in tastefully arranging a sheaf of the 
 most beautiful aquatic flowers, which he brought 
 triumphantly to shore, and presented to L^once 
 with touching grace. 
 
 " I can give you nothing else in exchange for 
 what you bring me," said he. " I possess nothing 
 in the world ; but thanks to my address and 
 courage, I can appropriate to my use the rarest 
 treasures of nature; the most beautiful flowers, 
 the most valuable mineralogical specimens, crys- 
 tals, petrifactions and mountainous plants. I can 
 give you all these, if you would like me to accom- 
 pany you in your excursions ; or, if you have a 
 gun with you, I can bring down the eagle and the 
 chamois, and deposit them at the feet of your 
 mistress; for I am the most skilful hunter you 
 have ever met, as well as the most hardy pedes- 
 trian and the most active swimmer." 
 
 Notwithstanding the self-glorification contained 
 in this speech, (a great feature, by the way, in the 
 Italian character) the loquacity of the young man 
 was by no means displeasing to L^once. His 
 countenance, lighted up by joy and gratitude, was 
 radiant with a sympathetic frankness that appeals 
 irresistibly to the affections. In ten minutes, the 
 
TEVERINO. 123 
 
 ragged vagabond was transformed into a young 
 man of the highest fashion, in traveling costume. 
 Leone e's valise contained only des habits du mor 
 tin, but there was a full supply of everything 
 wherewith to make a charming toilet in the coun- 
 try : light and well-fitting vests, cravats of choice 
 colors and the latest style, magnificent linen, sum- 
 mer pantaloons of fancy stufis, patent leather 
 shoes, and light cassimere gaiters, with mother-of- 
 pearl buttons. The Italian used no ceremony in 
 choosing the best and most elegant articles, and 
 even did not forget to furnish himself with a pair 
 of gloves, whose delicate perfume he inhaled with 
 evident pleasure. He was about the same height 
 as L^once, and everything fitted him wonderfully. 
 When he beheld himself thus attired and reno- 
 vated from head to foot, he threw himself 
 into the arms of .his new friend, exclaiming, 
 that he owed to him the greatest happiness 
 he had ever experienced. Then, with the point 
 of his foot, he pushed the rags that gave him so 
 much horror, into the lake, untied his small bun- 
 dle, the envelope of which he also threw into the 
 water, and drew from it, to the great surprise of 
 L^once, the portrait of a woman, set in brilliants, 
 a heavy gold chain, and two fine cambric hand- 
 
 I 
 
124 TEVERINO. 
 
 kerchiefs, trimmed with lace. These made np the 
 entire contents of his traveling knapsack. 
 
 " You are astonished that a man, apparently a 
 beggar, should have preserved these articles of 
 luxury," said he, putting on the chain, and so ar- 
 ranging it as to produce the best effect over his 
 white waistcoat. " They are all that remains to 
 me of my former splendor, and I shall never part 
 with them except at the last extremity. Che 
 volete^ Signor mio f pazzia P^ 
 
 " You have then been rich ?" asked Ldonce, 
 remarking the ease with which he wore his new 
 costume. 
 
 " Kich for eight daj^s, I have been a hundred 
 times. "Would you like to know my history ? I 
 will tell it you with pleasure." 
 
 " I shall certainly be glad to hear it. We will 
 go together and replace this valise in my carriage, 
 and you can relate your history on the way." 
 
 " Are you traveling, Signor ?" 
 
 Ko, merely out on an excursion, which may 
 perhaps last several days. Will you make one of 
 the party ?" 
 
 " Ah ! with great pleasure, and all the more, 
 since I can be both useful and agreeable. I have 
 various small talents, and I am already familiar 
 with every nook and crevice in these mountains, 
 
TEVERINO. 125 
 
 through which I have been wandering during the 
 past week. My head is incessantly carrying off 
 my legs, to revenge itself upon my heart, which 
 is every moment running away with my head. 
 But in order that you may comprehend my man- 
 ner of traveling, that is, my mode of life, it is 
 necessary that I should first make you thoroughly 
 acquainted with myself. 
 
 " I am ignorant of the place of my birth, and 
 know not whether I am indebted for the light to 
 some guilty woman of quality, or to some poor, 
 unfortunate girl. The wife of a fisherman picked 
 me up one morning on the banks of the Tiber, in 
 the vicinity of Rome, and gave me the name of 
 Teverino or Tiberinus. I was about two years old, 
 but could not speak to tell whence I had come, or 
 the name of my parents. This good creature took 
 care of me and brought me up, notwithstanding 
 her poverty. She had no son, and relied on me 
 to assist in supporting her, when I should be old 
 enough to work. Unfortunately, I was not born 
 with a taste for work : nature bestowed on me an 
 inclination for princely indolence, and for that 
 reason, I have always believed myself of illus- 
 trious blood, although in spirit I am with the 
 people. I am certain that one of the two authors 
 of my being must have belonged to the race of 
 
poor devils who are destined to conquer obstacles 
 by and for themselves ; and in my problematical 
 origin, that is the side for which I am least inclined 
 to blush. Even when, as a little child, I liked to fish, 
 it was rather as an art than a business. Yes, even 
 then, I felt myself born for the creations of the in- 
 tellect. Ardent in the pursuit of violent and peril- 
 ous exercises, I had no taste for lucre. I experienced 
 great delight in watching, surprising, and conquer- 
 ing my prey, but I was unskilful in bargaining 
 for its sale. I frequently lost the money I had 
 earned, or lent it to the first applicant, for I was 
 too generous to refuse any thing to my little com- 
 rades, and often aided them in arranging their mer- 
 chandize to advantage, so that they might obtain the 
 best prices. In short, my poor adopted mother was 
 in utter despair at my disinterestedness and liberal- 
 ity, complaining bitterly of my stupidity and ill- 
 behavior. 
 
 " In proportion as age gave me strength, it took 
 hers away ; at last, not being strong enough to 
 beat me, her only consolation until then for all my 
 delinquencies, she one day turned me out of doors, 
 with her malediction and two carlini. 
 
 " I was ten years old, and as beautiful as a 
 young Cupid. A painter of merit, who had no- 
 ticed me in the street, took me into his house to 
 
TEVERINO. :12.7 
 
 serve as a model. He painted from me a holy 
 John the Baptist child, a Giotto, and a Jesus 
 teaching in the temple ; and when he had done 
 with my face, he sent me away with twenty pieces 
 of gold and the advice to dress myself better if I 
 wished to obtain an honest living. I felt the taste 
 for luxury already born within me ; nevertheless, 
 I comprehended that this was not the moment for 
 its indulgence. Accordingly I ran to the house 
 of my adopted mother, and gave her all the 
 money I had received. My generosity appeared 
 to touch her heart, and she urged me to remain 
 with her ; but I replied, that having tasted the 
 pleasures of independence, they were too sweet to 
 resign, and I must be perfectly free to choose my 
 profession. 
 
 " This profession was soon found ; that is to say, 
 a hundred presented themselves, and I devoted 
 myself to none exclusively. I had a love of 
 change, a passion for liberty, and an ungoverna- 
 ble curiosity for every thing noble and beautiful. 
 My voice was already fine, my countenance and 
 intellect recommended themselves. Sure of charm- 
 ing the eye and the ear, I had no care to take on 
 this point : my only study was to cultivate my 
 natural faculties. In turn, model, boatman, jockey, 
 chorist, ballet-dancer at the theatre, street-singer, 
 
128 TEVERINO. 
 
 shell-merchant, waiter in a Cafd, cicerone, 
 
 Ah ! sir, this last occupation and that of model, 
 •were the most profitable, if not to my purse, at 
 least to my mind. The conversation of artists, 
 and the daily study of chefs d'cBuvres of art so 
 developed my ideas, that I soon found myself su- 
 perior in my conceptions and judgment, to the 
 painters and sculptors who endeavored to repro- 
 duce my figure, as well as to all the tourists whom 
 I initiated in a knowledge of the wonders of Eome. 
 The more I perceived the ignorance and poverty 
 of intellect of those with whom business brought 
 me in contact, the stronger grew my desire to cul- 
 tivate my nature to its utmost capacity. I was 
 not fond of reading. Instruction by means of 
 books is a work too cold and tedious for the ra- 
 pidity of my comprehension. 
 
 " I endeavored, therefore, to associate as much 
 as possible with truly intelligent men, and almost 
 always sacrificing my interests to this object, I 
 instructed myself by listening to their conversa- 
 tion. Boatman or jockey, I observed and was 
 familiar with the manners and habits of people 
 of the world; chorist in the church or at the 
 opera, I became initiated in the sentiment of music 
 and in theatrical art. I surprised the secrets of 
 the priest and those of the comedian, who, by the 
 
TEVERINO. 129 
 
 way, strongly resemble each other. Singing on 
 the market-place, exhibiting puppets, or selling 
 knick-knacks, I studied all classes of men, and 
 knew at a glance the impressions of the public 
 and their causes. Acute and penetrating, auda- 
 cious and modest, easy to persuade, and disdaining 
 to deceive, I had friends everywhere, and pro- 
 tectors nowhere. To accept protection, is to place 
 one's self in dependence; all sorts of yokes are 
 odious to me. Endowed with a talent for imita- 
 tion without example, certain of amusing, affect- 
 ing, astonishing, or interesting, whomsoever I 
 would, there was not an hour of my life in which 
 I could not rely on some one of my infinite 
 resources. 
 
 " In proportion as I approached manhood, these 
 resources, far from diminishing, increased ten- 
 fold. When old enough to please women, I had 
 great success, Signor, and I did not abuse it. The 
 same regal indolence that had kept me from 
 wasting my talents in the employment of a fish- 
 monger, and which was in fact only an instinctive 
 respect for the preservation of my power, accom- 
 panied me in my relations with the fair sex. Ju- 
 dicious and discreet, vice could not long attract, 
 nor selfish pleasures hold me ; I desired to live by 
 
 the heart, that I might rest complete and invin- 
 6* 
 
ISD TEVERINO. 
 
 cible in my pride. It cost me no effort to forgiv^ 
 a wrong, therefore was I often betrayed, but never 
 deceived. I supplanted many rivals, but never 
 villified them. I formed many ties, yet knew 
 how to break them without anger or bitterness. 
 Here, sir, I have the portrait of a princess, who 
 so tormented me by her jealousy as to compel me 
 to abandon her ; but I preserve her image in re- 
 membrance of the pleasure she has given me. I 
 do not show it to any one, nor do I sell the dia- 
 monds, although I have lived for a week on black 
 bread and goat's milk." 
 
 " But what then is the cause of your present 
 misery?" demanded Ldonce. 
 
 " The love of traveling is one cause, and love, 
 pure love, is the other, Signor mio ! Hardly had 
 I gained some money, than, quitting the employ- 
 ment which had procured it, for I had exhausted 
 all its pleasure, I set out to travel over Italy. I 
 visited all its provinces, partaking the sweets of 
 ease when I could procure them, submitting philo- 
 sophically to privations when my purse was empty; 
 often even, resting with a sort of voluptuousness 
 in this state of destitution which made me feel the 
 price of the wealth I had wasted, and proudly 
 waiting for the return of desire strong enough to 
 shake off this delicious apathy. Sometimes I dis- 
 
TEVERmO. 131 
 
 dained to accept offered business, feeling that my 
 inspirations as artist were not arrived at their 
 apogee, and preferring to fast rather than declaim 
 or sing unworthily. Ah! Signer, it is a great 
 enjoyment to feel one's genius carried captive by 
 the respect one bears it! At other times, love 
 controlled me, and I pleased myself in wasting 
 my gold upon my idol. Still more happy was I, 
 and intoxicated beyond expression, when ruined, 
 I saw her attach herself to my misery, and cherish 
 me all the more tenderly, that I had no longer 
 anything but love to bestow upon her ! Oh ! yes ; 
 and thus I have let many days pass away before 
 putting such affection to the proof of again trying 
 the wheel of fortune ; for noble hearts are most 
 irresistibly drawn to each other, when most un- 
 fortunate." v 
 
 " Teverino, your language penetrates my very 
 soul," said Leonce. " If you draw a true picture 
 of yourself, you possess one of the noblest hearts, 
 joined to one of the most original characters I 
 have ever met. When you began your history, I 
 thought of this title of a chapter in Eabelais, with 
 which you are doubtless familiar, since you know 
 everything ?" 
 
 " Row Pantagrud met Panurge T^ said the 
 Italian, laughing. 
 
18S TEVERINO. 
 
 "Even 60," replied L^once; "and now I will 
 finish the phrase — ' whom he loved all his lifeJ " 
 
 " This chapter has often been quoted to me, for 
 all who have loved me have found me under their 
 feet. But I soon came up to the level of their 
 hearts, even above the heads of some, and in this 
 respect I am a Panurge of a better type than the 
 hero of Eabelais. I have neither his dastardliness, 
 his impudence, his gluttony, his boastfulness, nor 
 his egotism, but I have, in common with him, de- 
 licacy of wit and the chances of fortune. If you 
 were to take me with you for a few days, you 
 would see, that, in partaking of the luxuries ap- 
 pertaining to your life, I should not for an instant 
 abuse them. "When I had had enough of them — 
 and I should probably weary of your society be- 
 fore you would of mine — you would regret our 
 separation, and feel that you owed me a debt of 
 gratitude." 
 
 " That is very possible," smilingly replied JA- 
 once ; " although I find in you a resemblance to 
 Panurge, which you deny ! boastfulness." 
 
 " JSTot so, sir. He is a boaster who promises 
 what he does not perform. Be not piqued at my 
 assertion ; but it is true that I shall be the first to 
 tire of our familiarity. You will not be the cause 
 of it, for I perceive that you possess both genius 
 
TEVERINO. 183 
 
 and greatness of soul ; but exterior circumstances, 
 independent of our own wills: the world that 
 amuses me an instant and then disgusts me, the 
 constraint of any custom to which I find it impos- 
 sible to submit longer than a few hours, any indi- 
 vidual who may please you, but is antipathetic to 
 me ; in fine, any caprice of my versatile mind, 
 which may in some measure draw me towards a 
 new aspect of things, this or that will oblige me 
 to leave you. But you will not be ashamed of 
 having known me, and I swear to you, that the 
 name of Teverino shall never be odious in your 
 ears." 
 
 " I am assured that you do not deceive me," re- 
 plied L^once, " although your inconstancy terrifies 
 me. See now ! can you engage to live twenty-four 
 hours my life, and transform yourself, morally 
 speaking, from head to foot, into the man of the 
 world, which you already are, materially." 
 
 " Nothing more easy. I shall have as fine man- 
 ners and as noble a bearing as yourself, for I un- 
 derstand you thoroughly, although but an hour in 
 your society. Moreover, have I not lived as peer 
 and companion to the nobility, when my talents 
 have caused me to be sought after ? Do you think 
 that if I had desired to adopt an uniform mode of 
 life, if I had been willing to deprive myself of 
 
1B4: TEVERINO. 
 
 vivid emotions, such for instance, as abstaining 
 from ruining myself in one day, and forsaking a 
 marchioness to run after a gipsy ; in short, if I had 
 chosen to reform myself, as it is called, submit my- 
 self to circumstances, give myself up to the tortures 
 of ambition, or to the torments of a jealous vanity, 
 bear with the caprices of the great, or injure my 
 competitors to the advantage of my fortune and 
 reputation, do you think I should not have suc- 
 ceeded as well as many others, who entering the 
 world through the small door for artists, have be- 
 come lords in their turn, and have seen open before 
 them, the folding doors of the great? ITothing 
 would have been more easy, and it is this facility 
 even, which disgusts me. Kely then upon my 
 sentiment of propriety as long as your convention- 
 alisms shall suit me, that is to say, twenty-four 
 hours, the term for which I agree." 
 
 " Be it so. You will pass for one of my friends, 
 whom I have just met boatnizing or philosophiz- 
 ing among the mountains, and I shall present you 
 as such to a beautiful lady, whom we are about to 
 rejoin, and with whom I expect you to maintain 
 your incognito as long as it may be my pleasure." 
 
 " I cannot enter into any engagement stated in 
 such terms ; I should be at the mercy of your ca- 
 price, and that would chill my genius. We will 
 
TEVERINO. IBS 
 
 agree upon twenty-four hours, neither more nor 
 less, and the engagement must be reciprocal, I 
 ^ill go no further with you now, unless you give 
 me your word of honor that I may be permitted 
 to unmask to-morrow, at two o'clock in the after- 
 noon — I see by the sun that it is now about that 
 hour — and, on my part, I authorize you to throw 
 toe naked into the lake where you found me, if I 
 betray myself before the expiration of the con- 
 tract." 
 
 " I agree, upon honor," said L^once. 
 
 So saying, they turned into the thicket which 
 sheltered the carriage ; they succeeded in replacing 
 the valise under the box in front, without being 
 perceived. 
 
 " Let me go forward and reconnoitre while you 
 wait here," said L^once ; and, as with this object 
 in view, he was advancing along the path, he saw 
 Madeleine coming towards him, breathless and 
 carrying the hammock. 
 
 " Her highness is waiting very impatiently for 
 you," said she. " She sent me to find your lord- 
 ship, and to tell you that she's very tired. Bless 
 me ! there she is now, crossing the stream. I will 
 run on and put this in the carriage." 
 
 L^once hastened to ofier his hand to Sabina, 
 without giving himself any anxiety in regard to 
 
136 TEVEBINO. 
 
 the chance of Madeleine's meeting with Teverino, 
 or the possibility of her having already seen the 
 fellow strolling about the country. Chance ap- 
 peared to serve his projects, for hardly had he an- 
 nounced to Sabina, that he had a friend to pre- 
 sent to her, than he saw Teverino come out of the 
 thicket, followed at a respectful distance by the 
 bird-tamer, who looked at him curiously, as if she 
 now beheld him for the first time. 
 
 vn. 
 
 OVER HEDGE AND DITOH. 
 
 "I PRESENT to you the Marquis Tiberino de 
 Montefiore," said Ldonce, " a faithful friend, 
 whom I was sure of meeting in the pursuit of 
 flowers for his magnificent herbarium of the Alps, 
 and a delightful traveling companion, kindly sent 
 to us by Providence. I trust he will receive your 
 welcome and the honor of admission into your 
 cort^e." 
 
 The fine face and graceful bearing of the Mar- 
 quis Tiberino dispelled the anger which clouded 
 the brow of Lady G . 
 
TEVERINO. 137 
 
 " I am compelled to obey you in everything," 
 she said in an undertone to Leonce. "You are my 
 doctor and master to-day; consequently, I must 
 accept your prescriptions without examining them 
 too closely." 
 
 " In this instance your submission will not be 
 very meritorious," said Leonce, '' and by-and-by I 
 will appeal to your own experience, as regards the 
 truth of my assertion. Marquis, give your arm to 
 Milady. I will endeavor to fish up our Cur^ and 
 his trout." 
 
 The Cur^ had done wonders; and in the ex- 
 citement of his numerous conquests, he forgot the 
 hour, his parishioners, his office, even his house- 
 keeper. As he beheld the silver trout, their 
 stomachs sprinkled with rubies, wriggling upon 
 the grass, he, himself, leaped about like a frog, 
 and his large, round eyes shone with the innocent 
 joy of the churchman who finds in orthodox 
 amusements a vent for his ardent passions. Leonce 
 assisted in making a basket of rushes and osiers, 
 in which to carry his fish, and thus imprisoned, 
 they replaced them alive in the water, taking care 
 to fasten the verdant cord to some large stones. 
 
 " I invite you to sup this evening at my parson- 
 age," cried the Cur^. " They will be delicious, 
 
138 TEVEEINO. 
 
 especially if you have any of that good wine left, 
 wherewith to wash them down." 
 
 " I have something better yet ;" said L^once. 
 " I have just seen in an oak coppice a quantity of 
 superb mushrooms of every variety, and have 
 come to ask you assistance in gathering them." 
 
 " Oh ! Sir," exclamed the Curd, reddening with 
 enthusiasm, " let us go there immediately, before 
 the herdsmen come down after their cows. Those 
 ignoramuses would crush beneath their feet the 
 splendid mushrooms, the whole of which we must 
 absolutely gather. You have done well to wait 
 for me : I am familiar with all the varieties suit- 
 able for food, and the * bollet,' especially, requires 
 great delicacy of observation, because of the great 
 number of cousins german found in the class of 
 poisons." 
 
 "Panurge may get out of it as he can!" said 
 Ldonce to himself, as he saw Teverino and Sabina 
 seated at a little distance, on a group of rocks. 
 " If he perpetrates any foolishness, I shall not 
 suffer the mortification of listening to it, and I 
 niuch prefer to submit to the results of the ex- 
 periment than to face them." 
 
 He took the Curd off with him, and called 
 Madeleine to join their party, but the latter seemed 
 unwilling to go, and said, by way of excuse, that 
 
TEVERiNO. 139 
 
 all the nmshrooms were poisonous, and of- no use, 
 but to kill flies. 
 
 " This is a prejudice of many peasants," said 
 the Cur^, " even in the regions where a knowledge 
 of the eatable kinds might furnish them a healthy 
 and nutritious food." 
 
 Leonce passed sufficiently near to Sabina to give 
 her an opportunity of recalling him, if the tUe-CL- 
 tete were displeasing to her ; but she gave no in- 
 dication of discontent, and did not even appear to 
 see him. 
 
 Lost in the oak coppice, Leonce found himself 
 separated from the Cur^, whom the ardor of search 
 led into the thickest of the bushes, and whose 
 locality was only betrayed from time to time by 
 exclamations of enthusiasm, as new groups of 
 mushrooms presented themselves before him. 
 Madeleine quietly followed the young man and 
 offered him her large straw hat to serve as a 
 basket ; but Ldonce put in it only the flowers of 
 the gentian and balm leaves. The bird-tamer 
 was pre-occupied, and, once, he thought he saw 
 some furtive tears dropping from her blond eye- 
 lashes. 
 
 " What ails you, dear child ?" said he, drawing 
 her arm within his own. " What internal trouble 
 can you have ?" 
 
140 TBVERINO. 
 
 " It is of no consequence, kind sir," replied the 
 young girl. " It is only a little foolishness passing 
 through my mind." 
 
 " What is it, then ?" said L^once, pressing her 
 little arm against his breast. 
 
 " It is, you see, sir," she replied ingenuously, 
 " that my good friend set out. this morning before 
 daylight for the frontier." 
 
 "Has he left you?" 
 
 " Oh I no, God forbid I I do not think that. He 
 has gone to reconnoitre a pass he has seen, which 
 my brother thinks impracticable. He believes, 
 on the contrary, that this will be the best mode of 
 passing contraband goods; he does not wish to 
 live at our charge, and as the business looks tempt" 
 ing to him, he intends to aid my brother in mak- 
 ing a profitable hit, and has promised to return 
 this evening with good news. But I fear that he 
 may not return, and I do nothing but pray to God 
 all the time. This is what makes me cry."^ 
 
 " The pass is probably dangerous, and you fear 
 that he will be too venturesome ?" 
 
 " The pass is dangerous ; for my brother thinks 
 it impossible, but my friend is adroit and prudent 
 enough to get out of it." 
 
 ^' What then do you fear 2" 
 
TEVERINO. ' 141 
 
 " I do not know. Don't ask me ; I cannot tell 
 you." 
 
 " Then I will tell you. You fear that he no 
 longer loves you. What has become of the con- 
 fidence you felt this morning ?" 
 
 " I am wrong, am I not ?" 
 ' *'I do not know. But can you not console 
 yourself, my poor child ?" 
 
 "I do not know," returned Madeleine, with 
 eyes raised towards heaven, and in a tone that 
 expressed no doubt of her lover's constancy, but 
 rather the dismay of an inexperienced heart facing 
 grief. ' - 
 
 " You do not know, indeed," resumed Ldonce, 
 observing her countenance, " and you feel that if 
 it be possible, it is at least very difficult." 
 
 " It does not seem possible to me at all. But 
 God alone knows the miracles he can perform, and 
 it is said, that when we pray to him in the sincer- 
 ity of our hearts, he will refuse us nothing." 
 
 " Your first movement would be, then, to pray 
 to him to deliver you from your love? and that is 
 your prayer now, is it not V 
 
 " 'No, sir. I would do that only when certain 
 of being no longer loved ; for if I were to pray 
 now to become wicked towards one who is good 
 
142 TEVERINO. 
 
 to me, I should ask something that God could not 
 grant, even if he would." 
 
 " You think, then, that it is our duty to love 
 those who love us ?" 
 
 " Yes ; when God permits us to love them, he 
 does not wish us to cease loving ftom motives of 
 caprice. I believe even that such fickleness 
 displeases him." 
 
 " But if there be a reason for it, that would be 
 different?" 
 
 " Then it would become a duty. To love him 
 who no longer loves us, is to offend and annoy him. 
 God does not wish us to torment our neighbor, es- 
 pecially for the good he has done us." 
 
 " You are a great philosopher, Madeleine." 
 
 " Philosopher, sir I I do not understand that 
 word." 
 
 " But we sometimes love, in spite of ourselves, 
 and refrain from confessing our love, thus causing 
 suffering to those who leave us ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and that must make a great deal of trou- 
 ble," said Madeleine, the color forsaking her cheeks 
 at the very idea. 
 
 " But you pray, my child, and God will deliver 
 you." 
 
 " It is very difficult to pray, I am sure. We 
 
TEVERINO. 14:3 
 
 ought always to think to ask for something besides 
 ■what we wish to obtain." 
 
 " That is to say, that in asking to be cured, we 
 desire, in spite of ourselves, to be loved as much 
 as ever." 
 
 " I really believe that is just it, sir. But we 
 must not despair of the mercy of God." 
 - " Grod then permits us to be loved by some other 
 person, and to return that love ?" 
 
 " I do not know. When one is not handsome, 
 and is in love with one person, it is not easy to 
 please any other." 
 
 " But the miracles of Providence ! If your coun- 
 tenance should appear beautiful to some other than 
 your friend, and if your love and grief, instead of 
 displeasing him, should render you more beautiful 
 in his eyes ?" 
 
 " You speak with great gentleness and goodness, 
 sir. It is very easy to see that you believe in God, 
 and that you understand his mercy better than M. 
 le Cur^. You wish also to console me, in showing 
 me things like that ; but I am so sad that I cannot 
 yet even see them. I am constantly thinking of. 
 what I should suffer, if my good friend were to 
 cease loving me ; were I not afraid that it is im- 
 pious, I imagine I should wish to die." 
 
144 TEVERINO. 
 
 " Reflect that if you were to die and he knew it, 
 he would be eternally unhappy." 
 
 " And perhaps the good God would punish him 
 for having caused my death. Oh I no. Then I 
 should not wish to die." 
 
 " Ydu are good and generous ; I predict that you 
 will not be unhappy beyond the power of conso- 
 lation, and that God will not abandon a heart like 
 yours." 
 
 " What you tell me, sir, does me good, and I 
 wish that you were my confessor in place of M. le 
 Cur^. I feel that you would find consolationfor 
 me, and that I should have faith in you as in 
 God." 
 
 " Well, Madeleine, let me at least, be your coun- 
 sellor and your friend. If misfortune happen to 
 you, confide in me. I can do something for you, 
 perhaps, if only to speak of religion and encourage 
 you." 
 
 " Alas ! you are right ; but you are of the people _ 
 who pass through our country, without remaining I 
 with us. In three days, perhaps, you will be more 
 than a thousand leagues from this spot." 
 
 " Take this little pocket-book, and do not lose it. 
 Can you read ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and write a little also ; thanks to my 
 brother, who has taught me all that he knows." 
 
TEVERINO. 145 
 
 " Well, in it you will find an address, and some 
 papers which will be of use in causing me to re- 
 turn, or in guiding you to me, wherever I may 
 be." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. I am very grateful for yaur 
 kindness," said Madeleine, putting the pocket-book 
 into her pocket. " I shall never forget you, for I 
 see that you know a great deal about religion, and 
 your heart inclines to those who are in trouble. 
 Now I know what I shall do. If my good friend 
 should prove ungrateful to me, I will send him to 
 you, for I am sure you will speak to him so wisely 
 that he will no longer wish to afflict me." 
 
 " I have, then, your confidence and friendship ?" 
 
 " Indeed you have," said the bird-tamer, naively 
 pressing the arm of L^once to her heart. 
 
 " Halloa, there !" cried the Cure, emerging from 
 the thicket, so loaded down with mushrooms that 
 he could scarcely stagger under them. " Here are 
 you two, linked arm in arm, as though you were 
 friends and equals. Gently, Madeleine, gently. 
 You have a head, but no brains, my child. This 
 will turn out badly for you." 
 
 '' Do not scold her. Monsieur le Curd," inter- 
 posed Ldonce. " She will do very well, if you wijl 
 let her alone." 
 
 *'• Hum ! hum !" returned the Curd, shaking his 
 7 
 
4 
 
 146 TEVERINO. 
 
 head. " Ton, with your virtuous airs do not re- 
 assure me very much ; perhaps you are playing 
 the fool with me to-day. Come, now, let go the 
 arm of that child, and come with me to see my 
 harvest." 
 
 " We will go and deposit it at the feet of Lady 
 G ," proposed Ldonce. 
 
 " And where then is yours ? What ! weeds and 
 flowers ! Pray, what are you going to do with 
 them ? They have not even a medicinal value." 
 
 " The marquis will find them of use for his her- 
 barium," returned L^once. " And apropos of the 
 marquis," thought he. " I am curious to know if 
 the ass has yet shown the tip of his ear." 
 
 They found Teverino and Sabina in the spot 
 where they had left them ; but the negress and 
 the jockey had rambled off some distance. Both 
 
 the Marquis and Lady G seemed to enjoy 
 
 their consultation. They were seated side by side; 
 his air and manners betokened confidence and 
 satisfaction, while she, with sparkling eye and 
 glowing cheek, seemed equally contented. 
 
 " What have you there ?" said Lady G , as 
 
 she saw the Cur^ ostentatiously spread out his 
 cryptogamous plants upon the moss. " Ah ! what 
 hesLutifnl pommes d'or! What charming decovr 
 pures d*afnbre / What enormous chateaux de 
 
TEVERINO. 147 
 
 pretre /* These certainly arc very singular and 
 magnificent plants." 
 
 *' Singular ! magnificent !" cried the Cur^, gross- 
 ly scandalized. " Say exquisite, Madam ; say 
 fragrant, fresh, nutritious! God has not made 
 such things as these to please the eye, but to de- 
 light the stomach of man." 
 
 " Ah ! Pardon, Monsieur le Cure," said Teve- 
 rino, throwing away a suspicious-looking individ- 
 ual, " here is a false mushroom." 
 
 "Yery likely, very likely," replied the Curd 
 " It is easy to make a mistake, in the haste of 
 gathering them." 
 
 " You seem to be possessed of universal know- 
 ledge," remarked Sabina, glancing tenderly at the 
 Marquis. " What is it you do not know ?" 
 
 " "Well, what do you think of my Marquis ?" 
 asked L^once, drawing her aside. 
 
 " Can I think him otherwise than charming? Is 
 it possible there should be two opinions concern- 
 ing him ? If he were not what he appears to be, 
 you would certainly have been most imprudent, 
 dear doctor, in presenting to me so attractive a 
 
 * Pommes d'or, decoupures d^ambre, chapeaux de Pretre. The 
 names of various species of mushrooms. 
 
148 TEVERINO. 
 
 Sabina uttered these words in a tone of raillery, 
 but there was, in spite of herself, a sort of watery 
 mist in her eyes, that betrayed a secret intoxi- 
 cation. 
 
 " By all that is good ! what have I done ?" 
 thought Ldonce, dismayed, and he was about to 
 inform her of what a foolish j est she was the dupe, 
 when an anxious and piercing glance from Teve- 
 rino recalled to mind his promise and shut his 
 mouth. 
 
 " No, it is impossible," he said to himself ; " this 
 proud and cold woman could not be so grossly 
 deceived. She could not be so enamoured at first 
 sight, with a marquis of my creation, Neverthe- 
 less," he added, directing a scrutinizing glance 
 towards Teverino, at that moment more brilliant 
 than ever, " to notice only the marvellous beauty 
 of this fellow, the ease of his manners, his air, 
 truly distingue^ to listen to that melodious voice, 
 that language, sparkling with poetry and wit ! 
 Who can be jnore fascinating, who can attract 
 more sympathy? Does he not stand there, an 
 Italian Marquis, peerless, perhaps, in all the aris- 
 tocracy of the universe ? Is there a woman in the 
 world so blind as not to be dazzled by his charms ?" 
 
 Ldonce became so absorbed by his anxiety, that 
 Sabina was compelled to shake him to rouse him 
 
TEVERINO. 14^ 
 
 from his revery. The sun was getting low, the 
 weather was propitious for returning. The Cur^, 
 still more impatient to cook his trout and mush- 
 rooms, than to allay the uneasiness of his house- 
 keeper and sacristan, invited his companions to 
 return with him to his parsonage. Madeleine, 
 seated apart from the rest of the party, was com- 
 pletely dumb, and apparently indifferent to every 
 thing going on around her. 
 
 " Seigneur Leontio^'' said the vagabond in 
 Italian to Leonce, as they were about to take their 
 places in the britzska, " Are you in love with 
 the Lady Sabina?" 
 
 " You are very curious, Signor Marchese P^ re- 
 plied Leonce, with ironical tartness. 
 
 " No, but I am your friend, a royal friend, and 
 I ought to know your sentiments, so that I may 
 not oppose them." 
 
 " You are a coxcomb, my dear sir." 
 
 " Indeed, already irritated ? Well, what did I 
 tell you ? that twenty-four hours between us would 
 be the end of the world. No matter. I have 
 divined your secret, and will not insist. You shall 
 acknowledge, Leonce, that Teverino is a gallant 
 man." 
 
 And springing upon the box, he called out, " I 
 am to be coachman. Dame Erebus, you must sit 
 
150 TEVERINO. 
 
 inside of the carriage, for I drive. I have a pas- 
 sion for horses !" 
 
 " That is unkind," said Lady G , evidently 
 
 displeased at this arrangement. "Our society, 
 then, has no more attraction for you. Marquis ?" 
 
 " Besides, you are not familiar with the coun- 
 try," objected the Cur^. " We have already lost 
 our way, and I fear that under your guidance we 
 shall have to sup on the evening dew, and sleep 
 under the canopy of the stars." 
 
 " Leave the Marquis to do as he feels disposed," 
 said L^once, " and if you speak of the stars, trust 
 yourself to his. Do you know how to drive?" 
 he asked Teverino. 
 
 " Perhaps !" replied the latter, " although I 
 have never tried." 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried the Growler. " You 
 will surely overturn us all and break our bones. 
 It will not do to joke with these precipices and 
 narrow roads. Sir ! Sir I Give up the reins to this 
 young lad, who understands driving." 
 
 " Don't be fool-hardy," said Leonce in an imder 
 tone to Teverino. " If you have never handled 
 the reins, you had better not meddle with them." 
 
 " The knowledge will come to me intuitively," 
 replied the Marquis. " I feel myself inspired to 
 conduct these horses of the sun." 
 
TEVERINO. 151 
 
 Whereupon he cracked his whip and the horses 
 started oif at full gallop. 
 
 " Not this way, not this way !" cried the Cur^, 
 swearing in spite of himself. " Where the devil 
 are you going? Saint Apollinaire is upon the 
 left." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Abb^," returned the Phae- 
 ton, "I know these mountains better than you.'' 
 
 And leaning back towards L^once, who was 
 seated directly behind him, " where shall we go V 
 he whispered in his ear. 
 
 " Everywhere, no where — to the devil, if you 
 choose," replied L^once, in the same tone. 
 
 " Then, to all the devils," responded Teverino, 
 and again cracking his whip, he paid no further 
 attention to the rage of the Cur^, who was soon 
 rendered pale and speechless with terror. 
 
 His fear was only too well grounded. Teverino 
 was more adroit than experienced. Katurally rash, 
 and endowed with presence of mind, agility, and 
 physical strength superior to that of the majority 
 of men, he despised danger, and did not always 
 comprehend what moral or material obstacles he 
 could overcome or avoid. In this persuasion, and 
 enchanted with the spirit and velocity of the horses 
 of L^once, he guided them along the edge of pre- 
 cipices, disdaining to hold them in when the road 
 
152 TEVERINO. 
 
 became so frightfully narrow as to cause them to 
 graze the trunks of trees and masses of rocks at its 
 side, urging them up steep acclivities, descending 
 them at full speed, and finally bringing up the 
 burning wheels of the vehicle upon the extreme 
 verge of a perpendicular ravine, at the bottom of 
 which roared an angry torrent. At first, Sabina was 
 seriously afraid ; his jests appeared to her in very 
 bad taste, and she began to fear, that, after all, this 
 Italian marquis was only a specimen of that class 
 of ill-bred individuals, who derive a foolish plea- 
 sure from the sufferings of a timid woman. She 
 presented, however, no external indication of an- 
 noyance or displeasure, thoroughly comprehending 
 that the only vengeance permitted to the weak, 
 under these circumstances, is to give no opportu- 
 nity for brutal audacity to enjoy the torments it 
 inflicts. Sabina's pride was so great, as to make 
 her prefer death itself, rather than betray her ter- 
 ror even by a frown. Therefore, apparently calm 
 and self-possessed, she rallied the Cur^, and laughed 
 at the idea of danger, although, at heart, far less 
 tranquil than he. 
 
 But soon, her fear gave place to a sort of exalted 
 courage ; for she saw that L^once was jealous of the 
 incredible address of the marquis, and as, after all, 
 the danger was vanquished as soon as met, she con- 
 
TEVERINO. 153 
 
 tinnally found new occasions to admire Teverino, 
 who often turned towards her, as if to gain new 
 strength from her approbation. 
 
 " He drives like a fool," said Ldonce, measuring 
 the abyss with his eye, " and we shall be lucky if 
 we always escape thus, Are you not afraid, mi- 
 lady ? Shall I not try to bring him to reason ?" 
 
 ." Of what would you have me afraid?" she re- 
 plied, regarding the abyss, in her turn, with a su- 
 perb indifference. " Is not your friend a magician ? 
 "We are carried along by a miracle, and we might 
 follow him even upon the water, if you all pos- 
 sessed my faith in his power." 
 
 " It is sheer fanaticism, madam, this feeling you 
 have for the marquis !" 
 
 " And you have it no less than I, since you con- 
 fide to him your own destiny as well as ours." 
 
 " I must acknowledge that he is much more rash 
 in his movements than I had foreseen. He seems 
 drunk with the furious pleasure which so much 
 success has caused him." 
 
 " He has an energetic nature, the courage of a 
 lion," said Sabina, piqued at this tacit reproach. 
 " This danger is exciting, and of all that you have 
 invented to-day, it pleases me the most." 
 
 " In that case, we will double the dose. Wake 
 
 up, there, marquis, are you asleep ?" 
 
 7* 
 
154 TEVERINO. 
 
 Teverino gave such a spring as to send the Curd, 
 three quarters fainting with fear, into the bottom 
 of the britzska, and with one only remaining idea, 
 that of saying his In inanus. 
 
 Sabina shrieked with laughter, the negress made 
 •the sign of the cross. As for Madeleine, she was 
 truly the only member of the party thoroughly 
 brave, and indifferent to danger. She watched 
 the tranquil golden clouds, where the vultures 
 hovered to and fro, agitated by the approach of 
 evening. 
 
 vm. 
 
 ^s^'^tv^ Italy! italyI 
 
 The horses having become somewhat subdued 
 and quieted in dragging their load up a long and 
 difficult hill, the Cur^ recovered the use of his 
 senses. The- precipice had disappeared, and the 
 carriage followed a narrow cut in the rocks, in 
 very bad condition, but from which a fall could 
 have no such grave consequences as from the steep 
 acclivity they had just passed. 
 
 "Where are we now?" cried the holy man, 
 
TEVERINO. 155 
 
 sliglitly relieved. <' The country is no longer fa- 
 miliar to me. The view is limited on every side, 
 but from what I can discover, I am convinced 
 that we are not on the side of my parish." 
 
 " ISTever mind. Abbe," said Teverino. " All 
 roads lead to Eome, and in following this cross- 
 road, a little rough, I admit, we avoid a long 
 detour of the mountain." 
 
 " If we can cross the torrent," quietly objected 
 Madeleine. 
 
 " Who speaks of the torrent?" cried the Mar- 
 quis. " Is it you, little one ?" 
 
 " It is I," responded the young girl. " If the 
 waters are low, we can cross them. If not " 
 
 " If not, we will cross the bridge." 
 
 " A bridge for foot-passengers ?" 
 
 " We will cross it ; I swear by Mahomet." 
 
 " Well, then, I am willing," said the indifferent 
 Madeleine. 
 
 " And I swear by the holy cross that I will 
 not remain in the carriage, and I will be the last 
 one to cross," thought the Cure to himself. 
 
 The torrent did not appear much swollen, and 
 Teverino was on the point of driving into it, 
 when Madeleine, who was bending forward, calm- 
 ly on the alert, violently jerked his arm. 
 
 " The water is not clear," said she. " A large 
 
156 TEVERINO. 
 
 avalanche of snow must have fallen into it, not 
 two hours since. You will not be able to pass." 
 
 " Milady, will you trust yourself to me ?'' said 
 Teverino. " We will go through, I answer for it. 
 Those who are afraid had better alight." 
 
 " I certainly shall get out," cried the Cur^, 
 climbing over the foot-board. The negress fol- 
 lowed him, and the jockey, hesitating between a 
 sense of honor and the fear of drowning, placed 
 himself in front of the horses, waiting to see 
 which side should carry the day. 
 
 " Sabina, descend from the carriage," said L6- 
 once, in an authoritative tone. 
 
 "I shall remain where I am," she replied. "For 
 the first time, I experience the pleasure of being 
 in peril, and I wish to enjoy the emotion." 
 
 "I will not suffer it," said L^once, forcibly 
 seizing her arm. " It is an act of insanity." 
 
 " You have no right over my life, Leonce, and 
 the Marquis, moreover, answers for it." 
 
 " The Marquis is a fool !" cried Leonce, exas- 
 perated beyond control to see Lady G ^'s sud- 
 den passion betray itself so ridiculously. 
 
 "The Marquis turned and regarded Leonce 
 with flaming eyes. 
 
 " You might say that you are two fools," said 
 Sabina, trying to conceal the agitation this quarrel 
 
TEVERINO. 157 
 
 caused her. " I yield to your solicitations, Leonce ; 
 Marquis, I hope that you also will alight. The 
 jockey, who swims like a fish, can risk himself 
 alone with the carriage." 
 
 " I swim better than all the jockeys and fish in 
 the world," answered Teverino. "Moreover, I 
 do not see why this boy's life should be exposed 
 rather than mine. In my opinion. Madam, one 
 man's life is worth as much as another's ; and if I 
 am willing to risk the passage, it is I alone who 
 should submit to the consequences. How much 
 are your horses worth, Leonce ?" he added, with 
 an air of blustering opulence. 
 
 " I make you a present of them," said Leonce. 
 " Drown them, if you will. But I have two words 
 to say to you on the other bank," he continued, 
 dropping his voice. 
 
 " You will say nothing whatever to me ; but 
 to-morrow at two o'clock, it is I who will speak to 
 you," returned Teverino. " You are the aggres- 
 sor. I have the right to choose the time, and in 
 exchange, I leave to you the choice of weapons. 
 Meanwhile, since you have introduced me to this 
 lady, I ask you, out of respect to yourself, to as- 
 sume for the time being, an intimate friendship 
 towards me, which shall explain your rudeness.'* 
 " A duel ! A duel with you? Well, be it so," 
 
188 TEVERINO. 
 
 replied Loonce. " Then speaking aloud, he added, 
 " If we do not fight, Marquis, after the inter- 
 change of such tender compliments, there is at 
 least no reason to charge us with cowardice, and 
 to prove it, I propose that we cross the water to- 
 gether. Upon my word, what are you doing 
 there ?" he exclaimed, as he saw Madeleine swiftly 
 climb upon the box, and seat herself at the side 
 of the Marquis. 
 
 " Oh ! there's no danger for me, and it is best 
 that I should be here, in order to direct your 
 course. To the right, M. le Marquis, and then to 
 the left. Proceed !" 
 
 The other travelers, having arrived at the centre 
 of the bridge, stood there in a sort of stupor, to 
 see them effect this perilous passage. They had 
 gained in safety the middle of the stream, when 
 the violence of the current raised the carriage, 
 and it began to float like a wherry, drawing the 
 horses with it towards the sharp arches of the 
 pointed bridge. 
 
 " Yield to the current, and return," said Made- 
 leine, as calmly as though it were an easy thing 
 to do. 
 
 The horses, energetically stimulated, and, strong 
 enough, fortunately, to resist the action of this 
 light vehicle, made several bounds, lost their foot- 
 
TEVERINO. X69 
 
 hold, began to swim, recovered their footing on a 
 rock, then stumbled, but reined up by the power- 
 ful hand of the adventurer, gained, without any 
 painful accident, a spot less deep, whence they 
 easily reached the bank, and all without hav- 
 ing broken a particle of the harness, or wetting 
 their conductors, except with some splashes of mud. 
 
 ''You see, Signora, that you might have ac- 
 
 compained us," said Teverino to Lady G , as 
 
 she ran forward to congratulate him upon his 
 victbry. 
 
 " Not at all !" said the Cur^, greatly affected by 
 the danger he had avoided. "You would have 
 been carried away if the carriage had been more 
 heavily laden. I, surely, who am not very small, 
 would have exposed every one of you in exposing 
 myself. I was very sensible of that." 
 
 They all re-entered the carriage. The jockey 
 took the seat behind, and the bird-tamer remained 
 on the box, at the side of Teverino, with whom 
 she apparently kept up an animated conversation. 
 But they spoke in an undertone, with their heads 
 close together, whereupon Sabina carelessly re- 
 marked that Madeleine's good friend might, per- 
 haps, be supplanted, if she did not take care. 
 
 " No danger of that," answered Madeleine, 
 whose organ of hearing was as delicate as a bird's, 
 
160 TEVERINO. 
 
 and who, without seeming to listen, had lost none 
 of Sabina's words. "I shall not be the first to 
 change." 
 
 " He will not ! I swear by my eternal salvation,*' 
 gaily exclaimed the marquis. " I cannot com- 
 prehend that any human being could betray so 
 good and lovely a child as you." 
 
 " This is the way," said the Curd, " that these 
 fine gentlemen, with their compliments, turn the 
 head of this little girl. One offers to her his arm 
 in walking, just as he would to a fine lady ; the 
 other tells her she is lovely, and she is so foolish 
 as not to perceive that they are both laughing 
 at her." 
 
 " It is you, then, Ldonce, who offer her your 
 arm ?" said Sabina, sarcastically. 
 
 " Why not ? Have you not also taken her arm, 
 Madam? From the moment we invited her to 
 become our companion and our guest, ought we 
 not treat her as an equal? Why should M. le 
 Curd blame us for practising the law of fraternity? 
 It is one of the innocent and romantic pleasures 
 of our excursion." 
 
 " I am not fond of romantic Jhings," said the 
 growler ; " they are too evanescent, and exist only 
 in the brain. You, young people of quality, 
 amuse yourselves an instant with the simplicity 
 
TEVERINO. 161 
 
 of your inferiors ; and then, when you have paid 
 for it, as you say, you think no more about them. 
 Suppose Madeleine does listen to you, gentlemen, 
 we shall soon see who are her true friends ; whe- 
 ther the great lord, who will refuse her even a 
 place in his memory, or the old priest, who, by 
 means of reproving her faults as she deserves, 
 will lead her to repentance, and make peace for 
 her with God." 
 
 "The good Cur^ really frightens me," said 
 Sabina, addressing Ldonce. " I hope, my friend, 
 that Madeleine is not on the road to perdition ?" 
 
 " I can answer for myself," replied L^once. 
 
 " But not for the marquis ?" 
 
 " I confess to you that I do not answer for the 
 marquis. He is handsome, eloquent, impassioned ; 
 all the women please him, and he pleases all the 
 women. Is not that your opinion, Sabina ?" 
 
 "How should I know? Perhaps it would be 
 best to make this little creature come into the 
 carriage with us." 
 
 " All the more," said the. Cur^, " that the road 
 is getting very bad, the day is departing, and if 
 the attention of the marquis is diverted from his 
 horses, our safety is at stake. Better give him 
 the negress in. exchange for the society of the 
 bird-tamer." 
 
162 TEVERINO. 
 
 "I cannot vouch for his not being as much 
 taken up with the black as with the blond," res- 
 ponded Ldonce. " The surest way will be to place 
 him Ute-drUte with you, Cur^.'' 
 
 This counsel prevailed, and Madeleine resumed 
 her seat in the carriage, without evincing either 
 ill-humor, shame or regret. Her melancholy had 
 vanished, and the reflection from the rays of the 
 setting sun, illuminated her animated cheeks with 
 the sparkling glow of youth and life. 
 
 "Look, now," said Leonce, addressing Lady 
 
 G , in English, " and observe how beautiful 
 
 this plain little creature again appears. The burn- 
 ing breath of Teverino has transfigured her." 
 
 Sabina tried to answer him in the same light 
 tone of badinage, but the unutterably sad expres- 
 sion of her eyes, contradicted the language of her 
 tongue. Jealousy, under the form of disdain, was 
 kindled in her heart, and all that Leonce had insi- 
 nuated of the good fortune of the marquis, filled 
 her with shame. She, therefore, endeavored to 
 persuade herself, that, unlike Madeleine, she had 
 not felt the burning breath, as the cloud that he- 
 ralds the storm, pass over her head. 
 
 More than half an hour elapsed before she could 
 succeed in dispelling her chagrin and resume her 
 proud tranquillity. At last, she began to feel her. 
 
TEYERINO. 163 
 
 self victorious, and the charm seemed to lose its 
 magical dominion over her. 
 
 Teverino, in order to divert the Cure, who, flat- 
 tering himself that he was on the road to the vil- 
 lage, became more and more astonished that he 
 could not recognize the country, entered with him 
 upon a grave discussion of theological questions. 
 In his life of adventure, he had rubbed against all 
 classes of people and all sorts of things. He had 
 associated intimately with prelates and educated 
 monks, and his was a mind to take in and remem- 
 ber, without any effort on his own part. His me- 
 mory was stored with numerous fragments of cita- 
 tions, commentaries and objections which he had 
 heard debated, perhaps while passing the dishes 
 to a table-full of apostolical gourmands, or while 
 dusting the stalls for a chapter of regular theolo- 
 gians. He was not nearly so well instructed as the 
 good Cur^, but he could appear, for the time being, 
 much stronger in metaphysical quibbles. The 
 Cuy6 was astonished and scandalized at this medley 
 of subtlety and ignorance, and the vagabond, more 
 skilful in this, than Moliere's ^^ M^decin malgri 
 lui, feeling that he had the advantage in argument, 
 succeeded in confusing the priest by evading his 
 direct questions, and by overwhelming him with 
 inquiries, pedantically trifling. Finally, the growler 
 
164 TEVERINO. 
 
 began seriously to question with himself, whether 
 his opponent were a rude heretic, armed at all 
 points, or an ignorant jester, who was laughing at 
 him in his beard. 
 
 From time to time, detached sentences of their 
 dispute, reached the ears of their companions. 
 
 " That is a heresy, a condemned heresy," cried 
 the Cur^, who no longer paid attention to the 
 roughness and difficulties of their route. 
 
 " I know it, M. I'Abb^," replied Teverino, " and 
 it should be refuted. How do you set about it ? I 
 bet that you don't know." 
 
 " I should rely upon grace, sir, nothing but 
 grace." 
 
 " That is to evade the difficulty. A learned 
 theologian disdains to make use of a subterfuge." 
 
 " A subterfuge, sir ! Do you call that a subter- 
 fuge?" 
 
 " In this instance, M. I'Abb^, yes. For you 
 have the Council of Trent with you, and you cer- 
 tainly do not doubt that?" 
 
 " The Council of Trent has given no interpreta- 
 tion of that point. You are going to bring up 
 some far-fetched decree : I see what you are about. 
 That is your custom." 
 
 " Our growler seems beside himself," said Sabi- 
 na to L^once. " Your friend is truly learned. I 
 
TEVERINO. 165 
 
 regret not being able to bear the whole conver- 
 sation." 
 
 "The marquis knows a little of every thing," 
 replied Leonce. 
 
 " Only a little ? I might believe it on his assur- 
 ance. Many Italians are thus ; it is the meridional 
 character." 
 
 "It is a character that has its charm and its 
 caprice, the one, so puerile as to force us to laugh 
 at it ; the other, so powerful as to compel us to 
 submit to it." 
 
 " My dear Ldonce," said Sabina, comprehending 
 the epigram concealed in the melancholy intona- 
 tions of his voice, " to perceive, is, at the most, 
 only to remark, it surely does not imply submission. 
 Allow me to speak to you of your friend as a 
 stranger, and to say, that he is a statue of clay, 
 veined with gold." 
 
 " Yery possibly," he resumed, " but gold is a 
 thing so precious and tempting, that it is some- 
 times sought even in the mire." 
 
 " That is a word which makes me shudder." 
 
 " We will use the word clay then, as an emblem 
 of fragility ; but, I advise you to make no applica- 
 tion of it to the character of the marquis. Study 
 him for yourself, Sabina. He is the most remark- 
 able subject of observation I can offer you, and it 
 
166 * TKVERINO. 
 
 is not done without design on my part. But do 
 not allow yourself to be dazzled, if you would see 
 clearly. I confess, that I myself, having for a long 
 time past lost sight of this friend, who, like all 
 other powerful organizations, is peculiarly im- 
 pressed by surrounding circumstances, I, to say the 
 least, hardly know him. It is necessary for me to 
 study him anew, and I cannot answer for him, be- 
 yond a certain point. Be warned, therefore, and 
 be wary." 
 
 " What do you mean by those last words? Do 
 you think me in danger of enthusiasm ?" 
 
 " You know very well that you have just run 
 this danger, to the point of being willing to cross 
 the torrent with him, at the peril of your life, in 
 order to prove to him your confidence and sub- 
 mission." 
 
 " Spare me the pain of hearing such improper 
 and offensive words. One might say you are 
 malicious, 
 
 " Do you not see that I am angry ?" 
 
 " Indeed, you speak like a jealous man." 
 
 " Friendship has its jealousies as well as love. 
 These were your own words, this very morning." 
 
 " I admit it. Jealousy gives grace and life to 
 friendship," said Sabina, with an irresistible move- 
 ment of coquetry. She was alarmed at having 
 
TEVERINO. 167 
 
 come so near loving Teverino, and forced herself 
 to stimulate the affection of Leonce, as a preserv- 
 ative against future danger. She succeeded only 
 too well. He took her hand, and held it clasped 
 between his own burning palms, until she with- 
 drew it. Madeleine, who had appeared to be in a 
 tranquil slumber, awoke at this movement, and 
 
 gazed upon Lady G with such evident aston- 
 
 isment as to confuse her. Sabina bestowed a 
 gentle caress upon the bird-tamer, to drive all 
 hostility from her thoughts, but Madeleine seemed 
 to divine that it was not heartfelt, and smiled, 
 apparently with more malice than one could have 
 believed her capable of. 
 
 " Zounds ! where are we ?" suddenly cried the 
 Cure, looking around him. 
 
 " At Saint Jerome," replied Teverino. 
 "The question is no longer concerning Saint 
 Jerome, sir, but the direction you are taking us. 
 What valley is this ? Where does this road lead ? 
 In short, where the devil have you brought us V 
 They had succeeded in reaching the summit of 
 a long and painful acclivity, when, turning a 
 point of the rock, which, for the last hour, had 
 completely hemmed them in, they beheld an im- 
 mense valley spread out at their feet, at an as- 
 tounding depth below. From the plateau on 
 
168 TEVERINO. 
 
 which our travelers found themselves, gigantic 
 rocks, crowned with snow, raised their peaks to 
 the sky ; nature, there, was barren, fantastic and 
 fearfully romantic ; but, in front, the path again 
 sloped rapidly down, leading, by a thousand 
 picturesque windings, to the plains below, which 
 presented all the smiling and richly colored as- 
 pects of a fertile country. "What can be more 
 beautiful than such a spectacle at sunset, when, 
 beyond the angular outline of Alpine nature, the 
 eye takes in the splendor of fruitful lands, the 
 green slopes of intermediate hills, glowing with 
 the brilliant hues of the western sky, unfathom- 
 able depths of verdure unrolled in space, rivers 
 and burning lakes scattered over this vast tableau, 
 like mirrors of liquid fire, and still beyond, blu- 
 ish zones, mingling, without confounding, the 
 yiolet horizon, and the heavens above, sublime 
 with light and transparency. 
 
 Sabina uttered a cry of admiration. "Ah 
 L^once !" said she, again taking his hand, " how I 
 thank you for having brought me hither ! May 
 God be praised for this journey !" 
 
 " And I also, I thank you very much," said the 
 Cur^, with an accent of despair. " We have no- 
 thing left but to recommend ourselves to God; 
 supper and lodging are out of the question. Here 
 
TEVERINO. 169 
 
 we are, ten leagues from home, and traveling in 
 a straight line towards Yenice or Milan, instead 
 of seeking our polar star, the cock of our church 
 steeple." 
 
 "In place of such blasphemy as this, Cur^," 
 said Teverino, " you ought to throw yourself on 
 your knees, and bless the eternal creator and 
 preserver of these great works. You make me 
 thoroughly dissatisfied with your faith, and did I 
 not love you, I should forthwith denounce you to 
 my uncle, the holy father. Is it thus, senseless 
 and unprincipled abbe, that you hail the soil of 
 Italy, and the road which conducts to the Eternal 
 City?" 
 
 " Do I then behold Italy?" cried Sabina, spring- 
 ing to the ground. "Dear Italy! the dream of 
 my childhood, but of which my traitor husband 
 will scarcely allow me to look upon a picture! 
 But what, marquis ! have you really brought us 
 into Italy?" 
 
 " (9 carcb jpatria /" sang Teverino, his beautiful 
 voice striking up the noble recitative from 
 Tanckedi, ^Tetra degli avi miei, ti 'bacioP 
 
 ^' Shut your ears," whispered Leonce to Sabina. 
 
 ^' This is a new fascination against which I had 
 
 not warned you. The marquis sings Kke Orphdus," 
 
 " Ah ! it is the voice of Italy. It matters little 
 8 
 
170 TEVERINO. 
 
 to me from whose moutli it gushes. My fancy 
 whispers to me that the earth and sky are singing 
 this canticle of love, and causing it to penetrate 
 my heart. Italy ! Oh, my God ! shall I at last 
 be able to say that I have greeted the horizon of 
 Italy ! It is to your ingenious will, Leonce, and 
 to the intrepidity of our guide that I owe this 
 supreme delight ! Let me bless you both !" 
 
 Thus sjjeaking, Sabina presented a hand to 
 each, and proceeded with them towards a cabin, 
 built of rough boards, at the door of which stood 
 a custom-house official, a fierce old soldier, in a 
 uniform of a pale green color, like the foliage of 
 young spruce trees, and whose moustache was 
 white as the snow on the mountain tops. 
 
 "Guardian of Italy!" laughingly spoke the 
 Marquis. " Cerberus, chained at the entrance of 
 Tartarus ! Open to us the door of Eden, so that 
 we may pass from earth to heaven." 
 
 The officer regarded with an air of surprise and 
 doubt, the countenance of the vagabond, whom, 
 only a week previous, he had with great hesitation 
 permitted to cross the line, although his passport 
 was regularly made out. This encounter plainly 
 showed to Teverino, that fine clothes and a good 
 appearance are the best letters of credit, for 
 scarcely had Leonce exhibited his papers and an- 
 
TEVERINO. 171 
 
 swered for all the members of his party, than the 
 vagabond was allowed to go on his way, unques- 
 tioned. The carriage was stopped a moment and 
 visited for form's sake. A piece of gold, care- 
 lessly thrown by Leonce at the officer's feet, 
 cleared away all difficulties. 
 
 " And now," said Sabina, continuing to walk 
 in front of Leonce and the Marquis, " It is really, 
 not metaphorically true, that my feet press the 
 soil of Italy ! It is her fragrance that I breathe, 
 and her sky that illumines mine e^^'es !" 
 
 " Stop here, Signora," said Madeleine, seizing 
 hold of Sabina's robe. " I have promised to show 
 you marvellous things at sunset, and M. le Cur^ 
 will not sleep to-night, if I break my word." 
 
 " Provided I sleep anywhere, I shall only con- 
 sider myself too happy," replied the Cur^, out of 
 breath with the exertion he was making to keep 
 up with Sabina. And seeing her seat herself on 
 the road-side, resolved to witness the accomplish- 
 ments of the bird-tamer, he sank down on the 
 grass, and fanned himself with his large hat. He 
 had no longer strength for resistance or complaint. 
 
 " This is the hour," said the bird-tamer, leaping 
 upon the rocks that marked the culminating point 
 of this Alpine crest. With the agility of a cat, 
 she clambered from plateau to plateau, until ar- 
 
172 TEVERINO. 
 
 rived at the last, where, standing with her profile 
 painted against the crimson back-ground of the 
 skj, she began to wave her scarlet flag. At the 
 same time, she beckoned to the spectators to look 
 in the direction of her finger ; then, with ui^lifted 
 arms, she traced a magic circle, to indicate the 
 region in which she saw the eagles whirling about. 
 
 But Sabina looked in vain ; the birds were lost 
 in such an immensity of space, as to be discerned 
 only by the phenomenal vision of the bird-tamer. 
 
 At last, she perceived some indefinite black 
 points, swimming about, as it v»^ere, beyond the 
 clouds ; then they seemed to come nearer, their 
 number visibly augmented, as well as their size. 
 Finally, the great extent of their wings attracted 
 attention, and their wild cries could be heard like 
 a diabolical concert in the region of the tempests. 
 
 For some time they whirled round and round, 
 describing great circles in the air, which gradually 
 diminished until they formed a compact group, 
 perpendicularly over the head of the bird-tamer. 
 Here they balanced themselves on their wings, 
 descending and ascending like balloons, seemingly 
 paralyzed by an invincible mistrust. 
 
 Then it was that Madeleine, covering her head, 
 hiding her hands in her cloak, and gathering up 
 her feet under her petticoat, sank down upon the 
 
TEVERINO. 173 
 
 rock like a corpse ; at the same instant the cloud 
 of carnivorous birds pounced upon her, as if to 
 seize their prey. 
 
 " That play is more dangerous than she thinks," 
 Baid Teverino, taking Leonce's gun from the car- 
 riage and springing upon the rock. " Perhaps 
 the little creature does not see with how many 
 enemies she has to deal." 
 
 Madeleine, as if to show her courage, raised 
 herself and agitated her cloak — the eagles dis- 
 persed, but regarding this light movement as con- 
 vulsions of agony, they remained close at hand, 
 filling the air with their sinister clamors : as soon 
 as the bird-tamer resumed her position, they re- 
 turned to the charge. Several times she lured 
 them to her, and then frightened them away ; 
 after a while, she uncovered her head, extended 
 her arms, and rising, stood motionless. At this 
 moment, Teverino raised the barrel of his gun, in 
 order to quiet these sanguinary beasts of passage, 
 if necessary. Madeleine, however, made a sign 
 for him to fear nothing : during several minutes 
 she held the enemy in respect by the fire of her 
 eye, then, she slowly quitted the rock, leaving be- 
 hind her a dead bird, enveloped in a rag, with 
 which she had silently provided herself! The 
 
174 TEVERINO. 
 
 eagles precipitated themselves upon this prey, and 
 disputed its possession with furious cries. 
 
 "Look," said Madeleine, rejoining the specta- 
 tors, " how angry they are up there at ray hand- 
 kerchief, which I forgot and left behind me ! 
 How insolent they are, now that I am no longer 
 with them ! Well, let them sing to their victory I 
 These are cowardly, wicked animals, who obey 
 without loving. I am sure that my poor little 
 birds heard them, and are dying with fear. If I 
 were often so unfaithful to them, I have no doubt 
 they would abandon me." 
 
 " But I do not think your birds have followed 
 you hither?" said Leonce. 
 
 " ISTo," she replied, " they would have followed 
 me, if I had willed it, but I knew they would be 
 in the way, and therefore sent them to sleep in a 
 wood, that we left behind us, on the other side of 
 the torrent." 
 
 " And where will you find them to-morrow?" 
 
 " That does not trouble me," she answered 
 proudly. " It is for them to find me wherever I 
 may please to be. They see at a distance and from 
 high places, and while I travel one league, they 
 can fly twenty." 
 
 " If we could only go two or three leagues to 
 find a shelter," remonstrated the Cure, who had 
 
TEVERINO. 175 
 
 taken no interest whatever in the scene of the 
 eagles, " we should have cause to thank Provi- 
 dence." 
 
 " Never mind, Abbe," said Teverino, " I will be 
 responsible for a good supper, a good fire to dry 
 the dampness of the evening, which begins to pen- 
 etrate, and a warm bed, whereupon to rest your 
 weary limbs — that is, if you are not bent on return- 
 ing to sleep at Saint Apollinaire ; in which case, 
 if milady condescends to grant you your liberty, 
 you will be able to travel there on foot, and arrive 
 at home by sunrise." 
 
 " Vastly obliged for such liberty," said the Cure. 
 *' But since I have fallen into your power, it is 
 useless for me to try to extricate myself ; therefore, 
 do your best to lodge us supportably to-night, and 
 I will endeavor to forget the terror of my poor 
 Barbe, and the astonishment of my parishioners 
 when they hear no summons to mass to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 " To-morrow is not Sunday, and your absence 
 is involuntary," said Teverino. " Come, let us pro- 
 ceed on our journey. God will conduct us." 
 
 "And I?" said Sabina, somewhat alarmed, to 
 Leonce. " And my husband, who is probably 
 awake by this time, and making his toilet, prepa- 
 
176 TEVERINO. 
 
 ratory to breakfasting, that is to say, supping in 
 my apartment." 
 
 " Speak lower, madam, lest the Cur^ overhear 
 you. He is the only person in the party, who 
 would be scandalized at such an occurrence." 
 
 " What ! Are we going to pass the night away 
 from home ? I shall be the table-talk of the coun- 
 try." 
 
 "Ko. Quite the contrary, be assured. The 
 society of the Cur^ makes all right, and nothing 
 is more natural than to lose one's way among the 
 mountains, to be overtaken by night, and prevented 
 from returning home until the next day. The 
 Cur^ will make noise enough about this terrible 
 adventure, so that no one will for a moment ques- 
 tion the fact of his being with us." 
 
 " But if your marquis, for whom you do not an- 
 swer, should be a coxcomb, he will blaze abroad 
 impertinences in regard to me." 
 
 " I will at least promise to make him keep si- 
 lence, should he be so inclined. Now, really, Sa- 
 bina, are you going to plunge again into sad real- 
 ities? Where has flown that enthusiasm with 
 which the burning soil of Italy just now inspired 
 you ? Poetry dies ^at the remembrance of worldly 
 conventionalities, and if you are wanting in faith, 
 my power will abandon me." _ 
 
TEvMM 177 
 
 " Well, then, Leonce. Come what may /" -^ 
 
 " The air freshens. Permit me to envelop you 
 in my cloak," said Leonce. " Keep a corner of it 
 for this little one, who is thinly clad," seeking at 
 her side for Madeleine. 
 
 " Oh, thank you, madam, I am not cold," said 
 the bird-tamer, who had glided unobserved upon 
 the seat with Teverino. 
 
 " I fear that the Cure's suspicions are but too 
 well grounded," resumed Sabina, in English, " and 
 that after all, she is a dissolute girl. What a mad- 
 cap your Italian is !" 
 
 " Indeed, and what matters it to you ?" inquired 
 Leonce. 
 
 The horses, although covered with sweat and 
 
 foam, were still full of spirit and trembled with 
 
 eagerness. Teverino urged them to the descent, 
 
 and these generous animals soon accomplished a 
 
 perilous, and what would have been with less swift 
 
 winged coursers, a tedious journey. The road was 
 
 in many parts extremely crooked and wound along 
 
 the edge of frightful chasms, but, fortunately, the 
 
 darkness of the coming evening concealed from 
 
 the Cur^ a view of his position, which would have 
 
 given him the .vertigo. As for Madeleine, she was 
 
 thinking of something else. 
 
 " Look, Signora !" at last exclaimed the marquis, 
 8* 
 
178 TEVERINO. 
 
 pointing with his finger to the lights penetrating 
 the gloom beyond. " Behold a town — a town of 
 Italjl" 
 
 IX. 
 
 ON THE VERGE OF AN ABYSS. 
 
 " Pkay don't tell me the name of this town," 
 said Sabina. " I shall learn it soon enough. Suffi- 
 cient for me to know that it is a town of Italy ; 
 my imagination already runs riot among its mar- 
 vellous wonders. "See, dear Cure, does it not 
 resemble an enchanted palace V 
 
 " In truth, madam, I see only some lighted can- 
 dles." 
 
 <* Oh ! you are no poet. "What ! does it not ap- 
 pear to you that these lights are more brilliant 
 than other lights ? that their mysterious radiance 
 in the midst of this profound darkness, promises 
 us some unheard of surprise, some new adventure ?" 
 
 " We have had enough of such adventures for to- 
 day," growled the Cure, " and I ask for no more." 
 
 It was a modest little frontier town, whose 
 name we shall not repeat to our readers, for fear 
 
TEVERINO. 179 
 
 it may no longer be poetical in his eyes, if, by 
 chance, he should have happened there on a rainy 
 day, and in ill-hnraor. Be that as it may, Sabina 
 was struck by its Italian character. Beautifully 
 situated in an amphitheatre formed by the moun- 
 tains, and sheltered from the cold winds of the 
 north, heated by the rays of a meridional sun, and 
 watered by running streams, it presented all the 
 aspects of comfort, neatness and luxuriant vege- 
 tation. 
 
 • The rising moon shone upon white walls, vine- 
 covered slopes and terraces decorated with marble 
 vases, from which the aloe launched its luxuriant 
 leaves. She silvered the rounded roofs of num- 
 berless miniature churches, and disclosed whole 
 avenues of shops, filled . with huge vegetables, 
 delicious fruits, and lighted with colored paper 
 lanterns that shed over all the richest and most 
 delicate hues. Kude arcades lined the edges of 
 the streets, thronged with joyous crowds of the 
 inhabitants, a jovial race, for whom every sum- 
 mer's day was a festival, and who now greeted 
 the arrival of an elegant vehfcle with shouts of 
 merriment and joy. Troops of half naked child- 
 ren and inquisitive girls, in whose hair natural 
 flowers were thickly twined, followed the carriage, 
 and assisted at the disembarkation of the travelers 
 
160 TEVERINO. 
 
 before the Httel del Lion Bicmco^ on the Place 
 du Marche Nexif. 
 
 The inn was comfortable, and the sight of an 
 ample piece of beef, roasting before the fire, 
 caused the countenance of the Cure to brighten. 
 While the best, chambers were being prepared 
 for these unexpected guests, they, themselves, 
 attended to the arrangement of the table in a 
 lower room, which was painted in fresco, in ac- 
 cordance with that taste for ornament and delight- 
 ful harmony of color, so generally found, even in 
 the most miserable houses of northern Italy. The 
 Curd did not forget his trout and mushrooms. 
 They had remained to him in all his troubles, as a 
 bit of consolation, and he constantly repeated to 
 himself that with this foundation of good cheer 
 and feasting, provided a fire could be had, there 
 would be no reason to despair. Teverino assumed 
 the apron and white cap of the scullion, and, 
 afi'ecting to possess some wonderful secrets in the 
 culinary art, he facetiously set himself to work 
 with the abbe in the kitchen. Madeleine assisted 
 the negress to arrange the sleeping apartment, 
 
 while Lady G and Ldonce, leaning over the 
 
 balcony adjoining the dining room, amused them- 
 selves in observing the children playing and 
 dancing on the square. 
 
TEVERINO. 181 
 
 As soon as the candles were lighted and the 
 table spread out with simple but excellent food, 
 the guests gathered round the board. Ldonce went 
 in search of the bird-tamer, in order, as he said, 
 to gratify the marquis ; but this persistence in the 
 blessings of equality was by no means agreeable 
 to Sabina. The landlord could not restrain his 
 astonishment. 
 
 "What!" said he, as he served out the soup, 
 " the bird-tamer in the society of your illustrious 
 highnesses ! I am very well acquainted with her, 
 and have more than once given her a dinner 
 gratis, for the sake of the pretty tricks she can 
 perform. But are you going to bring all your 
 little friends with you, Madeleine ? I give you 
 notice that if you expect shelter and lodging for 
 them, I have neither plates nor pillows enough in 
 my house for so many guests. Listen, my child : 
 you must go and eat with their highnesses' 
 domestics in the kitchen. Without joking, I will 
 really find you a nice little corner in the hay-loft 
 where you may sleep." 
 
 " In the hay-loft, with the grooms and mule- 
 teers, doubtless !" said the Cur^. " If that is the 
 sort of life you follow, Madeleine, I am not wrong 
 in saying that your vagabondage will lead you 
 astray." 
 
TEVERINO. 
 
 " Ball 1 bah ! she is a little child, my lord abb6," 
 answered the landlord, " and no one pays any 
 attention to her." 
 
 " Sir landlord," said Sabina, " I beg you will 
 have a bed placed for her in the chamber with 
 my negress ; Madeleine shall sleep there. I invited 
 Madeleine to come with me, in order that I might 
 derive amusement from her peculiar talents, and 
 I w^ill be answerable for her safety." 
 
 " Since your highness deigns to interest your- 
 self in this matter," replied the landlord, " all 
 shall be done as you command. She is a favorite 
 with every one here, the dear little creature ! She 
 is three quarters magician. Shall I also place a 
 cover for her at this table ?" 
 
 " By all means," replied Lady G- , curious 
 
 to observe for herself the progress of the intimacy 
 between the marquis and the bird-tamer. Her 
 expectations were, however, not realized : they 
 seemed to have again become strangers to each 
 other. Madeleine was modestly familiar with 
 L^once, and respectfully calm in her bearing 
 towards Teverino. The latter, who performed the 
 honors of the table with marvellous ease, treated 
 her with a sort of paternal kindness, which strik- 
 ingly displayed the benevolence of his character, 
 without infringing upon the conventionalities of 
 
I 
 
 TEVERINO. 183 
 
 society. Sabina began to think she was deceived, 
 and even the Cure found nothing to reprove in 
 the manners of the handsome marquis. But a 
 new cause for fear seemed to spring up in his 
 mind, as he witnessed the attentions that Leonce 
 paid to the foolish child, who was extremely 
 merry with him, and charmed him by her innocent 
 gayety. But the appetite of the growler was so 
 tremendous, and the delicious viands so absorbing, 
 that he lost the proper moment for administering 
 his usual clear-sighted and judicious reproof. Long 
 before he had finished his repast, Madeleine, with 
 the thoughtlessness of her age, had fallen asleep 
 on the large couch which decorates the travelers, 
 hall in all the country inns of Italy. From time 
 to time, Leonce approached the couch, and admir- 
 ingly contemplated this repose of innocence, this 
 graceful posture and angelic expression which 
 belongs only to youth. 
 
 They were at dessert, and the marquis, exclu- 
 sively occupied with Lady G ^, conversed on 
 
 every subject with superior intelligence ; at least, it 
 was a sort of superiority, most highly appreciated 
 by women ; great poetical originality, an exalted 
 sensibility, and more imagination than science. 
 The charm of his words and looks again resumed 
 its influence over Sabina. The Cure played the 
 
184 TEVERINO. 
 
 part of contradictor, as if he had it at heart to 
 bring out all the shining eloquence of the young 
 man, and to furnish him arms against the dogma- 
 tical coldness and narrow prejudices of the official 
 world. 
 
 L^once, irritated at the animation and evident 
 delight of his friend, declined all part in the con- 
 versation, and opening his album, began to sketch 
 the figure of the bird-tamer. 
 
 Every woman of the world is born jealous, and 
 Sabina had received such merited adulation for 
 her incomparable beauty and brilliant wit, as to 
 cause her invariably to regard the attentions ac- 
 corded to any others of the sex, in her presence, 
 as a sort of outrage to herself. Skilful in dissi- 
 mulation, her internal emotions were seldom ex- 
 pressed, except in the form of pleasantry. But 
 they created in her bosom, the desire for immedi- 
 ate vengeance, and the vengeance of coquetry in 
 such cases, is to seek homage elsewhere, and to 
 derive from it a pleasure in proportion to the 
 affront. She therefore abandoned herself entirely 
 to the fascinations of Teverino, and forgetful of 
 the shame she had experienced when the Marquis 
 had appeared occupied with Madeleine, she could 
 not resist the temptation of making L^once a wit- 
 "ness of his power over her. 
 
TEVERINO. 185 
 
 L^once, who perfectly comprehended this cruel 
 Bport, but who, nevertheless, had the weakness to 
 allow it to touch his feelings, summoned all his 
 strength to despise it. Unfortunately, in making 
 use of the same weapons, he exposed himself to 
 the danger of being vanquished. He afiected such 
 great admiration for his model and such enthusi- 
 astic attention to his work, as to appear deaf and 
 blind to everything beside. 
 
 " L^once," said Sabina. " Your work will cer- 
 tainly be a chef d'oeuvre^ for never have I seen 
 you so inspired." 
 
 " Never have I beheld anything more lovely 
 than this sleeper of fourteen years," he replied. 
 " What a beautiful age ! what softness and delicacy 
 in her movements ! What serenity in her placid 
 features ! Admire her, you who are artists of sen- 
 timent as well as of intellect, and agree with me 
 that no conventional beauty, no woman of the 
 world could ever appear so sweet or pure in slum- 
 ber." 
 
 "I fully agree with you," said Sabina, in a 
 charming tone of disinterestedness, " and I doubt 
 that the marquis does also." 
 
 " ]^o. God forbid that I should unite with you 
 in such blasphemy I" responded Teverino. " Beau- 
 ty is what it is, and when we lose ourselves in 
 
186 TEVERINO. 
 
 comparisons, all is up with the critic ; that is to 
 Bay, it is throwing ice upon burning impressions. 
 This is the malady of artists in our age. They 
 dedicate themselves to certain types, and pretend 
 to assign limits to beauty, which are forged in 
 their own brains. They no longer discover beauty 
 by instinct, nor is it ever revealed to them, except 
 through the medium of their arbitrary theory. The 
 one, seeks in beauty something stout and florid, 
 like the ideal of Rubens ; a second, would have it 
 lean and lank, like the phantoms of the German 
 ballads ; a third, distorted and masculine, after the 
 manner of Albert Durer ; and a fourth, makes it 
 cold and stiff, in the style of the primitive masters. 
 Nevertheless, all these old masters, all these noble 
 schools followed a naive and generous instinct: 
 therefore, their works are original and please, al- 
 though they bear no resemblance to each other. 
 The true artist is he, who has a consciousness of 
 life, who enjoys everything, who obeys his inspi- 
 rations without reasoning upon them, and who 
 loves all that is beautiful, without endeavoring to 
 classify it. What signify to him the name, the 
 dress, or the habits of the beauty whom he w^or- 
 ehips. To his eyes, the divine seal may appear 
 stamped on an abject frame, and the flower of rus- 
 tic innocence bloom on the forehead of a queen of 
 
TEVERINO. 187 
 
 the earth. It is for him, Creator that he is, to 
 make of her who charms him, a shepherdess or an 
 empress, according to the inclination of his soul 
 and the wants of his heart. You, Leonce, are 
 artist enough to transform this blond mountaineer 
 into a Saint Elizabeth of Hungary {Ed io anche son 
 2nttore) and I, since I feel, and think, and love, I 
 can see Dante's Beatrice under the brown tresses 
 of milady." 
 
 " It seems to me, Leonce," said Sabina, flattered 
 by this last touch, "that the marquis coincides 
 with you in your ideas of art, and that you only 
 differ in the expression of them. But what is that 
 exquisite drawing just fallen from your albimi? 
 Permit me to examine it ?" 
 
 " Pardon me, madam. I warn you that it is a 
 study from a nude figure. However, if you wish 
 to see it, my ' Fawn' is well enough clothed with 
 leaves to satisfy the scruples of M. le Cur^, and 
 prevent the necessity of his taking it out of your 
 hands ; his church contains many saints less aus- 
 tere." 
 
 " The outline is superb," said Sabina, regarding 
 the sketch Leonce had made of Teverino on the 
 margin of the lake. Here we have a charming 
 fantasy, a noble attitude, and an enchanting land- 
 scape." 
 
188 TEVERINO. 
 
 " It appears to me," said the Cur^, " that this 
 countenance and that of the marquis are as much 
 alike as* two drops of water. If the dress were 
 similar, it might very well pass for his portrait ; 
 but, after all, it is not the coat that makes the 
 man, and the likeness is perhaps quite accidental." 
 
 " That beautiful face is so deeply engraven on 
 my memory," said Leonce, glancing significantly 
 at his marquis, " that it comes naturally to the 
 point of my pencil whenever I endeavor to realize 
 perfection." 
 
 " And this scenery is of our country," added 
 the Cure. " I recognize our little lakes, our high 
 mountains, our fir trees and our rocks. It is 
 drawn to the life. Look at it, M. le marquis." 
 
 "The position is good, and the composition 
 fine," tranquilly observed Teverino; "but the 
 design is weak.. This is not the best thing our 
 friend can do." 
 
 " Oh ! I think it very beautiful," said Sabina, 
 who could not withdraw her eyes from the 
 picture. 
 
 "Indeed! I beg, then, you will allow me to 
 present it to you," said Leonce, ironically. " If 
 you do not consider this effort unworthy a place 
 in your album, it will at least recall to mind a 
 hkppy day and vivid emotions." 
 
TEVERINO. 189 
 
 " I prefer the drawing yon have just finished," 
 
 replied Lady G , annoyed at the tone of 
 
 Leonce. " It seems to me that you have put in 
 that more of impegno e'dJamoreP 
 
 " ISToj no ; I shall not give you this," returned 
 Leonce, placing the sketch of Madeleine in his 
 album, and thrusting the other upon the table. 
 
 " What superb weather," said the marquis, 
 carelessly approaching the window. " The moon 
 makes it light as day. What say you all to a 
 walk round the town ? To-morrow, every thing 
 will be less beautiful, and will have lost its 
 prestige." 
 
 " Come, let us go," said Sabina, starting up. 
 
 " As for me," said the Cure, " I must rather 
 ask permission to look after my bed. I am broken 
 down with fatigue." 
 
 " What ! From merely riding seven or eight 
 leagues in a good and comfortable carriage?" 
 exclaimed Sabina. 
 
 " E"o ; but from having been first hot, then 
 hungry, then cold, and then hungry again; in 
 short, from not having taken my meals at the 
 usual hour. Besides, it is nine o'clock, and I see 
 nothing unnatural in my wish to retire. Heaven 
 grant that my poor housekeeper may not spend 
 the night in watching for my return." 
 
190 TEVERINO. 
 
 ^^Felicissima notte^ M. PAbb^," said Teverino. 
 " Are you coming, Ldonce ?" 
 
 " Not yet," he replied. '' I want to make an- 
 other sketch of this little sleeper." 
 
 " The little sleeper must sleep elsewhere," said 
 the Cur6, sharply. " Is she going to lie around 
 on the sofas all night, like a lost sheep. Comej 
 sans souci^ ^skQ w.^.^^ So- saying, he waved his 
 broad brimmed hat over Madeleine's face ; she 
 made a motion as if to drive away an importunate 
 bird, and fell asleep again, looking more beauti- 
 ful than ever. 
 
 "Let her alone, Cure; you 'are pitiless," said 
 Leonce, preparing to seat himself on the sofa, by 
 the side of Madeleine. 
 
 " This child ought not remain here thus exposed 
 to the observation of every body in the house," 
 said Sabina. 
 
 " Pardon me, dear Leonce," cried Teverino, 
 joining in the conversation. " We must obey the 
 wishes of Milady and M. I'Abbe." And, lifting 
 the young girl in his arms like a child, he carried 
 her into an .adjoining chamber, where, a few 
 minutes previously, he had observed the negress 
 arranging her bed. 
 
 " l-isten, queen of Tartarus ! Your noble mis- 
 tress, the white Phoeb^, confides this object to 
 
TEVERINO. 191 
 
 your care, with the strict injunction to guard it as 
 you would the apple of your eye." He deposited 
 Madeleine gently on the bed, and said in a low 
 tone to the negress as he left the room. '• Lock 
 your door, 'tis the command of your mistress." 
 
 L^once affected great indifference to what was 
 passing around him, and slowly followed Sabina, 
 who, after having vainly waited for him to offer 
 her his arm, accepted that of the marquis. The 
 latter appeared familiar with the town, although 
 he was a stranger to every body in it, even to the 
 landlord of the Hotel del Lion Bianco. He con- 
 ducted Sabina to take an ice in a cafe, which 
 stood in the vicinity of some old walls, ruins of 
 ancient fortifications, bearing the trace of the 
 bullets of republican France. They partook of 
 their refreshments in the open air, on a platform 
 that overlooked the moat and a confused pile of 
 massive, antique constructions, covered with moss 
 and ivy. 
 
 At a short distance from them, rose a dilapi- 
 dated tower, whose slender outline, rendered almost 
 dazzlingly brilliant by the silver rays of the moon, 
 presented a strong contrast to the surrounding 
 landscape, veiled in a cloudy vapor. 
 
 Leonce wandered off by himself among the 
 
192 TEVERINO. 
 
 ruins, apparently absrjrbed in admiration of the 
 romantic spot and heavenly night. 
 
 *' I really believe," said Teverino, trying the 
 strength of his fingers upon a piece of cement 
 which he picked up from under his feet, " that this 
 construction is of Roman origin." 
 
 " I have no wish to know any thing about it," 
 replied Sabina. " I find it far more pleasant to 
 take every thing for granted, and to dream over 
 the splendor of past ages, than to waste time in 
 archeological researches. All tlie enjoyment is 
 lost, in striving to arrive at facts." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! Then you have the true poetic 
 instinct, charming Fran^aise^^ said Teverino, tak- 
 ing a seat opposite to her, " and I will gladly lose 
 myself with you in this intellectual paradise, to 
 which the divine Alighieri was introduced by the 
 divine Beatrice. When this comparison has now 
 and then risen to my lips, I have not taken into 
 account the justice of my inspiration. Yes. you 
 combine the light of intellect with a perception 
 of ideal beauty, and until this moment, I have 
 never met so extraordinary a woman as you. I 
 have never been in France before, and the French 
 women whom I have met in Italy, are much more 
 like our women than you are. The woman of the 
 south has many poetical and artistic instincts, but 
 
TEVERINO. 193 
 
 they belong rather to the character than to the in- 
 tellect. Moreover, her limited education, her idle 
 and lascivious life, does not give her a chance to 
 analyze her emotions, as you so well know how to 
 do, madam. Then, how clearly you express your 
 thoughts, even in our language, to which you give 
 a new form, always noble and striking. Your 
 sentiments are born of ideas, and in talking with 
 you, it seems to me that I am you, in a region 
 unknown to other beings. You judge everything ; 
 nothing is strange to you, and your learning does 
 not hinder you from experiencing the emotions 
 and passions of the human soul as fully as those 
 poor creatures, who love and admire without dis- 
 crimination. Yet your imagination is rich as 
 though you were not possessed of all the secrets of 
 humanity, and the ideal continually transports you 
 beyond your marvellous wisdom towards the infi- 
 nite. In truth, my brain ignites at the hearth- 
 stone of yours, and in listening to you, I seem to 
 become exalted above myself." 
 
 It was by a deluge of eulogistic phrases like 
 these, that Teverino poured the poison of flattery 
 into the soul of the proud lady. What a marked 
 difference between the philosophical system of 
 teazing adopted by Leonce, and this boundless ad- 
 miration, expressed with that Italian ardor which 
 9 
 
194 TEVEEINO. 
 
 closely resembles emotion. And what lent to it 
 an irresistible charm, was that Teverino himself, 
 almost believed what he said. He had never be- 
 fore come in contact with a woman so extensively 
 cultivated ; to a character like his, full of eager 
 inquiry and incessant observation, such a novelty 
 was wonderfully fascinating. It was his object to 
 put this feminine superiority at ease, in order to 
 see it manifested in all its brilliancy, and therefore, 
 comprehending perfectly, that these gifts are al- 
 ways united to a proud spirit, he caressed it with 
 ingenious adulation. It was very difficult, not to 
 
 say impossible, for Lady Gr to distinguish this 
 
 passion of knowledge from the passion of loving. 
 She had never seen a man so blasd, and, at the 
 same time, so unaflfected, as Teverino. Ldonce had 
 less intellectual curiosity and less tranquillity of 
 soul in her presence. Thus, she saw only half 
 of the character of this Italian, a veritable dille- 
 tante in intellectual enjoyment, who, without en- 
 dangering the calmness of his own heart, vigor- 
 ously attacked hers, merely to observe it as a new 
 type of his experience. 
 
 She talked a long time with him, and of what, 
 between a handsome young man and a lovely 
 young woman, if not of love? There is no theory 
 60 inexhaustible in a moonlight t^te-^-t^te of this 
 
TEVERINO. 195 
 
 sort. The woman complains of life, weeps over 
 its illusions, traces the ideal of love and foresha- 
 dows the transports that she veils under a transpa- 
 rent mystery of bashfulness and reserve. The man 
 exalts himself, abjures prejudice and condemns 
 the crimes of his fellows. In his own person, he 
 would become the champion of the male sex. By 
 a thousand adroit insinuations, he offers to expiate 
 and repair the original sin, while by a thousand 
 subterfuges yet more adroit, the woman eludes his 
 homage, and stimulates him to renewed fervor. 
 This is the usual summing up of all such conver- 
 sations between civilized beings. It is the sum- 
 ming up of the conversation which took place be- 
 tween Sabina and Leonce, only the morning before, 
 and which was conducted with still more art and 
 dissimulation. But with Teverino, Sabina had 
 less fear and more gentleness. In place of re- 
 proach and angry recrimination, she respired only 
 the tranquil odor of incense ; but she also incurred 
 the danger of giving tenderness to him who de- 
 manded only imagination. 
 
 As the voice of the adventurer, in the height of 
 his dithyrambics, echoed 'mid the stillness of the 
 night, Sabina was somewhat startled to see Ldonce 
 re-appear at the base of the rampart. 
 
196 TEVERINO. 
 
 " Here is L^once," said she, with a hope of re- 
 pressing his eloquence. 
 
 "Poor L^once ! He is very anxious and thought- 
 ful this evening," said Teverino, lowering his voice. 
 
 " I have never seen him so disagreeable," she 
 replied. " I am almost inclined to think that he 
 is tired of us." 
 
 " No, madam, fle is in love, and jealous." 
 
 " In love with the bird-tamer, doubtless," said 
 she, disdainfully. 
 
 " No, with you. You know it perfectly well." 
 
 " You are mistaken, marquis. We have known 
 each other fifteen years, and he has never dreamed 
 of being in love with me." 
 
 " Well, madam, I swear to you that he thinks 
 seriously of it to-day." 
 
 " Cease this jesting. It is painful to me." 
 
 " Is he not a gallant man, a brave artist, and a 
 clever fellow ? His love is yours of right, and you 
 ought not to be offended by it." 
 
 " On the contrary, it would grieve me terribly, 
 for I could not reciprocate it." 
 
 "That is dreadful, madam. I am convinced, 
 then, that there is no chance for any other man, 
 for no other man can flatter himself that he is the 
 equal of L^once." 
 
 " You are wrong, marquis ; he has all sorts of 
 
TEVERINO. 197 
 
 perfections, with which I would cheerfully dis- 
 pense, did he not lack one small quality that I 
 may hope to find alsewhere." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " The faculty of loving ingenuously, without 
 pride and without mistrust." 
 
 Saying these words, she rose from her seat to 
 go and meet Leonce, and the easy confidence with 
 which she leaned on the arm of Teverino, induced 
 the latter to say to himself, " After all, it is not so 
 difficult as I thought, to conquer this strong 
 heart." 
 
 Sabina fancied that she spoke very low, but she 
 forgot to take into consideration the clearness of 
 the surrounding atmosphere, and consequent fa- 
 cility with which sound was here transmitted, 
 and, of course, did not for an instant suspect that 
 Leonce had heard every thing. He was, in truth, 
 so deeply wounded and overcome by her last 
 words, as to be scarcely able to conceal his 
 emotion and maintain the calmness of his role. 
 He succeeded, however, so wonderfully as to 
 deceive Teverino himself; and, to confirm Lady 
 
 G in her belief of his extreme coldness. He 
 
 proposed that they should ascend to the summit 
 of the dismantled tower, promising them a magni- 
 ficent view from it, and an atmosphere yet more 
 
198 TEVERINO. 
 
 pure than that of the ramparts. They, therefore, 
 made the attempt, L6once leading the way, to 
 point out the path which he had just explored 
 alone, and to warn them of the decayed or 
 slippery steps in the worn out spiral staircase. 
 
 Notwithstanding these precautions, the ascent 
 was very painful and even dangerous for a woman 
 as delicate and as little inured to vertigo as Lady 
 G ; but the strength and address of the mar- 
 quis inspired her with a singular confidence, and 
 what, in cooler moments, she would never have 
 dared to undertake, she accomplished by en- 
 thusiasm ; now leaning on his shoulder, now her 
 hands clasped in his, and now carried in his 
 vigorous arms. 
 
 During the progress of this perilous adventure, 
 more than once their cheeks grazed each other, 
 more than once their breaths mingled, more than 
 once Teverino felt beating against his breast, 
 panting with exertion, a heart moved with shame 
 and tenderness. The moon, penetrating the large, 
 broken arches of the tower, threw a vivid light 
 on the stairway, interrupted from time to time by 
 the massive walls. In these intervals of light and 
 darkness, sometimes they were very near to, and 
 then again quite distant from Leonce, who, feign- 
 ing to pay no attention to his companions, lost, 
 
 • 
 
TEVERINO. 199 
 
 however, not one shade of their growing emotion. 
 At last, thej found themselves at the summit of 
 the edifice. A circular wall, eight feet in breadth, 
 without any balustrade, formed its crown. Ldonce 
 tranquilly walked round and round it, measuring 
 with his eyes this slippery rampart, whose cy- 
 clopeian base seemed to lose itself in the moat, 
 more than a hundred feet below. But Sabina 
 was seized with an insurmountable terror, both 
 for herself and Teverino, who, standing at her 
 side, essayed in vain to re-assure her. She sat 
 down upon the last step, and could not breathe 
 freely until the marquis was also seated at her 
 side, and had encircled her with his two arms, 
 forming as it were an impregnable barrier between 
 her and danger. The frightened owls flew into 
 the air, uttering plaintive cries of distress. Ldonce, 
 under pretext of seeking out their nests and 
 carrying their young to the bird-tamer, to see 
 how she would manage their education, descended 
 the stairs, and went rummaging in the lower 
 stories, where the noise of his steps on the gravel 
 soon ceased to be heard. 
 
 Teverino was no longer master of himself, as 
 he had been only a quarter of an hour before, 
 while taking an ice with Sabina, in an isolation 
 less complete. Moreover, L^once appeared so 
 
200 TEVERINO. 
 
 indifferent to the possible consequences of the 
 adventure, that he began to look upon it as a less 
 serious case of conscience. But the astonishing 
 loyalty of this singular being still struggled 
 against the attractions of beauty and the pride of 
 making such a conquest. He succeeded in dissi- 
 pating Sabina's terrors, and, to divert her thoughts, 
 he proposed that she should listen to a hymn to 
 the night, the words his own improvisation, which 
 he felt an irresistible desire to sing on this magni- 
 ficent spot. Sabina had already heard a slight 
 specimen of his voice, sufficient to make her wish 
 for another. She, therefore, readily consented, at 
 the same time telling him that as long as she 
 shouid see him standing on this gigantic pedestal, 
 she could not restrain the terrible beating of her 
 heart. 
 
 " "Well, then," said he, " I am certain of being 
 listened to with emotion, and that would be 
 enough to make many professional singers long 
 for such a theatre." 
 
 The facility and even the originality of his 
 lyrical improvisation, the happy choice of the air, 
 the incomparable beauty of his voice, and this 
 natural musical gift, in which taste, power and 
 sweetness supplied the place of method, all these 
 acted upon Sabina, and moved her to the very 
 
TEVERINO. 201 
 
 depths of her soul. Torrents of tears escaped 
 from her ejes, and when Teverino returned to his 
 seat beside her, he found her so excited and over- 
 come, as to make him feel that he himself was 
 also vanquished. Throwing his arms around her, 
 he asked if she were still afraid. She fell upon 
 his neck, and, with a voice broken by sobs, 
 responded : " IsTo, no ! I have no longer fear for 
 you!" 
 
 At this moment their lips met ; but, at the same 
 instant, the steps of L^once, resounding under the 
 arch of the staircase and approaching them, recalled 
 them abruptly to themselves. Far off in the dis- 
 tance, could be heard clapping of hands and shouts 
 of applause from some persons, who, walking along 
 the borders of the ramparts, had listened to this 
 admirable hymn, still hovering in the air, as if 
 'twere the voice of the genius of the ruins. They 
 cheered enthusiastically the unknown artist-dis- 
 penser of an enjoyment so dear to Italian ears, but 
 their applause caused Sabina to tremble yet more 
 than the approach of Leonce. It seemed to her 
 like an ironical flourish of trumpets at her impend- 
 ing defeat, and she had need to assure herself that 
 her presence there was invisible to curious eyes, 
 even at a distance, before she could recover from 
 
 the sense of her weakness. 
 9* 
 
202 TEVERINO. 
 
 X. 
 
 LO QUE PUEDE UN SASTEE. 
 
 Our travelers made the circuit of the walls sur- 
 rounding the town, and by the time they had 
 again arrived at the Hotel del Leon Bicmco^ which 
 they entered by a small door overlooking the gar- 
 dens, the clock sounded the hour of eleven. A 
 mob of citizens and laboring men was gathered 
 before the main entrance of the inn, and the land- 
 lord appeared to be carrying on an animated dis- 
 cussion with them. 
 
 " What am I to do, gentlemen ?" he replied to 
 the interrogatories of Leonce and Teverino, and 
 pushing to the door in the face of the eager popu- 
 lace. " The town's people insist that a great vocalist 
 is lodged in my house ; that it is, at least, Signor 
 Rubini, who, in order to avoid the importunities 
 of our dilletanti, conceals his name and presence : 
 they say, also, that I am the accomplice of his in- 
 cognito. Some, absolutely demand that he shall 
 show himself on the balcony to receive the felici- 
 
TEVERINO. 203 
 
 tations of the public, many of whom heard him 
 sing not more than half an hour since, over by the 
 ramparts ; others have been running through every 
 street of the town, entering into every house, 
 screaming at the top of their voices for the Signor 
 Eubini, The fact is, I am puzzled what to do. I 
 have several times been honored with the presence 
 of Signor Rubini in my house ; I know him very 
 well, and am positive that he is not here." 
 
 This incident, together with his wish to put Sa- 
 bina to the test, suggested to Teverino the idea of 
 a practical joke. 
 
 " Listen," said he to the landlord. " I sing tole- 
 rably well, and I am the person who was just now 
 exercising his voice on the side of the high tower. 
 I am the marquis of Montefiore. Is it possible 
 that you have not yet recognized me ?" 
 
 " I recognized you the instant you alighted from 
 the carriage," replied the landlord, incapable of 
 avowing that he did not remember of ever having 
 before seen the face of Teverino. " If I did not 
 address you by name, it was because I feared to 
 betray the incognito that persons of quality some- 
 times take a fancy to preserve." 
 
 " That is right," answered the pretended marquis. 
 "Persevere in your laudable discretion until I 
 shall have left the town, and, in recompense, I 
 
jS}4 TEVERINO. 
 
 will promise never to pass by your house, without 
 giving you a call. The idea has just entered my 
 head to play off an innocent joke on these music- 
 mad inhabitants of your noble city. It is my wish, 
 therefore, that you cause lights to be placed in the 
 gallery, and announce to the people that the artist 
 whose voice they have heard, is about to accede 
 to the entreaties of the generous public." 
 
 " What are you about to do ?" demanded L^ 
 once, as the host disappeared to execute his orders. 
 " Pass yourself off as Kubini ?" 
 
 " He can !" exclaimed Sabina with enthusiasm. 
 " Signora," replied the adventurer, pressing the 
 hand of Lady G to his lips, in token of grati- 
 tude for this encomium, " I have no such preten- 
 sion, but I wish to give a small lesson to this fool- 
 ish multitude, for having made so great a mistake ; 
 besides, it is my fancy to terminate the pleasures 
 of the day by a comedy, which you may perhaps 
 find amusing. All our chambers open upon this 
 gallery, which extends round the house. If you 
 remain in yours, you will be able to observe every- 
 thing that is going on through the crevices of the 
 door. And you, Leonce, take care not to give any 
 evidence of recognition ; that would betray me." 
 
 Sabina and Leonce concealed themselves behind 
 S^ curtain, and when everything was arranged as 
 
TEVERINO. 205 
 
 Teverino had directed, a miserable'ifigure, with 
 dishevelled hair, untrimmed whiskers, haggard 
 eye, languid step, and clothed in wretched gar- 
 ments, much too small for him, made his appear- 
 ance in the illuminated gallery. Several minutes 
 elapsed before our friends could penetrate this 
 ridiculous disguise, and recognize the elegant 
 " Tiberino de Montefiore." He was entirely 
 changed, and everything in his air and person, 
 indicated the most abject wretchedness and squa- 
 lid poverty. The vest of the landlord's youngest 
 son scarcely spanned his waist ; short and narrow 
 pantaloons gave an absurd length to his legs ; his 
 hands hung awkwardly at his sides. A cap that 
 had evidently served to stuff a broken window- 
 pane, a wretched guitar, slung cross- wise over his 
 shoulder, a large pilgrim's staff, all combined to 
 give him the aspect of a miserable strolling player. 
 Sabina tried to laugh, but her heart swelled within 
 her, without her comprehending the cause; and 
 Ldonce, confounded at this defiance thus thrown 
 at his indiscretion, in vain asked himself, what 
 could mean this daring freak of his accomplice ? 
 On the first approach of this sorry personage, 
 the crowd assembled in front of the gallery, greet- 
 ed him by cheers and clapping of hands ; but all 
 at once, their cries of admiration changed to groans 
 
269 TEYERINO. 
 
 and hisses. -^ They threatened to break down the 
 doors and thrash the landlord, in order to teach 
 him better than to thus play the fool with his 
 honorable fellow-citizens. 
 
 " One little moment, gracious public," said 
 Teverino, stilling the clamor by mingled gestures 
 of impertinence and humility. " Take pity on a 
 poor artist who has dared to profit by circumstan- 
 ces and exhibit his humble talents. If he does 
 not succeed in amusing you, he will deliver him- 
 self up to your just displeasure, and offer his back 
 to the showers of silver with which it shall please 
 you to overwhelm him." 
 
 Every public is capricious and variable. Te- 
 verino's buffoonery soon softened the heart of his 
 village audience, and, in default of the great 
 singer whom they had expected, they consented to 
 hear the miserable mountebank. He demanded a 
 subject of improvisation, and delivered several 
 hundred inflated verses, with an emphasis truly 
 burlesque, after which he gave imitations of the 
 cries of various animals, commencing with the 
 cat. He whistled variations on a popular street 
 air, and mimicked the voice of the Pulcinella^ 
 all with marvellous facility, at the same time 
 accompanying himself with a monotonous and 
 discordant scraping of the guitar. When he had 
 
TEVERINO. ' 207 
 
 finished, a shower of half-pence resounded on the 
 floor of the gallery, and the audience, overwhelm- 
 ing him with ironical applause, renewed their 
 clamor for the famous singer. It was a confused 
 mixture of hisses, laughter and stamps of im- 
 patience. Some wags even demanded the head 
 of the landlord of the Hotel del Leon Bianco. 
 
 " "Well, gentlemen," said Teverino, '' you shall 
 be satisfied; the great vocalist prbmised me to 
 permit you to listen to him, provided I could 
 succeed for a few moments in diverting your 
 attention. My wager is won, and it now becomes 
 my duty to bear to him the expression of your 
 ardent homage." 
 
 Whereupon Teverino re-entered his chamber, 
 from which he presently came out again, dressed 
 like a gentleman, in a neat and well appointed 
 toilet. During the interval, however, he had 
 taken the precaution to have some of the candles 
 adroitly extinguished, so that there would not be 
 sufiicient light for*the audience to recognize his 
 features. He commenced with a prelude on the 
 guitar, which gave evidence of very rare talent ; 
 this was followed by a barcarole so delightfully 
 sung as to rouse all the enthusiasm of the crowd, 
 who, in a perfect phrensy of excitement, loudly 
 called for an encore. He consented to sing it 
 
208 TEVERINO. 
 
 again, and when this was finished, leaning over 
 the balustrade, he regarded with an air of aristo- 
 cratic condescension the mad assemblage below. 
 Their cries of enthusiasm instantly gave place to a 
 profound silence. 
 
 " Friends," said he, with distinguished elegance 
 of enunciation, from which the vulgar bombast 
 of the itinerant had wholly disappeared. " I have 
 consented to sing for you, although, by position, I 
 am entirely independent of the caprices of a 
 village public, as well as of all other publics. The 
 uproar which you made under my windows 
 rendered it impossible for me to sleep, so that, in 
 a measure, I have been forced to compromise 
 with you; but, in punishment for your having 
 been so unreasonable, I will sing no more, and if 
 you do not immediately withdraw to your houses, 
 I warn you that you will be inundated by fire- 
 engines, which I have had brought to the hotel, 
 and which will be put in operation on the first 
 symptom of rebellion." 
 
 The terrified multitude dispersed instantaneous- 
 ly, persuaded that they had provoked the wrath 
 of some distinguished personage, and they could 
 be heard clapping their hands as they retired, in 
 humble gratitude for having escaped so easily. 
 
 In half an hour, the town was wrapped in 
 
TEVERINO. 209 
 
 silence, and all the inmates of the hotel had gone 
 to bed, except Sabina and Teverino, who leaning 
 together over the balustrade, were stilj engaged 
 in conversation, commenting on this last ad- 
 venture, and laughing cautiously, for fear of 
 awaking their traveling companions. 
 
 " See how far prejudice goes," said the vaga- 
 bond. "That foolish mob had not the faintest 
 suspicion that they applauded and hissed the 
 same man." 
 
 " I cannot help admitting to you, marquis," 
 replied Sabina, " that I should have been as much 
 deceived as they, if you had not prepared me 
 beforehand." 
 
 " Jndeed, Signora? I am happy, then, to have 
 procured you a little amusement." 
 
 " I am not sure that I can thank you for the 
 intention. The scene was fantastical, ludicrous, 
 perhaps; nevertheless, it affected me unpleas- 
 antly." 
 
 " We are, there, are we ?" thought Teverino, 
 and he begged Lady G to explain herself. 
 
 "What! you do not comprehend?" said she, 
 her voice full of emotion, " how painful it is to 
 see beauty and nobleness so travestied ?" 
 
 " I was, then, very ugly in those villanous 
 rags ?" he replied, less touched by the compliment 
 
210 TEVERINO. 
 
 than Sabina might have expected, after what had 
 passed between them. 
 
 " I do n^t say that," she resumed, less tenderly. 
 " But all the elegance of your manners and bear- 
 ing having disappeared, all the dignity of your 
 character having given place to an indescribable 
 shamefaced impudence, it was unpleasant for me 
 to see you thus disguised, and I could not realize 
 that it was you." 
 
 *' It was I, nevertheless. It was I, myself." 
 
 "No, marquis. It was the individual whom 
 you chose to personate, and this individual 
 possessed no attribute in common with you." 
 
 " I admit that the manners and language were 
 assumed, but surely, it was always my countenance, 
 my voice, my mind, my heart, my person ; in one 
 word, my being, concealed under these disguises. 
 I had then entirely disappeared to your eyes? 
 That is strange." 
 
 " I find it strange that you should be astonished 
 at my stupidity. Manners and language are the 
 expression of the mind and character, and the 
 moral being appears transformed when the exte- 
 rior being becomes distorted." 
 
 " Clothes also go for much," said Teverino, with 
 philosophical irony. 
 
 " Clothes, say you? I think not." 
 
TEVERINO. 211 
 
 "Indeed, it is so. Think well of it, Signora. 
 Suppose, now, that I present myself before yon in 
 the shabby and threadbare wardrobe of our land- 
 lord's son ; suppose, even, that I am this son, whose 
 occupation is, I think, that of forester or excise- 
 man ..." 
 
 " Well, what then ? Finish." 
 
 " I suppose, then, that preserving my counte- 
 nance, heart, and mind, such as God has made 
 them, I appear to you, for the first time, miserably 
 clad, and actually belonging to a very humble 
 condition of life ..." " 
 
 " Your supposition is not founded on common 
 sense. The stamp of nobility, which distinguishes 
 you, is seldom or never found in those obscure 
 races.' 
 
 " Seldom, it is possible ; but, after all, it is some- 
 times found. There are some natural gifts, which. 
 God has dispensed to these poor devils, as if to 
 ridicule the pretensions of the aristocracy." 
 
 " Your ideas are just those of Leonce, I will not 
 discuss them ; but I may say to you, in answer, 
 that such gifts have a rapid influence on the exist- 
 ence and condition of their possessor. A poor 
 devil, as you say, when he feels himself endowed 
 with beauty and intellect, sets himself actively at 
 work to modify the unpleasant circumstances into 
 
 •i*. 
 
^12 TEVEEINO. 
 
 "which the caprice of fate has thrown him. He 
 carves out for,Jiiraself a new path ; he continually 
 aspires to the elegances of life, to noble occupa- 
 tions, to the enjoyments of intellect, to the privi- 
 leges of beauty, and soon places himself in the rank 
 for which he was apparently created." 
 
 " It is very true that he ardently aspires," re- 
 plied Teverino, " and also very true that he some- 
 times arrives at the goal of his aspirations ; but it 
 is yet more true, that he is generally foiled, because 
 society refuses to assist him ; because he is repulsed 
 by its prejudices; because, in fact, not having in 
 youth learned the habit of submitting to its re- 
 straints, his ea^ly education predisposes him to 
 recklessness of its opinion, the great enemy of 
 struggle and slavery." 
 
 " But this contradicts your first assertion. 
 Clothes, then, go for nothing; but habits, that is to 
 say, language, manners." 
 
 "Clothes, language, and manners, all make a 
 part of the habits of life ; they are the expression. 
 The external condition of the poor and obscure 
 man, has most significance to vulgar minds ; but 
 these are, so to speak, exterior habits ; the moral 
 and interior being has not less value in the eyes 
 of God." 
 
 " I understand nothing of such distinctions, mar- 
 
TEVERINO. 213 
 
 quis. In your mouth, such language is generous 
 and disinterested reasoning, but in the mouth of 
 the personage, whom, a little while since, you 
 -amused us by Tepresenting, it would be vain and 
 insolent pretension. Your philanthropy misleads 
 you; the moral being cannot thus detach itself 
 from the exterior being. There, where the lan- 
 guage is ridiculous, the habits gross, disorder ha- 
 bitual, the bearing impertinent, and the calling 
 ignoble, can you hope to discover a great intellect 
 and a noble heart ?" 
 
 " It is possible, madam ; I persist in believing it, 
 in spite of your contempt for misery." 
 
 *' Do not misrepresent me. It is a misery which 
 I both pity and respect. It is that af the infirm, 
 the ignorant, the weak, of all those beings whom 
 the misfortunes of life throw half-dead, either phy- 
 sically or morally, into the combat of life. En- 
 feebled in body and mind before they are able to 
 develop themselves, these unfortunates are truly 
 the victims of chance, and we owe it to ourselves 
 to pity and respect them. But he who has the 
 power to struggle, and will not, is culpable ; justly 
 does society abandon him." 
 
 " Be it so," said Teverino, with a mixture of 
 haughtiness and good nature. "ITone but God 
 can read his heart and know whether he does not 
 
214 TEVERINO. 
 
 find within his own breast, consolations which are 
 ignored by the world, and whether between the 
 Supreme Being and his soul, there is not estab- 
 lished an intercourse far purer and sweeter than 
 all human sympathy or social protection. I be- 
 lieve that the gifts of God are always bestowed 
 for some good purpose, and that those who are 
 lowest on earth, will not be lowest in his kingdom. 
 Some one formerly said to me . . . But I per- 
 ceive that I am beginning to preach, which is to 
 encroach on the rights of our good Curd I ought 
 to content myself with showing you that I can 
 play at comedy. I have been often told that I 
 was born a comedian ; nevertheless, I have an ho- 
 nest heart, that has always impelled me contrary 
 to the dictates of prudence." 
 
 " Indeed, you are a wonderful mimic," said Sa- 
 bina, " and you have conducted this Italian farce 
 like a gay young student in his holidays. I admire 
 the vivacity and youthfulness of your character, 
 but I must confess it rather frightens me." 
 
 " You think me frivolous?" 
 
 " No ; but inconstant and indifferent, perhaps." 
 
 " Then, you do not regard me as perfidious and 
 insincere, notwithstanding the facility with which 
 I can metamorphose myself 2" 
 
 " No, certainly not." 
 
TEVERINO. 215 
 
 " Well, I prefer your opinion as it is, than that 
 you should take me for a hypocrite." 
 
 *' You are, then, indiflerent as to whether you 
 inspire any other sort of mistrust V 
 
 " I am indifferent, because I can easily over- 
 come this mistrust. But as no one will put me to 
 the proof, I have no occasion to exculpate myself, 
 is it not so, beautiful Sabina? I should be a 
 great coxcomb if I endeavored to make myself 
 appreciated." • 
 
 . " Do you not wish for esteem and friendship ?" 
 
 " Esteem and friendship ! French words that 
 we Italians do not comprehend, when applied to 
 the relation existing between a handsome woman 
 and a young man. Less subtle and more passion- 
 ate than you, we go direct to the fact of the true 
 sentiment we experience. I own to you that I do 
 not envy your esteem and friendship for L^once, 
 and that I would vastly prefer your hatred and 
 disdain.'' 
 
 " Explain yourself." 
 
 " How and why do you not love L^once, that 
 excellent and clever fellow, who adores you ?" 
 
 " He is not the least in love with me, and that 
 is the secret of my indifference to him. Now, 
 would you have me disdain and hate a man as 
 accomplished as he, because he does not happen 
 
216 TEVERINO. 
 
 to be in love with me ? Is it not my duty to pnt 
 aside my vanity as a woman, and render justice 
 to his noble character and great mind, by dedicat- 
 ing to him an affection more tranquil, more 
 durable than love V 
 
 ** Judging from the manner in which you speak 
 of love, Signora, one might say you have never 
 felt it. An Italian woman would not have so 
 much delicacy and generosity ; she would simply 
 despise it all, and regard as her greatest enemy 
 the man capable of living with her in this species 
 of gross and offensive intimacy that you name 
 friendship. Ah 1 Signora ! of whatever race she 
 may be, a woman is always a woman before every 
 thing else. The instinct of truth is more powerful 
 with her than good taste or conventionalities. 
 Your friendship, or rather your disdain for my 
 noble friend, reposes only on an error. You do 
 not perceive his love, and you punish liis silence 
 by according to him your esteem. If you read 
 his heart, you would respond to his feelings." 
 
 " Marquis, I consider it very strange that you 
 should charge yourself with the declarations of 
 Leonce." 
 
 " I swear to you upon my honor, Signora, that 
 I am not charged by him with declarations, and 
 that he distrusts me as much as you do." 
 
TEVERINO. 217 
 
 " Thus you make love to me for him, on your 
 own responsibility, and charge yourself gratuitous- 
 ly, with his cause. It is very noble and generous 
 in you, marquis, and recalls to my mind the 
 fraternity of ancient chivalry. Certainly, nothing 
 can be more worthy of esteem, and from this 
 moment, you have acquired a just title to my 
 friendship." 
 
 Uttering these words with an accent of bitter- 
 ness, Sabina arose, bade the marquis good night, 
 and retired to her chamber. We have already 
 said that the rooms of our party were all situated 
 on the gallery, which formed the roof to a large 
 pent house, after the fashion of Alpine construc- 
 tions, and ran along the front of the hotel, facing 
 the square. L^once and Teverino occupied the 
 same chamber, and when the latter entered, he 
 found his friend still up and dressed, walking 
 about the room in great agitation. 
 
 " Young man," said Leonce, advancing to meet 
 him with extended hand, "your sentiments are 
 noble, and you are worthy of an exalted destiny. 
 I grossly insulted you at the passage of the torrent ; 
 will you forget it V 
 
 " With all my heart, Ldonce, if you will admit 
 
 that jealousy, or, in other words, love was the 
 
 cause of your involuntary passion ?'' 
 IQ 
 
218 TEVERINO. 
 
 " Otherwise you will not forget it?" 
 
 " Otherwise I shall persist in demanding an 
 explanation. The more abject my condition ap- 
 pears to you, the more am I entitled to your 
 consideration, particularly as you invited me to 
 join your company ; and if the difference in our 
 fortunes makes you hesitate to give me satisfac- 
 tion, I would add, by way of a stimulant, that I 
 have no superior in the skill with which I handle 
 every kind of weapon, and that this is not my 
 first duel with a man of quality." 
 
 " I have no cowardly prejudice on this point. 
 I belong to the age in which we live, and I know 
 that one man is worth as much as another. Nei- 
 ther am I unskilful in the use of arms, and I 
 might find pleasure in measuring swords with 
 you, were my cause a good one ; but I feel it to be 
 bad, and I suffer all the more for having insulted 
 you, now that I behold in you the pride of an 
 honest man." 
 
 "Your excuses are also those of an honest 
 man," said Teverino, pressing his hand with noble 
 dignity. " But, to put my susceptibility at rest, 
 you ought to admit that love and jealousy are 
 alone to blame." 
 
 " You wish for my confidence, Teverino ? Well, 
 you shall have it. Jealousy? yes. I^ove? no," 
 
TEVERINO. 219 
 
 " All ! more French subtleties. A woman does 
 or does not please us. Where there is no love, 
 there can be no jealousy." 
 
 " That is the language of naivete and upright- 
 ness ; but admitting (I have no objection) that the 
 civilization of French manners and the refinement 
 of our ideas produce this strange contradiction, 
 can you comprehend only that which your own 
 heart can experience ? You who have seen so 
 much of life, who have studied so many divers- 
 ities of human nature, do you not know that self- 
 love, as well as the veritable passion, is a cause of 
 ill-humor and jealousy ?" 
 
 Teverino seated himself on the edge of his bed, 
 maintained a thoughtful silence for several min- 
 utes, then rising, resumed : " Yes ; these are the 
 maladies of the soul produced by satiety. Those 
 who desire not to know them, must be like me, 
 visited by misery, that is to say, by the frequent 
 impossibility of satisfying all their wants. Dear 
 Poverty ! thou art a good instructress of hearts. 
 When the abuse of enjoyments threatens to cor- 
 rupt us, thou bringest us back to the primitive 
 simplicity of sentiments and ideas. Thou givest 
 us so many simple lessons, as to compel us to re- 
 main simple under thy austere law." 
 
220 TEVERINO. 
 
 " What relation then do you establish between 
 your misery and the uprightness of your heart ?" 
 
 " Misery, sir, is one form of philosophy. It is 
 stoicism, and the stoic soul is made entirely of one 
 piece. Should my mistress be taken away from 
 me by a powerful man (the power of this age is 
 riches) I bow my head, but my pride is untouched. 
 That heart, for which my heart was not sufficient, 
 seems to me unworthy of regret or anger. Were 
 I able to sustain the struggle and give to my un- 
 faithful love the enjoyments of life, I might, in 
 that case, experience jealousy and be indignant at 
 my defeat. But where my rival prevails in con- 
 sequence of attractions which fortune denies to 
 me, I can only blame my destiny. I no longer 
 regard its instruments as culpable." 
 
 " I congratulate you on your philosophy. But 
 this cannot apply to the feeling of jealousy with 
 which you have inspired me. You have nothing, 
 and yet you are preferred to me who am rich. 
 Thus, I have reason for being doubly humiliated." 
 
 " Yes ; to be furious if you are in love. Other- 
 wise, your feeling is only a delirium of vanity, and 
 I cannot comprehend how a man whose intellect 
 is as clear as yours, can allow himself to be affect- 
 ed by such a trifle. If you were in the habit of 
 being every moment supplanted by the fatal law 
 
TEVERINO. 221 
 
 of destiny, you would become inured to these little 
 reverses. You ought to know that woman is the 
 most impressible being in creation, and conse- 
 quently the one to give us the greatest pleasure, 
 the fewest rights, the most intoxication, the least 
 security." . . 
 
 " That is a vagabond's philosophy," said L(^once, 
 " and I am incapable of loving thus. You are all 
 tenderness and tolerance, Teverino, but you do not 
 carry into love matters the instinct of dignity which 
 you assert on the score of honor." 
 
 " I do not place honor where it is not, and I seek 
 in love, only love." 
 
 " Thus you are often loved, but you never love ; 
 you know only pleasure." 
 
 *' E'evertheless, I often sacrifice pleasure to ideas 
 of honor. Be not in haste to judge me, Leonce. 
 You cannot tell what is at this moment passing in 
 my breast." 
 
 " I do know !" cried Leonce, with the fury of a 
 madman. "You struggle with desires that you 
 might, even this instant, satisfy. It is but a step 
 from this chamber to that of a certain noble lady, 
 proud and weak, like all the rest of her race, and 
 I am perfectly well aware that you have only to 
 sing a romance under her window, or turn her a 
 compliment of irresistible flattery, in order to ani- 
 
222 TEVERINO. 
 
 mate this pretended statue of Carrara marble, and 
 embrace those disdainful lips ..." 
 
 " Stop there, Ldonce. I have no such confidence ; 
 do not attribute to me this power." 
 
 "Is this dissimulation, modesty, or loyalty? 
 Throw aside all scruple. I have seen everything, 
 heard everything. I know that you were at first 
 curious, then tempted, but finally conqueror over 
 yourself out of generosity for me. I am grateful 
 to you ; but the esteem with which you inspire me 
 augments the contempt I have conceived for this 
 woman, and I am willing that she should bear the 
 pain of her hypocritical coldness. I wish you to 
 ' deliver yourself up to the passion of your youth, 
 and to grant her those pleasures which her moist- 
 ened eye continually solicits. Go, child of fortune 
 and sovereign of the occasion, the hour is propi- 
 tious. You have already plucked the first kiss, 
 the kiss of love, after which, a woman can refuse 
 nothing. You will render me a great service, you 
 will deliver me from a mortal agony, a fatal at- 
 traction, too long combatted in vain. I exact from 
 you nothing but discretion ; besides, your life shall 
 answer to me for your silence. Be happy this 
 night — to-morrow you shall die — if you speak !" 
 
 " A duel unto death would be a celestial stimu- 
 lant, if I were truly tempted," replied Teverino, 
 
TEVERINO. 223 
 
 calmly. " But i^m not, because I see that yon 
 are irretrievably m love, poor L^once. Your fury 
 and injustice reveal your whole heart, in spite of 
 yourself. Come, be composed ; this beautiful crea- 
 ture is neither false nor guilty. She is only dis- 
 trustful and irresolute, and if she has not yet loved 
 you, L^once, it is your own fault." 
 
 " No, no ; it is hers. Can she be ignorant that 
 I am deeply in love with her, and that my respect- 
 ful friendship is only a timid game ?" 
 
 " At last, you admit it." 
 
 " I do admit that I have been a long time in 
 love with her, and that this morning even, I was 
 near declaring myself. Well ! and have I not been 
 so a hundred times since this morning, madman 
 that I am ! My fits of passion, my bitter raillery, 
 my sadness, uneasiness, jealous cares, my efforts to 
 appear in love with Madeleine, are not these so 
 many avowals, rather too simple for a man of the 
 world?" 
 
 " Leonce ! Ldonce ! you have been understood." 
 
 "Yes, and that makes it still more odious in 
 her, still more humiliating for me. She feigned 
 to observe nothing. She persisted in her superb 
 indifference; .she sought every means in her 
 power to dishearten me ; and, when she saw that 
 I really suffered, she shamelessly threw herself 
 
 I 
 
224 TEVEBINO. 
 
 into the arms of a man utterly unknown to 
 her." 
 
 "Hush, blasphemer! You scandalize me," 
 cried Teverino. " Your passion renders you blind 
 and indecent. "What! do you not see that this 
 woman loves you, and is it for me to teach you 
 the tenderness of your heart? Do you not see 
 that it is from spite that she listens to me, and 
 that her soul, agitated by passion, seeks refuge in 
 the intoxication of some fatal catastrophe ? You 
 choose to win her by a thorny road, and the 
 pleasures you prepare for her are mingled with 
 gall ; you irritate her by tempestuous desires, and 
 then fling yourself out from her presence, haugh- 
 ty, supercilious, sarcastic, offended that she does 
 not make you advances, contrary to the modesty 
 of the sex ! You wish her to avow her passion, 
 to reassure you against all hazard, to promise you 
 days whose web shall be spun in silk and gold, 
 to excuse and justify herself for having been so 
 long insensible to your fascinations, to demand 
 pardon for her tardy submission; in fine, in ex- 
 change for the bitter beverage of truth you pre- 
 sent to her, to pour out floods of ambrosia and 
 loving adulation. You are absurd, Leonce, you 
 do not comprehend the spirit of such a woman. 
 You think yourself degraded in prostrating your- 
 
TEVERINO, •* 225 
 
 self in the dust under her feet, and in confessing 
 yourself unworthy of her tenderness ; but can 
 you not see that these are precisely the expression 
 of a true love, the naive gratitude of an exalted 
 happiness ?" 
 
 " Italian ! Italian ! river overflowing and rolling 
 at hazard, you only wait for enthusiasm to pene- 
 trate your soul, to find its expression, and your 
 transports outstrip the happiness that gives them 
 birth! Familiar with all the ruses of seduction, 
 you yet speak of naivete /" 
 
 "Yes, I am naive in working for victory. 
 Desire and hope render me eloquent, and uncer- 
 tainty does not prevent me from being venture- 
 some. What, then, is there humiliating in a 
 checkmate^of this sort ?" 
 
 " And can you not imagine ? A refusal from 
 a woman is worse than a blow from a man." 
 
 " Foolish prejudice !" 
 
 " No ! The woman who refuses considers her- 
 self insulted by the declaration." 
 
 " False virtue ! With what intricacy and cun- 
 ning all such matters are managed in your country. 
 Huzza for fervid Italy !" 
 
 " llTevertheless, you despised your ancient idols, 
 
 when on the ramparts, an hour since, you said : 
 10* 
 
226 TEVERINO. 
 
 * Our women love without discrimination, but 
 your sentiments are born of ideas.' " 
 
 " I believed myself on the road to discover per- 
 fection ; but I perceive with chagrin that the 
 intellect stifles the heart ; therefore, repentant and 
 contrite, I return to my remembrances." 
 
 ** Perhaps you are right, in the main I" said 
 L^once, rousing himself from a profound revery. 
 " This absence of delicacy comes from the very 
 richness of your organization, and I am not as- 
 tonished that Lady G , after having so long 
 
 breathed an atmosphere of freezing subtilties, 
 should have been attracted by the overflowing 
 enthusiasm of a genial soul. "We understand, 
 perhaps, nothing of love, and I acknowledge on 
 my part that I deserve what has happened. It is 
 too late, however, to profit by it ; the charm is 
 destroyed, and you have spoiled every thing, 
 Teverino, in thinking to serve and enlighten me." 
 
 " Say not so, L^once. You know nothing 
 about it. Sleep brings counsel, and to-morrow 
 you will be calm. To-morrow, at two o'clock in 
 the afternoon, a grand revolution will have taken 
 place among us all. Wait until then to judge for 
 yourself." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Nothing ; I am going to sleep," said Teverino, 
 
TEVERINO. 227 
 
 extinguishing the light. "I commission you to 
 awake me in the morning, for I delight in the bed 
 as much as a cardinal." 
 
 In a few moments, he seemed to be in a pro- 
 found slumber, and Leonce, reduced to the ex- 
 tremity of disputing with himself, endeavored in 
 vain to imitate him. His mind was over-excited, 
 and the bed, one of those pallets usually found in 
 country inns, was as uncomfortable and disagree- 
 able to him as that of Teverino seemed delightful ; 
 so that, notwithstanding all his efforts to the 
 contrary, he remained awake and keenly attentive 
 to external noises. A vague uneasiness devoured 
 him. He expected every moment to see Sabina's 
 shadow fall on the curtain of his moonlit window, 
 as she passed along the gallery, seeking an op- 
 portunity of reconciliation with Teverino. 
 
 At last, he was just beginning to feel drowsy, 
 when the noise of stealthy steps, creaking lightly 
 on the gallery floor, and then dying away, 
 roused every nerve in his body. Leonce remained 
 motionless, his ears open, his eyes fixed on Te- 
 verino, whose bed stood facing his own. Present- 
 ly, he distinctly saw the vagabond get out of bed, 
 half open the door, as if to assure himself that 
 some person had passed by, and then approach 
 the bed of Leonce, to ascertain if he were asleep. 
 
228 TEVERINO. 
 
 L6once feigned to be in a deep slumber, and not 
 to notice the hand that Teverino waved before his 
 eyes ; whereupon the latter dressed himself noise- 
 lessly, and left the chamber. 
 
 "Miserable wretch I you have deceived me," 
 thought L^once. "No matter I I will discover 
 your artifice in spite of you, and cover this un- 
 chaste woman with shame." He again rose out 
 of bed, put on his clothes quickly, and followed 
 the steps of the imprudent marquis. The moon 
 was setting, and the town was wrapt in silence. 
 
TEYERINO. 229 
 
 XI 
 
 VADE KETKO, SATANAS. 
 
 Leonoe had been careful to note down in his 
 memory the number marked over the door of Sa- 
 bina's chamber ; but he was in too great trouble 
 to pay any attention to it, and stopped before the 
 first open door that presented itself before him. 
 The small chamber, the interior of which he took 
 in at a glance, contained two beds and was lighted 
 by a lamp. One of these beds had just been va- 
 cated ; it was that of the negress, the mysterious 
 individual who had crossed the gallery. The other 
 was a low cot, on which Madeleine was tranquilly 
 reposing. Teverino, standing in the centre of the 
 room, was looking anxiously around ; in a moment, 
 L^once saw him advance towards the pallet of the 
 bird-tamer and regard her attentively. The child 
 slept the sleep of angels : the lamp, placed on a 
 table, shed a glow over her beautiful countenance 
 as well as over the agitated features of the vagabond. 
 The partially closed door concealed L^once from 
 
230 TfiVERINO. 
 
 the inmates of the room, while he could observe 
 everything going forward. 
 
 " Madeleine," thought he, changing his suspi- 
 cions. " Ah I that would be still more infamous. 
 I will save her. Why does this cursed negress 
 thus abandon her ?" 
 
 He was about to make a noise to put the seducer 
 to flight, when he was arrested by seeing Teverino 
 kneel down at the side of the radiant countenance 
 of the child. The expression of his face had 
 changed; its anxiety had given place to a deep 
 tenderness, and a sort of religious respect. He 
 remained some instants as if plunged in sweet 
 meditation. One might have thought that he 
 was praying, for never had his beauty appeared 
 more ideal. Presently, he leaned over the little 
 girl, and bestowed a silent kiss upon the chaplet 
 of flowers that she still held in her hand, hanging 
 down from the bed. Notwithstanding the precau- 
 tions of the vagabond, she was partially awakened, 
 and doubtless thinking herself in her hut. 
 
 " Oh ! my good friend," she said a low voice, 
 " is it already day ? Has my brother returned V 
 
 " No, no, Madeleine ; go to sleep again, my an- 
 gel," replied Teverino. " I am going out to meet 
 Joseph." 
 
 " Oh, very well, go," she muttered in a voice 
 
TEVEKINO. 231 
 
 overcome by sleep. " I will get up when you are 
 gone." And as if habit had measured her hours 
 of repose, she fell asleep again, after having thus 
 unconsciously spoken. As Teverino left the cham- 
 ber, he found himself face to face with Leonce, 
 who sought not to avoid him. All at once, he be- 
 came greatly agitated, and turning abruptly, he 
 locked Madeleine's door, taking out the key. Then, 
 laying his hand on the young man's arm, " Sir," 
 said he, his voice trembling with emotion, " you 
 shall not enjoy this diversion. Go, if you will, and 
 trouble the sleep of the great ladies, but the child 
 of the mountain is not destined to serve as your 
 pastime." 
 
 " If I had had that infernal idea," replied 
 Leonce, whose calm and truthful air reassured the 
 clear-sighted vagabond. "I should be greatly 
 ashamed of it in your presence, brave young 
 man ! I have surprised the secret of your heart, 
 and I am already acquainted with that of Made- 
 leine. The pre-occupation of my own mind has, 
 until now, prevented me from recognizing in you 
 the good friend of whom she has spoken to me, 
 and I accused you of a crime, when you were 
 only obeying a paternal solicitude." 
 
 " Paternal solicitude !" said Teverino, as to- 
 gether they left the chamber of the bird-tamer. 
 
282 TEVERINO. 
 
 " Yes, that is the word, the true word, Ldonce. 
 Hearing steps on the gallery, I feared danger for 
 the defenceless and unsuspicious child ; some base 
 valet, how do I know ? or even your brazen-faced 
 jockey ? I am responsible for Madeleine to that 
 brave contrabandist, who, a week since, confided 
 to me, in sacred charge, the guardianship of his 
 sister and his cabin. Oh I loyalty of the Golden 
 Age I thou art found again in the midst of a 
 desert, in the hearts of a vagabond, a bandit and 
 a young girl! You see, L^once, what your 
 crabbed Curd terms a state of mortal sin, and 
 what your noble lady, she, who so much despises 
 a life of misery and irregularity, will never com- 
 prehend. Alas ! that she were able to compre- 
 hend the heart of Madeleine! That holy in- 
 genuousness, which knows not even that she is a 
 treasure, and that sublime confidence, which 
 Sabina herself, with all the power of her wit and 
 beauty has not disturbed ! Do you not admire, 
 Ldonce, the calmness and discretion of this child, 
 who was satisfied with one word from me when 
 she saw me disguised, and whom, my role of 
 flatterer at the side of your mistress, troubled 
 with no foolish paroxysms of jealousy ? Ah ! if 
 you could have heard her artless questions, as she 
 sat with me on the carriage-box, and her replies, 
 
TEVERINO. 233 
 
 full of magnanimity and goodness, to my queries 
 if she were not in danger of finding you too 
 amiable and handsome ! Our love is different 
 from yours, my friend ; for we have boundless 
 confidence in each other : we know that we cannot 
 be deceived. And shall 1 avow it to you? the 
 bird- tamer is far more lovely and charming in my 
 eyes than ever, since I have breathed the atmos- 
 phere of a great lady ! But what can have be- 
 come of that cursed negress? She leaves open 
 her door, as if she were in a convent of Carthu- 
 sian friars. I will stake my word that if 
 Milady had confided a little dog to her keeping, 
 she would have taken more care of the animal, 
 than she takes of this young girl's honor." 
 
 And, in fact, where was the negress? "We 
 would not, for the world, believe that she had a 
 rendezvous with Leonce's jockey. Perhaps Sa- 
 bina, tormented by sleeplessness, had rung for 
 her ; perhaps she was a somnambulist. All that 
 we know in reference to this, but little interest- 
 ing portion of our story, is that, in trying to 
 regain her chamber, the door of which she did not 
 expect to find closed, and being entirely ignorant 
 of figures, she pushed open the first that ofiered the 
 least resistance, and fumbling for the lamp she 
 had left lighted at the bed-side, her ebony hands 
 
284 TEVERINO. 
 
 came in contact with the Curb's face. The nose 
 of the holy man, somewhat animated by the 
 excellent Cyprus wine, had induced the illusion 
 that it was the wick of a candle just extinguished 
 and still smoking. In the fear of burniug herself, 
 she uttered a cry, to which responded a groan of 
 terror from the Cure, who, thus rudely awakened, 
 started up in bed, and beholding this dark visage, 
 enveloped in a linen turban, strongly outlined on 
 the open door, he thought himself attacked by the 
 devil, and, seizing his breviary, he threw it at his 
 supposed majesty, at the same time thundering 
 forth all the exorcisms which came to his mind. 
 
 On hearing the clamor made by the good man, 
 L^once and Teverino rushed in, and preserved the 
 negress, who, bewildered by this unexpected en- 
 counter, knew not where to fly, in order to avoid 
 the Curb's lamp, which came rolling towards her, 
 with tremendous noise. All was explained. The 
 trembling L61^ accounted in her own way, for her 
 nocturnal promenade. Teverino threatened to 
 denounce her to Milady, if she did not keep her- 
 self shut up in her own room, whither he returned 
 to imprison her. The Cure, enchanted at having 
 escaped the claws of Satan, resumed his virtuous 
 slumbers, and enjoyed them undisturbed until 
 day-light. 
 
TEVERINO. 235 
 
 XII. 
 
 A CALM. 
 
 Sabina had rested no better than her com- 
 panions. The prediction of L^once had been 
 realized to an extent which he did not foresee, 
 for in making that random promise, his only idea 
 had been to amuse and excite her a little by the 
 expectation of some adventure, with which, how- 
 ever, he had no thought of meeting. All the 
 strange incidents of the day were continually 
 passing and repassing through the mind of this 
 interesting young creature, making her uncom- 
 fortable and unhappy. At first, the eccentricities 
 of L^once, the violent and bitter declaration of 
 love he had made to her in the wood, with the 
 unlocked for tenderness of their reconciliation; 
 then, his sudden anger as she expressed her desire 
 to hold him to the terms of their former friend- 
 ship, his disappearance for hours among the 
 mountains, his return with this stranger, so fascin- 
 
28(1 TEVERINO. 
 
 ating and whimsical, who, at ono moment, seemed 
 to her most nobly impassioned, the next, the most 
 prosaically frivolous of men ; now, in love with 
 her to the point of adoration, now, sufficiently in- 
 different and disinterested to intercede with her 
 for another ; now, the model and flower of gentle- 
 men, now, the veritable type of strolling players ; 
 passing from a pedantic discussion with the Cur^, 
 to heavenly musical inspirations, and from an 
 equivocal whispering with the bird-tamer, to a 
 general conversation full of elevated thought, 
 philosophy and poetical enthusiasm. 
 
 These various alternations had confounded Sa- 
 bina's judgment, and, at last, crushed her spirit. 
 It seemed to her as if she still bore a part in these 
 different scenes and conversations, as if the car- 
 riage were still moving forward with the speed of 
 the wind, and, with her closed eyes, she seemed 
 to behold again all the diversity of mountain 
 landscape, in the midst of which she had that day 
 journeyed. She no longer distinguished between 
 illusion and reality, and when, for a moment, she 
 lost hei*self in sleep, she awoke with a start, 
 imagining herself at the summit of the tower, 
 with the kiss of Teverino still warm upon her 
 lips. Then, mocking applause and contemptuous 
 laughter met her ear, the tower fell to pieces with 
 
TEVERINO. 237 
 
 a crash, she found herself in a dirty street, arm 
 in arm with the mountebank, and face to face 
 with Leonce, who, throwing to them the alms of 
 pity, turned away in disgust. 
 
 The negress, charged to awaken her mistress at 
 an early hour, found her sitting on the bed, with 
 a spiritless eye and a heavy heart. She presented 
 to her the white Cashmere dou7mous, which served 
 as her rohe de charribre at the villa, her elegant 
 dressing-case, and, in short, all the usual luxuries 
 of her toilet. At first, she made use of them 
 mechanically ; then, as she reflected a moment, she 
 asked L^l^ who it was that had been so delicately 
 thoughtful as to provide all those comforts. On the 
 reply of Ldl6 that Ldonce was the instigator of 
 these minute preparations, she could no longer 
 doubt that, from the first, he had intended to pro- 
 long their excursion until the following day ; this 
 discovery added food for the numerous reveries in 
 which she indulged while submitting to the pro- 
 cess of the toilet. 
 
 Judging from Teverino's conduct of the evening 
 previous, it was only too certain that he did not 
 love her. After those passionate compliments 
 and that fatal kiss, how had it been possible for 
 him to throw oiF so quickly all serious emotion, 
 and voluntarily enact the hero in a ridiculous 
 
288 - TEVERINO. 
 
 burlesque? And when again alone with the half- 
 vanquished woman, how was it that, instead of 
 testifying a hypocritical repentance which always 
 asks for more, and which a proud beauty expects 
 either to resist or to yield, he had been able to 
 pursue a philosophical discussion, and above all, 
 to speak to her of Ldonce's love rather than his 
 own? 
 
 Sabina was profoundly humiliated : she hurried 
 through this painful probing of the wound, in order 
 that she might be able with confidence to resume 
 her usual haughty bearing, and the calm deceitful- 
 ness of her pretended invulnerability. But, then, if 
 the marquis were impertinent and dangerous, for 
 what other support could she hope than that of 
 Leonce ? 
 
 Thus gently and gradually did her thoughts 
 revert to her old champion ; certain of the ge- 
 nerosity of his soul, she asked herself with remorse 
 at her heart, how she could have been so unjust 
 and inconsiderate as to place herself in a position 
 to need his assistance. When she compared these 
 two men, the one, a tried friend, severe but faith- 
 ful, the other, a stranger, fascinating and enig- 
 matical; the one, whom a kiss, granted by her, 
 would have chained to her feet forever, the other, 
 accepting it by the way as a mere adventure, 
 
TEVEBINO. 239 
 
 and forgetting it on the instant ; how vehement 
 were her self-upbraidings,, how deep her blushes ! 
 
 Leonce expected to find her displeased with him ; 
 on the contrary, she was pale, sad, and subdued. 
 "When he approached to kiss her hand, according 
 to his usual custom, he perceived a tear dropping 
 from her black eyelashes, and was, in turn, invo- 
 luntarily affected by her emotion. 
 
 " You are suffering ?" said he ; " you have passed 
 a bad night?" 
 
 " You predicted it for me, Leonce, and I have 
 to render you an account of those terrible emotions 
 whose remembrance I shall never lose. Make your 
 arrangements so that I may talk tranquilly with 
 you to-day, and pray do not leave me, as you did 
 so cruelly yesterday." 
 
 Leonce had not courage to reply that he had 
 thought to please her by so doing. He saw too 
 clearly that Sabina had neither the power nor the 
 wish to justify herself. 
 
 On his part, he asked himself if he were not the 
 only one to blame ; and full of melancholy and 
 uncertainty, he left the room to preside over the 
 preparations for departure. 
 
 Happily, the Cur^ enlivened the breakfast, other- 
 wise extremely dull, by reciting his terrible en- 
 counter with his Satanic Majesty. The marquis 
 
240 TEVERINO. 
 
 was witty and good-humored. L^once was pre- 
 occupied, and Sabina felt grateful for his sympa- 
 thy. It seemed to her that Teverino manifested 
 the insolence of a successful lover, and she hated 
 him. Nevertheless, nothing was further from the 
 
 thought of the vagabond ; the fault of Lady G 
 
 appeared of much less consequence to him than to 
 herself. He found the sin so venial, and his phi- 
 losophy regarding it was so tolerant, as to derive 
 from it little cause for vain-glory. This arose from 
 the fact that, in a certain sense, he had less respect 
 than L^once for the virtue of women, while, at the 
 same time, he had more confidence in their moral 
 value. He did not, for yielding to a momentary 
 weakness, condemn them as incapable of a real or 
 permanent affection. His code of virtue was less 
 elevated, but more human. His ideal did not lie 
 in strength, but in tenderness and pardon. 
 
 It was only as she was on the point of entering 
 the carriage, that Sabina perceived the absence of 
 Madeleine. 
 
 ".The little girl set off at day-break for the moun- 
 tains," said Teverino. " She feared that her bro- 
 ther might be uneasy about her, if she were not 
 at home by the hour he generally returns ; she has 
 taken a bee-line across the mountains, escorted by 
 her little friends, whom, with my own eyes, I saw 
 
TEVERINO. 241 
 
 fly to meet her, at the gates of the city. I went 
 with her as far as the walls, lest she should be as- 
 sailed and detained by the children, always eager 
 to see what they call her tricks of sorcery." 
 
 " The marquis is more thoughtful than the rest 
 of us," said Leonce ; " we had almost forgotten our 
 little traveling companion, but he was up early 
 to protect her retreat." 
 
 " Do you call that protection ?" said Sabina in 
 English, and with the utmost bitterness. 
 
 " You must not calumniate Teverino," replied 
 Leonce. " You do not know him yet." 
 
 " And did you not tell me yesterday, that nei- 
 ther do you know him ?" 
 
 " True, but I have found him again ; henceforth, 
 Sabina, I can answer for him." 
 
 " Indeed ! He is then really a man of honor ?" 
 
 " Yes, madam, he is a man of soul, although his 
 fortune is not brilliant," 
 
 " Is his family poor, or has he ruined himself f 
 
 " Of what consequence is that ?" 
 
 " It is of great consequence. I respect the po- 
 verty of a gentleman, but I have a bad opinion of 
 ^ nobleman who has squandered his patrimony." 
 
 <^ In that case, you may despise me, for I am {n 
 
 a fair way to squander mine," 
 
 " You ];iave a right to do so, and moreoYer, I 
 U 
 
242 TEVEBINO. 
 
 know that you do it nobly and liberally. With 
 you, it does not involve the risk of being reduced 
 to the humiliations of poverty : your talent as an 
 artist secures to you a brilliant future." 
 
 " If I were a capricious, fickle artist, subject to 
 fits of idleness and languor, the idea of working 
 for money might chill my inspiration. And these 
 are the characteristics of all great and true artists ; 
 you, yourself, did you not, only yesterday, reproach 
 me for having been born in a station, where suc- 
 cess is easily attained, and struggle consequently 
 not meritorious ?" 
 
 " Kecall to my mind nothing of yesterday. I 
 wish to tear that page from the book of my life." 
 
 While thus engaged in conversation, they had 
 rapidly traversed the plain on which the town was 
 situated. In order to regain the frontier, it was 
 necessary to climb the steep acclivity, descended 
 by Teverino the day before with so much audacity 
 and confidence. This occupied nearly an hour, at 
 least. Every body alighted, excepting Sabina, 
 who requested Leonce to remain with her in the 
 carriage. The jockey employed himself in leading 
 . the horses, the negress frolicked along the ditches, 
 chasing the butterflies with a sort of savage grace, 
 and displaying to advantage both the delicacy and 
 strength of her voluptuous form. The Cure, who 
 
TEYEEIN-O. 243 
 
 had a decided horror of those thick lips, that Lu- 
 cifer in petticoats, as he expressed it, walked ahead 
 with Teverino. The latter had determined to re- 
 concile the priest with Madeleine's good friend, 
 the vagabond, whom the good man had never seen, 
 but whom he promised himself to have seized by 
 the gens d'arm^es^ on the first opportunity. With- 
 out speaking to him of this individual, the marquis, 
 foreseeing the moment when it might be necessary 
 to raise the mask, endeavored to reveal himself 
 under his best aspects, and set himself seriously at 
 work to captivate the benevolence and confidence 
 of the Growler. This was no difficult task, for the 
 Growler was at heart one of the best of men, when 
 his habits of comfort were not interfered with, or 
 his religious ideas opposed. 
 
 " Listen, Leonce," said Sabina, after several mo- 
 ments of deep thought. " I have a strange con- 
 fession to make, and if you find me guilty, I must 
 exculpate myself at your expense ; for you are the 
 cause of all the trouble I have experienced, and 
 you seem to have contemplated my sufi'ering. 
 Feeling this, that you yourself are so much in fault, 
 I have all the more courage to acknowledge my 
 own infirmities." 
 
 " Ought I not spare you this humiliation ?" re- 
 plied Ldonce, taking her hand, and struggling be- 
 
244 TEVERINO. 
 
 tween disdainful pity and fraternal interest. " Yes, 
 it is the duty of a friend, nay, even his right. You 
 have not been able to look upon my marquis with 
 impunity. You have felt his invincible power, 
 you have disowned all your far-fetched theories — 
 in short, you love him." 
 
 A burnings blush mantled Sabina's cheek, and 
 she made a gesture of contempt; but, with 'an 
 effort to subdue her emotion, she said, " And if it 
 were so, would you blame me? Speak frankly, 
 L^once, don't spare me." 
 
 ** Certainly I should not blame you ; but I should 
 try to put you on your guard against this new-bom 
 passion. Teverino is not unworthy, of that, I will 
 take my oath before God, who knoweth all things, 
 and judgeth differently from our judgment. But 
 there are obstacles between this man and you, 
 which you could not and would not surmount, 
 poor woman. A life of hazard, of reverses, of inex- 
 plicable eccentricity, chains Teverino down to a 
 sphere whither you cannot follow him. A tie be- 
 tween two such persons as you and he would be 
 deplorable for both." 
 
 " You answer a question which I have not asked. 
 What signifies to me the future — what signifies to 
 me the destiny of this man ?" 
 
TEVERINO. 245 
 
 " Ah ! how much you love him !" cried Leonce, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I love him very much indeed !" she 
 replied with a hollow laugh. " You are a fool, 
 Leonce. That man is completely indifferent to 
 me." 
 
 " What is it then that you ask me ? Do you 
 mock at my credulity ?" 
 
 " God forbid ! I asked you, were this love pos- 
 sible, would it seem to you culpable ?" 
 
 " Culpable, no ; I must admit that I should be 
 the guilty one." 
 
 " And it would not diminish your fiiendship for 
 me?" 
 
 " My friendship, no ; but my respect ..." 
 
 " Speak it out. Why should your respect change 
 to pity?" 
 
 " Because I should be convinced that you had 
 not been frank with me concerning the Past. What ! 
 such an intensity of pride, coldness, disdain for fee- 
 ble woman, such raillery for the suddenly fallen, 
 such contempt for blind enthusiasm of passion ; and 
 yet, all at once, would you unveil yourself as the 
 weakest and blindest of all ? For years, you would 
 seem to have surrounded yourself with defences 
 against a love, tender, true, and profound, to yield 
 at last, and in a moment to a passing prestige ! Such 
 
246 TEVERINO. 
 
 an event would have deprived your character of 
 all its originality, all its grandeur." 
 
 " How little consistent you are, L6once I Yes- 
 terday, you made desperate, ferocious war upon 
 this odious character ; you taxed it with egotism 
 and cold barbarity. You were ready to hate me 
 for having never loved." 
 
 " Then I suppose your honor was piqued to make 
 me see of what you were capable ?" 
 
 " Be generous and dispassionate. Do not believe 
 Hie so contemptible as to mark out a role for my- 
 self and tranquilly resolve to make you suffer. " 
 
 " Suffer, I ? Why should I have suffered ?" 
 
 "Because, L^once, you loved me yesterday. 
 Yes ; you spoke to me of love, while your actions 
 indicated hatred; you im.plored even while you 
 spurned me. I know that to-day the thought hu- 
 miliates you. I know that to-day you no longer 
 love me." 
 
 " And this," said L^once, sadly, " this iS what is 
 called reading the heart. I suppose you are as 
 indifferent to-day, when I am cured, as you were 
 yesterday, when I was ill ?" 
 
 " Know, then, all the perversity of my instinct. 
 I was not more indifferent yesterday than I am to- 
 day. I almost accepted your love yesterdjiy while 
 
TEVERINO. 247 
 
 refusing it, and to-day, while seeming to implore, 
 I renounce it." 
 
 ^' You do well, Sabina. It would be a great 
 misfortune for both of us were it to continue after 
 what I have seen and what I. know." 
 
 " ^Nevertheless, you do not know everything, 
 and I wish that you should. Yesterday, on the 
 summit of the tower, I was affected unto tears by 
 the voice of this Italian ; a vertigo seized me, I 
 felt his lips touch mine, and if I had not heard 
 your steps approaching, perhaps I should not have 
 turned away." 
 
 " It is very easy for you to make this confession 
 to one, who lost nothing of that picturesque tab- 
 leau. It seemed as if I beheld Francoise de Rvm- 
 ini receiving the first kiss of Lanciotto. You were 
 very beautiful." 
 
 " Ah ! Ldonce, what means that shudder, that 
 frowning glance, that trembling voice? What 
 matters it to you to-day, since for this fault you 
 have ceased to love me, since you despise me so 
 much as to wish to take from me the merit of con- 
 fidence and repentance V 
 
 " I have no faith in repentance confessed with 
 so much audacity." 
 
 " Well ; call it audacity if you will. ' I do not 
 pique myself on the contrary, and I am not asking 
 
248 TEVERINO. 
 
 the pardon of a lover, but the absolution of friend- 
 ship. Listen, Ldonce. The humiliating experience 
 of yesterday, made at my expense, has caused me 
 to change my sentiments regarding love, as well 
 as my opinion of myself. I dreamed of something 
 sublime and unheard of; still more, I believed in 
 it and looked upon you as scarcely worthy to 
 guide me to the discovery of that ideal. Now, I 
 have learned to comprehend the nothingness of 
 my dreams, and the shameful infirmity of human 
 nature. A sparkling eye, a flattering word, a 
 beautiful voice, the fatigue and excitement of a 
 day of adventures, the intoxication of a charming 
 night, of a magnificent view, and, above all, a 
 malicious instinct of spite towards you, rendered 
 me as weak at a given moment as I had for years 
 been strong and invincible in the world. An in- 
 conceivable trouble weighed upon me, a cloud 
 covered my eyes, a buzzing filled my ears. I felt 
 also that I was a passive being, swayed, hurried 
 away, in one word, a woman ! And from that 
 moment, the mighty scafiblding of my pride 
 has crumbled to pieces. Undeceived in regard to 
 my own heart, lowered in my own estimation, I 
 weep my lost faith in myself ; but I thought, at 
 least, to be able to thank God for having placed 
 me near a generous friend, who would preserve 
 
TEVERINO. 249 
 
 me from utter ruin and console me in my grief. 
 Am I, then, deceived, Leonce, and will you not 
 try to close this bleeding wound at the bottom of 
 my heart ? Must I, indeed, weep in solitude, and 
 am I to be forever confounded by the voice of my 
 conscience ? If this despair is to finish by break- 
 ing my heart, if a first false step is to place me on 
 a fatal declivity, if I must still submit to such 
 miserable temptations and feel the magnitude of 
 the dangers I have so much despised, shall I have 
 no friend to hold out a helping hand of protection? 
 Will this friend be my husband, the cold, in- 
 temperate Englishman, whose reason is annihi- 
 lated in the fascination of the wine-cup, and to 
 whom the temptations of love have no reality? 
 Shall I find this friend in my train of perfidious 
 adorers, men of the world, heartless and depraved, 
 who hesitate not at any lie whereby to seduce a 
 woman, but who despise her from the moment she 
 listens to the lies of another ? Tell me, where, 
 then, shall I henceforth fly for refuge, if the only 
 man to whose friendship I can disclose the secret 
 of my blushes shall repulse me and answer coldly : 
 * Of pity, yes ; but of respect, no !' " 
 
 Sabina had spoken with energy ; her face was 
 deathly pale, with the exception of a light, burn- 
 ing spot in the centre of each cheek. She had 
 IX* 
 
250 TEVERINO. 
 
 really a fever ; and the morning breeze, scatter- 
 ing about her magnificent hair in every direction, 
 gave her an unusual aspect of disorder and violent 
 emotion. L^once thought her more beautiful 
 than ever, and seizing 'her icy cold hand, he 
 carried it to his lips to reanimate it. A torrent 
 of tears rolled down her cheeks, and leaning upon 
 the shoulder of her friend, she was received in 
 his arms, and pressed passionately to his heart. 
 L^once remaitied silent. He could not say one 
 word. The prejudices of his pride struggled with 
 the enthusiasm of his heart. Had the question at 
 stake really been the pardon of friendship, nothing 
 would have been easier for him than to bestow 
 tender consola^ons; but Leonce was in love, 
 foolishly in love, perhaps, and the duties of 
 friendship no longer presented themselves to his 
 mind. The struggle was with a passion much 
 more exacting and jealous ; he suffered dreadful 
 tortures at the thought that, not distant more than 
 two steps from him, was a man who, in one in- 
 stant, had succeeded in opening a heart, which had 
 for years been closed against him. Notwithstand- 
 ing this internal combat, Ldonce was vanquished 
 without admitting it ; for he was born generous, 
 and, moreover, he experienced the sentiment 
 which becomes in us the most generous of all, 
 
TEYERINO. 251 
 
 whenever we succeed in separating its divine 
 essence from the filth of vanity and egotism. 
 
 " Do not ask me any questions," said he to 
 Sabina. " I also suffer — but rest thus on my 
 heart, and let us both endeavor to forget !" 
 
 He retained her in his arms, and soon she ex- 
 perienced the sweetness of that magnetic fluid, 
 which emanates from a friendly heart, and bears 
 with it more eloquence than words. They both 
 breathed more freely, and as Sabina's eyes closed 
 in enjoyment of this pure delight, he said, draw- 
 ing her still closer to him, " Sleep, dear invalid, 
 repose from your fatigue." She yielded instinc- 
 tively to this invitation, and, gently rocked by the 
 slow motion of the carriage, and soothed by the 
 solicitude of her friend, a beneficent sleep soon 
 repaired her strength, bringing back with it to 
 her cheeks that uniformly pale color, which be- 
 longs to the type of brunettes. 
 
252 TEVERIKO. 
 
 xm. 
 
 H A LT I 
 
 Sabina did not awake until they had arrived at 
 the cabin of the custom-house officer; before she 
 could think to disengage herself from the long 
 and silent embrace of Leonce, Teverino's piercing 
 eye had surprised the mystery of this chaste re- 
 conciliation. Ldonce saw his friendly smile, and 
 faintly responded to it, whereupon the vagabond, 
 pointing to the sky, and resuming the recitative 
 from Tancredi, which he had the night before 
 chanted on the same spot, he sounded this one 
 word 'Amenidde P where, in three notes, Eossini 
 had, with wonderful skill, expressed so much grief 
 and tenderness. 
 
 Teverino threw into it an expression so true and 
 touching, that Leonce could not help saying to 
 him, as he alighted from the carriage to speak to 
 the officer : " To hear you pronounce this name 
 and sing these three notes, is enough to convince 
 me that you are a great singer, and understand 
 music like a master." 
 
TEVERINO. 253 
 
 "I understand love still better than mnsic," 
 replied Teverino, " and it gives me pleasure to see 
 that you also begin to understand it. Believe me, 
 when love speaks to your heart, raise your heart 
 to God, who is all goodness and infinite love. 
 You will then feel that wounded heart become 
 calm and simple again, like that of a child." 
 
 " We are then to have you for a driver again," 
 said the Cure, as he saw Teverino mount the box. 
 " I hope, at least, that you will be wiser than you 
 were yesterday." 
 
 " Are you dissatisfied with me, my dear Abb^ ? 
 Have you met with the slightest accident ? Why 
 then do you not sit at my side, to moderate my 
 impetuosity, if need be?" 
 
 " Nonsense ; you manage me just as you please. 
 If Barbara could see how you lead me by the nose, 
 she would be jealous, and reclaim her right to the 
 monopoly. The fact is, I am getting used to your 
 follies, and cannot but admit that you are a clever 
 fellow, (come, whip up, coachee,) provided we ac- 
 tually return to Saint ApoUinaire to-day, and avoid 
 that cursed torrent, which always seems determined 
 to carry away the bridge and its passengers." 
 
 " If we avoid the torrent, we take a longer road, 
 dear Abbe, and I ask nothing better." 
 
 " Take the longest road, then," said the Cur^, 
 
254 TEVERINO. 
 
 plunging his great hat over his eyes m a very re- 
 fractory manner. " * Chi va piano, va sanoJ An 
 hour more or less in a journey, is no great matter. 
 ' Chi va sano, va hene.^ " 
 
 They turned into another road, and Sabina asked 
 L^once if they were really en route for the villa. 
 
 " I hope so," he replied, " but I am ignorant of 
 our destination. I must own that all my magnetic 
 power seems to have abandoned me, since it has 
 passed into the marquis. He alone must now be 
 our compass." 
 
 " Then I shall openly revolt. I will only be 
 directed by you." 
 
 * I hear, Signora," said Teverino. " Be assured 
 that I am only the helm, obeying the guiding hand 
 of L^once. M. le Cure is the compass ; his eyes 
 are always turned towards the pole, and the star 
 is Dame Barbe, his venerable housekeeper." 
 
 " Well said I well said !" exclaimed the Curd, 
 laughing heartily. 
 
 The road was long, but beautiful. Teverino 
 drove very carefully, pausing at every remarkable 
 site, to give his companions an opportunity of ad- 
 miring the country. His playfully kind manners 
 and respectful bearing towards Sabina, reassured 
 her, little by little. It seemed as if he were anx- 
 ious to make her forget a momentary weakness. 
 
TEVERINO. 255 
 
 She felt grateful for this consideration, but her 
 gracious words and tender glances were only for 
 Leonce. 
 
 Before long, the heat grew oppressive ; Sabina 
 again gently slumbered, while, with persevering 
 solicitude, Leonce held an umbrella over her head. 
 When she awoke, she beheld with surprise tliat 
 they were in the midst of a Gothic Cloister ! 
 
 The britzska was standing in a large court, cov- 
 ered with grass, closely trimmed and shaven, and 
 ornamented by a beautifully gushing fountain. 
 Buildings, singularly elegant and of antique con- 
 struction, surrounded this, the oldest part of the 
 monastery. Beyond and through their vaulted 
 arcades, could be seen on one side, the extensive 
 perspective of a charming valley ; on the other, far 
 above the serrated points of the architecture, rose 
 the arid and frowning peaks of mountains. In 
 front, this court was separated from a second en- 
 closure of the convent grounds, by a high grating, 
 through which was visible a parterre of flowers, 
 surrounded by buildings of a more modern date, 
 in better preservation and loaded down with orna- 
 ment, in the taste of the sixteenth century. The 
 Cure, with his face glued to the grating, pulled the 
 sonorous bell, and figures of monks, startled by the 
 
256 TEVERINO, 
 
 noise, appeared in the shadow of a second vaulted 
 door, opening into a third enclosure. 
 
 " I fear. Milady," said Teverino, " that I may 
 have displeased you in bringing you among these 
 good Fathers. This is the Convent of Noire Dame 
 du Hefuge^ and our dear Abbe is of opinion that a 
 little repose and refreshment will embellish this 
 poetic resting-place. It is our intention to ask per- 
 mission of the prior to introduce you into the heart 
 of the sanctuary, but, to obtain it, we must pass 
 you off for an old Irish lady, an ultra Catholic. 
 Have the goodness, therefore, to lower your veil, 
 and be careful to conceal your features as well as 
 your figure, imtil after the grating is opened." 
 
 " These monks are ahead of you in shrewdness," 
 said Ldonce. " Here comes already the, brother 
 porter to take a nearer view of our young tra- 
 veler." 
 
 After some parley, the monks consented to ad- 
 mit the women into the second court, but no fur- 
 ther ; then, with much grace and affability, they 
 gave directions as to the care of the horses and 
 conducted our travelers into a deliciously cool and 
 tastefully decorated apartment, where a dainty 
 collation awaited them. 
 
 And now commenced a rolling fire of questions, 
 in which the innocent curiosity of these lazy saints 
 
TEVERINO. 257 
 
 more than once sorely embarrassed our prudential 
 Curd. He was compelled to lend himself to the 
 inventions of Teverino, who boldly introduced 
 Ldonce as Lord G , Sabina's husband, and as- 
 serted that they had come direct from Saint Apol- 
 linaire, where M. le Curd had officiated at mass 
 that morning before their departure. The prior 
 
 was astonished that Lord G had no English 
 
 accent, and that they had taken the road across 
 the mountain instead of coming by the valley. 
 Teverino had an answer ready for every emergency; 
 but finally, tired out with this incessant flow of 
 questions, he, in his turn, became the assailant, 
 overwhelming them with praises of their convent, 
 their good looks and liberal hospitality. After the 
 repast was finished, he demanded for the men, at 
 least, permission to visit the chapel and interior 
 cloisters ; by this means, procuring for Leonce, an- 
 other tranquil t^te4-t6te with Sabina, whom the 
 latter would not leave alone. 
 
 " They are newly married," said Teverino in a 
 low tone to the prior. " Some of your monks 
 here seem to be very young men, and my Lord 
 is jealous even of an innocent and respectful 
 glance towards his noble spouse." 
 
 All monks enjoy little secrets and delicate 
 confidences. Overlooking the taint of worldliness 
 
258 TEVERINO. 
 
 in this remark, the good father smiled and bowed 
 
 maliciously to the pretended Lord G , as he 
 
 invited him to pluck some flowers for Milady. 
 
 L^once and his companion, after admiring the 
 flourishing condition of this garden, cultivated 
 with so much enthusiasm and science, retraced 
 their steps to the first court, where the dilapidated 
 buildings and the tall, neglected weeds had more 
 character and more poetry. This spot was com- 
 pletely deserted, and its antique constructions, 
 bordering upon the open country, were used only 
 as stables and store houses. The mule of the 
 prior, grown white with age, grazed with a mel- 
 ancholy air; the cooing of pigeons on the moss- 
 covered roofs, accompanied by the uniform mur- 
 muring of the fountain, and the ticking of the 
 clock, punctually announcing each moment as it 
 flew, were the only interruptions to the silence of 
 this habitation, where time had no veritable em- 
 ployment, and where life seemed to have paused. 
 
 Sabina, seated on a bench near the black marble 
 fountain, resembled the statue of melancholy. 
 Since morning, a complete revolution had taken 
 place in the manners, attitude and expression of 
 this beautiful woman, and Ldonce felt, while re- 
 garding her, that all was changed between them. 
 She was no longer the disdainful beauty, skeptical 
 
TEVERINO. 259 
 
 of the existence of real love, proudly exalted by 
 the belief in a sort of ideal and impossible love, 
 with which no mortal had yet seemed to her 
 worthy of being associated, even in her dreams. 
 That impetuosity of character, that painful tension 
 of the will which had so much dismayed and 
 irritated L^once, was superseded by a soft languor, 
 a touching sadness, a profound thoughtfulness, by 
 an ensemUe of amiability and tenderness, of which 
 he alone was the object. She was a timid woman, 
 bruised and trembling, and for the first time she 
 possessed an attraction for him, unchilled by 
 distrust or fear. He felt himself at ease with her : 
 he could speak and breathe without dread of that 
 piquant and brilliant raillery, which, although it 
 roused his intellect, kept his heart on the alert 
 against her and against himself. He had no 
 longer need, as yesterday, to affect the role of 
 doctor and mysterious pedagogue, a cold and 
 forced pleasantry, which had concealed such an 
 intensity of emotion. Henceforth, he was her 
 protector, her soul's physician, almost its master; 
 and where man feels that he controls and governs, 
 he pardons every thing, even the infidelity which 
 causes his own self-love to bleed. 
 
 He was seated at the feet of his docile penitent ; 
 after a long silence, in which, perhaps, he was 
 
260 TEVERINO. 
 
 rather pleased to prolong her timidity and sus- 
 pense, he asked her if the confidence she had 
 ventured to repose in him had not diminished her 
 affection. 
 
 " Perhaps it might," she replied, " if I regarded 
 you otherwise than as a lover who leaves me and 
 a friend who is restored to me. But if the friend 
 cures me of my wounds, I shall see with joy the 
 lover disappear forever. My pride cannot sufier 
 as it does now, for if love be proud and susceptible, 
 if its pardon be humiliating and unacceptable, the 
 forgiveness of friendship is the holiest and sweet- 
 est of benefits! Ah! think, L^once, how much 
 more pure and precious is this divine sentiment 
 than the other, for it neither harrows up the soul, 
 nor diminishes in strength, but it ennobles and 
 purifies ! Yesterday, I would have accepted from 
 you neither assistance nor pity : to-day, I should 
 not blush to pray for them on my knees." 
 
 " Indeed, my friend, you have not yet arrived 
 at the truth : from one extreme, you fly to the 
 other. Yesterday, you had too much contempt 
 for friendship ; to-day, you exalt it beyond mea- 
 sure. You will not divest yourself of the false 
 notion you have so long held concerning these two 
 sentiments, and you always seem determined to 
 consider them independent of each other ; yet, the 
 
TEVERINO. 261 
 
 union of the sexes is only truly ideal and perfect, 
 when they exist together in two noble hearts. 
 What then is true love, if it be not an exalted 
 friendship? Yes, love is friendship carried to 
 enthusiasm. It is said that love, by itself, is 
 blind ! But where friendship is clairvoyant, it is 
 ready to die with cold ! Believe me, if your fault 
 had appeared grave and unpardonable, if a mo- 
 ment of trouble and weakness had rendered you, 
 in my eyes, unworthy of my love, I should not 
 have been your friend, and you would have done 
 right to repulse my consolations, in place of 
 accepting them. In youth, the man loves not the 
 woman whom he does not desire, and whom he 
 could behold in the arms of another without 
 jealousy. In that case, the word friendship is a 
 mockery, and God preserve me from saying I love 
 you thus. I confess to you that the events of 
 yesterday still cause me excruciating suffering, 
 and the feeling of irritation in my heart against 
 you at this moment, is more nearly akin to hatred 
 than to friendship, such as you define it. Not 
 that I regard you as fallen or unworthy, but you 
 are unjust, cruel, guilty towards me, the man who 
 loves you, and who deserves the happiness you 
 have bestowed upon another." 
 
 ** You make my fault appear still more hideous 
 
M2 TEVERINO. 
 
 to me," said Sabina, trembling with emotion. 
 " Do you believe, then, that I have not thought 
 of this, and that I do not continually reproach 
 myself for this wrong towards you ? To God I 
 confess it." 
 
 " And why not to me also, to me especially?" 
 cried Leonce, violently seizing her hands. " You 
 know that God has already pardoned you, and 
 do you not wish for my pardon, the pardon of 
 your friend and lover ?" 
 
 "Spare me this suffering," said Sabina, her 
 pride reduced to the last extremity. " Kead my 
 heart, and then imderstand, if you can, what is 
 the great cause of my grief." 
 
 " I accept the sacrifice," said Leonce, with en- 
 thusiasm. " It is the greatest proof of love that 
 a woman such as you can give. Tell me that you 
 have sinned against me ; raise your haughty head 
 to heaven, and brave God if you will ; it signifies 
 to me little. It is not my mission to threaten you 
 with his displeasure; but you have broken my 
 heart, and it is your duty to acknowledge it. If 
 you do not repent of this evil you have done to- 
 wards me, it is because you have no wish to make 
 reparation." 
 
 "Indeed, Leonce, I do implore your pardon. 
 And in proof that you grant it, obliterate forever 
 
TEVERINO. 263 
 
 from your heart, I entreat you, all remembrance 
 of that odious kiss." 
 
 " It is no longer there, it never has been !" cried 
 Ldonce, pressing her to his bosom. " And now," 
 said he, falling on his knees, " walk over me if you 
 will, I am your slave ; and may a red iron brand 
 my lips, if a reproach or an allusion to any other 
 kiss than mine, shall ever escape them." 
 
 At this moment, the convent clock sounded the 
 hour of two, and the door of the second court 
 opened to let out a young brother, clothed in the 
 white robe w^orn by novices. 
 
 He was alone and advanced slowly, with his 
 head bent down under a cowl, and his hands 
 crossed upon his breast, as if absorbed in humble 
 meditation. 
 
 L^once and Sabina rose to meet him, whereupon 
 he bowed himself reverently to the ground, in tes- 
 timony of his respect and humility. But, all at 
 once, this tall figure stood upright before them, 
 and throwing back his cowl, revealed the long, 
 black hair, and laughing countenance of Teverino, 
 instead of the shaven crown of the monk. 
 
 "What means this new disguise?" exclaimed 
 Leonce. 
 
 In answer Teverino raised his hand to the bell- 
 tower of the convent clock, whose azure dial 
 
264 TEVERINO. 
 
 marked the hours in letters of gold. Then, kneel- 
 ing down like a penitent, he said, in a hollow voice, 
 " The hour is passed ; my confession must now be 
 heard." 
 
 " Not a word," said Ldonce, placing a hand on 
 his shoulder and shaking him with affectionate 
 authority. " Upon your life and soul, brother, be 
 silent. Do you believe me cowardly enough to 
 betray you ? May your secret die with you ; it is 
 yours alone, and you possess too generous a heart 
 to confess it to others." 
 
 "I am not a child, that I cannot understand 
 what I nmst or must not reveal," replied the vaga- 
 bond; "but there are some things that would trou- 
 ble my conscience if I did not now confess them ; 
 and all the more, because in this relation, neither 
 of us present, has anything to conceal from the 
 others. Listen then, noble and generous Signora, 
 to the lament of a poor sinner, who comes to de- 
 mand absolution from you and Leonce. 
 
 " This miserable wretch, attached to your noble 
 friend by the sacred ties of gratitude and affection, 
 had the misfortune to meet one day in the middle 
 of the forest, a lady of illustrious birth and ravish- 
 ing beauty. He could not see and hear her without 
 becoming fascinated with the charms of her mind 
 and person. While indulging in the supreme hap- ■ 
 
TEVERINO. 265 
 
 piness of listening to her voice and gazing upon 
 her beauty, he somehow forgot that Leonce was 
 irretrievably in love with her, and that he, himself, 
 had other affections to respect. He had even the 
 foolish vanity to sing in order to divert her thoughts, 
 for this admirable woman was sad. A cloud had 
 risen between her and Leonce, and her heart filled 
 with tears as she thought of him. This unworthy 
 sinner was passionately fond of his art, and he 
 could not sing without being lost in enthusiasm 
 and moved to the depths of his soul. It happened 
 then, that when his romance was finished, he saw 
 that the lady was affected, and then there came over 
 him, as it were, a whirlwind of ridiculous fatuity, 
 a dazzling paroxysm of delirium. Forgetful of his 
 personal duties, his holy friendship for Leonce, and 
 the profound respect he owed to the Signora, he 
 had the audacity to profit by her grievous pre-oc- 
 cupation, to place himself at her side, and surprise 
 one of those pure caresses which was destined for 
 another. He was about to ravish a kiss, a pre- 
 sumption for which his life would not have been 
 sufficient payment, but the noble lady turned 
 away her head in horror and indignation. Hap- 
 pily, Leonce appeared and protected his friend 
 from the audacity of a villain. Since that moment, 
 the lady has looked upon him only with contempt, 
 
266 TEVEKINO. 
 
 and he, Lis guilty soul penetrated by remorse, and 
 conscious that a great sin demands a great expia- 
 tion, ho has renounced the world, and precipitat- 
 ing himself into the peace of the cloister, he has 
 assumed this penitential garment, -vyrapped round 
 him by repentance, and only to be replaced by the 
 winding sheet." 
 
 " This is a very touching relation," said L6onc% 
 " there is no resisting it. Sabina, you cannot re- 
 fuse your pardon to such perfect contrition. Ex- 
 tend your hand to the culprit, 'tis I who entreat 
 you, and release him from his terrible vow." 
 
 Sabina, satisfied with the slightly hypocritical, 
 but infinitely respectful explanation of the mar- 
 quis, permitted him to kiss her hand, and with a 
 forced smile, promised him forgiveness of a fault 
 she had already forgotten. She dwelt on these last 
 words in a manner to make him feel that she at- 
 tached no importance to the ridicule incidental to 
 the kiss, and Teverino, with malicious good-nature, 
 silently admired the self-possession of a woman of 
 the world, struggling with delicate appearances. 
 
 " I am the more proud of my pardon," said he, 
 " since I see that my crime has only turned to my 
 confusion, and broii^fc aUout the triumph of true 
 love." 
 
 " Now," said L^Qie, " be so good as to explain 
 
TEVERINO. 267 
 
 to US, how you have managed to steal from the 
 vigilance of these good monks, this garment of in- 
 nocence which you wear so proudly." 
 
 " This garment belongs to me," replied Teverino, 
 " it is entirely new, it fits me, is convenient, and I 
 intend to wear it while I remain here." 
 
 " Nonsense, a truce to jesting. I do not believe 
 that the devil himself could tempt you to become 
 a monk." 
 
 " It is a fact I The devil, in suggesting to me 
 this wish, whispered in my ear, that there would 
 be no lack of opportunity to throw off the frock. 
 Guess what has happened! My fortune is not 
 brilliant, and it no longer corresponds to my title 
 of marquis. You might, without indiscretion, 
 have confided this circumstance to Milady. I am, 
 moreover, capricious as an artist, lazy as a monk, 
 dreamy as a poet. I have always had a liking for 
 convents, and a taste for this devout and effemin- 
 ate life, provided it need not be prolonged beyond 
 the term assigned by my fancy. Now for the 
 opportunity ! JSTot more than an hour since, while 
 I was listeYiing to the novices, as they practised 
 their singing lesson, I made some judicious re- 
 marks to the prior concerning the bad method of 
 study they pursued. He informed me that his 
 singing-master was absent on a mission to the 
 
268 TEVERINO. 
 
 holy father, and would not return from Eome in 
 two months. During his absence, the school was 
 going to ruin, and the advantages of his good 
 method were being lost. Thereupon, I sang a 
 motet in my best style, which had the effect to 
 make the good prior, a desperate melomaniac, 
 almost frantic with delight. ' Ah I sir,' said he, 
 * how unfortunate for me that yoi|^ are a rich lord ! 
 What a capital singing-master you would have 
 made !' ' Never mind,' I answered, * I will give a 
 lesson to your novices on the spot.' 
 
 " In less than five minutes, I very gently and 
 modestly made them understand that they had no 
 knowledge of the proper management of the voice, 
 and, joining example to precept, I so charmed and 
 enraptured them, as to cause them to exclaim, in 
 emulation of the prior : ' How unfortunate that 
 we cannot secure the services of so good a master.' 
 
 " To be brief, I was so affected by their de- 
 monstrations, and the life of the musician monk 
 appeared to me in such agreeable colors, that I 
 consented to remain here during the two months 
 that must elapse before the return of the singing- 
 master. My performance on the organ gave 
 equal satisfaction, and you now behold me a monk 
 for the remainder of the summer ; that is to say, 
 that, well-fed, well-lodged, clad as you now see 
 
TEVERINO. 269 
 
 me in the interior of the cloister, choosing my 
 own special amusement, devoting six hours of the 
 day to an occupation that pleases me, and the rest 
 of the time to wandering among the mountains, 
 hunting, fishing, composing or sleeping, I am the 
 happiest of men, and identify myself with my 
 patron, Jean Kreysler, who was so contented with 
 his monastic asylum, the fine music and good 
 wine, as to forget his loves and every thing else 
 in this perishable world." 
 
 " Bravo !" said Leonce, " 1 approve your plan, 
 and will often come to see you ; I doubt, however, 
 if you stay here two whole months, knowing, as I 
 do, that change is your delight, and that you 
 cannot endure continued occupation !" 
 
 " That is true, but when I make an engagement, 
 I scrupulously observe it. You must render me 
 this justice, that I never promise without condi- 
 tions, and that I carry into these conditions a 
 certain degree of foresight. I know in advance 
 that I shall find it pleasant here for two months. 
 The pupils are amiable and intelligent ; there are 
 some fine voices among them, which it will de- 
 light me to develop. And then, there are some 
 old musical works in the library, covered with a 
 venerable dust, which I promise myself to brush 
 
270 TEVERINO. 
 
 off. It is in such archives that are found the 
 treasures of art, and the fortunes of artists." 
 
 " So be it !" said L^once ; " but I have still 
 several questions to put to you, and since here 
 come the prior and the Cure to sahite Milady, let 
 us retire to some more secluded spot, where we 
 can converse without interruption." 
 
 They sauntered into one of the arcades of the 
 cloister, from which could be seen a fine view of 
 the surrounding country, and there, taking the 
 arm of the adventurer, L^once said to him : 
 
 *' See, now ; you appear to wish to introduce a 
 little order and industry into your life. Your 
 natural faculties are extraordinary, and I doubt 
 not, that, with these and the knowledge you have 
 rather divined than learned, you will be successful 
 in gaining a reputation, and carve out for your- 
 self a brilliant destiny." 
 
 "I am perfectly well aware of it," replied 
 Teverino, " but it does not tempt me." 
 
 "You have no vanity, then? You certainly 
 are worthy to be a monk I" 
 
 " I have vanity, and I cannot submit to rules ; 
 therefore, I shall not be a monk. I will remain a 
 wanderer upon the earth, satisfying my vanity 
 whenever it may please me, and getting rid of it 
 when it would make me a slave ; for vanity is the 
 
TEVERINO. 271 
 
 most despotic and iniquitous of masters, and I can 
 never be the slave of my own vices." 
 
 " Can you not be a true artist without making 
 yourself the slave of the public ? Come, listen to 
 me. The beginning is always disheartening to a 
 savage pride like yours. Tour patrons, hitherto, 
 must have been unjust or parsimonious, since you 
 have so great a horror of placing yourself under 
 the protection of another. But an enlightened, 
 delicate friendship, one that is worthy of you, I 
 venture to say so, may it no* be privileged to 
 offer you the means, wherewith to lay the found- 
 ation of a fortune ? Money and the assistance of 
 masters are the necessary means. Accept my 
 offers. Come and seek me out in Paris, where I 
 shall be two months hence ; I answer for it, that 
 the winter will not pass without your finding a 
 position in the world, suitable to your genius, and 
 agi'eeable to your taste." 
 
 " Thanks, dear Ldonce, thanks," said Teverino, 
 squeezing his hand. " I know that you speak in 
 the sincerity of your heart, but I cannot accept 
 the smallest service from you, for the reason that 
 we have come in collision on burning ground, and 
 under delicate circumstances. During the last 
 twenty-four hours, I have made myself a model 
 of chiyalry, a mirror of loyalty. But, although I 
 
272 TEVERINO. 
 
 am not in love with Milady, the trial has been so 
 severe and perilous, as to leave me no wish to 
 recommence it. Do not understand this as a 
 bravado ; I am certain that she loves you ; I was 
 conscious of it before you were. I am happy that 
 it is so ; I congratulate myself on having served 
 as the road to a victory, which, believe me, I 
 desired for you alone. We might, however, meet 
 on the edge of another abyss, and the thought 
 that I was your debtor, that is to say, the creature 
 of your bounty, would compel me to forswear 
 myself, or it would deprive me of all individuality. 
 I should either be a victim of my virtue or guilty 
 of ingratitude. Then, before long, you would 
 cease to interest yourself in providing for the 
 comfort of your poor vagabond. I should become 
 quickly disgusted with every thing suggested to 
 me. Often, when I met you, I should repent of 
 having yielded to persuasion ; I should weary you, 
 in spite of myself, with the inevitable distaste to 
 my career ; and you would wear yourself out in 
 trying to reclaim me from my wanderings. In 
 short, were you personally out of the question, 
 there would be no attraction to me in tranquil 
 glory, on in secured, notarial revenues. In early 
 years, it was my fortune to look at the various 
 scenes of life from behind the curtain. I might 
 
w 
 
 TEVERINO. 273 
 
 have been an actor on the different theatres ; but 
 at the door of all, stands an army of critics, rivals 
 and claqueuTs^ ready to take every advantage of a 
 man, and these, I should never be able to deceive, 
 manage, flatter or pay. God has made me the 
 enemy of all serious lies and deliberate hypocrisy; 
 I cannot paint my face, except for amusement, 
 and were I to undertake it, my intense frankness 
 would soon gain the ascendancy ; I should need to 
 wipe off the paint and feel myself a man able to 
 extend a hand to the weak and to box the ears of 
 insolence. There are no possible illusions for me ; 
 before I began the world for myself, I knew the 
 last word of those who had grown old in the 
 combat. Oh ! long live my holy liberty ! Blush 
 not for me, wise and noble Ldonce I Tour path 
 is marked out for you, and you will pursue it with 
 dignity. I can only follow the broken line and 
 the quick jerk of the wing, like my little Made- 
 leine." 
 
 " And apropos of Madeleine ? It is especially 
 with regard to her, that I look upon your philoso- 
 phy as dangerous, and* your guilt beyond a ques- 
 on. Yesterday, you slept in her cabin ; to-day, 
 ou shelter yourself under the roof of a convent ; 
 to-morrow, you will be wandering through the 
 
 12* 
 
274 TEVERINO. 
 
 paved city ; and this child's heart will soon be bro- 
 ken, if it is not already." 
 
 "Stay," said the vagabond, arresting Ldonce 
 before an arcade, " look at the torrent rolling be- 
 low there at the bottom of the ravine. Let your 
 eyes rest on the point where a rustic bridge unites 
 the path leading from the convent to the one as- 
 cending the brow of the mountain." 
 
 "I see it, what then?" 
 
 " Do you see a small patch of prairie, green as 
 an emerald, about mid-way up among those gray 
 rocks ? and the foot-path along the edge beyond ?" 
 
 " I see the prairie, and then ?" 
 
 " Then there is a clump of trees, and the path 
 becomes invisible." 
 
 " Yes ; what more ?" 
 
 "Beyond the spruce trees, beyond the path, 
 there is a sort of valley covered with heath, and 
 then the naked peak of the mountain." 
 
 " And then the sky," said Leonce, impatiently. 
 "What far-fetched metaphor are you preparing?" 
 
 " Kone. You have not observed closely. Be- 
 tween the peak of the mountain and the sky there 
 is a sort of barrack built of spruce boards, fastened 
 to stakes and kept in their places by large stones. 
 Are you far-sighted ?" 
 
TEVERINO. 275 
 
 " I see the hovel very distinctly. I see even 
 some birds flying in the air above it." 
 
 " Well, then, if you see the birds, you know 
 whose hovel it is, and why I am so well satisfied 
 to establish myself here, only half an hour's dis- 
 tance by the road ; and who has such good limbs 
 as Madeleine and your humble servant ?" 
 
 " That then is the residence of the bird-tamer ?" 
 
 " Look now, and you will see a small scarlet 
 mantle, a red point floating in the sun, and moving 
 round this miserable hovel. That is Madeleine, 
 my little angel, my heart's child, my soul, my life. 
 I can no longer pf ofit by the hospitality which this 
 girl and her heroic, bandit brother ofiered me one 
 day, when breathless, dusty, overwhelmed with 
 fatigue, at the end of my last farthing, but with- 
 out care, nay, joyful to greet the horizon of France, 
 
 paused at their door to beg a little goat's milk 
 wherewith to quench my thirst. They were pleased 
 with me, they trusted me and gave me a home. 
 I loved them, and had not resolution to quit them, 
 although conscience made it a duty not to add my 
 lisery to theirs. But, although I have kept my- 
 self carefully in seclusion, so that no one has been 
 able to approach me near enough to see my face, 
 the figure of a vagabond attached to the steps of 
 Madeleine, has been distinguished from a distance ; 
 
276 TEVERINO. 
 
 and Madeleine, already compromised in the opinion 
 of the Cur6, would soon be compelled to drive me 
 away, or fly with me. This is something for which 
 I am not yet prepared, and therefore, when I met 
 you on the border of the lake, I was on my way 
 to offer my services to the monks of this convent, 
 in order that I might find shelter with them in the 
 neighborhood of my brave friends of the mountain. 
 It is my reason also for bringing you to this place 
 to-day, that I may take leave of you and restore to 
 you your fine clothes, without being under the ne- 
 cessity of returning to the nakedness in which you 
 found me." 
 
 " You will keep them, so that you may be able 
 to leave this at your pleasure," said L^once, " also 
 the gold in your waistcoat pocket. You certainly 
 cannot refuse the means of mitigating in some de- 
 gree, the misery of Madeleine and her brother." 
 
 "There was gold, then, in my pockets?" said 
 Teverino, with indifference. " I had not observed 
 it. Well, if you will not take it back, I must put 
 it in the poor box, and Madeleine shall have her 
 part. I understand none of the duties of a trea- 
 surer, and it shall not be said that any other mo- 
 tive than my own pleasure induced me to assume 
 the character of a marquis. Milady has munifi- 
 cently recompensed the child for the amusement 
 
TEVERINO 277 
 
 she afforded her ; Madeleine is tlien rich at this 
 moment, and as for me, I shall have gained enough 
 in two months, to supply my wants for a long time 
 to come." 
 
 " But at the end of two months where will you 
 go ? what will you do with Madeleine ?" 
 
 " We love each other so much, that if she were 
 not too young, I would make her my wife. But I 
 must wait at least two years, and if I should have 
 the misfortune to become too much enamoured 
 before the expiration of that term, she would be 
 in great danger. It will, therefore, be necessary 
 for me to leave her, even before two months have 
 passed away, if my paternal affection should 
 change its nature." 
 
 " Astonishing young man," exclaimed Leonce ; 
 " is it possible, such ardor and such calmness, 
 such weakness and such virtue, so much expe- 
 rience with so much simplicity ; a life at the same 
 time so tempestuous and so pure, so unrestrained 
 and so valiantly defended against its passions !" 
 
 " Do not think me better than I am," replied 
 Teverino. " I have done wrong in my impetuous 
 youth, and there are errors lying heavy at my 
 heart, for which I can never pardon myself. But 
 this heart has not been utterly perverted, and it 
 has been purified by remorse. I have been the 
 
278 TEVERINO. 
 
 cause of suffering to others, and what I myself 
 have suffered in consequence, is beyond what I 
 can express to you. I love dearly to look upon 
 happiness, and the sight of misfortune caused by 
 me has almost rendered me crazy. Henceforth, 
 I would prefer death rather than defile the objects 
 of my affection, and never again will I seek 
 pleasure of any woman who possesses the treasure 
 of innocence." 
 
 " But you will forget this unfortunate little 
 creature, and when you forsake her, her heart will 
 not be the less torn by grief." 
 
 " If I forget her, then I do not know myself," 
 said Teverino, earnestly. " I do not believe it, sir, 
 I cannot believe it ; and if I did believe it, I 
 should not love, I should not be myself. It is 
 true that I have broken more than one tie, taken 
 back more than one promise; but I do not re- 
 member of ever having been the first to change, 
 for by nature and by necessity my soul is constant. 
 If I had not been drawn into those facile ad- 
 ventures, which no one is scrupulous in getting 
 rid of, I should have had but one passion during 
 my life. I have been a libertine, although God 
 created me chaste. Now, that I find myself in 
 relation with a chaste soul, I feel that my ideal is 
 there, and no where else. Let us, then, leave 
 
TEVERIKO. 279 
 
 time to take its course, and my life to unfold 
 itself before me. I may not become a prophet 
 or a divinity, but I know that it is not impossible 
 for me to become tlie husband of Madeleine, if I 
 shall find her faithful when the time comes." 
 
 "And if she is not?" 
 
 " I will forgive her and remain her friend ; yes, 
 her friend, such as you cannot be to Lady Sabina, 
 you, who love differently, and mingle pride with 
 your love." 
 
 " "We are then to separate, without your per- 
 mitting me to give you any proof of the truly 
 irresistible esteem and friendship with which you 
 inspire me ?" 
 
 " We shall meet again, doubt it not. If, at 
 that moment, I should have plenty of work, and 
 be able to present a good appearance, I shall meet 
 ou with open arms ; but if I am as badly clothed 
 yesterday, when I encountered you on the 
 margin of the lake, be not astonished if I do not 
 seem to recognize you." 
 
 " Ah I how you grieve me !" said Ldonce with 
 emotion. "You are determined, then, not to 
 believe in me !" 
 
 "I do believe in you, but I am too familiar 
 with stern reality to willingly relinquish the idea 
 
280 TEVEEINO. 
 
 of making my life a romance, more or less agree- 
 able and varied." 
 
 The Cur6 consented to accompany Sabina and 
 Ldonce as far as the villa, in order to allay all 
 
 suspicions on the part of lord G . My lord 
 
 had awoke the evening of the previous day, and 
 was not a little uncomfortable at the absence of 
 his wife ; he resorted, however, as usual, to the 
 wine-cup, in which to drown his anxiety, and was 
 again asleep when she returned. 
 
 END OF TEVERINO. 
 
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