THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY From the collection of Julius Doerner, Chicago Purchased, 1918. . Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates https://archive.org/details/girlhoodofshakes00clar_0 THE \v' 1 . u \ \ GIRLHOOD OF SHAKESPEARE’S HEROINES A SERIES OF TALES, MARY COWDEN CLARKE, AUTHOR OF THE CONCORDANCE TO SHAKESPEARE. “ as petty to his ends, As is the morn-dew on the myrtle leaf ! Xo his grand sea.” Shakespeare . FIRST SERIES. NEW YORK & BOSTON : C. S. FRANCIS & COMPANY 1857. i v/ '■J st %/OXj V' \ PREFACE. If ever Preface were especially needful, it is surely so in the present instance, to state an explanatory word concerning the design of the work, and an exculpatory word touching the choice of its subject. The design has been, to trace the probable antecedents in the history of some of Shakespeare’s women ; to imagine the possible circumstances and influences of scene, event, and associate, surrounding the infant life of his heroines, which might have conduced to originate and foster those germs of character recognized in their maturity, as by him developed ; to conjecture what might have been the first imperfect dawnings of that which he has shown us in the meridian blaze of perfection : and it was believed that such a design would combine much matter of interesting speculation, afford scope for pleasant fancy, and be productive of enter- tainment in the various narratives. Although little or no attempt will be found in these tales to give pictures of the times in which their chief actors may be supposed to have lived, yet it i3 hoped that no gross violation of probability in period, P scene, or custom, has been committed. The development of character, not of history, has been the intention. In the case of the early historic personage who figures in these biographic tales — Lady Macbeth — names and facts have been used ; but with as little regard to their strict place in history, as was paid by the poet himself, who took the story from the old chronicles, and modelled it after his own fashion. If it be borne in mind that all climax in incident and sentiment was to be carefully avoided throughout these stories, — inasmuch as they are 406:209 4 PREFACE. merely preliminaries to catastrophes already ordained, — the obstacles in the way of giving them startling features of romance will be understood. The aim has been to invent such adventures as might be supposed to color the future lives ; to place the heroines in such situations as should naturally lead up to, and account for, the known conclusion of their sub- sequent confirmed character and after-fate; in short, to invest each story with consistent and appropriate interest. I would also remind my indulgent readers (and may mine be such !), when they find me venturing to make Shakespeare’s people act and speak, that here, his women are in their girlhood , — these are their “ sallet days,” when they are u green in judgment,” — immature, — but the opening buds of the future “ bright consummate flowers” which he has given to us in immortal bloom. My exculpatory word — my word in extenuation — is this. I beseech my readers to believe that love, not presumption, prompted the subject of this series of stories : — Not mine the sweetness or the skill, But mine the love that will not tire ; And, born of love, the vague desire That spurs an imitative wilL “ In Memoriam? Shakespeare himself is my voucher that Never any thing can be amiss When simpleness and duty tender it ; ******* And what poor duty cannot do, Noble respect takes it in might, not merit TALE I. PORTIA; THE HEIRESS OF. BELMONT. “ If two gods should play some heavenly match, And on the wager lay two earthly women, And Portia one, there must be something else Pawn’d with the other ; for the poor world Hath not her fellow.” Merchant of Venice . In the University of Padua, were, once upon a time, two fellow- students, who entertained for each other a more than usually lively re- gard. This regard seemed to grow out of a peculiar sympathy of feel- ing, which sometimes exists between two lads of like age, though of dis- similar conditions ; for one of these students was lively, ardent, and prosperous, while the other was calm, reserved, and very poor. But though Guido di Belmonte revelled in every good gift of fortune, — was the son of a rich Italian Count, and the indulged heir of a fond father, yet his prosperity, instead of injuring his nature and rendering him im- perious and selfish, did but make him frank and generous, with a strong capability of enjoyment ; while Bellario, the other student, the less fa- vored of fortune, — being the child of a retired officer, possessed of little but his honorably-acquired wounds and an unblemished name, — found cheerfulness in a sedate reflective habit of mind, hope in the thought of achieving renown in the future employment of his talents, and enjoy- ment in the present epoch of study and intellectual culture. Thus it came that these two young men, each earnest in his enjoyment of 6 THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. student-life, found sympathy exist between them, attachment arise and strengthen, and a warmth of friendship ensue, which burnt with a steady and kindly glow while life endured. During this youthful period of his life, there was one point on which Bellario’s well-ordered mind and careful study did not lead him to a true wisdom. They might have taught him that poverty was no shame, that the practice of frugality and self-denial was a virtue rather than a blemish in a young man’s conduct, and that it was due to the nobility of friendship to have no reserves upon such matters ; but the sensitive pride of the young collegian shrank from the avowal of his slender means, and the secrets of his penurious dwelling were coyly guarded from all eyes. His friend Guido, in the plenitude of his own resources, had no sus- picion of the real motive that held his fellow-student silent upon all that referred to home topics, and domestic relations ; and it was rather from a desire to enjoy Bellario’s society during the pleasant season of holiday and relaxation, that he always invited him to spend the vaca- tions at his father’s seat of Belmont, than from any idea that he was thus procuring his friend an indulgence in luxury and refined entertain- ment, which he could never otherwise have an opportunity of enjoying. Delightful were the intervals thus spent together by the two young men. The sense of entire leisure, rendered doubly grateful by previous labor ; the freedom of action and open-air sports, after a long course of sedentary pursuits ; the repose of mind in contrast with its late strained exertion, — all these enjoyed amidst a scene of rural beauty, voluptuous retire- ment, and tasteful magnificence, pervading the domain and household of a wealthy nobleman, conspired to make these vacations seasons of unal- loyed gratification to our two students. Arm-in-arm they would saunter up and down the avenue of lordly Belmont, whiling many an hour in eager converse. Here, beneath the cool umbrage of those thick-spread- ing trees, secure from the noontide blaze of even an Italian sun, they would discourse pleasantly of their books, their courses of study past and to come, their treasured lore, their increasing thirst for knowledge with every freshly-acquired draught, their present zest in seeking, their THE HEIRESS OP BELMONT. 7 future hope of profit. Here, too, in the scarce less radiant splendor of an Italian moonlight, would they speak confidingly of heart-aspirations, of high-reaching schemes for distinguished manhood, virtuous life, rational happiness, and trusted immortality. The young Count, Guido, would dilate, in all the gay tenderness of an uncorrupted heart, upon the pure joys he proposed to himself, when he should at some future day bring a fair bride to share with him the beauties of this broad do- main ; when he should dwell in loving communion with a womanly heart ; when he should emulate her in fostering kindness to the neigh- boring poor ; when they should partake in the gentle duties of tending the helpless infancy, and implanting goodly principles in the youthful breasts of their offspring ; and when together they should live and die in sweet mutual help. And in his turn, Bellario would playfully declare that he would live and die a bachelor, wooing and wedding no other bride than Justice, who was his professed mistress. That he meant to win honor and re- nown at the bar, and that he intended to make his name famous among the lawyers of his time. That such a celebrity as he aimed at, was only to be attained by the devotion of a life-long assiduity to his task, and that he therefore must early resolve upon excluding all claims of love upon his thoughts, dedicating them wholly and undividedly to ambition. Time wore on ; the old Count of Belmont died, and young Guido inherited the paternal estate. Yet still he lingered at the University, unwilling to quit the sweets of study, and the associations of boyhood, or to curtail the season of youth by assuming the prerogative of man- hood In the academic shades of learned Padua he still tarried, well pleased to remain constantly with his friend Bellario, who studied unre- mittingly to qualify himself for his intended profession. Shortly after the time when Guido di Belmonte wore mourning for his father, Bellario’s suit bore sable marks that he also had to deplore the loss of some relation ; but as he alluded in no way to the nature of his bereavement, so no allusion to the subject was ever made by his fellow-students ; not even by his friend, who was accustomed to observe silence on those points on which Bellario did not speak first. There 8 POETIA ; was frank communion between the young men upon most themes of pleasant converse : but, as before remarked, personal concerns and home relations were never referred to by the young law-student, being matter of his most scrupulous and proud reserve. At length a season of vacation occurred, when, upon the young Count’s usual invitation to Bellario, that he should accompany him to Belmont, the friend refused ; without, however, alleging any reason for this refusal beyond the bare fact of its being out of his power to in* dulge himself with the pleasure of going, on this occasion. “ But why not, caro mio ?” urged Guido ; “ you have suiely no en- gagement so imperative as to interfere with the one so long understood between us,— that you should spend every vacation at Belmont, beauti- ful Belmont ; now all my own, but which will scarce seem so, without my friend to share its beauties with me.” Bellario wrung his hand gratefully, for all reply, merely repeating— a I cannot ; do not urge me.” “ But I must ; I will. How is it that I, the lord of Belmont, am to be thwarted in my dearest wish ? Come, good Signor Avocato, give me an infinity of reasons why you ‘ cannot.’ Let us have some of your special pleading here, to satisfy me. I know not why I should be con- tented with your sovereign c cannot ’ without farther explanation, any more than why you are prevented from coming to Belmont when we both wish it. Or do we indeed both wish it ?” added he, smiling in his friend’s face ; u are you tired of Belmont ? Confess, if you are ; and we will exchange the shady avenue and solitary terrace of our country life, for the gay revelry of Venice — her masques, her feastings, her torch-light merry-making.” Bellario met his friend’s look with one as frank as his own ; — “ Bel- mont is to me, as it has ever been — the scene of my best enjoyment. The disappointment is as great to me — nay, far greater — than it can be to you, my generous friend ; be assured, I need no urging, when my own desire to be with you pleads so powerfully ; but in this case, you yourself would be the first to ” then checking himself, he briefly added, “ once more, I repeat ; believe, me, I cannot.” THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 9 a In this case ?” quickly repeated Guido ; in his eagerness forgetting how nearly he was transgressing the bounds of discretion in thus cate- chising his friend beyond what even such friendship as theirs might warrant “ In this case ? It is a point of honor, then ! A quarrel 1 A duel?” But seeing Bellario shake his head, with a smile at his ardent questioning, he ran on with : — “ No, no, of course not ; had it been so, you would have had me for your second— but how then % No friend has so good a right as myself to engross your company, and to no friend will I yield you — mind, to no — But stay added he, interrupting himself, as a sudden thought struck him ; “ though to no friend, no man, can I give you up, yet it may be, that — — ” He stopped ; and laying his hand on his friend’s sleeve, laughed out — ■“ Ah ah ! Signor Avocato, fairly caught ! So then the stern an- chorite, the bachelor student, the devoted bridegroom of the law, the destined spouse of justice, is actually the thrall of some fair lady ; and it is a mortal woman, after all, who has these claims upon your time, and prevents your going with me to Belmont, I cry you mercy, caro mio !” Bellario’s face flushed crimson to his very brow. He no longer met his friend’s look as before, yet he still smiled, though gravely ; and he grasped Guido’s hand in a firm conclusive manner, as if he would close all further discussion. u Be satisfied, dear friend ; it may not be.” Guido di Belmonte warmly returned the pressure ; and his generous frank nature permitted no wounded feeling at his friend’s reserve, to mingle with the regret with which he now withdrew his suit, and bade him adieu until they should meet again next college term. But on the following morning, while pursuing his solitary way towards Belmont, accompanied solely by a faithful attendant, who followed him on horse- back, he could not help giving way to a feeling of mortification akin to anger, at being deprived of the company of his beloved friend Bellario on a journey, which had heretofore been so fruitful a source of delight to them both. u It is some whim, some fancied necessity, that thus detains him,” murmured the young Count to himself, as he rode onward ; “ Bellario 10 PORTIA : is so scrupulous when he conceives some point of right to be in ques- tion, that he is ever ready to sacrifice inclination to duty. I know his unselfish heart, and I’ll be bound it is some vexatious claim or other upon his time and aid, which is thus permitted to interfere with our pleasant holiday ! For after all, though he did change color at my words, I do not believe it was a woman that he stays for. Had he yielded his thoughts to love, and forsworn law, he could not have kept so great a re- volution in his heart a secret from his friend Guido. No, he is still constant to his old adoration for musty precedents, yellow shrivelled parchments, and time-honored precepts of legislation, over which he will sit wrapt in enamored contemplation, hour by hour, forgetful iff all this bright world contains. I’ll wager now, that it is in order to waste no hour apart from the prosecution of this bewitching pursuit, that he has thought it right to deny himself and me this holiday. He dropped some words, not long since, to the effect that his progress did not keep pace with his desires. How came I to forget this, when I besought him yesterday ? I did not urge him with sufficient warmth. I have a great mind to turn back, and see if I cannot plead with better effect. He must not, ought not to shut himself up during this charming time. He will be ill, or moped to death, with his absurd scruples and notions. Duty, indeed ! It is his duty to enjoy his holiday — to come and pay seasonable homage to all-bounteous nature, to revel in her beauteous gifts, to inhale the pure free air, to bask in the glorious sunshine, to ride forth joyously — to come with me to Belmont, in short ! — I will re- turn, and entreat him once more, to do himself and me that right !” As he concluded his reverie, Guido turned his horse’s head in the di- rection whence he had just come ; but he now proceeded at a very dif- ferent pace from the one which he had previously allowed the steed to take. Then it had been slow, and accordant with the rider’s mind, all unwilling to pursue his solitary journey ; now it was alert, eager, and bounding forward on the way to Padua — to his friend Bellario. On reaching the University, he hastily dismounted, throwing the rein to his attendant, bidding him wait, while he went to seek one of the heads of the college, who might inform him where to seek his fel- THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. ii low-student, who by this time he knew would have returned home. The professor mused a moment, when the young nobleman made the inquiry ; but presently said : — u Bellario has always made a secret of his abode, praying me not to let it be generally known ; but this prohibition could not be meant to extend to you, Count Guido, who are, I know, his bosom friend. It is in the Strada del Popolo,” added he, indicating a mean suburban street, leading out of the city, and describing accurately the house where Bellario dwelt. The young man paid little heed to the former portion of the professor’s speech, in his eagerness to learn the main point, the direction of his friend’s dwelling-place ; having obtained which, he took a hasty leave, and set forth on his search, bidding his at- tendant, Balthazar, saddle another horse, and bring it round with his own, to a certain spot where he would meet him, and proceed thence to Belmont once more, in company with his friend, whose acquiescence in the plan, he now felt confident he should gain. So sanguine is youth ; so ardent in affection was Guido di Belmonte. He readily found his way to the Strada del Popolo, and as readily distinguished the house indicated to him by the professor. He was slightly struck by its lowly appearance, but no otherwise than as un- worthy to contain so noble a being as his friend, and merely as an ad- ditional reason for inducing him to exchange its unattractive precincts for a more congenial sojourn with himself at Belmont. He stepped for- ward to put aside the dark heavy curtain, which hung in the doorway, according to Italian custom, to exclude the noontide heat ; but he paused on the threshold, struck with what he beheld. He saw his friend seated at a table strewed with books and papers, one of which he held in his hand, while over the back of his chair leaned a young girl of exqui- site beauty ; who, with one arm around Bellario’s neck, in the other hand held a pen, with the feather of which she traced the lines on the paper he held, while her cheek closely touched that of the young law-student, as they together scanned the document. So engrossed were they with its perusal, that no idea of Guido’s presence reached them ; and so ab- sorbed was he in the contemplation of this unexpected vision, that he allowed some minutes to elapse, ere he became conscious of his intrusion, 12 PORTIA ; or made any movement to announce his being there. Many conflicting feelings rushed through his heart as he stood gazing ; the paramount one of which was admiration for the surpassing loveliness of the young girl whom he found in such close companionship with his friend. The arm which lay across Bellario’s shoulders, was white and polished, with a rounded grace of outline that would have charmed a sculptor ; the slender waist and bended figure were so harmoniously proportioned^ that the garment of humblest stuff which she wore could nowise conceal their native elegance of beauty ; the head was classically shaped, and com- pactly braided with smooth raven tresses, surmounting a brow lustrous with simple purity and intellectual dignity ; while the face that so lov- ingly neighbored that of Bellario, could boast not only delicately-formed features, but an expression radiant with gentle goodness. Amid the confusion of thoughts which held the young Count motion- less, was one which prompted him to wonder how those downcast eyes, — • now veiled with their rich lashes as they remained bent upon the paper, — would look when they were raised ; and to speculate upon the appeal those lips would make when parted in speech, even now so eloquent in their rosy silence. He was startled from his contemplation, by the fulfilment of his wish. The eyes were suddenly raised ; but he scarcely beheld their soft beauty, ere the look of surprise they wore recalled him to a sense of his embarrassing position as an unwarranted intruder. The slight ejaculation of amazement that escaped her lips as she beheld the stranger, caused Bellario to look up also, and in another in- stant the fellow-students stood confronting each other with mutual con- fusion and embarrassment. Bellario’s cheek glowed partly from surprise, partly from the stings of his old proud sensitiveness on the score of his poverty, now so com- pletely and unexpectedly betrayed to the eyes of his friend, and he stood without power to utter a word ; while Guido, in the perplexity of contending emotions, muttered a few half-articulate expressions of having returned to ask for some book he had forgotten, a few more of apology for having unwittingly infringed their privacy, and then hastily withdrew. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 13 He hurried to the spot where he had appointed Balthazar to meet him ; and flinging himself on horseback, he pursued his way to Belmont in a perturbation of mind he had rarely before experienced. His ardent nature suffered much beneath the check its affections had received. His generosity would not suffer him to reflect upon his friend for having withheld this secret from him ; but a sense of disap- pointment and chilled hope keenly beset him, and a painful surmise of his own unworthiness to inspire Bellario with as strong an attachment as his own, agitated his mind, and took the place of the blessed unmis- trustful serenity of friendship which had till now formed his chief hap- piness. u He is so infinitely my superior,” thought Guido, in the more than candor of a generous heart, ever ready to exalt the beloved object even at the expense of self-humiliation and blame, “ that it is perhaps pre- sumptuous to hope he could share his every thought with me, as I would with him. Entire confidence subsists between congenial minds — and I know well how unequal ours are in native power and intellectual wealth. But a loving appreciation of his high qualities might have substituted my own deficiency in the like endowments ; and my zeal should have supplied my lack of merit. Had he but frankly told me that he was married ! That he could not leave his new-made wife to come with me to Belmont ! How readily would my sympathy for him have admitted the plea ! How ungrudgingly should I then have yielded his society ! How my interest in his happiness would have prompted me to rejoice in this addition to his felicity — to congratulate him on this new joy ! Had he but told me that he was married !” This last aspiration was still the burthen of his thought. It haunted him with its perpetual recurrence, as he wandered alone beneath the trees of that avenue where he had spent so many happy hours with his friend. Until at length the oft-recurring idea was followed by another — a question — that smote upon his heart strangely. “ Had he indeed told me that he was married to that fair creature ! — How then? Would this intelligence have really given me content ? Could I have yielded my friend joyfully to her — she to him? Did not rather the few moments 14 PORTIA ; in which I beheld her, serve but to fill me with unwonted emotion, to the nigh forgetfulness of my friend, and my errand to him'? Might not the too frequent contemplation of her beauty, and a nearer acquaintance with the gentle qualities that doubtless consort with such outward perfection, end by inspiring me with feelings no less treacherous to friendship than destructive to my own peace? Perhaps after all I should rejoice rather than regret that Bellario did not impart to me the existence of this tie, or own that wedded love had had power to win him from his old vows of lawyerly celibacy and devoted friendship. So that his happiness is se- cured, why should I repine ? In such unselfish thoughts as these, did Guido di Belmonte seek to console himself for the interruption his course of friendship had sus- tained ; and it is not to be doubted but that he derived better comfort from such a train of reflection, than he could have done from an indul- gence in resentment or unworthy suspicion. A noble heart finds no relief in reproach ; no solace in distrust or injurious belief of those it loves. And thus the impulses of a generous mind act in liberal rever- sion ; like the earth’s moisture distilled by genial warmth, they rede- scend in wholesome showers, invigorating and refreshing the soil whence they originally emanate. Not many hours had elapsed since the young Count’s arrival at Bel- mont ; and he was still lingering in the avenue, wooing a sense of re- turning calm, that was beginning to steal over him, in place of his late agitation, when he was awakened from his reverie by a hasty footstep, and in a few moments more he found himself clasped in the arms of his friend. u Bellario ! ” he exclaimed in amazement. §> “ Yes, Bellario returned the young law-student, u Bellario, your unworthy friend, come to avow his error, and to solicit indulgence.” He then made confession of his weakness. He owned how he had always shrunk from a betrayal of his poverty ; the foolish pride this had engendered ; the habit of reserve it had induced, so unjust to warmth of friendship such as theirs ; and the apparent unkindness it had be- guiled him into, by the late refusal to accompany his friend to Belmont during the vacation. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 15 “Any other but yourself, my dear Guido, might have taken offence at so pertinacious a refusal from so unexplained a cause. But knowing your generosity of character, I was sure that you yourself would be the first to yield the pleasure of our proposed holiday together, if you were aware that I gave up the indulgence, in order not to leave Portia in solitude. I overlook the circumstance, that the total ignorance of my home interests in which my own habitual reserve had suffered you to remain, did not admit of your sympathizing with the desire I have felt, ever since my father’s death, of spending as much time as possible with her. It is lonely enough, poor thing, when I am at college ; but my first vacation, since his loss, I resolved should be devoted to her.” “ You shall return to her at once! A horse shall be saddled, to take you back to Padua immediately ! I will not keep you another hour, my friend;” said the impetuous Guido. “I knew this would be your feeling,” replied Bellario ; “and yet my own folly might have occasioned me to lose the pleasure of hearing you express it. However, it is to Portia herself that I owe the present hap- piness of explanation. Her surprise this morning at your sudden appearance on our poor threshold, drew from me immediately after your as abrupt departure, a full account of yourself, of the friendship that subsists between us, and of the probable cause of your seeking me there. Her interest in the relation, her sympathy for your disappointment, and her admiration of your generosity in returning to seek the friend who by his want of frankness had risked offending you, opened my eyes to the disingenuousness of my own conduct, and to the injustice into which I had been betrayed by the mere desire to keep a secret, which, after all, involved no shame or disgrace. Besides, the sudden revelation of a se- cret which we have long sedulously preserved, will sometimes at the same moment reveal to ourselwes the real worthlessness of its tenure, and lead -us to wonder how we could ever have attached importance to its preservation. And thus it was with me ; I found myself amazed to think that I should have doubted for a moment whether the knowledge of our poverty could possibly diminish the warmth of your regard. I felt too, that by the indulgence of my selfish pride in veiling from your 16 PORTIA ; view the penury m which I lived, I at the same time withheld from you the pleasure of learning the sources of better happiness which that home has lately contained ; and that, while I concealed from you the scantily- furnished dwelling, I also debarred you from knowing one who can make a palace of a hovel, a bower of bliss of a poor student’s chamber — my dear and gentle Portia!” u Return to her, my friend ; return to your lovely ” Poor Guido could not articulate the word wife, but he echoed her name — “ your Portia !” “ But not till I can take back with me the assurajce that I have not forfeited my friend’s esteem. As I told you, it was Portia who occa- sioned my coming hither, for she would not let me rest, until I had sought you, and expiated my past reserve by a full confession. She is tenacious of her brother’s honor, I can tell you, and will not consent to Bellario’s suffering an abatement of regard, even though his own conduct to his friend may have deserved so severe a penalty.” (( Your sister !” were the only words Guido could utter, in his amaze- ment at finding the true identity of the beautiful girl whom he had taken for granted was his friend’s bride. a Portia — my sister. Let me return to her with the assurance that you have forgiven whatever pain my unexplained refusal may have given you ; that you still hold me worthy of your esteem ; that though you are content to give her my company, yet that we are as fast friends as ever.” u For ever !” exclaimed Guido ardently, as he threw himself into the arms of Bellario. “ I will take you back to her myself! We return to Padua together !” Then, springing up the steps of the terrace, which lay in front of the house, at the end of the avenue, he led his friend into the dining-saloon, where refreshment had been awaiting untouched and unthought of dur- ing the late tumult of the young Count’s mind. Now, however, in his sudden joy, he felt the desire for food, and as he pledged his friend in wine, and urged him to eat, after his late journey, and before his coming one, he manifested by his own enjoyment of the good cheer before them, how many hours had elapsed in fasting and inquietude. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 1 / Bellario felt the full force of this betrayal of his friend’s previous suffering, and he inwardly resolved that no future reserve of his, should ever be permitted to risk estrangement, or to mar so perfect an attach- ment ; while he gave himself up to the present delight of watching Guido’s joy, and tasting with, him the happiness of reconciliation. The young Count’s spirits rose high ; he seemed incapable of re- maining still, now and then starting up from table, giving orders to his attendants, and pacing up and down the apartment, as if action were a necessary relief to the ebullition of feeling within. “ Come, Bellario, one more cup to the health of the gentle being who has restored us to each other,” he at length exclaimed, “ and then we will set forth to Padua. I am impatient to begone, impatient to be equal with her in the magnanimity of yielding you ; impatient to xelieve her sisterly suspense. Come, we shall find the coach awaitiug us at the park gate, at the lower end of the avenue.” u Bo we not ride as usual ?” inquired Bellario. “ I have told them to prepare the coach, instead of saddling our horses,” replied Guido ; “ for I have allowed myself to entertain a hope that we shall not have to stay long in Padua — that we shall even return to-night, and not alone.” “ How mean you ?” asked Bellario, smiling at the animated eagerness that shone in each feature of his friend’s face ; that danced in his eyes, and played in the flexure of his mouth. “ I mean, that I have formed the hope that your sister will be pre- vailed upon to accompany us back to Belmont, caro mio ; and you must promise me to join your persuasion with mine to effect this. I shall think but poorly of il Signor Avocato’s eloquence in pleading, if we do not succeed.” “We will hear what the Counsel has to say on the other side;” answered Bellario. “ Perhaps her prudence may suggest some obstacle to so sudden a scheme.” “ But I do not admit her as Counsel against us,” said Guido ; “ she shall be judge in this case.” “ Then you consent to abide by her decision ?” asked Bellario. 18 PORTIA ; u Gladly rejoined the young Count. u I have no hesitation in placing my cause in the hands of one, who ” “ You forget that you are now changing her character again from a Judge to that of an Advocate ;” interrupted the young law-student, laughing. “ Well then, — I willingly refer my sentence to the judgment of one who has already given so generous an instance of consideration in my behalf, by sending me my friend,” replied Guido. “ In betraying that there was originally a favorable leaning to one side, you impugn the strict uprightness which ought to characterize a Judge,” rejoined Bellario, “ and thus invalidate the impartiality of the verdict you hope ultimately to obtain.” “ So that the verdict be what I desire, I will commute for any amount of partiality to which it may be owing,” said the young Count gayly ; adding with a tender depth in his voice, which the gayety but half concealed, “ the more I owe to the favor of my Judge, the more welcome will my hoped-for sentence be.” In such playful conversation did our two friends pass the time, until they reached the lowly dwelling in the Strada del Popolo. From its casement, the light of a lamp streamed forth, and showed Bellario that his sister was beguiling the time of his absence in copying for him. On alighting from the coach, and entering the apartment, they accord- ingly found Portia seated at a table, busily engaged in writing ; and as the rays of the lamp shed their reflection upon her glossy hair, and gently-inclined head, Guido thought she looked like the picture of some inspired sibyl irradiated by an intellectual glory, or halo of light. The moment she perceived her brother, she arose, and flung herself into his arms to welcome him home. “ Dear Bellario !” she exclaimed ; then, perceiving his companion, she added in some surprise : — “ Count Guido, too !” After a moment’s modest pause, she thanked him in her own simple frank manner for thus proving how heartily he forgave the selfish brother and sister who wished to be together, regardless of the claims of friendship. “By permitting you to return to me THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 19 £0 soon, my Bellario, and by accompanying you home himself, your kind friend has indeed shown how nobly he can pardon an interference with his proposed pleasure,” concluded she, turning to her brother. “ But I may still enjoy my proposed pleasure eagerly rejoined the young Count. “ My holiday may yet be spent with far greater de- light than even I had pictured to myself, when first I asked Bellario to share it with me.” He then, with his characteristic ardor, poured forth his petition that Portia would crown her former kindness in behalf of the friendship that subsisted between her brother and himself, by consenting to accompany them back to Belmont ; that thus they need neither of them relinquish the society of Bellario, but, on the contrary, might enhance their re- spective pleasure by enjoying it in common. And when Portia, half yielding to his seductive arguments, offered a faint resistance by saying she ought to finish copying the paper she had in hand, he instantly overruled that plea with the reminder that her brother could now copy it for himself ; that they could tumble whatever books and papers Bellario required into the coach, and take them to Belmont to be used at leisure. Smiling at his impetuosity, and finding it more and more diffi- cult to withstand his warmth of urgency, she looked appealingly at her brother, and said : — “If you do not think it too late, dear Bel- lario ” Guido immediately burst in with a torrent of assurances that the evening was not far advanced — that the moonlight was as brilliant as noonday — that it was infinitely more agreeable travelling by night than in the heat of the sun — that it was but a two hours’ drive to Belmont— that it was the pleasantest road in all Italy — that he had set his heart upon this little journey — that he was sure his friends would enjoy it as much as he should, and that he trusted they would not refuse so great a pleasure as it would be to them all. The hearts of the brother and sister received almost as much delight in complying, as he felt in their compliance ; and the three friends set 20 PORTIA ; forth in all the happiness of youth and elastic spirits. These will derive pleasure from even every-day incidents, and commonplace occurrences ; and truly, a moonlight drive, through a beautiful country, to a charming house, in the company of those we love best, at any period of life might be capable of inspiring enthusiastic enjoyment. What wonder, then, that Guido, Bellario, and Portia, thought they had never passed two hours so enchantingly, as those in the coach that took them to Belmont. On arriving, they were received by an old lady, who acted somewhat in the capacity of housekeeper, but who had been no less a personage than companion, or duenna, to the late Countess di Belmonte, Guido’s mother. This Madame Ursula was a most stately dame, who wore the stiffest of silks, held herself in the stiffest of attitudes, and entertained the stiffest of dragonian opinions. She was the ruling rigidity of the house — the tight hand over Casa Belmonte. From the late Countess, whose unaffected gentleness and easy suavity she chid as want of due regard to the dignity of her station, down to the female servants, whose sins of carelessness, idleness, boldness, or unthrift, she visited with the severest reprehension, all submitted to her sway, all trembled at her frown. Strictly correct, even to austerity, in her own conduct, Madame Ur- sula could make no allowance for difference of temperament, admit of no excuse for a dereliction from duty. In her estimation, a fault was a sin ; an error, a crime. She was sensitively alive to indecorum ; and seemed almost to court impropriety, so anticipatively did she discern the very shadow of its approach. With her, the sight of smiles con- veyed something of moral offence ; gayety of speech was akin to de- pravity ; and light-hearted merriment little short of abomination and wickedness. High spirits were, in her eyes, a heinous excess ; laughter, an odious levity ; and the mere fact of youth, a sort of vice in itself. Madame Ursula was well-born, though the decayed fortunes of her family, and the sudden death of her parents, compelled her early to be- come a dependant. This circumstance she could never forget ; and while it operated with the Count and Countess di Belmonte to make them treat her with the extreme of kindness, it urged her to take ad- THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 21 vantage of their toleration by indulging her pride of virtue and self- importance, until she became the imperious personage here described. There was one individual, however, in this household, over whom the frowns of Madame Ursula failed in exercising their usual supremacy. The young Count Gruido treated her with consideration, for the sake of her age, her misfortunes, her former attachment to his mother, and the services she had rendered, and still continued to render, in the family ; for she was as conscientious in the discharge of her own duties, as she was exacting with regard to those of others : but he plainly showed that he thought the deference with which her opinions had been regarded was excessive, and that he was not inclined to observe the same obedi- ence himself. He did not evince this by opposition, or the slightest discourtesy of any kind ; he only let it be tacitly understood that his smiles were not to be controlled, his gayety not to be checked by any forbidding looks on her part, and she soon learned to curb all expression of reprobation, with the exception of a slight compression of the lips, and a little shrill hem, caught back, stifled, and swallowed up, as it were, ere it could reach his ears. On the evening in question, when the young Count returned to Bel- mont, bringing with him Bellario and his sister, Madame Ursula re- ceived the young people with a lofty coldness intended to mark the disapprobation she felt at such a wild expedition as the moonlight drive, which wore rather the aspect of a juvenile frolic, than of a staid visit ; but the pleasure and the novelty of the adventure occupied them wholly, and prevented their noting the old lady’s frigid looks. Neither did they perceive the supercilious glance she bestowed upon the plain attire of the young Count’s guests, for it was almost immedi- ately followed by a look of complacency at her own brocade, and a comforting reflection that she herself would never have dreamed of in- viting persons to Belmont, whose dress bespoke their humble fortune, and whose gentle birth was no otherwise indicated than by their grace of person and elegance of demeanor. “ The Signorina Portia will doubtless like to retire early, after her journey said Gruido, when they had partaken of a supper to which 22 PORTIA ; gayety and pleasant conversation had given the air of a feast. u You, of course, took care to order the preparation of the chamber which I ap- pointed for the lady’s reception, Madame Ursula ?” “ The blue chamber has been ]3repared, according to my lord’s wishes,” replied the stately dame. Then turning to one of the attendants, she added — “ Rico, bid Lisetta come hither, that she may show the Signo- rina to her apartment.” The young Count, who had evidently expected that Madame Ursula herself would have paid his guest the respect of attending her to her room, rose hastily from his seat, saying : — u The Signorina’s kind heart will excuse Madame from accompanying her ; years claim the privilege of rest. I will myself show you and your sister whereabout the rooms lie, Bellario.” Thus saying, Guido led his friends out, preceded by an attendant bearing a branch of wax-lights ; leaving Madame Ursula with the vexa- tious consciousness that she had been the means of heightening the honor of Portia’s escort, while her sense of propriety was outraged by the young Count wilfully playing groom of the chambers to guests of such evidently humble rank — one of them a female too ! Her discomfiture vented itself in a shriller hem than usual, that quavered down into a groan, as she heard the gay voices of the trio echoing along the gallery that led from the saloon where she sat. u That ungovernable young man will be more wild than ever, now he has those two foolish young persons to abet him in his ridiculous sallies of mirth,” muttered the dame, as she sat starchedly in her chair, still at the supper-table. “ Yery sad, very sad,” added she, helping herself to a bumper of Lachryma Christi ; C( and the worst of these thoughtless gig- glers, who chatter and laugh the whole of meal-time, is, that they totally neglect the duties of the table, and forget to see that one has one’s glass filled as often as needful. The Count never perceived that I wished for more Montepulciano to-night at supper ; I may as well take some now, it is my favorite wine. Ah, very sad, very sad !” repeated she, touching the back of her chair with her perpendicular spine, which was the nearest approach to lounging in which she ever permitted herself to indulge. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 23 t£ Sad indeed !” she ejaculated once more with a virtuous sigh, as she set down the second empty glass, and looked again reprehensively towards the door through which the young Count and his friends had disappeared. This kind of tacit superintendence and mute reproof maintained by Madame Ursula, during the visit of the young Count’s guests, possessed a double advantage ; it solaced her own conscientious notions of duen- naship, and nowise interfered with the enjoyment of the young people. Never had holiday been so full of delight for Guido as the present one ; never had the period of vacation been so thoroughly enjoyed, or appeared to fleet away so rapidly. To the known and valued charms of Bellario’s society, were now added the excitement and joy of each day discovering those contained in the character and person of his friend’s sister. To mark her artless unspoiled simplicity, her native good sense, her warmth of heart, her modest deference to her brother’s opinions, her high appreciation of his merits, her maidenly gentleness, yet unaffected ease, all united to a face and person of extreme beauty, now formed a daily source of study to the young nobleman, as new as it was interest- ing. Each unfolded page of Portia’s mind revealed fresh wonders ; he gazed on the attractive volume, and perused every lineament of this fair book, until its varied excellences seemed to comprise all the intelligence, all the fascination of his entire previous reading. What science could vie with a knowledge of those gentle thoughts ? What learning outweigh the speaking earnestness of those persuasive eyes? What scholastic arguments exceed in eloquence the music of that soft voice? What erudition could exert so refining an influence as one of those ajjpealing smiles ? Or what store of acquirement be worthy of so zealous a toil and confer so glorious an empire, as the gain of that tender heart? There was witchcraft in the present subject of the young student’s con- templations, which seemed to absorb him wholly, and to cast into com- parative disregard all other study, past or to come. He was like a man suddenly impressed with the belief that he has discovered a clue to the secret of transmuting metals ; the absorbing pursuit withdraws him from all others, , and henceforth alchemy is his engrossing thought, his sole 24 PORTIA ; With characteristic ardor did Guido di Belmonte give himself up to the magic that enthralled him ; and the only discretion his enthusiasm knew, was in the refraining from any overt expression of his feelings, lest their too early or too eager avowal should dissolve the spell. He would not risk seeing the present ingenuous ease of her manner ex- changed for conscious timidity. Portia now treated him as the intimate and cherished friend of her brother, and in that character, almost with the freedom and unrestraint of a second brother ; so Guido was well contented for the present to enjoy all the charm of frank communion which such a mode of treatment established between them.. As a third in this pleasant friendship, therefore, the young girl joined in ail their rambles through the park, visited their favorite haunts, neheld their most admired views, lingered in their choicest nooks and recesses, and not only accompanied them in their excursions, but showed by her active sympathy and earnest intelligence, that she enjoyed their conversation, shared in their aspirations, and partook of their enthusiasm. While the presence of Portia thus doubled and trebled all the previous delight that the two students had derived from these scenes, she herself tasted a pleasure she had never before known, and for the first time in her life, this hitherto solitary young creature might be said to learn the true happiness of existence. She had till lately lived in complete Seclusion beneath her sole suriving parent’s roof at Yerona ; and it was only since the recent period of their father’s death, that Bellario had brought her to Padua to share his humble dwelling. Day after day the three friends wandered amid the woods and lawns of Belmont ; and unwitting time crept on. One afternoon they had set forth to visit some ruins on a beautiful spot at the extreme verge of the estate, and the distance being farther than Guido had estimated, in his eagerness to take his friends thither, it came, that, on returning homeward, the shades of evening overtook them, ere they reached even the avenue that led to the house. The sud- den darkness that succeeds to day, beneath an Italian sky, where there is short interval of deepening twilight, prevented the two young men from noting the palor that stole over the cheek of their companion, and THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 25 betrayed the fatigue that so long a walk had occasioned to a frame less calculated for exertion than theirs. Her bravery of heart, and ambi- tion to prove herself a not unfitting companion, as well as a dread of the implied reproach to them if they discovered her fatigue, made her anxiously endeavor to conceal her lassitude by an effort to maintain her share in the animated conversation, which was as usual going on be- tween them ; but at length she involuntarily yielded to an overwhelm- ing sense of weariness, and permitted herself to lapse into silence. Sud- denly this was observed by Guido, who interrupted himself with an abrupt exclamation of self-reproach at the want of thought which had thus subjected his fair guest to so undue an exertion. “We have been very thoughtless, I fear, Bellario said he; “or rather I have been culpably selfish to urge an expedition so far too long for her ! No time allowed for repose, either ! We were seated scarcely half an hour among the ruins ! So long since our early meal, too ! I neglected to bid Madame Ursula provide us with refreshment, though I ought to have known we should be detained beyond our usual hour of return ! Unpardonable folly ! You are ill, carina ! You are pale, you tremble !” The moon had now risen, and revealed to the young Count the gen- tle white face that leaned for a few moments against Bellario’s shoulder ; but her brother’s affectionate support, and cheering words of encour- agement, with, still more, the torrent of reproaches which Guido con- tinued to pour forth upon his own heedlessness, enabled her to rally, and she assured them she was quite recovered, and equal to proceed. “ There is only the avenue to pass, and the terrace, and then you will have thorough rest, cara mia,” said her brother ; “ you shall have the couch wheeled over to the supper-table, Guido and I will let you queen it as much as you please, the whole evening. Come, lean well upon my arm, and we shall soon reach Belmont !” “ Lean upon mine too ; we will support you between us,” said Guido : and thus linked in kindliness, the three friends passed together beneath the shadow of the stately trees that formed the avenue to Belmont. They had often walked arm-in-arm thus before, Portia between her 26 PORTIA ; brother and his friend, during their wanderings through the grounds ; and yet how was it, that now, the familiarity and closeness of the proximity which it occasioned between them, struck her with a signi- ficance which it had never assumed before? Was it that the low soft tones of Guido’s voice, which only at intervals interrupted the cheerful strain of the remarks with which Bellario sought to divert her, ad- dressed her with more tender solicitude than usual? Was it that the arm of Guido, upon which her’s rested, occasionally pressed the hand it sustained, against a heart that throbbed in unison with the tenderness of the speaker’s tone, and gave eloquent meaning to his few murmured words? Was it that though the deep shadow of the over-arching trees permitted her not to see his eyes, yet she felt those eyes to be bent upon her, as if they would fain pierce the gloom, and ascertain that the health- ful color of her cheek was restored ? Certain it is, that her recent pallor was now replaced by a rich car- nation hue ; as certain that her heart had learnt responsive throbs from the one which vibrated against her hand; and still, as certain that the languor of her frame was forgotten in the delicious thrill which crept over her senses. It seemed that she could have walked on ever, through that dim avenue, as if in a voluptuous dream, gliding onward without action or volition. And thus they reached the end of the avenue ; and there, on the marble terrace, in the broad clear moonlight, stood the stiff figure of Madame Ursula, willing to show the young people, by her coming thus far to meet them, that they had considerably outstaid their usual period of return. The length of time which had elapsed since the due hour of supper, and the protracted sufferings of her importunate appetite, had in all pro- bability tended to sharpen her habitual acerbity, and to exasperate the dame’s rigid observance of etiquette ; for she no sooner beheld Portia ap- proach thus supported, than she cast a piercing glance of reproof upon the fair arm that hung with such unseemly confidence upon the young Count’s, and hemmed so piercingly, that the terrace rang, as if a night- owl had suddenly shrieked. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 27 The glance and the hem awakened the young girl from the trance in which her senses had been steeped, and she involuntarily quitted her hold of Guido’s arm, and clung solely to that of her brother ; while the young Count, biting his lip, hastily seized the pointed elbow of Madame Ursula, and placing Portia’s hand upon the stately dame’s arm, exclaim- ed : — “ Ay, good Ursula ; you assist the Signorina into the house, while I hasten to the saloon, and arrange the couch for her. We have over- tired her with too long a walk.” So saying, he sprang through one of the windows that opened on the terrace, and bade them follow at a pace suited to Portia’s fatigue. In their subsequent rambles, Guido found that by some strange chance, their old mode of progression was never resumed. They walked arm-in-arm, it is true, as they strolled through the grounds, or along the avenue ; but it so happened that the young Count could never contrive to have Portia between her brother and himself. She invariably pos- sessed herself of that arm of Bellario which was on the side farthest from Guido ; and though he at first endeavored to frustrate this arrange- ment, yet when he found himself more than once foiled in his attempt to return to their old position, and regain her arm within his, he wanted courage to insist upon a point from which she seemed averse. His want of courage arose from a doubt. He could not resolve the question he frequently asked himself ; whether Portia herself shrank from a renewed avowal of that tenderness which his manner had be- trayed on the evening when she had last permitted her arm to rest upon his, or whether it was merely a confused consciousness of Madame Ur- sula’s rebuking glance, and the implied censure it conveyed, that caused the timid girl to withdraw from this sweet familiar contact. When he was inclined to attribute the change to this latter cause, he could scarcely forbear visiting upon the stiff dame the chagrin and morti- fication he felt, and putting an end to it at once by a candid avowal of his love ; but when he fancied that it ar~se from Portia’s own coldness to his suit, and from an anxiety on her part to extinguish hope on his, without a more explicit declaration of their mutual feelings, which might only serve to disturb the serenity of the friendship which now united 28 PORTIA ; the three, he felt his courage fail, and he submitted to see her maintain her station on the other side of her brother. One morning they were threading the intricacies of a neighboring wood, where, deep in its recesses, a briery dell led to the foot of a water- fall. The inequality of the path they were pursuing, made the offer of his aid but a mere common courtesy, yet she evaded his proffered arm, though tacitly, and as if not perceiving his intention, in the eagerness of conversation. Even when Bellario interrupted himself to say: — You had better take Guido’s arm as well as mine, Portia; you will stumble, if you do not, this path is so rugged and steep,” she still paid no attention to the proposal, but chatted on as before. So marked a rejection, could scarcely pass unnoticed ; and Guido in a half-hurt tone said : — “ Your sister is resolved to owe assistance to none but a brother’s care.” He had no sooner given way to this momentary pique, than he re- pented ; but he could not judge of the effect his effusion might have upon Portia, as her downcast eyes and averted countenance were par- tially hidden from him by Bellario, who was again between them. As for the latter, he did not perceive the vexation which embittered his friend’s tone, and he merely simply replied : — ■“ She well knows how en- tirely she may trust that care, and with what fondness it will be devoted to her through life.” The sister fo v an instant raised her loving eyes to meet those of the brother, which were bent proudly upon the beautiful young creature be- side him ; and Guido, as he looked upon them, felt as if the love that aspired to assert its superior claim to that which existed between the two orphans, must needs be a presumption foredoomed to disappoint- ment. The profound feeling of regret and desolation of spirit into which such a reflection plunged the young Count, revealed to himself how far he had permitted his heart to indulge the hope of one day inducing Portia to own a preference even paramount to her affection for Bellario ; and he returned but mechanical answers to the animated dissertation upon some favorite topic, in which his friend was indulging. While the THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. *29 young law student eagerly pursued his theme, he perceived not the silence of his companions, and they emerged from the wood on their return, and had reached the avenue, without an idea having crossed his mind, that he had for some time been the sole speaker. At length Guido was roused from his reverie, by a pause in his friend’s speech, and by some remark that fell from him a moment after, touching the superlative beauty of Belmont, and his regret that this de- licious holiday was drawing to a close. “ But three days more,” added he, u and we must return to Padua ; to relinquish the delights of Bel- mont, for study, college discipline, and recluse assiduity. Farewell, beautiful Belmont !” At this instant, Guido’s ear caught the sound of a deep sigh from Portia’s lips, as she murmured in echo of her brother’s words “ Fare- well, beautiful Belmont, where we have all been so happy !” The sigh, the mournful cadence of the voice, gave the young Count the encouragement that lovers invariably gather from a betrayal of emo~ tion in the object beloved. Strength strangely generated of weakness ! A look, too, a timid, hasty, involuntary look, met his eyes for one second, as they wandered for the hundredth time that morning towards the gen- tle face that had still bent droopingly on the other side of Bellario, despite of all his vigilant endeavors to win a single responsive glance. Now, however, in the look that met his, although it flashed upon him but instantaneously, he read a mute confession as ample as it was brief, as impassioned as it was modest, as unreserved as it was involuntary, and the blissful conviction that it carried in a tumultuous rush to his heart, sprang into words with all the impetuosity of his nature: — “We must not part ! We will never leave Belmont! Give her to me, Bellario ! Give me your sister for my wife !” The young law-student paused in utter amazement. It seemed as if such an idea as the possibility of love growing out of friendship, had never suggested itself to his mind. He stood still, regarding them both with an air of perplexity that might have amused Guido upon any other occasion. At present, however, he did not even see it ; his whole soul was in his eyes, and they were riveted upon Portia only, who remained rooted to the spot, and covered with innocent blushes. 30 PORTIA ; At length Bellario said, smiling, as he beheld the truth in that crim- son cheek : — “ What does my sister herself say ?” His sister said nothing ; but after a moment’s pause, she drew her hand softly from the brotherly arm to which she had hitherto clung, and creeping round to his other side, she again placed one arm within his, and held forth the other with a faltering motion, as if it sought to re- sume its former resting-place upon that of Guido. The young Count needed no words to bid him construe aright her gentle action, so eloquent in its confiding sweetness, but as he caught the bounteous hand with transport to his lips, he repeated ; — u What does fairest Portia say ? Will she give herself to me ?” u Her brother shall answer for her said Bellario. u My own affec- tion for the friend of my heart teaches me how surely his noble quali- ties have won my Portia’s love ; and I ought perhaps to rejoice that an earlier suspicion of the truth did not awaken scruples which false deli- cacy might have suggested. Had I sooner surmised this, I might have thought it due to our own honor to avoid the seeming attempt to secure an alliance so far above our station ; but Portia’s heart is now yours, and knowing (though but lately, in its full extent) the value of the treasure you have gained, no unworthy pride of mine shall withhold it from your possession. To show you how my friend’s generosity, and my sister’s simple integrity of mind, have wrought their due effect in eradicating my former prejudices, I will not say one word of the por- tionless condition of the bride you have chosen. I resign my Portia to your care, with the conviction that you will cherish her with no less regard than had she brought you millions for her dower ; and for her, I place her in your arms, with as proud a joy, as if she were descended from a throne.” As Bellario concluded, he gently withdrew the trembling palm that clung to him, and placing it in that of his friend, who still retained the one she had first bestowed fast locked in his other hand, he left them together, that they might tell each other their full hearts. The fond brother wandered apart for awhile, that, in devout thanks- giving, he might unburthen his own of the tide of gratitude that swelled it, for the blissful lot which was thus secured to his orphan THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 31 sister, and for the increased happiness this union promised, not only, to his beloved friend, but to them all. After some time spent thus in grateful reflection, he was ascending the terrace by another approach than the flight of steps leading from the avenue, in order that he might still leave the lovers undisturbed, when he met Madame Ursula, just as she was emerging from one of the windows that opened down to the ground on to the terrace. “ Alone, Signor Bellario ! Where is your sister ? Where is Count Guido?” exclaimed the dame, aghast at this instance of what she thought the young law-student’s plebeian ignorance of propriety. “ Misericordia, I think I see them yonder in the avenue together ! Is it possible you can permit Santa Diana ! If my eyes do not de- ceive me, his arm is round her waist ! Santissima Madonna ! He stoops his face towards her’s — I do believe ” She paused and gasped. “ I should not wonder,” said Bellario with malicious calmness, “ if Guido is actually giving my sister a kiss.” “ Hold, Signor!” shrieked the Duenna, “ don’t utter the filthy word !” So saying, she hurried down the marble steps with all the speed the stiffness of her dignity would allow, and bustled along the avenue like an enraged goose, fluttering, and sputtering, and screaming. When she reached the lovers, who, seeing and hearing this discord- ant approach, came towards her, to discover its meaning, she could scarcely articulate a word, but panted out : — “ I am surprised, Signor- ina, that ” “ Stay, Madame Ursula interrupted Guido, smiling. “ Give me leave to surprise you still more, by informing you that hence- forth you are to address this lady as Countess di Belmonte.” The return to Padua was of course deferred ; Bellario remaining at Belmont to behold the happiness of his friend and sister confirmed in marriage. But after the wedding, the young law-student pleaded his anxiety to resume those labors that were to insure him future inde- pendence and renown. When the young Count would fain have urged him to stay with them ever, saying how little need there was now to endure the pain of 32 PORTIA ; separation, since his possessions sufficed for a purse in common between them, Bellario ingenuously acknowledged that even could the generosity of his friend reconcile him to such a proposal, his own ambition to create for himself a name among the eminent lawyers of his country, would not permit him to exchange so proud a hope for a life of inaction and inutility. Guido yielded to this argument with involuntary approval and esteem, that counterbalanced the regret he felt in parting with his old fellow-student ; and the two friends separated with the understanding that all Bellario’s vacation-time was in future to be devoted to Belmont. Y ears thus happily rolled on. The young student spent his time in alternate labor at learned Padua, and relaxation at lovely Belmont ; until he rose to the attainment of the position in society, which had so long been the object of his ambition. While still young, he was old in fame and reputed ability ; and few lawyers of the time ranked in pub- lic estimation with the learned Doctor Bellario. Count Guido and his fair wife dwelt in uninterrupted happiness on their estate, carrying out the youthful visions of the former, by a life of peaceful virtue and benevolent utility. The only drawback to their felicity, was their remaining unblessed by offspring ; but after they had been married twelve years, and had relinquished all hope of beholding a child of their own, Portia confided to her husband the prospect she had of presenting him with an heir. When Bellario next visited Belmont, he was apprised by the happy parents of their new cause of joy, and he, with them, awaited the advent of the expected stranger with scarcely less delight than their own. He did not fail to rally his sister on the confirmed manner with which she always spoke of the expected little one as a boy ; and bade her remem- ber. that as Guido and himself would both prefer to possess a miniature copy of herself, there were two to one in favor of the accomplishment of their wish instead of hers. In the midst of their gay anticipations, came an express from Padua to summon Bellario thither, as his pre- sence was required during the decision of an important case that was about to be tried. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 33 As lie mounted his horse to depart, he waved his hand to Guido and Portia, who stood on the terrace to bid him farewell. “ God bless you, my sister !” he cried. “No son, mind ! Give Belmont an heiress, as you value my brotherly love !” He rode off hastily, lest he might not be able to preserve the cheer- ful tone he had assumed in addressing her ; for he felt reluctant to quit this beloved sister ere her hour of peril had passed. Still, no forebod- ing whispered that the farewell had been for ever ; no thought that he had looked upon her face for the last time ; and he was totally unpre- pared for the blow that smote him some days after, in receiving this terrible letter u Our angel is now an angel indeed. Come and behold what lives to prove her earthly sojourn. An infant Portia is all that is left of our lost one, whose image alone rests in the heart of her miserable husband, “ The most unhappy “ Guido.” The almost equally-afflicted Bellario lost no time in hastening to his friend ; but when he arrived at Belmont, he found even the sad hope of bringing comfort by his presence was denied. As Madame Ursula placed the infant Portia in his arms, she informed him that since the hour when the remains of the Countess had been consigned to the grave, her unhappy husband had been seen by no one. He seemed suddenly + o have vanished from the face of the earth with her whom he mourned. How or when he had disappeared was a mystery, and Bel- lario could hardly doubt that he had for ever lost a brother as well as a sister. The last person who had beheld him, was his faithful attendant, Balthazar, who told Bellario, that on the evening of his lady’s funeral, he was crossed in the avenue by a dark figure, which had at first startled him with its muffled spectral appearance ; but that on taking courage to look at it again, he was almost convinced it was his poor master. This belief made him turn, and follow it ; but it fled faster than he could pursue, and soon vanished entirely among the trees in the distance. There was one slight circumstance, which alone permitted Bellario 34 PORTIA ; to hope that his friend had not ‘madly destroyed himself. In Guido’s study, he found a fragment of a paper, apparently addressed to himself, though it was incoherent, abrupt, and written in evident distraction. * # # u gp e w in k e y 0ur care? p k now> All j p ave j s ^ erg — your justice and tenderness will be her best safeguard — should I ever return, she may ” # # # # It was on these few last words, that Bellario founded his hope. They were all that remained to dispel his apprehensions that his infant charge might be wholly orphaned ; and he took a solemn vow as he bent over the sleeping babe, that he would devote himself to her welfare, in the fervent trust that he might one day be permitted to replace her in the arms of a living father. Meanwhile, having learned of Madame Ursula in as explicit terms as her prudish lips could muster, that a healthful wet-nurse had been provided in the person of one of the Bel- mont tenantry ; and having ascertained that the affairs of the estate were placed in an advantageous condition for the future benefit of the infant heiress ; he returned to the duties of his profession at Padua, until such time as she could profit by his presence and immediate super- intendence. Letters from Madame Ursula brought him continued intelligence of the babe’s thriving, and he would frequently steal a day from his labors to ride over to Belmont, that he might indulge himself with a sight of the child. For in the small unformed features, and diminutive limbs, the force of affection taught him to find traces of his lost sister and friend ; in the mite of a nose, and the wondering eyes, he thought he could read the animation and intelligent fire of Guido’s expression; in the little dimpled hands, he fancied h 3 discovered the slender fingers of Portia ; and even in the fair golden curls of the little one, he dreamed he beheld the raven tresses of her mother. So whimsical is the sweet blindness of love ! Such tricks of imagination were the senses of the bachelor lawyer accustomed to play, while, spell-bound by loving memo- ries, he held the child in his arms, and pored over its baby lineaments. Soon, it learned to know the face that hung so tenderly over its own ; and almost its first look of intelligence was given to him. It would THE HEIRESS OP BELMONT. 35 grow and coo in answer to his caresses ; it would learn to hold up its fairy finger while hearkening to the sound of his horse’s feet, and clap its hands when it saw him approach. Once, as he was galloping up the avenue, he saw the nurse and her charge playing on the grass ; and suddenly, to his great delight, he be- held the little creature bundle itself up from its squatting position on the turf, and come toddling towards him ; it had learned to run alone, since his last visit ! Then — in a visit or two after that one — a new pleasure ; the child could welcome him with a few prattling words ; and as she sat on his knee, she could beguile his solitary breakfast with her pretty voice, a£d lisp out her newly-mastered phrases. In the course of some months more, a period of vacation occurred, and the bachelor-uncle looked forward with absolute pleasure to the thought of spending some time with a mere child ; the grave lawyer had learned to love nothing in the world so well as his little Portia. She was now not merely the child of his sister and friend, she had become a joy in herself. And the little creature repaid his love with a fondness singularly intense in one so young. She seemed to have inherited her father’s ardor of disposition, with much of her mother’s gentle sweetness. She never tired of being with him ; and even showed none of the usual rest- lessness of children, when his serious occupations demanded his atten- tion. She would sit quietly on the ground, amusing herself with the pictures or toys that he had given her ; and seemed to be aware that by silence she preserved the privilege of remaining in the room with him. When Madame Ursula would appear at the door of the library, where he usually sat, and offer to take away the child lest she should disturb il Signor Dottore, little Portia would cast beseeching eyes up to her uncle’s face, and say : — u I’ll be so good, if you’ll let me stay.” And she always kept her word ; sitting sometimes for hours on the floor, and only varying her position by creeping like a little mouse to a low drawer which was considered hers, where her toys were stored, or by kneeling before a chair upon which she might range her pictures side by side. 36 PORTIA : Once Bellario observed her put her finger on her lip and glance timidly towards him, as she checked herself in some little nursery-tune which she was unconsciously beginning to murmur to herself. u I mustn’t sing,” he heard her whisper. “ Yes you may, if you sing very softly,” said her uncle ; and thenceforth he accustomed himself to hear the little undersong going on while he was writing, till at length, had it ceased, he would have well-nigh missed the pretty music of its humming. But these hours of needful stillness, were delightfully compensated by the games of romps, the races on the greensward of the avenue, the rides on the shoulder, and the scampers on horseback, that the fond uncle indulged her with, when he had concluded his day’s avocations. Indeed, it is a question whether the indulgence was not as great on one side as the other ; whether, in fact, the learned man did not as fully enjoy these innocent gambols as much as the frolicsome child did. To judge by the facility with which he accommodated himself to her infantine ways, the unreserve with which he abandoned himself to her disposal, and the happy ease of his manner while devoting himself to sport with her, this companionship was now his chief delight, as it evidently was hers. A look more bright than any that had beamed in his eyes since his sister’s death, would dwell there now as he tossed her baby-daughter high in his arms towards the ceiling of the saloon, and watched the ecstasy with which she found herself so near its glittering gilded fret-work ; a gentle smile would play round the grave lawyer’s lips, as he suffered himself to be harnessed and driven along the avenue as the little girl’s mimic steed ; but some of their happiest times of all, were when he placed her on horseback before him, and rode through the glades, and shadowy woodlands, telling her many a pleasant tale of wonder and delight. Sometimes the learned head, so well stored with weighty pre- cedents, that directed senates with its judgment, and swayed princes with its counsel, would rack its memory for fairy legends or gay stories for the sole delight of a little girl ; at others, the lips that poured forth eloquence and erudition commanding the plaudits of his fellow-men, and influencing the destinies of the human race, would frame simple precepts THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 37 of goodness and loveliness fitted for the comprehension of the fair-haired child that sat upon his saddle-bow. But in this single, childish auditress, a world of sympathy, intelligence, and sensibility had their being, which found expression in the absorbed and enchanted gaze with which she fixed her eyes intently on his face while he spoke. A favorite theme with them both, was the excellence of the parents she had lost. He was never tired of telling, or she of hearing, about the beautiful gentle mother who was now an angel in heaven ; who dwelt in the clear blue sky, and watched her little girl when the stars were shining, and the moon was peeping in at her chamber-window, while she was fast asleep ; who loved to see her little Portia good and happy ; and hoped to have her one day in the blue and glorious heaven with her. And then he told her of the kind handsome father 5 of the loving friend he had been ; of how dear they had been to each other ; of how he had grieved to lose the beautiful mother, who had gone to be an angel ; and how, in impatience that he could not yet go with her to be one also, he had wandered away no one knew whither, but might per- haps one day return to see his little Portia if she continued good and gentle. And then the child would put up her rosy mouth for a kiss, and tell her uncle she “ meant to be so good — 0, so good — and always good.” And then hey would ride home cheerfully and happily ; and patting the horse’s neck, would think no time so pleasant as that spent on his back, when he carried them far and wide through the broad domains of Belmont. One morning, after breakfast, there happened to be fewer law papers than usual to examine, and Beliario told his little Portia that if she would be quite quiet for an hour, he would then be ready to take her out for a long, long ride ; and he asked Madame Ursula to be so good as to let them have a little basket with something nice to eat while they were out, in case they were away some hours. The dame made a curtsey of acquiescence ; then turning to the child, she added 4 Now, Contessina, come with me.” The little girl arose, and followed her half-way towards the door, then stopned. 38 PORTIA ; Madame Ursula looked back, and seeing the fixed attitude in which the child stood, in the middle of the room, frowned heavily, saying : — ■ “ Did you hear me ? Come !” Bellario quietly watched this scene, though his head was bent over his papers ; and he observed an obstinate inflexibility take possession of the little girl’s face and figure, as she replied : — •“ Not unless you prom- ise that I shall come back in time for the ride.” “ I shall promise nothing. Come this instant !” said Madame Ursula ; then, glancing at Bellario, and seeing, as she thought, that he was absorbed in his occupation, she added in a stern low tone : — 66 Remember !” Portia’s face flashed scarlet, and she moved forwards a step or two ; but presently she stopped again, and said: — “No, if you beat me, I don’t care ; I won’t go till you promise.” Bellario was just going to exclaim “ Beat !” but he checked him’ self, resolved to satisfy himself further, while they still thought them- selves unobserved. “ Promise a chit like you, indeed ! A fine pass things have come to, truly!” exclaimed Madame Ursula. “I insist upon your coming to your tasks, when I bid you.” “ But I’m not a chit — I’m heiress of Belmont — Lisetta told me so , and she said I needn’t learn my letters if I didn’t like — and I don’t like. Besides, I want to ride with cugino rnio ; and I won’t say my letters till you promise I shall have done in time to come back for my ride. Nasty letters ! I hate them.” And the child uttered the last words with flashing eyes, and an insolent lip. Madame Ursula stalked back, and seized the little rebel whom her own injudicious unrelenting had created. As she clutched Portia’s wrist, the child uttered a piercing scream ; but the next instant she seemed to remember her promise not to disturb Bellario, for she looked towards him hastily, and then, checking herself, writhed and struggled mutely in the housekeeper’s grasp. Bellario now thought it .time to interfere. “Madame Ursula,” said he, “ why do you wish the Contessina Portia to go with you ? May she not stay here, as usual ?” THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 39 “ I need hardly tell il Signore Bottore,” replied the dame,” “ that it would he disgraceful for a young lady of the Contessina’s distinguished station to he brought up in ignorance. I have therefore thought it my duty to teach her her letters, that she may one day know how to read. I presume so illustrious and learned a gentleman as yourself knows the importance of early tuition ?” “ But did I not hear something about £ heating,’ Madame ? Surely that is not a part of your system ?” said Bellario. “ Oh, a birch-rod, merely hung up in my room by way of a threat, signor. We all know that a threat is sometimes as effectual as a pun- ishment,” replied she ; “ and the Contessina’s pride makes her dread the shame of a whipping, as much as the rod itself.” u Bo you know, I am not a great advocate for either shame, or the rod, Madame, in teaching.” Bellario saw the scarlet mount to the child’s brow again, at the mention of the birch-rod ; but he saw also a look of triumph, as if she understood that Madame was being rebuked instead of herself. He was vexed at being thus compelled to discuss the matter in her presence at all, but as it was hardly to be avoided after what had passed, he added : — ■“ If you please, we will for the present allow this little lady to go on in her ignorance. She will one day find what a pleasure it is to read, and will wish to learn, and be grateful to those who will take the trouble to teach her. Allow me to thank you for that which you have already taken, Madame Ursula; al- though T request you will indulge me by letting the lessons cease, until Portia is wise enough to wish for them herself.” Madame Ursula curtsied stiffly, and withdrew ; muttering to herself that the illustrissime Bottore was a fine person, forsooth, to be a judge ; when he did not know how to manage a little child better than by letting her have her own way. The ride that day was not so pleasant as usual. Portia, young as she was, could understand that what had made her uncle ride on so thoughtfully and so silently, was the scene that had taken place that morning. After peering up in his face several times in the vain hope of meeting the fond smile that generally answered her’s, she felt the rebuke 40 PORTIA ; contained in that sad abstracted look, and at length said : — ■“ Are yon angry with me, cugino mio ?” “ I am sorry, very sorry, that my little Portia was so naughty, this morning ; I do not like to see her so unlike the little girl I love.” “Til say my letters, if you’ll love me still; I’ll never be naughty about reading again.” “ It was not your naughtiness about saying your letters, that made me sorry, carina ; it was to see my little girl behave so rudely to Ma- dame — to seek her look so insolent and proud — and to hear her talk of being heiress of Belmont, as a reason for not learning to read.” “ Lisetta said so — she said I should be a great lady by and by, and need only do what I like ; and needn’t take any trouble to learn.” “ Lisetta should have told you that a great lady would never like to be ignorant : that you would be more to be pitied if you were a coun- tess who did not know how to read, than if you were a poor peasant ; and that the heiress of Belmont ought to be gentle and kind, not wilful and rude, if she ever expects to be respected and obeyed in her turn Besides, though you will one day be lady of Belmont, you are now only a poor little weak child, who ought to be very thankful and obedient to those who are so good as to take care of you, and do many things for you which you are not able to do for yourself.” The child laid her head meekly against his breast, and- whispered “ I’ll try and be good, if cugino will love me.” And when his arms softly pressed round her, she felt that she was forgiven ; and they could again enjoy the beauty of the ride, and laugh, and chat, as gaily and happily as ever. Next morning after breakfast, the papers and law-books were again speedily despatched, and Portia started up from her toys, expecting to be summoned for a ride ; but she saw her uncle take down a book from one of the shelves of the library (which was the room in which they usually sat), and placing it upon a low desk by the side of his easy-ehair, he lolled back, and began to read. Now Portia, though so young a child, had already found out the dif- ference between business-reading and pleasure-reading ; for she knew THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 41 that when her uncle was leaning oyer those yellow papers, crackling parchments, and plain-looking hooks, while his eyes were intently fixed, and his pen occasionally dipped in the ink, and he wrote a few words, and his lips looked grave and unmoved, — he was on no account to he disturbed, and that was the time for her to remain perfectly still ; but when she saw him draw the reading-desk to the side of his easy chair, and stretch his legs carelessly out, and lean back comfortably, and place his elbow on the arm of his chair, and prop his chin with his closed hand, and look at his book with happy eyes and smiling mouth, she knew then that she might creep to his side, scramble on to one of his knees, nestle her cheek against his bosom, and thus sit on his lap and play with her doll without interrupting him. Nay, at such times of idle reading, she might feel that she was welcome ; for the arm that supported her on his knee, would now and then give her a hug, or the head that bent over hers would press its lips upon her hair, when the leaf of the book wanted turning over. She looked at him now, as he sat there reading, and wondered that he preferred sitting still, and gazing at those lines, and turning page after page, and reading on and on, instead of going out for a ride, or a race in the avenue, or a frolic on the lawn, or some other plea- sant amusement. u I suppose he finds reading very pleasant too ; I suppose he likes reading as well as I like playing.” Some such thoughts as these doubtless passed through little Portia’s mind ; she went close up to Bellario, and leaned her two elbows on his knee, and gazed steadily up into the face that was looking as steadily into the open book ; and she presently said abruptly : — •“ I wish you would teach me my letters ; I want to read with cugino mio.” Her uncle, — or cousin as she called him, — caught her up in his arms with delight at finding that his hope was fulfilled ; the sight of the plea- sure derived from reading, had inspired the voluntary desire to taste that pleasure ; of her own accord she wished to learn. From that time forth, the hours devoted to pleasure-reading were partly spent in pointing out the big letters in each page to the little girl upon his knee. First their forms were pointed out, and pretty 42 PORTIA ; stories were invented, to fix their different shapes and names in the child’s memory ; then came the amusement of finding out the shortest words in each line, that the little one might spell them, and find out the sound the letters made, when put together in words. For this purpose, any hook that happened to lie upon the desk to charm the grave lawyer in his hours of poetic recreation, would serve equally well to display the alphabetic symbols, and mere first syllables, to the infant student. To him, the magic page might often conjure up visions of the proud AEneas. and forsaken Dido ; of meek- hearted Griselda, or wandering Constance ; of the pale pair of lovers, swept upon the whirlwind of the hell-storm ; of the docile giant Morgante ; of Orlando, Binaldo, handsome Astolfo, the daring Englishman, mounted on his hippogriff, and the lovely Ange- lica, with her beauteous boy-lover, Medoro ; of the noble amazon, Clo- rinda, with her dying face irradiated by immortal hope ; of all these poetic images might Bellario in turn behold traces in the opened page, while to his neophyte it merely bore elemental figures and hieroglyphic shapes — but in which nevertheless lay a hidden world of future intelli- gence and beauty. To endow his tender scholar with the power to seek this enchanted region, to render her worthy of its attainment, and to gift her with the right of participation in its happy possession, became Bel- lario’ s chief delight ; and in order that he might devote as much time as possible to his little Portia, he thenceforth had all writings and papers brought over to Belmont, and contrived to conduct every case, and to transac. all business there, that did not absolutely require his presence in Padua, Venice, or elsewhere. Thus they became closer companions than ever ; and while Bellario beheld the happy looks, and gay smiles of the little creature, he could scarcely regret that she had no fitter playmate than a grave bachelor- uncle, — a learned doctor of law. From the day when she had besought him to teach her, Portia had learned to love her lessons as much as she had formerly dreaded them. They were never after that time called a nasty letters” — but were “ pretty letters,” and “ dear pretty books,” and now no longer thought of as a dreary task, but as a pleasant play — nearly the pleasantest play she had. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 43 Now, she would follow the pointer with unwearied interest as it traced the curves of the letters, and indicated their combination and succession in the formation of syllables and words ; sometimes she would guide her own baby finger along the line in pointing mimicry, sometimes she would pat with her spread hands upon the lower part of the page, as in childish impatience, or in sportive concealment of what was to come, and sometimes she would lean her folded chubby arms upon the ledge of the desk that supported the book, and listen earnestly to the recited story, or gaze at the wondrous picture. There was one picture, an especial favorite. It was very large, and folded up into a book, that it belonged to, in several folds. As these folds were successively and carefully undone, and spread forth (for Por- tia was taught to respect books, and to handle their leaves very gently lest they should be injured), she loved to watch the gradual appearance of the different portions of the curious scene, which, though she knew so well, she was never tired of looking at. There was a wild mountainous district towards one end of the long picture ; and here she, beheld a sin- gular building, that looked half like a house and half like a ship, near which stood a venerable old man, and two or three younger ones, with some women, who were watching the approach of a vast train of animals, that walked two and two, and formed a strange procession, extending and diminishing away into the distance, where might be seen a tumult of troubled waters, and the dark clouds of a threatening storm. It was these numberless animals that riveted the attention of the little picture-gazer ; and she would coax from her indulgent teacher an endless repetition of histories descriptive of the tawny lion, with his majestic roar that echoes through the forests as he«stalks along; of the velvet-striped tiger, with his cruel eyes ; of the stately elephant ; the swift and noble horse; the faithful dog; the graceful stag; and the nimble squirrel. He would tell her of the humble little mouse, whose gratitude lent it patience and perseverance to nibble through the bonds that held captive the king of beasts ; of the fox that used its cunning wits to get out of the well, at the expense of the silly credulous goat ; and of the wise young kid, who, in remembering her mother’s advice to keep 44 PORTIA ; the door fast, saved herself from being eaten up by the treacherous wolf. He would tell her how the eagle’s strong eyes can boldly stare into the sun, his powerful beak can cleave the skull-bone of his prey, and his firm wing upbear him towards the sky ; how the bee-like humming- bird can creep into the cup of a flower ; and how the winged creatures of the air, from the crested vulture to the diminutive wren, know how to construct their curious nests, and build them warm, snug, close, and cleverly, of mere bits of twig, and straw, and moss. While these things were telling, the rides and out-of-door pastimes would be well-nigh forgotten ; but the prudent monitor would let neither his pupil’s eagerness nor his own, detain them too long from the pure breath of heaven, or the due exchange of mental exertion for physical exercise ; and so the books were laid aside, and out the two would sally, through the window that opened on to the terrace, and down the steps (Portia clinging to her cousin’s hand, as she tottered from one marble stair to the other, bringing each foot safely down at a time), till they reached the shady avenue, the scene of most of their open-air sports. But though the child and the bachelor-lawyer sufficed thus for each other’s happy companionship, there were times when Bellario thought it might have been better, could his little Portia have had the society of other children. As it was, she was too much the object of exclusive attention to people all older than herself, and this tended to foster the idea that she was a personage of vast importance, which, her position in life, as well as the remarks of injudicious dependents, were calculated to engender. He thought that, had she some young associate, this im- pression might be weakened by the equality that naturally establishes itself between children, who know little of forms and observances, and are apt to play together, asserting their individual opinions and wishes, regardless of difference in rank or station. He thought, too, that with one younger than herself, the sense of power, almost inseparable from her condition, might assume the form of benevolence and kindness ; and that in lieu of the imperious insolence which too often accompanies the command of those older than the mistress herself, she might learn to rule with bounteous consideration, and affectionate protective care. He THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 45 wished that the future lady of Belmont should be beloved, as well as obeyed, by her dependents. An opportunity offered shortly after, for carrying out his desired ex- periment. Madame Ursula confided to him a grievous trouble respect- ing a sister of hers, who had some time since degraded herself, and committed the honor of her family, by marrying a small tradesman in Venice. u The miserable girl too late found out her mistake,” said the dame ; u for I can in no other way account for her death, which hap- pened soon after giving birth to a little girl. As for the poor wretch, who dared to marry her, he doubtless awoke to a sense of his presump- tion, although, also, too late ; for he is just dead, and has left his child without a single bagattino* to bless herself with. She must go into ser- vice, of course; but she must wait till she is grown up, for that. Though I took Bianca’s folly deeply to heart, and vowed never to forgive the injury she had done our family, yet I hope I know my duty better than to let her wretched offspring starve. I thought, therefore, I would consult you, Signor Dottore, upon the propriety of letting the child come here and stay at Belmont, until she is old enough to become cameriera to the Contessina Portia. I will promise that the miserable little creature shall be kept strictly within the precincts of the house- keeper’s apartments, and shall not be permitted to intrude upon the pre- sence of either yourself or the Contessina.” “ Let her come to Belmont by all means, Madame answered Bel- lario ; u and pray do not restrict the children from playing together as much as they please. Your little darling will make a charming com- panion for mine, I doubt not.” “ My 1 little darling,’ Signor ! She is none of mine ! Nerissa is none of my child !” exclaimed Madame Ursula with a chaste shiver ; “ but as my sister’s child, I thank you for the permission that she may come here.” The faithful Balthazar was dispatched to Venice to fetch the little Nerissa to her future home ; and Bellario told Portia of the new play- fellow who was coming to be with her at Belmont. She answered that * A small copper coin, formerly current in Venice. 46 PORTIA ; she wanted no one to play with her but her own cugino ; nevertheless, he could perceive that as the time drew near for the expected arrival, Portia's eyes were often directed towards the door of the saloon, where they were dining; Madame, as usual, presiding at the head of the table. At length they heard a horse’s feet coming up the avenue, and Portia slid down from her chair, to peep out of the window at the new-comer. Presently, they heard a child’s voice, and then a peal of joyous laughter ; the door opened, and Balthazar, who had used his best exertions to enter- tain his young fellow-traveller during their journey, brought the child in, in his arms, while she was still shouting with merriment at some droll story he had been telling her. This indecorous entry scandalized Madame, and she frowned appall- ingly. The little Nerissa, placed suddenly upon her feet in the midst of strangers, stood transfixed, gazing at them ; and as she scanned these new faces, the smiles faded from her lips, which she began to pull pout- ingly with one finger, eyeing the group askance. “ Take your fingers out of your mouth, do, child ; and come here,” said Madame Ursula. It seemed that the uninviting tone had more force than the words, for the child said shortly : — “No.” “ Come here when I bid you ; come to me repeated Madame with a still more forbidding look and tone than before. “ No again replied the little one. Then, turning to Balthazar, and clutching his skirts, she added : — “ I’ll come to you ; take me on the horse again.” Beliario had purposely said nothing, that he might see what Portia would do of her own accord. She now took a cake and some sweet- meats off the dinner-table and went towards the little stranger, holding them out to her, and said “ Won’t you have some?” Nerissa looked at Portia for a moment, then took one of the offered sweets, and next held out her rosy mouth, as she had been taught to do, that she might kiss her thanks ; but she still maintained her grasp of Balthazar’s skirt. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 47 Portia went back to the table for a nectarine, and returning again, stuffed that also into the child’s hand, then holding out her own, she said : — ■“ Won’t you come with me to cugino?” The little hand dropped its hold of the attendant’s coat, and was given confidingly to this new friend, who led her in a sort of triumph to Bellario. The acquaintance thus begun, went on prosperously. Nerissa looked up to Portia as her abettor and protectress in all her encounters with her awful aunt ; while the encouragement and patronage which the little lady of Belmont accorded to her new playmate, was accompanied by a gentle feeling of care and tenderness for one younger and more helpless than herself. It is true that there was but a year’s difference between them ; but at their age a few months make a prodigious disparity ; besides, the little lady had not only constantly associated with her grave cousin, but was of a naturally intelligent reflective mind, whereas the humble dam- sel was one of the most thoughtless, gay, giggling, sportive, merry little rogues in the whole world. This temperament of Nerissa’s caused Bellario to rejoice more than ever at the fortunate chance which had brought the two children together; for he felt that it acted as an antidote to the too grave society in which his beloved Portia would otherwise have exclusively passed her youth. Now, he had the delight of hearing the two merry voices constantly echoing through the halls and woods of Belmont in sportive gladness ; and the laugh of Nerissa herself could scarcely ring more clearly and happily than that of his gifted but cheerful-hearted Portia. In playing together, the two children seemed- animated by one spirit ; equally buoyant, active, mirthful, nay wild in their gayety of heart while sporting about; but in one point they differed materially. Nerissa was the veriest little dunce that ever was ; neither frowns and threats from dame Ursula, nor coaxings and rallyings, and pettings and teasings from Portia, could induce the little damsel ever to look into a volume ; whilst, on the contrary, Portia’s chief delight continued to be the hours she spent with Bellario and his books. She was gay with Nerissa, but she was happy with him. 48 PORTIA ; It was perhaps fortunate for Portia that her young companion was thus indifferent to study ; it made the hours spent with her, the more completely a relaxation, and by forming a wholesome contrast, invigorated and refreshed her mind for new culture. With the giddy little madcap Nerissa, the freedom and elation of spirit which character- ized Portia, no less than her mental endowments and superiority of in- tellect, found full scope ; and childhood sped merrily away. Even the austere supervision of Madame Ursula was withdrawn ; for not many months after Nerissa’ s introduction to Belmont, the house- keeper died. The stern dame was stricken into the eternal rigidity of death ; and the waiting-woman Lisetta was heard to observe in her hard way, that “ the old lady looked scarcely more stiff, as a corpse, than she had done when alive.” As years went on, Bellario’s hope of beholding his friend, grew fainter and fainter ; and yet, in proportion as his hope waned, his desire increased. Besides the yearning wish to look upon his face, he longed for Guido’s return with strengthening intensity, as he beheld the still- improving graces of the daughter so rashly quitted. He longed to show him the worth of the treasure he had relinquished ; to unfold to him the sources of consolation he had abandoned, in the person of this dear being, so worthy a representative of the sainted angel they had lost. As he dwelt with rapture on the beautiful form and face of his darling, and watched the expanding of her noble nature and capacious mind, he pined to share so dear a privilege with the friend of his heart — the being in the world best fitted to receive and enjoy delight from such a source. Still Guido returned not ; and Bellario was fain to beguile himself with the fancy that he cherished even a remote hope of the reward he had once proposed to himself for his devotion to his friend’s child. Had he allowed himself honestly to question his reason, he would have found how little faith he had left, that the delight of ever placing Portia in a father’s arms was yet in store for him ; but he continued his zealous culture of her moral and mental excellences, as if to strengthen the delusion be hugged the closer for its very instability. Believed, by the companionship of Nerissa, from any dread that THE HEIRESS OP BELMONT. 49 Portia might become too exclusively absorbed in serious trains of thought, he could now freely permit her to indulge their mutual and increasing taste for study together ; and he would often laughingly tell her, that though she had no regular schooling, no masters, no accomplishments, no womanly teaching, — no set education in short, yet that he should in time make her an excellent scholar, and a most capital lawyer. Bellario was an enthusiast in his profession ; and Portia loved to hear him dwell at length upon its attributes, its privileges, its powers, and its value. He would descant upon his favorite theme ; and she, well pleased to listen, would often introduce the subject, and urge and induce him to continue its disquisition. Then would he tell her of the divine origin of Law ; and dilate upon its universal existence and influence. “ It is an emulation of God’s own wisdom,” he would say, “ who appointed laws unto himself as Creator of the universe. The system of planets, the courses of stars, the processes of vegetation and reproduction are all so many applications of force and power, and ordained forms and measures of carrying out His will — and are II is manifest laws. The obedience of these Natural agents to the laws of the Creator, set a sublime lesson to us voluntary agents, that we may meekly conform to those Human Laws which have been the inspi- ration of His Wisdom, and are the instruments of His Will upon earth. Law acts as a perpetual memorial to man; Divine and Natural laws remind him of his duty to God ; Moral laws of his duty to himself ; and Human laws of his duty to his fellow-creatures. See,” he continued, “ how the heathens themselves exalted Law — naming her Themis, and deriving her from both heaven and earth, by making her the daughter of Coelus and Terra; one of their historians declaring her to be ‘queen of gods and men.’ Law unites mankind in a universal bond of fellowship, gathering the human brotherhood beneath its wings ; teaching them the wisdom of mutual regard and support, instead of leaving them to wan- der in primeval and savage individuality of interest — each man’s hand against his brother. Men, by agreeing to conform to appointed laws, yield individual judgment to the matured wisdom of the many ; and by consenting to abide by such decrees, show that they prefer the common good to a private indulgence — general order to single satisfaction.” 5C PORTIA ; “ By taking the law in our own hands, we but perpetuate evil in the world ; dealing a private revenge, instead of awarding a publicly sanc- tioned punishment. Constituted law revenges not ; it chastises Law, after its first universal love for the good of the human race, abjures pas- sion ; and rewards or punishes, knowing neither love nor hate. Law shows tenderness, only in the protection it affords to the weak against the strong; when it substitutes justice for the right of might.” “ Law ascertains men’s dues by no capricious standard ; it acts from virtuous principle, not from impulse. It promotes social order, and dif- fuses harmonious concord. Men who will not act equitably and in accordance with duty at a friend’s suggestion, will often submit to the same intimation from the Law, which they know to be indifferent, im- partial, and nowise personal in its dictates ; and inasmuch as Reason is insufficient to bind some men, Law was instituted to constrain and enforce universal obedience. Would men but live honestly, hurt nobody, and render to every one his due, the necessity of Law would cease, for in those three precepts are contained the essence of what Law exacts. Law but seeks to establish man’s true and substantial happiness. It sets forth man’s duties., and the penalties of transgressing them, for his timely instruction and warning. Laws are the result of public appro- bation and consent ; the act of the whole body politic, and not the edict ■ of one despotic mind. Law is one of the monuments of man’s accumu- lated wisdom ; like a vast intellectual temple, its range of columns stretch through successive ages, ever receiving renewal and addition, without destruction to the harmony of the universal edifice.” At another time he would tell her that Human Law, like all mortal systems, was subject to error, both in its ordinance and dispensation. “ But law,” said Bellario, u should ever err rather on the side of leniency and mildness, than severity. Where laws are enacted of too stringent a nature, and where the penalties inflicted are too rigorous in proportion with the transgression they retaliate, an evasion of the due action of the law frequently ensues, and thus the ends of justice are frustrated, by an escape of punishment altogether. The object of correction is reform ; and the penalty enforced should be so appropriate to the crime committed, THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT* 51 as to excite universal acquiescence in its award. In passing sentence, clemency should ever take the precedence ; for better that many guilty should escape, than one innocent. suffer. A culprit may be reclaimed ; but what too-tardy justice, however ample, may redress an undeserved condemnation ? Mercy in all her aspects is the fairest sister of Justice. She bestows on the crown its dearest prerogative — a privilege akin to that of Heaven itself — when she reserves to the king the power of re- versing doom, and granting ultimate pardon.” “ The practice of Law,” he would say, “ induces magnanimity. It teaches us tolerance towards the infirmities of our fellow-beings ; seeing how the best natures may be warped by unkindness, ingratitude, or in- jury. It engenders compassion for human frailty ; forbearance on ac- count of man’s prejudices, mistakes, and ignorance ; pity for his imper- fections, and desire for his enlightenment. It inculcates benevolence, pa- tience, consideration. It bids us grieve over the evil we discover, and wonder at the good we find hidden beneath rage, neglect, and destitu- tion. It helps us to mature and chasten our judgment. It instructs us to command our temper, and guard against the heat of feeling, to mod- erate suspicion, and to avoid misconstruction. It reminds us that to be just we must be calm, and that the faculties should be held clear, col- lected, and alert. We should be ready to consider not only facts, but the times and circumstances of facts. We should cultivate a retentive memory, a patient and attentive habit of listening, acuteness of pene- tration in observing, and an appreciation of physiognomy, expression, and character. We should aim at general acquisition, as well as at pe- culiar study ; and endeavor to enlarge the mind upon various subjects, rather than narrow it by a too exclusive store of mere cases and pre- cedents, so as to be enabled to decide in matters that befall otherwise than consistently with recorded experience, and so as not to be taken wholly by surprise when a totally new and original set of circumstances arise and invest a case. Accomplishment in oratory as well as sound- ness of judgment is essentially valuable, that you may not only carry conviction by the train of your reasoning, and the strength of your ar- guments, but that you may secure the attention, and win the favor of 52 PORTIA : the more superficial among your auditors, so as at once to prepossess them in favor of your cause.” “ Might not we women make good advocates, then, cugino mio ?” Portia would playfully ask ; “ you know we are apt to speak eloquently when our hearts are in a cause, and when we desire to win favor in its decision.” “ It is because your hearts generally take too active a part in any cause you desire to win, that your sex would make but poor lawyers, carina. Besides, women, though shrewd and quick judging, are apt to jump too rapidly at conclusions, and mar the power of their understand- ing by its too vivacious action. They are liable to decide upon delusive inferences, and to arrive at false convictions. In the exercise of their discernment, they will frequently triumph too early in the discovery of an advantage ; and it is the part of a clever lawyer not to betray his own strength and his adversary’s weakness to soon. To skilfully treas- ure up each point successively gained, and by a tardy unmasking of your own plan of action, to lead your opponent on to other and more sure committals of himself, is more consonant with the operation of a man’s mind, than suited to the eager, impulsive nature of woman. Her wit is more keen, than her understanding is sedate.” “Well, one day or other you may be brought to acknowledge that I could make a profound lawyer,” replied the smiling Portia ; “ am I not your disciple? and must not the pupil of the learned Doctor Bella- rio needs become so if she choose?” “ My Portia will become quite as proficient as I could wish her, if she know enough of law to manage worthily and justly her own estate by and by,” answered he ; “ and it is with the thought that she will here- after be called upon as lady of Belmont, to rule her tenantry, to adjust their rights, to settle their differences, to decide their claims, and to se- cure their welfare, that I allow her to cr^ss-question me upon the mys- teries of law as she has done. And so now, that I may not make an absolute pedant of you, a jurisconsult in petticoats, a lawyer in a girl’s white dress instead of a sober silk gown, go call Nerissa to have a game at ball with you in the avenue, till I come and join you, that we may take a long walk together.” THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 53 And still time crept on ; and the young girl grew almost into the beautiful woman. Her slight childish figure had rounded into graceful proportions ; her deportment had assumed more high-bred ease and polish ; her countenance shone with brighter intelligence ; and her voice and manner, without losing their native sweetness, had acquired a tone of command and dignity well suited to the lady of Belmont. But the profusion of golden locks which waved upon her shoulders, and the un- clouded spirits that bounded in her elastic step, and sparkled in her lips and eyes, bespoke her youth, and her happy innocent nature. She looked still the child, in some things. It was the morning on which she completed her seventeenth year. She entered the library where Bellario sat, and as she stepped forward to present him with a rare old volume of poetry and a heap of blushing dew covered flowers which she had just gathered as a birthday token, she looked so radiant with happiness and beauty, that he involuntarily gazed at her as he would have done at a beautiful vision — an impersona- tion of childhood on the verge of womanhood. Her fair hair, partly disordered by the eagerness with which she had collected her flowers regardless of thorns, spray, drooping leaves, or sweeping branches ; her cheeks glowing with morning air and exercise ; her April eyes, bright with mingled smiles and tears, as she greeted him who had been father and brother both in one to her infancy and girlhood ; her tender looks, her gentle sweetness, her loving manner, half lavish, half timid, while contending with all the strong emotion that filled her heart towards him, as she knelt upon the cushion at his feet, and laid her head caressingly upon his knee, all made him fancy her a little fondling child again. But when, some minutes after, she stood at his side, discussing with en- thusiasm the beauties of the poet whose richly-emblazoned volume she held in her hand ; when her eyes beamed with intelligence, her figure dilated with the energy of her appreciation of lofty sentiment and dar- ing imagination, her tone thrilled with admiration and awe, and her whole appearance was instinct with elevation and sublimity of thought, Bellario felt that he gazed upon a sentient, high-minded woman — one capable of bearing her part in the great drama of life, and of influencing the destinies of others by her intel^* c 1 -• 54 PORTIA r In acknowledging her birthday-gift, Bellario told Portia that he had chosen this occasion for the fulfilment of a desire she had expressed, that a band of household musicians might be added to the retainers of Bel- mont. He said, they had been appointed to come from Venice on this very day, in honor of the event, and he felt somewhat surprised that they had not already arrived. u But we will contrive to spend the day happily, notwithstanding, added he ; “ we will forego the pleasure of music for one day more ; and meantime we will order the horses and take one of our long rambles together. You cannot remember the time, my Portia, when one horse served well for us both, and you needed no other seat than my saddle- bow?” “ It seems as though that, and all other particulars of the season when your arms were my only support, even from the very moment when I first was placed a mere infant within them, lived in my memory, as truly as it does in my heart’s core,” replied she. They rode that day, far and wide through the domains of Belmont. They visited the waterfall, deep in the recesses of the w T ood, and as they guided their horses down the steep path of the briery dell, and listened to the soft rustling of the leaves, the warbled song of birds, the hum of insects, and the murmur of the cascade, Bellario’s voice would subduedly chime in with those sounds of Nature, telling her of the growth of her parent’s love, of their noble qualities, of their worthiness of each other, and of the happy pride with which he himself had shared in the friend- ship which united the three. They lingered beneath the group of ruins, which had once formed the object of a memorable walk, and Bellario told her of the unselfish fortitude with which her mother had sought to conceal her fatigue, of her generous impetuous father, of the feelings which he had since de- tected were lingering in the hearts of each, and of his own complete blindness to the lovers’ increasing passion for each other. u I have often wondered since, how I could have failed to note what was passing beneath my very eyes, so closely concerning two beings whom I loved so well,” said Bellario ; “ and two beings, also, who were THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 55 singularly transparent and unreserved. My sister’s nature was pure, ingenuous, and simple, and her every thought seemed unveiled, as you looked into her clear eyes ; your father’s ardent sensibility glowed in every expression of his look and voice, and perfect candor dwelt upon his brow. Every emotion of that noble heart seemed written in his countenance ; and never had generous impulses fairer and truer trans- cript than in the manly beauty of my friend’s face.” “ I feel as if I should know that face, meet it how or where I might,” said Portia, in a low voice. “ God grant that we may one day behold it,” replied Bellario ; “ but it must needs be strangely changed. Suffering, grief, wanderings, years of absence ; — perhaps even I might not now know my Guido.” That evening, while the two cousins were pacing the moonlit avenue together, Nerissa’s blithe voice was heard from the terrace, announcing the arrival of the expected musicians. “ Come in, madam,” cried she in high glee, u come in quickly, for ihe love of laughter ! If these same players have as ill-favored fingers as features, if their instruments yield a sound as coarse as their suits, if they have no better sets of tunes than teeth, or no tones less sharp than their noses, we are like to have but sorry music. But come and see them, and tell me if you have ever seen a more wry-necked, ill-dressed, ugly set of grotesque figures than your ladyship’s musicians elect. There is one fellow’s crooked nose, puckered eyes, puffed cheeks, and pinched lips, that make him look for all the world like a head on the rainspout of a church.” The girl hurried back, as she spoke ; and Bellario leading Portia to the terrace-steps, kissed her hand, and told her he would join her in a few moments to try whether they might not forget the plain persons of the musicians in the music they played. Meanwhile, he paced the avenue, full of a thought which had that day pressed heavily upon him. His first perception that now his charge was no longer a child, his con- viction that she had actually grown into a lovely woman, was accompa- nied with the thought that he had no right to detain her in solitude, apart from that world where she might shine, imparting and receiving a 56 PORTIA : more extended happiness. He felt that he ought not to confine her sphere of existence to so limited a range as that which had hitherto formed the boundaries of Portia’s experience. He knew that the heiress of Belmont should now be introduced into a wider circle than she had hitherto known, that she might form her judgment of mankind itself, while she matured and enlarged the store of knowledge she had hitherto reaped from books alone. “Were her father but here to aid me with his counsel,” thought he. “ Who so qualified to decide a daughter’s conduct ? Who so proper to lead her among her fit associates ? Who so meet to assist her in their selection, and to guide her in a still more important choice ? For she will marry — she ought — she must ; — so fair, so gifted a creature will one day bless and be blest by a man worthy of her. But how to dis- cover him V* In a deep reverie, Bellario threw himself upon a low grassy bank that swelled from the turf of the avenue. The bank itself was in the full light of the moon ; but it was near to the trees, which cast a deep shadow within a few yards of where he sat. As the thought of his beloved friend again vibrated through his heart with a passionate yearning, he almost articulated the name of Guido in the deep sigh he breathed. A sigh still more profound responded to his own. He started up in surprise, that any one should be so near ; when a figure emerged from the dark shadow of the trees, and stood mutely before him. Bellario gazed strangely upon the countenance he beheld ; for in no lineament of that pale, haggard face, — neither in the flattened temple, the sunken cheek, the contracted mouth, or in the dull and wistful eyes, could he trace any memorial of the youthful image that dwelt in his heart’s rer membrance. But when the stranger staggered forward, and putting one hand upon his shoulder, muttered huskily “ Bellario !” the voice revealed all ; and with the rapturous conviction that it was Guido indeed returned, he strained his long-lost friend in his arms, and felt the terrible thirst of years appeased. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 57 A few hasty words sufficed to tell the story of his absence ; for Guido cared not to dwell upon the circumstances of that dark period of exile and anguish. In the transports of his despair, he had fled from the scenes of his buried happiness, and wandering away to the coast, had embarked and set sail for the East, where, amid rocky deserts and sandy plains, he had dragged on a weary existence, in ascetic solitude, unable to endure the sight of his fellow-men. In latter years the first torture of his grief had yielded to a craving desire to behold the child, whom he still could not help regarding in the light of one who had been the destruction of his earthly happiness — of one whose birth had caused the death of her whom he loved better than life. And still his anxiety to look upon this innocent murderer grew stronger and stronger ; and at length it arose to a strange fascination, and had determined him to en- dure all, — to brave the torment of revived sorrows, that he might satisfy this burning wish. 66 I long, yet dread to see this child,” he concluded, with a wild sad- ness in his manner, which had something almost fierce in its eagerness ; u show it to me, give it me, Bellario ! I will not injure it, I will not harm a hair of its young head ! Though it killed her, yet it is her child ! Where is it, Bellario?” “ She left me but now,” replied Bellario calmly, trying to soothe his friend’s perturbation ; u you think of her as a child, forgetful that seven- teen years have elapsed. She is now a beautiful woman ; she quitted me but a few moments before I beheld you.” u That fair creature whom you led to the terrace, then, was Gracious heaven ! I have seen her ! My child ! I fancied that fair being by your side was your own, your wife ! A second such delusion ! And are you indeed destined to bestow upon me another Portia ?” A strain of music arose at this moment. Solemn, sweet, and exqui- sitely tender was the melody that came wafted towards them upon the night air ; it seemed vouchsafed, consolingly ministrant to the wounded spirit of Guido, that his long-pent heart might find relief in the tears which flowed responsive to these appealing sounds. Bellario hailed the benign influence ; but suddenly he laid his hand 58 PORTIA ; upon his friend’s arm, and pointing towards the terrace, he whispered : — She comes ; control your own agitation, my friend, that you may spare hers.” Guido gazed in the direction indicated ; he beheld one of the win- dows that opened on to the ground, thrown back, and a flood of light from the saloon, together with a swelling burst of the harmony, accom- panied forth a radiant figure that stepped out upon the terrace, and took its way towards them. The white raiment, the floating golden hair, the graceful mien, the spiritual look, as she approached bathed in the full glory of the moonbeams, made her seem a seraph sent by pitying Heaven, and Guido stretched forth his arms, as towards a celestial har- binger of happiness. As she reached the spot where they stood, Bellario took her hand, and said in his calm impressive voice : — ■“ Remember your words of this morning, my Portia. Does your heart tell you whose is the face you look upon V 1 u My father !” she exclaimed ; and the parent and child savored the ineffable transport of a first embrace. Guido thus restored to them, the happiness of Portia and Bellario seemed now complete ; while the Count, in discovering the fruitful source of comfort and joy existing for him in the person of his child, wondered how he could have voluntarily remained dead to its enjoyment during that long and dreary period of self-imposed banishment. Thus blindly does mortal judgment err in its choice of what may constitute its own felicity ; casting forth its trust in Providential care, forsaking appointed consolation, and dully embracing woe for its portion. But now, his eagerness to duly estimate the treasure he possessed, partook of all the characteristic ardor of his nature. His love for this new- found daughter amounted to idolatry ; and in the passionate desire he felt to retain her ever in his sight, it seemed as though he sought to indemnify himself for the years of separation already suffered to elapse. In his craving wish to behold her unceasingly, to enjoy her presence ex- clusively, he would fain have engrossed her thoughts as she absorbed his, and he almost jealously beheld her eyes, her words, her attention THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 59 directed to any other object but himself. There was a kind of dread, a misgiving that he could not occupy her heart as she did his ; and in the humiliating consciousness that if this were the case, he could alone blame his own rash exile from the child whose love he might have secured, a feverish inquietude mingled with his present happiness, and threatened to embitter its fruition. Bellario noted the struggle existing in his friend’s mind, and well knew how to deal tenderly with such a mood of affection. He could compassionate its sufferings, forgive its involuntary injustice, and minister to its relief. Accordingly he determined to quit them for a time, that the father and daughter might be thrown solely upon each other’s re- sources ; and, by being constantly and uninterruptedly together, they might thus learn to find their mutual happiness in one another alone. A cause imperatively requiring his personal presence formed suf- ficient pretext for his absence ; and after confiding to his friend the anxiety he felt respecting Portia’s future introduction into more general society, when they should have enjoyed a sufficient period of tranquil seclusion together, Bellario left Belmont, and retired to Padua, where he had always maintained a modest establishment of his own, for the reception of clients, and in transacting the business of his profession ; as well as that he might indulge the old love of independence which had ever characterized him. Here, he had the delight of learning from Portia the complete suc- cess of his scheme. In the frequent- correspondence she maintained with her beloved cousin, the restored serenity of her father, the affection that reigned between them, the happiness of their present existence, which knew no abatement to the fulness of its perfection save the want of Bellario’s presence, formed the constant theme of her pen, and caused him to rejoice that he had acted as he had done. He knew, too, that this bond of mutual affection, thus daily knit and strengthened, would cause them only the more to depend upon each other, when they should come to encounter the world, and be surrounded by indifferent people ; and he could now await with security the period of Portia’s presentation under a father’s auspices. 60 PORTIA ; Meantime, Guido’s confidence in the love existing between his daughter and himself had also acquired firmness. He could no longer entertain a misgiving of the fondness that dwelt in every look, that prompted every action, that lent sweetness to every tone, and dictated every word, as she hovered perpetually near him, evidently drawing as much delight from his vicinity as he from hers. He could not doubt the interpretation of the joy that played in her smiles when she saw him ap- proach, the eagerness that impelled her towards him, the beaming eyes that met his in soft response, or the warmth with which his paternal caresses were welcomed, and returned by her filial ones. He felt that his Portia was indeed fully and entirely his own ; and his satisfied heart flowed in rapturous thanksgiving to the Almighty, for so gracious a boon. As his faith in her love became assured, he called to mind what Bel- lario had said respecting her introduction in life, and he felt that he had now courage to risk the intrusion of other objects upon her time and at- tention, secure that he himself was paramount in her regard. He accordingly consulted with her upon the appointment of a day when he should invite all the families with whom his own had formerly held intercourse and intimacy, to meet at Belmont in celebration of his return, and thus to renew those connections which had been broken by his absence. “ In presenting my Portia to the noble ladies of the houses of Man- frini and Barberigo ; to the several families of Montenegri, Sforza, Fos- cari, and others of my friends and kindred, I shall offer my best apology for venturing to ask a renewal of what I forfeited by my own neglect ; and they will readily accede to a reconciliation with the father for the sake of his daughter, that they may obtain her society.” u If my father flatter his daughter thus,” said Portia gayly, u she need fear no spoiling from flatterers abroad. The veriest courtier of them all could scarce find prettier speeches than Count Guido, when he chooses to praise his Portia.” It is in order that her giddy head may be steadied betimes,” replied he in the same tone, “ and learn to bear all the flood of nonsense that will be poured into her ears by and by, without being turned ever after.” THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 61 “And so, to prevent me from wearing my head like a weathercock or ii mill-wheel by and by, you’ll risk stuffing it with vanity now. This is willing me to be presently vain, lest I become a vane; and leads me into the sin of vain talking.” 44 Then leave vain talking, and hearken seriously to a story I have to tell thee touching a member of one of those noble families, whom I mean to be among our guests at our approaching festival. The young Mar- quis of Montferrat is able to tell a witching tale in a fair lady’s ear, I doubt not, like one of those flatterers we spoke of but now ; for he is a likely gallant, handsome, brave, and courteous.” 44 A good beginning to your story, padre mio ; 4 handsome, brave, and courteous P What follows ? Generous, accomplished, witty, per- haps ? What is your sequel ?” 44 This gentleman is the sole surviving representative of the rich and noble house of Montferrat, famed for the splendor of their taste at home, and for the renown of their arms abroad. The young Marquis, some months since, happened to- be indulging his Venetian predilection for the Adriatic, by coasting along her shores with some young friends in the pleasure-galley he has for such marine excursions. One day the party had landed to enjoy the beauty of the scenery, and had caused their noontide repast to be brought from the vessel by their attendants, and spread beneath the shade of some trees that formed a group round a spot of attractive coolness. They drooped over a spring of fresh Water, which welled and bubbled forth like Galatea’s transformed love, taking its pellucid way in meandering streams across the plains towards the sea, as if it sought to join its white mistress once again and for ever.” 44 The young gallants had finished their repast,” continued Guido, 44 and had most of them wandered away in different directions amid the neighboring woods in search of sport, or led by curiosity ; only two or three attendants remained near the spot to collect the plate and various utensils before returning to the ship. But the fulfilment of this duty was postponed, and the men were indulging in a game of Mora, car- ried on somewhat apart, and in as subdued a key as the excitement of play would permit (gradually arising from sotto voce to eager crescendo 62 PORTIA ; and sforzando), under pretence of being unwilling to disturb tbeir young master with the clatter of the glass and silver during his slumber; for the Marquis had fallen back upon the soft grass, and had yielded to the soothing influence of the scene and the combined geniality of the late feast, in a siesta.” “ At this moment, three or four brigands, belonging to a band that infested this quarter, and had their lurking-place in the adjoining woods, rushed forwards in hope of making an easy spoil of the gold and silver plate which lay spread around, and had doubtless lured them to the spot. The scared domestics fled ; and the ruffians were about to make sure of the sleeping nobleman, by stabbing him at once, when a travel-worn stranger suddenly came up, and by opposing the cowardly attack, roused the Marquis, who was thus enabled to draw his sword, and assist the traveller in their joint defence.” “ The noise of the affray soon recalled the dispersed company ; and as the gentlemen of the party successively hurried to the spot to the rescue of their friend, the brigands fled before this reinforcement.” “ The Marquis and his company now surrounded the traveller, and offered him their thanks for his timely succour, with an earnestness more the result of their own courtesy, than due to the service rendered, which was no more than an act of common Christian charity.” “ You tell me who was the traveller, in thus underrating the gallantry of his behaviour, padre mio,” interrupted Portia ; u nobody but Guido di Belmonte himself, would thus talk of the act that saved a man’s life.” “ The Marquis more than requited the service, in his profuse ac- knowledgments, his generous treatment of a stranger, and the kindness and zeal with which he sought to promote his wishes when he found that the traveller was eager to proceed on his journey, which had been de- layed by an adverse accident that had compelled him to land, a day or two before, from the vessel, in which he had been sailing from the East, and which was bound to Venice. He entreated him to use his galley, to direct its course whithersoever he might desire ; and said that he and his company would proudly escort him to his destination. They accord- ingly set sail for Venice immediately, entertaining him as an honored THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 63 guest during their course thither ; and when they discovered that a pro* found sorrow which possessed him wholly prevented the stranger from participating in their revelry, these gentlemen discreetly forbore to in- trude upon his grief, leaving him to indulge his solitude undisturbed and respected.” u When, however, the galley made the port of Venice, and the stranger and his entertainers were about to take leave, the Marquis begged to know the name of the man to whom he felt himself obliged ; and he, in his turn, feeling that a mere cold adieu was but poor requital for the courtesy and kindness he had received at the hands of the generous young nobleman, confided to him the sorrowful story of his life, and told him that should he ever know a period of restored tranquility and peace of mind, he would entreat him to come and see if Casa Belmonte could yield as pleasant entertainment and welcome, as he had met with on board the galley e Aglaia. 5 With this compact we parted ; and now that I have indeed found greater happiness than I ever dared to hope for again, I mean to invite my noble young friend hither, that he may behold its existence and its source. So good a heart as his, will not fail to rejoice in my joy ; so high a taste as his for all that is rare and beau- teous, must needs be struck with the cause of that joy — my child, my Portia. I would now, methinks, have all my friends behold her father’s treasure ; and see how bounteous Heaven, in her, repays him for all sorrows past.” As Guido finished speaking, his faithful servant Balthazar came to apprise him that his steward was awaiting an audience in the library, with some papers relative to the estate, which required inspection and signature. The Count withdrew to the library, bidding his daughter join him there as soon as the steward should have retired, that they might write the invitations for the approaching festival, and despatch messengers with them to the several families in Venice and elsewhere. Portia remained bending over her work, lost in thought, but Nerissa, who was seated at the embroidery-frame, assisting her lady, yet main- taining a discreet silence in the presence of the Count, now gave free 64 PORTIA ; course to her usual liveliness of speech. The circumstances of their early companionship, the unrestrained intercourse of the South between mistress and attendant, the gay pleasant nature of Nerissa herself, as well as the happy spirits of Portia, all tended to preserve their freedom and ease of intimacy little less than that which had subsisted between the two, when children together. 44 What think you, madam, of your father’s story ?” 44 That it shows him, as I have known him ever, through my cousin Bellario’s knowledge answered Portia. 44 The facts of the tale showed him to be, what his modesty in the telling would fain have hidden — ardent, brave, and generous.” 44 Ay, that is what he would fain have had you believe the Marquis to be,” said Nerissa. 44 And yet from the story I could find no such thing. The gallant was asleep when he should have been awake, which tells not' much for his ardor ; he drew his sword, indeed, but we heard not that he used it — or if he did, it was to save his own life when it was hard beset, which is no great argument of his bravery — surely, any com- mon sworder would do as much ; then as for his courtesy and generosity, a galley that follows no course but pleasure, has no appointed haven but amusement, its master makes no wonderful sacrifice in letting its sailing- orders be at another man’s bidding ; and though my lord the Count talked of the Marquis and his friend’s discretion in respecting his grief by leaving him in solitude, it seems they had no thought of moderating their own gayety and revelry.” 44 The hero of the story seems to have won no favor of you, Nerissa,” said her mistress. 44 None, lady ; and yet I fancy your father intended that his hero should seem one in your eyes, whatever he might in mine. But we shall see what he is like, when the festival brings the Marquis of Mont- ferrat, with the rest, to Belmont.” And now the thought of this approaching festival engaged every member of the household, that due splendor and effect might preside in all its arrangements to do honor to two such interesting occasions, as the return of Count Guido to his patrimony of Belmont, and the presenta- THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 65 tion of his beautiful daughter to the ancient friends of the family. Bel- lario was entreated to be present, that they might have the delight of seeing him lend weight and honor to the reception of the guests, by the illustrious and learned reputation of his name. It may well be believed that this tender friend himself eagerly seized this occasion of beholding his Portia’s first entrance upon the arena of life ; of marking how she should put into practice those maxims he had instilled, how remember those precepts he had inculcated, how act upon those principles he had implanted. He longed to see how her native dignity would support her through such a trial to her modesty as the first introduction to so large an assemblage of distinguished per- sons would needs be ; he longed to see her courtesy have wide field, her wit free play, her beauty extended admiration, her graces universal acknowledgment. His love was no less ardent than her father’s ; for while Guido’s was a sort of rapturous fondness towards this child of affection, Bellario’s partook of esteem and regard for those intrinsic qualities which he knew her to possess, and which he had watched and cherished from their earliest germ to their fullest development. It was with almost equal pride and delight therefore, that these two loving guardians beheld the object of their tenderest thoughts fulfil all that even they could have anticipated of excellence in her own person and demeanor, while she won universal homage from those around. The ladies commended her modest dignity and self-possession, expressing their hope that it would not be long ere they drew amongst them so bright an ornament as she would prove to their Venetian circle; the noblemen, one and all con- gratulated the happy father of so fair and accomplished a maiden ; and the young gallants vied with each other in adulation, compliments, attentions, and endeavors to attract her regard. Among these latter, the foremost was the Marquis of Montferrat. He at once placed himself among the rank of her avowed admirers ; and from the marked courtesy and warmth of the reception with which her father had welcomed him, he seemed to have already gained a priority $f claim and advantage above his fellows. Of this superiority he seemed 66 PORTIA ; fully conscious, from the air of triumph and assured success that sparkled in his eyes when he addressed her, and which pervaded his manner towards them. It shone insinuatingly and languishingly in his looks to her; it flashed haughtily and defyingly upon them. Nerissa, who leaned upon the back of her lady’s seat (which was in one of the alcoves in the grounds, and formed a sort of sylvan throne for her to receive her train of admirers, anxious to tender their homage to her charms, and pay their court to her good graces), found early occa- sion to whisper : — “ Your father’s report of the handsome looks of the hero of his story, is as false as his estimation of his other qualities. The Marquis is scarce better looking than your ladyship’s musicians : who, like their brethren, the singing-birds, have the plainer the exterior, the better their song.” “ Nay,” returned Portia in the same tone, u the prejudice you took, even ere you saw the Marquis, lets you render him but scant justice. He is handsome, but he knows it too well. His vanity mars his straight nose, his arrogance blurs his smooth complexion, his conceit puts out his eyes, and I can hardly see his good looks for his assurance.” “ There is one among the company, who surpasses him in good looks a hundredfold, to my thinking,” said Nerissa; “ the young cavalier in the murrey doublet, yonder, who is listening to something that the Marquis is telling. Do you see him whom I mean, Madam ? Such eyes as those are worthy a lady’s look, and the mouth seems as if it could say something worth her hearing ; which I’m sure is more than can be said for my lord Marquis’s eyes and mouth.” Portia answered not, but Nerissa could see that her mistress had distinguished the gentleman, for she was looking steadily upon his face, which was slightly averted, and presented only its profile to her gaze. Nerissa tripped away from her lady, to try and learn who he was ; and soon heard that he was the Lord Bassanio, one of the friends and associates of the Marquis of Montferrat. “ They are two foolish young men,” continued her informant, who was a grey-headed old gentleman, one of the guests ; “ they try who can spend their money fastest and least wisely. Even the princely for- THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 67 tune which the Marquis inherited from his worthy father, is speedily dwindling ; and as for the young Lord Bassanio, it is whispered that he must shortly he ruined by such a perpetual round of extravagance as he indulges in, to please this friend of his, whom he emulates in all his follies though not in his vices. Bassanio bears an unblemished reputa- tion for honor and integrity, while the Marquis ” The old gentleman paused, and Nerissa could extract no further in- formation from him, respecting the objects of her curiosity. But this was now thoroughly roused ; and she determined to spare no pains to satisfy it entirely. The more she saw of the Marquis of Montferrat, the more did she find the prejudice she had originally conceived against him, strengthen and increase ; and the more she saw of the Count di Belmonte’s conduct towards this young nobleman, the more did she feel confirmed in the surmise she had at first formed, that he intended him to win his way to the good graces of Portia, and to become eventually his son-in-law. She resolved to communicate her suspicions to Doctor Bellario, that his wiser counsel might decide. She found that his observation had led him to much the same con- clusions with her own ; but, merely commending her vigilance and pru- dence, and cautioning her against speaking farther on the matter to any one beside himself, he bade her rely upon him for the necessary inqui- ries, and for an ultimate satisfactory termination. Before he quitted Belmont, Bellario took occasion to speak to his friend upon the subject of this new acquaintance, the Marquis of Mont- ferrat. Guido, with his usual warmth of manner, dwelt upon the many ex- cellencies that distinguished this young gentleman ; repeated the origin of their acquaintance in testimony of the bravery and generosity of his character ; and said that all he had since seen of him confirmed his ad- miration of his personal qualities. “ Be quite sure, my dear friend, that these personal qualities are not the only ones that distinguish him replied Bellario ; “ ascertain that his handsome face and figure be not his only graces ; and that the ex- tent of his worth exists not solely in your generosity of imagination— which has faith for every excellence in others.” 68 PORTIA : “ And are not you lawyers apt to be too skeptical in the existence of human goodness ?” asked Guido, smiling. u Do you not too often ima* gine every stranger an enemy till you know him ?” “ On the contrary, we would have every man believed innocent, till he prove guilty ;” replied Bellario in the same manner. “ But,” resumed he in his original graver tone, “ for Portia’s sake, be quite sure he is worthy her regard, before you introduce him too frequently or too en- couragingly to her notice.” “ He is to be here again in a few days by my invitation ;” replied Guido. “ I asked him to spend some time with us. He is the son of a most worthy father, a scion of a most noble and honorable family, and he himself is an accomplished and right gallant gentleman. You surely do him wrong, to misdoubt that he is all he seems ; and if he be all he seems, he would form no unfitting match, even for our Portia.” “ He must be worthy indeed, who deserves her ;” was all Bedario’s reply ; for he resolved to say no more, till he could speak with better knowledge. He therefore bade his friends adieu, and took his depar- ture, determined to lose no time in obtaining accurate information rela- tive to the character and habits of the Marquis of Montferrrat. Belmont had scarcely time to recover its wonted serenity of aspect, after the departure of the bevy of visitors who had attended the late festival, when the young Marquis and his train returned, and by their arrival again thronged its tranquil precincts with gay equipages, horses, hounds, hawks, and troops of liveried attendants. His retinue was so numerous, and its appointments so costly, that it showed like that of a sovereign prince, rather than that of a private gen- tleman. But in this profusion, the Count beheld only evidences of a magnificent taste on the part of the Marquis de Montferrat, and an ad- ditional instance of the refinement and luxury which directed the expenditure of a rich young nobleman. On Portia, all this display seemed to produce little effect ; any more than the flattering importunities, compliments, and assiduous attentions with which he personally besieged her. She received all his admiring speeches with either a lofty acquiescence, as if homage were a part of THE HEIRESS OP BELMONT. 69 her birthright ; or with a sportive gayety, as if they were mere idle gal- lantry and matter of trivial unconcern. She heard all eulogy on her beauty with sovereign indifference, and treated all compliments to her wit, as a challenge to exercise its least merciful powers on the adulator himself Portia, ever distinguished for courtesy and true dignity, would have treated a less confident suitor with no such haughtiness ; but the pertinacity and assurance of this Marquis left her scarcely any other alternative. He seemed determined not to be repelled ; while he con- trived that it should appear as if the strength of his passion alone in- duced him to yield such implicit submission to the caprice he deplored. This was the light in which his behavior appeared to the Count ; who believed him to have conceived an ardent and sincere love for his Portia. Not so Nerissa; who, in witnessing any of these instances of the suitor’s paraded deference, would not fail to remark, that where a man accepted with undue passiveness the tyranny of his mistress, he not un- frequently did so with the view of securing a slave in his future wife. But at length the increasing scorn with which Portia treated the dis- tasteful assiduity of the Marquis, struck her father as being beyond the gay disdain which ladies are sometimes accustomed to affect towards their wooers ; and he was one evening walking in the avenue, his thoughts employed with this subject, when a messenger approached at a smart gallop, and seeing the Count, placed a letter in his hands, and rode on. Guido read as follows : “ Dear friend and brother, I possess undoubted proofs that the Marquis is a notorious and confirmed gambler, and an unscrupulous libertine. Until I can myself bring you these proofs, believe that this accusation is not made lightly, or without sufficient warrant. Suffer not such a presence longer to sully the pure atmosphere of Belmont ; nor let a too late heed of my intelligence injure our Portia to the latest term of her life. Your faithfully devoted Bellario.” 70 PORTIA ; Guido remained for a moment as if stunned ; then recovering him- self, he was hastening to the house with the thought of rescuing his child instantly from the contamination of such a guest’s presence ; when he heard voices near which convinced him that the Marquis was not then with Portia. There was one department of the gardens of Bel- mont which ran parallel with the avenue, and which was divided from it only by a thick hedge of myrtle. From immediately the other side of this hedge the voices proceeded, and the Count at once discovered that they were those of the Marquis and Nerissa. “ Do not detain me, my lord he heard the latter say, u my lady sent me for these roses, and she will be impatient at my delay.” “ Nay, fairest of waiting-maids,” replied the voice of the Marquis, whose accents betrayed that he was flushed with wine, u do not imitate the airs of that dignified piece of frost-work, your mistress, but listen while I tell you how far you transcend her in beauty. By heaven ! were she not heiress of Belmont, she would seem but a paltry weed to you, my flower of loveliness !” “ Good my lord gardener, let both the weed and the flower alone ; they neither of them seek to be your prize-blossoms, I’ll warrant you ;” replied Nerissa, with her usual vivacity ; but the next moment she added in increasing alarm, “ let go my hands, my lord !” u Not till I have gathered some of the flower’s fragrance from its blooming cup, — -those rosy lips,” he cried ; “ not till I have said ” ' “ Say what you please, my lord Marquis, but do not hold me ; let me go !” “ Hear me say this, then he suddenly stooped, and whispered in her ear. “ Foul villain lord !” she exclaimed vehemently ; and the next instant uttered a piercing scream. The Count flung open a small wicket gate that led through the myrtle hedge, and stood before them The Marquis quitted his grasp of Nerissa, and made a faint attempt at some laughing excuse ; but he read in the stern countenance of the father, that the gross insult of his behavior was discovered. THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 7i “Return to the house, Nerissa,” said the Count after a pause, “ and desire the Marquis of Montferrat’s servants to assemble their master’s retinue, and prepare his equipage, as he intends quitting Belmont imme- diately. Your lordship will excuse this abrupt leave-taking,” added he, “when I inform you that I have overheard your late conversation with my daughter’s waiting-maid, and that I have good authority for believing that to the arts of a seducer, the Marquis of Montferrat adds other ac- complishments equally opposed to the qualifications I require in a friend or guest.” He bowed haughtily, turning on his heel, as he concluded ; while the Marquis returned his bow as haughtily, ; n silence, and, hastening away, in less than half an hour had quitted Belmont for ever. Count Guido remained in bitter reverie. “ So much for my perspi- cacity,” thought he, “ in judging of the qualities of the man I chose for a friend, and whom I might have gone on to wish should be my son-in- law, — my Portia’s husband ! And to a mere trick of fancy, to a poor credulity, which Bellario would fain call generosity, and faith in good- ness, because it characterizes me, — to this miserable blindness of mine, might my child have been sacrificed ! It was just such blinded judg- ment that led me to cast away the means of consolation vouchsafed by Heaven, and fly from the fresh well-spring of joy contained in my infant daughter, to bury myself in arid oriental solitude. Little has my own poor judgment bested me in my course through life. Better to refer all things to chance, even things of greatest moment, than decide them by so erring, so worthless a guide, as judgment of mine. Chance once be- friended me beyond all the judgment I ever exercised. It was chance that determined my return, and led me to the first beholding of my love, my sainted Portia. And shall not chance prove a better trust than judgment V 1 He lingered in such dark thoughts of bitterness and self-reproach, until at length his daughter came to seek him, wooing him to return with her to the house, lest too late wandering beneath the trees in the night air should injure his health, which had never been strong since the period of his absence. Long fasts, neglect, gnawing sorrow, during 7 2 PORTIA ; his sojourn in the desert ; with, latterly, a restless desire for return thence, had totally undermined his constitution, rendering him the wasted, worn, altered being, whom his friend had failed to recognize on his return home, for the once blooming, animated Guido di Belmonte. The reaction of delight, in discovering his daughter to be so fertile a source of happiness, had at first exercised a salutary effect; but now his slowly-engendered malady assumed a more decided form, and his health and strength were evidently failing. He was perfectly aware of his own declining state ; but his chief anxiety was to prevent it from being perceived by his daughter ; he care- fully withheld from her his sleepless nights, his unequal pulse, and the constant fever that consumed him. He made ceaseless pretexts to veil his loss of appetite, his varying spirits, his parching thirst, from her ob- servation ; and when he noted her affectionate eye dwelling upon the wan and wasted cheek, when he felt her fresh palm linger inquiringly upon his thin burning hand, or with fond solicitude her look would minutely question the tokens she dared not believe she saw of illness and decay, he would rouse himself to evade her suspicions, to dissipate her fears. In order the more effectually to do this, he made a strong effort to carry out a resolution he had for some time entertained, of taking her himself to Venice, to introduce her to the several families of distinc- tion, who had urged Portia and himself to return the visit paid to Belmont on the occasion of the festival there. He was desirous that she should form some valuable friendships, which might support her in that sad period when he himself should be compelled to quit her. He knew that she would always possess a father in Bellario ; but he was anxious to smooth the way for that generous friend himself, by establishing those relations, which he would best wish her to form in the world. He felt, too, that this would afford him an opportunity of accom- plishing a project which had occurred to him in that self-communing he had lately held with regard to chance and judgment. Impetuous ever, in his nature, his sensitive conscience had lately yielded to feverish promptings and rash fancies, and he now conceived a scheme as eccen THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 73 trie in its aim, as his former exercise of judgment had been hasty and defective. He determined that while he was in Venice he would order to be constructed three caskets, severally made of gold, silver, and lead ; and that on the choice of these caskets should rest a decision of dearest moment. In one of them he resolved to inclose the portrait of his daughter, and whosoever of her suitors should choose the casket con- taining her picture, should be her appointed husband. In devising this mode of election, he seemed to give chance the full weight of the de- cision ; but in the carrying out of his plan, it will hereafter be seen that judgment on the part of him who should choose from the caskets was involved in the election itself. An early day was appointed for their departure from Belmont. Portia, delighted to find her father in sufficient health and spirits for such a visit, anticipated her introduction to Venice, with all the plea- sure and eagerness usual to a young mind about to enter for the first time upon so new and brilliant a scene. Their noble friends vied with each other, who best should contribute to render the welcome of the Count di Belmonte and his daughter gay and attractive ; and all ex- hibited rival splendor and variety of amusement to entertain such honored guests. Each day some new pastime was proposed ; each day some diversity of sport, some ingenuity of device, some reunion of illus- trious people, some gay masking, some daylight excursion, or nightly revelry. On one occasion, the grand canal presented a scene of unsurpassed brilliancy and animation ; a boat-race was to take place, a distance was appointed, prizes were instituted, and all Venice thronged to behold the issue of the contention. Boats of all sizes and descriptions crowded hither; craft of every kind pushed and jostled ; gondolas glided to and fro ; boatmen shouted and called ; gayly-dressed ladies and gallants smiled and flirted ; draperies of every vivid color depended from win- dows; balconies were filled with gazers; steps and doorways, like the entrances to beehives, supported their clusters, and swarmed with living creatures. 74 PORTIA ; The appointed boats that were to engage in the race, were of pecu- liarly small plain construction, well built for making their way over the water, and each occupied by two men only, who impelled them in the manner peculiar to the Venetian boatmen — pushing rather than rowing. These contesting boats were singularly in contrast with others of a larger size, which were hung with silken festoons, and glittered with gold and silver fringe, waved with crested plumes, and were richly adorned and emblazoned with the arms of the several families to whom they belonged. The rowers or gondoliers in each, varied in number, but were dressed in livery of a superb though singular kind ; being of varie- gated and fantastically assorted colors ; oddly fancied stuffs, and forming quaint devices ; sometimes a set of husbandmen with straw hats, flowers, floating ribbons, and rustic attire ; sometimes a band of green foresters ; and sometimes a row of nondescript beings with red arms, yellow bodies, and blue legs. In some of these decorated vessels (which generally contained the patrons and abettors of the race) might be seen lounging at the prow, extended on cushions, some representative of a noble house, who by his negligent attitude, and affectedly abstracted look, seemed willing to afford others the gratification of contemplating his fine person and studied dress. Many of these gallants indulged in only a furtive glance at the beauty that surrounded them, and it seemed to be a sort of fashion among them to affect being the admired instead of the admirers on this occasion. In one of these boats, there reclined a young Venetian, who was re- markable, even among so much surrounding brightness, for the splendor of his dress, the costliness of his boat-decorations, the whimsicality of his men’s attire, and the gravity with which he observed the affected fashion alluded to just now. He maintained an air of profound abstrac- tion, as if noways concerned in the busy scene around him, and looked like a recumbent statue rather than a living man. As one in the pro- cession of boats which glided idly backwards and forwards in mid-stream before the race began, his vessel passed and repassed the galley in which THE HEIRESS OF BELMONT. 75 the Count di Belmonte and his daughter sat with their friends to behold the pageant ; and in the downcast eyes and listless figure of this young gallant, Portia rec