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 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
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 University of Illinois Library 
 
 
 L161— O-1096
 
 THE 
 
 KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 By Miss ANNA MARIA PORTER, 
 
 AUTHOR OF *' THE RECLUSE OF NORWAY," ^C, ^C. •. 
 
 " Let its pure flame 
 
 ** From Virtue flow, and love can never fiil 
 ** To warm another's bosom, so the light 
 " Shine manifestly forth." 
 
 Carey's Dante. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LOKBOK: 
 
 PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, 
 
 FAT£RNOST£B.-jaOW. 
 
 1817.
 
 Printed byA.Strahan, 
 Printers-Street, London.
 
 i<-: 
 
 9X3 
 
 TO 
 
 THOSE DEAR FRIENDS, 
 
 IN WHOSE DOMESTIC SOCIETY 
 
 THE PRINCIPAL PART OF THIS WOUK 
 
 WAS COMPOSED, 
 
 TffE FOLLOWING PAGES 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED, 
 BY THEIR VERY GRATEFUL 
 
 AND AFFECTIONATE 
 
 ANNA MARIA.
 
 THE 
 
 KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Favourably blew the vernal breezes, as 
 a' weather-beaten vessel steered for the 
 port of Genoa, late one evening, in 
 the year 1563. Her crew were nil on 
 the deck, welcoming, after an absence 
 of four years among distant seas, the 
 sight of their blue gulf, and their na- 
 tive city. 
 
 That majestic city was now only dimly 
 seen, reflected from the crystal mirror 
 below; for the sun had been long set, 
 and but the faintest purple remained in 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 ^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 the western sky. Yet that reflected ob- 
 ject, undulating with the waves, still 
 possessed charms for those in whose me- 
 mories it was associated with ideas of 
 home and domestic joy. Now broken 
 by a crossing sail or a dashing oar ; now 
 uniting and forming again into the same 
 shapes of shadowy beauty ; now gra- 
 dually assuming darker and less distinct 
 outlines, the visionary picture at last 
 melted into one with the gray and uni- 
 form water. 
 
 But the moon rises ; and as the shout- 
 ing mariners approach the pharos, the 
 proud city is again seen in all her glory, 
 encircling the bay as with a diadem. 
 
 There stretches her magnificent amphi- 
 theatre of towers, and spires, and domes ; 
 of churches, and convents, and palaces ! 
 There rise her lofty cypress groves ! 
 There hang her aerial gardens ! There 
 spread her gilded trellises blushing witli 
 flowers and fruits; her sparkling foun- 
 tains, her marble terraces descending to
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. .J 
 
 the sea, her harbours crowded with gal- 
 lant vessels, and faer protecting hills glit- 
 tering with villas and with vineyards ! 
 
 The broad moonHght now covers sea 
 and shore with a flood of molten silver ; 
 the white-winged vessel gleams like a 
 meteor as she glides swiftly onwards ; 
 she approaches the moles and the cita- 
 del — she passes them: now they recede 
 from her forward course, — she reaches 
 the port, — she casts anchor, and the 
 next moment all her crew are on land. 
 
 One young man, exchanging hasty 
 adieus with his companions, broke from 
 the party, and hastened forwards with 
 the eager step of joy. His progress was 
 stopped in the Strada Balbi, by a crowd 
 assembled before the gates of the seig- 
 niory. Having in vain urged his way 
 by vehement actions and exclamations, 
 he found the throng too solid to pene- 
 trate ; and, forced to submit, turned to- 
 wards a person next him, enquiring, in 
 no patient tone, what all this meant.
 
 4 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 ** It is the last day of the Adimaii 
 and Cigahi trial," replied the gentleman 
 he questioned. 
 
 *' The Adimari and Cigala trial 1" re- 
 peatedi his questioner with a look of 
 astonishment: " Have the goodness, 
 signor, to tell m^ the particulars ?" 
 
 Without remarking the very remark- 
 able expression which suddenly changed 
 the animated countenance of the stranger, 
 the Genoese proceeded to satisfy his cu- 
 riosity. 
 
 " The present dispute is about an 
 estate at Nervi, which was sold, some 
 two hundred years ago, by one of the 
 Cigali to one of the Adimari. It re- 
 mained in the hands of the Adimari 
 from that day till about two years ago, 
 when Signor Cigala laid claim to it in 
 right of descent from the original pos- 
 sessors: offering to show proof, that it 
 was so secured to the next of kin at the 
 time in which his ancestor sold it, as to 
 be incapable of alienation while any of
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. O 
 
 the direct line remained. Adimari sup- 
 ported his right to a property which his 
 family had fairly bought, and kept quiet 
 possession of for two centuries. The suit 
 was drawn out to great length, from the 
 novelty of the case, the display of proofs 
 and papers, the various altercations of 
 the lawyers, &c. ; — but to-day was an- 
 nounced for the termination ; and, though 
 the sitting is protracted to a most unsea- 
 sonable hour, we are all still waiting, im- 
 patient to know the decision of the 
 judges." 
 
 ** They cannot give it in Cigala's fa- 
 vour !" exclaimed the young man, with 
 some degree of indignant warmth. 
 
 " Very few wish they should," rejoined 
 his companion ; " for it is shrewdly sus- 
 pected, that these vexatious family-re- 
 gisters have been dragged forth by Cigala 
 to satisfy an old grudge he bore to Adi- 
 mari when a youth. He might have 
 been contented with the triumph hie 
 gainf^d over him, some fifteen year<? ago, 
 B 3
 
 f) THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 uhen lie ^got tlie Podestar of Corsica 
 from him by cabal and influence. That 
 Injury galled poor Adimari sorely ; but 
 lie was a mild man, who never showed 
 resentment, though he felt injury. — If 
 this suit end as I hope it may, it will be 
 a pity that the worthy signor has not 
 lived to see it.'' 
 
 ** What said you? — not lived!" ex- 
 claimed the young stranger in a piercing 
 cry of demand. 
 
 .** He died three months ago, broken 
 by care and grief.*' — The last words 
 were unheard by him to whom they were 
 addressed ; his head had sunk back on 
 the shoulder of a by-stander ; and he 
 must have fallen to the ground, but for 
 the closeness of the press. 
 
 From the ghastly fixture of his fea- 
 tures, the people around pronounced him 
 dead j and humanity soon effected, what 
 nothing else could have done : the sym- 
 pathising crowd broke asunder, pressed 
 on each other, opened a passage for the
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 7 
 
 persons who were endeavouring to bear 
 him forward to the portico of the Pa- 
 lazzo ; and some one recognising his 
 lineaments, or fancying a resemblance, 
 as he was borne by, whispered his name. 
 
 ** It is Adimari's son !" repeated one 
 to another; and as they followed him 
 with their eyes, low murmurs of pity 
 succeeded to the clamour of curiosity 
 and impatience. 
 
 The doors, .that had so long been 
 watched, now flew open, and a mixed 
 multitude poured forth ; all wearing the 
 emblem of the Cigali triumphantly in 
 their caps. 
 
 The shouts of the one party, and the 
 execrations of the other, were unnoticed, 
 and scarcely heard by the outer crowd : 
 their attention had fastened upon another 
 object ; and they now trampled down 
 each other, anxious to catch a glimpse 
 of the sufferer, and to ascertain whether 
 he were indeed their fellow-citizen. 
 
 When this unfortunate son (for it was 
 B 4
 
 8 THE KNIGHT OT ST. JOHN. 
 
 Cesario Adimari) opened his eyes, he 
 found himself principally supported by a 
 young man, whose prepossessing coun- 
 tenance was expressive of deep interest. 
 H^ felt this person's hand tremble in 
 assisting him to rise j and he observed 
 that his garments were sprinkled with 
 blood. This person tlien had held him, 
 while the vein had been opened which 
 Cesario now felt stiffening in his arm. 
 
 *< I thank you, signor t'* he said in an 
 agitated voice. " I thank you ail, my 
 countrymen I — I will go home now — 
 Home! where my father is not! — O 
 God !" 
 
 Gushing into tears as he spoke, and 
 unable to resist their salutary violence, 
 he leaned his face against one of the 
 gates; again he felt the cold agitated 
 touch of the hand which had so recently 
 pressed his : it was colder and more tre- 
 mulous than at first. 
 
 Roused by such extraordinary sym- 
 pathy at once into shame at thus pub-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 9 
 
 licly displaying his feelings, and into 
 livelier gratitude for the compassion be- 
 stowed on him, Cesario was pulling his 
 cloke round him to depart, when, in di- 
 recting his eye towards the benevolent 
 stranger, ^^th a look that still asked his 
 sympathy, he saw in his cap the hated 
 myrtle-branch of the Cigali. 
 
 His eye changed. " You are a Cigala, 
 then !" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 Some of the crowd murmured, in un- 
 der voices, ** Giovanni Cigala." 
 
 Cesario started at the sound ; the 
 scathing of a glance keener than any curse 
 ever uttered by hatred, was all the an- 
 swer he vouchsafed to the son of the man 
 who had stripped his father of compe- 
 tence and life. He shook off the gra^ 
 that would have detained him , and, 
 springing down the steps of the portico 
 with sudden strength, was out of sight, 
 and beneath friendly shelter, ere nature 
 again gave way under the shock of fuller 
 B 5
 
 10 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 information, and the certainty of utter 
 ruin. 
 
 Many days elapsed,-— days of alternate 
 grief and indignation: for Cesario 
 raourned the loss of a parent dearer 
 than his life's blood ; and saw himself 
 reduced to beggary and dependence. 
 
 The bulk of his expected inheritance 
 had consisted of the estate just wrested 
 from him. His father was a man of 
 nobler pursuits than fortune : in his early 
 youth he had served in the fleet of the 
 Republic, but with more honour than 
 profit J and in later life he entered into 
 commercial speculations. 
 
 In Genoa, the gentry, and second class 
 of nobility, are permitted to unite mer- 
 cantile concerns with their boast of pa- 
 trician quality J and Adimari, having em- 
 barked in them, had ventured rather too 
 far in the hope of increasing the fortune 
 of this darling sop. 
 
 In consequence of the unjust detention 
 of one of his richest vessels, in a Portu-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1 1 
 
 guese Indian settlement, Adimari had 
 been induced to send his son thither, 
 charged with documents necessary for 
 the release of the ship. A voyage to the 
 East was, in those days, long and dan- 
 gerous : Cesario encountered the perils 
 and pains of its difficult navigation ; and 
 endured, afterwards, the vexation of 
 combating for his rights with an arbi- 
 trary governor, determined to keep the 
 prize he detained under imaginary pre- 
 tences. 
 
 . An act of self-defence, made by some 
 of the crew during a visit on shore, was 
 construed into a piratical attack: and 
 the ship and cargo being formally con- 
 demned as forfeited to the government 
 of Goa, Cesario returned to Europe, 
 comforting himself under this disappoint- 
 ment by the certainty of finding affluence 
 and peace at home. 
 
 But during four years, his father had 
 suffered many other losses ; and, the 
 Nervi estate gone, nothing remained to 
 B 6
 
 12 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Cesario, excepting a few olive and mul- 
 berry grounds at Polchiverra ; the annual 
 products of which would fall far short of 
 the sums demanded to defray the debts 
 contracted during his absence in this 
 disastrous law-suit. He was resolved, 
 however, to pay them ; and he instantly 
 made himself answerable to all the cre- 
 ditors. 
 
 " What madness f*' said one of his 
 kinsmen to him : " you are destroying 
 yourself, — that wretched remnant of 
 property, comes to you in right of your 
 mother's settlement ; it cannot be touch- 
 ed by your father's creditors : why con- 
 tract this needless engagement ?" 
 
 " Needless, do you call it ?" inter- 
 rupted Cesario ; ** needless ! to preserve 
 my father's name without reproach ! no l 
 that unspotted name is all he had left 
 to bequeath me ; and I will preserve the 
 precious legacy with my life." 
 
 " But how are you to discharge the
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 13 
 
 claims which are still against him ; a thou- 
 sand ducats at least " 
 
 ** Are much for a man who has not 
 quite the sixth part of that sum to live 
 on ; however, with Heaven's assistance, 
 I will do it, or perish in prison ; and so 
 add another damning sin to the cata- 
 logue of the Cigali. I shall pledge that 
 estate to the Jews ; they will give me 
 the money, perhaps, for ten or twenty 
 years possession — meanwhile I must find 
 bread with my sword.*' 
 
 His kinsman shook his head, and with- 
 drew. Cesario threw himself on a seat, 
 and sunk into deep thought j for a while 
 his reflections were full of anxiety, and 
 the dismal future ; but they soon chang- 
 ed, leading him back to the days of his 
 childhood and his youth, to the che* 
 rished images of his father and his home ; 
 that home which was now the property 
 of another 1 
 
 Flattering fancy g6ntly deluded him 
 with a succession of beloved recollec-
 
 14 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 tions ; which, as they continued to arise, 
 arose in forms of startling reality, and 
 made him live the past again. 
 
 In imagination he walked beneath the 
 lofty plane-trees that shaded the terrace 
 at Nervi, conversing with his father ; 
 now and then stopping to list the soft 
 laving of the tide against the steps which 
 led into the sea; or leaning over the 
 balustrade, to watch the progress of a 
 skiff, or the flight of a bird : the gracious 
 voice he was never again to hear on 
 earth, fell on his ear in accents of tender- 
 ness and instruction ; they talked of Ce- 
 sario*s meditated voyage, they anticipated 
 a joyful meeting after two years of sepa- 
 ration. Cesario's lips were just sealed 
 on his father's hand with filial fondness, 
 when the door of the apartment he 
 really sat in, opened hastily, and the 
 vision vanished. 
 
 Rising in disorder, he looked with in- 
 dignant amazement upon the person that 
 entered : it was Giovanni Cigala.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 15 
 
 " What means this intrusion, sir ?** 
 demanded Cesario. 
 
 ** It means any thing but offence," 
 replied the fonner, gently, but steadily 
 advancing. 
 
 " You come for my thanks, perhaps," 
 said the other abruptly, ** for services 
 rendered me in the portico of the seig- 
 niory ? You have them, signor. I thank 
 you. — I thank you ! There ! do not urge 
 me further." 
 
 He turned away as he concluded, and 
 leaned against a window frame; evidently 
 desirous of thus terminating the inter- 
 view. 
 
 Giovanni still advanced, though with 
 an air of respect and dignity. ** I should 
 not have intruded on you, signor, with 
 any selfish errand, earnestly as I desire 
 to cultivate mutual good-will ;" (Cesario 
 cast on him a glance of disdain ; Gio- 
 vanni proceeded;) ** but I come to do 
 you an act of justice ; to make some
 
 16 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 compensation if possible, for what the 
 law has awarded to my father." 
 
 " Your father ! — name him not, if 
 you would have me endure your sight 
 a single moment. My father ! where is 
 he ? — in his grave ! and who rifled him 
 of life ? — who tore his dying embrace, 
 his last blessing from his wretched son ?" 
 
 The impassioned young man dashed 
 his forehead against his hand in a phrenzy 
 of recollection, and vainly tried to stifle 
 a groan. 
 
 Giovanni looked at him with increas- 
 ing commiseration ; a feeling of another 
 sort reddened his cheek, and altered his 
 voice as he said, " The cause of this in- 
 dignation honours you too much, signor, 
 for me to remind you in strong terms, 
 that I, too, am a son ; but you must allow 
 me to execute my commission : — I pray 
 you permit me 1" 
 
 Cesario did not answer ; his generous 
 soul was moved, in spite of himself, by 
 the noble manner of his imagined enemy ;
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST, JOHN, 17 
 
 he could not close his sense against the 
 inexpressible charm of his voice ; but he 
 would not trust himself to look upon 
 him, Giovanni's was, indeed, such a 
 countenance as Raphael might have 
 chosen for the favourite disciple of our 
 Lord : a serene breadth of forehead, 
 with ** heavenly hair," parting from it 
 in ample waves ; large dove-like eyes ; 
 and that fair composure of complexion, 
 which bespeaks the calm of goodness. 
 To this countenance was joined a figure, 
 of which the eminent gracefulness first 
 caught attention ; but, on second ob- 
 servation, its large proportions denoted 
 power, the power of strength ; and then 
 the gentleness of his countenance seemed 
 but the more gracious. 
 
 As Cesario still kept silence, Giovanni 
 approached him ; and weighing every 
 word, ere it fell from him, lest it should 
 wound the delicacy, or kindle the inflam- 
 mable passions of his unwilling hearer, 
 he opened his commission.
 
 18 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 It was a request, that Cesario would 
 be pleased to receive the value of the 
 estate at Nervi ; at the same time assur- 
 ing him, that, although the Cigali family 
 could not allow the right of their title to 
 be disputed) (since indeed the most satis- 
 factory proofs of that right had been 
 sanctified by the decision of incorruptible 
 judges,) they abhorred the idea of ravish- 
 ing it from one who had hitherto believed 
 himself its undoubted heir. — What they 
 were content to receive at the hands of 
 justice, therefore, was only the power of 
 restoring this estate to the property from 
 which it had been unlawfully dismem- 
 bered two centuries back. 
 
 They prayed him to consider them as 
 its purchasers; and having had the estate 
 valued, Giovanni was come to prbfFer the 
 sum named. He would have laid a very 
 heavy bag of ducats on the table as he con- 
 cluded, had not Cesario sprung forward 
 with the fierceness of a tyger, and pushed 
 it back. ** Have your race hearts !" ex>
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 19 
 
 claimed he indignantly, " that you be- 
 lieve I am sprrowing over a few bags of 
 dross? Not all the wealth of Peru can 
 be a compensation to me : take back 
 your ducats. I would neither have sold 
 nor given my birth-place to any man^ 
 and though the law has basely awarded 
 it to you, I JTiay die a beggar and in 
 prison, but never will I seal tlie triumph 
 of the Cigali, by accepting gold from 
 them as a boon." 
 
 '* I Avould your just grief were less in- 
 temperate!" said Giovanni patiently ;**you 
 would then admit that we have right on 
 our side, though grievous has been its 
 enforcement." 
 
 ** I care not for right, I know not 
 where it lies j I seek not to discover !" 
 interrupted Cesario, bursting forth anew ; 
 " I am only certain that I would not 
 have acted thus by my direst foe \ there- 
 fore I despise ye. I know that this hate- 
 ful contest ruined my father's affairs, and 
 broke his heart, therefore I hate ye ! Go
 
 QO THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN% 
 
 then — never let me see you more, or I 
 know not whither my distraction and 
 despair may lead me." Again he struck 
 his clasped hands against his forehead, 
 and stopped for want of breath. 
 
 " I will bear any thing from you, just 
 now/' said Giovanni, speaking quick 
 and short ; " for I see you are not your- 
 self. You cannot hate me, you cannot 
 be so unjust, you must see that I am not 
 a hard and merciless man. 
 
 " Oh, you court popularity perhaps !" 
 exclaimed Cesario, maddened by the in- 
 dulgence he was giving to his passions: 
 " 'tis ^t you do j for I can tell you, that 
 where my father lies buried, there lies 
 all the honour of your race." 
 
 ••"Popularity !" murmured Giovanni, and 
 a tear glistened in his mildly reproachful 
 eye. 
 
 'Twas an injurious suspicion, and Ce- 
 sario had rather uttered than thought it: 
 he now stood gloomily silent; ashamed 
 of his own intemperance) yet jealous of
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 21 
 
 e\'ery feeling which could soften him in 
 favour of a Cigala. 
 
 Could he have known with what cou- 
 rageous nobleness this insulted man had 
 braved the anger of a worldly-minded 
 parent, while convincing him that human 
 nature called aloud for a compensation 
 to Cesario Adimari j could he have known 
 that after a long and painful stniggle, 
 Giovanni had finally wrested consent, by 
 solemnly swearing to renounce the world, 
 unless this feeble consolation were afford- 
 ed to his distressed spirit j could he have 
 known this, even in the heat and transport 
 of his passion, Cesario must have thrown 
 himself upon the breast of Cigala, and 
 besought his pardon. As it was, he 
 laboured with his contending emotions 
 in silence. 
 
 " Then, I may not hope to move your 
 purpose ?" asked Giovanni. ** You mo- 
 tion me to leave you : I will do so. But 
 ere I go, suffer me to entreat you, in the 
 name of Christian charity, not to judge
 
 ^^4 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 me SO rashly and so hardly. I am a 
 Cigala, it is true — the son of him by 
 whom fate has dealt its severest blow to 
 you. I even feel as if I had been instru- 
 mental in your misfortunes, (yet, God 
 knows, I am not !) and I would fain be 
 allowed to offer some atonement, not in 
 the shape of gold — not in the shape of 
 vain dissipation, but in that of devoted 
 service. In truth, I would rather win 
 your friendship than the love of the fair- 
 est woman in Italy." 
 
 He paused, somewhat overcome, and 
 proffered his hand. — Cesario turned 
 hastily round, perusing him from head 
 to foot with struggling feelings : but pride 
 and false opinion had the mastery ; and 
 he 5aid, bitterly, ** Perhaps you come to 
 rhock me with this amazing show of 
 goodness : — I'll not believe in it." 
 
 '' Fancy om* situations changed," said 
 Giovanni, earnestly ; ** how would i/ou, 
 then, have acted ?" 
 
 " I ! — I would have cast myself into 
 15
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. "^o 
 
 the sea rather than abetted such robbery 
 and such murder." 
 
 " Enquire of others ;" returned Gio- 
 vanni, his gentleness something disturbed 
 by this fierce accusation, and his cheek 
 losing its colour ; *' they will convince 
 you, that resumption of right is not rob- 
 ber}' : and, for the last charge, Heaven 
 only is answerable. — My father, possibly, 
 guessed your father's heart as ill, as you 
 do mine. Farewell, signer !" 
 . His voice faltered, but his counte- 
 nance had assumed an expression of 
 offended virtue, which approached to 
 awfulness j he staid not for reply : the 
 door closed on him ; and Cesario was left 
 standing in a painful confusion cf irri- 
 tated and self-accusing feeling.
 
 ( ^-^ ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Giovanni retraced his way homeward 
 with a swelling heart, — he thought over 
 the scene which had just passed ; and 
 while he blamed the determined animo- 
 sity of Gesario, he found its excuse in an 
 ardent nature, perhaps never restrained, 
 and suddenly bereft of the sole object it 
 prized in life. 
 
 Giovanni's temper and manner might 
 have been supposed the results of philo- 
 sophical principles j but his heart had no 
 philosophy in it, if by that term we 
 are to understand the austere discipline 
 which extinguishes the passions, and re- 
 fuses even to the affections all power over 
 
 our peace. 
 
 II
 
 THE KNIGHT Ol- ST. JOHN. S5 
 
 Concealing under the serenity of a 
 temper incapable of disturbance, feelings 
 peculiarly sensitive, and a mind highly 
 exalted by romantic and religious stu- 
 dies, Giovanni had, at a very early age, 
 felt the full force of the master-passion. 
 He was a younger son, with more graces 
 than wealth for his portion ; it was his 
 destiny to love a coquet, by whom he 
 was alternately tortured and transported, 
 till she broke her own spells by marrying 
 an old nobleman, whose rank and riches 
 ensured her that power and those plea- 
 sures which she rated far above the en- 
 joyments of the heart. 
 
 At the same period, Giovanni lost his 
 mother. This affliction (for he loved her 
 tenderly) following so immediately upon 
 a first disappointment, at once divorced 
 him from the usual interests and expect- 
 ations of life ; and, obeying a sudden 
 impulse, he enrolled himself among the 
 Knights of vSt. John. 
 
 The scattered remnant of that cele- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 ^6 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 brated order, after having for more than 
 four centuries been the bulwark of 
 Christendom ; after having shed their 
 noblest blood in all the wars between the 
 infidels and the true believers; after 
 having given dignity to chivalry, by the 
 irreproachable lives of its knights ; was 
 now driven from Rhodes, the ancient 
 throne of its glory ; despoiled of its con- 
 quests by the Ottoman arms, robbed of 
 its richest commanderies by the very 
 princes whom its valour had supported, 
 and all its possessions shrunk to the 
 sterile rock of Malta. 
 
 As the brothers of this celebrated order 
 preserved the fame of its former glory, 
 and the chivalric spirit by which that 
 glory was acquired, Giovanni repaired to 
 their island, with a soul burning to prove 
 itself worthy of their fellowship. 
 
 When he thus took upon him the obli- 
 gation to live a life of celibacy, and to 
 devote himself to the interests of reli- 
 gion, he had scarcely attained the age of
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. OTj 
 
 one-and-twenty. He fulfilled this obli- 
 gation for five years ; distinguishing him- 
 self in the convent by obedience and 
 purity of conduct, and upon service, by 
 zeal and intrepidity. 
 
 Mild and unaspiring in peace, in war 
 he was inspired with a new character j 
 for never did Caesar's ambition prompt 
 to bolder enterprise, nor Alexander's 
 thirst of fame lead to nobler exploits. 
 
 " Backward to mingle in detested war, 
 " Yet foremost when engaged ;" 
 
 and leaving a track of glory behind him, 
 wherever he went, he made Christendom 
 ring and the Ottoman power shake with 
 the thunder of his arms. 
 
 Meanwhile, the death of his heir made 
 a great revolution in the sentiments of 
 the elder Cigala and the destiny of his 
 vounger son. It was not fit to let his 
 honours and wealth pass to a distant 
 branch, while a true scion from the pa- 
 rent tree yet flourished. He had a 
 c 2
 
 28 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 daughter, it is true ; but she was an alien 
 from his affection, by having clandes- 
 tinely married a young Frenchman, with 
 whom she had fled, he neither knew nor 
 cared to enquire whither : he was little 
 inclined, therefore, to let the offspring of 
 such a marriage inherit his property. 
 
 In consequence of these circumstances, 
 he procured the Pope's dispensation for 
 his son Giovanni (a favour not unfre- 
 quently sought and obtained on similar 
 occasions) ; and thus released from his 
 vow of celibacy, and obedience to a mi- 
 litary superior, Giovanni reluctantly re- 
 turned into the business and bustle of 
 every-day life. 
 
 Although he had long ceased to con- 
 sider the woman who had formerly infa- 
 tuated him, with any other emotion than 
 contempt, her tyranny rankled in his 
 memory ; and he shrunk from such ig- 
 noble bondage to another, with something 
 of prejudice. 
 
 This dread of a passion, which is in-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^9 
 
 deed either the angel or the demon of 
 our lives, made him shun those gay 
 scenes where women hold the chief 
 place; and though he never expressed 
 his averseness to maiTiage, nor suffered 
 himself to believe he might eventually 
 disappoint his father's hope of seeing him 
 suitably allied, he had gone on nearly a 
 twelvemonth, since his return from Malta, 
 without evincing the slightest inclination 
 for any of his sprightly countrywomen. 
 
 Yet Giovanni was neither unsocial nor 
 melancholy. Perhaps he had more in- 
 ward happiness than any other man of 
 his age, consequently sought less from 
 without. He was one that loved to look 
 on the fair side of creation : for him, 
 every place had its pleasures, every sea- 
 SQUi its enjoyment, every prospect its 
 beauty, every character its excellence, 
 and every vexation its utility. 
 
 Accustomed to seek a beneficent cause 
 for every seeming hardship, when others 
 stopped at the saddening point of a sub- 
 c 3
 
 30 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 ject, he would pursue it till it emerged in 
 light and consolation. 
 
 And for all subjects, there is that 
 cloudless region ! — every trial and ca- 
 lamity of the human race terminates 
 in this brief passage from life to immor- 
 tality. On that glorious immortality Gio- 
 vanni would muse till his heart burnt 
 within him ; then, while taking his soli- 
 tary autumnal walk, they who passed 
 him, and saw not the expression of his 
 downcast eyes, resting on the fallen 
 leaves over which he trod, might fancy 
 him wrapt in melancholy contemplation. 
 But so reading, they had read him ill : 
 for if the fading sky and withered woods 
 reminded him of the brevity of human 
 existence, the light and life within him- 
 self, told him that man's perishable dust 
 enshrines a light which the grave cannot 
 extinguish, and a living principle over 
 which death has no power. 
 
 Thus, though serious, he was not sad ; 
 though solitary, not unsocial 5 and the
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 31 
 
 serenity of his countenance only reflected 
 a just image of his soul. 
 
 Report had wronged the elder Cigala, 
 or rather had mistaken his character, 
 when it charged him with malignant 
 motives in his contest for the estate at 
 Nervi. He was actuated solely by a 
 selfish desire of acquisition. 
 
 The elder Adimari once held the most 
 lucrative post under the Doge, the po- 
 destat of Corsica ; Cigala coveted it, in- 
 trigued for, and got it. He would have 
 done the same thing by his best friend. 
 
 After a lapse of years, accident dis- 
 covered to him the family-deeds by 
 which he regained a right to the pro- 
 perty which had been unwittingly pur- 
 chased by the ancestor of Adimari ; his 
 greediness could not resist the tempt- 
 ation ; and deceiving himself, by ima- 
 gining he yielded solely to a laudable 
 regard for posterity, he commenced and 
 prosecuted the suit. 
 
 c 4
 
 3Q THE KNIGHT OF ST, JOHN- 
 
 During its progress, Signor Adimari's 
 fortune suffered by great mercantile mis- 
 fortunes ; the suit was tedious and ex- 
 pensive ; his son*s absence was prolonged 
 far beyond the time stated for his pro- 
 bable return ; and, in those days, there 
 were no fixed modes of communication 
 between the two hemispheres 5 he had 
 heard of him but once during three 
 years ; and the information he sent, con- 
 vinced his father that the business he had 
 gone on would end in disappointment ^ 
 w^earied out, therefore, with hope de- 
 ferred, with anxiety, with increasing debt, 
 with the straitening of his bountiful 
 spirit, and pining for his son, the im» 
 happy gentleman gradually drooped, and 
 at length died^ 
 
 His death somewhat shocked the elder 
 Cigala ', but the impression was not 
 strong enough to assist the pleadings of 
 Giovanni, who ceased not to importune 
 his father to drop the suit. 
 
 The suit, however, proceeded against
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN^ 33 
 
 the executors of Signor Adimarij and 
 the result is known* 
 
 With little sympathy, either in their 
 tastes or principles, the elder and younger 
 Cigala lived together in common-place 
 harmony i Giovanni had that ascendancy 
 over his fatlier, which a strong mind gains 
 over a weak one ; that ascendancy which 
 controls the actions of him upon whom 
 it is exerted, without altering his incli- 
 nations ; that ascendancy which is often 
 submitted to in private, in deference to 
 public consideration. 
 
 So meekly did Giovanm' bear his no- 
 blest qualities, that not one party could 
 hate or vilify him ; and if the elder Ci- 
 gala were susceptible of laudable pride, 
 it was when he heard his son^s integrity 
 quoted, and liis knightly exploits ex- 
 tolled. While listening to praises be- 
 stowed on his son^ he seemed to fancy 
 that his own character was ennobled by 
 them. 
 
 Thus» making a sort of property of 
 c 5
 
 34 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Giovanni's good report and high endow- 
 ments, he liked him not the less for a 
 superiority, which would have mortified 
 him in any other. 
 
 In one instance, hard was the contest 
 between habitual respect for this excel- 
 lent son and habitual selfishness. For a 
 long time Signor Cigala resisted both 
 persuasions and arguments, when Gio- 
 vanni would have induced him to make 
 the offer of considering the contested 
 estate as a purchase ; and at last he 
 yielded solely from the fear of seeing 
 this admired son return into the bosom 
 of the order he had quitted. 
 
 As Giovanni now recalled the scene 
 which had then passed, he grieved to 
 think how unfairly he was estimated by 
 Cesario Adimari ; and to be esteemed 
 by Cesario Adimari, to be absolved by 
 him, for being allied to the person whose 
 triumph had been his downfall, was the 
 liveliest desire of Giovanni's soul. 
 
 Yet whence originated this desire ?
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 85 
 
 was it from previous representations of 
 that young man's filial piety *, or from a 
 romantic imagination ? was it from pity, 
 and respect, and a sense of injury sus- 
 tained by Cesario ; or was it from the 
 mere tenderness of a nature prone to 
 trust and to love ? 
 
 Perhaps all these causes were combined : 
 perhaps they were rendered more powerful 
 by that solitariness of the heart, which is 
 felt by persons endowed with warm affec- 
 tions, when surrounded by companions 
 lower than themselves in the scale of 
 moral and mental excellence ; and lower, 
 by countless fathoms, than the elevated 
 standard of their own imagination. 
 
 But there was another sentiment, and 
 a painful one, which harassed his hitherto 
 tranquil breast. He saw that the extre- 
 mity of the law is not always what would 
 be the judgment of equity. There was 
 more in the estate at Nervi, to the son 
 of Adimari, than its pecuniary value. 
 Giovanni was sensible to a ceaseless whis- 
 c 6
 
 36 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 per in his heart, that his father's triumpb 
 was unjust. To ^em to sanction sucb 
 an act,, to appear to appropriate its fruits,, 
 stung the high honour of the Knight of 
 St. John to the quick; and he felt that 
 he could not rest day nor night, until he 
 had ineontiovertibly asserted his inno- 
 cence of the transaction, by a patient 
 endurance of its victim '^s natural indig- 
 nation, and a persevering devotedness ta 
 his service: till he had planted this con- 
 viction in the mind of the injured Adi- 
 mari, his own nobility of soul felt itself 
 stigmatised and under an impression of 
 disgrace. 
 
 Giovanni asked himself why he felt so^ 
 interested in Cesario Adimari ; and these 
 reasons satisfied him : but he could not 
 so satisfactorily answer his further ques- 
 tion^ of what Cesario's character might 
 appear, if divested of the powerful inte- 
 rest bestowed on it by his peculiar situ- 
 ation. 
 
 Giovanni strove to recollect the pair-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 3J 
 
 ticulars of Cesario's countenance, to 
 assist his judgment ; and he remembered 
 them distinctly. 
 
 It seemed to him almost an Asiatic 
 physiognomy : — so dark, yet so bright ; 
 so full of ai-dent and impetuous passion ^ 
 so flashing, so varied, so sparkling : the 
 same dark-browed eye of diamond light 5. 
 the same clear foreliead, polished like 
 marble, and roimded by black and glossy 
 
 curls ^Did the same cliaracter of devour^ 
 
 ing fire lie beneath ? Was it a proud 
 soul, that east such an air of haughty 
 majesty over the movements of those 
 youthful limbs : was it a determined 
 thirst for vengeance, which gave that 
 stern yet noble fixtui^e to a lip which 
 seemed made for the loves and graces to 
 hang on ? 
 
 And that lip, that cheek, that eye su- 
 preme in manly beauty, might not they 
 at once change their lofty character, and 
 become the evidences of a voluptuous-
 
 38 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 ness too often associated with this keen 
 sensibility to the more stormy passions : 
 
 If experience were to answer these 
 questions in the affirmative, Giovanni felt 
 that his pure and kindly spirit could 
 never hold fellowship with one so differ- 
 ent : but if on the contrary, time should 
 4)rove Cesario as capable of friendship, 
 as of filial affection ; if it should direct 
 his ardour to the sublime object of self- 
 devotion for the advancement of his 
 country or of his faith ; if it should van- 
 quish his prejudices, by the growth of his 
 own virtues and wisdom ; then Giovanni 
 felt, that he could grapple him to his 
 soul with hooks of steel j and in this yet- 
 unconquered hope he went on his quiet 
 way. 
 
 The occupation of the Marino (for 
 such was the name of the house at 
 Nervi) afforded much satisfaction to 
 Signor Cigala : it was a constant source 
 of bitterness to his son. Although its 
 internal ornaments of furniture, pictures,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 39 
 
 marbles, &c. had been faithfully surren- 
 dered to the creditors of Adimari, there 
 remained painful remembrances of its 
 former inhabitant, in many a rural embel- 
 lishment planned by his taste, and many 
 an useful building erected by him for 
 the comfort of his tenantry. 
 
 Giovanni often entered the cottages 
 of the silk-spinners and the vine-dressers, 
 in the hope of cultivating their good- 
 will, and learning how best to serve them. 
 At first, they received him in sullen 
 silence ; but after repeated visits, and 
 frequent attempts to draw them into 
 conversation, he won them at lenorth 
 into confidence ; and, prefacing their 
 discourses with some cold compliments 
 to their present lord, they w^ould then 
 lament the death of their " good signor" 
 in terms of sincere grief. 
 
 As they described the characters and 
 habits of the elder and younger Adimari, 
 their artless narratives presented many a 
 beautiful picture of domestic happiness.
 
 40 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHJST- 
 
 It was an union so perfect, a happiness 
 so pure, a condition so moderate, and so 
 little likely to be interrupted either hy 
 the temptations of an elevated fortune, 
 or the trials of a depressed one, that 
 Giovanni mourned to think his father's 
 hand had levelled so fair a fabric with 
 the dust. 
 
 One of the oldest cottagers had a 
 chronicle of every bush and stone on 
 the estate* That summer-house, over- 
 grown with jessamines, was the place 
 where Signor Adimari used to take his 
 siesta in summer. Yon bosquet of rosesi 
 was planted when the young signor went- 
 beyond seas. Under that palisade oF 
 myrtles, by the great gates, the father 
 stood and embraced his son for the 
 last time. And on that terrace, he 
 used to walk every morning and evening- 
 during the year appointed for his return^ 
 watching the ships tliat came from the 
 east, and still returning, tliough still disi- 
 appointed*
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST* JOHN. 41 
 
 To this terrace, Giovanni soon learned 
 to bend his pensive steps, whenever a 
 melancholy humour inclined him *' to 
 nurse sad fancies :" it was a walk adapt- 
 ed for contemplation, independent of its 
 association in the mind of Giovanni with 
 the family of Adimari. 
 
 The Marino stood upon unequal 
 ground, like all the villas in that pic- 
 turesque part of the Genoese coast ; and 
 its gardens, extending over a great sur- 
 face of irregular hills, united their sunny 
 slopes by a succession of terraces and 
 flights of steps, which led to the very 
 margin of the sea. 
 
 These terraces and steps, built with 
 the green marble of the Bochetta, were 
 mantled by a variety of creeping plants, 
 as sweet to the sense, as delightful to 
 the eye: the ballustrades of the steps 
 were hung with them as with garlands. 
 
 It had been Signor Adimari*s pleasure 
 to surround himself with these simple 
 luxuries ; and even where tlie pavement
 
 42 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 of his terraces left no soil for a plant, he 
 supplied the deficiency by occasional 
 groupes of shrubs growing in porcelaine 
 or alabaster, and moveable at will. 
 
 From one of these varying groves of 
 gay geraniums, on the highest terrace, 
 rose a jet d'eau, the sound and sight of 
 the water of which, soothed pensiveness 
 rather than excited gaiety : near it 
 stood a magnificent cedar, its branches 
 shading the shattered roots of a former 
 companion. These roots, now over- 
 grown with moss and violets, formed 
 a fantastic yet easy seat, and had been 
 the favourite resting-place of Signor Adi- 
 mari. It soon became the evening haunt 
 of Giovanni. 
 
 He would bring his book and read 
 there ; or, in the still hour of vespers, 
 he would repeat the offices of that sacred 
 profession, never abjured by his heart, 
 though relinquished in obedience to his 
 father. Still oftener, he would pace the 
 cold marble, musing with fruitless pity
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 4-3 
 
 on the many sad hours the elder Adhnari 
 had wasted there, waiting for that son, 
 whose return he was destined never to 
 witness ! 
 
 Giovanni's kindly heart calculated but 
 too well all the pangs of that venerable 
 parent. '* Here," he would say, " here, 
 most likely, where the marble is worn 
 upon the eastern edge of the ballustrade, 
 he has been used to lean, while regard- 
 ing that quarter of the horizon ; and 
 here, under the shade of these old myr- 
 tles, where the branches look brown and 
 blighted, perhaps the tears of the poor 
 father have dropped unheeded, as he sat 
 forlorn and lonely, vexed with the cares 
 of law and the disappointment of 
 worldly hopes ; seeking, in vain, a breast 
 whereon to weep, and foreboding his 
 own dying hour of yet sadder loneli- 
 ness." 
 
 In this neglected alcove Giovanni 
 found a volume of Virgil, which had 
 fallen down, and been forgotten, in times
 
 44 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 long past. It opened of itself, at the 
 eleventh book, where the grief of Evan- 
 der, over the body of the young Pallas, 
 is painted with such tenderness and 
 beauty. The leaves of this part of the 
 volume were worn and discoloured, too 
 probably with the reader's frequent tears ; 
 and Giovanni, as he contemplated their 
 traces, scarcely doubted that with the 
 affliction of the venerable Evander, Adi- 
 mari had almost identified his own. 
 
 He had feared, then, the untimely 
 death of his absent son: Oh, could he 
 have read the book of fate, and seen his 
 own end was so near ! — This precious 
 volume was often Giovanni's companion 
 in his evening wanderings; and the ten- 
 der strains of the poet, thus associated 
 with the sorrows of the respectable Adi- 
 mari, unconsciously heightened their dig- 
 nity and deepened their interest. 
 
 But not in reveries of vain compas- 
 sion, (though by such reveries are all 
 our virtues nourished, and preserved fot
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 45 
 
 action,) did Giovanni pass his evening 
 hours. He sought to recompense his 
 father's new tenants for their change of 
 masters : he prompted, nay, he extorted 
 many a beneficial act from his father in 
 their favour ; and his own gracious man- 
 ner being always interposed to shield 
 the grudging manner of that father 
 from dislike or disrespect, harmony was 
 established, and satisfaction beginning 
 to appear. 
 
 Still, however, his thoughts were full 
 of Cesario Adimari ; and the little in- 
 formation he could obtain of that young 
 man's situation and plans troubled his 
 peace. 
 
 He learned that, by the sale of the per- 
 sonal property, and the pledging of his 
 land at Polchiverra, Cesario had dis- 
 charged the principal demands upon 
 him ; and that, having obtained the pro- 
 mise of his creditors to wait the event of 
 a voyage he was about to make, he was 
 preparing to sail in a vessel bound for
 
 46 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN". 
 
 the Levant ; having taken on himself the 
 charge of superintending the disposal of 
 her cargo, and that of freighting her 
 back, in consideration of a valuable share 
 promised to him by her owners. 
 
 Giovanni had sought, more than .once 
 since their second interview, to throw 
 himself in his way ; but whether or no 
 Cesario as purposely avoided him, they 
 never had directly met. 
 
 This perversity of accident, far from 
 abating Giovanni's desire to win some 
 kindness from Cesario, quickened it, by 
 causing him to meditate but the oftener 
 on such pecuhar ill luck. He did so, 
 till this desire grew almost into a passion ; 
 and he would cheerfully have incurred 
 the risk of another, and another repulse, 
 had he been assured that Cesario w^ould 
 ever do his feelings justice, and separate 
 him from the hard character of his fa- 
 ther. 
 
 This, however, was not probable j for 
 Cesario was entering upon a course of
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 47 
 
 life that would hereafter cause Iiim to 
 pass the greater part of his time at sea ; 
 and, when on land, would keep him down 
 in a society far, far below the level of 
 Giovanni Cigala's station. 
 
 Giovanni never revolved these things 
 without a concern amounting to sorrow : 
 here was a young man, born in the class 
 of nobility, educated in the expectation 
 of an ample fortune, accustomed to an- 
 ticipate the future dignities of the Re- 
 public, and from general fame fitted to 
 win them all in succession : liberal by 
 habit and by nature, keenly alive to 
 honour and dishonour ; here was this 
 man, at the age of four-and-twenty, sud- 
 denly sunk to poverty, and forced to 
 seek the means of preserving his father's 
 memory from popular reproach by em- 
 bracing the humblest post of mercantile 
 employment. 
 
 Unfitted by his former education and 
 habits to sympathise with any but cul- 
 tured and elegant minds, he was conse-
 
 48 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 quently cutoff from the dearest affections 
 of man, friendship and love; or obliged 
 to receive an imperfect image of each, in 
 association without conformity of taste, 
 and marriage without the union of mind 
 with that of heart. 
 
 Could Giovanni have reversed this 
 hard fortune, by any sacrifice, whether 
 of right or generosity, he would have 
 done it joyfully ; but it was impossible 
 for him to deny, that legal forms, and a 
 worldly view of right, furnished too many 
 arguments for an obligation on the head 
 of the chief of the Cigali, to regain the 
 property which had been alienated from 
 them in times past; and it was in vain 
 that he spoke of a superior law com- 
 prised in that simple and sublime maxim 
 of the meek Jesus, ** Do as thou wouldest 
 be done unto." 
 
 His father, yielding through a mixture 
 of dastardliness and respect in less im- 
 portant matters, where it imported no 
 one to support him, had been obstinate
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 49 
 
 in this : for nearly all of his name, having 
 a remote interest in the family-aggrandise- 
 ment, and being in the line of succession, 
 fortified his sordid arguments by their 
 opinions ; and thus dro\vned the single 
 generous voice of the immediate heir. 
 
 Giovanni, therefore, could do no more 
 than lament that his will was unaccom- 
 panied by power ; and lie in wait for some 
 happy opportunity of serving the injured 
 Cesario in despite of himself. 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 ( 50 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 oiGNOR Cigala had been settled above 
 two months at the Marino, when, that 
 object obtained, he became a candidate 
 for the Prociiratorship, the second dig- 
 nity in the Repubhc. 
 
 During the progress of the election, he 
 frequently remained in the city ; leaving 
 his son to the calm enjoyment of rural 
 pleasures, and those higher gratifications 
 connected with the study of ancient worth, 
 and the well-being of his dependants. 
 
 During one of these solitary periods, 
 Giovanni was returning from a long 
 ramble along the sea-shore, in haste to 
 avoid a storm ; (for it was the end of July, 
 and the thickened clouds darkened his 
 way ;) when having entered the demesne 
 15
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN 51 
 
 of the Marino, he observed a figure dart- 
 ing from a cypress grove into a short 
 walk that led to the chapel. 
 
 The person was wrapped in a cloak 
 evidently for concealment ; and the ra- 
 pidity, yet apprehensiveness of his move- 
 ments, made Giovanni pause and retreat 
 a few steps, to note whither he went. 
 
 Seeing this person still go on, he fol- 
 lowed him softly ; sheltering himself at 
 intervals under the broad shade of the 
 trees, lest he should be obsen^ed in his 
 turn. 
 
 What was his surprise to see tbis man, 
 (after having vainly tried the door) mount 
 by one of the buttresses to a window, 
 which, yielding to his rough shake, left 
 him a free passage into the interior. 
 
 The chapel, dedicated to the martyr 
 Stephen, was richly furnished with images 
 and religious vessels, composed of gold 
 and precious stones : it contained also the 
 relics of many eminent saints, and the 
 consecrated garments of the officiating 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOIS
 
 52 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 priest. All these treasures were sacred 
 to every good Catholic ; but infinitely 
 more so, to one who had formerly vowed 
 to devote his life to the preservation of 
 the Christian faith, and whatever related 
 to it. 
 
 Alarmed lest this suspicious person 
 were one of a gang purposed to pillage 
 the chapel of these holy things, Giovanni 
 hastened to a low door at the further end 
 of the building, of which he remembered 
 having the key ; he opened it softly, and 
 closing it with equal caution, shut himself 
 in with the robber. 
 
 The stained glass of the long pointed 
 windows, and the shadows of the high 
 crocketted pinnacles which rose above 
 them, together with the drooping ban- 
 ners of the knights mouldering below, 
 increased the darkness of the place. 
 Giovanni felt for his dagger, and stood 
 steadily observant, behind the light 
 tracery of one of the shrines. 
 
 The person advanced eagerly.—-" This
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 53 
 
 — this is the spot !*' — he cried in a voice 
 that made Giovanni's heart thrill ; in a 
 voice which he could not mistake, but 
 which he had never before heard utter 
 such piercing and tender sounds. ** O my 
 father — and is it here I find thee !*' 
 
 It was Cesario Adimari that now cast 
 himself on the pavement of the chapel, 
 where a single square of black marble 
 denoted the place he sought. 
 
 He spoke no more ; but relaxed from 
 every sterner feeling, his tears and groans 
 echoed through the hollow aisles 5 and the 
 frequent kisses he bestowed on the in- 
 sensible marble, testified the love he had 
 borne to him who slept beneath. 
 
 Giovanni was root-bound : he would 
 have given his life for the power of trans- 
 porting himself to another scene. It was 
 horror to him, thus to profane ^vith sa- 
 crilegious eyes the sacred sorrow of a son 
 taking a last farewell of the ashes of a 
 father j to hear, perhaps, the confessions 
 of a soul burdened with the weight of 
 D 3
 
 54 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 remembered cmiissions ; and magnifying 
 its frailties into crimes. He tried to move, 
 but bis limbs sbook under him ; be es- 
 sayed to speak, but utterance failed him ; 
 — again the doleful accents of Cesario 
 were heard in the chapel. 
 
 *' O my father ! thou hearest me, thdii 
 beholdest me in this wretched hour 1 
 strengthen me to bear my lonely and 
 altered fate — forgive me for all my past 
 offences against thee ! — O ask for me, 
 courage to resist the weakness of my own 
 nature, and the seductions of a race I 
 ought to hate — for they murdered thee." 
 
 •* Hold, Adimari!" interrupted Gio- 
 vanni, recovering his voice, though unable 
 to advance, — ** you are not alone." — 
 
 Cesario was silent for an instant with 
 surprise and resentment ; then hastily 
 starting up, he exclaimed, "What, sir, 
 do you persecute me even here ?" — 
 
 Giovanni briefly explained the mistake 
 which had led him into the chapel. He 
 opened the door behind him as he spoke,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 55 
 
 and let in the little light which yet 
 brightened in the evening sky. 
 
 That doubtful light fell full upon the 
 figure of Cesario, as he stood supporting 
 himself against a monument ; it showed 
 him pale, dejected, his eyes swollen with 
 weeping, and all his features marked with 
 the languor of exhausted feelings. 
 
 That countenance was robbed of the 
 fire and ferocity of grief with which 
 Giovanni had formerly seen it agitated ; 
 but never had it been so affecting, never 
 so powerful over his sympathising heart. 
 
 He lingered ere he w^nt : and perhaps 
 Cesario felt the influence of that profound 
 interest painted in the looks of Giovanni, 
 and which he was desirous of shunning, 
 for he only motioned him to be gone, 
 and turned back into the aisle. 
 
 " I would you could see what is passing 
 
 here !" exclaimed Giovanni, striking his 
 
 breast with fervour, after having con» 
 
 templated him for some time in silence. 
 
 " What matters it?" asked Cesario, his 
 
 D 4
 
 Ob THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 brow clouding ; <* what imports it to you 
 or me, how we think of each other ? — 
 you are a Cigala, I, an Adimari, the last 
 of the Adimari ! — a crowd of lifeless 
 bodies, Ihat once bore those hostile names, 
 lie here, 'tis true, mingled together ; but 
 for the sons of Paulo Cigala and Ludo- 
 vico Adimari so to mingle, is impossible, 
 either in life or death." 
 
 ** Am I answerable for my birth ?'* 
 enquired Giovanni, hazarding a step 
 nearer. 
 
 *« I am no casuist,^' returned Cesario, 
 gloomily ; and he fixed his eyes upon the 
 spot where his father lay. 
 
 A long silence followed. Giovanni 
 almost fancied he heard heavy drops fall- 
 ing upon the inanimate marble : the light 
 was so indistinct that he could only see 
 at that short distance the shadowy out- 
 line of Cesario's figure ; but had he been 
 nearer, he might indeed have heard, nay, 
 he might have seen the big drops chasing- 
 one another down the pale cheeks of the
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 57 
 
 mourner, and falling like rain upon the 
 tomb. But though he guessed from 
 Cesario's silence that he wept, he was far 
 from guessing that he himself had any 
 share in such emotion. 
 
 In truth, Cesario's proud heart was 
 softened by the present scene; by his 
 previous abandonment to the tenderest 
 lamentations ; by the thought that he 
 was about to quit his country once more ; 
 and by the very forlornness of his own 
 fortune. 
 
 At such a moment, how precious would 
 a friend have been to him ! how inestim- 
 able the relief of throwing himself upon 
 any sympathising breast; and then suffer- 
 ing his grief to burst its flood-gates, and 
 pour out in lamentation and praises of the 
 object lost. 
 
 But that relief could not be ; it was a 
 Cigala that invited him to confidence and 
 affection; it was the son of the man whose 
 malice or avidity had caused the death of 
 his father: no, it could never be. Did 
 D 5
 
 58 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Giovanni speak with the tongue of an 
 angel, he should never turn him from 
 what he believed his duty — enmity to 
 all their race. 
 
 Suddenly steeled against the weakness 
 which unmanned him but a few moments 
 before, Cesario gathered his disturbed 
 garments round him with an air of severe 
 dignity, and said, — "I come not here, 
 Signor, to be the gaze of any man ; my 
 business was with the dead. — But I 
 should have asked permission to have 
 entered this place, I know I should : — 
 by heavens, I could not ask it ! — yet, I 
 do you justice ; and as a proof, I will ask 
 of you the only favour Cesario Adimari 
 ever asked of any man." 
 
 " Ask any thing — every thing I — I 
 promise!*' — exclaimed Giovanni, ar- 
 dently pressing towards him. 
 
 Cesario turned his brimming eyes down- 
 ward, — '* Preserve this piece of marble 
 from insult, or removal."
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 59 
 
 " So may I hope for mercy — so may 
 I hope at length to win your '' 
 
 " Friendship," he would have added j 
 but, wresting from him the hand he had 
 rashly taken, Cesario rushed from the 
 chapel ; and well knowing all the garden- 
 paths, soon reached the lowest terrace ; 
 whence leaping into a boat that waited 
 for him, he was half way to the vessel he 
 was to sail in, ere Giovanni had recovered 
 from his confused amazement. 
 
 D 6
 
 ( oo ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 r IVE months after this, Cesario Adimari 
 returned to Genoa, one of a wretched 
 remnant saved from shipwreck on the 
 coast of Calabria. 
 
 During his eventful absence, he had 
 often recalled the countenance and con- 
 duct of the younger Cigala ; and, in spite 
 of himself, had done so with some regret 
 for the hard necessity (as he falsely 
 deemed it) which forbade him to indulge 
 any sentiment for him less potent than 
 averseness. 
 
 Previous to the visit he paid the burial- 
 place of his father, he had gone amongst 
 some of the oldest cottagers, and ques- 
 tioned them on the ruthless changes
 
 TttE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHV. 61 
 
 which, he took it for granted, were mak- 
 ing in this favourite habitation. 
 
 He had heard then, with a mixture of 
 disappointment and reluctant pleasure, 
 that some improvements might be found 
 on the estate, but no alterations had been 
 made in the house or gardens. Many 
 had been projected by their new lord, 
 but every peasant could testify that 
 vSignor Giovanni had always an argument 
 or a prayer in favour of the old order of 
 things ; and so they remained. 
 
 Not a shrub was uprooted, nor a fancy 
 building pulled down, which Signor Adi- 
 mari had planted, or built, or frequented. 
 
 His seat under the huge cedar upon 
 the upper terrace, stood there still : Sig- 
 ner Giovanni would not let it go by any 
 other name. And the white owl which 
 had built in that cedar so many years, 
 he protected even her, when he was told 
 that Signor Adimari used to feed her. 
 
 Nay, Giovanni carried this respect for 
 the dead into more important concerns.
 
 62 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 He distributed alms on the same days as 
 had been appointed in the time of his 
 predecessor ; he procured for the servi- 
 tors and labourers the same privileges 
 granted by Adimari, and he observed 
 the same festivals. In short, every thing 
 looked as it did formerly; and nothing 
 was missed by the neighbouring poor, 
 but the gracious countenance of their 
 ancient signor, and the charming spec- 
 tacle of his son's filial fondness. Poor 
 Giovanni had not such a father, so to love 
 and honour. 
 
 With these details making their way in 
 his heart, Cesario had gone to the tombs 
 of his ancestors; and, with an additional 
 motive for esteeming Giovanni Cigala, he 
 had broken from the increasing influence 
 of his presence ; had carried its impres- 
 sion with him through a fatiguing but 
 prosperous speculation ; and was now re- 
 turned with those recollections blunted, 
 not effaced, by subsequent misfortune. 
 The fruit of his toil, the foundation on
 
 THE KXIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 63 
 
 which he hoped to build f utui'e respecta- 
 bility, together with the property his 
 employers had risked, was destroyed. 
 All had sunk in the richly -freighted ship 
 with which he was returning to Genoa ; 
 and at this period he was poorer and 
 more desperate than when he set forth. 
 
 Cesario landed in the gloom of a tliick 
 ^vinter-fog, which had gathered after the 
 ship cast anchor. He took his way along 
 the Strada Nuova, towards the house of 
 a kinsman in the Piazza dell' Acqua 
 Verde, where he had formerly found 
 hospitality. 
 
 In the l6th century, even the princi- 
 pal cities of Italy were only lighted by 
 tapers burning before the images of saints 
 and virgins in different quarters, and by 
 the lamps in the porticoes of palaces and 
 public buildings. 
 
 Thus, while one part of a street was 
 glaringly illuminated, others remained in 
 total darkness ; making them unpleasant 
 and unsafe, tempting assassination by the
 
 64 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 immediate obscurity into which a mur- 
 derer might rush, after having found his 
 victim in the brightness of some enlight- 
 ened colonnade. 
 
 Cesario was habitually finding his way 
 through streets familiar to him from in- 
 fancy, scarcely sensible of their greater 
 darkness ; when, in passing the church 
 of the Annonciata, he saw the door open, 
 and guessed by the just-kindled tapers 
 within, that vespers were not yet begun. 
 
 The home of the destitute is the house 
 of God : and whatever ceremonies are 
 performed there, it is there the unhappy 
 of every condition and every sect find 
 comfort and refuge. Cesario turned into- 
 the church. 
 
 No one was there, besides the two or 
 three servants of the chapels, whom he 
 saw at a distance through the aisles, pre-y 
 paring the vessels and censors. 
 
 The tapers before the different shrines, 
 not thoroughly lighted, threw quivering 
 and fitful gleams round the immediate 
 spots whereon they stood. The larger
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 65 
 
 branches of lights on the altar, and in 
 the dome, were not yet kindled ; so that 
 but a kind of twilight filled the church : 
 that sort of slowly-clearing twilight which 
 precedes the rising of the moon. 
 
 Imperfect as objects were, Cesario ob- 
 served that a chapel to the left of the 
 nave was hung with mourning and boughs 
 of cypress. 
 
 He approached, and entered it. 
 
 A bier, raised a few feet from the 
 ground, and surrounded by gigantic 
 black tapers burning in silver candela- 
 bras, occupied the vacant space before 
 the altar. In that age, it was customary 
 at Genoa, as it still is at Florence, to ex- 
 pose the dead for several days before they 
 are buried. Cesario drew nigh to look at 
 the deceased. 
 
 It was a young man bound in grave - 
 clothes, his golden hair encircled with a 
 garland of narcissus : the bier he lay on 
 was covered with the same pale flowers j 
 and, at the head of it, half lost among
 
 66 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 large branches of myrtle, hung the 
 armorial bearings of his family. 
 
 Cesario stooped to examine the face* 
 Mighty God! he saw the features of 
 Giovanni Cigala! He glanced to the 
 shield above that motionless head : it 
 was the twice-crowned eagle of the 
 Cigali. 
 
 He staggered — he fell against the 
 steps of the sanctuary. Stunned with 
 the shock, at that moment Cesario felt 
 that he had never been able to hate 
 Giovanni. 
 
 Drawn thither, either by the exclam- 
 ation that had escaped Cesario, or in the 
 execution of his duties, one of the ser- 
 vitors entered the chapel. Seeing a per* 
 son leaning against the rails of the altar, 
 he stopped and said something : Cesario 
 recovered himself. 
 
 " Whose body is that ?'* he asked in a 
 voice full of dismay. 
 
 •< The body of Signor Matteo Cigala," 
 replied the man.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. Qj 
 
 ** Jesu be praised 1 I thought it had 
 been Giovanni." 
 
 *< The kinsmen were much alike>*' re- 
 turned the servitor, settling some of the 
 furniture of the altar. 
 
 '* Then the Signor Giovanni is well ?'' 
 asked Cesario, approaching the bier again 
 with a steadier step, and contemplating 
 the face he had so painfully mistaken. 
 
 ** He was at mass here, yesterday," 
 replied the man. *' Poor gentleman ! he 
 looks but thin and pale since the old 
 signor died." 
 
 "What! and is he also dead?" en- 
 quired Cesario, powerfully struck. 
 
 The servitor repeated his information, 
 with the addition of the time and circum- 
 stances of the elder Cigala's death. 
 
 Cesario no longer heard what was said; 
 his mind had rushed back to the time of 
 his last return after long absence, when 
 the destroying angel had passed over his 
 house, and left it desolate. There was 
 something striking in the resemblance of
 
 68 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 the two periods : His true, it was only a 
 confused resemblance ; a similarity which 
 disappeared on examination ; but, at any 
 rate, it was a something that connected 
 both periods and both events 5 and it had 
 tlie effect of awing Cesario's dominant 
 passion into silence. 
 
 In another place, and told to him under 
 the impression of other feelings, the news 
 of Signor Cigala's death might have sent 
 a flash of gloomy joy through his breast ; 
 it might have seemed to him a just sacri- 
 fice to his father's manes : now, he pon- 
 dered on it without triumph ; and as he 
 thought of Giovanni thin and pale as 
 the servitor described, he muttered with 
 a smothered sigh, " Perhaps he loved 
 him 1" 
 
 The vesper bell had begun to ring 
 while this conversation proceeded : seve- 
 ral persons were already come in, and 
 taking their places. 
 
 Cesario hastily passed from the chapel 
 of the CigaU into the body of the church 5
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 69 
 
 and, mixing there with the rest of the 
 congregation, partook of that spiritual 
 refreshment which all needed, but which 
 none sought with more earnestness than 
 he.
 
 ( 70 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In the business of the succeeding day, 
 Cesaiio dissipated the most painful of 
 those recollections which this incident 
 had revived. He had to see the mer- 
 chants with whom he was engaged ; to 
 explain to them the circumstances of his 
 shipwreck, and to produce proofs of his 
 zeal and ability in the discharge of his 
 ill-fated commission. 
 
 The case was clearly mere misfortune ; 
 blame fell on no one : the merchants 
 W'Cre men of liberal feelings ; and, hav- 
 ing made up their minds to their own 
 loss, they oiFered Cesario the chance of 
 another adventure. 
 
 But Cesario was not formed for a life 
 of plodding calculation : he had only his
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 71 
 
 own necessities to supply ; and he re- 
 tained the prejudices of his birth, which, 
 even in a mercantile city, made it dis- 
 graceful for nobility to take a personal 
 share in commerce. 
 
 Could he obtain longer indulgence 
 from his father's creditors, he determined 
 to enter the navy of the republic : there 
 fortune might be more favourable to 
 him than in the sphere of commercial 
 speculation : at all events, his poverty 
 would then be that of a gentleman ; and 
 from his slender pay he might annually 
 set one portion apart for the liquidation 
 of his pecuniary engagements. But 
 though Cesario found sympathy and 
 kindness from many, his difficulties were 
 not of a kind to be quickly removed : 
 the chief obstacle lay in his own cha- 
 racter. 
 
 Abhon-ent of obligation, because 
 hitherto unused to it, he could not 
 brook the idea of extending the chain, 
 by paying his father's debts wkh money
 
 72 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 lent to him by a friend. To accept 
 money as a donation, was a humiliation 
 that never crossed his thoughts ; nor to 
 such a spirit would his warmest con- 
 nections have dared to offer it. It was 
 galling enough for him to solicit time 
 from the persons whose claims he ac- 
 knowledged; it was a sufficient victory 
 over his proud independence, to bend it 
 before the necessity of claiming the hos- 
 pitality of a distant kinsman, whose 
 habitation, nevertheless, had been be- 
 stowed on him by the elder Adimari. 
 
 Happily, this kinsman was not a per- 
 son by whom obligation is pressed with 
 coarse freedom : he was a man in the au- 
 tumn of life, married, but childless; not 
 burdened with riches, though possessing 
 enough for the decent elegancies of 
 life. He was syndic to the senate ; and, 
 after the official business of the day, was 
 glad to find Cesario's interesting coun- 
 tenance, and varied discourse, added to 
 the sober society of his elderly wife. 
 ' 13
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 73 
 
 From the moment Cesario came to re- 
 side with him, when driven from his pa- 
 ternal roof, the Syndic had considered 
 his house as his young kinsman's home : 
 he never thought of telHng him so, be- 
 cause he considered the thing impos- 
 sible to be doubted : it was the natural 
 course of relationship ; he acted upon 
 this worthy feeling ; and Cesario, there- 
 fore, did feel at home ; and believing his 
 gratitude gratuitous, bestowed it with 
 fuller measure. 
 
 The Syndic, when consulted, saw no 
 objection to his kinsman's choice of the 
 naval service : he might rise in it to 
 honour and fortune ; ibr his father's 
 name was still remembered with terror 
 by the enemies of Genoa, and with re- 
 spect by its friends. 
 
 The return of Cesario Adimari, and 
 Iiis increased distresses, were not long 
 unknown to Giovanni. He heard of his 
 intended application for admission into 
 the service ; and still anxious to assist 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 him, he went privately to the person who 
 superintended the marine in the absence 
 of the Prince of Melii, and obtained his 
 promise to place the noble adventurer in 
 the situation most favourable to the de- 
 velopment of his capacity. 
 
 Giovanni would fain have gone fai'ther, 
 and supplied every thing necessary for 
 the ample enuipment of the new sailor ; 
 but he remembered the fiery spirit he 
 had to deal with, and, afraid of alarming 
 its jealous delicacy, forbore to indulge 
 his own amiable wishes. 
 
 For some indulgence, indeed, Gio- 
 vanni's heart groaned. He loathed the 
 cumbersome wealth of which he was now 
 the sole possessor, since part of it was 
 the spoil of another's inheritance. But 
 how could he relieve himself from it? 
 An hereditary estate regained was not his 
 to restore ; there were numerous expect- 
 ants of the Cigala family to challenge 
 the succession ; besides which, there was 
 yet a probability (and Giovanni che-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHX. '^5 
 
 rished the hope) of the inheritance being 
 hereafter claimed by his sister, or by her 
 children. 
 
 Three years had elapsed since the dis- 
 appearance of Amadea Cigala with the 
 Chevalier de Fronsac ; and as their father's 
 anger would not allow any extensive en- 
 quiries to be made after her and her 
 husband, Giovanni hoped that the search 
 he was now instituting would be siic- 
 cessful. 
 
 Much as he censured the action by 
 which she had forfeited her paternal 
 roof, his gentle nature found much to 
 excuse in the imprudent conduct of a child, 
 who yields to the eloquence of a young 
 man by whom she is adored, to avoid 
 an union with one of an austere character 
 and forbidding aspect. 
 
 AMien Giovanni embraced the profes- 
 sion of knighthood, his sister had just 
 attained her tenth year, and four years 
 afterwards she eloped with the Che- 
 valier. Thus he knew her only as an 
 E 2
 
 76 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 innoGent and lovely little girl, whose 
 caresses used to touch, and playful spirits 
 amuse him : but he had none of those 
 extensive associations of mind and heart 
 with her, which form the dearest bond of 
 fraternal affection, and which render the 
 void left by its object lost, avoid never to 
 be filled! 
 
 He therefore prosecuted his enquiries, 
 rather for her sake than for his own. 
 
 In the very thick of these cares, he 
 heard, by an extraordinary chance, that 
 one of Cesario Adimari's creditors (the 
 only one, be it recorded for the honour 
 of human nature, who had not shown 
 the most generous forbearance) was de-" 
 termined to arrest his person for the pay- 
 ment of' his father's funeral; believing 
 that by this act he should force Cesario 
 to obtain the sum from his friends. 
 
 Without stopping to consider the effect 
 it might produce upon Cesario, Giovanni 
 hastened to discharge this debt. It was 
 no sooner done, than he recalled the
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. /? 
 
 proud aversion which Cesario had always 
 shown him ; and he, therefore, made the 
 persons concerned, promise never to 
 reveal the name of him who had satisfied 
 them. In the midst of various tumultuous 
 plans for appeasing his rapacious creditor, 
 and of gloomy forbodings, that by this 
 means he should be deprived of liberty 
 and honour, Cesario was surprised by the 
 sudden withdrawal of that demand. 
 
 He went to the creditor ; he heard 
 that the debt was paid, but the man de- 
 clined satisfying him further. 
 
 Instantly suspecting to whom he owed 
 this cruel obligation, Cesario questioned 
 the partners of the house again and agaiif. 
 He looked steadily in their faces, while 
 he deliberately named several persons by 
 whom it was possible this favour might 
 have been thrust on him. 
 
 At the name of Signor Giovanni 
 Cigala, he fancied their denials were 
 fainter, and their looks less assured. His 
 E S
 
 78 THiE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHIST. 
 
 Opinion was settled ; his resolution taken ; 
 and he left them. 
 
 When he entered the Syndic's house, 
 Cesario went straight to his own apart- 
 ment ; where, opening a small box con- 
 taining the last letter and the hair of 
 his father, he took out the only relic he 
 preserved of that father, which had a 
 value independent of its reference to 
 him. 
 
 It was indeed a relic of great price : 
 a diamond which the immortal Doria had 
 wrested from the hand of a Turkish 
 prince, which he had worn constantly 
 on his finger till the invasion of Africa by 
 Charles V. 
 
 At that disastrous period, in the me- 
 morable storm which scattered the Chris- 
 tian fleet, and wrecked its noblest vessels 
 on the Moorish coast, the ship that car- 
 ried the young hero, Gianettino Doria, 
 was stranded on a point of land, and in 
 imminent danger of being taken by the 
 enemy.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 79 
 
 The galley of his uncle the great Andrea, 
 (who commanded the fleet,) was labour- 
 ing against the same enraged elements j 
 and though too remote to succour his 
 nephew, was near enough to perceive 
 his peril, and partake his despair. 
 
 Knowing it impossible to save their 
 ^hip, and preferring death to slavery, the 
 crew of the stranded vessel cast them- 
 selves into the sea, hoping to reach 
 such of the Imperial fleet, as yet rode out 
 the storm. 
 
 Meanwhile the great Andrea stood 
 upon the deck of his distant galley, 
 watching the movements of his nephew 
 wath torturing anxiety. 
 
 Gianettino was the only one who did 
 not perish at that awful moment : he was 
 seen clinging to an oar which he had 
 fortunately reached, struggling for life, 
 yet still gallantly retaining the flag. 
 
 A boat from the admiral's ship, (manned 
 with volunteers, determined to risk every 
 danger in the attempt to rescue the 
 E 4
 
 80 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 nephew of their beloved chief,) though 
 launched with the utmost haste, was not 
 in time to meet him : exhausted by the 
 weight of the dripping banner, and the 
 fatigue of contending with the sea, he 
 let go his hold, and sank. 
 
 Signor Adimari, then a young and vi- 
 gorous man, seeing the danger of his 
 friend, plunged overboard from the boat; 
 and buiFetting the outrageous billows 
 with the strength of enthusiastic reso- 
 lution, reached the wave above which 
 Gianettino's bright face was raised for an 
 instant, — that would have been his last 
 look of this world, had not Adimari 
 grasped him by the hair. Holding his 
 gallant prey with one hand, with the 
 other he supported himself against the 
 roaring current, until rescued by the 
 boat ; whence he was transferred with 
 the young hero and the banner of the 
 Republic to the vessel of the admiral. 
 
 It was on this occasion that the vener- 
 able patriot exclaimed, while clasping this
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHX. iSl 
 
 beloved nephew in his arms, — ^** Heaven 
 has permitted thee to be in such extre- 
 mity, only to show the world that Andrea 
 Doria can shed a tear.*' 
 
 The ring Cesario now held in his 
 hand, had been transferred at that 
 moment from the finger of Andrea to 
 that of Adimari. It was the pledge of 
 their futurse friendship ; it was the me- 
 morial of his father's intrepidity, and of 
 Doria's gratitude ; it was the sacred wit- 
 ness of an affection between youth and 
 age in the persons of son and nephew, 
 than which neither ancient nor modern 
 history hath aught superior. 
 
 Yet this ring he must either part 
 with, merely for its intrinsic value, (which 
 was in truth prodigious,) and so let it 
 pass into the common tide of costly or- 
 naments ; or he must sit down under the 
 load of an obligation to a Cigala ; or he 
 must do violence to his proud nature, 
 and ask of the Dorias an equivalent for 
 E 5
 
 82 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 the Jewel, he should offer to render back 
 to their family. 
 
 Each of these alternatives had its mor- 
 tifications, yet of one he must make 
 choice. 
 
 The two first he dismissed after a 
 short consideration 5 the last he revolved 
 several times. 
 
 According to every received notion, 
 the Doria family certainly stood indebted 
 to his father for a benefit which no pecu- 
 niary consideration could requite ; . any 
 present, however princely, could only be 
 considered a pledge of their eternal gra- 
 titude ; yet, since the death of the great 
 Andrea, the Adimari had never sought 
 or needed their favour. 
 
 It is true, the Podestat of Corsica had 
 been given to Signor Adimari by Andrea 
 Doria's voluntary influence ; but it had 
 been transferred from him to Signor 
 Cigala after Andrea's death ; and Adi- 
 mari, (hastily ascribing this mortification 
 to lukewarmness in his friend's successor,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 83 
 
 Gianettino,) silently displeased, mthdrew 
 from those habits of intimacy which had 
 been the consequence of former obliga- 
 tion. 
 
 By thus removing himself from the 
 society of the Doria family, Signer 
 Adimari occasionally faded from their 
 thoughts. Gianettino, Prince of Melfi, 
 now admiral of the republic, and father 
 of a numerous family, w^as too little on 
 shore to spare much time for the culti- 
 vation of particular friendships ; and as 
 Signor Adimari mixed no longer in the 
 pubhc business of the city, he met him 
 too rarely for the renewal of a right 
 understandino;. 
 
 For some time previous, and subse- 
 quent to the death of his presener, the 
 admiral had been at sea ; whence he re- 
 turned not till Cesario was set forth on 
 his unfortunate voyage to Syria. 
 
 Since then, the prince had made many 
 affectionate enquiries after the son of his 
 old friend j and those being reported to 
 E 6
 
 84 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Cesario by the Syndic, induced him to 
 Tesolve on making the sacrifice of this 
 treasured trophy to Gianettino. 
 
 With a swelling heart and an unsteady 
 hand, Cesario sat down to address him as 
 follows : — 
 
 " TO THE PRINCE OF MELFI. 
 
 " Your Highness must have heard oi 
 my father's death, and of the hard decree 
 which occasioned it : I will not enlarge 
 upon the subject of my greatest grief j 
 it is enough that I am stripped of every 
 thing except honour and self-respect. 
 
 <* My father left many debts behind him, 
 incurred by the suit at law, and by heavy 
 losses at sea: I have done all in my 
 power to cancel these debts ; but my 
 means fail j and I am reduced to the 
 necessity of selling the only valuable 1 
 possess, to get rid of a pecuniary obliga- 
 tion which is peculiarly intolerable to 
 me, having been forced on me by one of 
 the Cigali.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHX. 85 
 
 " The valuable I allude to is thediamond 
 which was given to my father in the year 
 1541, on the night of the l6th, I would 
 not have it pass into common hands ; I 
 would not sell it to save my life ; but the 
 present necessity is urgent, and I offer it 
 to the nephew of the great Doria for just 
 so many ducats as will release me from 
 the bondage of debt ; after that my way 
 is clear, — a life, or a death of glory. 
 
 " Cesario Adimari." 
 
 Whoever has trod but a third of life's 
 briary path, and has not looked on the 
 cares and calamiti-es which obstructed 
 his way as merely accidents, must often 
 have been led to remark, that during this 
 trying pilgrimage we are generally as- 
 sailed in our most vulnerable part : the 
 thorns pierce where our flesh is ten- 
 derest ; the sorrow strikes where our sen- 
 sibility is most acute. Mliatever be the 
 passion which predominates over every 
 other, and makes our hopes and fears
 
 86 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 and efforts all tend towards its gratifica- 
 tion, it is from that quarter the severest 
 disappointments await us. 
 
 Thus Cesario's cherished sin was pride ; 
 and successive humiliations were ordained 
 to level that inordinate pride with the 
 dust. Sometimes it was to be mortified 
 by indignities ; sometimes it was to be 
 vanquished by kindness ; but till the dis- 
 cipline of events should finally subdue it, 
 never was that intention of Providence 
 undiscernible by a reflecting mind. 
 
 Cesario remained in a state of tumultu- 
 ous agitation from the time of dispatching 
 his letter till the return of his messenger : 
 now he approved, and now he condemned 
 the step he had taken ; alternately thought 
 himself too humble, or too lofty ; and 
 finally groaned over the days of thought- 
 less boyhood, when he knew money only 
 as a medium of bounty and pleasure. 
 
 His father's image came with bitterer 
 anguish to his memory, because that 
 sacred image was connected, not only
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 87 
 
 with his years of enjoyment, but with 
 those of independence. 
 
 The answering billet from Prince 
 Doria found him thus agitated, and still 
 alone ; he read its contents so rapidly, 
 that he might be said to have taken them 
 in at a single glance : — 
 
 LETTER. 
 
 " You have laid me under as great an 
 obligation, signor, as that which I received 
 from your noble father twenty-three years 
 ago : I would not, for half my illustrious 
 uncle's fame, have had the ring you 
 write of pass into any other families 
 than those of Doria and Adimari. As I 
 see what spirit you are of, (though I 
 could wish its edge less keen,) I will not 
 offend it by arguments which may here- 
 after find a fitter season ; allow me at 
 present to pray only, that you will esti- 
 mate the jewel at whatever value you 
 please, and suffer me to consider it as a
 
 88 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 mere deposit for you, or your heirs, to 
 claim at some future day. 
 
 *< My treasurer, by whom I send this 
 letter, will take charge of the ring, and 
 give you an order upon the bank of 
 St. George for whatever sum you may 
 choose to receive. 
 
 " That affair settled, I shall claim the 
 privilege of your late father's grateful 
 friend, and hope in that character to be 
 allowed the gratification of forwarding 
 you in the military life it seems you are 
 on the point of embracing. 
 
 (Signed,) Gianettino Doria, 
 
 Prince of Melfi.'' 
 
 Cesario read this letter several times, 
 as if he could not sufficiently take in all 
 its generous meaning ; but it soothed a 
 proud heart, rankling with former wounds, 
 and it threw over his dark fortunes the 
 first beam of light which had brightened 
 them for many months.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 89 
 
 Yet when he summoned the Prince's 
 treasurer, after long delay, it was with 
 difficulty he preserved that command 
 over himself which is so necessary for 
 dignity. 
 
 A countenance all movement and ex- 
 pression ; speaking eyes, which involun- 
 tarily sought the looks of those he con- 
 versed wdth ; and a cheek that alter- 
 nately took the hue of all his emotions, 
 were not features to be trusted when 
 propriety demanded an appearance of 
 tranquillity. He named hastily a sum 
 just adequate for his honourable pur- 
 poses ; and consigning the ring to the 
 treasurer, with a short billet for the 
 Prince, took the order on the bank, and 
 dismissed his visitant,
 
 ( 90 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It was then that Cesario*s freed heart 
 sprang back with the violence of a bow 
 long bent ; the passions of suffering 
 pride, of self-pity, of struggling inclina- 
 tion and of prejudice, of gratitude and 
 reviving hope, mingled their torrents 
 down his cheeks ; and in that solitary 
 hour, all the pleasures, the pains, the 
 hardships and the enjoyments, the pos- 
 sessions and the privations of his former 
 life, were crowded by memory. 
 
 To the natives of colder regions, these 
 sudden abandonments to every passion 
 of the instant, may appear unmanly ; but 
 nature varies human character as infi- 
 nitely as she does the modes of animal 
 and vegetable existence ; and amongst
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. Ql 
 
 our southern neighbours, every feeling 
 assumes such a character of \ivacity, that 
 it is no more susceptible of concealment 
 than the lineaments of the face are ca- 
 pable of alteration. These franker people 
 attach no shame to the display of a passion 
 which is not in itself, or by its direction, 
 criminal ; they are ignorant of characters 
 like that of the English, whose heart's 
 workings are kept from sight with as 
 much jealousy as a Turkish husband 
 guards his Haram ; where the profoundest 
 sensibilities are habitually repressed, and 
 a surface of ice spread over a soil of fire. 
 In addition to this character of coun- 
 try, Cesario was further privileged by 
 the manner of the age he lived in ; it 
 was an age of stormy revolution, perils 
 and change knocked at the gates of all 
 the Italian states ; and in a country 
 where every thing increased the spirit of 
 party, and each individual attached him- 
 self to a favourite leader or kinsman, the
 
 92 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 vicissitudes, even of the humblest station, 
 were singularly striking. 
 
 Thus, strong passions were kept in 
 constant action ; aversions and attach- 
 ments were strengthened by injuries and 
 obligations of more than ordinary pro- 
 portions y and the human soul, disdaining 
 mere pleasures for the game of life, de- 
 manded the agitation of powerful affec- 
 tions and the stake of happiness. 
 
 Thus, the times of which we speak 
 were as fruitful in heroic actions as in 
 great crimes ; and if they chronicled the 
 horrid act of one brother tearing out the 
 eyes of another, they opposed to it the 
 beautiful instance of a son expiring of 
 grief at sight of his father's tomb. 
 
 Cesario Adimari had all that vigour of 
 passion which makes character either 
 formidable or admirable, as that passion 
 is used ; and he was now at that mo- 
 mentous period of life when the character 
 receives its final direction towards good 
 or evil : that even period between youth
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 93 
 
 and manhood, in which the soul takes a 
 steady sur\^ey of its owti prospects and 
 powers, and strikes at once into the dark 
 road of selfishness, or the bright track of 
 heroism. 
 
 On the intimacies he should now cul- 
 tivate, and the habits he should now 
 form, much of his future fate must de- 
 pend. He felt this : and while he re- 
 joiced to re-enter the noble circle of the 
 Doria family, he almost grieved to think 
 that Giovanni Cigala, whose gentleness 
 attracted, and whose goodness would have 
 attached him, was the only living being 
 whom it would be impious for him to 
 cherish in friendship. 
 
 Firmly persuaded that the more diffi- 
 cult it was for him to shun and to abhor 
 this amiable enemy, the greater was the 
 sacrifice to filial duty, he lost no time in 
 ridding himself of unsought obligation. 
 P'or this purpose he sought Giovanni at 
 his house in the Strada Lomellino. 
 He was gone into the country.
 
 94 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 *' To Campo Marone or to Nervi?*' 
 " To Nervi." Even there Cesario had 
 the resolution to seek him. 
 
 Giovanni was walking up and down a 
 winter-walk, open to the sun and the 
 prospects of the south, when he was told 
 that young Signor Adimari waited him 
 in the house. *' Did I hear you rightly?" 
 asked Giovanni, astonished. The servant 
 repeated his information : then, quickly 
 guessing the business of his haughty 
 countryman, Giovanni hastened to find 
 him. 
 
 Ten minutes' solitude in a room where 
 the happiest part of his life had been 
 chiefly spent, assisted Cesario to smother 
 such of his peculiar feelings towards the 
 generosity of Giovanni, as he now doubly 
 deemed it his duty not to show ; for these 
 ten minutes of racking remembrance 
 made a heavy addition to the resentment 
 he bore the race of Cigala. 
 
 His eye and his step had more than 
 their usual haughtiness when he ad- 
 15
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 93 
 
 vanced to meet Giovanni : — " You guess 
 my business, Signor Cigala," said Ce- 
 sario ; and he emphasized that name, as 
 if he meant to fortify his resolution by 
 its sound. 
 
 " Any business is welcome which gives 
 me the satisfaction of seeing you," re- 
 plied Giovanni, purposely evading the 
 question. 
 
 Cesario fixed his eyes on him — fixed 
 them somewhat severely :— '' I must not 
 expect you, signor, to confess, unques- 
 tioned, a transaction which you have 
 taken such pains to conceal -, but I do 
 expect from you a direct answer to this 
 question : — Is it to you I am indebted for 
 the payment of - — •■ — ?" and he named 
 the debt. 
 
 Giovanni did not speak : only a deeper 
 red coloured his cheek. That gene- 
 rous glow, that dignified silence, smote 
 Cesario ; and rapidly changing, not 
 merely in voice, but in look, he added, 
 *' I thank you for your amiable intentions.
 
 96 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 sigiior : it is all I can ever bring myself 
 to thank a Cigala for. Your silence wants 
 no interpreter : again I thank you." He 
 laid a heavy purse upon the table as he 
 spoke, and took up his hat. 
 
 " Unkind !" exclaimed Giovanni, with 
 unusual vehemence. 
 
 " Ungrateful ! perhaps you mean ?" 
 said Cesario, darting on him an eye of 
 fire. '' But when favours are thus forced 
 on us, by hands we abhor, what have we 
 to do with gratitude ? Be this the last 
 time that my feelings are thus outraged : 
 — Signor, it must be the last." 
 
 ** I have mistaken your character," 
 said Giovanni, drawing back with an air 
 of chagrin and self-respect. " I fancied 
 it accessible to all kindly emotions : but 
 
 it must have been no! it could not 
 
 have been pride that looked so noble to 
 me under the semblance of filial piety !" 
 
 The just indignation with which this 
 speech began, and the sudden return to 
 generous inference with which it ended,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOUy. 97 
 
 made Cesario blush : " What is it you 
 would wring from me ?** he asked, in a 
 relenting tone. 
 
 " Some show of that common good- 
 will with which man looks on man," re- 
 plied Giovanni. " I could ill support 
 this frightful outlawry from any one of 
 my fellow-creatures, much less from 
 you." 
 
 ** And why less from me than from 
 another?" asked Cesario, turning away 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Do not these walls answer you ?" 
 said Giovanni, in a low voice. 
 
 *< Yes, they do answer me!" exclaimed 
 the kindling Cesario. ** They speak to 
 me with a hundred tongue^ ! — that spot, 
 whereon my father used to stand — those 
 trees, which I see from this window, and 
 which his hand planted — yonder dismal 
 pile, where his sacred ashes rest without a 
 
 monument, — all speak, and bid me " 
 
 Cesario stopped suddenly, struck with a 
 recollection of the promise he bad sought 
 
 VOl^. I. F
 
 dS THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 from Giovanni at their meeting in the 
 chapel. Vanquished by that recollection, 
 he sunk upon a seat, burying his face in 
 his hands. 
 
 Giovanni guessed his thoughts, but 
 forbore to give his own, utterance. 
 
 After a long silence, Cesario rose. 
 <« Blame our fate. Cigala," he said, with 
 penetrating puthos, " it is that which 
 has made us enemies. I should have 
 been your friend, your grateful friend, 
 had you been the son of another man ; 
 but as it is, my father's shade would rise 
 and curse me, were I to trust myself 
 longer within the powerful influence of 
 your character." 
 
 Again Cesaj-io escaped from the eager 
 grasp of Giovanni's hand, just as he had 
 again excited the hope of future amity ; 
 and again Giovanni saw his kind exer- 
 tions baffled, his benevolence spurned; 
 and was left to contemplate all that he 
 possessed in the luxuriant scene around
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 99 
 
 him, only as the abundant luel of a never- 
 ceasing remorse. 
 
 Cesario's next duty was to visit the 
 Palazzo Doria, and acknowledge the 
 friendship of its princely master : but 
 agitated by the past scene, and unwilling 
 to present himself in such a tremor of 
 spirit, instead of proceeding through the 
 city, he turned aside towards that quar- 
 ter where the Albergo now stands ; seek- 
 ing to tranquillise himself among the 
 solitary groves which then occupied the 
 present site of that building. 
 
 His retirement was, however, soon in- 
 vaded. Scarcely had he attained tlie 
 level of the hill, when he heard the 
 tinkling of falcons' bells, mingled with 
 the agreeable tumult of animated con- 
 versation and the prancing of steeds : 
 the next moment he espied a party re- 
 turning from hawking, 
 
 Cavaliers and ladies, falconers and 
 pages, were mixed together in pleasing 
 confusion. The gay colours of their dif- 
 
 F 2
 
 100 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHK. 
 
 ferent habits, the feathers on die heads 
 of the ladies' palfreys, and the fanciful 
 hoods of the birds, made an amusing 
 picture ; and Cesario, in another mood, 
 might have paused to look at it. He 
 would now have struck into a side path, 
 had not his attention been momentarily 
 caught by an object, singular at that 
 period — a little open car drawn by four 
 Neapolitan horses. 
 
 Seen from a short distance, these ele- 
 gant animals appeared hardly larger than 
 greyhounds : they wore silver collars, 
 through which passed reins of azure silk ; 
 and were guided by a young creature, 
 whose slight form happily harmonised 
 with the fantastic character of her car- 
 riage. 
 
 She was standing, less from skill than 
 from exuberant spirits : as she passed, 
 the wind, ruffling her light garments, be- 
 trayed the ancle of an Atalanta, and 
 kindled the colours of Aurora upon her 
 cheek. Half-laughing, half-fearful, she
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. 101 
 
 held the reins, contending again ^ the 
 rough blast and the spirited action of her 
 horses. 
 
 In the act of passing Cesario, the wind 
 blew off her thin scarf; he caught it ; 
 returned it to her, bow^d, received a 
 gracious glance from a pair of bright 
 blue eyes, and went on. 
 
 A second afterwards, he turned round 
 to observe whether so careless and skill- 
 less a driver proceeded safely. Her 
 horses were still checked, and she was 
 standing looking back after him : he 
 lifted his hat again, but he staid not; 
 his head and heart were full of other 
 things ; and leaving the sprightly caval- 
 cade to their mirth, and the lady to her 
 meditations, he proceeded on his cir- 
 cuitous way to the Palazzo Doria. 
 
 None but emotions of the most plea- 
 surable sort awaited him there. 
 
 The prince received him cordially ; 
 entered with interest into his concerns, 
 and frankly discussed the subject upon 
 F 3
 
 lOS THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 which the elder Adimari had withdrawn 
 from his society. 
 
 From this discussion, it was manifest 
 to Cesario, that his father had greatly 
 overrated the prince's influence. From 
 amiable unwillingness to dwell upon 
 what pained him in human character, and 
 having abstained from investigating the 
 affair, lest what was then only suspicion, 
 should be made certainty, Signor Adimari 
 had lost the opportunity of discovering 
 his own error. 
 
 It was evident, that Gianettino's in- 
 terest had been exerted to the utmost; 
 and that he in his turn, hurt at ** having 
 Jiis good, evil thought of,'- had receded 
 like his friend. 
 
 This explanation not only convinced 
 Cesario of the Doria's sincerity, but fur- 
 ther unveiled to him the indefatigable 
 intrigues of the elder Cigala : he was 
 therefore less disposed than ever to enter 
 into a league of amity with his son j and
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. lOS 
 
 less tenacious than heretofore, in accept- 
 ing the friendship of Doria. 
 
 Frankness was natural to Cesario : 
 there were now no resentments, nor pride 
 to bar its way: he became easy and com- 
 municative ; first giving Doria a sum- 
 mary of his past history ; then explaining 
 to him his views and wishes for the 
 future. 
 
 With far more of the artless sailor in 
 him, than of the discerning statesman. 
 Prince Doria did not penetrate the re- 
 cesses of Cesario's character ; he saw him 
 only such as he appeared at that moment 5 
 avowedly jealous of obligation, and bent 
 upon laying the first stone of his own 
 fortunes. 
 
 Indeed Cesario deprecated any further 
 favour from this distinguished friend, than 
 that of placing him in his ship, and ad- 
 vancing him in proportion to his deserts. 
 Subsistence and honour were all he co- 
 veted ; he therefore sought nothing be- 
 F 4
 
 104 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 yond the admiral's protection from ne- 
 glect or envy. 
 
 When Cesario sincerely protested, that 
 common pleasures were indifferent to him j 
 and that he disdained the mere trappings 
 of wealth, however glittering, Doria 
 smiled at such philosophic austerity in a 
 man of twenty-four, while he praised his 
 spirit for spurning favours from theCigali. 
 
 A closer observer would have discovered 
 in the vehement eloquence of Cesario, 
 while describing his griefs, his resentments, 
 and his scorn of life's minor enjoyments, 
 that dangerous excess of sensibility which 
 sooner or later must find its object ; and 
 which was even now vibrating between a 
 yearning towards Giovanni Cigala, and 
 that pride which bid him shun, and that 
 erroneous piety which bid him hate the 
 man whose father had beggared his. 
 
 Cesario would not have been displeased, 
 had Prince Doria combatted his resolu- 
 tion of avoiding Giovanni : but as the 
 prince did not do so, he concluded that
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 105 
 
 the resolution was a right one ; and that 
 if he should ever swerve from it, the 
 weakness would digrace him. In fact, 
 the Genoese hero, hurried away by Ce-. 
 sario's impetuous oratory, mistook pas- 
 sion's torrent for the force of truth ; 
 simply because it swept his judgment 
 along with it. He saw clearly, that Ce- 
 sario would not accept the least assist- 
 ance from Giovanni Cigala ; therefore, to 
 urge them into intimacy, would be doing 
 needless violence to the former's filial 
 principles. 
 
 The prince knew very little of the per- 
 son in question : for since Giovanni's 
 •return from Malta, Doria was divided 
 between public duties and the anxieties 
 of a large family ; some of whom vexed 
 his heart, and embarrassed his finances. 
 
 The prince w^as consequently unable 
 to estimate the moral advantage which 
 his young friend might reap from such an 
 intimacy; as little did he suspect that 
 Cesario's inclination was at war with his 
 F 5
 
 106 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 principles, (at least with those powerful 
 passions which he mistook for principles;) 
 and that, almost unconsciously, he waited 
 only the sanction of another, to break 
 the bonds of his ardent nature, and let it 
 spring forth to meet that of Giovanni 
 with noble rivalry of confidence. 
 
 Unable to fathom the depths of that 
 profound sensibility, of which he saw but 
 the agitated surface, Doria believed there 
 would be neither utility nor good man- 
 ners in attempting to argue Cesario out 
 of resolutions, which, however over- 
 strained, were honourable, and he con- 
 cluded agreeable to his feelings: he 
 therefore forebore to discuss the subject. 
 
 Having settled the mode and the pe- 
 riod, in which Cesario's services would 
 be required, Doria invited him to join his 
 domestic circle; where, in a numerous 
 family consisting of young men and wo- 
 men, all unbroken in health, hopes, and 
 hilarity, Cesario's wintry humour warmed 
 into a social glow.
 
 ( w ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 From this auspicious day, his fortune 
 appeared to return : the Palazzo Doria 
 was ever open to him ; and though its 
 master had not much time to bestow on 
 the concerns of any one unconnected with 
 his own family, Cesario never found him 
 cold to his communication, nor luke- 
 warm in his exertions. 
 
 An expedition was fitting out in the 
 ports of Genoa, of which Doria was to 
 take the command ; and having appointed 
 Cesario to his own ship, he exhorted him 
 to employ the intermediate time in study- 
 ing the principles of a profession, which 
 required science united with valour in its 
 votaries. 
 
 F 6
 
 108 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 At that age when the spirit of adven- 
 ture begins to dawn in the youthful 
 mind, Cesario, in common with other 
 boys, delighted in reading voyages, and 
 listening to his father's narratives of na- 
 val exploits : since then, his own expe- 
 rience had given him some insight into 
 navigation. Nature had bestowed on 
 him the materials of military superi- 
 ority ; and as all of naval tactics then 
 known, was principally the fruit of the 
 great Doria's genius, his nephew's in- 
 structions were nearly all-sufficient. 
 
 The prospect of activity, and peril, and 
 distinction, roused the soul of Cesario. 
 To the bitterness of grief, with which 
 he had mourned the loss of his father, 
 succeeded the animating belief that his 
 sacred shade witnessed his present ex- 
 ertions, and would brighten in his fu- 
 ture fame. He had shaken off the load 
 of debt ; he was free from any galling 
 obligation, and though now but a child
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 109 
 
 of fortune, he had conquered for himself 
 respect from all with whom he mingled. 
 
 This change of circumstances, by re- 
 storing to him the conscious dignity of 
 independence, completely changed his 
 appearance. It was no longer necessary 
 for him to flash a threatening spirit in 
 the eyes of the world, and to show, by 
 a frowning brow, that immediate venge- 
 ance would follow insult. He was 
 still noble ; he was again free (for debt 
 is slavery) ; and, with that conscious- 
 ness, he became kindly, indulgent, and 
 amiable. 
 
 Like all other expeditions, that of the 
 republic was delayed from week to week : 
 its object was co-operation with the 
 troops and fleet of Spain, which were 
 then slowly collecting for the purpose of 
 regaining the rock and fortress ofelpenoji 
 de Velez, 
 
 This fortress, situated close to the 
 African coast, and once in the possession 
 of a Christian power, at that time ef-
 
 110 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN- 
 
 factually bridled the insolence of the 
 corsairs j but it was now in the hands of 
 the Moors, and every Christian state be-^ 
 came interested in its reduction. 
 
 An expedition against this place had 
 the best chance of success, if undertaken 
 when the prospect of intercepting the 
 galleons in their return from the new 
 world should have carried out the ene- 
 my's cruizers. It was therefore agreed, 
 that, immediately on this event, the 
 Spanish commanders should issue forth 
 for Penon de Velez, while Prince Doria 
 with the Genoese galleys should follow, 
 and destroy the pirates, or at least 
 render their return to succour the fort- 
 ress doubtful, if not impossible. 
 
 Upon tidings of the India ships, and 
 the appearance of the pirates, depended 
 the departure of the fleet : Cesario was 
 consequently forced to wait in Genoa, 
 till his burning desire of quitting it was 
 nearly destroyed by new hopes and new 
 inclinations.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. Ill 
 
 Marco Doria, one of his noble friend's 
 younger sons, had lately returned from 
 travelling in foreign countries 5 and be- 
 ing of an amusing, kindly character, had 
 first pleased, and then almost attached 
 Cesario. 
 
 Tliere was a sort of good-humoured 
 caprice about Marco, which served to 
 give his society that piquancy, without 
 which common pleasures had no relish 
 for Cesario ; and, as that caprice was 
 never directed upon him, this liking was 
 the more flattering. 
 
 In fact, Marco's caprices were rather 
 those of humour than of heart; and 
 were oftener affected than real. At first 
 they had been purely natural ; but now, 
 from indulgence, and from seeing their 
 effect in procuring him the privileges of 
 a character, he rather fostered than 
 sought to weed them out. 
 
 By turns Cesario smiled at, and re- 
 proved, and smiled again on the fantastic 
 moods which made Marco, in the course
 
 112 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 of a single day, alternately a cynic, a 
 sybarite, a devotee, and a hero. His 
 brave father, often heart-wrung by the 
 shameful irregularities of an elder son, 
 and the profuse expenditure of another, 
 had no anger to waste upon venial fol- 
 lies ; so that if Marco appeared in the 
 morning with the look and the dress of 
 a philosopher, and at night with the 
 tinsel and talk of a coxcomb, he simply 
 shook his head, muttered " Foolish boy !*' 
 and bade Cesario teach him to act and 
 look like a man. 
 
 Dividing his time between professional 
 studies and occasional recreation, Cesario 
 passed from the grave abode of the syn- 
 dic to the sprightlier Palazzo Doria ; 
 seldom frequenting other houses, there- 
 fore rarely thrown in the way of Giovanni 
 Cigala. 
 
 The retired habits and peaceful pur- 
 suits of the latter tended to remove 
 them from each other ; but at times they 
 met at mass, or at public festivities, or in
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 113 
 
 the streets ; and whenever they did so, 
 Giovanni carried the idea of Cesario 
 back with him to his solitary home ; and 
 Cesario was rendered thoughtful for the 
 remainder of the day. 
 
 Giovanni sought him no longer ; but 
 the expression of countenance with which 
 he returned the passing salute of Cesario, 
 convinced the latter that he must attri- 
 bute this change to delicacy, not to in- 
 difference ; and that, as he had found 
 friendship and the means of honourable 
 subsistence from other than the generous 
 son of his father's enemy, he need ap- 
 prehend no further intrusion from the 
 man who had sought him on purely be- 
 nevolent principles. 
 
 There were moments when Cesario 
 felt tempted to stop Giovanni as they 
 met, and proffer that acquaintance which 
 could no longer receive an interpretation 
 wounding to jealous pride. But still 
 one feeling interposed, one feeling was 
 unappeased — the remembrance of his
 
 114 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 father, "done to death" by the elder 
 Cigala. 
 
 At this recollection the kindly glow 
 left his heart, and he would pass quickly 
 by, with an averted head. Giovanni 
 failed not to remark these repelling looks, 
 and was at length unwillingly convinced, 
 that he and Cesario Adimari were indeed 
 not fated to knit the knot of amity. True 
 to his habitual confidence in the wisdom 
 of Heaven, he reconciled himself under 
 the disappointment, and turned his sym- 
 pathy into another channel. 
 
 The task is not hard, when our ima- 
 gination has been the source of the 
 baffled affection : Giovanni lived to feel 
 the difference between such an affection, 
 when but a courted inclination, and when 
 worked into the soul by time and trial — 
 when become part of its being, and 
 cruelly torn thence by ungrateful vio- 
 lence. 
 
 Hitherto he had seen only the inter- 
 esting and agitating parts of Cesario's
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1 15 
 
 character : chance gave him an opportu- 
 nity of observing how enchantingly that 
 character was varied, and how capable it 
 was of diffusing all the charms of mind 
 over social intercourse. 
 
 He went by mere accident one even- 
 ing to a conversazione. A numerous 
 party was assembled when he entered j 
 it was broken into detached sets ; and in 
 one of those he discovered Cesario. In 
 the instant of making this discovery, 
 Giovanni withdrew himself as much as 
 possible from observation. 
 
 He then remarked, that the persons 
 by whom Cesario was encircled were ex- 
 actly those most distinguished by that 
 eloquent talent de societe which illumi- 
 nates the dullest subject, and bestows 
 nearly absolute power upon the possessor. 
 These persons were evidently absorbed 
 by the superior eloquence of Cesario. 
 
 As Giovanni continued steadily to 
 watch his movements, he conceived not 
 liow the same man could look so different.
 
 116 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 yet leave no doubt of his identity. The 
 darkness of despair, and the fierceness 
 of irritated pride, were vanished from 
 that singularly-beautiful face ; all there 
 was openness, and hilarity, and bright- 
 ness. Wherever Cesario's eyes rested, 
 they rested with an expression at once 
 sweet, inviting, and kindly : he smiled 
 frequently; and he smiled like one 
 who neither distrusts nor dreads any of 
 the persons around him ; like one who 
 sees that he is admired, and listened to 
 with pleasure, and whom that convic- 
 tion only renders more inclined to like 
 and admire in return. 
 
 The animation of his gestures, joined 
 to the interesting variety of his counte- 
 nance, but, above all, the deep atten- 
 tion of those about him, left Giovanni 
 without a doubt that he was detailing 
 some remarkable adventure, or enforcing 
 some favourite opinion. What magic 
 must there be in his eloquence, thus to 
 rivet so many eyes and thoughts upon
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 117 
 
 him alone ; thus to charm even Envy it- 
 self into admiration ! How did Gio- 
 vanni wish that he, too, might have be- 
 come a listener! — but, fearful of disturb- 
 ing that happy flow of soul, and reluct- 
 ant to overshadow that brilliant sunshine, 
 he kept aloof for some time, and at last 
 quitted the assembly. 
 
 If Giovanni afterwards recalled the 
 scene of this evening, and thought on it 
 with regret, that he must never hope to 
 enjoy the intimacy, and share in the feel- 
 ings of one so liberally endowed by na- 
 ture, he consoled himself by believing 
 that Cesario had, at least, regained his 
 original capacity of happiness, and was 
 entering a career which might lead to 
 fortune. 
 
 Though Giovanni's character was 
 deeply tinctured with romance, it was 
 not that blameable romance w'hich de- 
 taches the mind from its legitimate ob- 
 jects of interest, and weds it to some 
 hopeless or useless attachment : he saw
 
 118 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 Cesario no longer destitute and desolate ; 
 he turned, therefore, from contemplating 
 his situation to active duties and dearer 
 interests. In a very short time he be- 
 came entirely engrossed by the wish of 
 discovering his sister. 
 
 From the relatives of the Chevalier 
 de Fronsac, to whom he wrote with a 
 fraternal anxiety which opened their 
 hearts in return, he learned, that, shortly 
 after her marriage, she accompanied her 
 husband to Naples, whither he was car- 
 ried by an unsettled humour ; that they 
 had continued there some time, then 
 passed into Sicily, whence, after another 
 sojourn of a few months, they had em- 
 barked for Marseilles, with the purpose 
 of returning to settle in France. 
 
 But ere they had gone a third of their 
 voyage, the Chevalier, with his usual 
 fickleness, landed at one of the Papal 
 ports, intending to cross Italy into France. 
 From that period (now more than two 
 years), no tidings had been heard either
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHK. 119 
 
 of him, his wife, or their domestics. So, 
 whether they had re-embarked in some 
 other vessel, and perished by shipwreck ; 
 whether they had been robbed and mur- 
 dered by banditti, or were living, for 
 some unaccountable reason, in voluntary 
 privacy, the family of De Fronsac knew 
 not. 
 
 The chateau of the Chevalier was now 
 occupied by a cousin, the legal heir ; and 
 his mother was retired into a religious 
 house. 
 
 From this account it seemed too pro- 
 bable that Madame de Fronsac and her 
 husband had perished at sea : for it was 
 unlikely that not one of their domestics 
 should have escaped, if their fate had 
 been to fall amongst robbers ; still less 
 likely, if they were dwelling in any other 
 part of Europe, that not one should quit 
 them, and return to his native country, 
 
 Giovanni sometimes feared it was a 
 forlorn hope to seek further ; yet he 
 could not rest satisfied, until he went to
 
 1^0 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Ostia, the port where the Sicihan ship 
 had landed them, and where it seemed 
 just possible that his personal enquiries 
 might elicit some new light, and lead to 
 the discovery of his sister's fate. 
 
 He had projects for his future life, 
 which he would not realise till this im- 
 portant point should be cleared ; at least 
 till the death of his imprudent sister, and 
 the extinction of her race, should amount 
 to certainty. 
 
 Leaving his property under the care of 
 a relation, he therefore quitted Genoa, 
 hopeless of success, though resolute to 
 attempt it.
 
 ( 121 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 While Giovanni was pursuing his jour- 
 ney among the Maritime Alps, calmly 
 surveying the more important path of life 
 which lay before him, and revolving 
 whether he were to tread it singly, or en- 
 circled by domestic ties, Cesario Adimari 
 was rapidly losing the gloomy retrospec- 
 tion of past sorrows in the hopes and 
 fears of new attachments. 
 
 " I am going to the Palazzo Rosso," 
 said Mai'co Doria, one morning entering 
 Cesario's apartment at the Syndic's ; *' do 
 accompany me, Adimari ; I require some 
 one to divide with me the toil of listen- 
 ing to a little coquette in the bud ; for her 
 arts are not full-blown yet ; and I know 
 you love me well enough, to be that self- 
 devoted victim." 
 
 VOL. I. ' G
 
 1^2 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOffiT^ 
 
 Cesario smiled at the affected languor 
 with which his friend spoke. He re- 
 minded him, how often they had heard 
 the Signora Brignoletti spoken of in terms 
 of rapture ; and requested to know what 
 his objections could be against one so 
 generally admired. 
 
 Marco was in a wrangling mood : he 
 quarrelled with the lady's beauties and 
 accomplishments ; he proved, that every 
 one of her graces and merits was neutra- 
 lised by some opposite quality of mind 
 or person. 
 
 True, she was gifted with the talent 
 of chaunting extempore verses ; and when 
 she opened her mouth, " music dwelt 
 within that coral cave ;*' but then she 
 was scarcely seventeen, and at that age 
 shamefacedness was worth all the genius 
 of a Sappho. 
 
 She talked well upon every subject ; 
 for if she knew nothing of them, she 
 nevertheless uttered the most ingenious 
 fancies, or the most amusing absurdities.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1^23 
 
 without hesitation; yet, after alJ, was not 
 a woman's virtue, ignorance ? her best 
 grace, silence? 
 
 Then her person — it was indeed a 
 glow of youth and health ; but it was too 
 glowing : she reminded a poetical ob- 
 server of a peach rather than a rose ; 
 and that was high treason against the 
 delicate character of female beauty. 
 
 She was said to have the very prettiest 
 feet and ankles imaginable : but if beauty 
 is but the harmonious adaptation of parts 
 to the particular end for which they are 
 destined, if it be simply utility, then 
 Beatrice's pretty feet must be ugly, be- 
 cause they were too small to support her. 
 Cesario interrupted this solemn non- 
 sense with a sudden burst of laughter : 
 not a whit discouraged, Marco went on 
 with the gravity of a Seneca, to rail at his 
 cousin's singularly bright eyes and white 
 teeth. He maintained that both were 
 detestable. 
 
 ** They injure my sight!" he said, 
 G 2
 
 1^4 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 " I hate all glaring objects ; so I always 
 avoid white teeth, snow, diamonds, and 
 bright eyes. But come — since I must 
 face these horrors to-day, by the saints 
 you shall confront them with me.'* 
 
 Cesario yielded to his impelling arm, 
 as he concluded this tirade, and they 
 went forth together. 
 
 Arid what, in sober truth, was the 
 woman thus described by the whimsical 
 mood of her cousin? 
 
 With youth, laughing from the blue 
 heaven of her eyes; a complexion, indeed, 
 like the sunny side of a peach ; and clus- 
 tering hair, of ardent brown ; Beatrice 
 Brignoletti was charming in defiance of 
 rule. Her springing steps was marked 
 by a volatile grace, something between 
 walking and dancing ; in another person 
 it might have been mistaken for affect- 
 ation, but in her, it was the natural ex- 
 pression of that jocund spirit which looked 
 forth from her eyes, her lips, her cheek,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1Q5 
 
 her flying tresses, nay, " at every act and 
 motion of her body." 
 
 The same jocuml spirit made her rash 
 and fearless, and discourseful even in 
 large societies ; and more judicious men 
 than Marco Doria might have agreed 
 -with him in asking for something more of 
 timidity in an inexperienced girl. But 
 at seventeen, with all her genius, Beatrice 
 was as much of a child in her love of 
 amusement, her eagerness in the pursuit 
 of whatever tempted her whim or her 
 heart, and her utter disregard of what 
 other people thought of her condu<:t, as 
 when she used to cry for a doll, or 
 trample over a parterre in chase of a 
 butterfly. 
 
 As amusing, as caressing, as endearing 
 as a child, she was usually judged with 
 the same indulgence ; and as neither the 
 saddest humour could resist the flash of 
 her smile, nor the coldest heart her 
 glance of brief sensibility, there were not 
 G 3
 
 1^6 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOUK, 
 
 many persons courageous enough to teli 
 her, nor wise enough to tell themselves, 
 that her exuberant gaiety hovered on the 
 verge of freedom. 
 
 An heiress, and an only child, Beatrice 
 was left solely to the guardianship of a 
 mother, who had ** thrown herself into 
 devotion," as the French call it; and 
 whoy without power or perhaps inclina- 
 tion to shut out the heathenish world 
 from the Palazzo Rosso, presided at her 
 assemblies with a visage that would not 
 have disgraced Medusa. 
 
 Although the Dorias called the pretty 
 heiress cousin, their relationship was very 
 distant ; and had far less share in binding 
 the families together, than their mutual 
 desire of a nearer connection. 
 
 The Marchesa Brignoletti wished her 
 daughter to marry the heir of the Doria 
 honours; and the young man himself left 
 no assiduity untried which might win the 
 heart of his mistress ; but the heart is 
 sometimes very provoking, and though
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. IT/ 
 
 that of Beatrice was certainly given to 
 « the melting mood," it melted not before 
 tlie many sighs of this admirer. 
 
 Report whispered, that Cynthio Doria 
 was refused, because another Genoese, of 
 nearly equal rank, was handsomer, and 
 not so much in love, as to make love 
 aukwardly: be that as it may, Cynthio 
 was silenced for ever ; his rumoured rival 
 thrown aside ; and the lady's favour en- 
 grossed by a young Sardinian, who had 
 followed her from Turin, and seemed 
 likely to carry off the prize. 
 
 All this, and much more of private 
 annals did Marco Doria impart to his 
 companion, as they took their way along 
 the Strada Nuova, to the Palazza Rosso. 
 
 It was one of those golden mornings 
 known only to Italy ; a refreshing breeze, 
 blowing off the sea, tempered the hot 
 sun : the air, the exercise, the quickening 
 influence of animated conversation, had 
 given to the fine person of Cesario its 
 fiiU lustre, and, as his friend presented 
 G 4
 
 12S THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN^ 
 
 him, he received one of Signora Beatrice's 
 brightest eye-beams. There needed not 
 her musical shriek of recognition to in- 
 form him that he saw in her the pretty 
 charioteer whose scarf he had picked up 
 several weeks ago. She seemed en- 
 chanted with the opportunity of thank- 
 ing him for his gallantry ; and said so 
 much more upon the subject than such a 
 trifling civility required, that Cesario 
 could not help recalling one of Marco's 
 exclamations about her — *« How she will 
 talk i" He smiled, bowed, complimented 
 her in return ; then, directing his atten- 
 tion, as he believed right, to the Mar- 
 chesa, left Beatrice to his friend. 
 
 With that voluble vivacity which Marco 
 Doria had exaggerated, Beatrice began 
 to rally him on the doleful seriousness of 
 his deportment; to contrast him with the 
 sprightly Frenchmen and ardent Savoy- 
 ards at the court of Turin ; to beg the 
 history of his travels, and to give him 
 that of her own. Thence she flew off
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1^9 
 
 to a repetition of their amicable disputes 
 and artless sports in childhood, which she 
 coloured so magically by a pretty mix- 
 ture of sentiment and gaiety, that Cesa- 
 rio's attention was irresistibly attracted, 
 while he wondered at the obstinately-in- 
 different mood of his companion. 
 
 " O you must come and worship my 
 doves," exclaimed Beatrice, suddenly 
 starting up, " if you wish to see just 
 such feathers as Cupid is plumed with, or 
 perhaps his arrows winged with ; come 
 with me to my aviary." 
 
 "I had rather make acquaintance 
 with a sensible-looking owl," reph'ed 
 Marco, forcing a yawn. 
 
 *< That ungracious speech, and that 
 mirror beside you, are so tempting for a 
 bad jest 1" returned Beatrice 5 "but as 
 / am no owl-fancier, prithee remain where 
 you are. Signor Adimari, you will come 
 with me ?" 
 
 There was no resisting the pretty 
 plaintive tone of childish disappointment 
 G 5
 
 130 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 with which this was said ; Cesario rose, 
 and approached the door she was opening. 
 
 ** Where are you going, Beatrice ?'^ 
 asked her mother, in a tone of displea- 
 sure. 
 
 " Into the air with the birds, mamma,'* 
 replied the gay creature, vanishing as 
 she spoke. 
 
 Cesario followed her out into an aerial 
 garden, formed by an extensive platform, 
 supported on a range of marble arcades y 
 it was diversified by parterres of the 
 choicest flowers and bowers of shrubs. 
 There the pomegranate, wedded to the 
 heliotrope and yellow rose, hung its 
 blushing garlands through the openings 
 of gilded trellices, and strewed the path 
 with varied blossoms : at the extremity 
 of the platform, shaded from the sun by 
 rose-acacias, and sprinkled by the waters 
 of a fountain from below, (the sparkling 
 showers of which rose as high as this 
 fantastic garden,) stood the aviary. 
 
 Beatrice ran to call out her doves, and
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 131 
 
 as she placed them alternately in the 
 hands of Cesario, descanting on their 
 beauty, her own charms of complexion 
 and animation could not pass unnoticed. 
 
 From the beauty of the birds, their 
 conversation turned upon beauty in the 
 human species : Beatrice avowed her ad- 
 miration of it with indiscreet ardour ; and 
 having warmly praised a head of the 
 war-angel, by Michael Angelo, at Turin, 
 as her idea of perfect manly beauty, she 
 met Cesario's eyes while hers were ad- 
 miringly rivetted on his figure ; and for- 
 getting what it implied, she uttered, in 
 the confusion of that detection, some- 
 thing about his strong resemblance to 
 this picture. 
 
 The words were no sooner escaped, 
 than she blushed like vermilion j Cesario 
 coloured too ; neither of them spoke, 
 till Beatrice, fairly overcome with shame, 
 flew back into the room where her mother 
 sat, leaving Cesario to recover from his 
 G 6
 
 13^ THE KXIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 eiiiban-as^mettt, and to follow her at his 
 leisure. 
 
 The remainder of this visit was spent 
 in more general conversation ^ and al- 
 though the lively Beatrice ceased not to 
 sport with the transient humour of Marco 
 Doria, she never addressed nor answered 
 Cesario without a visible blush ; perliaps 
 there was, insensibly, less of confusion 
 and more of delight in this heightened 
 colour ; for Beatrice began to forget that 
 she had any thing to be ashamed of, and 
 thought only of admiring that sweet im- 
 periousness of expression, which, though 
 softened, was not subdued, in the fine 
 coimtenance of Cesario, and that flexible 
 grace which was developed by every 
 movement of his exquisite figure. 
 
 The ensuing day carried Cesario into 
 the same society. Signora Brignoietti 
 had in\dted her cousin and his friend to 
 take chocolate with her in the morning, 
 a celebrated singer being engaged to give
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 133 
 
 her a lesson, in her way to the court of 
 Piedmont. 
 
 They were true to their appointment, 
 for Marco Doria was in the mood of gal- 
 lantry, and Cesario loved music to abso- 
 lute passion. 
 
 Her mother was at mass ; the Count 
 Cagliari, Beatrice's Sardinian adorer, 
 stood by her side, leaned over her chair, 
 handed her the music-books, lifted her 
 nosegay when it dropt, and retained part 
 of it as he did so ; in short, assumed the 
 air of a man as sure of his station in a 
 lady's heart, as vain of the privileges that 
 position gave him. 
 
 Cesario did not much observe then, 
 though he often recalled it afterwards, 
 that at his first meaning glance from her 
 to the Count, Beatrice suddenly altered 
 her manner; she listened with a cold 
 air to the familiar whisperings of Cag- 
 liari ; and, removing from that part of 
 the room in which he was, contrived so 
 to immerse herself in the rest of the
 
 184 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 party, that he could never again fix him- 
 self at her side. 
 
 While her little circle were trifling 
 away the time, till the Seraphina should 
 arrive, Beatrice flew up to Marco Doria 
 with the smiling witchery of a Eu- 
 phrosyne, — " So ! you are out of your 
 tub to-day," she said, glancing archly 
 over his suit of azure silk, delicately 
 wrought with silver ; ^' no longer Di- 
 ogenes, what art thou, my entertaining 
 cousin ?" 
 
 " Your slave, fair Beatrice! — for I 
 have not seen any thing so charming 
 
 since '^ *' Since your last look at your 
 
 mirror," was her arch interruption, and 
 she turned her brilliant face towards 
 Cesario : '* And you, Signor Adimari, 
 what humour are you in ? or are you in 
 any humour at all ? have the charity to 
 let me know before-hand, that I may not 
 nip our acquaintance in the bud, by 
 being either too grave or too gay, or too 
 wise or too foolish, or too awful or too
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 135 
 
 familiar for your taste of the moment ; I 
 do assure you my humour is to please you 
 both :" — and as she curtesied with in- 
 imitable grace, a pretty dropping of her 
 eye-lids gave but the more effect to the 
 brilliant orbs from which they were as 
 suddenly raised. 
 
 " It is not for you, Signora, to bend 
 to any one's humour," said Cesario, 
 gaily. ** You triumph over all.'' 
 
 *' Santa Maria ! here comes that perse- 
 cuting man !" 
 
 *« What! Count Cagliari I" repeated 
 Doria. " I thought he was lord of the 
 ascendant here !" 
 
 " He ! I hate him ! I never did more 
 than tolerate him ; and I have hated him 
 ever since yesterday." 
 
 " Bravo ! you and I are formed for 
 each other I see, after all !" cried Marco. 
 Hated since yesterday ! — why, even my 
 weathercock fancies could not have shift- 
 ed in less time , nor, I dare say, with less
 
 136 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Beatrice was too earnestly eluding 
 Count Cagliari, and too eagerly attend- 
 ing to Cesario, for a reply to this remark. 
 After having successfully evaded her ad- 
 mirer, she said to the latter, «* Can you 
 imagine any thing so odious, as to be 
 persecuted by a man one has taken a 
 disgust to !" 
 
 ** Yes ! to be avoided by the person 
 we love," was Cesario's playfully-reprov- 
 ing answer. 
 
 " Then you pity that presumptuous 
 creature ? You would be his advocate 
 with me ?" she said, with a mixture of 
 softness and pique. 
 
 ** I suspect there is no man who would 
 consent to plead any other cause than his 
 own to the Signora Brignoletti," replied 
 Cesario. 
 
 His answer was a mere common-place 
 of gallantry demanded by the question ; 
 and he uttered it sportively j but no 
 sooner was it said, than all the colours of 
 morning painted the face of his fair
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 137 
 
 companion ; and indiscreetly exclaiming, 
 ** Oh! I must not jest with you ; I see 
 you are dangerous," she fled away as 
 fast as she had done the day before. 
 
 " What a pretty, strange little crea- 
 ture 1" said Cesario to himself, somewhat 
 disturbed by her second flight ; and he 
 repeated this remark more than once, as 
 he accidentally caught her eye fixed on 
 him, through the occasional openings of 
 the different groupes in the apartments. 
 
 That eye receded from his for a mo- 
 ment, when he made his way towards 
 her some time afterwards, and joined 
 Marco Doria who stood by her ; but it 
 was not long of recovering its usual lively 
 excursiveness ; and it sparkled with such 
 extraordinary brightness, that Cesario 
 could not forbear asking his friend, in a 
 low voice, *« Whether his near neighbour- 
 hood to so much light were good for his 
 eyes ?" 
 
 Beatrice claimed a share in their secret : 
 it was immediately granted j and Marco
 
 138 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Doria's voluble gallantry left nothing to 
 Cesario but an expression of countenance, 
 to which SignoraBrignoletti's quick fancy 
 gave its own meaning. 
 
 " 'Twas in compliment to those bright 
 eyes that I chose this watch et-coloured 
 mantle," said Marco. ** Their colour, an 
 earthly dyer may imitate ; but for their 
 fire, I must take Prometheus's journey. 
 Prithee reward me, sweet Beatrice, with 
 a smile for this." 
 
 " If you had asked for a sigh, I might 
 have wondered at your effrontery," she 
 answered, giving the sweet reward he 
 asked ; ** but a smile is such a poor 
 every day favour — a mere Algerine 
 asper — the smallest coin in the heart's 
 treasury ; and thrown, like alms, to vaga- 
 bonds, simply to get rid of them! There! 
 you may have a score at once j I can 
 afford millions." 
 
 *' And is a sigh, then, the richest gift 
 of this fair treasury of yours?" asked 
 Cesario, feeling, for the first time., an
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 139 
 
 emotion of tenderness in her company ; 
 *' 1 have seen a blush that was worth the 
 Indies j'' and his eyes said where, and 
 when. 
 
 *< By the Virgin, she gives you both !'' 
 exclaimed Marco, as Beatrice did indeed 
 sigh and blush from very pleasure ; ** but 
 given thus, for nothing, they must be 
 counterfeits ; don't take them, Adimari ; 
 at any rate, don't attempt imposing them 
 on me as lawful coin." 
 
 At that instant Count Cagliari ad- 
 vanced to take leave, piqued b\^ the Sig- 
 nora's marked avoidance of him. To 
 appear still sure of her favour, and yet to 
 scorn it, he carelessly snatched her hand, 
 kissed it with the air of one tired of play- 
 ing the lover, and walked out of the 
 room with a vacant stare of listlessness. 
 
 <* You have not told us, my fair coz, 
 by what name to call this favour !" ob- 
 served Marco ; ** a kiss of that white 
 hand is doubtless a medal struck only for 
 some happy individual,"
 
 140 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 ** The die is destroyed then ! ther^ 
 never will be another !" replied Beatrice, 
 glowing with indignation ; she paused, 
 then added with imprudent frankness, 
 ** I see what the Count aimed at. He 
 intended to make you and Signor Adi- 
 mari believe that he is a favoured lover, 
 therefore privileged to take this liberty ; 
 but it is no such thing : and I beg you 
 both to come every evening to the Pa- 
 lazzo, just to see how I will mortify his 
 presumption." 
 
 Both gentlemen bowed, and one of 
 them laughed ; it was certainly not Ce- 
 sario. 
 
 The Seraphina never came ; so the 
 party broke up, and the different per- 
 sonages betook themselves to their sepa- 
 rate homes. 
 
 As Marco Doria sauntered along with 
 Cesario, he amused himself with ridi- 
 culing the caprices and artifices of women. 
 He offered to bet any sum, that the 
 Signora Brignoletti was at this moment
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 141 
 
 weeping over the success of her own stra- 
 tagem : for he considered her conduct to 
 Cagliari as mere wanton sport with his 
 feelings ; or else, but a passing fit of 
 irritation. 
 
 Marco was so much used to timjdity in 
 so me women,/ and finesse in others, where 
 their hearts were concerned, that he never 
 dreamt of finding the real meaning of 
 Beatrice's conduct, in its literal interpre- 
 tation : he therefore fancied her evident 
 admiration of his friend a piece of 
 childish acting ; and set it down for cer- 
 tain, that she only tried to play him off 
 against some neglect or offence from her 
 real lover. 
 
 From respect for female sincerity, Ce- 
 sario was not disposed to admit this ; and 
 from regard for female modesty, he was 
 as little inclined to believe that the lady 
 really felt that admiration of his person 
 which Marco protested she displayed. 
 He consequently combatted Marco's ar-
 
 142 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 guments, and the evidence of his 6wn 
 senses ; called her looks and expressions 
 mere accidents ; and, neither convincing 
 nor convinced, parted from his com- 
 panion.
 
 ( 143 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 vV HATEVER was the nature of the Signer 
 Brignoletti's reveries, when Cesario was 
 their object, it is certain that he thought 
 of her only as a charming child ; and as 
 such, saw no danger in accompanying 
 Marco Doria to the house of her 
 mother. 
 
 It is true, Beatrice had talents which 
 often elevated her above her own cha- 
 racter. When she sang, she did it with 
 the expression of vivid, unrestrained 
 feeling : and when obeying an impulse 
 (which her flatterers called inspiration), 
 she chanted or recited an extempory 
 poem, she was certainly inspired with 
 something beyond the common-places of 
 Fine-Ladyism. Still, this was only a
 
 144 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 wild shoot of genius ; neither nourished 
 nor improved by study, nor pruned by 
 judgment : it was but a meteor light, 
 brighter at its firSt burst than it would 
 ever appear afterwards : flowers without 
 root, worn but as youth's garland, and 
 destined to wither with its brief day of 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 Cesario saw nothing in this boasted 
 wonder, beyond the promising talent of 
 a clever girl. 
 
 As the Palazzo Rosso was open every 
 evening, and after the first introduction 
 no future invitation being necessary, the 
 two young men went there every night. 
 At the commencement of these visits, 
 they usually stopped but a few minutes ; 
 then they staid a little longer ; after that 
 Cesario grew to oppose their departure 
 so very early ; and, at last, he fell into 
 the habit of remaining there alone. 
 
 From scarcely noticing the Jittle atten- 
 tion given by Beatrice to Count Cagliari's 
 assiduities, and the eagerness with which 
 14
 
 THE KNIGHT Of ST. JOHN. 145 
 
 she received attention from himself, Ce- 
 sario insensibly began to feel, and to 
 watch for, these proofs of peculiar in- 
 terest. He gradually lost sight of every 
 other thing in the conversations of the 
 Marchesa, till his mind, habituating itself 
 to one line of observation, and one ex- 
 pectation, became rivetted upon the 
 object of its attention with the strength 
 of passion. 
 
 It is humiliating to detect the weak- 
 nesses of human nature : but, perhaps, 
 were every passion conceived for a very 
 faulty or dissimilar object, traced to its 
 source, we should find it in an awakened 
 vanity. Cesario's might be attributed 
 to that subtle cause. 
 
 One evening, as Marco Doria called 
 on him as usual, in his way to the Pa- 
 lazzo Rosso, he affected a 'fit of what 
 he called 'the God,' and insisted upon 
 reciting some verses which he had just 
 composed upon his friend himself. 
 
 Marco enacted his new character of 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 bard so well, that it was indeed as im- 
 possible to stop him in his tuneful ca- 
 reer, as it would have been to stop the 
 most practised of his supposed brethren : 
 with " his eye in a fine phrenzy rolling," 
 he volubly delivered the following 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Who now, with voice profaning Nature's hand, 
 Shall of Ideal Beauty idly boast ? — 
 Thy form, Cesario, dims the faultless band 
 Of sculptured gods, enthroned on Grecia's c«ast. 
 Faultless are they : but with exhaustless grace 
 (Beyond or chisel's touch or fancy's glow,) 
 Thy limbs divine each charm of motion show, 
 Matching the bright perfection of thy face ! — 
 That hp, that eye, where Love and Mind contend 
 For mastery of power ; that smile of light ; 
 Those curls of jet, and brows sublime, that bend 
 Like thunders resting on some snow-clad height; 
 O, who on these shall gaze, nor rapt exclaim, 
 Here sculpture's idol falls before a mortal's frame ! 
 
 Cesario laughed heartily at what he 
 considered bombastic nonsense, when 
 applied to one man by another ; but he 
 bestowed a very different appellation on
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 147 
 
 it, when Marco proclaimed it a produc- 
 tion of Beatrice Brignoietti's, and stolen 
 by him from her writing-case. 
 
 The original manuscript shown by 
 Marco, in support of what he advanced, 
 was in vain presented to Cesario : the 
 latter refused to share in such unmanly 
 treason against the defenceless sex ; and, 
 though convinced by the delicate hand- 
 writingj and Marco's utter incapacity to 
 string a rhyme, that it was really the 
 work of Beatrice, he persisted in avowing 
 his disbelief of its authenticity; and so 
 the affair ended. 
 
 After this incident, Cesario was not 
 long of estimating his power over the 
 young heart he wnshed to reign in. Her 
 sparkling eyes, and glowing cheeks, 
 w henever he drew near, needed no inter- 
 preter : those eyes were never long absent 
 from him : and one glance from his, 
 would at any time make her repulse the 
 Count Cagliari with marked rudeness ; if 
 she danced, if she sang, k was only at 
 H 2
 
 148 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 his request ; if she gathered a flower, it 
 was for him ; if she took refreshments, 
 it was because he offered it. If Cesario 
 hawked or hunted, she lent her best 
 falcon, or pressed on him her favourite 
 gennet. 
 
 That pernicious habit of indulgence 
 in which Beatrice had been educated, 
 being more powerful than modesty itself, 
 she consciously betrayed this secret in- 
 clination, from a lurking expectation of 
 gratification waiting upon such display. 
 
 Hers was not the love which is disco- 
 vered by its own attempts at conceal- 
 ment ; hers was not the love which would 
 rather have perished with its victim in 
 the grave, than have compassed a return 
 at the expense of maidenly dignity ; hers 
 was not the love, which, born of moral 
 and mental admiration, can live through 
 years of hopeless attachment, nourished 
 by contemplating the virtues of its ob- 
 ject, and consoled by witnessing his 
 happiness.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 149 
 
 It was the love of an age just beyond 
 that wherein a sweetmeat and a flower 
 are the highest enjoyment ; an age in 
 which the senses and the imagination 
 are sometimes mistaken for the heart and 
 the judgment ; an age, in short, of tur- 
 bulent but rarely deep attachments. 
 
 If Cesario ever dwelt for an instant 
 with an unpleasant sensation upon her 
 careless conduct, it lasted but an instant. 
 There were so many delightful and flat- 
 tering reasons to be urged in her excuse : 
 complete innocence, ignorant of the very 
 sentiment it indulged and betrayed ; 
 truth, so transparent that even virgin 
 bashfulness could not veil it j ioVe so 
 powerful, or love so generous, that either 
 it could not be restrained by any consi- 
 derations, or would not, from a noble 
 disdain of unequal fortune. 
 
 To these sophistries were added the 
 seductions of self-love ; the wants of a 
 heart formed for strong emotion j and 
 H 3
 
 150 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 the tumults created by the beauty of 
 luxuriant and playful youth. 
 
 Marco Doria, meanwhile, rallied both 
 parties on their evident mutual prefer- 
 ence, and with such dexterous address, 
 that it was impossible for either to show 
 their knowledge of his meaning ; yet, as 
 impossible for them to learn by it the 
 nature and extent of a sentiment which 
 both felt, and neither veatured to express. 
 
 Just as Marco was in the mood, he 
 treated love as a light or a profound 
 sentiment ; deified it with the spirit of a 
 hero in romance, or sneered at it witb 
 the asperity of a cynic. But in none of 
 his moods was he wise enough, or kind 
 enough, to remind Cesario of the despe- 
 rate inequality which existed between 
 his fortunes and those of the inexpe- 
 rienced creature for w^hom he sighed. 
 
 Count Cagliari was formally dismissed 
 and gone back to Turin ; and an armour 
 of frowns was beginning to invest the
 
 ' THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN, 151 
 
 brow of the Marchesa, when the Genoese 
 fleet received orders to sail. 
 
 A swarm of Turkish cruisers, after 
 sweeping the Adriatic and the shores 
 of the Mediterranean, were seen liover- 
 ing round the adjacent islands: it was 
 therefore expedient to disable or drive 
 them back ; that so powerful a reinforce- 
 ment might not come in aid of the Bar- 
 bary fleet, when the expedition against 
 Penofi de Velez should take place. 
 
 This expedition was indeed on the 
 point of issuing from Spain, but the Ge- 
 noese admiral abandoned his share in its 
 success, only that he might render it 
 sure, by destroying the ally of Morocco. 
 
 Marco Doria, w^ho had been all this 
 time making up his mind about his fu- 
 ture pursuit in life ; and who had alter- 
 nately determined upon the land and the 
 sea service, the line of politics, the 
 church, and the court of the Emperor 
 Charles, was now thoroughly convinced 
 for tlie next fortnight, that there was 
 H 4
 
 15Q THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 ])othing in this world worth a wise matins 
 trouble ; that honours were bubbles ; 
 riches toys, pleasures dreams; that, in 
 short, there was nothing substantial but 
 ease and indifference; and that, conse- 
 quently, a country abode, with a garden, 
 a few books, and a single domestic, 
 were the ultima Thule of hiuiian happiness. 
 
 Marco's valour had been approved, 
 more than once, as a volunteer upon 
 sufficiently memorable occasions ; there- 
 fore, without fear of being stigmatised 
 with cowardice, he suddenly announced 
 his intention of sitting down for life, as 
 a philosophic solitary. 
 
 Before Cesario left Genoa, he saw this 
 fantastic personage tranquilly installed 
 in a small house, that once belonged to 
 a falconer, on the banks of the Pol- 
 civejra. 
 
 Thus, bereft of his usual companion, 
 Cesario had to go through the dangerous 
 scene of announcing his own departure 
 to the Signora Brignoletti.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. J OHX. 153 
 
 It was in the gardens of the Palazzo, 
 where the Marchesa had given a moon- 
 light supper in an open pavilion. 
 
 Part of the company were enjoying 
 the beautiful night among groves of 
 breathing rose and orange trees ; some 
 stood listening to the tinkling sound of 
 fountains, or to strains of music issuing 
 from the house. The Marchesa sat with 
 her daughter on the alabaster steps of 
 the pavilion, seemingly attentive to the 
 progress of a wreath of flowers which 
 Beatrice was sportively twisting for her 
 own hair, but in reality watcliing the 
 steps of Cesario, and keeping him off by 
 her threatening frown. 
 
 Cesario was alternately sauntering and 
 leaning under the shade of an acacia, 
 with two or three persons, of whose con 
 versation his sense took no cognisance. 
 His head was continually turned towards 
 the pavilion, where the peculiar cha- 
 racter of Beatrice's charms appeared 
 H 5
 
 154 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 heightened by their contrast with sur- 
 rounding objects. 
 
 The pale moon-light, and the cold 
 whiteness of the portico, were opposed 
 to the glow of her complexion, and the 
 speaking fire of her eyes: the tranquillity 
 of the flowers and trees, (for no breeze 
 disturbed them,) was contrasted by her 
 rapid and animating movements. She 
 seemed to Cesario the sole principle of 
 life and motion in this lovely scene ; and 
 as much intoxicated by the contemplation 
 of her beauty, as agitated by the thought 
 of quitting her, he walked with a hurried 
 and unequal pace, which the forbidding 
 looks of the Marchesa kept still far from 
 the pavilion. 
 
 Happily for Cesario' s wishes, the un- 
 expected ascent of some fire-works at a 
 distance made every one start from tlieir 
 position, and run towards the Pine-mount 
 whence it proceeded. In the rush and 
 ■confusion, Beatrice escaped from her 
 mother, and was soon near enough to
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 155 
 
 Cesario for him to join her. ** Ah, what 
 a tiresome evening this has been !" she 
 said, in reply to the eloquent glance of 
 his eyes. 
 
 " One of torture to me!" replied Ce- 
 sario, with ill-repressed emotion, " for I 
 wished to tell you that we sail to-morrow^ 
 and I had a boon to ask." 
 
 " Then it really sails after all !" cried 
 Beatrice, tears suffusing her bright eyes; 
 *< O why did you not do as Marco Doria 
 has done !" 
 
 " What 1 renounce the hope of dis- 
 tinction, and shut myself up in a moun- 
 tain-hovel ?" 
 
 *' A j>erson might be much happier 
 there than in such an odiously-fine place 
 as this," was the reply of Beatrice. 
 
 *< And could the Signora Brignoletti 
 find happiness in such a lot ?" asked 
 Cesario, his heart quivering on his lips. 
 
 The Signora did not answer; but she 
 refused not the hand he wildly clasped in 
 both his. For the short instant duiing 
 H 6
 
 156 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHK, 
 
 which he retamed this wiUing hand^ 
 Cesario saw no other image than such a 
 mountain-hut with Beatrice and felicity. 
 
 He was on the point of telhng her so> 
 (all lost to reason as he was,) when tlie 
 steps of persons approaching made him 
 check the tide of passion. First pausing, 
 then gently drawing a ring from one of 
 her passive fingers, he whispered in ac- 
 cents of smothered fire — " O let me cast 
 myself at your feet in this spot to-morrow 
 morning, before the first matin bell, — 1 
 sail at the second.'* 
 
 Beatrice faltered out the permission he 
 sought: Cesario ardently kissed the hand, 
 which he instantly released j and tore 
 himself away. 
 
 Cesario saw nothings felt nothing, re- 
 membered nothing but this ring, and the 
 manner in which it had been rendered to 
 him. He could not recall, how^ Beatrice 
 had looked when he made the bold theft; 
 for at that instant a mist covered his 
 sight, and he lost every other thought in
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1.^7 
 
 the agony of transport with which he felt 
 her soft finger yielding its treasure. 
 
 What needed he more, to tell him that 
 he reigned absolute in her heart, and 
 that she was ready to flee with him from 
 wealth and grandeur to the mountain 
 life he had described ? ^\liat needed he 
 more, to animate him on his way to peril 
 and glory? 
 
 But when is that heart satisfied, where 
 love rules like a tyrant ? Cesario thirsted 
 to hear the voice of Beatrice confirm the 
 assurance of her eyes ; he longed to cast 
 himself at her feet, and exhale there his 
 ardent soul in vows and thanks. Perhaps 
 he dared to imagine her pressed to his 
 sighing breast, and bedewed with farewell 
 tears, too sacred for passion to profane I 
 
 Burdened with its own fulness, his 
 heart did indeed languish for participa- 
 tion with hers ; and, wishing the night 
 annihilated, he reached the house of the 
 Syndic, unconscious of his own move- 
 ments.
 
 158 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN 
 
 There was no sleep for Cesario during 
 the hours that intervened between this 
 period and that in which he hurried out 
 to keep his appointment in the Rosso 
 gardens. 
 
 He had previously taken leave of the 
 good Syndic : his equipage was on board; 
 and he therefore had no more to do in 
 Genoa than to see his enchantress. 
 ' As he approached the gate of St. 
 Thomas, he was overtaken by the Prince 
 of Melfi, attended by some of his officers : 
 " Well met, Adimari," cried the Prince, 
 taking his arm and impelling him forward, 
 « you have just been summoned. The 
 pirates are out, — the wind serves. — 
 Now, for your first throw, for death or 
 glory !" 
 
 Never before did those two words 
 sound appallingly to Cesario : he turned 
 pale y and he hesitated in his walk. A 
 look of astonishment from the Prince 
 brought the crimson back to his cheek ; 
 and, shocked at the interpretation to which
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 159 
 
 his pvesent agitation was liable, he stam- 
 mered out, — " I could have wished not to 
 have been summoned, till I had taken 
 leave of a friend, who must now be wait- 
 ing for me : — and if" 
 
 " You cannot have a moment!" inter- 
 rupted Doria, hurrying him on. " Your 
 friend, or your mistress, must console 
 themselves with the news of your future 
 exploits." 
 
 Cesario saw there was no remedy; 
 and rousing his spirit from its trance of 
 love, 
 
 *' Like dew-drops shaken from the hon's mane," 
 
 the image of Beatrice, of parting tears, 
 benedictions, and embraces, fled at once 
 from his mind : he thought of contests 
 and conquests, of wounds and crowns, 
 of his father's fame, and his country's 
 gratitude.
 
 ( 160 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The saffi^on of early morning had just 
 changed into the rosy hue that precedes 
 sunrise, when Cesario reached the place 
 of embarkation. The harbour was all in 
 motion. The heavy ships were standing 
 out to sea with all their sails set : the gal- 
 liots and brigantines were rowing. with 
 quick and regular strokes to the sound 
 of martial instruments: different-coloured 
 flags were seen flying from the masts* 
 heads, or sweeping the blue waves with 
 their majestic folds. 
 
 Boats passing to and fro; persons 
 running to the east and western moles, 
 to catch a last glimpse of their departing 
 friends ; handkerchiefs waving ; voices 
 callings oars splashing j signal-guns an-
 
 THE KNIOHT OF ST. JOHN. l6l 
 
 swering each other from the vessels and 
 the citadel ; the sea and the land all 
 in motion; and above all, the Turkish 
 cruisers specking the horizon ; formed so 
 many picturesque and animating objects, 
 that Cesario caught the contagion of en- 
 thusiasm, and, for the next six hours, 
 thought only of battle and victory. 
 
 '• The Tyrrhene seas did glitter all with flame; 
 Up sprung the cry of men, and trumpet's blast.** 
 
 When those six hours had terminated, 
 the Genoese fleet were masters of the 
 watery field : they had given chase to 
 the pirates, overtaken, encountered, and 
 conquered them. 
 
 Part of the enemy's galliots now fol- 
 lowed in the triumphant train of the 
 Capitanata; the small remainder wertr 
 either sunk, or seeking shelter in the 
 obscure ports of the adjacent islands. 
 The action had been fiercely contested. 
 
 Animated by the deadliest feelings of 
 revenge and animosity,, each party had
 
 l62 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 exerted the most determined and obsti- 
 nate resolution. Death or victory seemed 
 to have been the motto under which they 
 fought ; and deeds of valour were per- 
 formed, which in themselves would have 
 immortalised the arm that wrought them, 
 but that all were heroes, all fighting as 
 if the fate of the battle rested on each 
 individual exertion. 
 
 Cesario, now foremost in the ranks of 
 death, felt this soul-inspiring thought; 
 and, emulative of his great leader's fame, 
 sought by some mightier effort to become 
 conspicuous in the dreadful conflict. In 
 vain he set his life at nought to win this 
 pre-eminence ; each fearless deed was 
 seconded ; the glorious example of their 
 chief had fired all ranks, and he saw that 
 no common daring could lift him above 
 his dauntless companions. 
 
 Fortune at this moment, as if in re- 
 ward for his exertions, now smiled on 
 them, and pointed to the long-wished 
 and ardently-desired opportunity.
 
 THE KMGHT OF ST. JOHN. l63 
 
 Their infidel adversary, (carrying the 
 commander-in-chief's flag,} defeated, and 
 nearly destroyed, after a most determined 
 but unavailing resistance, was now at- 
 tempting to clear herself from her oppo- 
 nent, and escape : Cesario, whose eagle 
 eye had vratched every turn of the fight, 
 perceived her intention ; and maddening 
 with the anticipated joy of reaching that 
 pinnacle of glory he had so nobly striven 
 for, called on a few of his gallant follow- 
 ers to support him, and threw himself 
 into the enemy's vessel. 
 
 Amazement seized the Turks at this 
 desperate act of valour ; they were 
 thrown into confusion ; assistance poured 
 iu from Doria's vessel ; and Cesario soon 
 found himself in possession of the Tiu'k- 
 ish admiral's sword and ship. 
 
 This gallant action had been witnessed 
 and duly appreciated; all ranks joined 
 in bestowing the highest honours on the 
 youthful warrior, and hailing him the 
 hero of the fight.
 
 164 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 On the deck of the captured vessel, 
 and in the presence of enemies and com- 
 patriots, Prince Gianettino embraced his 
 young lieutenant," — ** You have proved 
 yourself worthy of your father,'* he said, 
 and his eyes glistened. Cesario squeezed 
 the hero's hand in eloquent silence ; then, 
 more respectfully putting it to his lips, 
 returned such an answer as the occasion 
 demanded. 
 
 After so convincing " a proof of his 
 mettle," he had nearly as many enviers 
 as admirers ; but, awakened to a passion 
 for renown, and a sense of duty, by suc- 
 cess and eulogium, Cesario had no 
 thoughts to bestow on jealous infe- 
 riority ; he began to cherish hopes of 
 a destiny as brilliant as the lover of 
 Signora Brignoletti ought to aspire to ; 
 and to dream, for golden instants, of tlie 
 only equivalent he would ever accept in 
 the place of a patrimony cruelly with- 
 drawn — lands bestowed hereafter by 
 his country.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. iGo 
 
 If these reveries were troubled at times, 
 it was by the recollection of the appoint- 
 ment he had made, and broken, with 
 Beatrice. 
 
 What must she have thought of him 
 while awaiting him in vain ? while walk- 
 ing through tliose dewy gardens, under 
 the grey dawn, hearing the momentary 
 gun that marked each departing ship ; 
 and then beholding the white sails of tlie 
 collected fleet hovering like a flight of 
 sea-fowl on the horizon ? 
 
 Could she have admitted a suspicion, 
 that any thing but imperious honour had 
 prevailed against his love ? — no — it was 
 impossible she could think otherwise : 
 and again and again Cesario fastened his 
 lips to that little circle of gold, where it 
 seemed as if all his future hopes were 
 contained. 
 
 Transports like these w^ere the luxu- 
 ries of his solitary moments ; all his social 
 hours were given to action and to enter- 
 prise.
 
 166 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Prince Doria had given him the com- 
 mand of a galley ; and as the roving 
 warfare of the pirates was best coped 
 with by the same adventurous methods, 
 Cesario's eagerness to distinguish him- 
 self rendered him more forward in the 
 dangerous but necessary boldness of 
 pui'suit. 
 
 The vSan Lorenzo (the ship Cesario 
 commanded) was giving chase to a 
 single galliot near the jocks of Corsica, 
 when the evening of a sultry day began 
 to darken, and some heavy clouds of 
 gloomy purple foretold a storm. The 
 galliot, familiar with the coast, and form- 
 ed to run in shallow water, ran safely in 
 shore under the shelter of the rocks ; 
 while the heavier galley of Cesario, 
 obliged to keep out to sea, remained 
 exposed to the violence of the rising 
 tempest. 
 
 Night thickened ; the winds began to 
 rage from every quarter of the heavens 
 by turns 5 the hoarse roar of the 
 15
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. IG7 
 
 breakers was heard, mixed with the 
 shriller cries of sea-birds ; the galley 
 laboured and groaned among the splash- 
 ing waves ; — still Cesario was loath to 
 relinquish his expected prey ; the master 
 at length bluntly told him, that unless he 
 gave up the pursuit, every soul must in- 
 evitably perish. 
 
 It was now indeed impossible to pursue 
 the pirate, who ran his lighter vessel 
 ashore in a friendly creek, where the 
 darkness and the situation favoured his 
 concealment ; the San Lorenzo therefore 
 made for the island of Pianosa. 
 
 Well built, and ably manned, the 
 Genoese galley rode out the storm during 
 the night, and, by day-break, as she 
 neared the island-rock, guns were heard 
 on the subsiding wind. 
 
 By the quivering light of their succes- 
 sive flashes, Cesario and his companions 
 found they proceeded from a vessel in 
 distress ; he returned her signals, and 
 every exertion was made to reach her.
 
 168 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 The unhappy merchantman (for such 
 she was) had struck upon a low rock, 
 close to the desert Pianosa, and her 
 loosened planks were beginning to sepa- 
 rate. 
 
 Boats, crowded with women, children, 
 and mariners in the wildest despair, were 
 seen on the mountainous waves, strug- 
 gling to attain the friendly galley : those 
 whom the boats could not receive, had 
 cast themselves into the sea, catching at 
 spars, oars, any thing, in short, slight 
 enough to grasp, and strong enough to 
 bear them up. 
 
 Impatient of delay, Cesario had al- 
 ready thrown himself with a few sailors 
 into his own boat, and was making to- 
 wards the wreck, for he had discovered 
 on the remnant of the vessel some women 
 running in distraction to and fro, and a 
 single man, who, by his gestures, ap- 
 peared encouraging them to hope and 
 exertion. 
 
 By this time the dawn was much ad-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 1^9 
 
 vanced, and objects, though indistinct, 
 gradually became more visible. 
 
 Cesario beheld with dismay the situ- 
 ation of the people. 
 
 The wind indeed had fallen, but the 
 sullen silence of the clouds above, was 
 broken by the deafening roai' of the 
 waves below ; a prodigious swell was 
 thundering forward, sweeping the help- 
 less wreck along with it. 
 
 That fearful swell carried her at once 
 over the rock where she had first struck ; 
 but, still rushing on with tremendous 
 force, dashed her against the more for- 
 midable rocks of the inner coast. 
 
 Her only remaining mast fell with a 
 loud crash, and, as it fell, the solitary 
 man upon the deck disappeared under 
 it: a shock, a shriek — O what a shriek ! 
 — told Cesario that he came too late ; 
 the wi'etched vessel was now scattering 
 her timbers over the face of the waters. 
 
 The women clung to its floating frag- 
 ments with instinctive sense 5 but alas ! 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 THE KNIGHT Of ST. JOHN. 
 
 their stunned companion lay senseless on 
 the surface. 
 
 Cesario was on the point of leaping 
 into the sea, and swimming through the 
 raging elements to this devoted victim ; 
 but aware that in doing so he must 
 perish without attaining the object de- 
 sired, he exerted all his own skill and 
 his men's courage, to impel their boat 
 foi'ward to their assistance. 
 
 As they proceeded they were menaced 
 with instant destruction on every side; 
 large masses of the wreck, impetuously 
 hurried by the current against their 
 slight boat, threatened to overturn it ; 
 rocks above and rocks below water sur- 
 rounded tliem ; but still manfully com- 
 bating every obstacle, they passed safely 
 through, and reached the given point. 
 
 The unfortunate man yet lay without 
 motion on the water ; the next instant 
 he must have sunk : but what will not 
 humanity attempt and courage execute ? 
 Cesario called on his men to keep the
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 171 
 
 boat steady, while he fearlessly plunged 
 out of it into the boiling surf. 
 
 It was but a moment of alarm and 
 strong emotion : the next instant he re- 
 gained the boat, with the object of his 
 solicitude in his arms. 
 
 The sailors had previously rescued the 
 women j the other boats had gained the 
 galley : not a soul had perished. Ce- 
 sario hastily passed his hand over his 
 eyes, to hide feelings which honoured 
 his manhood: the joyful conviction of 
 being the preserver of so many persons, 
 rendered his late martial triumph cold 
 and worthless in comparison; but this 
 was not a time for indulging in reflec- 
 tions of any kind, for the unfortunate 
 man whom he had saved still demanded 
 his care. 
 
 He now took him once more in his 
 arms, to observe whether life yet re- 
 mained : as he did so, the pale head 
 hung feebly backward, but the mild blue 
 eyes unclosed.
 
 17^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHK. 
 
 Was it a dream, or did Cesario in 
 reality support upon his breast the man 
 he had avoided with so much passion? 
 Was it memory or fancy, working in his 
 mind, that told him he had just saved 
 the life of Giovanni Cigala ? and so re- 
 paid with overflowing measure all the 
 proofs of kindness which had been thrust 
 upon him by the only noble offspring of 
 that detested race ! 
 
 The tremulous day was yet uncertain; 
 but he could not again mistake that face 
 when united with the soul which stamped 
 its individuality. 
 
 " Keep off! — he revives !" was his 
 hurried exclamation. Willing to have 
 that instant of strong emotion without 
 witnesses, he motioned to the sailors and 
 women to precede him into the galley, 
 which had now row^d up to them. 
 During the transfer of these persons, he 
 had time to collect his amazed thoughts. 
 Giovanni's hand was in his : hitherto it 
 had been motionless; but now a trem-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 173 
 
 bling pressure conveyed his generous 
 gratitude. " Adimari !** he said, in low 
 accents, " Heaven ordains us to be 
 friends." 
 
 " O that some revelation from heaven 
 would indeed tell me so \" exclaimed Ce- 
 sario, transported out of himself by this 
 extraordinary adventure, and involun- 
 tarily straining Giovanni to his breast. 
 
 •* I owe my life to you," said Gio- 
 vanni, " and I devote it to you hence- 
 forth. Yes, whether you will or no." 
 
 Overcome with a rapid retrospect of 
 past times, at these words Cesario bowed 
 his head upon the shoulder of Giovanni ; 
 with a deep sigh, he said, ** In this hour 
 of agitation I am not myself; I know 
 not what I say ;" and, folding Giovanni 
 with his supporting arm, he called one of 
 the seamen to assist in raising him into 
 the galley. 
 
 Saved from death by the exertions of 
 Cesario, and thrown upon his humanity 
 for the remaining period of their cruise, 
 I 3
 
 174.^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Giovanni had powerful auxiliaries in these 
 circumstances : nay, even the weak parts 
 in the character of Cesario assisted him 
 in the conquest he sought over his pre- 
 judices. 
 
 His proud spirit was appeased by the 
 obligation he had already laid upon the 
 son of Paulo Cigala : he now thought 
 only of showing to him that an Adimari 
 scorned all revenge save that of added 
 services ; that while these services were 
 needed by one of the Cigali, he would 
 render them profusely ; but that neces- 
 sity over, the obliger and the obliged 
 must return into their former constrained 
 position. 
 
 Cesario had yet to learn his own heart : 
 he had yet to learn, also, the influence of 
 an enthusiastic interest, steady yet not 
 obtrusive ; forbearing, yet dignified ; ex- 
 traordinary, but not extravagant. He 
 had yet to learn, that even love itself 
 sufficed not for all the wants of a soul 
 like his, created to desire and to feel
 
 THK KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 175 
 
 every animated sentiment j to aspire after, 
 and, liaply, to reach every heroic virtue. 
 
 The injury Giovanni had sustained by 
 the fall of the mast, was aggravated by 
 a fever, which confined him entirely to 
 the rough couch of Cesario's cabin. Here, 
 when not required amongst his people, 
 Cesario came to assist in administering 
 to his ailments ; or to relieve the tedium 
 of solitary inaction, by reading or con- 
 versation. 
 
 At these times, Giovanni forbore to 
 speak either of his gratitude or his now- 
 rivetted resolution to win his friendship : 
 but the expression of his mildly-pene- 
 trating eye spoke volumes ; and Cesario* 
 from avoiding its fixture, grew to endure 
 its mute appeal 5 and, finally, to seek and 
 to love the look which laid bare that pure 
 and disinterested heart. 
 
 Giovanni, in his turn, became daily 
 more interested in the character and for- 
 tunes of Cesario -, the almost romantic 
 attraction be had felt towards him while 
 I 4-
 
 176 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 he was an object rather of his imagin* 
 ation than his knowledge, seemed now 
 to be at once justifiable by reason, and 
 demanded by gratitude. 
 
 In their desultory conversations, where 
 feeling was seldom analyzed, but uni- 
 formly displayed, Cesario showed all the 
 varieties of his character. The nobleness 
 of his sentiments, contrasted with the 
 mediocrity of his destiny, was only the 
 more affecting: and that war between 
 ingenuous sympathy and exaggerated 
 duty, which never failed appearing when- 
 ever his father's memory crossed these 
 hours of intercourse, excited at once 
 respect and regret in the bosom of Gio- 
 vanni. 
 
 Once, indeed, unable to resist a pecu- 
 liarly tender tide of recollections which 
 the mention of liis father's early career 
 caused to flow, he spoke at laige of that 
 cherished parent ; he described his gentle 
 manners and gracious countenance ; his 
 bounteous and ever-open h:yid } his un-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN". 177 
 
 blemished life and guileless heart, which 
 seemed remnants of the golden age : he 
 painted his love and reverence of that 
 honoured parent, with all the eloquence 
 of profound sensibility ; and, as the mois- 
 ture which clouded his own eyes was re- 
 flected by that of Giovanni's, now fixed 
 on him with brotherly expression, he for- 
 got his hated lineage, and said in broken 
 accents, " Oh, you were worthy to have 
 known him !" 
 
 Giovanni could with difficulty master 
 the pleasurable emotion which struggled 
 to have way : he raised himself from his 
 couch, took and squeezed Cesario's hand. 
 Cesario's heart took alarm at that sign of 
 confidence : the expression of tenderness 
 subsided from his countenance, while that 
 of trouble and of self-reproach succeeded. 
 He fixed his eyes earnestly upon Gio- 
 vanni, as, profoundly sighing, he said, in 
 an altered voice, — ** Man cannot control 
 destiny ; and he must submit to it." While 
 I 5
 
 178 THE KNIGHT OF ST, JOHN. 
 
 he spoke, he dropped Giovanni's hand, 
 and left him. 
 
 When they met again, it was on the 
 ensuing day in the stern gallery, where 
 Giovanni, for the first time, was allowed 
 to breathe the free air. 
 
 A signal from the Admiral had just 
 declared the objects of the expedition 
 attained, and turned all the fleet home- 
 wards. The San Lorenzo was now coast- 
 ing the shores of the Papal states; and ere 
 a few days should elapse, her victorious 
 flag would be flying in the port of 
 Genoa. 
 
 Would that event at once dissolve the 
 union of mind, if it were not to be called 
 one of heart, between the preserver 
 and the preserved ? would the sight of 
 places^ where he had suffered real anguish 
 and supposed wrong, revive the slum- 
 bering resentment and antipathy of Ce- 
 sario ? would he, indeed, have the cruel 
 courage to tear himself from all inter- 
 course with a man, who had sympathised
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. 179 
 
 with his worthiest feeling ? would he in- 
 flict such a wound upon a trusting breast ? 
 When tliey met in the gallery, after the 
 first interchange of good wishes, and the 
 performance of some kind offices on the 
 part of Cesario, Giovanni fell into a re- 
 verie, during which he asked himself 
 these questions. 
 
 Cesario, meanwhile, was thinking of a 
 far different subject. 
 
 As the galley glided through glassy 
 waves, under a beautiful morning sky, 
 he stood, not far from Giovanni, leaning 
 on the railing of the balcony, completely 
 abstracted from surrounding things. Gio- 
 vanni's attention was insensibly attracted 
 by the peculiar and varying expressions 
 of his countenance. At times he saw his 
 cheek kindle, and his eyes sparkle with 
 sudden brilliancy ; then the colour and 
 the light would fade from both, and 
 softness, even to languor, steal over his 
 features. 
 
 Unconscious of the tremor and Ire- 
 1 6
 
 1§0 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHIT- 
 
 quency of his sighs, Cesario continued to 
 muse and to sigh ; and once, quite lost to 
 every other idea, he carried Beatrice's 
 ring to his lips, and held it there in a 
 trance of fond remembrances. 
 
 This action, coupled with the look by 
 which it was accompanied, fixed a floating 
 suspicion in the mind of Giovanni. He 
 had observed much in the conduct and 
 conversation of Cesario, which warranted 
 the belief of his being attached to some 
 lady in Genoa ; and now, while anxiously 
 contemplating his agitated countenance, 
 he grieved to think, that this affection, 
 though returned by its object, might be 
 thwarted by unkind relatives, or rendered 
 abortive by mutual poverty. 
 
 <« Had my imprudent sister been this 
 chosen object I" he said to himself, in- 
 dulging a momentary vision of generous 
 improbabilities, " all might have been 
 made up to him T' 
 
 Giovanni had touched the most painful 
 chord of his own heart by this spon-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 181 
 
 taneous reflection ; and, drawn from the 
 consideration of Cesario by hopes and 
 fears about his sister, he withdrew his 
 eyes, which unconsciously took the va- 
 cant fixture of deep thought, and pur- 
 sued a train of troubled meditation. 
 
 A demand for orders, from some sailors, 
 who had rowed round the stern, recalled 
 Cesario to himself 5 and having given 
 them the necessary commands, he turned 
 from his own tumultuous thoughts to seek 
 the conversation of Giovanni. 
 
 But for once he found Giovanni self- 
 absorbed ; never had Cesario seen him 
 look so absolutely sad; and penetrated 
 by that unusuai expression, in proportion 
 to his own expectation of coming hap- 
 piness, he drew near and sat down by 
 him. 
 
 " Cigala, something distressing em- 
 ploys your mind !" he said this in a tone 
 of lively interest : ** I would 1 could charm 
 it away, before we part." He made a 
 short pause between the first sentence of
 
 182 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 this address, and the few concluding 
 words, which he strove to say in a lighter 
 manner. 
 
 *« And are we io part, Adimari?" 
 asked Giovanni, raising his full mild eye, 
 and laying on him a hand chilled by 
 painful surprise. 
 
 <« We ought — we must," — was Ce- 
 sario's answer, hemming away a sigh, 
 and averting his head. 
 
 « What ! part to meet no more ?" re- 
 peated Giovanni. 
 
 « No more on earth — at least not as 
 we meet now," resumed Cesario v/ith 
 seriousness. "You were aware of my 
 principles — prejudices, if you please- 
 long ago — I hope you are not very much 
 surprised to find that I still believe it my 
 duty to abide by them ?" 
 
 It is a strange inconsistency in human 
 nature, that when we are obliged to say 
 or do an unkind thing, and feel most pain 
 from that necessity, we always try to hide 
 our concern under an appearancg of
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 183 
 
 hardness or indifference. Something like 
 remorse, in truth it was regret, tugged 
 at Cesario's heart-strings : yet he main- 
 tained his air of chilling determination, 
 and moved a few steps away, to conceal 
 his inward struggle. 
 
 Giovanni looked after him with earnest 
 observation : a long silence followed. 
 At length he said, *' I am surprised -— 
 and how grieved, I forbear to say. I 
 wish you had not bestowed on me the 
 useless obhgation of life saved : for what 
 is it to a man, standing alone in the 
 world, bereft of kindred, outraged by 
 love, and denied friendship ?" 
 
 " You have loved then. Cicala?** 
 exclaimed Cesario, turning on hira a 
 countenance all melting v/ith kindly sym- 
 pathy. 
 
 ** I have," repHed Giovanni, <« and I 
 remember enough of its pains, to wish 
 you nothing but its joys. Go, Adimari ; 
 I read your feelings in your face ; — - 
 would, I coidd read your destiny also ! —
 
 184 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 if that were all prosperity, here would I 
 quit my hold upon your heart ; and let 
 you loose to that happiness, which you 
 will not even permit me to witness and 
 rejoice in : but if it is to be otherwise ; if 
 you suspect, that you are destined to 
 drink the bitter cup I have drunk of, 
 then nothing shall make me leave you till 
 I have wrung your promise of claiming 
 my grateful sympathy in that day of 
 desolation." 
 
 *« That day will never come !" ex- 
 claimed Cesario, rapturously. ** Witness 
 this precious pledge of love, for which 
 princes might contend in vain. A moun- 
 tain-hut with me — yes, Beatrice ; so 
 spoke those flowing eyes, when " 
 
 '* I must not steal your confidence," 
 interrupted Giovanni, seeing him hurried 
 out of himself j and, as he spoke, he 
 rose. 
 
 " Stay, Cigala — stay!" cried Cesario: 
 while saying so, he pushed him gently 
 back, and seeing him remain, took seve-
 
 THE Knight of st. john. IS5 
 
 ral turns up and down the gallery, m 
 troubled silence. 
 
 If grief be hard to bear alone, happi- 
 ness unshared is intolerable. Never 
 had Cesario groaned so powerfully for 
 the sympathies of friendship ; and never, 
 till now, had Giovanni's image presented 
 itself to him in the light of one seeking 
 compassion and sympathy. 
 
 With a sister, w^hose fate w^as involved 
 in mystery ; a youth, blighted by unre- 
 quited or unfortunate love, was not Gio- 
 vanni Cigala fitted to excite, and to i'eel, 
 that species of friendship which, tinc- 
 tured by the chivalrous spirit of their age, 
 had in it all the ardour without the in- 
 firmity of passion ? Would not his gentler 
 temper assist Cesario in moderating the 
 impetuosity of his ? Were the elder Adi- 
 mari, in heaven, allow^ed to select a bosom 
 confidant for his son on earth, would he 
 not choose such an one as Giovanni ? and 
 were that sainted parent able to reveal his
 
 186 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 sentiments on this trying question, what 
 would they be ? 
 
 Cesario pressed his throbbing temples 
 with his hand, as he paused upon these 
 questions. Again he asked himself, what 
 would his father's sentiments be? and 
 the reply was, — affection for Giovanni's 
 admirable and estimable qualities ; sen- 
 sibility to his attachment ; grateful re- 
 membrance of all he had offered, and all 
 he had done, to soothe the pain of wounds 
 which he could not prevent ! 
 
 By the elder Adimari's silent resent- 
 ment at the supposed ingratitude of 
 Prince Doria, had he not distinctly de- 
 livered it as his opinion, that; a man is 
 bound, by indissoluble ties, to him who 
 has saved his life ? Thus, then, Gio- 
 vanni's persevering attachment took the 
 stamp of a duty ; and if it were virtue in 
 him to persevere, it must be culpable or 
 cruel in his preserver to resist. 
 
 " Am I absolved, then, from the sin 
 of impiety, if I link my heart with Ci-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOH^. 1 87 
 
 gala ?*' asked Cesario, inwardly. ** Is it 
 enough that again and again I spumed 
 his offered kindness, when I had no 
 friend to console me, no heart to beat, 
 like his, in generous sympathy with 
 mine ? Then I might have doubted the 
 disinterestedness of my gratitude ; but 
 now, O, my father ! may I not forget that 
 he is the son of thy destroyer, and think 
 of him but as one to whom I may lament 
 thee?'' 
 
 During this internal address, he stood 
 with his face buried in his hands. Gio- 
 vanni watched him from a short distance, 
 with extreme anxiety. Suddenly Cesario 
 approached : he stretched out his arms, 
 his face beaming through tears. Gio- 
 vanni precipitated himself upon his neck, 
 and there, locked in a strong embrace, 
 their hearts silently exchanged the vow 
 of friendship. 
 
 If their delight in each other's so- 
 ciety had hitherto been great, what was 
 it now, when reserve on the one side,
 
 188 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 and apprehension on the other, gave 
 way before the full tide of mutual confi- 
 dence ? 
 
 The story of Giovanni's past, and Ce- 
 sario's present love, occupied many suc- 
 ceeding hours. Cesario was moved by 
 the vivid picture Giovanni drew of his 
 former sensibility to the most powerful 
 of human passions ; but more astonished, 
 that, having once felt such a passion, he 
 should live to look back on those days 
 without anguish that they were over. 
 
 It could not arise from coldness of 
 character, he thought ; for with what 
 enthusiasm did he speak of the chivalric 
 profession into which he had then thrown 
 himself; and with what romantic per- 
 severance had he sought his friendship ! 
 Was it then the natural march of human 
 feeling ? Cesario shuddered at the chil- 
 ling supposition : for love was now a 
 spurce of such bliss to him, that he fan- 
 cied even its torments preferable to its 
 extinction.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 189 
 
 The openness with which he expressed 
 this astonishment might have tempted 
 another man into justifying his own sen- 
 sibility, by explaining the soberising ef- 
 fects of time, and of reason, earnestly 
 called into action ; but, unwilling to 
 rend the bright blossoms of youthful im- 
 agination, Giovanni forbore to detail the 
 progress of his mind from grief to indig- 
 nation, from indignation to scorn, and 
 at last to indifference. He simply said, 
 " From the moment of my profession, I 
 devoted the powers of my mind, and 
 the affections of my heart, to higher pur- 
 poses : I devoted myself to a life of 
 singleness and the cros's. Is it wonder- 
 ful, then, that my soul should reject 
 every remembrance of a sentiment which 
 its object had dishonoured in my eyes, 
 and that I shoukl consider the vow which 
 bound me to refrain from woman's love, 
 not as bondage, but as freedom ? I 
 know not wliat the destiny of my heart 
 might ha\e been, had my attachment
 
 190 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 been as truly returned as yours, and my 
 mistress torn from me by death or duty : 
 as it is, I have done with every inclina- 
 tion of the kind.'' 
 
 Cesario smiled — " You will love again, 
 and find happiness." 
 
 " No : friendship will content me,*' 
 replied Giovanni ; and the satisfaction, 
 as well as purity of heaven, shone in his 
 serene eyes. 
 
 Cesario shook his head, without speak- 
 ing ; but his smile, and the incredulous 
 action of his head, required no com- 
 ment. 
 
 The conversation again reverted to 
 Signora Brignoletti. Beatrice was per- 
 sonally unknown to Giovanni ; he there- 
 fore took his idea of her from the por- 
 trait painted by her lover. 
 
 Coloured by that lover's vivid sensi- 
 bility, her portrait was, indeed, charm- 
 ing : it was Beauty, without thought of 
 power ; Youth, in all [its innocence and 
 ardour j Love, undisguised, because pure
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 191 
 
 and generous : in short, it was all that 
 would have given happiness in those 
 blissful days, when the affections and 
 duties were man's only law-givers, and the 
 tyranny of prejudices and the distinc- 
 tions of society were unknown. 
 
 But, alas! those blissful times were 
 past, and Giovanni saw in their stead a 
 host of difficulties betv/een his friend's 
 wishes and their object. 
 
 Beatrice was very young : m.ost likely, 
 therefore, timid in spirit ; long-continued 
 opposition from her relatives might even- 
 tually harass her into giving up her own 
 inclinations. Possibly she might have 
 the instability of her age ; and time, or a 
 new object, cause her fancy to alter. 
 
 But of all the obstacles to Cesario's 
 success which Giovanni imagined, none 
 appeared to him so formidable, and so 
 sure of checking his fond career, as Ce- 
 sario's own principles. At present, in- 
 toxicated with the joy of beholding his 
 fair mistress, and being permitted to tell
 
 192 THE KNIGHT OF ST^ JOHN. 
 
 her how absolute she reigned over his 
 affections, Cesario dreamt not of a wish 
 beyond, nor anticipated the period when 
 headlong passion would demand its ut- 
 most gratification, and meditate seizing 
 it at the expense of Beatrice's duty and 
 his ow^n honour. 
 
 Giovanni foresaw this period, and 
 rightly believed that Cesario would then 
 shrmk with horror from the baseness of 
 persuading a young woman^ to abandon 
 her first duties, and act in open rebellion 
 against her sole remaining parent. Nay, 
 were even that parent's consent to be 
 wrung from her by importunities or per- 
 severance, how would Cesario's pride en- 
 dure the humiliation of owing dignity 
 and riches to his wii'e ? How would his 
 jealous reputation bear the probable mis- 
 conception of public opinion ? 
 
 Giovanni felt and reasoned thus ibr 
 his friend ; but, as yet, their bond of 
 amity was too newly knit to warrant him 
 in urging a sacrilice of this inauspicious
 
 THE KXIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 193 
 
 attadiment: he could only resolve to 
 watch its progress with an attentive eye, 
 and to seize the first troubled feeling of 
 Cesario, as a fortunate opportunity fbr 
 enlarging upon those motives, which he 
 ventured to hope, would be all-powerful 
 with one so ingenuous and so just. 
 
 If Giovanni ever indulged a selfish 
 joy, this was the period in which he was 
 the most inchned to it : for, in attaining 
 Cesario's friendship, he had acquired 
 that, which for six years, he had sought 
 in vain — a source of deep, increasing, 
 interest, calculated to nourish that gene- 
 rous sympathy which might be said to 
 constitute his very being, and which had 
 languished hitherto for want of aliment. 
 
 Giovanni's soul did, in truth, realise 
 the beau ideal of those enchanting min- 
 strels of the " olden time," whose songs 
 immortalise some fancied hero, capable 
 of love without desire, and friendship 
 excelling even that disinterestedness, in 
 its capacity of sacrificing the hopes of 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 19^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 love to impregnable fidelity. Had the 
 outward expression of this character 
 been more marked, or fluently professed 
 by him who bore it, those who studied 
 it might have believed it the result of a 
 strong aspiration after excellence, and 
 consequent victory over human weak- 
 ness ; but so calmly and uniformly did 
 it appear, on every occasion, in Gipvanni, 
 that it was impossible not to consider it 
 as the involuntary habit of a soul ibllow- 
 ing its own nature, without resistance or 
 effort. 
 
 Although this tranquil constancy 
 stamped a sacred character upon qua- 
 lities which might otherwise have seemed 
 romantic, Giovanni was less likely to 
 kindle enthusiasm in his admirers, than 
 to excite in them that still, profound 
 satisfaction, with which we contemplate 
 beatified natures. 
 
 Even that which now constituted his 
 own especial gratification, in this new 
 bond of amity, was more an animating
 
 THE KNIGHT Of ST. JOHN. 1^6 
 
 hope of benefitting Cesario hereafter, 
 than the prospect (delightful as it was) 
 of solacing himself with his fraternal 
 affection. 
 
 He foiesaw the near approach of that 
 crisis in Cesario's connection with Sig- 
 nora Brignoletti, when either his assaulted 
 principles would require the encourage- 
 ment of friendship, to assist him in van- 
 quishing strong temptation to act wron^ 
 or his betrayed love demand sympathy 
 and consolation. 
 
 " My heart shall support him in that 
 trial," he said to himself; and Giovanni 
 soothed his own prophetic sadness with 
 this kindly thought. 
 
 It was so sweet to him, to witness 
 every day the rapid increase of Cesario's 
 confidence ; and to observe the noble 
 elements of a character, not yet reduced 
 to that harmonious order, that frame of 
 moral beauty, to which they seemed des- 
 tined, that he could have chidden the 
 K 2
 
 1 96 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 favourable gales, now speeding them on 
 their way home. 
 
 But Giovanni was incapable of selfish- 
 ness, even thus ennobled ; and he turned 
 with pleasure to the certainty of his 
 friend's honourable welcome from his 
 country, after the acquisition of so much 
 renown. 
 
 Cesario, on his part, was never weary 
 ^f listening to the wide-reaching conver- 
 sation of his friend. His own habits had 
 been more active than studious; and 
 though he knew the histories of past 
 ages, he rather remembered than re- 
 flected on them. 
 
 Giovanni's remarks taught him that 
 all the instruction of history lies in the 
 important lessons it gives; not in its 
 otherwise sterile list of facts. He taught 
 him to carry every thing back to his 
 own heart, and his own conduct ; to esti- 
 mate men's actions by their motives ; 
 and while observing the tissue of their 
 crimes, and virtues, and inconsistencies.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 197 
 
 to remark, how surely they all tend, in 
 the hand of Providence, to the great 
 work of human improvement. 
 
 By directing his attention to this ana- 
 lysis of characters and circumstances, 
 Giovanni shook many of Cesario's fa- 
 vourite and fostered prejudices : but he 
 shook them with so gentle a touch, that 
 Cesario's pride was not roused to defend 
 them; and thus left to the operations of 
 truth and tenderness, they were gradu- 
 ally giving way. 
 
 Giovanni beheld his growing influence 
 with generous exultation : for he sought 
 Cesario's happiness ; and he wisely be- 
 lieved, that he who weeds out a fault, 
 and plants a virtue in a friend, does far 
 more for his comfort, even here, than he 
 that bestows on him all the earthly ob- 
 jects of man's desire. 
 
 K 3
 
 ( 198 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 When the victorious gallies were peace- 
 fully moored in the harbour of Genoa, 
 Prince Doria procured for his young 
 officer, the public thanks of the seigniory. 
 
 Those thanks were followed, in private, 
 by the offer of a pecuniary reward in 
 recompense of the Capitain-Basha's ves- 
 sel. At that moment, Cesario thought 
 only of his father : he forgot his bondaged 
 fortune; he forgot even Beatrice; and, 
 transported with filial feelings, could only 
 say, ** A monument for my father in the 
 cathedral of San Siro j and this, and all 
 my future services are over-paid !" 
 
 Some eyes were moist that looked on 
 him, as he pronounced these words. 
 
 The request was immediately granted;
 
 THE K^fIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 199 
 
 and Cesario himself was empowered to su- 
 perintend its execution. It was not the 
 costly marble of which this memorial was 
 afterwards formed; it was not the story of 
 Gianettino Doria's deliverance, sculp- 
 tured on its front; it was not the actual 
 banner, then saved with the prince, and 
 now floating over the pictured scene ; it 
 was not even the proud distinction of 
 its being erected by the hands of his 
 country, which wrought Cesario's joy 
 almost to transport. It was the consci- 
 ousness that he had earned this trophy 
 with his blood ; and thus proved himself 
 worthy the name of him to whom it was 
 dedicated. 
 
 In this pious joy, Giovanni could now 
 mingle his faithful spirit, without dread 
 of repulse. When the monument was 
 placed in the church of San Siro, Cesario, 
 in a paroxysm of re-awakened grief and 
 exultation, ran to throw himself upon 
 Giovanni's breast. 
 
 On that kindly breast, he feared not to 
 K 4
 
 £00 THE KKTGHT OF ST. .TOHK. 
 
 give those tender feelings way ; beneath- 
 that gracious eye, he suffered his tears 
 to flow, cease, and gush again, in alter- 
 nate gusts of recollected and present 
 happiness, of regret and gratitude, of 
 pain and pleasure. 
 
 Giovanni pressed him in a strong em- 
 brace, while silently witnessing these 
 bui'sts of an over- wrought sensibility* 
 *< Alas, what materials of misery, perhaps, 
 are here,'* he said inwardly; "yes: — of 
 misery, in this brief world ; but of double 
 felicity in the world of spirits." And at 
 that thought, the cloud hanging over 
 Giovanni's heavenly countenance at once 
 fled. 
 
 Cesario recovered from his stormy 
 transports, only to run back to the church 
 of San Siro ; to feast his eyes again with 
 the sight of his father's monument; to 
 return once more to Giovanni ; and to 
 lose, in his fraternal sympathy, all re- 
 membrance of his relationship to the de- 
 stroyer of that honoured parent.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 201 
 
 Hearts so knit, hearts so cemented ; 
 Avere they ever to be rent asunder? 
 
 O frail estate of man ! 
 
 After the accomplishment of this sacred 
 object, Cesario restored himself to Bea- 
 trice. He had sought her immediately 
 on landing at Genoa; and had obtained, 
 in that sudden and accidentally private 
 interview, a full confirmation of what the 
 yielded ring had promised. 
 
 He taught her to consider this ring as 
 the talisman by which his late achieve- 
 ment had been operated : as such, she 
 heard with increased joy of the honours 
 awarded him by the seigniory ; and though 
 she sometimes upbraided him, with sweet 
 injustice, for devoting nearly all his 
 hours to urge the completion of his 
 father's memorial, her anger never out- 
 lasted the first kiss which he printed on 
 her willing hand. 
 
 Cesario was now hurrying along a swift 
 stream of transport, that, by its rapidity, 
 Jeft him not time to look steadily on the 
 K 5
 
 202 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 brilliant objects past which it was sweep- 
 ing; nor to think of the frightful regions 
 into which it might eventually bear him. 
 He was sensible but to present felicity ; 
 and, far from the horrid images of guilt 
 and self-reproach, dreamt not, that even 
 the tide of happiness, when not watched 
 in its flow, may glide at last into their 
 gloomy confines. 
 
 The cold salutations of the March esa 
 had no longer power to chill his hopes : 
 he followed Beatrice like her shadow ; 
 and as she scarcely endeavoured to veil 
 her partiality for one whom a brilliant 
 action covered with glory, even the re- 
 straints and the distractions of large so- 
 cieties did but feebly shade the lustre of 
 his enjoyments* 
 
 The mountain-hut was forgotten : Bea- 
 trice sparkled brightest in the brightest 
 scenes : her gay caprices charmingly va- 
 ried the settled forms of a life of repre- 
 sentation ; and what would elicit these in 
 the calm of retirement ?
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 203 
 
 Cesario began to covet honours and 
 rewards for the sake of her, whose habits 
 made riches, or at least distinction, neces- 
 sary. He therefore panted impatiently 
 for another opportunity of deserving and 
 winning both. 
 
 Though loving w^ith all the ardour of a 
 first passion, he retained sufficient reason- 
 ableness to see the folly of seeking the 
 Marchesa Brignoletti's consent to his 
 union with her daughter. At present, the 
 celebrity of his name was but just rising 
 above the ruins of his father's fortune : 
 the former was yet to be extended ; the 
 latter, to be new made : then, and not 
 till then, could he venture to express his 
 wishes. 
 
 Cesario submitted to this necessity, 
 but he abhorred the thought of shroud- 
 ing his attachment by any artifice. Too 
 honest, and too proud, to purchase the 
 Marchesa's forbearance by the sacrifice 
 of self-esteem, he left the secret of his 
 K 6
 
 ^04 THE KNIG«T OF ST. JOHN* 
 
 heart free to shine out on his counte- 
 nance and in his actions. 
 
 This principle, very early avowed to 
 Beatrice, checked her from uttering a 
 different one ; and she therefore contented 
 herself with smiling her sanction to the 
 candour of her lover, while she cunningly 
 rendered the light veil of her own heart 
 a little less transparent. 
 
 Beatrice well knew that her mother's 
 smothered suspicion of Cesario's atten- 
 tions, before he went to sea, would now 
 break out in peremptory commands, un- 
 less some adroit stratagems were used to 
 lull her alarm. 
 
 She had not courage to confess her 
 attachment ; much less her determina- 
 tion to abide by it : besides, since she had 
 wrested the avowal of his passion from 
 him, she felt the very opposite of a desire 
 to run into a desert with him. 
 
 Though she loved Cesario, she loved 
 pleasure also; and half her heart's joy 
 consisted in seeing him slight every other
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 205 
 
 beauty for her sake. There were many 
 beauties, whose advances Cesario abso- 
 lutely shunned. All this* triumph would 
 cease in the mountain-hut : it was there- 
 fore her policy to wait the turns of ac- 
 cident, and meanwhile parry her mother's 
 suspicions. 
 
 To effect this, Beatrice affected entire 
 confidence in her mother ; raUied herself, 
 w^ith great spirit, upon her evident con- 
 quest of so exalted a personage as the 
 ruined son of Francisco Adimari; sported 
 with the details of his tender speeches 
 
 ^nd jealous looks; and, in fine, perfectly 
 succeeded in making her mother believe, 
 
 ^ that she despised the lover, while she 
 liked the love ^ and that a little vanity, 
 and a little mischief, were her only sti- 
 mulants. 
 
 Beatrice, in reality, was amused by the 
 success of her scheme ; and, hurrying 
 over tlie question of its morality, she 
 found in it as much food for mirtlr as 
 iihelter for inclination.
 
 ^06 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Cesario, unsuspicious of any under- 
 plot, saw things just as they seemed: 
 and, perhaps, too happy for reflection 
 upon his happiness, might never have 
 observed the relaxed brow of the Mar- 
 chesa, had not his friend Giovanni gently 
 hinted at her future prohibition of his 
 visits. 
 
 Then it was that Cesario first remarked 
 the tranquillity with which she now saw 
 his passion for her daughter ; and catch- 
 ing fire at the thought, his hopes blazed 
 forth at once into certainty. 
 
 Surely this quiescence was a tacit per- 
 mission to win Beatrice by noble exploits! 
 He was yet but entering the road of 
 honour, it is true, and had fortune to 
 retrieve ; but the blood of kings and 
 princes filled his veins, rendering it more 
 than worthy to mingle with that of the 
 Brignoletti. 
 
 The Marchesa must know that his 
 ancestors were sovereigns where he now 
 possessed not a rood of land j holding the
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 20? 
 
 title of Counts of Genoa for more than 
 three centuries. She must know, that 
 they claimed kindred with the illustrious 
 Pepin, by whom their jurisdiction was 
 bestowed j and that, although sunk to 
 absolute poverty in their solitary repre- 
 sentative, remembrance of his family was 
 still coupled, in the minds oi' men, with 
 ideas of magnificence and power. 
 
 Giovanni listened to the visionary 
 transport of his friend with painful scep- 
 ticism. The Marchesa was not likely to 
 be thus actuated by the mere shadows of 
 precious things, when their realities might 
 be offered to her daughter by more for- 
 tunate rivals. Yet such romance was 
 possible ; or rather it was possible that 
 an excess of maternal fondness might in- 
 duce her to sacrifice her own wish of an 
 equal alliance for her daughter, to that 
 daughter's peculiar happiness. 
 
 Giovanni wished this might prove the 
 case, but he ventured not to hope it ; 
 yet too tender for the severest office of
 
 S08 THE KNtGHT OF ST. JOMK* 
 
 friendship, he contented himself witii 
 turning the projects of Cesario's love to- 
 wards the interests of his glory. 
 
 After signalising himself in the de- 
 fence of his country and the protection 
 of Christendom, should this cherished 
 friend be disappointed of the lovely re- 
 ward which now animated him, still there 
 would remain for him the substantial pos- 
 sessions of an honourable reputation, re- 
 vived fortunes, and the consciousness of 
 high desert. 
 
 In Giovanni's estimation, these bless- 
 ings, with friendship added, included all 
 that life had of desirable and noble; and 
 while he contemplated the possibility of 
 disappointment to his friend's passion, he 
 believed that such a catastrophe would 
 eventually lead that ardent soul, as it had 
 impelled his own, to fix upon great and 
 imperishable objects alone. 
 
 Beatrice was yet personally unknown 
 to Giovanni ; for the latter found much 
 to occupy his time after his return home, 
 13
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 209 
 
 and the former had little inclination to 
 make the acquaintance of one whom she 
 persisted in imagining disagreeable, be- 
 cause he had once been almost a monk, 
 and was, even now, resolved never to 
 marry. 
 
 In truth, Beatrice generally felt pretty 
 accurately upon most subjects without 
 the trouble of reasoning : and, though 
 quite unreflecting upon her own conduct, 
 seemed to know by intuition that her 
 lover's friend would scrutinise and con- 
 demn what that dazzled lover admired. 
 
 Giovanni might detect her subtle game 
 with the Marchesa ; and if once he di- 
 rected Cesario*s eyes to the fact, she felt 
 certain that her humiliation in her lover's 
 opinion would be the immediate conse- 
 quence. 
 
 Beatrice was yet too unpractised to 
 have divined the baneful secret of making 
 an excess of love her apology for every 
 violation of dignity or morality : a secret, 
 it is said, by which the loftiest manly
 
 210 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 character is bent to the most degrading 
 connections. 
 
 She knew that Cesario's censure would 
 overwhelm her with shame ; and she 
 therefore studiously avoided the person 
 whose discernment and austere principles 
 threatened her little artifices with de- 
 struction. 
 
 Under these impressions, Beatrice 
 evaded Giovanni*s introduction j and she 
 did this the more easily from his frequent 
 absences. 
 
 He was desirous of providing for the 
 shelter and refreshment of the humbler 
 order of travellers among the wild moun- 
 tains leading into Lombardy ; and for 
 this purpose he promoted and superin- 
 tended the erection of several small 
 buildings, where both rest and refresh- 
 ment were to be furnished at his expense. 
 
 Another occupation, equally benevo- 
 lent in its object, but visionary in its 
 hopes, withdrew him yet more from so- 
 ciety ; stole him from his sleep, his food.
 
 TH£ KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 211 
 
 his exercise, and rendered all things in- 
 different to him, excepting the company 
 of Cesario. 
 
 This occupation was the study of the 
 Genoese laws ; and the object he sought 
 to gain was the reversal of that sentence 
 by which he possessed the estate ©f Adi- 
 mari. 
 
 Ere he embraced the profession of 
 knighthood, Giovanni, in common with 
 every other Genoese youth, had devoted 
 much attention to legal studies : it was 
 the regular course in educating persons 
 destined from their birth to contend for 
 the highest offices in the republic. 
 
 He now returned to these studies with 
 a zest they had not before ; fondly be- 
 lieving he should find some forgotten 
 statute or precedent which might warrant 
 him in agitating a new process, and 
 finally restore to Cesario the home of his 
 ancestors. 
 
 Surrounded by books and parchments, 
 all speaking the same tasteless language.
 
 ^1^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Giovanni was so often found by his 
 friend, that the latter could not forbear 
 rallying him on the sterile road his am- 
 bition had now chosen. Giovanni would 
 only smile, too happy in the conscious- 
 ness of seeking Cesario's benefit, and not 
 those civic honours of which he believed 
 himself as yet unworthy ; and for which, 
 indeed, neither his habits nor inclinations 
 fitted him. 
 
 His track, could he now have chosen 
 it, would have been the one his father 
 had withdrawn him from : it would have 
 been that of arms, pursued in the name 
 and for the interests of religion. But as 
 it was, with particular duties to fulfil, 
 and private friendship to gratify, he was 
 content to consider the situation of an 
 active citizen as that for which Provi- 
 dence had ordained him ; and to go on 
 in it content and cheerful. 
 
 Occupied as he was by his buildings 
 and his application to law-books, Gio- 
 vanni w^as too anxious to study the cha*
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 213 
 
 racter of a woman on whom Cesario's 
 peace depended, not to remark with con- 
 siderable mortification that every arrange- 
 ment for his visiting at the Palazzo Rosso 
 was continually frustrated by her frivolous 
 excuses. 
 
 Far from guessing the real reason — 
 her awe of, and distaste to his character, — 
 he concluded she must be of a jealous 
 disposition ; and that even friendship was 
 in her eyes a treachery to love. 
 
 Sometimes this conjecture made him 
 uneasy at the effect of her influence over 
 the heart she would rule so exclusively ; 
 but the apprehension lasted not a mo- 
 ment : Cesario's speaking countenance, 
 whatever else it expressed of sadness or 
 of joy unconnected with Giovanni, was 
 still expressive of grateful, spontaneous, 
 fraternal affection. 
 
 Still, with Giovanni only, did he talk 
 of his father and his boyish days : still, 
 with him only, did he give voice to the 
 day-dreams of a youthful soul, animated
 
 ^14 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 by the emulation of every thing noble, 
 every thing praiseworthy ; animated too 
 by love. 
 
 It is only when our hearts thus think 
 aloud in the presence of another, that we 
 have found a friend ; that noble abandon- 
 ment is the pledge of mutual faith. 
 
 Since their interchange of vows on the 
 deck of the San Lorenzo, Cesario and 
 Giovanni had opened to each otiier the 
 inmost recesses of their souls ; they had 
 led each other back from the full stream 
 of their present friendship to its hidden 
 sources. 
 
 In their mutual confessions, each found 
 more to esteem in the character of the 
 other : Cesario reproached his own proud 
 prejudices, which had ui'ged him so often 
 to repulse with bitterness the gentle na- 
 ture that approached him so amiably; 
 and Giovanni taxed himself with injustice 
 because he had not divined what it cost 
 Cesario to treat him with ferocity. 
 
 Thus each saw more to prize in his
 
 THE KKIOHT OF ST. JOHN. 215 
 
 friend, and more to repent of in himself ; 
 consequently, the wish of repairing in- 
 justice gave fresh energy to the impulse 
 of inclination. 
 
 It was no longer bitterness for Cesario 
 to re-tread his father's steps on the ter- 
 race at the Marino, or to sit in the seat 
 he used to love, under the old cedar ; 
 tliis beloved spot was indeed no longer 
 his, but it was the property of one who 
 grieved over its possession ; who reve- 
 renced every memorial of the sacred 
 dead ; and who, v/hile apologising for his 
 unwilling detention of a place so dear, 
 by degrees convinced Cesario that justice 
 attached it to the Cigala property. 
 
 Cesario ceased, therefore, to consider 
 the subject with acrimony : it was only 
 when he thought his father's life had 
 fallen a sacrifice to this hardly-enforced 
 right, that he felt all his former passions 
 rekindle. 
 
 At first, Giovanni pressed on him the 
 occupation of this endeared villa; but
 
 S16 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Cesario could not forget that it was the 
 son of Paulo Cigala who would thus lend 
 him what had once been his own, and 
 he refused it with impetuosity ; the next 
 instant he softened his refusal by a look 
 that spoke volumes ; and by the pro- 
 mise of using the Marino as if it were 
 still his home. 
 
 Giovanni pardoned him this imperfec- 
 tion of friendship ; and serenely waiting 
 the effects of time and increased con- 
 fidence, forbore to hint to him what he 
 longed to urge — an equal participation 
 in each other's fortunes. 
 
 Giovanni could not resign his kindred's 
 right to the Marino ; nor would he aban- 
 don it to the possession of any one less 
 anxious than himself, to preserve it in its 
 original beauty ; but he abhorred the 
 thought of appropriating the liberal re- 
 turns of this estate to the purposes of his 
 own establishment : he therefore devoted 
 them exclusively to acts of charity. 
 
 Through the medium of the Redemp-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. 217 
 
 tion Friars, the rents of the Marino were 
 employed in ransoming Christian slaves. 
 Many a hopeless captive, who had long 
 languished under the tyranny of Algerine 
 masters, was thus released from toil and 
 suffering, and restored to his home. 
 
 Cesario accidentally discovered this 
 merciful destination of wealth which was 
 once his own ; and loving Giovanni the 
 better for the discovery, he no longer 
 allowed himself to regret the loss of a 
 fortune which, instead of increasing the 
 luxuries of one individual, bestowed bless- 
 ings upon numbers. 
 
 Meanwhile, he continued to reside with 
 the good Syndic and his wife ; content 
 to live with the utmost simplicity, and 
 entering crowds only at the Palazzos 
 Doria and Rosso. 
 
 His former associate, Marco Doria, 
 had long since abandoned the falconer's 
 cottage ; and was again afloat upon the 
 idle currents of vanity and dissipation. 
 They met with the same cordiality as 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 formerly, though their companionsliip 
 was somewhat injured by Cesario's nobler 
 tie with Giovanni, and yet more, by a 
 new whim of the Iris-humoured Marco. 
 
 This absurd young man, as if in de- 
 fiance of his own capricious character, 
 had formally assumed the office of cices- 
 beo to a lady then newly married : by 
 this act he bound himself to servitude 
 without relaxation or without recom- 
 pense ; for in that early age it was 
 neither libertinism which sought, nor 
 infidelity that rewarded this irksome en- 
 gagement. It was simply the shadow of 
 what had once had form and substance 
 in the days of chivalry. 
 
 During the period of the crusades, we 
 read, that it was customary for each mar- 
 ried wearer of the Cross, ere he embarked 
 for the Holy Land, to leave his wife 
 under the charge of some trusty friend, 
 whose vigilant eye was to watch over the 
 honour and affections of the lady ; thus 
 preserving for the absent warrior the
 
 THR KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 219 
 
 treasure of domestic happiness. We may 
 thence conclude that in process of time 
 this chivalric institution softened into one 
 less arduous ; and the friend who would 
 formerly have been called on to become 
 responsible for the virtue of the lady in- 
 trusted to his care, was only required to 
 watch over her outward demeanour in 
 public 01 private circles ; to animate her 
 innocent pleasures, and protect her from 
 neglect or insult. 
 
 At what time this harmless, nay kindly 
 appointment sunk into the odium it is 
 now said to deserve, it is impossible to 
 guess, and would be revolting to enquu'e : 
 suffice it, the cicesbei were originally 
 characters of the noblest class ; after- 
 wards, of the most amiable ; now, aJas, 
 too frequently of the basest. 
 
 The person to whom Marco Doria had 
 engaged himself was the Signora Calva, 
 a woman of honour, but of more spirit 
 than sense : well-inclined to enjoy all the 
 privileges which her situation might give 
 L 2
 
 220 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 her over the time and attentions of an 
 amusing young man, and to laugh at the 
 unwillingness with which she foresaw he 
 would very soon render them. 
 
 Being the favourite cousin and com- 
 panion of Beatrice Brignoletti, her own 
 natural vivacity was often heightened into 
 mischief by her friend's wilder spirits ; 
 and Marco Doria's patience or constancy 
 was thus put to many a severe test. 
 
 The very act of accepting Marco as 
 her cicesbeo had been a scheme of mirtli 
 concerted between Signora Calva, her 
 bridegroom, and Beatrice. They anti- 
 cipated much entertainment from the 
 zeal with which he would begin his new 
 duties, and the loathing with which he 
 would eventually meet their perform- 
 ance : their triumph was to consist in 
 driving him to the desperate act of en- 
 treating for a release. 
 
 The affair had already reached its se- 
 cond stage of wearisomeness to Marco 
 Poria, when Cesario returned from sea ;
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 221 
 
 but whether Marco had conceived a sus- 
 picion of colhision amongst the parties, 
 and was excited to disappoint their good- 
 humoured malice, or whether he really 
 considered adherence to this engagement 
 as a point of honour, or whether he sim- 
 ply endeavoured to prove that he could 
 persevere when he chose to do so, is 
 doubtful; but it is certain that he did 
 persevere. 
 
 In vain Signora Calva flew from town 
 
 ' --^i._.. A^^m rarnival to fair, from 
 hawkmg to anglmg, trom px^.^..-^ 
 
 dancing ; in vain she varied her humour 
 
 from gay to grave, from amiable to 
 
 austere, from mild to vindictive : Marco 
 
 Doria kept to his post j and, ever at her 
 
 side, performed all the duties of a liege 
 
 cicesbeo, with apparent satisfaction. 
 
 The allied powers were nearly wearied 
 
 out by this unforeseen dissimulation; and 
 
 were busily plotting some ruse dc gicerre 
 
 by which to capture him at once, when 
 
 one of their members, a passive one in- 
 
 L 3
 
 g^'2 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOttN. 
 
 deed, was suddenly detached from the 
 confederacy. — Cesario went on service. 
 
 Advice was brought to Genoa, that 
 a Barbary cruiser had made a descent 
 upon the coast of Tuscany during the 
 night, carried off several of the inha- 
 bitants, and was now^ proceeding with 
 her prey towards the Straits of St. Bo- 
 nifacio. 
 
 The horror of such events was never 
 
 diminished by their frequency; for as 
 
 every village, and solit^j^^ rv,«^ ,v.^ ^^ ^^^ 
 i-^^a'&i me Mediterranean and the 
 
 Adriatic, had either suffered from the 
 fear or the reality of such visitations, 
 during the last twenty years ; they shud- 
 dered, with more than pity, when they 
 heard of those calamities befalling their 
 neighbours. 
 
 What indeed could exceed the horror, 
 of men being suddenly snatched from 
 the bosoms of their families ; or what is 
 worse, of seeing their wives, children, and
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 228 
 
 parents, plunged into the same misery 
 with themselves ? 
 
 Neither sex, age, character, nor con- 
 dition, was spared by these ocean robbers. 
 The great and the mean, the rich and the 
 poor, were alike torn without remorse 
 from their enjoyments and their ties j and 
 carried into captivity. 
 
 But a few years had elapsed, since their 
 audacious enterprises were on the point 
 of being crowned by the possession of 
 the supreme Pontiff himself ; and as th^s 
 terrible incident was fresh in every mind, 
 it rendered the images of the pirates as 
 impious as formidable. 
 
 No sooner did the rumour of their 
 present descent reach Cesario, than, 
 agitated by compassion for the poor Tus- 
 cans, excited by the hope of regaining 
 them, and thus finding glory in the ser- 
 vice of Humanity, he ran to the Prince 
 of Melfi ; and besought his interest with 
 the Seigniory, for permission to fcdlow 
 the pirates. 
 
 L 4
 
 224 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 His earnestness, his former gallant 
 conduct, the urgency of the occasion, 
 and the strenuous recommendation of the 
 admiral, prevailed on the doge and his 
 counsellors. A galliot was then lying in 
 the harbour, just returned from a short 
 cruise, the captain of which was disabled 
 by illness. To the command of this ves- 
 sel, Cesario was immediately appointed; 
 and in less than four hours from the con- 
 firmation of the report, he was at sea. 
 
 The pressing nature of his enterprise 
 only allowed him to take a written fare- 
 well of Beatrice, and to leave a parting 
 message at Giovanni's door. 
 
 That valued friend was gone for a few 
 days to his house beyond Pietra Lava- 
 serra ; little imagining, that ere he 
 should return, Cesario would be again 
 seeking honour at the cannon's mouth, 
 on the eventful ocean. 
 
 It had been Giovanni's determination 
 to share all future perils with the man to 
 whom he had consecrated his friendship ;
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 225 
 
 what then was his mortification, to learn 
 by the arrival of a servant, that Cesario's 
 vessel had been long out of sight ere the 
 man left Genoa ; and that the galley he 
 chased, was commanded by the desperate 
 pirate Delli Rais ! 
 
 Cesario, with all his bravery and talent, 
 was yet but imperfectly versed in the 
 subtler part of a profession, where skilful 
 manoeuvre so often baffles the hardiest 
 spirit. Delli Rais, educated by the for- 
 midable Dragut, was known to have im- 
 bibed, not only the daring character of 
 his master, but his keener genius for 
 stratagem. He knew, too, every inch of 
 coast from the mouth of the Nile to 
 the Pillars of Hercules. 
 
 With such an adversary, even Cesario's 
 courage (and it was that of a lion) would 
 be of no avail 5 unless assisted by the ex- 
 perience of practised seamen and officers. 
 Giovanni rationally concluded, that the 
 Prince of Melfi had foreseen and provided 
 for this J and he strove, therefore, to confine 
 L 5
 
 226 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 his concern solely to the regret of not 
 sharing danger and honour with the friend 
 he loved. 
 
 - That regret was indeed deep and sin- 
 cere ; for his spirit panted for action ; 
 and his heart sunk at the prospect of a 
 long chasm in their daily intercour-se.
 
 ( 227 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 JVl USING over these things, during his 
 return from a charitable errand, Giovanni 
 «topped to observe the effect of a moon- 
 light upon the broken side of a ruined 
 chapel, which started from an Ilex wood 
 overhanging his path. 
 
 The silvery touches of that lovely light, 
 beautifully contrasted with the deep ver- 
 dure of the trees ; and the fresh night 
 air, just quivering their twinkling leaves, 
 seemed, as it moaned round the de- 
 serted edifice, to utter the dirge of de- 
 parted time. 
 
 Giovanni fixed his eyes upon the shat- 
 tered remains of a cross, in the open area 
 of the building : it was nearly overgrown 
 with wild vine. That emblem, so sacred in 
 L 6
 
 228 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 his estimation, and so degraded, changed 
 his thoughts ; and ceasing to admire the 
 prospect of mountain, wood, and dell, he 
 thought only of restoring the temple of 
 the Saviour to its original order. 
 
 Though the ruin was not on his do- 
 main, he was tolerably certain that no 
 one would obstruct him in the execution 
 of so pious a work ; and delighting him- 
 self with the prospect of its completion, 
 Ive was proceeding, with his sword, to 
 cut away the foul weeds clasping the 
 cross, when the shriek of a woman made 
 him start forward, and look round for her 
 that utered it. 
 
 His astonishment was extreme, when 
 he beheld a young creature in the dress 
 of a novice, but without her veil, alone, 
 and running towards him with the air of 
 one distracted. 
 
 ** O, save me ! sir," she cried ; " you 
 are a knight — protect me — hide me !" — 
 
 Misled by a badge of the order to 
 which Giovanni formerly belonged, and
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 229 
 
 which he still wore in pious memorial, 
 the lady almost threw herself into his 
 arms, striving to cover her face with his 
 mantle; Giovanni flung it round her, and 
 bore her into the chapel. 
 
 He then seated himself by her, upon 
 a fragment of stone ; and as the pale 
 moonbeam fell upon her, whitening the 
 panting neck and rounded cheek, from 
 which terror had banished colour ; as its 
 tremulous light glittered on the tears in 
 her eyes, he thought he had rarely seen 
 any thing so lovely. 
 
 His own mild eyes, full of tender 
 concern, and his usually composed com- 
 plexion, heightened into lustre by surprise, 
 were displayed to advantage by the same 
 soft light. The novice evidently beheld 
 them, and his superb figure, which the 
 want of his mantle fully discovered, with 
 wondering admiration ; for she gazed at 
 him in silence, unconscious that he ad- 
 dressed her. 
 
 " ^Vhat am I to protect you from.
 
 S30 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 madam ?" he asked respectfully, remov- 
 ing his supporting arm when he saw her 
 recovering. — " Where may I conduct 
 you ? — by your dress ^' — He glanced at 
 her white garments and ebon crucifix. 
 
 The brightest and deepest blushes 
 then overspread the youthful face of the 
 novice; she turned away in some con- 
 fusion, faintly repeating, in a voice be- 
 tween weeping and smiling, " This dress 
 is a disguise 5 I am not a religious — 
 I have been mistaken for one, and am 
 pursued by the brethren of San Eugenio. 
 
 O sir, if they discover who I am 
 
 where, where will you hide me !'* — 
 
 More perplexed, and amazed than be- 
 fore, Giovanni's looks expressed extreme 
 disturbance. ** I can conceal you here 
 for a while, madam," he said : " I have a 
 sword, and will defend you, with tny 
 life, against every thing but the au- 
 thority of the church." And as he 
 spoke, he advanced to the entrance of 
 the chapel.
 
 THE KNIGHT OP ST. JOHN, 231 
 
 A mingled confusion of laughter, hal- 
 loos, and expressions of alarm, was heard 
 from that quarter of the wood whence 
 the lady had issued ; and Giovanni dis- 
 tinctly heard a boy's voice calling, " Sig- 
 nora, Signora ! there is nothing to fear." 
 
 The sound was speedily followed by 
 the appearance of a motley groupe of 
 men and women, in religious habits, 
 whose laughing exclamations quickly 
 brought the fictitious novice from her 
 retreat. 
 
 A hurry of embraces, congratulations, 
 reproaches, and interrogations, then fol- 
 lowed, while Giovanni stood clasping his 
 useless sword with the air of a man 
 awaking from a dream. All he could 
 collect from the scene, w^as that one 
 party had attempted to impose upon the 
 other, and that the last had outwitted 
 the first. 
 
 " Do I leave you in the hands you 
 wish, madam?" asked Giovanni, taking
 
 232 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN* 
 
 up his cloak which the lady had let fall, 
 and preparing to depart. 
 
 " O you must not leave me, my pro- 
 tector," she replied, ardently catching 
 his arm : " I have not thanked you yet. — 
 By what name must I address you?'* 
 
 " Surely it is Signor Cigala !" said one 
 of the company, coming forward, and 
 discovering, under the cowl of a monk, 
 the piquant countenance of Marco 
 Doria. 
 
 "Cigala! — the friend of Cesario !'* 
 repeated the lady with animation. — 
 " Ah Signor ! then you must not go."' 
 
 Giovanni looked at her while she 
 spoke ; and the moonlight now showed 
 that lately-pale face, sparkling with colour 
 and joy. He could not mistake that 
 rayonante complexion which his friend 
 had so often described : ** The Signora 
 Brignoletti !" he repeated, and respect- 
 fully kissed her extended hand. 
 
 Her spirits, the distant place in which 
 they met, and the childish trick which 
 13
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. Q33 
 
 had caused their meeting, convinced 
 Giovanni that Beatrice was yet ignorant 
 of her lover's departure from Genoa; 
 and at this thought he fixed his eyes on 
 her with a look of tender commiseration. 
 
 Beatrice was not very able in the 
 knowledge of countenance,^ and she mis- 
 took that expr*ission for one of pure 
 admiration. '* This is the man who fore- 
 swears the power of beauty," she said to 
 herself; and, from that instant, she forgot 
 he was also the friend of her lover. 
 
 The Signora Calva's request, that 
 Giovanni would return with them to 
 his casino, was seconded with much cor- 
 diality by ^larco Doria, and with more 
 earnestness by Beatrice. Uneasily anxious 
 to see her character closer, he yielded 
 immediate consent ; and the lively party 
 proceeded down the mountain. 
 
 During their walk homewards, and it 
 was not a short one, the mystery of their 
 disguises was explained to him : he 
 leanie^ that a trick had been devised
 
 ^34 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 between Signora Calva and Beatrice, by 
 which they hoped to seduce Marco Do- 
 ria from his duty to the former: — a 
 pretty page belonging to the latter was 
 dressed in the habit of a novice, and in- 
 structed in a tale of parental tyranny, 
 likely to enlist Marco's knight-errantry 
 on her side : the boy's^^fFeminate beauty 
 and well- taught flatteries, were expected 
 to work upon his susceptibility, or va- 
 nity 5 and as this pretended novice's 
 task was to get him to elope with her 
 from the pursuit of her relations, &c. it 
 was hoped that Marco would fall into 
 the snare, and thus leave the field to the 
 conquerors of his constancy. Beatrice, 
 in the character of a sister-novice, could 
 not refuse herself the imprudent amuse- 
 ment of witnessing Marco's delusion. 
 The scheme was admirably planned, they 
 thought; for Marco accompanied the 
 Signora Calva and her husband to their 
 country-house, unconscious that Beatrice 
 was concealed in it ; and that the tender
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^85 
 
 billet he received the next day, appoint- 
 ing an interview that night, was written 
 by her pen. 
 
 But unfortunately for the conspiring 
 ladies, Signor Calva, with true esprit de 
 corps, felt reluctant to cover one of his 
 own majestic sex with shame and ridi- 
 cule ; so, counterplotting his wife and 
 her friend, he concerted with Marco the 
 merry revenge of allowing the two no- 
 virp<! K^ ^^p-i--, :« ^11 the pomp of their 
 vestal veils, to the appointed spot, and 
 then to rush on them in the character of 
 monks. 
 
 Tlie terror of public exposure and 
 spiritual censure, fully revenged Marco; 
 for the poor page actually fainted away 
 at the sight of such a crowd of ecclesi- 
 astics, (as Signor Calva had strengthened 
 his party by servants,) and Beatrice flew, 
 in terror, she knew not whither. 
 
 Some reproaches, but more lively sal- 
 lies, were mutually exchanged 5 after 
 which, the tie between Marco and the
 
 £36 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 family of Signor Calva was amicably dis- 
 solved, and the former left free to follow 
 his own caprices. 
 
 Meanwhile many a courteous speech 
 and Euphrosyne glance from Beatrice 
 tried to soften the severity with which 
 Giovanni felt inclined to consider her 
 share in the transaction. He liked not 
 the levity of a temper so eager for 
 amusement; it seemed to him, that a 
 heart occupied hy '^no pi-wworfnl senti- 
 ment, and that too clouded by apprehen- 
 sion, should have no room for childish 
 mirth. 
 
 Ought any thing to delight, ought any 
 thing to be sought with avidity uncon- 
 nected with the object dearest in life? 
 Giovanni remembered the days of love 
 with himself, and answered no. 
 
 It was not that he doubted the since- 
 rity of Beatrice's attachment ; he quar- 
 relled only with its nature. 'Twas such 
 as might content a common mind, be- 
 cause to such it would fully reply ; but
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 237 
 
 iiow was it to satisfy such a heart as 
 Cesario's ? 
 
 Where was that exclusive, concentrated 
 ardour, that indifference to all, beyond 
 duties and honourable affections ? Where 
 was that deep tenderness, almost amount- 
 ing to melancholy ; that existence but in 
 the presence, or in the praise of its ob- 
 ject, which should have kept Beatrice 
 from leaving Genoa and Cesario, merely 
 to indulge a girlish caprice? In short, 
 where was that vital glow of perfect sym- 
 pathy, which would preseve their attach- 
 ment, after youth and beauty was gone ? 
 
 Giovanni often looked at his fair com- 
 panion, involuntarily looked at her, and 
 sighed, as these reflections passed through 
 his mind ; and at those times her bright- 
 ened eyes and complexion made his 
 heart smite him. 
 
 Why should his observation please her, 
 unless from his association with the 
 image of Cesario? — ** I judge women 
 like a monk !" he said to himself, ** and,
 
 ^38 THE KNIGHT OF ST.JOHP** 
 
 perhaps, like an enemy : that is unjust — 
 I will study her more closely 5" — and, 
 from that moment, he attached himself 
 to her side. 
 
 The Signora Calva received the mot- 
 ley groupe with just as much participa- 
 tion with their merriment, as sat well 
 upon a married woman : a collation of 
 fruits and ices refreshed them after their 
 adventures 5 and Giovanni had, then, 
 ample opportunity of seeing every indi- 
 vidual in their genuine character. 
 
 Mirth banished ceremony ; their plot 
 and counterplot were amply discussed, and 
 laughed over : they rallied each other on 
 tbeir several follies with as much point 
 as good-humour ; and a whimsical de- 
 bate, in which the whole company joined, 
 was ended only by a display of Signora 
 Brignoletti's peculiar talent. 
 
 The question agitated was, in what 
 pursuit the greatest proportion of human 
 happiness is to be found ? 
 
 One person named ambition, another 
 14
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 239 
 
 social pleasures, a tliird study, a fourth 
 the fine arts, &c. : when Beatrice was 
 asked, she gaily snatched up her lute, 
 and bending over it for a few seconds in 
 silence, burst into an extempore declara- 
 tion in favour of love. 
 
 The sportive glance with 'which she 
 first took the instrument, was succeeded 
 by a look of brief but intense thought ; 
 the next instant, a bright illumination of 
 intelligence and emotion spread over her 
 face, while, with the voice and air of in- 
 spiration, she chanted this momentary 
 rhapsody : — 
 
 O ! it is sweet, on one alone, 
 In waking dreams to muse away 
 The hours of night, the hours of day ; 
 And as the tide of time is flowing, 
 To see but one reflection glowing 
 
 On its clear glass ! 
 What matters then, the moments gone. 
 
 Since others pass ? 
 
 Yes, through that stream, so clear, so deep. 
 In beauty €ver-brightening, rises 
 The form our soul enamoured priates ;
 
 240 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Each tender charm again repeating, 
 Still, still renewed, though ever fleeting, 
 
 Wave follows wave, 
 While trancing echoes o'er them sweep, 
 
 From Memory's cave. 
 
 Then shall we scale the rocks of power. 
 
 Or colder study's stormy height. 
 
 Or weave the flowerets, fair as slight, 
 
 Of pleasures vain and unabiding ? — 
 
 No — still where Time's full stream is gliding 
 
 Through Love's green bower, 
 
 With thrilling heart and tranced eye, 
 There let me live — I ask no more — 
 
 There let me die ! 
 
 WTien Beatrice concluded, the bright- 
 est colours of the seducing passion she 
 sung, painted her cheek ; and an expres- 
 sion, at once intoxicating and embarrass- 
 ing, thrilled from her kindled eyes. Gio- 
 vanni turned away his from their scarcely- 
 encountered glance. There w as nothing 
 in her impromptu to find a tangible fault 
 with ; yet he liked not the subject, sung 
 with such enthusiasm by a woman. 
 
 Love, chaste, regulated love ; devoted 
 to one deserving object, is natural and
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 2il 
 
 honourable in that tender sex, which 
 Providence has destined to bless the 
 home of man : but it is as natural for 
 woman to blush at the avowal of the 
 sentiment, as to feel it ; and she who 
 can discourse on it with the least restraint, 
 and the greatest energy, is precisely sTie 
 with whom it is rarely but a gust of pas- 
 sion : — so true is it, that "love burns 
 the brightest in the purest breast." 
 
 Giovanni made no audible remark 
 upon the song of the fair Improvisatrice, 
 though all around him were clamorous 
 in its praise : he sat silent, disturbed and 
 meditative, with his eyes fixed on the 
 ground. 
 
 Beatrice saw that she had agitated 
 him ; how, she guessed not : — very dif- 
 ferent were the feelings she vainly at- 
 tributed to that spotless heart, from what 
 feally worked there. 
 
 After a long and uneasy reverie, Gio- 
 vanni rose, and said good night to the 
 company, leaving Beatrice still in igno- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 ranee of Cesario's absence. He departed, 
 carrying with him a painful doubt of her 
 substantial worth. " The woman that 
 has not modesty," he thought, " is des- 
 titute of virtue's strongest out- work.'* 
 
 That she was charming, bewitching, 
 infatuating, he acknowledged ; but it was 
 witchery, she unconsciously exerted; it 
 was infatuation, she excited; it was some- 
 thing, which fled the glance of reason. 
 
 Levity of disposition, indiscretion of 
 conduct, and instability of taste, appeared 
 to him visible in all her words and ac- 
 tions. It was a character, innocent per- 
 haps, but not principled ; one that might 
 have been moulded to good, by judicious 
 restraint, and consistent example in child- 
 hood ; but which, left to the accidents of 
 rank, and her own humour, by feeble- 
 minded relatives, was fast verging to- 
 wards evil. 
 
 Giovanni thought it was possible to 
 save this almost-interesting young crea- 
 ture from the moral alteration that
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. ^243 
 
 threatened her ; and thus reconciled to 
 the sudden departure of Cesario, he re- 
 solved to devote the period of his absence 
 to the endeavour of rendering his mis- 
 tress more worthy of him. 
 
 Very different was the state of Bea- 
 trice's mind, at the same period: all 
 there was delighted confusion. A mul- 
 titude of indistinct images, as bright as 
 fleeting, appeared to her successively. 
 Now it was Giovanni, subdued by her 
 charms; struggling between love and 
 friendship; while she nobly preserved 
 her faith, and bestowed her hand on 
 Cesario: then it was the sam€ Giovanni, 
 driven to distraction by her rigour ; and, 
 either roving among savage solitudes, a 
 maniac for her sake, or dying in some 
 distant cell, a martyr to that love which 
 not even the gloom of a cloister could 
 extinguish. 
 
 Then the picture changed; and for a 
 moment she fancied Cesario forgotten; 
 and herself at the bridal altar with the 
 M 2
 
 244 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 once-famed Knight of St. John, whom 
 every female eye must admire, and every 
 female heart covet! 
 
 Her heart beat quick at this imagina- 
 tion 5 and it was hard to say, whether its 
 pulsation was more increased by plea- 
 sure or by self-condemnation. But, ac^ 
 customed to discard every unpleasing 
 thought as it arose, Beatrice shifted the 
 the picture and the feeling, hurrying 
 from the uncertain future to the agree^ 
 able present. 
 
 Again and again she compared the ex- 
 terior of the two friends ; and, as she did 
 so, wondered that she had considered Ce- 
 sario's as the perfection of manly beauty. 
 
 It is true, his figure was agile and 
 finely -turned ; abounding in those svelte 
 and light movements, which display 
 grace and denote activity : it was such as 
 we imagine in the messenger of the gods. 
 
 But Giovanni might have passed for 
 one of the gods themselves. His were 
 the sublime proportions, and sublimef
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 245 
 
 grace of the matured Apollo: and if 
 Cesario's countenance, interested by the 
 incessant play of passions which appeared 
 in its clouds and sunshine, expressing 
 alternately the weakness, the struggles, 
 and the hard-earned victories of huma- 
 nity; Giovanni's, elevated by that divine 
 expression of serenity and greatness 
 which rose above every other, and pro- 
 claimed the immortal. 
 
 In short, Beatrice was struck by that 
 singular mixture of the powerful and the 
 peaceful, the mild and the commanding, 
 which distinguished Giovanni from all 
 his kind: and, perhaps, the proud thought 
 of troubling that superb calm of counte- 
 nance and of character, was the source 
 of an inclination, which, she afterwards 
 believed, sprung solely from admiration 
 of this noble superiority. 
 
 Much of vanity, more of roving ima- 
 gination, and still more of habitual self- 
 indulgence, had in less than three hours 
 turned the current of her desires into a 
 M S
 
 2i6 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 new channel; and perceiving nothing 
 distinctly, because she would not look at 
 any thing steadily, she was now com- 
 mencing a career of dishonourable incon- 
 stancy. 
 
 In his road to Genoa the ensuing day, 
 Giovanni called at the house of Signor 
 Calva, to thank him for his hospitality of 
 the foregoing evening, and to acquaint 
 Signora Brignoletti of Cesario's cruize. 
 
 As he passed an orange-grove in the 
 garden, he saw her alone, collecting its 
 scattered blossoms: she dropt her fra- 
 grant spoils through haste to meet him. 
 
 Solicitude to please one, whose dignity 
 awed her, now tempered her excessive 
 vivacity; and Giovanni, after a short 
 dialogue, began to think her character 
 less volatile than her manner. 
 
 He sat down by her, under one of the 
 orange-trees, while asking her commands 
 for Genoa. 
 
 <* You may carry this flower from me 
 to your friend, if you will," she said.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 54«7 
 
 blushing with pretty coquetiy, and ex- 
 pecting him to look, at least, a desire of 
 keeping it for himself. 
 
 But Giovanni, not liking her manner, 
 gravely put it by with his hand, answer- 
 ing, that he believed his friend was now 
 seeking a nobler reward on the ocean. 
 
 A start, an exclamation, almost a shriek 
 from Beatrice, whose conscience smote 
 her for the reveries of the past night, 
 made Giovanni's air change from auste- 
 rity to tenderness: he looked kindly on 
 her while he explained the nature of 
 Cesario*s enterprise ; and extolled, not 
 merely his bravery, but his humanity in 
 this voluntary cruise. 
 
 Beatrice wept with the impetuosity of 
 a child : at every pause in her gust of 
 grief, enumerating the dangers that me- 
 naced Cesario, and condemning herself 
 lor this foolish visit to Signora Calva, 
 since it had prevented her from receiving 
 his perhaps last farewell ! 
 
 Giovanni comforted her by every ar- 
 M 4
 
 '248 ' THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN"* 
 
 giiment in his power ; agreeably sur* 
 prised by her excess of feeling, and little 
 aware of its transitory nature. 
 
 He strove, at the same time, to impress 
 on her, as he always did on Cesario, that 
 the blameless accomplishments of their 
 wishes could only be effected by the ac- 
 quirement of that fame, and those distinc- 
 tions (if not fortune), which Cesario must 
 find in the path of danger ; or be deemed 
 both insolent and mercenary, when he 
 should sue for her hand. 
 
 " I fear," he said, " that you must 
 discipline your mind to endure a long 
 probation of anxiety and frequent sepa- 
 ration." 
 
 " Oh, 'tis what he suffers !" she rashly 
 exclaimed. " He loves me so much, 
 that I should be ungrateful, insensible, 
 not to weep as I am now doing !" 
 
 Giovanni averted his gentle eyes as 
 she spoke ; believing those broken sen- 
 tences proceeded from maiden bashful- 
 ness, unwilling to confess its own tender-
 
 THE KNIGHT OP ST. JOHN. 249 
 
 iiess ; but, at a very distant period, he 
 recalled it as a proof that her's was a 
 love of gratitude, rather than of spon- 
 taneous preference ; and in doing so, he 
 made a second conclusion as erroneous 
 as the first. 
 
 When Signor Calva and his wife, on 
 joining Beatrice in the grove, heard that 
 Giovanni was going to Genoa for only a 
 single day, they pressed him with great 
 earnestness to return to their casino, in- 
 stead of to his own solitary house. Signor 
 Calva boasted his hawks and his wolf- 
 dogs ; and promised his guest all the 
 glory of a hazardous chase. 
 
 Giovanni considered for a moment j he 
 was not usually inclined to sudden inti- 
 macies; but as it was an object with him 
 to read Beatrice thoroughly, he thanked 
 Signor Calva, and accepted the invit- 
 ation. 
 
 That prompt acceptance was another 
 blow to the image of Cesario in the heart 
 of his unstable mistress 5 and her eyes 
 u 5
 
 S50 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 sparkled with joy : those very eyes which, 
 but a. few moments before, had streamed 
 with tears ! 
 
 In truth, for the last night and day, 
 and for some few that followed, Beatrice's 
 inclinations were a sort of chaos, that 
 would have puzzled the steadiest ob- 
 server to have guessed in what order it 
 would at last settle. 
 
 So many rapturous recollections and 
 pangs of remorse, so much of lingering 
 liking and fear of his despair, was at- 
 tached to the idea of Cesario ; and so 
 much of novelty, and excited vanity, and 
 ardour of pursuit, and personal admi- 
 ration, belonged to that of Giovanni, 
 that Beatrice herself was unable to decide 
 what she felt, or what she desired, or 
 what she meant to do. 
 
 This was the moment in which she 
 ought to have flown from the seductions 
 of opportunity ; and refused to her rising 
 vanity, or wandering inclination, the food
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 251 
 
 of daily intercourse with their object y 
 but, ever self-indulging, she staid at the 
 casino : and, once from shore, the tide 
 was free to carry her where it would. 
 
 M 6
 
 ( ^52 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 During Giovanni's residence of a fort- 
 night in the same house with the Signora 
 Brignoletti, he became more sensible to 
 the witcheries as well as to the defi- 
 ciencies of her character ; and though, 
 in their frequent conversations, his pure- 
 ly-benevolent manner, and his earnest 
 admonitions, showed him unwarped by 
 any treacherous inclination, Beatrice 
 found enough to flatter her hopes in the 
 single circumstance of his remaining a 
 guest at the casino. 
 
 To one so spoiled as Beatrice was, by 
 every other person, there was something 
 piquant in his reproofs of her idleness, 
 or levity, or liberal display of talent ; 
 and having discovered that a look of pe-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 253 
 
 aitence became her, she was never spar- 
 ing of them, nor indeed of promises of 
 amendment. 
 
 Giovanni allowed this ingenuous spirit 
 to be very charming ; but his better judg- 
 ment saw its worthlessness, as reform- 
 ation seldom followed confession. 
 
 Beatrice was not yet practised enough 
 for the artifice of overruling her ovm 
 faulty habits, and stifling her own fa- 
 vourite opinions till her point was gained: 
 she could only look to the soul, with 
 beautiful eyes all tears and brightness, 
 and ask again, and again, in a voice ten- 
 der as a child's, to hear the catalogue of 
 her errors, and wish she could be but 
 half as ^vise and good as her mentor. 
 
 Sometimes she broke forth in grateful 
 acknowledgments of Giovanni's kind 
 austerity, lamenting that Cesario blindly 
 indulged her follies ; and then she always 
 added, " but he loves me so much !" 
 
 Giovanni soon began to observe, that 
 she never added to this phrase any ex-
 
 £54 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 pression implying an equal attachment on 
 her ^de. 
 
 Never dreaming, however, that he was 
 personally concerned in this, he yet felt 
 certain that his friend's hopes were 
 hollow, and that the bubble would sooner 
 or later burst in his hand. 
 
 This imagination was a distressing one ; 
 for Cesario's passion was, alas, too real ; 
 and his despair w^ould be extreme. But 
 Giovanni consoled himself by believing 
 that as succeeding events must unfold 
 Beatrice's unsteady character, Cesario 
 would, at last, be brought to consider the 
 disappointment as a blessing. 
 
 Some business having recalled Gio- 
 vanni to Genoa, he took leave of the 
 agreeable Signor Calva with many testi- 
 monies of good-will ; and, as Beatrice 
 professed her intention of being in Genoa 
 nearly as soon as himself, he promised 
 to present himself at the Palazzo Rosso. 
 
 Having reached the city, he was 
 mounting the steps of his own portico,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^55 
 
 when he felt himself' caught in the arms 
 of some person behind. He turned 
 round, and met the beaming look of 
 Cesario. With what joy did he return 
 his cordial pressure ! 
 
 ** I have not been an hour on shore," 
 exclaimed Cesario ; " and am just come 
 from reporting my success to the Sig- 
 niory." 
 
 Success was, indeed, painted on Ce- 
 sario's countenance : its animated glow 
 scarcely required the rapid narrative he 
 gave by snatches as he entered the 
 house with Giovanni. 
 
 He had overtaken the Barbary vessel, 
 boarded and captured her. The fight 
 was fierce ; and a Moorish sabre had 
 nearly severed his left arm from his body; 
 but a crowd of hapless women and child- 
 ren were praying to Heaven for his suc- 
 cess and safety, and Heaven had heard. 
 
 With his prize in tow, Cesario steered 
 for the Tuscan village which the pirates 
 had plundered. What transport, to re*
 
 356 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 store its captured inhabitants to their 
 homes ! What a moment, to see wives 
 throwing themselves into the arms of 
 their husbands, children running to kiss 
 the feet of their venerable parents, whom 
 they had never expected to see more on 
 this side the grave! 
 
 Cesario painted the scene, not by 
 words, but by looks — by the profound 
 emotion with which he uttered these 
 few words : " We restored them all !" 
 Giovanni had known the same satisfac- 
 tion, and his memory completed the un- 
 finished picture. 
 
 When his friend's feelings were a little 
 quieter, he spoke of Beatrice. At that 
 name the heart of Cesario blazed forth 
 afresh. Eager questions, passionate apos- 
 trophes, expressions of alternate sur- 
 prise and delight, broke in repeatedly 
 upon Giovanni's account of his intro- 
 duction to her ; and, as Giovanni uni- 
 formly answered " Yes," to his throng- 
 ing questions of, « Is she not lovely ? is
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 257 
 
 she not charming ? is she not delightful ? 
 is she not all ingenuousness ?" Cesa- 
 rio never observed that his friend did 
 not follow up these affirmations by any 
 approving observations of his own. 
 
 It was enough for his rapid feelings to 
 know, that hi's friend and his mistress 
 were acquainted : after that, he fancied 
 all the rest. 
 
 Every thing now was bright in his on- 
 ward path : he was rapidly winning ho- 
 nour and station in society ; fortune must 
 follow : Beatrice loved him ; her mother 
 ceased to frown on him ; Giovanni was 
 his friend ; and his father's memory was 
 honourably perpetuated by his country ! 
 
 " A little while, and I shall possess all 
 the happiness that is now but promised 
 me V* he said, in a transport of hope 
 and gratitude : " Oh ! Giovanni, how I 
 
 wish "he stopt. ** You^wish me a 
 
 mistress as fair and as kind as your own ! 
 Is not that what you would have said ?" 
 asked his friend, smiling ; " but my heart
 
 Q5S THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 »has not room for any thing besides my 
 friend." 
 
 " Beware !'' exclaimed Cesario; "Love 
 will have his revenge some day." 
 
 " I won't defy him, but I do not fear 
 him," was Giovanni's tranquil answer, as 
 they shook hands after a long discourse, 
 and parted in the porch of his vestibule. 
 
 Cesario chose the hour of matins, the 
 next day,' for his visit to the Palazzo 
 Rosso. At that hour, he knew the Mar- 
 chesa would be at her devotions. 
 
 The suddenness of his appearance, his 
 ardour, his wound, his fresh laurels, nay, 
 even the confusion of her own con- 
 science, gave a more touching character 
 to the Signora's reception than it would 
 naturally have had. 
 
 When he talked of Giovanni, she 
 listened with attention, and replied with 
 animation ; but when he would have 
 covered her fair hands \\ith kisses, some- 
 thing of self-condemnation, and rather 
 more of altered sensibility, gave her an
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. Q5Q 
 
 air of modest resistance, which Cesario 
 had hitherto ne^er allowed himself to 
 miss, but which, once there, transported 
 him to rapture. 
 
 He threw himself at her feet, pouring 
 out a torrent of wishes and entreaties. 
 It seemed to him, that he could no 
 longer live without permission to declare 
 to all the world that he lived but for her 
 alone. Deluded by his frantic passion, 
 he besought Beatrice to let him avow 
 their attachment to the Marchesa, and 
 beseech her to consent to their future 
 union, whenever the fortune of the war, 
 or the liberality of his country, should 
 reward his enterprises with the means of 
 honourable life. 
 
 Beatrice was too well acquainted with 
 her mother's sentiments, and too uncer- 
 tain of her own, to yield assent to this 
 proposal : not that she now dreaded the 
 consequence of a refusal for herself, but 
 she feared, that in Cesario's banishment 
 from the Palazzo Rosso, his friend would
 
 ^60 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 be included, and her yet half-formed pro- 
 jects upon Giovanni's affections be de- 
 stroyed at once. 
 
 Art is the offspring of fear and con- 
 scious unworthiness. Beatrice, without 
 foregone purpose, instantly assumed an 
 appearance of sympathy with her lover's 
 ardour, only to persuade him not to 
 risk, by a rash disclosure, the chance of 
 her mother's prohibition, and probable 
 removal of her from his reach. 
 
 She did not, it is true, advance many 
 good arguments against frankness of con- 
 duct ; but she said so many playful 
 things ; she hovered round him so like a 
 caressing breeze ; she looked in such a 
 glow of love and youth and earnestness, 
 that Cesario yielded his integrity to the 
 charm, and believed that he ought not 
 to ask or wish for more. 
 
 After this meeting, he rarely went to 
 the Palazzo Rosso unaccompanied by 
 Giovanni, whose silent observations upon
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 261 
 
 Beatrice were daily becoming less favour- 
 able to her. 
 
 Cesario was of a temper slow to im- 
 agine wrong from persons dear to him ; 
 and he, therefore, saw in Beatrice's an- 
 xiety to please Giovanni, merely the 
 conduct of one inclined to love every 
 thing beloved by the object of her prime 
 affection. 
 
 Rendered uncomfortable by her marked 
 attentions to himself (which had a subtle 
 something in them which distressed him, 
 he knew not w^hy), Giovanni mean-while 
 seized an opportunity, which just then 
 presented itself, of leaving Italy. This 
 opportunity was afforded by a letter from 
 the Chevalier de Fronsac's cousin, in- 
 viting Giovanni into Guienne, for the 
 purpose of renewing their attempts of as- 
 certaining the existence or death of their 
 separate relatives. 
 
 Giovanni hoped some light might be 
 struck out by personal communication j 
 
 6
 
 262 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 and he trusted that during his absence, 
 if Beatrice's inconstancy were destined to 
 pierce his friend's heart, it might find an- 
 other hand than his to throw the dart 
 with. 
 
 Revolving how to leave some hint 
 of his doubts for Cesario to recal here- 
 after, when his own apprehensions might 
 require support from those of another, 
 he went with his friend to a supper at 
 Signor Calva's, the night before he was 
 to commence his journey to France. 
 
 Several other persons were added to 
 the family party, amongst whom were 
 the Marchesa Brignoletti and the Sig- 
 nora Beatrice. 
 
 Cards, conversation, and music filled 
 up the time. Beatrice did not assist at 
 these amusements ; she was gay but by 
 fits ; and Cesario's animated attention to 
 her alone, failed to drive away the cloud 
 of thought or melancholy, which dark- 
 ened her bright eyes. 
 
 He observed this with silent delight ;
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 263 
 
 for he flattered himself that it arose from 
 her apprehension of his being ordered 
 out to sea again, as a rumour in the 
 morning had suggested. 
 
 After supper, the younger part of the 
 company went to enjoy the cool night- 
 air, in one of those artificial gardens with 
 which the Genoese ornament the broad 
 and flat roofs of their houses. 
 
 Flowering shrubs formed slight divi^ 
 sions between the different sets into 
 which their little society now broke. 
 Beatrice stood, leaning her blooming 
 cheek against the dark umbrage of some 
 cypress-trees, evidently absorbed by un- 
 pleasant thoughts, while she was uncon- 
 sciously tearing into fragments the flow- 
 ery band which confined her luxuriant 
 hair. 
 
 Strong expression gives elevation to 
 beauty ; and for once, Cesario saw that 
 face of almost infantine sportiveness 
 assume the severer charm of painful 
 thought.
 
 264 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 After calling Giovanni's notice to her 
 interesting figure, he drew near ; whisper- 
 ing his own and his friend's admiration. 
 
 That whisper restored its wonted ani- 
 mation to the face of Beatrice : it was the 
 first time she had been told that Gio- 
 vanni did admire her beauty ; and her 
 pulse beat joyously at the idea. She 
 listened to her lover's raptures, as if she 
 fancied he spoke those of his friend also ; 
 and thus beguiling, and self-beguiled, she 
 bent forward to his discourse with an air 
 of such perfect satisfaction, that Gio- 
 vanni, who now and then glanced at 
 them from a distance, knew not what to 
 think of her Proteus-like manners. 
 
 Nearly persuaded that he did exact 
 too much consistency from youth, he 
 joined her and his friend. ** WTiy have 
 you not sung to-night ?" he asked with 
 an air of kind interest ; ** 1 can forgive 
 your little caprices, when they do not rob 
 us of a pleasure." 
 
 Beatrice gave him one of her most
 
 THE KNIGMT OF ST. JOHN. ^65 
 
 brilliant smiles ; not the less brilliant, 
 because the eyes she darted round at 
 him sparkled through tears. " I was 
 out of spirits — thinking all sorts of dis- 
 mal fancies." She replied in her most 
 penetrating tone. 
 
 *« I will not chide you for that,'* re- 
 turned Giovanni, playfully. " I have 
 leclfured you often on a very opposite 
 tendency." 
 
 At that moment Cesario obeyed the 
 call of the Signora Calva ; and Beatrice 
 was left by the side of Giovanni : — he 
 was about to leave her, when she said 
 precipitately, ** So you go to-morrow ! 
 1 have been thinking of it all this evening. 
 Ah, Signor Cigala, what shall I do with- 
 out my monitor ?" 
 
 The touching accent in which this was 
 said, and the agitated air by which it was 
 accompanied, made Giovanni start ; his 
 pulse beat not so temperately as before ; 
 but withdrawing his eyes from her glow 
 of beauty, he replied calmly, " I suspect, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 there are no better monitors than our 
 own reflections, if we will but attend to 
 ^|em.'' 
 
 « No — no V* repeated Beatrice, ear- 
 nestly J " every thing right I have yet to 
 learn. You have shown me the impro- 
 priety of many things I do, which I never 
 dreamt were wrong ; and which no one 
 else has had the precious sincerity to tell 
 me were so. — O, if I could be always 
 near you, I should never act foolishly. — 
 How long shall you stay away? — Oh, 
 do not stay long." — She spoke with the 
 innocent passionateness of a child, ^^nd 
 she looked like an angel. 
 
 Giovanni had to remind himself that 
 she was neither a child nor an angel; 
 and that as an engaged woman, having 
 decorums and delicacies to observe, she 
 was strangely indiscreet. Yet this anxiety 
 tor his return might indeed arise from a 
 wish to become more reasonable y and as 
 the friend of Cesario, she might, with per- 
 fect artlessness, believe herself privileged
 
 THE KNIGHT OF gT. JOHN. ^67 
 
 to speak to him with lively regard. He 
 glanced anxiously on her, as he replied, 
 
 ** I shall stay just long enough, I sup- 
 pose, to allow Adimari time to undo all 
 my work. When he will tell you, that 
 even your greatest faults are charms in 
 his eyes, there can be no hope that 
 my monkish admonitions will be either 
 regarded or remembered." 
 
 Beatrice started, and trembled wdth 
 the agitation of sudden hope. To her 
 distempered fancy, those serious words 
 seemed the dictates of jealous love. She 
 forgot all reserve in that fancy; and 
 solely intent upon the object of unde- 
 ceiving him, if he could doubt her pre- 
 ference for him, she rashly exclaimed, 
 
 " I am tired of admiration that I know 
 I don't deserve ; and I shall think of no- 
 thing but your admonitions." 
 
 Giovanni's deep disorder made her in- 
 stantly sensible of her indiscretion, and 
 his sentiments of it ; and she blushed till 
 her very temples throbbed visibly. 
 
 N 2
 
 268 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Unable to raise her eyes, from which 
 tears now burst, she added, " You will 
 never see me gay and thoughtless again. — 
 I have mistaken gratitude, for I know 
 not what ! — I have entangled myself in 
 a net of trouble and folly ; and, I must 
 abide the consequence — misery !'' 
 
 Giovanni, in extreme confusion, mut- 
 tered something about always wishing 
 her happiness and the consciousness of 
 deserving it ; and hastily left her side. 
 
 He went, purposely, into the middle 
 of a little circle, where Signer Calva was 
 singing to his wife's lute ; and appearing 
 to listen, he stood, in reality, thinking 
 over his strange conversation with Bea- 
 trice. 
 
 In her last speech, it is true, she had 
 not mentioned Cesario, but the impres- 
 sion on Giovanni's mind, was that she 
 alluded to him. "This net of trouble 
 and folly ;" what could it mean, beside 
 her engagement with him ? " This misery
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. QG9 
 
 that was to be the consequence ;" what 
 was it, unless the bitterness of marrying 
 a man, she either ceased to love, or had 
 encouraged formerly from mingled gra- 
 titude and childish levity ? 
 
 Giovanni had not a spark of vanity, 
 but he was not mentally blind ; and, un- 
 less he had been so, it would have been 
 impossible for him to have put together 
 her words, and looks, and tones of voice, 
 without observing, that they made up a 
 most startling whole of flattery to him- 
 self. 
 
 Whether coquetry, or liking, was the 
 source of this subtle wooing, it was 
 equally pernicious to him, and injurious 
 to Cesario j and he believed it his duty 
 to speak more explicitly of her now 
 to his friend, than he had intended to do 
 while fluctuating between suspicion of 
 her fickleness and reliance upon her 
 candour. 
 
 Giovanni was to quit Genoa the ne^t 
 day J that night, therefore, was his only 
 N 3
 
 THO THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 opportunity : he must imbitter its sacred 
 farewell, by urging doubts that must 
 shock, perhaps irritate Cesario: that 
 night, he must begin to put Cesario's 
 friendship to the test by opposing it to 
 his love : that night, he must leave a 
 sting in the heart dearest to him, either 
 by troubling Cesario's affection for him- 
 self, or his devotedness to Beatrice ! 
 
 The necessity was imperious 5 and Gio- 
 vanni, with a firm though grieved spirit, 
 determined upon the act. 
 
 He now joined the party of gentlemen 
 who, with customary gallantry, preceded 
 the March esa's carriage, with their torch- 
 bearers, to the Palazzo Rosso ; then se- 
 parating from them, Giovanni accom- 
 panied Cesario home. 
 
 On reaching the Sjmdic's, they sat 
 down together in the single but large 
 window of Cesario's apartment; there 
 they conversed with " unlocked breasts." 
 
 ^he window was open ; but it looked 
 only upon an extensive orchard, where
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^271 
 
 every thing was so still, that even the 
 ripe fig was heard as it fell from the 
 loaded boughs upon the soft turf below : 
 they were therefore fearless of listeners. 
 
 They talked of Giovanni's intended 
 journey ; and, of course, of its purpose. 
 Giovanni lamented his sister's uncertain 
 fate, and early imprudence, with unusual 
 vehemence ; striving, while he described 
 the distress a clandestine marriage had 
 caused in his family, to guard Cesario 
 against the temptation of producing equal 
 confusion in that of the Marchesa. 
 
 " And if you are made certain that 
 your sister is no more; or, if none of 
 your endeavours can discover her abso- 
 lute fate ; — what will you do ?" 
 
 " Return hither, and live a solitary 
 life ; but as happy a one, as freedom and 
 friendship can make it." 
 
 " Good Heaven ! and you determine 
 not to marry ?" exclaimed Cesario. 
 
 " I make no such determination :" 
 replied his friend, smiling ; «< but I have 
 N 4
 
 :272 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN, 
 
 no wish to marry ^ and I think it is an 
 event very unlikely to happen/* 
 
 " You think you shall not find a woman 
 capable of making you happy?" asked 
 Cesario. 
 
 " I do indeed." 
 
 " O, that I could find you another 
 Beatrice !" 
 
 Giovanni only smiled, and shook his 
 head. 
 
 Cesario considered him with surprise. 
 " What ! would not such love, and such 
 beauty, as hers, content you ?" 
 
 " I am, in truth, not so soon satisfied 
 as you are," said Giovanni, with appre- 
 hensive kindness. 
 
 Again Cesario was a moment silent 
 with surprise. " What is it that does not 
 satisfy you in Beatrice ? her affection for 
 me ? or her character ?" 
 
 *' Her character, principally." 
 
 ** Good Heaven !" again repeated Ce^ 
 sario ; ** this is extraordinary ! and what 
 are your objections to her ?"
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. ^3 
 
 " Am I to speak truth and reason to 
 a lover, and of the woman he loves ?*' 
 asked Giovanni indulgently. " No, no, 
 my dear Cesario, I doubt you would not 
 suffer it." 
 
 " By our friendship, I demand it !'' 
 exclaimed Cesario, warming into ear- 
 nestness and a little indignation. — "\Vhat 
 can you object to in Beatrice ?" 
 
 " Dare I tell you? — her incessant 
 waste of time : the more pernicious fault, 
 because she commits it so amiably, and 
 so charmingly, that she might soon se- 
 duce the man that loved her into similar 
 habits." 
 
 Cesario could not easily comprehend 
 the nature of this accusation ; and he 
 urged a more distinct explanation of it. 
 
 Giovanni then gently, but firmly, 
 showed him how entirely the days of 
 Beatrice were wasted in mere amuse- 
 ments, without reference to a single ob- 
 ject, either beneficial to herself, or to 
 others. Cesario reluctantly confessed 
 N 5
 
 ^74 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 this, but added, ** she is so young." — - 
 « Well, then, I would not marry one so 
 very young," replied Giovanni, some- 
 what playfully. 
 
 Cesario pressed him further ; and Gio- 
 vanni was obliged to confess, that the 
 unceasing brilliancy of Beatrice's spirits 
 frightened him : he could never convince 
 himself that such a constant glow of 
 hilarity could be united with depth of 
 feeling. — Then her caprice in dress, and 
 favourites, and pleasures, made him fear, 
 she might not be very steady in more 
 serious things. 
 
 In short, it was instability of charac- 
 ter which appeared to him the secret of 
 all her fascination and all her faults. 
 
 Cesario's rising resentment was quelled 
 by his friend's liberal confession of Bea- 
 trice's witchery ; he therefore answered 
 his different objections with less heat than 
 Giovanni had prepared himself to expect* 
 
 Cesario admitted her agreeable caprice 
 in trifles, her thoughtless squandering of
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. §75 
 
 time, her buoyant resistance against every 
 sorrow 5 but he attributed these to a 
 different source from that on which Gio- 
 vanni charged them. 
 
 In her lover's opinion, her caprices 
 were, singly, pretty affectations assumed 
 to amuse others ; her waste of time, the 
 effect of innocence and inexperience, 
 which had only to learn the severer du- 
 ties of life, to practise them with ear- 
 nestness ; her cloudless gaiety, the wish 
 of diffusing happiness, joined to that 
 vernal spirit of hope, which is woman's 
 best attribute. 
 
 " It may be so, my dear Cesario," said 
 Giovanni, stifling a sigh ; ** and I should 
 rejoice to read my recantation to you j — 
 when she is your wife." 
 
 ** And will that answer all these 
 doubts ?" asked Cesario, thrilling at the 
 idea. 
 
 " Certainly," returned his friend ; 
 " time will then have proved her con- 
 stancy J and, with her constancy, proved 
 N 6
 
 276 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 her depth of feeling ; and, where there 
 is deep feeling in an innocent breast, 
 there is a principle that will redeem lo&t 
 time, and repair error." 
 
 Cesario embraced him : " There spoke 
 my kind Giovanni again ; I scarcely 
 knew his voice, when it uttered such 
 harsh sentiments.'* 
 
 Cesario's eyes were moistened with 
 tenderness ; Giovanni's were full of con- 
 cern, and even greater tenderness. 
 
 " A friend's hardest office is some- 
 times that of speaking truth :" he said, 
 grasping Cesario's agitated hand j ** and 
 you may believe, I perform it unwil- 
 lingly. But ought not one friend to 
 warn another of a probable danger j 
 ought he not to show him, how to avoid 
 misery, and secure peace ? I am suspi- 
 cious of Beatrice's steadiness ; you are 
 not ; and if she were to fail you, and the 
 unforeseen shock deprive you of reason, 
 what would become of me, when I should
 
 THE KNIGHT OP ST. JOHHN. TJl 
 
 remember that my warning might, at 
 least, have prepared " 
 
 '' Kill me not now with this horrid 
 image 1" interrupted Cesario, starting 
 from him, yet not in anger. *« O Gio- 
 vanni, one miserable event has mixed 
 poison with this noble heart's stream ; 
 which else had flowed all pure and 
 healthy. You have been deceived ; and 
 you suspect all the sex ! Is this just — 
 is this reasonable ?" 
 
 Giovanni could have said, he did not 
 suspect all the sex ; that there were 
 some he valued highly ; and one, (his 
 hapless sister,) whom he could still love 
 most fondly ; but he forbore to press 
 further upon the feelings of Cesario 5 
 and, suffocating a sigh, he replied, ** I 
 may be wrong ; I hope, and wish I may. 
 Yet let me entreat you, for the dignity 
 of your nature, for the sake of your 
 future security in an indissoluble engage- 
 ment, do a little violence to this honour- 
 able romance of love j and imagine the
 
 ^78 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 jpossibility of Beatrice being less than 
 perfect. Study her closer; watch her 
 conduct to others ; see if she always 
 satisfies you. Reflect upon the many 
 emotions in which you may find that she 
 does not sympathise "svith any of your 
 strong sensibilities, unconnected with 
 herself: then go back to your own heart, 
 and ask it, if such a companion, in weal 
 and woe, in youth and age, for time and 
 for eternity, would leave it nothing to 
 desire." 
 
 Giovanni stopped. Cesario did not 
 reply ; his heart was full ; and his eyes 
 were on the point of overflowing. He 
 saw the spire of San Siro at a distance ; 
 and that object reminded him with what 
 profound emotion he had led Beatrice to 
 his father's monument there ; and what 
 a chill struck to his soul, when he saw 
 her cheek tearless. 
 
 He was silent a long, long time : how 
 many racking ideas were then torturing 
 him ! At length throwing himself into
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 279 
 
 a seat, he exclaimed in a voice of tender 
 reproach, " Giovanni, what friendship 
 is this ?" and he concealed his face. 
 
 ** Judge what friendship,'* cried Gio- 
 vanni in as penetrating a tone, " when it 
 gives me strength to risk even the loss 
 of that affection I had such a conflict 
 to gain !" 
 
 Both were again silent ; and perhaps 
 both shed tears. Cesario first roused 
 himself ; and took Giovanni's hand : he 
 pressed it affectionately. *' You were 
 bom to subdue me — and I yield wil- 
 lingly to our stars. But urge not your 
 power too far, my Giovanni ; force me 
 not to see, what I would rather not^ee — 
 what I should never have looked at, 
 had you not directed my eyes that way. 
 'Tis true, Beatrice w^ants general sen- 
 sibility ; but how lively and fervent is 
 her attachment to me ! Well, then, she 
 can feel strongly. Perhaps that sensibi- 
 lity, hitherto unexercised, will strengthen 
 and extend its sphere with new habits of
 
 ^80 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 reflection. She that can love disinter- 
 estedly, is surely capable of other ge- 
 nerous affections ?" 
 
 " Say steadily, my Cesario," said 
 Giovanni. 
 
 " And has she not been steady ?" 
 enquired the astonished lover. " Five 
 months since, this precious ring pledged 
 her heart to mine ; that heart, sought by 
 all the brave and noble throughout 
 Italy." 
 
 «< I will not pursue this painful sub- 
 ject," said Giovanni, purposely avoiding 
 a direct answer to his friend's question. 
 <* If I have already grieved you deeply 
 by my over-anxious friendship, place 
 that offence among ** the godly sins :" 
 doubt my judgment, suspect my preju- 
 dice, blame my intemperate zeal; do 
 any thing but think me wilfully un* 
 kind." 
 
 " But what would you wish Beatrice 
 to do, that she does not do, to testify her 
 purpose to be mine," enquired the rest"
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 281 
 
 less Cesario. ** You know that I would 
 scorn to enter the Brignoletti family by 
 a clandestine path. I never urge her, 
 therefore, and she cannot offer, to aban- 
 don her home for me. In two years, 
 her mother's legal power over her ex- 
 pires J she may then give her hand and 
 fortune, to whom she will. If I have 
 not ronqnprpfl snmpthing like fortune 
 before that period, she will bestow hpr. 
 self upon a poor fellow, worth nothing 
 better than laurels ; and will let him 
 show the world, by a life of Roman sim- 
 plicity in his own person, that her wealth 
 did not tempt him. Can she hasten that 
 period ? Does she encourage other 
 lovers? Did she not, from our first 
 acquaintance, evince the most marked 
 aversion to Count Cagliari ? You cannot 
 therefore think her a cocquet ?" 
 
 " I do not," replied Giovanni gently. 
 ** I beheve her sincere ; but I think her 
 uncertain : and I have fancied her in- 
 clination for you less animated than you
 
 28S THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 described it formerly.'* Cesario was on 
 the point of vehemently rebutting this 
 assertion, when some disagreeable recol- 
 lections crossed him. He remembered, 
 that she had seldom found opportunities 
 of conversing with him alone of late 5 
 and that once or twice, when he had 
 gathered a bouquet for her, she had care- 
 lessly left it on a garden Geat, or eu£Pcrcd 
 it fo fall from her breast unheeded. 
 There was a time, when she had preserv- 
 ed even the fragment of a flower, simply 
 touched by him ! He turned pale, and 
 cast down his eyes. 
 
 Giovanni read the disturbance of his 
 mind in his countenance ; and assured^ 
 that his distressing task was fulfilled, 
 sought to end the conversation. But 
 Cesario either did not hear, or would 
 not answer what he said on less interest- 
 ing things ; he remained looking gloomily 
 on the ground, evidently revolving some 
 newly conceived thought. Abruptly 
 raising his head, he said in a determined 
 voice —
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 283 
 
 ** 1 'will be satisfied, and you shall be 
 convinced. I will absent myself from 
 the Palazzo Rosso ; and from every 
 place, where there is a chance of meet- 
 ing her ; you shall see, that her love will 
 break through common forms to team 
 the cause of this. Oh yes ! her fond 
 heart will rather afflict itself with the 
 idea of some accident having befallen 
 me, than suspect me of change.*' 
 
 The gloom of Cesario's countenance 
 melted away as he spoke, and Giovanni 
 saw that reason was indeed no match for 
 passion. " If time and trial should 
 prove her all I wish her, to prove,*' he 
 said, " will you pardon me for raising 
 these painful doubts ? but, Cesario, could 
 you see into my heart '* 
 
 " I should see all that earth has of 
 goodness, kindness, and unheard of 
 friendship !" interrupted Cesario, open- 
 ing his arms to him, with his generous 
 soul in his eyes. 
 
 Giovanni pressed him strongly against
 
 284 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 his breast, for a moment, with a brother's 
 emotion ; then releasing him, with a 
 sigh, that would not be repressed, bade 
 him farewell. 
 
 I
 
 ( 2&5 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 What were the meditations and occu- 
 pations of Giovanni during his journey ? 
 
 Far from entertaining a feeling in 
 unison with those of the light-minded 
 Beatrice, he was solely intent upoh the 
 best interests of his friend. 
 
 This journey had a two-fold object : 
 one was to visit the family of De Fron- 
 sac •, the other, to serve Cesario. 
 
 Some years back, the late Signor Adi- 
 mari had advanced a large sum of money 
 to a young adventurer, called Lanza, 
 who was going to try his fortune in the 
 newly-discovered countries beyond the 
 Atlantic. 
 
 Several vicissitudes had prevented this 
 person from repaying the important loan,
 
 286 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 while he was abroad : but on returning 
 to Europe, (his own moderate fortune 
 augmented by the unexpected legacy 
 of a rich partner's property,) during 
 his voyage homeward he had spoken 
 openly of his debt, and expressed his 
 intention of gratefully repaying it. 
 
 Lanza unfortunately died on his pas- 
 sage, and his wealth went into the hands 
 of a distant relation. But, as Signor 
 Michaeli, his heir, was a man of respect- 
 able <iharacter, though no bond had 
 ever been taken by the elder Adimari, 
 it was possible that Michaeli might be 
 induced to discharge the debt. 
 
 Accident having thrown Giovanni into 
 the society of a gentleman who had come 
 passenger in the same vessel with Lanza, 
 he learned these circumstances, together 
 with the name and residence of Signor 
 Michaeli ; and it immediately struck 
 him, that this gentleman's testimony, 
 with that of one or two others (not dif- 
 ficult to find out), would oblige Michaeli 
 
 JZ
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 28? 
 
 to admit that such a sum of money was 
 due to the heir of Signor Adimari, 
 and consequently lead him to do an act 
 of justice. The law, indeed, could not 
 extort it, but honour and generosity have 
 their own code. 
 
 Signor Michaeli was now at the head 
 of a mercantile concern at Marseilles t 
 thither Giovanni meant to seek him, 
 concealing the circumstance from his 
 friend, lest he should either excite ex- 
 pectations which might not be realised, 
 or be stayed by his scrupulous delicacy. 
 
 An invitation from the Marquis de 
 Blanchefort, happily arriving at that pe- 
 riod, afforded Giovanni a pretext for a 
 journey into France; yet hopeless of hear- 
 ing any thing new of his sister, he first 
 directed his steps to Marseilles. 
 
 On reaching that city, Giovanni found, 
 in Signor Michaeli, a man of habitual 
 caution and extreme prudence ; and, for 
 a while, the minuteness of the latter's 
 investigation, his numerous doubts, his
 
 S88 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN'. 
 
 cool balancing between what was likely, 
 and what merely possible, made him 
 abandon all hope of success ; but the 
 event proved that Signor Michaeli scru- 
 tanised but to attain conviction; and 
 that, once satisfied of his kinsman's obli^ 
 gation to Signor Adimari, he was ready 
 to repay the whole charge. " My re- 
 lative's affairs are not settled," he said : 
 *' I know not yet the extent of those 
 claims upon his property which legal 
 forms can compel us to satisfy : they of 
 course would come in first 5 but as 
 soon as I am able to balance the debts 
 and the property, Signor Cigala shall 
 hear from me. I do not doubt, how- 
 ever, that there will be enough and to 
 spare. Your friend, in that case, may 
 depend upon principal and interest." 
 Giovanni disclaimed the latter in his 
 friend's name. " It is his right," returned 
 Michaeli calmly, '' no gift : 'tis in the 
 course of business ; and there can be no 
 obligation in the affair." 
 II
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST, JOHN. 289 
 
 Michaeli then took down the names of 
 the persons to whom his kinsman had 
 spoken of his intention to repay Signor 
 Adimari ; and, expressing an expectation 
 of finding some memorandum of the 
 business amongst the papers of the de- 
 ceased, he bade his visitor good morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Animated by this prospect of recover^ 
 ing what was now of such importance 
 to Cesario, Giovanni " went on his way 
 rejoicing ;" for he no longer dreaded, as 
 formerly, repulse for every kindness ; 
 and though he hoped no satisfaction to 
 himself from his visit to Sauveterre, he 
 felt that, in making it, he should have 
 completed his duty to his imprudent 
 -ister. 
 
 Something like melancholy, however, 
 did await him at Sauveterre. The Mar- 
 quis de Blanchefort (his brother-in-law's 
 successor) had found out a person who 
 was at Ostia in the year 1564, and who 
 perfectly remembered being casually on 
 
 VOL. I, o
 
 290 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 board a vessel in the harbour, when a 
 French gentleman of the nameof DeFron- 
 sac was settling with the captain for a 
 passage to Venice for himself and family. 
 This person knew that the vessel 
 foundered at sea, shortly afterwards ; so 
 that it was now almost certain that 
 De Fronsac and his hapless wife had 
 perished in her. 
 
 Giovanni did not hear this dismal 
 confirmation of his worst imaginations 
 without sorrow ; indeed, he paid a heavy 
 tribute of tears, in secret, to the memory 
 of this unfortunate sister. 
 
 There is something more than com- 
 monly sad in death, when it comes un- 
 expectedly, and arrests the young on the 
 very threshold of life ! When Madame 
 De Fronsac perished by this most miser- 
 able of deaths, she could hardly have 
 reached her sixteenth year. So young, 
 so beautiful, so amiable as she promised 
 to be, Giovanni could have mourned 
 long and deeply, had he not drawn ar-
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. !J9i 
 
 guments for resignation from the details 
 of her husband's character, as communi- 
 cated to him by the Marquis de Blanche- 
 fort. 
 
 Handsome, engaging, skilled in paint- 
 ing and music, and highly susceptible of 
 the charms of beauty, De Fronsac was 
 unhappily but too much adapted to 
 dazzle the imagination, if not win the 
 affections of an inexperienced girl : but 
 though free from turbulent passions or 
 degrading views, he was not of a cha- 
 racter to increase domestic happiness. 
 
 A restless disposition, which made in- 
 cessant change of place necessary to his 
 very existence, disjointed the comforts 
 of every individual connected with him, 
 and by degrees wearied out their regard. 
 
 Thus, in despite of his relations' re- 
 monstrances and friends' admonitions, 
 he persisted to waste life in travelling, 
 without purpose or benefit, insensible to 
 the claims of a numerous tenantry, and 
 o 2
 
 29!^ THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN* 
 
 carrying into responsible manhood the 
 habits of unimportant youth. 
 
 During one of his wandering excur- 
 sions in the neighbourhood of Monaco, 
 he saw the Signora Cigala at a convent, of 
 which an aunt of his was Superior. He 
 had never been in the custom of foresee- 
 ing consequences, or, in fact, of caring 
 for them. He found she was going to 
 marry, against her will, a person no- 
 toriously disagreeable ; and he knew that 
 if she married any other, her father 
 would disclaim her : but inclination was 
 uncontrollable with De Fronsac ; and he 
 played so ably upon the two passions of 
 hope and fear, in the artless breast of 
 fourteen, that he persuaded her to elope 
 with him. 
 
 The imprudent couple received the 
 nuptial benediction from a mercenary 
 priest, not over curious as to the pro- 
 priety of their union ; after which 
 De Fronsac hastened, with a lover's
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 293 
 
 pride, to display his fair bride to his 
 mother and kindred. 
 
 ** I saw your sister at that time," said 
 the Marquis de Blanchefort (as walking 
 in the garden he gave Giovanni this rela- 
 tion); "and I have never forgotten her — 
 I shall never forget her! Not one of these 
 flowers about us is half so lovely ! she was 
 so delicate, so fair, so young ! — the first 
 tender bloom of childhood was still on 
 her cheek. How little did I think that 
 beautiful form was destined to feed " 
 
 De Blanchefort stopped, and apolo- 
 gised for his indiscretion, when he saw 
 the sudden paleness of Giovanni: the 
 latter bowed his head, smiled kindly, but 
 spoke not : a shudder passed over him — 
 a momentary struggle was visible in all 
 his features — it was but momentary — 
 he recovered himself; and the Marquis 
 then spoke of other things. 
 
 After this conversation, when Gio- 
 vanni could think of his sister's fate with 
 steadiness, he scarcely wished her again 
 o 3
 
 ^94 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 in life : for, tied to a man of De Fronsac's 
 imsettled temper, she must either have 
 grown into imhappiness with him, by 
 vainly endeavouring to exalt his existence 
 into usefulness, or her own character 
 must have sunk to the same worthless 
 habits of self-indulgence which distin- 
 guished his. 
 
 Thus, Giovanni still adhered to his 
 original conviction, that<7// is for the best ; 
 and that if we wish to think so, we shall 
 find that truth made manifest, even in 
 this world. 
 
 The subject on which the Marquis 
 de Blanchefort wished for advice was 
 about a change of property which he 
 wished to make, but would not do, be- 
 fore he had asked the opinion of Ma- 
 dame de Fronsac's brother. It was 
 possible that Madame de Fronsac had 
 borne a child (her pregnancy having 
 been mentioned in one of the Chevalier's 
 letters) : it was barely possible, there- 
 fore, that this child might not have been
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. '295 
 
 the companion of their voyage, and 
 might, at a future day, appear to claim 
 his estates. The Marquis, therefore, 
 would not, without the sanction of that 
 child's maternal uncle, stir a step in the 
 business proposed. 
 
 Giovanni speedily quieted his respect- 
 able scruples, promising to take all re- 
 sponsibility upon himself. After this 
 he paid a visit to the old Madame de 
 Fronsac, now dedicated to heaven in a 
 convent of Ursalines ; and, having thus 
 completed his business in France, he 
 turned his face once more towards Italy. 
 
 o 4
 
 ( 296 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A few days subsequent to his depart- 
 ure from Sauveterre, having secured 
 himself a night's shelter in an abbey on 
 the confines of the province, Giovanni 
 rambled out alone, to enjoy the stillness 
 and freshness of evening. 
 
 Where increase of population has 
 since converted the wilds of nature into 
 meadows and cornfields, there spread 
 then, deep forests and lonely morasses ; 
 and the towns which now glitter on the 
 verdant shores of the Aveiron were then 
 but scattered and distant hamlets. 
 
 It was the season of the vintage : and 
 as Giovanni took his contemplative way, 
 occasionally through more frequented 
 paths than those of the tangled woodsj
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 297 
 
 he met parties of country people return- 
 ing liome to the neighbouring village. 
 Their hats, garlanded with vine-branches, 
 and their baskets teeming with the grapes 
 themselves, gave a sort of Arcadian 
 grace to their figures. 
 
 Giovanni loitered at times to return 
 a courteous answer to their frank offers 
 of fruit ; and to admire the sparkling 
 looks and animated movements of the 
 girls, as they went on, coquetting and 
 carolling with their s\yeethearts. 
 
 The setting-sun played on many a 
 crimson cheek, w^hich its hot ray em- 
 browTied with richer beauty ; and many 
 a bright dark eye, as it passed, darted 
 a roguish glance at the handsome 
 stranger. 
 
 The joyous groupes, now advancing 
 towards him, now disappearing among 
 the shaded cross-roads, gave life and in- 
 terest to the charms of inanimate nature. 
 
 Birds warbling their hymn of gladness 
 from each surrounding copse, (where 
 o 5
 
 298 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 every leaf sparkled with rain-drops 
 just scattered from a passing cloud ;) the 
 delightful smell of mingled fruits and 
 blossoms and wild flowers, rising like 
 the earth's incense to her Creator ; the 
 sight of that beauteous earth, and those 
 splendid heavens, were to Giovanni's 
 heart so many calls to prayer and praise ; 
 and with devotional rapture he stood in 
 that august temple, silently worshipping 
 the 07ie Great Cause. 
 
 His secret transport over, with feelings 
 softened, not changed, he turned from 
 the public path, and, striking down a 
 wooded declivity, entered a savage dell 
 darkened by old chesnut-trees, and echo- 
 ing to the rush of a river. 
 
 The brilliancy of sun-set brightening 
 even this dismal solitude gave a charm 
 to that deep mass of umbrage by which 
 it was almost choked up ; and, illumi- 
 nating the river for an instant, as it 
 appeared through a chasm in its steep 
 banks, discovered the cause of that sullen
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 299 
 
 din, which sounded in the ear of inspi- 
 ration, like the accents of its troubled 
 deity. 
 
 Giovanni made his way leisurely 
 through the rank bushes to the margin 
 of the water ; and, as he emerged, came 
 suddenly upon a man sitting there alone. 
 
 The man stirred not, for he heard not: 
 his head was supported by both hands, 
 resting on his knees, and his eyes were 
 fixed upon the swift tide. Giovanni 
 paused to observe whether he was in 
 distress, or might be dangerous. 
 
 He saw a figure scarcely human, 
 scarcely proportioned ; a countenance 
 livid, yet swollen ; features, where dis- 
 ease, and deformity, and weariness of life 
 were mixed with expressions of the most 
 affecting and the most revolting kind. 
 
 In the pale, deep-sunken eye was 
 thirst of vengeance, hatred, and fierce 
 impatience, mixed with grief, and tender- 
 ness, and the sad consciousness of power- 
 less will. Now and then the poor wretch 
 o 6
 
 300 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 muttered to himself, accompanying his 
 mutterings by some violent gesture of 
 the hands or head ; but still he moved 
 not away; and Giovanni fancied that 
 amidst low threatenings and curses, he 
 could distinguish lamentation and prayer. 
 
 He drew near then. His steps brush- 
 ing the long damp grass, made the man 
 start. At sight of one beside him, 
 lie rose, and would have fled ; but Gio- 
 vanni gently seized his coarse garment, 
 and bade him stay. 
 
 ** You touch me! — what! — I may be 
 touched, then !" exclaimed the maniac, 
 or miserable, w^ith a laugh which froze 
 Giovanni's blood, and made him loose 
 his hold. 
 
 Thus released, the man broke from 
 him ; and running fast, but feebly, gained 
 a broken ascent at a short distance : the 
 next moment he vanished, as it were, 
 into the ground. 
 
 Giovanni stood to shake off the su- 
 perstitious seizure of an instant ; then,
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 301 
 
 ashamed of his folly, hastened after the 
 human spectre. 
 
 The spot where it seemed to vanish 
 was only one of those natural grottoes 
 which are often found in the sides of 
 hills, and are as often turned into habita- 
 tions by shepherds and night- wanderers : 
 some wild cherry-bushes masked, without 
 securing, the wade entrance. Stooping 
 under its rocky porch, Giovanni found 
 himself in a mere mountain hollow, con- 
 taining no better useful faraiture than 
 a bed of heath, and no other inhabitant 
 than the creature he had followed. 
 
 At the extremity, however, the chalky 
 side of the hollow was scooped into a 
 sort of altar, on which stood a wooden 
 crucifix rudely carved : a circle of some 
 prickly briar surmounted it. 
 
 This faithful imitation of the crown 
 of thorns, and the feelings it indicated, 
 redeemed, in Giovanni's estimation, the 
 gaudy heap of coloured glass and spars 
 and peacock feathers which furnished a
 
 302 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 garniture for this humble shrine : he saw 
 in the latter only that childish love of 
 o-litter which is common to all ignorant 
 persons ; while in the former he read the 
 sentiment of a devout spirit. The presence 
 of the sacred symbol guaranteed his 
 personal safety ; and at the same time 
 reminded him that even the miserable 
 object by his side, was his brother in 
 faith. Silently crossing himself, he ap- 
 proached the forester. 
 
 " What do you want here ?*' asked the 
 latter, in a sullen tone, averting eyes 
 inflamed with weeping. 
 
 " A shelter — rest for a while, if you 
 will give them me," returned Giovanni, 
 hoping to detain the miserable, by this 
 demand on his hospitality. 
 
 " Take them, then," answered the 
 man, going out of the grotto. He then 
 seated himself at a distance, in his former 
 attitude of stern wretchedness. 
 
 Giovanni again followed. Without 
 approaching too close, and, regarding
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 303 
 
 him kindly, he said, " Something affects 
 you, my poor friend ; may a stranger 
 ofter you help ?" 
 
 The man neither stirred nor answered. 
 Giovanni repeated his questions in a 
 soothing voice, adding some expressions 
 still more soothing. The solitary then 
 raised his head, looked wildly, piteously, 
 as if discrediting the sense that would 
 have persuaded him he heard the voice 
 of benevolence : then exclaiming, *< Au- 
 guste 1" burst into a terrifying passion of 
 tears, 
 
 Giovanni now saw grief in its stormiest 
 character ; for it was grief, evidently 
 combined with rage and impotent desire 
 of vengeance. The unhappy man dashed 
 himself against the ground, tearing up 
 the grass as he lay there, struggling be- 
 tween cries and imprecations. 
 
 _" Alas, poor fellow 1" said Giovanni, 
 drawing close to him, as he saw his vio- 
 lence exhausting him ; *' you are, doubt- 
 less, in extreme sorrow ; and it seems
 
 304< THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 that you have no one to comfort you : 
 where is your home ? — let me lead you 
 to it/' 
 
 ** That is my home," replied the soli- 
 tary, pointing to the mountain-hollow. 
 
 " And what are you, then ?" 
 
 " A Cahet." The man pronounced 
 that ignominious name with a mixture 
 of shame and defiance. 
 
 Giovanni was far beyond the character 
 of the times he lived in ; and he shrunk 
 not from a term which stigmatised the 
 unhappy wretch before him as one of an 
 accursed and avoided race. 
 
 " What, then ?" he said ; " you are a 
 man — all men are brethren : you seem 
 a Christian — Christians are more than 
 brethren. Come, then ; tell me your 
 distresses freely, and let me see if I can 
 relieve you."' 
 
 O spark of the Divine essence, soul 
 of man ! prime source of grace and 
 beauty ! how didst thou triumph at this 
 moment over all that disease has of 
 
 13
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 305 
 
 squalid, and deformity, of revolting! Tiie 
 Cahet's livid and gloomy face shone with 
 light ; tears (no longer withering tears) 
 poured in abundance down his cheeks : 
 he ran, he sprang, he cast himself at the 
 feet of Giovanni ; he seized his garments, 
 rather devouring than kissing them, as 
 he cried in broken accents, >** O, do I 
 indeed hear words of kindness again !" 
 
 Giovanni raised him ; and, regarding 
 him with an expression of the most bene- 
 volent pity, he said, ** Let us re-enter 
 your cave. No one will disturb us there 
 — and you shall tell me what I can do 
 to help you.*' 
 
 " No one can help me now ! — Auguste 
 is dead!*' exclaimed the Cahet, and fresh 
 tears rained from his hollow eyes. 
 
 ** Then you shall talk to me of this 
 Auguste," replied Giovanni, gently 
 urging him forward ; if you have no one 
 else to lament him with, I will grieve 
 with you.'* 
 
 Again the Cahet grasped the hem
 
 to6 THE KNiGPit OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 of Giovanni's cloak, and glued liis lips 
 to it. 
 
 They entered the mountain-hollow to- 
 gether. When they had severally seated 
 themselves, Giovanni considered the poor 
 object before him with greater attention 
 and with the liveliest interest. 
 
 In him he saw, for the first time, one 
 of that mysterious race whom some un^ 
 known calamity has scattered throughout 
 France, and degraded from their rank 
 and rights of men : a race which were 
 numerous in the first and middle ages, 
 but of which only a miserable remnant 
 now remains to perpetuate the injustice 
 of former centuries. 
 
 This proscribed race, known under 
 various opprobrious titles in different 
 provinces, have been alternatively sup- 
 posed the descendants of the conquered 
 Alans, of the Saracens, of the Visigoths : 
 nay, some writers have tried to find the 
 origin of their disgrace in hereditary 
 leprosy.
 
 tHE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 307 
 
 In that chaos of nations and events 
 which renders the history of the tirst ages 
 but a wilderness of imaginations, nothing 
 satisfactory can be discovered respecting 
 their origin. We see only the frightful 
 facts of their being sold and transferred 
 as slaves with the land on which they 
 dwelt ; of intermixture with them being 
 considered an act of iniquity ; of their 
 banishment from the rites of sepulture 
 and sacrament ; of their being allowed 
 only the exercise of those employments 
 which would keep them aloof from towns, 
 and other society than their own* 
 
 Marked with disease, (perhaps the con- 
 sequence of scanty food, hopeless toil, 
 and continued intermixture with their 
 own cast,) this unhappy race form, even 
 now, as distinct a people, but, thank 
 God, a far less numerous people, than the 
 gipseys. 
 
 But bound to the soil on which they 
 are born ; not free, like them, to rove at 
 will ; they are doomed to endure the
 
 808 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 same injuries from the same oppressors, 
 in age as in youth ; and thus they ac- 
 quire habits of unresisting endurance. 
 
 Objects of horror and aversion to every 
 other class of men, even two centuries 
 back, they could not question the justice 
 of their fate ; because they were then 
 as ignorant of its cause in remote anti- 
 quity, as they were who oppressed them : 
 still they felt its weiglit, groaned, and 
 submitted. 
 
 Giovanni had often pondered over the 
 possible source of this furious antipathy, 
 which still remained in all its strength, 
 when every trace of what might explain 
 (for nothing could justify it), was swept 
 from record and tradition. Rejecting 
 every other opinion, he believed, with 
 some acute writers, that in the heresy of 
 the Arian Visigoths lay the solution of 
 the difficulty. Once tainted with that 
 abhorred schism, the whole race would 
 be pronounced excommunicate, and shun- 
 ned accordingly.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 309 
 
 This h^^othesis certainly wanted com- 
 pleteness ; as it did not account for the 
 gradual change which must afterwards 
 have taken place in their creed ; the Ca- 
 hets professing pure Catholicism : — and 
 how was that change to have been ef- 
 fected, seeing they were denied not only 
 intermixture by marriage with more or- 
 thodox Christians, but refused admittance 
 into their society ? 
 
 Giovanni, however, passed lightly over 
 the objection ; willing to gild a wretched 
 and despised race, with the long-set glo- 
 ries of the warlike Goths. 
 
 He now contemplated, as he thought, 
 one of their descendants in the person 
 of a timid slave ; and, marvelling at those 
 great reverses of fortune, which distin- 
 guish nations as much as individuals, he 
 drew from his pallid companion the little 
 history of his life. 
 
 It was a life of uniform dreariness ; 
 with much in it to corrode the sufferer's 
 heart, but little to mark a narrative.
 
 810 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 Hodolphe was the last individual of 
 the only Cahet family which had for many 
 years remained on the estate of D*Ar- 
 mond ; he had lived, therefore, in pecu- 
 liar and joyless solitude from childhood 
 to manhood. Dwelling alone, shunned 
 by every other human being, he followed 
 his monotonous task of wood-cutting 
 during the summer ; and in winter shut 
 himself up from the wolves and the snows 
 in a mountain-hovel. 
 
 On Saints-days he stole into some 
 neighbouring church at a side-entrance 
 set apart for his unhappy cast ; and there, 
 Avhile he listened to the awful service, 
 feared to join his prayer or his praise, 
 with any of the crowd that shuddered 
 if his garments did but touch them in 
 passing. 
 
 He now described his return from those 
 pious exercises with a pathetic force 
 which pierced Giovanni's heart. The 
 mysterious horror with which he con- 
 sidered himself; the trembling awe with 
 15
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 311 
 
 which he regarded all that multitude of 
 persons so different from him in appear- 
 ance and in destiny ; and that continued 
 sensation of misery, which he painted as 
 having supplied in him the place of 
 thought; — all these were so many af- 
 fecting proofs, how easy it is to crush 
 the human spirit under a load of injustice 
 and superstition. 
 
 Education had not taught Rodolphe 
 to reflect ; nature, however, made him 
 feel. — He questioned not the justice of 
 whatever laws condemned him, in com- 
 mon with other Cahets, to ignominy and 
 wretchedness ; but submitting to his fate, 
 as to necessity, he never kifew complaint, 
 till he had enjoyed and lost comfort.. 
 
 An accidental circumstance had first 
 caused a glimmering light to shine on his 
 mental gloom. 
 
 While cutting wood in the dell one 
 autumnal day, a boy six years old, who 
 had strayed from his foster-mother's cot- 
 tage, came to play there. Pleased v/ith
 
 3l!2 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 the child's beauty and gaiety, the poor 
 Cahet suspended his labour to watch him 
 sporting among the rushes. While clam- 
 bering after a butterfly, the boy fell into 
 the river that ran below — Rodolphe 
 jumped in after him, seized, and saved 
 him. 
 
 Having borne him in his arms to the 
 hamlet from which he had strayed, 
 though Auguste's nurse received him as 
 if from the hands of a demon; Rodolphe 
 afterwards haunted the spot every morn- 
 ing and evening, till he saw the little 
 prattler again. Gratitude on the one 
 side, and on the other the love of that we 
 have served, were too powerful for re- 
 straint : Rodolphe could imitate every 
 bird in the forest ; and he gathered ber- 
 ries and blossoms, and laid them where 
 Auguste found them. Thus administering 
 to the gentle child's pleasures, his image 
 could not be coupled in his mind with 
 ideas of dread and disgust. 
 
 When, at last, the furious prejudices
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 313 
 
 of the villagers drove Rodolphe from 
 their door, Auguste learned to steal away 
 alone to the wood-cutter's cave ; and 
 then his pretty arts beguiled the mo- 
 ments, and " made a sun-shine in that 
 shady place.*' 
 
 This intercourse continued without in- 
 termission for two years, during which 
 time, the child became the man's in- 
 structor ; and having taught him to feel, 
 he soon taught him to think. Rodolphe 
 well remembered the change that was 
 wrought in him. 
 
 " Before I knew Auguste,'^ he said, 
 ** I used to sit here alone, day after day — 
 dark winter-days, long winter-nights — 
 doing nothing but feeding my fire w^ith 
 fallen wood. Once I used to think 
 about my family that were dead — but 
 that was just after they died : years 
 passed, and 1 forgot to think ; and then 
 I used to feel as if I lived in my grave. 
 Something thick, and dark, and heavy, 
 was always before my eyes — or in my 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 3l4f THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 breast — or here in my head — I don't know 
 where it was — ^what it was — for I thought 
 of no one that had ever lived ; nor of any 
 thing that had ever been. — O, those 
 were horrid days !'* 
 
 .The pallid face of the Cahet took a 
 more deadly hue as he spoke. After a 
 suffocating pause he resumed : — 
 
 ** Auguste changed all that. From 
 the moment I had him first in my arms, 
 I felt that every thing was altered : for 
 even then, he put his soft, red cheek 
 against mine j — he breathed gently on 
 my lips, because they were livid blue, and 
 he thought I must be cold — and he pro- 
 mised to love me dearly all his life — he 
 did not know I was a Cahet ! Ah well ! 
 he knew it afterwards ; but he loved me 
 still y and no one could keep him from 
 me. He would come to me in the 
 wood, and sing me pretty songs, and 
 tell me pretty tales, and stick flowers in 
 my hair, and stroke my rough hands with 
 his delicate ones. O Auguste ! Auguste 1
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 315 
 
 never wilt thou nestle in my breast 
 again ! — never shall I feel thy sweet 
 breathing more ! never ! never !'* 
 
 The Cahet now sobbed aloud ; and his- 
 voice, quite subdued by grief, was no 
 longer audible. 
 
 " You lament a child thus ?" repeated 
 Giovanni, his own eyes dim with oppres- 
 sive sympathy. The Cahet bowed his 
 head in expressive silence, at length re- 
 suming, he said, — 
 
 *' Auguste was a little child, when first 
 we met ; but he grew so tall, and so sen- 
 sible, in two years ! He could read, and 
 make letters upon vellum, like a book ; 
 and he taught me to read ; he used to steal 
 his books out, and help me to read them : 
 80 after that, I never felt dark and heavy in 
 this cave ; for I could sit by my fire, and 
 repeat them word for word ; and think 
 over all my pretty Auguste had said or 
 done. — O how I was happy ! and he 
 taught me that word — I had never heard 
 it, till he said it to me." 
 p 2
 
 316 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 " Nor ever felt it !" said Giovanni, in- 
 wardly sighing at the thought. 
 
 " But a Cahet is not born to be happy," 
 resumed Rodolphe : " Auguste fell sick, 
 and I did not know it. I watched for 
 him in the woods, by the river, in all the 
 pathways ; I ventured to go near his 
 nurse's house ; still I saw him not. At 
 last she told me that he was taken home 
 to his father's in the town, and that he 
 was dying. Did I not run there ? Did 
 I not beg them, on my knees, to let me see 
 him only once again ? If they would have 
 told him — if they would have brought 
 me but a message from him! At last 
 they told me he was dead ; they drove 
 me away with stones and frightful words ; 
 they cursed me for loving Auguste ; they 
 said his death was a judgment, because 
 he had loved me ; they told me his inno- 
 cent soul would suffer for my sake, and 
 they mocked my agony." 
 
 A ghastly smile gleamed over the fea^ 
 tures of the Cahet, and his lips moved
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 317 
 
 wildly for a while, though not articu- 
 lately. At length he smote his breast, 
 and with a thrilling cry exclaimed, 
 
 "O! if this arm had power! — if I 
 might ease the dreadful pain that's gnaw- 
 ing here! The pangs of thirst, of hunger, 
 of dreary loneliness, are not half so 
 strong. Might I be revenged!'* 
 
 Rodolphe trembled with the hideous 
 passions that now engrossed him : rage 
 and hatred glared in his fixed eye; he 
 shook his clenched hand, as if threaten- 
 ing some unseen object, while a horrid 
 groan convulsed his bosom. 
 
 At first Giovanni soothed him; then 
 proceeded to explain the sinfulness of 
 revenge, and the loveliness of returning 
 evil with good. 
 
 He reminded Rodolphe that those 
 persons who were most cruel to him, were 
 related to the object he loved so dearly, 
 therefore should be considered sacred on 
 that account ; that perhaps their injuri- 
 ous treatment was rather the effect of a 
 p 3
 
 SI 8 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 grief more ungovernable than his own, 
 and that aggravated by superstition, than 
 the result of deliberate cruelty. 
 
 He then urged him to reflect that, ac- 
 cording to the religion they both pro- 
 fessed, he would more surely and worthily 
 manifest his fondness for Auguste, by 
 joining in the customary prayers for his 
 soul, than by committing acts of vio- 
 lence upon his kindred. 
 
 As he enforced this, Giovanni laid 
 aside his hat and cloak, inviting Ro- 
 dolphe to assist him in repeating the of- 
 fices for the dead. 
 
 Kneeling down before the cross on the 
 rude and almost grotesque altar, he re- 
 cited in a solemn voice, the service to 
 which he invited the Cahet. The un- 
 fortunate then sunk in silence beside 
 him : by degrees his countenance lost 
 its wildness, his movements their convul- 
 sive quickness, and his fast-streaming 
 tears announced the melting of his heart. 
 
 Never did Giovanni pray more fer-
 
 mi: KNPGHT OF ST. JOHN. SlQ 
 
 vently. In the august chapel of the 
 Knights of St. John, surrounded by a 
 multitude of kindred spirits, and by all 
 the pomp and circumstance of cere- 
 monial worship, he had fek his soul 
 transported with holy rapture : in the 
 church of the Annonciata, during the 
 masses that were said over his father's 
 body, he had felt that soul awe-struck, 
 and anxious and earnest in its ad- 
 dresses to the Judge of men and an- 
 gels ; but never had he felt in such im- 
 mediate communion with his Creator as 
 now, when lifting up his heart and voice 
 to him, in a lonely desert, by the side of 
 a forlorn and sorrowful slave. 
 
 Their devotions ended, Giovanni and 
 Rodolphe arose : the latter was still 
 bathed in tears, increasing tears; but 
 they distilled in kindly showers, as if they 
 relieved his heart of all that weighed 
 upon its better purposes. 
 
 Frequently he caught Giovanni's hand, 
 kissed it, and held it against his heaving 
 p 4
 
 3^0 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 side ; while Giovanni, with the gracious 
 look of a heavenly messenger, continued 
 to fortify him in patient submission, and 
 to describe that ineffable bliss which must 
 be the portion of a soul .unspotted by 
 the world. 
 
 His arguments had less effect than his 
 description of Auguste's beatitude : so 
 little power has reason over sensibility, 
 strongly roused ; and so necessary is it 
 to combat one passion by another. 
 
 In conformity with the precepts of 
 their religion, Giovanni taught him, that 
 there yet remained a means by which he 
 could testify his love to the innocent 
 child, now no more ; and in teaching 
 hiiii this, he opened to him a source of 
 enjoyment, and he animated him into 
 action. 
 
 Even that innocent soul would not, he 
 said, be deemed free from the imputed 
 guilt of our first father ; and for it, 
 therefore, the mass might be performed.
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 321 
 
 and the secret prayer offered, ^vith blessed 
 effect. 
 
 Thus soothed, thus led to stem his 
 own faulty impulses, for the sake of the 
 soul he lamented, Rodolphe, for the first 
 time in his life, made an effort which had 
 self-control for its object. Oh, sorrow, 
 what a teacher art thou ! 
 
 Giovanni marked, and commended his 
 struggles ; and, promising to see him ere 
 he departed the next day, bade him a 
 kindly farewell. 
 
 As he slowly took his way homewards 
 to the convent where he was to sleep, 
 the past scene engrossed all his faculties ; 
 nothing outward, indeed, pressed upon 
 his attention: for, as if respecting his me- 
 ditations, nature had veiled herself in a 
 mist ; and, as he passed along, the mea- 
 dows and valleys, covered with its white 
 billows, presented no object to call forth 
 admiration. 
 
 Giovanni recollected the gay groups 
 he had met in those paths, not three 
 p 5
 
 32^ TH]E KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 hours before ; and, contrasting them with 
 the wretched wood-cutter, he sighed over 
 their disproportionate destinies. 
 
 Connected with that poor wretch's 
 image, the happiness of these people ap- 
 peared monstrous ; it seemed the hilarity 
 of heartless selfishness : for were not these 
 the villagers who drove the Cahet from 
 their doors, and would have excluded 
 him, if possible, from their churches ? 
 
 " But why do I condemn them ?'* he 
 asked ; ** the blame falls on their in- 
 structors :" and he fixed his eyes on that 
 quarter where the towers of the abbey 
 rose, like an aerial edifice, above the float- 
 ing mists. 
 
 Giovanni felt the religious enthusiasm 
 of his times without their prejudices, 
 and his heart ached while remembering 
 all that he had heard and read of priestly 
 anathema against this unfortunate race. 
 
 Who in this province but himself, would 
 have entered a Cahet's hut, pressed his 
 
 14
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. SS8 
 
 hand, dried his tears, comforted, prayed 
 with him ? 
 
 As he asked himself this question, he 
 thanked Heaven that he had been born 
 in a country where none of these wretched 
 beings existed, and where the blind habit 
 of hatred to them, had not deafened even 
 superior minds to the pleadings of hu- 
 manity and reason ! 
 
 He saw in a Cahet, one of the same 
 species with himself; one whom he was 
 led by natural instinct to pity ; and 
 whom he was bound to succour by the 
 vows he had taken when dedicating him- 
 self to the service of Heaven and of 
 mankind. 
 
 Obliged by the rules of his Order to 
 attend the sick, and wash the feet of 
 the poor, Giovanni felt no degradation, 
 when he knelt with the half-savage wood- 
 cutter before his rude altar ; and, habi- 
 tuated to consider himself still bound to 
 assist all his distressed fellow-creatures, 
 he was not sensible to any self-applause, 
 p 6
 
 324 l^HE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 when resolving not to quit Guienne till 
 he should ameliorate or wholly change 
 this forlorn one's lot. 
 
 In this frame of mind, he reached the 
 abbey ; sought and obtained information 
 of the Count d' Armand, on whose estate 
 Rodolphe was born. 
 
 The next day, Giovanni went to wait 
 on him. 
 
 Whether his arguments, his persua- 
 sions, his gold, or his winning manner, 
 had most weight with a spendthrift cour- 
 tier, I leave courtiers to determine ; suf- 
 fice it, that when he took the river-path, 
 he carried with him the exulting power 
 of bestowing freedom. 
 
 The day was advanced, and the poor 
 Cahet was gone to his allotted task in 
 the forest. Giovanni found him there, 
 repeating the ineffectual blows of his 
 hatchet at long intervals, with an arm 
 nearly enfeebled. 
 
 He had been wandering, at day-break, 
 round the house that contained the 
 15
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 325 
 
 corpse of Auguste ; and had collected 
 there some withered flowers as they 
 were thrown from the windows of the 
 mournful chamber. He did not err 
 when he fondly fancied they had strewn 
 the body of his youthful friend. 
 
 During the progress of his labour, 
 these dismal flowers were only taken 
 from his breast, to press with his lips, 
 and water with tears. He displayed 
 them to Giovanni, telling him their his- 
 tory. 
 
 Giovanni took them in his hand, con- 
 sidered them with respect and tender- 
 ness, said some soothing words ; and 
 thus lightened the grief of Rodolphe by 
 appearing to share it. 
 
 In the desolation of Chis poor outcast, 
 and in the stormy excess of his sorrow, 
 there seemed a resemblance with the 
 situation and feelings of Cesario Adimari; 
 such, at least, as they were, when Gio- 
 vanni first saw him in the Palazzo Pub- 
 lico.
 
 3^6 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 The comparison did but strengthen his 
 interest in the person before him. And 
 believing he saw in his violence of feel- 
 ing, one of those strong characters, on 
 whom nature bestows an extraordinary 
 capacity for happiness and virtue, he 
 flattered himself with the hope of here- 
 after building him up in both, by judi- 
 cious instruction. 
 
 His mild sympathy had already sooth- 
 ed his companion into details of his little 
 favourite's sportiveness and affection ; 
 when the deep toll of a bell was heard 
 over the wood-tops : at that sound, the 
 Cahet started up, uttered a piercing cry, 
 and fell upon the ground, like one de- 
 prived of sense. 
 
 Giovanni divined the cause of this 
 new agony. Doubtless, that bell an- 
 nounced the interment of Auguste. 
 Some pitying drops fell from his cheek 
 upon the livid face of Rodolphe, as he 
 raised him from the ground. The un- 
 happy man opened his eyes, (for anguish
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 3^7 
 
 alone had closed them,) and fixed them 
 with an expression of gratitude upon the 
 gracious countenance of Giovanni ; then 
 he groaned, and, closing them again, 
 threw himself back on the earth. 
 
 Giovanni would not urge the exhaust- 
 ed spirit beyond its strength : he suffered 
 Rodolphe to remain stretched in dumb 
 despair, while the bell continued to toll ; 
 and the funeral procession, (seen only 
 in their mind's eye,) was proceeding 
 from the town to the church of the 
 Benedictines. 
 
 As he contemplated the convulsed 
 figure of the Cahet, and listened to his 
 half-breathed groans, he marvelled at 
 the mysterious power which enables man 
 to enslave, not merely the body, but the 
 mind of his fellow-men. 
 
 What had been this poor Cahet's 
 strongest desire ? To follow those pre- 
 cious remains to their last rest ; to hear 
 the solemn rites performed for that 
 almost sinless soul j to watch, and weep.
 
 328 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 by that newly-tenanted grave. Yet here 
 he lay groaning at a distance ; withheld 
 from joining the sad procession, — and by 
 what withheld? Life was a blank to 
 him ; death, the gate of Heaven : he 
 was a slave. Human malice could not 
 sink him lower, nor afflict him more. — 
 What then restrained him ? 
 
 Even that inexplicable somethings to 
 which we give the name of a broken 
 spirit ; but for which no name is ade- 
 quate ; no name is sufficiently expressive 
 of the shapeless horrors, the w^ild exag- 
 geration of the oppressor's power and 
 the sufferer's weakness, which constitute 
 its very essence. 
 
 Giovanni thought he had never, till 
 now, fathomed the utmost depths of 
 human misery and human degradation ; 
 and, yearning to restore this unoffending 
 creature to man's birthright of freedom, 
 comfort, and knowledge, he waited 
 anxiously for the moment, in which he 
 could make him sensible, that the paths
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 3^9 
 
 to these, were all open to him. *' I will 
 die !" were the first articulate sounds 
 the Cahet uttered, as he suddenly start- 
 ed from the ground, rolling round his 
 blood-shot eyes with a look of phrenzy 
 — *' They have buried him now. — and 
 what should I live for ?'* 
 
 ** Live for the stranger that has sor-* 
 rowed with you !" said Giovanni, in a 
 tone of gentle reproach, laying his hand 
 upon Rodolphe's arm. 
 
 ** For you ? 1 would die for you V* 
 exclaimed the poor forester, falling at 
 his feet with a softened countenance, 
 "but you are going far away ; and I — 
 am, like these trees, — fixed — fixed — 
 fixed." 
 
 " You may go whither you will/' 
 replied Giovanni : ** you are no longer 
 a slave.'' 
 
 It was long ere he could make Ro- 
 dolphe comprehend the change that had 
 taken place in his fate : the magnitude 
 of it stupefied him.
 
 330 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JO^^T. 
 
 But when his labouring naind at length 
 took in, not the full extent of- the bless- 
 ing gained for him, but only the extent 
 oi' his personal freedom, his gratitude 
 and joy amounted to delirium. He 
 passed, in a moment, from a paroxysm of 
 despair to one of rapture : even the re- 
 collection of Auguste was suspended in 
 his mind. 
 
 To live and die near his benefactor, 
 near the only one of his species, save a 
 little child, that had ever cast on him a 
 look of kindness; the ideal happiness 
 was almost beyond his power to bear: 
 and, sobbing like an infant, he would 
 have worshipped him who blessed him 
 thus, had not Giovanni's gentle rebuke 
 taught him where to direct his thanks- 
 givings. 
 
 When the replies to his wandering 
 questions informed Rodolphe that he 
 would accompany his benefactor into 
 other countries, amongst mixed multi- 
 tudes, his joy faded : he cast his eyes
 
 THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 331 
 
 upon the clear mirror of the river, and, 
 shuddering at " the imperfect fashion of 
 man" there reflected, compared it, by a 
 speaking glance, with the rare perfection 
 of Giovanni's proportions. 
 
 He did not speak, but that piteous 
 look needed no interpreter. 
 
 Giovanni understood it : he hastened 
 to say, that in the country where he 
 wished to remove him, the very name of 
 his proscribed race was known only to 
 the learned or the traveller ; that, con- 
 sequently, he would mix on equal terms 
 with persons of his own condition : that 
 his livid complexion and feeble limbs 
 would change into health and vigour by 
 wholesome food and considerate care, 
 and that he would have, besides, in Gio- 
 vanni, a friend able and willing to protect 
 him against insult. 
 
 The simple Cahet listened as to an 
 oracle, his wishes giving force to each 
 benevolent argument. 
 
 Ere Giovanni quitted him, he had
 
 S3Q THE KNIGHT OF ST. JOHN. 
 
 promised to be in waiting on the by-road 
 to Italy, by day-break the next morning. 
 Giovanni concluded that he would 
 visit the grave of Auguste during the 
 night, and he wished not to impose any 
 restraint on a sorrow so legitimate. 
 
 Yet he could have gone and wept with 
 him ; so truly did he lament the early 
 death of a child, whose uncommon 
 energy and sensibility augured such a 
 noble maturity. 
 
 Even in that event, however, he saw 
 the gracious hand of Providence ; which, 
 depriving Rodolphe of so feeble an as- 
 sistance, had caused him to excite the 
 compassion of one competent to change 
 his wretchedness to comfort. 
 
 Rodolphe passed that night in the 
 church-yard of the Benedictines. His 
 lamentations no mortal ear heard ; his 
 agony, no mortal eye witnessed : ibr who 
 had loved the beauteous clay that rested 
 there, like the unhappy Cahet? — to
 
 THE KNIGHT Of ST. JOHS. 333 
 
 whom was Auguste any thing, save to 
 him? 
 
 He returned no more to his cave. — 
 An osier-basket held all his property: this 
 consisted of a few miserable garments ; 
 the spars which had decorated his shrine j 
 a rosary ; and a mutilated missal ; all the 
 gifts of Auguste. In his breast, he 
 hoarded the flowers he had found under 
 the window of that dear child, and the 
 sod he had taken from his grave. 
 
 With these treasures — for they were 
 such to him — he met Giovanni in a by- 
 path beyond the town ; and, joining his 
 small suite, quitted France, with him, for 
 ever. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 Printed cy A.S:rahan, 
 Printers-Sireet, London.