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 VIVONIO, 
 
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 lANE, MIN«RVA PRESS, IBADBNH A tl STR F i T.
 
 OR, 
 
 THE HOUR OF RETRIBUTION, 
 
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 BY 
 
 A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 
 ^ " ' . I 
 
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 TASSO. 
 
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 VOL. I. 
 
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 CHAP. I. 
 
 N the summer of the year sixteen 
 
 hundred and , the splendid Pallazo 9f 
 
 the Duke di Orenza, at Naples, exhibited, 
 for several weeks, a continued scene of joy 
 and festivity, in consequence of the nuptials 
 
 ^ cf the lovely Adelaide di Oi enza with the 
 
 ^elegant and accomplished Marchese di 
 
 ^Romanzini. 
 
 I Adelaide was just nineteen when she be- 
 came the wife of the Marchese. Surrounded 
 by admirers, attracted by her exquisite 
 beauty, her rank, and fortune, it was a 
 ^^^- ^* B matter
 
 *Z VIVONIO. 
 
 . matter of astonishment to all Naples when 
 the nuptials of the beautiful heiress of 
 Orenza and the Marchese di Romanzini 
 were announced ; for^ beside not being her 
 equal in rank^ his fortune was by no means 
 such as would entitle him to hope for the 
 inestimable treasure he had now obtained. 
 
 Most of the noble Neapolitan youths 
 had solicited the hand of the lovely heiress ; 
 but as they respectively failed to captivate 
 her hearty they were rejected ; for the 
 Duke^ unlike parents in general^ considered 
 his daugliter's happiness as the most essen- 
 tial point in a union that could only be 
 dissolved by death ; therefore the amiable 
 Adelaide wa^ permitted to yield her hand 
 to a lover whose inestimable virtues ren- 
 dered him an object of universal esteem. 
 
 The Marchese di Romanzini was the last 
 descendant of the noble house of Roman- 
 zini. The magnificence of his forefathers 
 had much impaired the estates ; and Di 
 Romanzini^ unable to support the ancient 
 splendour of his house, had spent several 
 
 years
 
 VivONIO. 5 
 
 years In visiting the different Courts of ' 
 Europe. 
 
 But that love of our native countrv/ 
 which is inherent in every noble mind, 
 would not permit the Marchese to absent 
 himself longer than Kaj necessary for 
 arranging his aflairs; a?ul he returned, at 
 the expiration of five vtars. with ardour, to 
 the ancient Castle di Romanzini. 
 
 The Marchese v/as, at this period, six-' 
 and-tv.^enty. He was very handsome. The 
 manly dignity and grace of his person/ 
 could only be equalled by a countenance 
 expressive of every noble and amiable 
 affection of the soul. 
 
 Ever alive to the distresses of his fellow-' 
 creatures, his liberal hand supplied their 
 wants, while his sympathy consoled their 
 sufferings; the tremulous voice of age, 
 and the lisp of infancy, blessed him ; and 
 the name of Di Romanzini was as well 
 known in the haunts of sickness and woe, 
 as in the splendid palace. 
 
 Yet the Marchese did not affect an 
 ^ ^ ostentatious
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 ostentatious display of public chanty. No, 
 the widows and orphans were carefully 
 sought out in the recesses of misery ; and 
 pining, unregarded merit, needed only to 
 be known to experience his beneficence. 
 
 Di Romanzinij in his visits to the several 
 foreign Courts, had paid his tribute of 
 admiration to the beauties that adorned 
 them ; but in Adelaide di Orenza alone he 
 beheld that rare assemblage of beauty, 
 modesty, and accomplishm.ents, that en- 
 slaved his heart ; yet he did not dare to 
 hope. The superior rank and wealth of 
 the m.any noblemen that had been rejected, 
 naturally led him to suppose he could not 
 succeed, and a deep melancholy threatened 
 to embitter his future days. 
 
 In vain he sought to fly from the object 
 of his ardent affections. The Duke had 
 been the early friend of the late Marchese, 
 and he now eagerly cultivated the friend- 
 ship of the present, whose opening virtues 
 he had contemplated with the highest 
 esteem ; and the Duke's increasing partiality 
 
 was
 
 VI VON 10. O 
 
 was such, that he would scarcely permit the 
 Marchese to pass a day from the pallazo. 
 
 Under the delusion of friendship for the 
 Duke, the unhappy Di Ronianzini was thus 
 almost constantly in the presence of the 
 charmingAdelaide.and attributed her marked 
 preference to a wish of paying every atten- 
 tion to the favoured friend of her father. 
 
 The Duke, however, was not so deficient 
 in just discrimination. He perceived with 
 delight that his daughter was not insensible 
 to the merits of the Marchese, and also that 
 Di Romanzini was drooping under the op- 
 pressive sorrow of a concealed passion ; and 
 thus assured of their mutual regards, he, at 
 length, proposed the alliance. 
 
 The rapturous emotions of the Marchese 
 on this occasion, had nearly proved as fatal 
 as his despair had like to have been. 
 Scarcely daring to credit the evidence of 
 his senses, he eagerly sought his adored 
 Adelaide, who, covered with blushes, was 
 obliged several times to assure him of her 
 abedience to the wishes of the Duke, ere 
 B 3 he
 
 -6 VIVONIO. 
 
 he could believe his ardent hopes con- 
 firmed. 
 
 At length the happy morn arrived that 
 gave the lovely Adelaide to her adoring Di 
 Komanzini. 
 
 A month after the solemnization of the 
 nuptialS;, the Duke accompanied the Mar- 
 chese and Marchesa to a beautiful villa, 
 where this amiable pair, retired from the 
 tumultuous gaiety of Naples^ enjoyed the 
 most exquisite felicity. 
 
 This marriage was, however, the source 
 of keen anguish to the Count Alvanio, 
 nephew to the Duke. The Count regarded 
 Adelaide with the fondest adoration, and 
 could he have obtained a return of his 
 affection, he hoped the Duke would not 
 have withheld his approbation. Alvanio 
 was perfectly well informed of the Duke's 
 sentiments respecting a union of hearts; 
 and he entertained no fears from inferiority 
 of rank. 
 
 This young nobleman was the only son 
 of the late Count Alvaniq, who was 
 
 descended
 
 VI VON I a. 7 
 
 des<^ended from a noble family in Spain. 
 The late Count had visited Naples in com- 
 pliance with the wish of the Duke di 
 Orenza^ with whom he had formerly been 
 on intimate terms. Here the Count soon 
 became enamoured of the lovely Eleanora 
 di Orenza, sister to the Duke, and having 
 obtained her hand, he fixed his residence 
 in Italy, where he ended his days, ere his 
 son had attained his seventh year. The 
 Countess did not long survive her lamented 
 Lord ; and the young Ferdinand Alvanio 
 was left an orphan, under the kind protec- 
 tion of the Duke di Orenza, and hh be- 
 loved aunt, the amiable Duchess, by whose 
 marked favour he was much distinguished. 
 But this affectionate relative, this second 
 mother, was soon called to join her re- 
 gretted friend in the realms of bliss, and left 
 the Duke, Adelaide, her only child, and the 
 young Ferdinand, to deplore their irrepara- 
 ble loss. 
 
 The beautiful little Adelaide di Orenza 
 
 was now placed in a convent, under the 
 
 B 4 care
 
 » VIVONIO. 
 
 care of the truly amiable Santa Clara, 
 youngest sister to the Duke, and Abbess of 
 Santa Maria; and at the age of eighteen 
 returned to the pallazo of the Duke, to be- 
 come the idol of all who beheld her. 
 
 The infantile affection of Ferdinand soon 
 revived, with all the energy of sensibility and 
 love. He was now near twenty^ and possessed, 
 in an eminent degree, every grace and ac- 
 complishment calculated to captivate the 
 female heart. He was extremely handsome, 
 and the softness of his manners was animated 
 with sense and feeling. But his lovely cousin 
 could never force her heart to acknowledge 
 his claims ; and when her partiality for the 
 Marchese di Roman zini was avowed, Fer- 
 dinand generously suppressed all appear- 
 ance of dissatisfaction, and submitted to his 
 fate with such delicacy and resignation, 
 as effectually secured him the unceasing 
 esteem of the Duke, and also that of the 
 more fortunate Di Romanzini. 
 
 But the Duke, apprehending that the 
 feelings of Ferdinand might injure his 
 
 health.
 
 VIVONIO. 5f 
 
 healthy proposed his visiting some distant 
 relations in Spain ; and the young Count 
 departed from Naples, three days previous 
 to the nuptials of Adelaide. 
 
 A variety of objects dissipated his sor- 
 row ; and the Duke had the satisfaction of 
 hearing, in less than three months, that the 
 Count requested his permission to espouse 
 Donna Isabella de Riverra, the idolized 
 ofTspriiig of Don Anselmo de Riverra, a 
 grandee of considerable consequence at 
 the Court of Spain. 
 
 This permission was most joyfully granted, 
 and Alvanio became the envied Lord of 
 Isabella. The Coimt wrote with rapture of 
 the beauties and virtues of his Lady, and 
 promised himself the utmost pleasure in 
 introducing her, on his return to Naples, 
 to the Duke and his amiable family. 
 
 In about a year and a half after their 
 
 marriage, the lovely Marchesa presented to 
 
 her adoring Di Romanzini a pledge of their 
 
 mutual affection ; and the birth of this son 
 
 B 5 was
 
 10 TIVONIO. 
 
 was celebrated with the most brilliant re- 
 joicings. 
 
 The young Vivonio soon became the 
 idol of the Duke and his parents; and the 
 uncommon beauty and sweet disposition of 
 the childj endeared him more and more to 
 all the domestics. 
 
 For near three years the Marchese en- 
 joyed that pure bliss which an amiable and 
 lovely wife, a child such as the fondest 
 hopes can form, and a chosen society of 
 friends, can confer. Hospitality and muni- 
 ficence enlivened the ancient halls of Di 
 Romanzini, and the voice of sorrow and 
 complaining was unheard. 
 
 CHAP,
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 11 
 
 CHAP. IL 
 
 BOUT the autumn of the third year, 
 the Marchesa was near producing an addi- 
 tion to the family. Great preparations 
 were making at the Castle di Romanzini 
 for the reception of the little stranger, and 
 the arrival of the Marchese and Marchesa, 
 who were now at the villa ; but, alas ! how 
 soon were those prospects, which, in per- 
 spective, promised years of felicity, fatally 
 reversed ! 
 
 The evening previous to their intended 
 
 departure, the Marchesa had retired to a 
 
 favourite recess, in a small grove of myrtle, 
 
 at some distance from the villa. As his 
 
 B 6 Lady
 
 19 VtVONlO. 
 
 Lady continued absent several hours, the 
 Marchese was alarmed at her protracted 
 stay, and hurried to the spot. The door of 
 the little temple was fastened. The Mar- 
 chese called tenderly on the name of 
 Adelaide ; but no answer was returned. 
 Again his voice echoed through the valley; 
 but still his Adelaide replied not. 
 
 One of the w^indows was open; it wa& 
 low, and the Marchese sprung into the 
 room. Horror fixed him to the spot. — His 
 Adelaide lay lifeless on the floor ! her hair 
 dishevelled, her dress torn_> and the ashy 
 paleness of death shaded her lovely cheek ! 
 
 For some momentis Di Romanzini stood, 
 wildly gazing on this distracting sight 
 Frantic cries of anguish at length burst 
 from his lips. He caught his dying Adelaide 
 to his agonized breast ; his piercing cries, his 
 caresses, failed to revive her, and he sunk, 
 overwhelmed with grief and despair, when 
 the door flew open, and several domestics 
 rush^l in. 
 
 The dreadful shrieks of the Marchese 
 3 were
 
 rrTONio* 13 
 
 were fortunately heard by one of the gar- 
 deners, who instantly gave the alarm ; and 
 the servants, to whom affection and terror 
 gave uncommon speed, entered the apart- 
 ment Just as the wretched Marchese fell. 
 
 Astonishment and horror rendered the 
 faithful domestics almost as motionless as 
 the unhappy pair they fearfully gazed' 
 on ; and it was some time before the Mar- 
 chese and Marchesa could be conveyed 
 to the villa, and medical assistance pro- 
 cured. 
 
 By the skill and care of the physicians^ 
 the Marchesa at length shewed som.e signs 
 of reanimation. She opened her languid 
 eyes just as the Marchese entered her cham- 
 ber. Feebly extending her hand, she essayed 
 to speak; but the words died on her lips, 
 and she sunk on his bosom in successive 
 faintings. In less than three hours she 
 gave birth to a daughter, and expired ! 
 
 Terror, grief, and consternation reigned 
 throughout the villa. The shock the un- 
 fortunate Marchese had received^ deprived 
 
 him
 
 34 VIVONIG, 
 
 him of his senses. Pie sat by the bed- 
 side, and with a vacant stare contemplated 
 the remains of his wife, till the physicians 
 led him, unresistingly, away to his apart- 
 ment, where every possible means were 
 employed to rouse him from the melan- 
 choly state of abstraction into which he had 
 sunk, but without effect. 
 
 The infant, immediately after its birth^ 
 was consigned to the care of a nurse^ 
 whom the foresight of the physicians had 
 caused to be summoned, and removed to a 
 distant apartment, where the yoaiig Vivonio 
 was carefully confined by his attendants 
 during the shocking events of the evening. 
 
 The innocent child was delighted vv^ith his 
 innocent sister, and smiled r.nd played, un- 
 conscious of the irreparable loss he had 
 just sustained. 
 
 Soon after the Marchesa had expired, the 
 truly good and virtuous Father Benvoli:© 
 arrived. 
 
 One of the domestics, terrified at the 
 idea of his Lady's dying without receiving 
 
 the
 
 VIVONIO. 15 
 
 the sacrament, flew to the neighbouring 
 convent for her confessor. Father Ben- 
 volio was unfortunately absent ; but on his 
 return, being acquainted with the summons, 
 he hastened to the villa, but arrived too 
 late — the lovely Marchesa was then no 
 more. 
 
 Father Benvolio was an aged man. The 
 heavy hand of affliction had laid its weight 
 upon his heart, and he knew how to feel 
 for, and sympathize with the unhappy. 
 
 With astonishment and grief he listened 
 to the recital of the dreadful occurrences 
 of the last five hours ; and his mind was so 
 agonized, that it was some time before he 
 could collect himself sufficiently to offer 
 consolation to the weeping domestics. 
 
 When more composed, he repaired to 
 the chamber of the Marchesa. The corse 
 of that lovely woman soon met his eyes ; 
 tears of anguish wetted his cheek, and his 
 trembling lips murmured pious prayers for 
 her immortal felicity. 
 
 In
 
 1^ vivoNro^ 
 
 In a short time Father Benvolio ex- 
 perienced the calm serenity which ever 
 attends the sincere prayer of the truly 
 religious; and leaving the chamber of 
 death, he was conducted by the attendants 
 to the apartment where the lovely Vivonio, 
 and his infant sister, were placed. 
 
 The sweet, innocent smiles of Vivonia 
 pierced his heart, and the tear of pity fell 
 on the rosy cheek of the little cherub, as 
 he fondly caressed him. 
 
 To his surprise, Benvolio found the in- 
 fant girl, notwithstanding her premature 
 birth, likely to live ; and having ordered 
 preparations to be made for the perform- 
 ance of the sacred rites, which were to 
 admit the infant into the holy mother 
 church, he made several enquiries relative 
 to the situation of the Duke, who was then, 
 at his pallazo, at Naples. 
 
 Father Benvolio advised that a messenger 
 should immediately be dispatched to the 
 Duke; and undertooli to write a letter^. 
 
 whicli
 
 TIVONIO. 17 
 
 which would cautiously prepare that noble- 
 man for the detail of the unforeseen cala- 
 mities that had fallen on his house. 
 
 The messenger was soon on the road^ 
 and the benevolent Father proceeded to 
 take such measures as he^ thought most 
 proper to ascertain whether any stranger 
 had visited the temple during the time of 
 the Marchesa being there ; and on the fol- 
 lowing morning he learned that two men 
 had been observed hurrying out of the. 
 grove about the time the fatal event oc- 
 curred; but all attempts to trace them 
 further were ineffectual. 
 
 The return of the messenger from Naples 
 now engaged the attention of the Father^, 
 who heardj with much concern^ that the 
 Duke had been unable to bear his mis- 
 fortune with fortitude^ and was immediately 
 confined to his apartment^ by excessive 
 grief and consequent indisposition. Un- 
 fortunately the messenger's imprudence had 
 rendered all the Father's care abortive ; for^, 
 6n being minutely questioned by the Duke, 
 
 he
 
 18 - VIVQNIO. 
 
 he communicated the deadly intelligence 
 in its full force, and the Duke sunk under 
 the shock. Father Benvolio now feU him- 
 self much embarrassed, as he was ignorant 
 of the Duke's wishes respecting the place 
 of the Marchesa's interment, and he knew 
 not where to apply for information. This 
 dilemma, however, he was soon relieved 
 from by Lauretta, the favourite attendant 
 of the late Marchesa, who informed him 
 that the family of Orenza were always in- 
 terred in the Convent of Santa Maria, near 
 Benevento, that Convent having been 
 founded by the ancestors of the Duke, in 
 the year fourteen hundred and three. 
 
 Preparations for the funeral were accord- 
 ingly commenced ; and the Father sent in- 
 formation to the pallazo, that the funeral 
 rites were intended to take place in four 
 days. 
 
 An air of desolation and gloom wa« 
 spread throughout the villa, once the glad- 
 some abode of love and innocent festivity. 
 The pale horror-struck countenances of the 
 
 domestics
 
 VI VON 10. 19 
 
 domestics spoke feelingly their grief and 
 regret ; and sighs and tears alone in- 
 terrupted the moiirnfid silence. 
 
 On the morning of the third day, an 
 ancient and respectable domestic of the 
 Duke, attended by several others, arrived 
 at the villa, to render their assistance to the 
 good Benvolio, and to present their Lord's 
 grateful acknowledgments to the Father, 
 for the anxious solicitude and pious con- 
 cern he had shewn on the melancholy occa- 
 sion. 
 
 Father Benvolio's sorrow was much in- 
 creased by witnessing the deep affliction of 
 the ancient Bernardo, as he knelt beside 
 the pallid remains of his revered padrone's 
 lamented offspring. The loud sighs and 
 agonizing sobs of the other domestics were 
 not more affecting than the silent tear 
 which trembled in the eye of Bernardo, as 
 he shaded his face with his silver locks^ to 
 <:onceal his grief. 
 
 When the sad attendants quitted the 
 apartment of the Marchesa, Bernardo 
 
 requested
 
 20 VIVONIO. 
 
 requested permission to behold Vivonio and 
 his infant sister. Father Benvolio imme- 
 diately sent a servant to enquire whether 
 the former was risen ; but what language 
 can paint the feelings of these afflicted 
 persons, when the domestic hastily re- 
 turned, pale as death, and wringing her 
 hands, exclaimed — '' He is murdered V* 
 
 In an instant every one flew to the cham- 
 ber of Vivonio, where they beheld Marina, 
 his attendant, laying half out of the bed, 
 apparently lifeless, and the blood still 
 trickling from a wound in her arm. 
 
 She was immediately raised, and a strict 
 search made for the child ; but he was no 
 where to be found ; and neither Lauretta or 
 the nurse of the infant girl could give the 
 slight^t insight into this new disaster, as 
 they slept in an inner apartment, and were 
 not disturbed by the most trivial sound 
 during the night. 
 
 The wound of Marina was not mortal'; 
 and she was soon sufficiently recovered to 
 give the impatient dome&tics an account of 
 
 all
 
 VIVONIO. '21 
 
 alt she knew respecting this new calamity^ 
 ^nd which was to the following effect : — 
 
 Marina had been awakened by a light 
 glancing on her eyes^ and looking up^, be- 
 held a man with a lamp in one hand^ while 
 in the other he raised a dagger. In a low 
 voice he commanded her to give him the 
 child, and cautioned her to be careful not 
 to awake him, swearing that if he made an 
 outcry, he would instantly dispatch him. 
 — '' He held the dagger so close to my 
 neck, that I dared hardly move,"' continued 
 Marina ; '' but still I was determined not 
 to give up the innocent babe, who was 
 locked in my arms. I made a catch at the 
 dagger, but failed in the attempt ; and the 
 villain immediately plunged it into my arm, 
 and tore the child from me. I remember 
 no more.*' 
 
 This account did not lessen the mystery, 
 for Marina could not recollect having ever 
 seen the a'::sassin before; but she confidently 
 averred he had made so deep an impression 
 
 on
 
 $2 VI VON 10. 
 
 on her mind, that she should known him 
 from a thousand. 
 
 The grief of the domestics for the loss 
 of the Mai*chesa, the unhappy state of the 
 Marchese, and also that of the Duke, seemed, 
 by this new calamity, to be converted into 
 rage. They united, in the most solemn 
 oaths, to sacrifice their lives, if necessary, in 
 discovering the atrocious author of these 
 black transactions ; and Father Benvolio 
 encouraged their just indignation. 
 
 In a few minutes every domestic in the 
 villa that could be spared, was ready to 
 accompany the Duke's attendants to traverse 
 the country in every direction, in pursuit 
 of the young Vivonio. Bernardo com- 
 manded them, in the name of the Duke, to 
 promise the most liberal rewards to any 
 person who should be able to give the least 
 information ; and he also sent orders to the 
 criminal officers, for the apprehension of 
 the villainous destroyer of the peace of 
 this once happy family^ ' Marina having 
 
 furnished
 
 vivoNio. 23 
 
 furnished a minute description of the 
 assassin. 
 
 When they had departed on their different 
 routes, Bernardo repaired to the chamber 
 of the Marchese. There he met additional 
 cause of woe. The unhappy Di Romanzini 
 was still under the influenre of a lament- 
 able derangement of intellect^ and noticed 
 not BernardOj w^ho soon retired^ weeping 
 the misfortunes of his beloved master ; for 
 the physi-cians^ who constantly attended in 
 the chamber of the Marchese^ scarcely en- 
 tertained any hopes of his recovery. 
 
 The night passed heavily on. Early on 
 the following morning several of the ser- 
 vants returned from the pursuit^ fatigued 
 and disappointed. In the course of the 
 day the remainder arrived^ and had been 
 equally unsuccessful. 
 
 Father Benvolio, now finding they must 
 leave to time the elucidation of these 
 mysterious occurrences, turned all his at- 
 tention to the safety of the infant Rosalia, 
 and the health of the Marehese. 
 
 The
 
 t^ VIVOKIO. 
 
 The remains of the Marchesa were pri- 
 vately interred in the family vault in the 
 Convent of Santa Maria, whither they were 
 attended by the Father Benvolio, and several 
 of the Duke's domestics ; Bernardo and 
 Lauretta, with the other domestics of the 
 villa, remaining to attend the Marchese, 
 and guard the hapless infant. 
 
 With sentiments of admiration and re- 
 spect, Benvolio beheld the amiable Abbess 
 Santa Clara, who, pale and agitated, en- 
 deavoured to set an example of pious 
 resignation to the weeping nuns, who 
 surrounded the bier of their beloved com- 
 panion, and whose soft chanting was fre- 
 quently interrupted by their sighs and 
 tears. But Santa Clara could not long 
 support the painful restraint fche had im- 
 posed on her feelings ; and before the 
 service was concluded, she fainted, and was 
 conveyed from the chapel to her apartment, 
 where she remained a prey to sorrow for 
 several hours. 
 
 The unpleasant task of informing the 
 
 Lady
 
 vivoNio. 25 
 
 Lady Abbess of the disappearance of the 
 young Vivonio, detained Father Benvolio 
 at the convent^ and he was obliged to 
 exert every degree of fortitude in his 
 power, to prepare himself for the interview 
 he had requested. 
 
 Santa Clara attended in the parlour^ and 
 expressed her gratitude for his humane 
 attentions, in the most feeling terms ; and^ 
 when he reluctantly communicate 1 the 
 dreadful tidings of Vivonio's loss^ she was 
 already so well prepared, by his religious 
 and elevated discourse, that she resigned 
 herself to the will of Heaven, with meek 
 submission, till the agonizing conviction of 
 it being some secret enemy, who was thus 
 destroying the felicity of her beloved fa- 
 mily, struck on her heart, and renewed her 
 grief Terrified v/ith alarm for the safety 
 of the infant Rosalia, she requested Father 
 Benvolio to convey the child to the convent 
 as speedily as possible, as she would then 
 be entirely secure under her protection. 
 The Father acquiesced in her wish, and 
 VOL. I. c promised
 
 26 VI VON I a. 
 
 promised to send the infant^ with its nurse, 
 under the care of Bernardo, on his return 
 to the villa. Should the Duke di Orenza 
 approve the measure, Benvclio then men- 
 tioned an intention of visiting Naples, to 
 enquire into the state of the Duke's health, 
 and to prepare him for the recital of the 
 particulars of Vivonio's absence. He then 
 bade an affecting adieu to Santa Clarji, and 
 shortly after proceeded to Naples, where he 
 had the satisfaction to find the Duke much 
 recovered. 
 
 The Duke received Benvolio with every 
 demonstration of friendship, and, in the 
 most affecting manner, professed his un- 
 alterable esteem. The mind of tlie Duke 
 w^as deeply impressed with the recent mis- 
 fortunes ; and Nature spoke in the anguish 
 of the parent, while Religion and Reason 
 taught him submission to the direful dispen- 
 sations of Heaven. 
 
 After mentioning the unhappy Marchese 
 with the liveliest sensibility, the Duke en- 
 quired for the children ; his look, his man- 
 ner^
 
 vivoNio. 27 
 
 ner^ spoke to the heart of Ben vol io^ and 
 he turned aside to conceal his emotion. 
 
 '^ I suppose^, Father^, the infant is no 
 more V ' 
 
 '' She lives/' replied Benvolio^ greatly 
 agitated. 
 
 '' My boy, my Vivonio, is he then^ " 
 
 Benvolio arose, and paced the room in 
 emotion. The unfortunate Di Orenza ut- 
 tered a deep and hollow sigh. Tiie Father 
 hastily approached the couch on which 
 the Duke reclined, and perceived that the 
 venerable man strove to conceal the tears 
 which he could not restrain. 
 
 In a short timfe he appeared to be re- 
 lieved by these tears, and he entreated the 
 Father to acquaint him with the particulars 
 of Vivonio's death. In the most caudous 
 manner Benvolio informed the Duke of 
 the circumstances that had taken place v/ith 
 respect to the child, and had the pleasure 
 to perceive that the Duke entertained hopes 
 of being able to recover his beloved Vi- 
 vonio — hopes which Benvolio did not dare 
 
 c 2 to
 
 -S VIVO NIC. 
 
 to| discourage, as he trusted they would 
 contribute to his noble friend's conva- 
 lescence. 
 
 The Duke expressed the most decided 
 approbation of Santa Clara's proposal^, to 
 take the b'ttle Rosalia under her protection, 
 and directed Father Benrolio to comply 
 iviih her wishes, and to send the infant, 
 properlv protected, to the convent, imme- 
 diately on his return to the villa. 
 
 The Duke attempted to persuade Father 
 Benvolio to remain in Naples for the 
 night, but the benevolent man excused 
 himself, being impatient to return to con- 
 sole the sorro.wful inhabitants of the villa, 
 and to fulfil every duty to humanity; and 
 he departed more than ever honoured and 
 esteemed by the good Di Orenza. 
 
 Yet the Duke did not permit him to 
 depart, until he had promised to return 
 with the Marchese, if he should providen- 
 tially recover, or if the physicians should 
 judge it safe for him to be removed in his 
 present condition, a circumstance the Duke 
 
 ardently
 
 V I V O N I 0. 
 
 29 
 
 ardently desired^ as he could not consider 
 even the life of the Marchese safe while he 
 remained at the villa. 
 
 8K2S 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 kJN his return, Benvolio found the Mar- 
 chese still under the influence of his cruel 
 malady ; but he observed that the little 
 Rosalia gave evident signs of her health 
 being no way affected by the unfortunate 
 circumstances which attended her birth. 
 
 As soon as the physicians would allow 
 of the infant's removal, preparations were 
 begun for her departure, to the great joy 
 of Bernardo and all the domestics of the 
 villa, who v/ere alsoiTJoiced to hear that the 
 c 3. good
 
 so • VI VON 10. 
 
 good Duke was recovering, and that he 
 intended to take, what he hoped might 
 prove effectiial, methods for discovering 
 the authors of the diabolical schemes that 
 had been so fatally executed. 
 
 With surprise and pleasure Benvolio at 
 length heard the physicians acquiesce in 
 the Duke's desire of removing theMarchese; 
 and they nov/ declared their opinion., that, 
 as his complaint was seated in the mind, 
 change of place was most likely to produce 
 good effects, and remove the idiotic stupor 
 under which he laboured. 
 
 In a few days every thing was ready for 
 the departure of the inhabitants of the 
 vilhi, and Father Benvolio having obtained 
 permission to absent himself for some tim.e, 
 accompanied them to Naples. 
 
 To the uncpfeakable joy of the Father, 
 the Marchese, several times during the 
 journey, regarded him with attention; and 
 the physicians, who accompanied him in 
 the carriage, entertained the most pleasing 
 hopes from this circumstance, as it was the 
 
 first
 
 V I VON 10. J 
 
 first time the Marchese had discovered any 
 symptom of sensibility sinee his ilhiess. 
 
 The meetino- of the Duke and this mourn- 
 ful party was airecting beyond description. 
 The Marchese, during the interview, again 
 shewed some signs of returning reason, and 
 the hope of his recovery threw a cheering 
 ray on the pervading gloom. When the 
 Duke's emotion had a little subsided. Father 
 Benvolio informed him, that, at the earnest 
 entreaties of the aged Bernardo, he had 
 taken the liberty to bring the infant Ro- 
 salia and her attendants to the pallazo^ 
 previous to her entering tl^e convent, in 
 the hope that he would bestow on the 
 infant his paternal benediction. 
 
 The Duke was much agitated, but on the 
 Marchese's being conducted to the apart- 
 ments prepared for his reception, the for- 
 mer desired to see the infant, who was 
 immediately brought into his presence by 
 the faithful Lauretta and the nurse. The. 
 Duke took the little creature in his arms, 
 pressed her to his bosom, while the tear of 
 4 parental
 
 52 VI VON 10. 
 
 parental sorrow fell on the cheek of the 
 unconscious babe. After retaining her for 
 a while, the Duke returned her to the arms 
 of her attendants, declaring that he could 
 not consent to part with the lovely little 
 Rosalia for some time, and accordingly sent 
 an apology to Santa Clara for detaining 
 lier charge. 
 
 About two months after the decease of 
 the Marchesa, as Father Benvolio w^as one 
 day sitting beside the bed of the Marchese^ 
 he perceived the patient regard iiim with 
 some emotion, and immediately after he 
 heard him pronounce his name, then heav- 
 ing a deep sigh, added — '' My Adelaide!" 
 and burst into tears. 
 
 Vv^ith what joyful sensations did the Monk 
 watch beside the sufiTering Marchese, and 
 with what devout gratitude did he render 
 thanks to Heaven for these proofs of re- 
 turning sensibility ! Vv^'hen he was perfectly 
 assured that the Marchese was restored to 
 his reason, he flew to communicate the 
 happy intelligence to the Duke, who almost 
 
 forgot
 
 viroNio. S3 
 
 forgot his sorrow at the loss of his beloved 
 and lamented Adelaide and Vivonio^ in joy 
 at the recovery of Di Romanzini. 
 
 The Duke accompanied Father Benvolio 
 to the chamber of the Marchese, whom 
 they found still weeping — this effusion they 
 encouraged, on a hint from the physicians; 
 they spoke to him of Adelaide, her virtues, 
 her beauty, and the enumeration caused the 
 good Duke and Benvolio to mingle their 
 tears with those of the Marchese. 
 
 Di Romanzini now anxiously called for 
 his son, his Vivonio, but appeared uncon- 
 scious of having another child to claim his 
 pity and affection. 
 
 The physicians, as had been concerted, 
 objected to the interview, till the Marchese 
 should be more composed, and the Duke 
 tenderly represented to him the impru- 
 dence of agitating himself farther; but it 
 was with much difficulty they could persuade 
 him to yield to their remonstrances. 
 
 '' AhV exclaimed the Marchese, '' is it 
 
 possible you can deny me such a con- 
 
 c 5 solation ,?
 
 34 VI VON 10. 
 
 solation ? My dearest Father, sufier me to 
 fold to my bosom my child, the child of 
 Adelaide, And do you still, most excellent 
 of men, do you still bid me endure Ex- 
 istence, after such a loss ? Say, I conjure 
 you, has any clue been found to guide us 
 to the horrid cause of our beloved Ade- 
 laide's '' 
 
 The Duke was too much affected to 
 reply. 
 
 '' Alas, my Lord!" said Father Benvolio, 
 '^^ every enquiry that it was possible to 
 suggest, has been made, but all still remains 
 an unfathomable mystery ; yet do not 
 doubt but Heaven, which for wise and un- 
 questionable purposes, sometimes permits 
 villainy to triumph, will, in its own good 
 time, reveal the authors of those unforeseen 
 calamities/' 
 
 At that moment Lauretta, unconscious 
 of the happy change which had just taken 
 place, entered the chamber with the lovely- 
 infant in her arms. 
 
 ^' Is it possible!'' cried the Marchese, 
 
 gazing
 
 VIVONIO. 35 
 
 gazing on the sweet innocent, whose cheeks 
 were dimpled with a smile, " is not this 
 delusion! am I so blest! do I possess ano- 
 ther pledge of ray Adelaide's ^ aifection ? 
 Oh, speak ! is this beauteous babe mine ? " 
 
 " She is, she is, my Frederico!'' raptur- 
 ously exclaimed the Duke, while the tears 
 of joyful emotion fell from his eyes. 
 
 The Marchese clasped the infant in his 
 feeble arms, and vowed to live, to cherish 
 the representative of the sainted Adelaide. 
 
 Again the Marchese entreated to behold 
 his son, but was positively refused; how- 
 ever, he now more readily resigned himself 
 to the will of his friends, as he was much 
 consoled by finding himself, a second time, 
 a parent; but he would not permit the 
 infant to be removed from- his apartment. 
 In this particular he was indulged, and 
 Lauretta remained with the child, until the 
 eflects of an opiate, which the physician 
 had ordered to be administered, produced 
 a peaceful repose, to the enjoyment of 
 which he was left. 
 
 c With
 
 ->t> VIVONIO. 
 
 With hearts much relieved from the 
 burden that had oppressed them, the Duke 
 and Father Benvolio quitted the apartment 
 of the Marchese, and were immediately met 
 by a train of faithful domestics, whose re- 
 spectful and affectionate enquiries w^ere 
 answered with grateful alfability. 
 
 Highly gratified with their sincere and 
 lively indications of joy, for the returning 
 health of the Marchese, the Duke passed 
 on to his own apartment, amidst the silent 
 blessings of his dependants, to whom he 
 had ever proved a father and a friend. An 
 almost patriarchal simplicity and dignity 
 graced the manners of the Duke ; his heart 
 was open to those delightful emotions which 
 the philanthropist will ever experience, 
 from the conviction, that he endeavours to 
 am.eliorate the situation of all who come 
 within the reach of his pity and bene- 
 volence. 
 
 But this short gleam of sunshine was 
 soon overclouded by the painful anxiety 
 'which the Duke felt respecting the dis- 
 closure
 
 vivoNio. 37 
 
 closure of Vivonio*s loss to the Marchese, 
 and Father Benvolio was equally em- 
 barrassed. 
 
 The physicians attended in the Duke^s 
 apartment, to consult on the most proper 
 means to pursue, and it was at length 
 decided, that the Marchese should be in- 
 formed that his son was at present confined 
 by illness incidental to children ; and as 
 the Marchese had, contrary to all expecta- 
 tion^ manifested so lively an affection for 
 his infant daughter, it might very reasona- 
 bly be hoped, t{iat, when he should be 
 sufficiently recovered to hear the truth, it 
 would not be attended with much danoer. 
 especially as the pious Benvolio undertook 
 to prepare and strengthen the mind of the 
 Marchese, before the disclosure should be 
 made. 
 
 In a few hours they were summoned to 
 the apartment of the Marchese, by the 
 good old Bernardo, whose animated coun- 
 tenance informed them, ere he spoke, that 
 the patient was much restored. 
 
 The
 
 33 vivoNio. 
 
 The March ese indeed appeared to be in- 
 finitely revived, and his eyes displayed 
 something of their former lustre, when the 
 Duke and Benvolio entered the chamber. 
 
 " Where are my children, my dearest 
 Father ? I feel new life animate my heart — • 
 let me behold them — you can no longer 
 refuse/' said the Marchese to the Duke, 
 who trembled for the event of their fabri- 
 cated tale. 
 
 The latter now, in the most soothing 
 terms, regretted that the young Vivonio 
 was confined to his apartment, by an in- 
 disposition which Vv'ould prevent his attend- 
 ance, but ordered the infant Rosalia to be 
 immediately brought to the Marchese, who 
 W'as much alarmed, and made the most 
 earnest and scrutinizing enquiries respect- 
 ing his son. 
 
 In a tone of bitter anguish, he entreated 
 them not to conceal' the truth. — " My heart 
 informs me," continued the Marchese, 
 '\ that I have no son. I beseech you, keep 
 me not in this agonizing suspense — I will 
 
 endeavour 
 6
 
 VI VON 10. 39 
 
 endeavour to bear the worst with firm- 
 ness/* 
 
 '' Dear Frederico, my son/' returned the 
 Diike, '^ do not imagine our Vivonio to be 
 no more ; he lives — you may entertain 
 every hope — but it will be some time 
 ere " 
 
 The Duke hesitated. The Marchese 
 breathed a silent thanksgiving to Heaven^ 
 then enquired the nature of his son*s com- 
 plaint ; and being satisfied by the physi- 
 cians in that respect, at the unavoidable 
 expence of their veracity, he became more 
 composed, and lavished a thousand caresses 
 on his infant daughter. 
 
 The Marchese now recovered daily^ and 
 his little Rosalia became more and more 
 his delight ; he was also highly pleased 
 with Father Benvolio, and listened to his 
 mild precepts of resignation with senti- 
 ments of grateful friendship and esteem. 
 
 As he was soon able to leave his apart- 
 ment, the real circumstances relative to 
 Vivonio could no longer be concealed; but 
 
 the
 
 40 VIVONIO. 
 
 the Father observed such prudence in re- 
 vealing the truth, that the Marchese bore 
 the recital with more fortitude than could 
 have been expected. 
 
 Like the Duke, he immediately indulged 
 the fond idea of recovering his child, and 
 encreased every precaution for the re- 
 establishment of his health, being deter- 
 mined to traverse the continent in search 
 of his lost Vivonio. The Duke's hopes^ 
 however, were now almost extinguished. 
 
 The splendid revt^ards offered to any who 
 could give information of the young Vi- 
 vonio, or for the apprehension of the 
 wretch who had borne him away, w^ould 
 have tempted a full disclosure from those 
 concerned even in the iniquitous transac- 
 tion, had they not been more than proof 
 against the power of gold — certain it is, the 
 offers of reward were of no avail. 
 
 The Marchese, true to his resolve of 
 travelling over the continent, spoke only 
 of his design, and, with the Duke's appro- 
 bation, determined to agree to Santa Clara's 
 
 repeated
 
 VI VON 10. 
 
 41 
 
 repeated requests, and to place the little 
 Rosalia under her protection, the moment 
 he could visit the convent. 
 
 On the banks of the Volturno stood an 
 ancient castle belonging to the Duke, which 
 had been the favourite residence of the 
 Duchess, but after her decease the Duke 
 seldom visited it ; it was situated about two 
 leagues from the Convent of Santa Maria^ 
 and one from Benevento. 
 
 Thither the Duke intended to retire 
 during the absence of the Marchese, as its 
 vicinity to the convent would enable him 
 to see his little srand-dau^^hter more fre- 
 quently than he could possibly do, if he 
 resided at Naples. 
 
 This intention of the Duke gave the most 
 unbounded satisfaction to Di Romanzini 
 and to Father Benvolio, who now requested 
 the interest of the former to obtain per- 
 mission for him to leave the convent to 
 which he belonged, that he might enter 
 another of the same order near Benevento, 
 where he might enjoy the society of the 
 
 Duke,
 
 42 VIVOKIO. 
 
 Duke, whenever his illustrious friend should 
 please to admit him, during the absence of 
 the Marchese. 
 
 If any thing could have encrea^ed th*e 
 friendship of the Duke and Marchese for 
 Benvolio, this consideration, and truly 
 friendly i^ropv-dtion would, His off^r was 
 accepted with avidity^ and the Duke very 
 soon obtaina:! the desired permission. 
 
 The health of the Marchese being now 
 almo&t re*estab -ihcd, he remained at Naples 
 no longer than to bid adieu to his nume- 
 rous friends, then quitted the scenes of 
 gaiety and tumult with the Duke, to pass a 
 few lays at the Castle of Orenza, and to 
 visit the Convent of Santa Maria, previoiiJi 
 to his intended tour. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 vivoNio. 43 
 
 CHAP, IV, 
 
 JT OR several d^j% neither the Duke nor 
 the Marchese could summon resolution to 
 visit the Convent of Santa Maria; and when 
 they did venture to approach the sacred 
 walls^ within which reposed the remaihs of 
 the lamented Marchesa, their anguish over- 
 powered their resignation, and every aftiec'- 
 tionate and religious argument of Santa 
 Clara failed to ameliorate their sorrow. 
 
 On the tomb of his Adelaide^ the Mar- 
 chese would have vowed to devote the 
 remainder of his days to a monastic life^ 
 had not the representations of the Duke 
 deterred him from executing his frantic 
 resolve. 
 
 The
 
 44 vivoNio. 
 
 The Madre SaPta Clara too, with all that 
 delicacy and feeling so perceptible in truly 
 virtuous minds, sympathized in his griefs; 
 yet mildly and judiciously endeavoured to 
 divert the excess of his sorrow, by turning 
 his thoughts on the infant Rosalia, of v/hose 
 safety she expressed an apprehensive con- 
 cern, reverting to her wish of having the 
 :Bweet innocent resigned to her care. 
 
 The Marchcse gratefully assented to her 
 desire, and promised that, in a few days, 
 the child should become an inmate of the 
 convent ; but it was agreed that the tran- 
 quillity of her youth should not be em- 
 bittered by the knowledge of the disastrous 
 fate of her angel mother. The uncertain 
 situation of her brother she was to be made 
 acquainted with, that she might be accus- 
 tomed to the idea of resigning to him, 
 should he ever be recovered, the immense 
 possessions she would otherwise inherit. 
 
 The Madre approved of the Marchese's 
 intention of travelling, provided he used 
 every precaution for personal safety, which 
 
 the
 
 VI VON 10. 45 
 
 the Duke assured her, would not be ne- 
 glected. 
 
 The Marchese bade an affecting adieu to 
 the amiable Abbess, and returned to devote 
 the few hours preceding his departure to 
 his lovely little daughter. 
 
 On the following morning, however, the 
 Marchese accompanied the infant and her 
 attendants to the convent, and resigned 
 her, in the most solemn and pathetic man- 
 ner, to the care of Santa Clara, who received 
 her with tears of maternal tenderness. 
 
 The amiable sisterhood, fondly attached 
 to their superior^ whose benignity and 
 goodness of heart taught her to soften, as 
 much as possible, their secluded state, 
 loaded the beautiful little Rosalia with 
 praises and caresses ; and many, while the 
 sighs of remembrance heaved their feeling 
 bosoms, thought they perceived a striking 
 resemblance, in the features of the lovely 
 infant, to those of their regretted Marchesa, 
 
 The day that admitted the little Rosalia 
 to Santa Maria was dedicated to innocent 
 festivity, and each sister strove to banish 
 
 unpleasing
 
 43 VI VON 10. 
 
 iinpleasing reflections from the feeling mind 
 of their beloved Lady Abbess. 
 
 A thousand times the Marchese strained 
 the sweet infant to his bosom^ ere he tore 
 himself away, then returned towards the 
 castle, forlorn and sad, to prepare for his 
 journey. 
 
 The Marchese and his attendants were 
 proceeding slowly, when a man, mounted 
 on a fleet horse, passed him, then looked 
 back earnestly at him, and, checking the 
 animal, returned, and presented a small 
 billet, then rode on with the utmost speed. 
 
 The Marchese opened the<, billet, and, to 
 jiis terror and astonishment, found it con- 
 tained the following w^ords : 
 
 '^ Dl RoMANZINlj 
 
 '' Your son is dead ! — my 
 revenge is complete. Fool! didst thou 
 suppose I had forgotten the scorn and 
 falsehood of Olivia di Metelli ? No — be 
 assured my hatred shall never cease. 
 
 '' Spignola/*
 
 VI VON 10. 47 
 
 '' Fly ! " cried the Marchese, when he 
 had regained the power of speech^ ''fly! 
 pursue that villain, and " 
 
 Fortunately they were just at the gates 
 of the castle ; for the Marchesc/ entirely 
 overcome by the shock, fell from his horse 
 into the arms of the faithful servants that 
 attended him. 
 
 Tremblingly they conveyed him to the 
 saloon, where the Dnke sat, who gazed, 
 silent and horror-struck, not even daring to 
 ask the cause of this new misfortune. 
 
 The Marchese opened his eyes, and 
 turning them on the affrighted Duke, ex- 
 claimed, while he pointed to the billet 
 which had fallen from his hand — '' Oh, read ! 
 my father, read!'* 
 
 The Duke, with trembling hand, caught 
 up the fatal scrav/1; but scarcely had he 
 read the contents, when the servants, who 
 had pursued the messenger, brought him 
 into the saloon. 
 
 The Marchese had no sooner cast his 
 eye on the fellow^ than he recognized in 
 
 him
 
 48 VI VON 10. 
 
 him the servant of Spignola. Starting up, 
 he seized the man^ and in his rage vowed 
 to annihilate him, unless he instantly in- 
 formed him where to find his master. 
 
 The fellow intreated to be disensrasred 
 from his hold^ and promised to discover all 
 he knew. 
 
 *f Where is your master?" cried the 
 Marchese. 
 
 " Indeed, my Lord, I do not know. 
 Signor Spignola quitted Naples a few weeks 
 ago, I believe, and if my life was to be the 
 consequence, I cannot tell where he went 
 to ; but if you will allow me, my Lord, I 
 will tell you all I know about him.*' 
 
 The Marchese hastily ordered the man to 
 proceed. 
 
 '' It is noWj I believe, five years i^ince 
 you were at Padua, my Lord — well you 
 know, my Lord, what happened there, and 
 at Florence. You know, after Signor 
 Spignola made up the quarrel he dis- 
 covered Signora Olivia, and carried her oW, 
 no one Jknew where : well^ be that as it 
 
 may.
 
 vivoNiO. 4.Q 
 
 ^lay, he did not return to Padua for near 
 a year; however, when he did return, he 
 was very well pleased to find his household 
 in propeu order — for he had remitted a 
 year's wages for all the servants, and com- 
 manded me toretain them in their situations 
 till his return. 
 
 "■ As I had strictly fulfilled the Signor's 
 orders, he took a great deal of notice of me^ 
 and let me so far into his confidence as 
 to inform me that Olivia had a^ain given 
 him the slip, and was gone off with another, 
 but not before he was heartily tired of 
 her. 
 
 ^^ For some time a thousand dissipa- 
 tions engaged my master, and I too led 
 a gay life ; and, in short, my master 
 plunged into all sorts of folly, and soon 
 became much involved. One night he 
 came home very late, and called all the 
 domestics together, and paid them off every 
 one, me among the rest — and the next 
 morning early he left Padua, and I saw him 
 no more, till within this month.'* 
 
 VOL. I. D '' Are
 
 50 vivoxio. 
 
 ''' Are you certain you do not know 
 -where he went to?" anxiously demanded 
 the Marchese. 
 
 '' I am very sure I do not, my Lord ; for 
 my master had not quitted Padua a week 
 before I entered into the service of a 
 nobleman, and attended him to Germany, 
 he being a native of Austria — but I disliked 
 rny situation, and soon quitted him. I then 
 attended a lady to France : I was equally 
 unfortunate in her service ; for the lady 
 was suddenly carried off by her relations, 
 and placed in a convent. Afterwards I was 
 wandering about for some time. I have 
 been at Naples nowabout three months; and 
 a few weeks ago, as I was strolling near 
 Portici, I encountered the Signor Spignola ; 
 he was so pale and altered, that I scarcely 
 knew him. I took the liberty of making 
 several enquiries relative to his situation, 
 but was angrily repulsed ; and he entrusted 
 me with the billet I just now, my Lord, 
 delivered to you; and he gave me a purse 
 full of ducats, on my promising to leave it 
 
 at
 
 xavoNio. 51 
 
 at theDlike^s pallazo in less than a month. 
 This injunction I thought very odd at the 
 lime ,* however I did not say any thing, 
 but determined to do as he desired. When 
 I went to the pallazo^ I found the family 
 had quitted it^ and re tiled to this castle> 
 whitherlwas immediately proceedings when 
 1 encountered you, my Lord. I am truly 
 sorry/' continued tlie man, *'^that I cannot 
 give any farther information respecting 
 Signor Spignola : I have never seen or 
 heard of him since he gave me the billet ; 
 
 but if ever I '* 
 
 '' You must remain here/' interrupted 
 the Marchese^ '' till t have made such en- 
 quiries as will either confirm the truth of 
 your assertions, or by convicting you of 
 falsehood, enable me to compel you to 
 deliver that villain up to justice. Bernardo, 
 conduct this young man to the south tower> 
 and see that he is provided with every 
 thing necessary ; he must not be suffered 
 to depart." 
 
 i> 2 ''I am 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF -,
 
 52 vivoNio. 
 
 " I am very willing to stay, my Lord/' 
 replied the man; '' your enquiries will only 
 convince you that I have spoken truth/' 
 
 Sebastian^ for so was this man called, 
 respectfully bowed^ and withdrew with 
 Bernardo. 
 
 '' l.ly dear father/' said the Marchese to 
 the Duke, " there is ^reat plausibility in 
 this man's account^ yet I dare not rely on 
 it. I will myself depart for Naples imme- 
 diately : possibly I may " 
 
 '' My dear Frederic©/' replied the Duke, 
 '^ you forget that I am utterly at a loss to 
 account for v/hat I have heard of this 
 dreadful affair. Who is this Signer Spig- 
 nola?" 
 
 '' Pardon me, I entreat/' returned the 
 Marchese, '"^ mv distracted ideas: this wretch 
 has almost deprived me of reason^ — I am 
 amazed by what strange fatality I could 
 ever forget him." 
 
 The Marchese paused a few moments, and 
 then proceeded thus : 
 
 [[ Some time before I returned to Naples, 
 
 I made
 
 vivoNio. 53 
 
 1 made a short stay at Padua, where it was 
 my direful misfortune to become acquainted 
 with this Spignola : he had just taken pos^ 
 session of a large estate; his birth was 
 respectable, and his establishment bril- 
 liant; and, beingamanof engagingtalents, 
 his society was generally sought. Spignola 
 was naturally haughty and vindictive; but 
 his exterior was prepossessing ; and, when 
 occasion required, he could assume the most 
 amiable mannei's : he professed a particular 
 friendship towards me, and, dreadful delu- 
 sion ! I imagined him sincere. 
 
 '' He was at this time paying his addresses 
 to Signora Olivia di Metelli, a lovely 
 orphan, who resided with an aunt, who 
 idolized her, and who intended to be- 
 queath her an easy fortune. Olivia was 
 handsome, and apparently strictly virtuous; 
 and, on seeing her, I expressed my ap- 
 probation of his choice, in the terms 
 I thought her merits claimed. 
 
 " Elated with the admiration which the 
 
 beauty and talents of his mistress excited, 
 
 Spignola frequently forced me to accom- 
 
 D 3 pany
 
 54 VIVONIO. 
 
 pany him to Signora Bernini's, and for 
 some time our friendship appeared un- 
 abated : suddenly^ however, he became 
 cold, formal, and suspicious — avoided me^ 
 and yet privately watched all my actions ; 
 hut it was not till I had received a passionate 
 billet from Olivia, that I could account for 
 his altered conduct. 
 
 "■ This imprudent epistle was filled with 
 complaints of my want of discernment- — 
 her affection for me — her aversion to Spig- 
 nola — finally, she requested my regard, and 
 vowed that no power on earth should unite 
 her to Spignola. 
 
 ^' Disgusted with this proof of forward 
 boldness and' infidelity, in a young female 
 I had much respected, I hastily quitted 
 Padua3 leaving a line for vSpignola, inform- 
 ing him I w^as called suddenly away, and 
 bidding him adieu. I proceeded to Flo- 
 rence, where I had not remained a week, 
 when, one evening aslw^as returning from an 
 entertainment with a friend, I was attacked 
 by a man masked, who slightly wounded 
 me. I was within a few doors of my owa 
 
 residence..
 
 VI VON 10. , b3 
 
 residence. My friend had presence of 
 mind to rush into a hoiise^ the door of 
 which stood open, and, instantly alarming 
 the inhabitants, the assassin was pursued 
 and taken. 
 
 "^ The fellow^ on a promise of being im- 
 mediately liberated, confessed that he had 
 been employed by a stranger, whose name 
 he believed was vSpignola. This informa- 
 tion I received without surprise; however, 
 I desired the vile wretch to tell his guilty 
 employer, I forgave the attempt, as I sin- 
 cerely pitied him. 
 
 '' On the following day a stranger re- 
 quested to be permitted to see me. I 
 ordered him to be adniittecl, and beheld 
 Spignola. He appeared confused and pe- 
 nitent^ and accounted for his rashness by 
 informing me, that Olivia had eloped from 
 her aunt, and no person could form an 
 idea whither, she had flown ; he had sup- 
 posed that / had aided her flight; and 
 having, without difficulty, traced my route 
 to Florence;, he had^ in aj^aroxysm of rage, 
 dA followed,
 
 56 TIVONIO. 
 
 followed me, and, urged by infuriate jea- 
 lousy, sought to destroy me. 
 
 '' His apparent regret and sorrow in- 
 terested me, and I could not resist assuring 
 him all was forgotten. Indeed I pitied 
 him; arad, though nothing could excuse his 
 attempt on my life, I was concerned for 
 his situation. In a few days, however, he 
 put a final period to my sentiments in hia 
 favour. . ^ 
 
 ''^ He wrote m.e a most scurrilous and 
 taunting letter, in which he informed me, 
 he had discovered the retreat wherein I 
 had placed Olivia, and that she was at 
 length safe in his power; and as she was 
 unworthy to become his wife, he would 
 certainly make her his mistress. He con^ 
 eluded with ridiculing me for supposing 
 him my dupe, and vowing to take the most; 
 horrible vengeance for my treachery. 
 
 '' This letter I considered, at the time, 
 as the mad effusion of a man disappointed 
 in his dearest hopes; and until this day, by 
 sohie wonderful fatality, it has never crossed 
 
 my
 
 vivoNio. 57 
 
 my recollection. Oh! had my memory 
 once reverted to the circumstances I have 
 just rela^^ed^ my Adelaide and my son 
 might still have blest my arms. Oh^, my 
 father! can you pardon the wretch who 
 has proved himself so careless of such in- 
 estl T r^ble treasures ? " 
 
 Agonizing remeinbrances tore the almost 
 broken heart of Di Romanzini, and his 
 regrets were so violent^ that, when the 
 servants announced that every thing was 
 ready for his dnparture^, he appeared so 
 disordered and indisposed^, that, anxious as 
 was the Duke for the apprehension of 
 Spignola, yet he could not endure the 
 idea of the Marchese's departing in such 
 a situation; hut all his entreaties could 
 not alter the resolves of Di Romanzini, 
 who, eager to avenge the losses he had 
 sustained, would not admit of a moment's 
 delay ; and regardless of the representations 
 of hi> noble and affectionate relative, he 
 immediately departed* 
 
 D 5 CHAP,
 
 5S VIVONIO, 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 JL he Marchese had been absent about or 
 week, when the Duke and his domestics 
 were thrown into consternation by the 
 flight of Sebastian. 
 
 No precaution had been omitted to pre- 
 vent his escape, and the man had seemed 
 pleased at the vigilance of those that at- 
 tended on him, and never discovered the 
 least inclination to elude it. 
 
 He had, however, artfully contrived to^ 
 remove the bars of his window, and let 
 himself down by the bed-clothes ; but how 
 he had crossed the high walls of the castle 
 courts, was a mystery that no person could 
 
 elucidate^
 
 VI VON 10.. 59 
 
 elucidate. That point appeared so difficult, 
 that the Duke imagined he might still be in 
 some remote part of the vast edifice; but 
 tjie most minute search served only to 
 convince him of the contrary. 
 
 This circumstance filled the mind of the 
 Duke with indescribable alarm. It was now 
 certain that Sebastian was a complete vil- 
 lain; and the Dukcj with apparent reason, 
 trembled for the life of the March esc, to 
 whom he immediately dispatched mes- 
 sengers with this disagreeable intelligence, 
 and also to warn him of the apprehended 
 danger. Meanwhile the rest of the do- 
 mesticSj assisted by the peasantr}^^ scoured 
 the country for many miles round, in the 
 hope of once more securing Sebastian; but' 
 at length returned without having met with 
 the wished-for succ-€ss. 
 . The messenger overtook the Marchese 
 before he had reached the Venetian state ;. 
 but the intelligence he conveyed did not: 
 prevent Di Romanzini from pursuing his 
 journey to Padua, at which place hie learned 
 D 6 that:
 
 |50 VIVONIO. 
 
 that the Signor Spignola had actually flowrf 
 from his house, at the time Sebastian had 
 mentioned, having first discharged all his 
 servants^ and privately disposed of all his 
 possessions. Every attempt to trace his 
 route from thence proved fruitless. 
 
 After several days spent in these un- 
 successful enquiries, the Marchese left 
 Padua, and journeyed again to Naples, 
 where, prior to his proceeding to the above 
 place, he had made every possible enquiry: 
 in vain he now repeated them: he could 
 gain no intelligence whatever respecting 
 Spignola, who seemed to be totally un- 
 known. The Marchese at length returned 
 to the castle, fatigued and disappointed. 
 The flight of Sebastian confirm edDiRoman- 
 zini in an opinion that Vivonio v/as actually 
 no more: the Duke and Father Benvolio 
 entertained the same idea ; for they could 
 not but attribute the escape of the man to 
 the fright he must naturally have experi- 
 enced, on reflecting that, should all be 
 discovered, he^ as well as his sanguinary 
 
 employer^
 
 TIVONICJ. 61 
 
 employer^ would be sacrificed to the Just 
 veno^eance of the Marchese. who would 
 undoubtedly not suffer the murderers of 
 his wife and son to escape with impunity. 
 
 Notwithstanding every measure in the 
 least likely to lead to the discovery of the 
 author of the black transactions which had 
 ruined the peace t)f the Duke's once happy 
 family was, for a considerable length of 
 time, indefatigably pursued^ such were 
 the precautions taken to elude justice, that 
 all attempts to trace Spignola and Sebastian 
 proved of no effect. 
 
 About a year after the disappearance of 
 the young Vivonio, the family at the castle 
 had to lament the sudden death of the 
 good Father Benvolio. The information 
 of this mehmcholy event was communicated 
 to the Marchese by Father Albertini, a 
 young monk of the same order, who had 
 taken the vows a few months prior to the 
 decease of Benvolio, by whom he had been 
 introduced to the Duke, as a man possessed 
 «f inestimable virtues and unfeigned piety. 
 
 A very
 
 02 VIVO NIC 
 
 Avery short intercourse with Albertini' 
 had not failed to convince both the Duke 
 and the Marchese, that Father Benvolia 
 had only done justice to his virtues. 
 Albertini, though known to practise with 
 unceasing zeal all the austerities of his 
 ordej% was nevertheless kind, gentle, and 
 humane to every child of sorrow : his story 
 was unknow^n to all, yet he was universally 
 respected; and, while it was evident that 
 some deep affliction internally preyed upon 
 his heart, the placid mildness of his manner 
 proved, that the feelings of the man yielded 
 to the pious resignation of the saint. 
 
 The society of the virtuous Father Al- 
 bertini was now become so pleasing to the- 
 Duke and the Marchese, that each soon 
 felt for him those sentiments of friendship 
 and esteem with which they had distin- 
 guished Father Benvolio ; but such was the 
 humility of Albertini, that, though he pos- 
 sessed extiaordinary talents, joined to pro- 
 found erudition, he would never listen to 
 the offers of the Duke to procure for him 
 a . hidi
 
 TITO NIC. - 63 
 
 RigK ecclesiastical dignities. With ardour 
 he expressed heartfelt gratitude for the 
 repeated proofs of friendship he received, 
 while with meek lowliness of mind he de-^ 
 clined those eminent distinctions, which 
 would have conferred on him honour and 
 wealth. 
 
 To this amiable friend, the Marchese 
 was indebted for the resignation and sere- 
 nity which now filled his bosom. The 
 contemplation of the heavenly bliss en- 
 joyed by his sdnted Adelaide, almost 
 banished the grief and despair he had 
 .offered for' her loss, while his sorrow for 
 the fate of his Vivonio was softened by 
 beholding in his lovely little Rosalia every - 
 l^romise. of perfection. 
 
 eHAP.
 
 64 vivoNia* 
 
 CHAP. VL 
 
 ONTHS and years rolled away^ every 
 succeeding day of wldch had developed 
 some new beauty of mind and person in 
 the lovely Rosalia, who, with all the en- 
 chanting graces of early youth, possessed a 
 heart gifted by Heaven with every virtuous 
 propensity: '2;entle^ almost to timidity — 
 feelingly alive to the sorrows of others, 
 her own conduct was regulated by the 
 dread of giving pain. With uncorainoni 
 sensibility she repeatedly evinced that she 
 possessed a fortitude beyond her years, 
 which always enabled her to relinquish,, 
 without regret, her own little enjoyments, 
 
 when
 
 , vivoNio. 65 
 
 when incompatible with the ease or con- 
 venience of others. 
 
 Though almost idolized by the nuns and 
 the virtuous Madre Santa Clara^ yet the 
 latter, too well knowing that no situation 
 in life, however prosperous or exalted, is 
 exempt from disappointment and some 
 degree of care, wisely exacted from her 
 lovely pupil many little sacrifices, with a 
 view to prepare her for those she might 
 possibly be forced to make in the world. 
 
 The Abbess, though strictly devoted to the 
 religion of the holy mother church, pos- 
 sessed none of its severity ," her charity ex- 
 tended to the unenlightenedheathen, and the 
 erring^ heretic — and, while they frequently 
 experienced her benevolent ^assisiance, her 
 prayers were fervently offered up for their 
 conversion. 
 
 Rosalia early imbibed sentiments: of love 
 and pity towards her fellow-creatures ; and 
 while her youthful bosom heaved with sighs 
 for the miseries of sinful mortals, her in- 
 nate purity caused her to turn with horror 
 
 and
 
 66 VIVO NIC. 
 
 and dismay from the cruelty and vices that 
 overrun the world — for the histories of 
 martyred saints convinced her^ that man was 
 cruel^ ambitious, deceitful, and a slave ta 
 his passions. 
 
 With emotions of rapture, such as a 
 parent alone can feel or comprehend, the- 
 Marchese daily surveyed hisbeauteouschild, 
 who tenderly repaid his affection with the 
 liveliest sentiments of filial love and vene* 
 ration, while the good old Duke fancied 
 he beheld his Adelaide rising from child- 
 hood, and charming him with her .innocent 
 smiles and artless affection. 
 
 The rank and fortune of this lovely girl 
 never deterred her from performing the 
 tender offices of Christian humility. The 
 young Rosalia, attending the couch of an 
 almost dying sister, appeared a celestial 
 being, administering consolation and as- 
 sistance. 
 
 The Marchese finding her in tears one 
 dayy after she had been attending a nun 
 who was on the point of expiring, repre- 
 sented,.
 
 vivoNro. 67 
 
 rented, that such scenes might produce an 
 habitual melancholy in her. 
 
 '' Ah no, my father !'* replied the amiable 
 girl — " sister Serina has been praying that 
 I may long enjoy the blessings I now 
 possess ; and she has so feelingly delineated 
 my happiness, that these tears proceed from 
 love and gratitude to the Divine Author of 
 it. What an affectionate mother I possess 
 in my beloved and revered Santa Clara ! 
 and you, my father ! — Who is so blest in a 
 parent as I am ? Yet do I not call two of the 
 most amiable and best of men — -fathers ? 
 am I not surrounded by hearts devoted to 
 me? and has not the Divine Disposer of events 
 blessed me also with health, and a heart 
 fervently inclined to assist the unhappy? 
 Shall I not then, in obedience to his Om- 
 nipotent command, visit the sick and, sor- 
 rowful in their afflictions ? No, my father, 
 these visits only teach me humility and 
 compassion ; they will not unfit me to 
 partake of tfese innocents delights which, 
 are permittedito the good." 
 
 Such:,
 
 68 vivoNio. 
 
 Such was Rosalia at the age of thirteen^ 
 as eminently distinguished for her piety 
 and virtues^ as for her exquisite beauty. , 
 
 Those who gaze with elevated transports 
 on a pious^ a dutiful^ and lovely child, will ' 
 conceive what the parents of Rosalia ex-, 
 perienced. 
 
 She did, indeed^ promise to become as 
 perfect as mortal can be. A young female^ 
 with amiable dispositions, well instructed 
 in the moral duties of Christianity, can 
 scarcely fail t)f becoming an ornament to 
 her sex ; apd to this task Santa Clara was 
 fully competent ; for she knew and taught, 
 that the outward observance of religion 
 must be accompanied by inward purity, 
 and the practice of every moral virtue. 
 The Convent of Santa Maria was, therefore, 
 famed throughout Italy for the superior 
 benevolence and the irreproachable con- 
 duct of its fair inhabitants. 
 
 Rosalia scarcely ever quitted the convent, 
 but on the annual returns of her natal day, 
 which was always celebrated at the castle 
 with uncommon rejoicings. 
 
 Uncommon^
 
 vivoNio. 69 
 
 Uncommon! for on that day the^poor, 
 the infirm, and the aged, assembled in the 
 ancient halls of the castle, to receive, from 
 their young and beautiful patroness, the 
 liberal gifts of Plenty dispensed by the 
 hand of Innocence. A few select friends 
 formed the party of (he Duke and Marchese: 
 this chosen set knew hov/ to appreciate the 
 worth of the amiable inhabitants of the 
 castle, and to look with the eyes of rapture 
 on the blooming Rosalia, who read in their 
 approving smiles their sentiments of her 
 conduct ; for the Marchese suffered not 
 the voice of adulation to influence or 
 corrupt the heart of his adored child. The 
 very objects of her bounty durst only 
 whisper prayers for her felicity — these 
 prayers were Rosalia's rich reward; for she 
 knew that the grateful blessings of the m- 
 (ligent are recorded in the sacred volumes of 
 immortality. 
 
 Late in the evening of the day on which 
 her thirteenth year was celebrated, just 
 after the guests had departed, the unex- 
 
 ' pected
 
 ^^ VIVONIO. 
 
 pected arrival of the Count Alvanlo, his 
 lady, their son, and a few attendants, threw 
 the peaceful inhabitants of the castle again 
 into motion. 
 
 With surprise and pleasure the Duke re- 
 ceived his beloved nephew, after an absence 
 of nearly eighteen years. The Marchese 
 endeavoured, by the warmth of his recep- 
 tion, to express the friendship and affection 
 he entertained for the relative of his 
 lamented Adelaide; while the Count, with 
 agitation and pleasure, returned his polite 
 and friendly compliments. 
 
 In the Countess Alvanio, both the Duke 
 and Marchese beheld a model of grace and 
 beauty; and the unconstrained and in- 
 teresting gaiety of her manners rendered 
 her peculiarly charming. 
 
 The Count received many compliments 
 on the excellence of his taste, and the 
 beauty of his lady ; nor were less encomiums 
 bestowed on the youthful Ferdinand, who 
 was then about sixteen, and whose inte- 
 resting and amiable manners immediately 
 
 engaged
 
 VIVONIO. 71 
 
 -engaged the aflTectionate regard of the 
 Duke and Di Romanzini. 
 
 The Countess appeared charmed with 
 Kosalia, who, with inimitable grace and 
 sweetness, congratulated herself on the 
 happiness she experienced in beholding 
 the valued friends of her beloved parents. 
 
 Ferdinand had no eyes for any thing but 
 his beautiful cousin — never had he beheld 
 one so interestingly lovely, or so gracefully 
 simple. The Count, confused and agitated, 
 after addressing a few incoherent compli- 
 ments to Rosalia, retired to a distant part of 
 the saloon, to conceal the emotion which 
 the lovely girl's exact resemblance to the 
 Marchesa had excited. 
 
 '^ You seem affected, my dear Count," 
 said the Duke, who had observed his surprise 
 and agitation, and followed his steps; ''I 
 am not surprised at your emotion. That 
 lovely creature is, indeed, the express 
 image of our lamented Adelaide; her mind, 
 I assure you, is not inferior to her person; 
 
 she
 
 72 
 
 viyoNio. 
 
 she is an angel; every feminine grace 
 and " 
 
 A deep sigh from the Count caused the 
 Duke to stop ; he perceived how much he 
 had encreased the agitation of the former, 
 therefore forbore to say any thing more on 
 thesubject. Turning from Alvanio, he joined 
 the Countess and the Marchese, who were 
 conversing on the merits of the youthful 
 Ferdinand, to whom Rosalia was then de- 
 scribing the happiness she enjoyed when 
 within the sacred walls of Santa Maria. 
 
 The remainder of the evening was passed 
 in cheerfulness. The Count, who had re- 
 covered from his first feelings, now paid 
 the most animated attentions to theqharm- 
 ing Rosalia. 
 
 Upon the Duke expressing some surprise 
 that the Coont had not written to inform 
 him of the happiness he had intended him 
 in this visit, the latter replied, that he had 
 found it impossible to ascertain the time 
 on which he could leave Spain ; but had it 
 
 not
 
 VivoKio. 75 
 
 not been so, he should have been extremely 
 unwilling to give his illustrious relative tl>e 
 trouble of making any preparations on his 
 account. 
 
 On the following morning, the Countess 
 accompanied JRosalia to the Convent of 
 Santa Maria. The Abbess was charmed 
 with the former, whose sentiments she soon 
 found were congenial with her own. From 
 this period, a friendship commenced be- 
 tween these amiable women, which termi- 
 nated only with their lives. 
 
 Rosalia returned with the Countess to the 
 castle, throughout which the presence of 
 the unexpected and v/elcome guests had 
 diffused an air of happiness. 
 
 ^n the sweet intercourse of refined friend- 
 ship, tv/o months ha'd glided on, when the 
 Count Alvanio proposed setting off for his 
 new residence at Naples, where, during his 
 stay at Orenza, every prepry:ation had been 
 made for the reception of 'himself and 
 family. The Duke and Marchese, having 
 vainly solicited him to remain awhile longer 
 
 VOL. I. E at
 
 74 vivoNio. 
 
 at the castle, were at length compelled t6 
 acquiesce in his resolve. 
 
 On the morning preceding that fixed on 
 for the Count's departure, the Duke joined 
 him and the Marchese in the saloon, and^ 
 after some hesitation, said he had a proposi- 
 tion to make, which, should it meet with 
 their approbation, would make the evening 
 of his days happy. 
 
 Both the Marchese and the Count eagerly 
 begged to be infotmed in what manner 
 they could have the felicity of contributing 
 to his happiness. The Duke, in reply, 
 proposed the union of Ferdinand and 
 Rosalia. 
 
 The Marchese and the Count were much 
 surprised, and no less pleased, at this un- 
 expected proposition'of the Duke's. It was> 
 therefore, quickly determined, that when 
 Ferdinand had attained the age of twenty, 
 and Rosalia thcit of seventeen, they should 
 be united, provided their inclinations coin- 
 cided with those of their parents. 
 
 '' We will conceal these intentions from 
 
 ^ the
 
 VtvoNio. 75 
 
 llie young people,'* said the Duke^ '' as the 
 idea of constraint might defeat our project. 
 Ferdinand will have sufficient opportunities 
 x)f conversing with our lovely Rosalia 
 during his visits at the castle, which visits, 
 I insist, may be frequent ; and our be- 
 loved girl, even in the seclusion of the 
 convent, will not fail to find leioure to 
 ton template the merits o^i her elegant 
 cousin/' 
 
 The prospect of this alliance communi- 
 cated pleasure to the hitherto melancholy 
 inmates of the castle ; and the Countess 
 and Santa Clara joined in the happiness of 
 their noble relatives. 
 
 The Count and Countess now bade adieu 
 to their respected friends ; and the parting 
 of Ferdinand and Rosalia was such as to 
 encourage the hopes of their parents.*" 
 
 In vain the Count endeavoured to per^ 
 
 suade the Marchesc to pass a few^days at his 
 
 pallazo. No entreaties could induce the 
 
 fatter to quit the delightful shades of 
 
 E 2 Orenza,
 
 73 vivoNio. 
 
 Orenza^ and the daily felicity of beholding 
 his lovely daughter. 
 
 A few days after the departure of the 
 Count and Countess Alvanio^ the Duke was 
 agreeably surprised by the return of Fer- 
 dinand^ who appeared to prefer the charm- 
 ing society at the castle to all the luxury 
 and splendour of the pallazo. 
 
 Father Albertini was alone with the Duke 
 at the return of Ferdinand^ who was im- 
 mediately conducted to the apartment. The 
 Father was struck with his mcdest and sen- 
 sible demeanour, so unlike the air and 
 manners of a youth educated amidst the 
 luxuries and follies of a great city ; but his 
 wonder ceased when he understood that 
 Ferdinand had chiefly resided at a remote 
 estate of the Count's in Arragon, under 
 the direction and care of a very pious and 
 sensible man. 
 
 A few days acquaintance served to in- 
 crease the mutual esteem of Father Alber- 
 tini and the youthful Ferdinand ; and the 
 
 former^
 
 VIVQNIO. (i 
 
 former, finding the youth rather dc^ncient 
 in some branches of knowledge of which 
 he was perfect master, undertook to in- 
 struct him. 
 
 The talents and erudition of Father Al- 
 bertini amply qualified him for the pleasing 
 task he had imposed on him^.elf ; and Fer- 
 dinand exceeded his instructor's expecta- 
 tions, in the sweetness of his temper, and 
 the facility with which he acquired the 
 knowledge of whatever he was instructed 
 in. 
 
 In the Convent of Santa Maria, Ferdinand 
 ^vas an universal favourite. The Madre 
 regarded him as a youth who promised to 
 becomeperfectly deserving of her beauteous 
 Rosalia; while t\\Q nuns pronounced him the 
 most polite and amiable Chevalier in the 
 world. His charming cousin beheld him 
 with all the artless affection of her early 
 a<'"e. 
 
 After an absence of tw^o months,. Fer- 
 dinand returned to Naples, where the 
 Countess anxiously expected him. His 
 E 3 improve-
 
 ^S viVOKre. 
 
 imprvovement was so evident, that the Count 
 remarked it on the second day after his 
 return ; and Ferdinand had nov^ an oppor- 
 tunity of expatiating, with animated delight,, 
 on the merits of the virtuous Father Alber- 
 tini. 
 
 The Count expressed an earnest w^ish to 
 see this good Father ; but was informed that 
 the Father Albertini had a decided aversion 
 to much society, and had even declined the 
 being introduced to the father of his pupiL 
 
 Three years glided away, unmarked by 
 aught but the increasing improvement of 
 the lovely cousins, in goodness, beauty, and 
 accomplishments, and in the continued 
 friendship of their noble relatives, who 
 ardently looked forward to the approach- 
 ing year, which was to unite their Ferdi- 
 nand and Rosalia. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 V I V o N I o. 79 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 JL HE young Alvanio had now attained 
 his nineteenth year. The pallid cheek of 
 Albertini was animated by the glow of vir- 
 tuous exultation, as he beheld the youth he 
 had trained in the paths of religion and 
 honour, an ornament to his rank and 
 family. 
 
 Rosalia, now sixteen, was exquisitely 
 beautiful ; and her personal charms were 
 heightened by the modest grace and ele- 
 gance of her deportment. Innate delicacy 
 diffused a heavenly softness over her lovely 
 face and form, such as the most consum- 
 mate libertine could not behold without 
 E 4 experiencing
 
 50 VI VON I©. 
 
 experiencing the full power of real virtue. 
 No affected airs of sensibility, no studied 
 attitudes, were ever thought of or practised 
 ]:y this enchanting female : her truly feel- 
 ing and elevated mind gave a gracefal 
 digniiicd simplicity to all her actions, which 
 tpG most refined art would vainly endeavour 
 to imiitate. 
 
 During every visit the Count and Countess 
 Alvanio had made to the Duke and Mar- 
 chese, Rosalia was of the party, and the 
 attachment of the young cousins appeared 
 unabated^ when suddenly Ferdinand began 
 to pn!:s more time at the pallazo at Naples, 
 thail was agreeable to the Count or the 
 Marchese. The Duke^ indeed, saw nothing 
 particular in a fine young man w^ishing to 
 mix in the gaiety and splendour of the 
 pallazo ; but the Count was of a different 
 opijiion, md he always took care to hasten 
 his son's return to the castle ; but even then 
 the visits of Ferdinand were short, and he 
 soon again presented himself at Naples. 
 The PukCj at length, growing chagrine 
 
 at
 
 VIVONIO. 81 
 
 at this change, requested Father Albertini 
 to question Ferdinand respecting his motive 
 for visiting Naples so frequently ; but the 
 Father could only learn from his pupil;, that 
 a wish of paying more attention to his 
 mother influenced his present conduct. 
 
 Ferdinand o:ave this reason with so much 
 embarrassment, that Albertini, with ex- 
 treme concern, began to fear he no longer, 
 possessed the confidence of his beloved 
 young friend : but the Duke, on hearing 
 the motive Ferdinand had assigned for his 
 absence, made such enquiries as confirmed 
 the truth; for he learned, with much satlr- 
 faction, that Ferdinand constantly attended 
 the Countess with all the amiable assiduity 
 of filial regard ; that he seldom frequented 
 any parties but her's ; and when she was 
 not engaged, he passed the time in reading 
 to her, in her boudoir or her dressing- 
 room. 
 
 This account entirely reinstated the young 
 
 man in the esteem of his friends ; and as 
 
 the Countess did not enjoy excellent health, 
 
 E 5 this,
 
 82 VIVONIO. 
 
 this proof of an amiable disposition in her 
 son, obtained for him • the highest en- 
 comiums. 
 
 The Count Alvanio, however, was ex- 
 tremely restless and unhappy ; he durst not 
 forbid his son's frequent visits to the 
 Countess, and the idea of his being absent 
 from Rosalia so often was painful and dis- 
 pleasing. 
 
 At last he requested the Duke would 
 permit the young people to be informed 
 of their intended alliance, that they might 
 not enter into any engagements contrary 
 to the wishes of their friends; but the Duke 
 smiled at this idea, and protested that it 
 was too soon. 
 
 The Count was hurt ; but he suppressed 
 the expression of his apprehensions, and 
 soon revisited the castle, accompained by 
 the Countess, who now used such argu- 
 ments and entreaties, that the Marchese, 
 though reluctantly, consented that his 
 idolized child should accompany her to 
 Naples^ for a few weeks. 
 
 The
 
 VI VON 10. »J> 
 
 The Countess represented, that the mind 
 of the lovely girl ought to be unprejudiced 
 in her union with Ferdinand. — '' Hitherto 
 she had seen only him ; he appeared there- 
 fore the most amiable being in the world. 
 Suffer our beloved Rosalia/' continued the 
 Countess, '' to associate in the world some 
 time prior to her m.arria^e ; her mind will 
 then be unbiassed, and should she then 
 honour my son with her regard, we may 
 rest assured of her felicity.'* 
 
 This proposal was extremely pleasing to 
 the benevolent Santa Clara. She declared 
 her approbation in the most decided man- 
 ner, and the Marchese no longer hesitated. 
 
 The amiable Abbesrs doubted the affection 
 of Rosalia for Ferdinand. The innocent 
 and lovely girl, she had observed, regarded 
 her cousin only with the mild affection of 
 a sister ; and Santa Clara had eagerly availed 
 herself of this opportunity of ascertaining 
 the justness of her own observations. 
 
 Rosalia was as unhappy at the idea of 
 
 this journey as the Marchese, and, in tears, 
 
 E 6 besought
 
 S4 VI V OK 10. 
 
 besonglit him not to persist in the intended 
 visit to Naples; for Di Romanzini had 
 determined to accompany his daughter 
 thither : but the entreaties of Rosalia were 
 in vain ; the Duke, justly partial to the 
 Countess, could not endure that her request 
 should be refused. 
 
 Preparations were accordingly made for 
 this excursion, and in a few days Rosalia 
 "bade adieu to Santa Clara, and her amiable 
 companions, v^ho wept the departure of 
 their lovely inmate from the sacred walls 
 of .Santa Maria. 
 
 Fearful of depressing the spirits of her 
 beloved father, Rosalia endeavoured to re-' 
 strain those tears, which the prospect of a 
 lengthened absence from the tranquil abode 
 of her early youth bad caused to flow. The 
 Marchese appeared but tgo much inclined 
 to melancholy, which Rosalia perceiving, 
 soon resumed her sweetest smiles, to assist 
 the Countejis in the pleasing task of banish- 
 ing his griefs. 
 
 As they approached the charming city 
 
 of
 
 vivoNio. 85 
 
 of Naples, a deep sadness shaded the 
 countenance of the Marchese ; nor could 
 the interesting remarks of his amiable 
 companion divert his attention from dwell- 
 ing on scenes long past. 
 
 When they arrived at the pallazo, they 
 found the Count anxfously awaiting their 
 appearance. Ferdinand^ who had not been 
 apprised of the Countess's intentions, re- 
 ceived the Marchese and Rosalia with such 
 animated expressions of surprise and plea- 
 su^T, that the suspicions of the Count en- 
 tirely subsided, and the Marchese was con- 
 firmed in his opinion that the apprehensions 
 of Alvanio were groundless. 
 
 A residence of a few days, however, 
 taught the Countess otherwise. She dis- 
 cerned no striking trait of that passion 
 ■which constitutes the felicity of marriage. 
 
 Ferdinand, she knew, must reasonably 
 suppose that several obstacles existed to 
 his obtaining the hand of Rosalia ; con- 
 sequeiitl)', if he beheld her vvith sentiments 
 of love, his fears would produce embarrass- 
 5- ment
 
 BO VIVGNIO. 
 
 luent and sorrow; but his conduct was 
 free and unconstrained ; and he was already 
 planning a thousand pleasureable schemes 
 for the amusement of Rosalia^ which would 
 not fail of introducing her to the notice of 
 many of the most noble youths of Naples, 
 who were but too likely to become his 
 rivals. 
 
 These reflections convinced the Countess 
 that her son viewed Rosalia only as a be- 
 loved sister. Of Signora di Romanzini's 
 sentim.ents, she had long formed a decided 
 opinion. 
 
 As it v/as late when the party reached 
 Naples, Rosalia, after partaking a slight 
 repast, retired to her apartment, attended 
 by a servant who had accompanied her 
 from the convent. This young woman 
 was the niece of the late Marchesa's fa- 
 vourite attendant, Lauretta : she was not 
 many years older than her young lady, and 
 having resided constantly in the convent 
 with Rosalia, she was, at the request of 
 her Lady, permitted to accompany her to 
 
 Naples,
 
 V I V o N I o. 87 
 
 Naples. She was remarkable only for the 
 unbounded affection she bore her Ladyy 
 the excellence of her heart, and the sim- 
 plicity of her manners. Her attendance 
 was therefore extremely pleasing, parti- 
 cularlv as it superseded the necessity of 
 requiring the service of strangers, for 
 Rosalia would not permit more than one 
 servant to wait at her toilet. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 88 vivoNio. 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 N the morrow, Rosalia had leisure fo 
 COD teir. plate the luxury and elegance with 
 which the pallazo was adorned. Every 
 thing magnificent, ornamental, and con- 
 venient, that the most fastidious could de- 
 sire, was here to be met with ir profusion ; 
 "but the taste of Rosalia was fcrmed, and the 
 simple elegance of her apartments in the 
 castle, and the sublime prospects which her 
 chamber in the convent afforded, were 
 preferred to the brilliant and splendid re- 
 sidence of the Countess. 
 
 With eyes filled with tears of paternal 
 rapture, the Marchese heard these senti- 
 ments^
 
 VIVO NIC. 
 
 89 
 
 ments, and gloried i 'i the thought that his 
 child was alike qualified to shine in the 
 most brilliant circles, as in all the soft en- 
 chanting scenes of domestic elegance and 
 retirement. 
 
 For two days the Countess shut her doors 
 on all visitors. On the third, a magnKicent 
 entertainment *vas given, for ike purpose 
 of introducing the lovely Rosalia di Homan- 
 zini to the society she was so eminently 
 formed to adorn by her beauty and accom- 
 plishments. 
 
 In the midst of an assemblage of the most 
 distinguished beauties^ Rosalia appeared 
 conspicuously lovely ; she exceeded all 
 expectation^ and even the beauteous Italian 
 dames confessed Signora di Romanzini to 
 be unrivalled. 
 
 In a short time* all Naples rang with the 
 charms of the lovely heiress of Orenza. 
 
 The Marchese^ with silent joy and won- 
 der, beheld the fair object of universal 
 admiration still the same sweety simple^ 
 
 feeling
 
 90 VIVONIO, 
 
 feeling girl. By no means elated by the 
 enthusiastic raptures i?he excited, Rosalia 
 considered them as merely the flatteries 
 that every young female af rank received 
 on her first entrance on the busy scenes of 
 the gay world; and though her lovely face 
 was frequently covered with blushes, they 
 were not the glow of gratified vanity, but 
 the delicate expression of modesty and 
 sense. 
 
 The Count, with inconceivable chagrin, 
 perceived that the unbounded admiration 
 which Rosalia excited, appeared not to give 
 the slightest degree of pain to Ferdinand, 
 who, on the contrary, seemed highly pleased 
 at the uncommon eclat his fair cousin had 
 obtained. 
 
 Repeated solicitations to the Marchese, 
 for permission to address his incomparable 
 daughter, were now unavoidably rejected; 
 and Di Romanzini became anxious to leave 
 Naples, to shield himself from \h^ urgent 
 entreaties he daily encountered on that 
 
 subject;
 
 VIVONIO. 91 
 
 subject ; for as yet he did not avow that he 
 had destined the hand of Rosalia to the 
 young Ferdinand Alvanio. 
 
 The Countess was in the greatest concern 
 at the idea of the Marchese's departure. 
 She feared Naples had become disagreeable 
 to him^ and to prevent his return to the 
 castle^ prevailed on him to accompany 
 her to an enchanting villa she possessed^ 
 situated near the bay of Gaita. 
 
 On the evening preceding their de- 
 parture^ the Countess and Rosalia were 
 present at a ball given by the Viceroy, in 
 honour of the lovely young stranger. 
 
 Here the same admiration attended her 
 stcpSj and she received the complimentary 
 adieus of the company with infinite grace 
 and unembarrassed modesty, till the Count 
 Guidoni approached; a deeper blush then 
 suffused her cheek, and she faltered her 
 farewell in almost unintelligible accents. 
 
 The Countess at that moment addressed 
 the Count Guidoni, and Rosalia, complain- 
 ing of sudden indisposition, was soon 
 
 surrounded
 
 92 vivoKio. 
 
 SiMToundcd by a rrowd, eager to display 
 their assiduous attentions. 
 
 In a few n^oments she was tolerably re- 
 covered, and was attended to the carriage 
 by the Marchese and Connt Guidoni', who 
 appeared exceedingly alarmed at her pallid 
 look. 
 
 On arriving at the pallazo, Rosalia imme- 
 diately retired to her apartment, accom- 
 panied by the Countess, who did not leave 
 her till she was perfectly restored. 
 
 The Count Guidoni was the son of a 
 Piedmontese nobleman, of an ancient and 
 honourable family. His fortune was large^ 
 and he possessed no vices to degrade his 
 rank, or dissipate his wealth. His father 
 had lately paid the debt of nature ; his 
 mother he lost in his infancy ; and having 
 no near relation to console him for the loss 
 of an indulgent and revered parent, he was 
 now travelling, to divert his mind from the 
 retrospect of the happy hours he had 
 passed, when listening to the pious and 
 Boble precepts of the late Count, whose 
 
 valued
 
 VIVONIO. ' ViJ 
 
 valued society bad comprised his chief 
 happiness. 
 
 /The late Count Guidonij from somej 
 early misfortunes, had become disgusted' 
 ■with the world, and in the secluded retire- 
 ment of an ancient castle, proudly rearing 
 its lofty towers amidst the Alpine scenery, 
 which almost surrounded it, he had educated 
 his only son. 
 
 Enrico Guidoni early imbibed the noble 
 and romantic sentiments of his^ father, and 
 his ardent love of virtue shone forth in a 
 thousand different traits. No danger, no 
 difficulty, even in his childhood, prevented 
 Enrico from leaping the Alpine heights, to 
 guide the lonely traveller to the hospitable 
 gates of the castle. There, as the chilled 
 features of the way-worn wanderer relaxed, 
 while seated by the bright blaze that illu- 
 med the ample hearth, the tear of pleasure 
 started in young Guidoni's eye, and his 
 guileless lips breathed a prayer of thanks- 
 giving to the Divine Beings who had gra- 
 ciously
 
 M 
 
 VIVONIO, 
 
 ciously been pleased to place him in a 
 situation to assist the unfortunate. 
 
 As Enrico grew up, he justly fulfilled the 
 hopes of his anxious parent, who beheld 
 him, at the age of twenty, possessed of 
 every noble and endearing quality. His 
 sublime principles of religion promised to 
 guard him from the vicious iliurements of 
 the world ; and his cultivated and refined 
 lindel'standing taught him to seek, in piety 
 and virtue, for every real happiness. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, his father had 
 accompanied him through several countries 
 of Europe, with the instructive lessons of a 
 tutor, and the tender care of a parent. 
 
 Under the discriminating and watchful 
 eye of this virtuous parent, Guidoni beheld 
 
 the world as it is. Its vices were exrjosed 
 
 1 
 
 to his view, with all the candour and judg- 
 ment that marked the character of the old 
 Count. He did not severely inveigh against 
 such and such pursuits ; he pointed out 
 their consequences, in the unchanging 
 
 colours
 
 vrvoNio. 05 
 
 colours of truth ; and Enrico soon became 
 convinced that man may^ if he does not 
 take religion and reason for his guides^ de- 
 grade himself below the brute creation. 
 
 After three years^ devoted to the pursuit 
 of useful knowledge^ the Count and his 
 son were returning to Guidoni Castle^ pre- 
 vious to passing a winter at Rome, when 
 the Count was taken suddenly ill, and died 
 at Milan, after a fev/days severe illness. He 
 died enforcing the precepts he had so long 
 taught, and in calling down eternal bless- 
 ings on a son so beloved and so deserving. 
 
 For some time the young Count was a 
 prey to silent sorrow. He attended the 
 remains of his lamented father to Guidoni 
 Castle, and when they were deposited in 
 the chapel, he shut himself up in his apart^ 
 ment, to weep his irreparable loss. 
 
 At length, religion aided the recovery of 
 his tranquillity : he remembered that his 
 beloved parent had forbade useless regret ; 
 and though he could not immediately obey 
 this command^ he determined to make the 
 
 endeavour^
 
 95 vjvoNio. 
 
 erideavour, and at the entreaties of a valued 
 and confidential old servant of the late 
 Count's^ commervixd a tour of Italy. 
 
 After viewing every thing worthy his 
 attention in several of the Italian States, 
 the Count proceeded to Naples^ where he 
 had redded near two months antecedent to 
 the visit of the Marchese and Rosalia to the 
 palJazo Ah anio. 
 
 The Count, soon after his arrival, com- 
 menced an acquaintance with Ferdinand Al- 
 .vanio, and early became his m.ast valued 
 friend. Enrico and Ferdinand seemed to 
 have found in each other kindred souls, and 
 were inseparable. 
 
 Long accustomed to listen to the praises 
 bestowed on Rosalia, Guidoni ardently em- 
 braced the first opportunity^of beholding 
 the lovely relative of his friend ; and he 
 had no sooner beheld her, than he con- 
 fessed she was superior to any female he 
 had ever seen. 
 
 But when, afterwards, admitted to the 
 private concerts and parties of the Countess, 
 
 Guidoni
 
 y 
 
 1 1 VON 10. 97 
 
 Guidoni conversed with Rcsalia^ he be- 
 came devoted to her loved ider., and sought 
 every occasion of paying her all those 
 delicate attentions which a sincere love 
 ever inspires. 
 
 The youthful Rosalia beheld in the Count 
 Guidoni^ on his first introduction, a young 
 nobleman equally amiable and engaging a^ 
 her beloved cousin ; a ^ cry few interviews 
 served to convince her" he was superior. 
 His graceful air, the perfect symmetry, of 
 his elegant figure, and a coiintenance iii 
 ^vhich manly beauty and expression were 
 conspicuous, rendered him a most interest- 
 ing object ; and Rosalia indulged the art- 
 less predilection she had conceived iri his 
 favour, till she became insensible to the 
 merits of any other. 
 
 The Countess, also, was particularly struck 
 with the Count Guidoni, and he regarded 
 her with that deference and respect her 
 rank and virtues laid claim to. On a more 
 intimate acquaintance, he esteemed her 
 more; and the mother of his friend was 
 
 VOL. I. F soon
 
 98 VI VON 10. 
 
 soon considered as his own ; for the 
 Couytess^ desirous to encrease the friend- 
 ship that subsisted between the Count 
 Guidoni and Ferdinand, frequently ad- 
 dressed the former by the endearing ap- 
 pellation of son. 
 
 As Rosalia w'as continually surrounded 
 by a crowd of adorers, all assiduously court- 
 ing her attention, the Count Guidoni w^as 
 not particularly noticed. The timid for- 
 bearance of a real passion suffered him not 
 to intrude his attentions; and Rosalia w^as 
 too innately delicate to permit her to dis- 
 tinouish him from the rest who strove to 
 obtain her favour. No person, therefore, 
 except the Countess and Ferdinand, sus- 
 pected their mutual partiality; but they 
 did not even mention their suspicions to 
 each other. 
 
 The embarrassment of Rosalia on the 
 night of the ball, confirmed the suspicions 
 of the Countess, and the alarm and terror 
 of Guidoni were but too ill disguised to 
 escape her penetration. The Count i\.lvanio 
 
 had
 
 YIVONIO. 9^ 
 
 had also made his observations on the be- 
 haviour of the young Count : he had re- 
 marked how, on hearing Rosalia complain 
 of indisposition, the noble youth had flown 
 to support her ; while the death-like pale- 
 ness that overspread his fine countenance^ 
 and his hurried accent/ but too well de- 
 clared that no common feelings agitated 
 his breast. 
 
 The Marchese was too much alarmed to 
 perceive any thing, but that his lovely 
 daughter was near fainting ; and when 
 Guidoni had assisted in- leading her to the 
 carriage, and afterwards attended at the 
 f- pallazo, anxiously entreating tobe informed 
 of her health, the Marchese was profuse in 
 his acknowledgments, and treated the young 
 ) Count with such polite and friendly cour- 
 t tesy, that Guidoni departed, mingling bless- 
 ings on Di Romanzini with his prayers for 
 the perfect restoration of the charming- 
 Rosalia. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 100 VIVONIO. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 N the morning which succeeded the 
 evening of the ball, the Count and Countess, 
 accompanied by the Marchese and Rosalia, 
 and attended by a small suite, set off for 
 the villa, Ferdinand being to rem,ain a few 
 days longer in Naples. 
 
 The sublime and beautiful views sur- 
 rounding the villa, charmed a^d delighted 
 Rosalia ; and the elegant simplicity of the 
 structure was perfectly congenial to her 
 
 taste. 
 
 A slight colonnade of white marble adorn- 
 ed the front entrance, which overlooked the 
 bay ; while groves of the finest myrtles and 
 
 orange
 
 y I VON 10. 101 
 
 orange trees^ intermingled with almond and 
 rose trees, partly encompassed the edifice. 
 
 The apartments, designed for the use of 
 Rosalia, had been newly fitted up. Every 
 decoration that the Countess had heard her 
 approve, was here arranged with exquisite 
 taste ; and the lovely girl felt truly sensible 
 of this delicate attention. 
 
 These apartments commanded the most 
 beautiful and extensive views ; and Rosalia^ 
 from the window of a small boudoir, sur- 
 veyed the luxuriant plains, covered with 
 vineyards and olives, while the blue v/aters 
 of the bay undulated on the sloping shore. 
 Just beneath the windows of her dressing- 
 room and chamber, the fragrant orange 
 blossomed, and the dark myrtle shaded a 
 serpentine walk cut through the grove^ and 
 leading to an eminence, on which was 
 erected a small temple, that commanded 
 several romantic and delightful views of the 
 surrounding country and the bay. 
 
 On the evening of their arrival, as the 
 
 party had experienced no great fatigue, the 
 
 F 3 Count
 
 102 VIVONIO. 
 
 Cmvo.t detained the Marchese and Rosalia 
 nil a hie hour, whije music and conversation 
 insensibly beguiled the time. 
 
 When Rosalia retired to her chamber;, 
 she found Biancha eagerly awaiting her 
 appearance in her dre^..&ing•-roomJ and on 
 enquiring the cause of her apparent agita- 
 tion, the girl was preparing to answer, 
 when the sweet tones of a flute, breathed 
 with exquisite skill, checked her utterance. 
 
 Rosalia listened attentively, as the thrill- 
 ing cadence died upon the breeze, then 
 swelled to strains of celestial harmony, and 
 sunk to the soft plaintive notes of hopeless 
 love. 
 
 She now gently approached the lattice^ 
 and unclosed it. The night was serene and 
 beautiful : the moon shed a silver lustre on 
 the dark branches of the myrtle, and the 
 most delightful perfume was wafted from 
 the orange and rose trees. 
 
 Again the strain stole on her ear; her 
 heart beat quicker. A favourite air, which 
 she had frequently sung at Naples, was 
 
 gently
 
 VIVONIO. 103 
 
 gently breathed with snch taste and sweet- 
 ness, as charmed her to the spot. 
 
 '' Ah V sighed Rosalia^ '' surely it is the 
 Count Guidoni ! he only could exprejjs so 
 much feeling !" 
 
 The idea had no sooner crossed her mind:» 
 than^ conscious of the impropriety of re- 
 maining at the window, she hastily with- 
 drew, and, ordering Biancha to. fasten the 
 lattice, retired to seek that repose which 
 the image of Guidoni forbade. 
 
 Rosalia, though tenderly prepossessed in 
 favour of the Count, was unconscious of 
 the nature of the sentiment she indulged. 
 Her agitation, on the night she bade him 
 farewell at the palace of the Viceroy, had 
 failed to inform her of the truth; and she 
 attributed to fatigue, and the natural con- 
 sequence of separating from those we 
 esteem, the strong emotion that had almost 
 overpowered her. 
 
 On the following morning she arose, 
 languid and pale, and on entering the par- 
 lour to breakfast, the anxious enquiries of the 
 F 4 Marchese
 
 104 VIVONIO. 
 
 Marchcfie and the Countess con fused and 
 distressed her ahnost to tears. Ashamed of 
 this weakness, so unusual^ she endeavoured 
 to apologize pnd to excuse it, by saying 
 she was indisposed ; but a -strict regard to 
 truth would not permit her to persist in 
 this tale, and she confessed she had not 
 slept the preceding night, her mind having 
 been so much occupied by the scenes she 
 b,ad been engaged in at Naples. 
 
 The Marchcse smiled, and insisted that 
 she must banish sucW trivial recollections ; 
 but the Countess,, who justly imagined that 
 the form of Guidon i stood foremost in 
 these '' trivial recoUccUoiiB," began to en- 
 tertain^ very serious alarm for the peace of 
 her beloved Rosalia. 
 
 With the intention of diverting the 
 thoughts of the lovely girl from the in- 
 teresting subject that engrossed them, the 
 Countess conducted her to the little temple, 
 and requested her to give such directions 
 for its embellishment as accorded with her 
 own taste. 
 
 RQsaIi<i>
 
 V I V O N I O. 
 
 ' 105 
 
 Rosalia/ by no means sensible of the dan- 
 ger she incurred by dwelling long on an 
 idea inimical to her peace, would have de- 
 clined this employment ; but the Countess 
 seemed to attach so much consequence to 
 her denial, that she was obliged to submit, 
 and accordingly commenced forming a plan 
 for Xh.Q decoration of the temple. 
 
 But the humane design of the Countess 
 was entirely frustrated by the passion that 
 occupied the heart of Rosalia. Such a stile 
 of ornament had been praised by Guidoni. 
 The pencil of Rosalia immediately sketched 
 that. He would have arranged festoons 
 of myrtle and roses between the light 
 pillars. She now gave orders for the tem- 
 ple to be adorned ^\\X\ fer.toons of roses 
 and myrtle. In short, while i\\Q Countess 
 congratulated herself en having, in some 
 degree, diverted the thoughts of Rosalia 
 from a fascinating object, the contempla- 
 tion of whose m.erits might prove fatal to- 
 iler happiness, the lovely subject of her 
 cares was earnestly employed in decorating 
 F 5 the
 
 106 vivo^io. 
 
 the temple with every ornament that could 
 remind her of Guidoni. 
 
 In a short time the improvements were 
 compleatedj and Rosalia was incessantly 
 wandering to the favourite spot, and 
 cherishing the idea of Guidoni, by touch- 
 ing her lute to every air she had heard him 
 admire. 
 
 Though she never more approached the 
 window at nighty yet she never neglected 
 to listen for the enchanting musician ; but 
 he returned no more, and melancholy re- 
 gret clouded the brilliant prospects of 
 Rosalia. 
 
 In the presence of the Marchese alone, 
 Rosalia retained any resemblance of her 
 former self; in the society of her beloved 
 parent, she resolutely endeavoured to re- 
 press all ideas but those of pleasing him ; 
 and this affectionate parent knew not that 
 his heart's best treasure was the innocent, 
 unconscious victim of a passion that could- 
 end but with her life. 
 
 . About a week after their arrival at the 
 
 villa,
 
 r I VON 10. 107 
 
 villa, several friends of the Countess joined 
 her. Their converse and the amusements 
 changed the scene ; but the heart of Rosalia 
 was still the same. She partook of the 
 gaieties of the villa ; but her soul revolted 
 at the name of pleasure, and a pensive 
 mo^onlight walk accorded better with the 
 feelino^s of her mind. 
 
 One night, soon after the famriy had re- 
 tired to repose, a messenger arrived in the 
 greatest haste; and requested to see the 
 Marchese, who was awakened as cautiously 
 as possible, and having ordered the mes- 
 senger to be admitted into his chamber, 
 found he v/as one of his own servants, wha 
 had travelled with the greatest expedition, 
 to i^equest the Marchese and the Count 
 Alvanio's iminediate attendance at the 
 Castle di Orenza, as the Duke had been 
 taken suddenly ill, and was not expected 
 to survive two davs. 
 
 The Marchese instantly caused the Count 
 
 to be informed of this sum.mons. Alvania 
 
 quickly sought tlie chamber of Di Roman- 
 
 F 6 zini.
 
 IGS vrvoNro. 
 
 zini, who was preparing for departure^ and^ 
 at his request^ hastened to the Countess, 
 and brieliy informing her of the circum- 
 stance^ requested she would break the affair 
 to Rosalia, whom neither the Marchese nor 
 the Count would permit to be disturbed. 
 
 The servant having brought one of his 
 Lord's travelling carriages and swift horses, 
 with a, train of attendants, well armed, the 
 Colmt delayed not a moment, but stripped 
 into the carriage with the Marchese; and 
 they were several miles on the road ere 
 Kosalia arose. 
 
 On hearing the occasion of the Mar- 
 chcse's departure, Rosalia could scarcely be 
 restrained from following him. Her own 
 secret sorrows were totally forgotten in the 
 situation of the Duke^ and she passed two 
 days in agonizing suspcrise. On the third, 
 the joyful intelligence arrived, of the Duke's 
 being pronounced out of danger. The 
 Marchese, in a letter replete with senti- 
 ments of paternal^ love, addressed to Ro- 
 salia, entreated his beloved child to console 
 
 herself
 
 VIVONIO. 109 
 
 herself in his absence with the idea of his 
 administering to the ease and happiness of 
 the Duke ; and conduded with repeated 
 promises of returning as speedily as possible 
 to conduct her to the castle. 
 
 She had scarcely finished reading the affec- 
 tionate epistle of the MarchesC;, when the 
 Count Guidoni was announced. The letter 
 fell from hfer trembling hand^ and she had 
 scarcely power to rise on his entrance. 
 
 The County surprised and alarmed at her 
 evident confusion^ apologized for his in- 
 trusion, and would have withdrawn, had not 
 Kosalia, recovering from her first emotion, 
 gracefully entreated hiin to remain, and 
 accounted for her agitation, by informing, 
 him of the recent situation of the Duke. 
 
 The Countess now entered the saloon, 
 and gave a very flattering reception to the 
 Count, who acquainted her that Ferdinand 
 intended to make his appearance at the villa 
 on the following morning, and had made him 
 the bearer of his excuses for not attending 
 earlier. 
 
 5 The
 
 110 VIVONIO. 
 
 The Countess, on the departure of Count 
 Alvanio, had sent to Ferdinand, requiring 
 his presence ; but, to her extreme surprise^, 
 he had not yet obeyed the summons, and 
 she was on the point of dispatching another 
 messenger^ when the arrival of the Count 
 Guidoni rendered such a step unnecessary. 
 
 Convinced that the Count adored Rosa]ia,r 
 the Countess inwardly rejoiced at this visit : 
 an explanation, she hoped, would now en- 
 sue, which would lead to the completion of 
 their happiness. Much as she had wished 
 the union of Ferdinand and Rosalia, her 
 irenerous mind could not endure the idea 
 of beholding- the misery that must ever 
 result from a marriage of v^hich mutual 
 affection is not ike ba-sis. 
 
 The attentions of the Count Guidoni to 
 Rosalia, therefore^ gave no more pain to 
 the Countess than they did to Ferdinand. 
 That amiable lady tell assured that the Mar- 
 chese'/would net withhold his approbation 
 of the wish of his beloved and only child ; 
 and the cliaractcr of Guidoni w^assuchas 
 
 could
 
 VI VON 10. 11 f 
 
 could not fail to interest the Marchese, av ho- 
 already esteemed him an ornament to hu- 
 man nature. The Countess was not fully 
 aware of the encreasing anxiety that tor- ^ 
 mented the Count Alvanio, who had re- 
 solved to use every entreaty, could the 
 Duke be discoursed with on the subject, to 
 obtain his consent, and that of the Mar- 
 chese, to the almost immediate solemniza- 
 tion of the nuptials of his son, and the 
 beautiful heiress of Orenza. 
 
 On the arrival of the Marchese and the 
 Count Alvanio at the castle, they found the* 
 Duke just pronounced out of danger; and 
 in a few days his recovery was considered' 
 as certain. 
 
 To the gi-eat joy of the Count, the Duke 
 was as earnest in wishing to forward the 
 nuptials of Rosalia,, as he was himself; and 
 the Marchese acquiesced with heartfelt sa- 
 tisfaction. It was therefore decided, that 
 as soon as the Duke should he able to leave 
 his chamber,, the Count should return to 
 the villa^ and inform the young cousins of 
 
 the
 
 112 VIVO NIC. 
 
 the intended alliance ; and so energetic had 
 the Count been in his representations of 
 the continued alTection of Ferdinand and 
 Rosalia, that the Duke imagined this in- 
 telligence would, afford them the most 
 rapturous joy. The Marchese^ entertaining 
 no idea that his daughter had beheld any 
 one of the young noblemen who had 
 crowded around her with sentiments such 
 as she experienced forGuidoni, was also of 
 opinion that the communication the Count 
 was about to make^ would only be produc- 
 tive or happiness. 
 
 While the Count Alvanio impatiently 
 av/aited the convalescence of the Duke, the 
 Countess and liosalia, attended by Guidoni 
 and Ferdinand, were wandering on the sea- 
 beat shore, or through the myrtle groves of 
 the villa, unconscious of the threatening 
 storm. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 V 1 V O K 1 
 
 113 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 1 HE situation of the Duke prevented 
 the Countess entertaining visitors at the 
 villa during his indisposition ; therefore 
 the Count Guidoni resided at Gaita, from 
 whence he rode to the villa every morning, 
 the intimacy which aibsisted between Fer- 
 dinand and the Count allowing the latter 
 to present himself when other society was 
 excluded, 
 
 Ferdinand had been true to his appoint- 
 ment ; but the Countess, soon after his. 
 arrival, observed that an air of melancholy 
 and abstraction frequently clouded his 
 features, and on privately enquiring what 
 
 had
 
 114; VIVONIO. 
 
 had occasioned his evident disquiet, she 
 received an answer by no means satisfac- 
 tory. A fearful dread of having formed an 
 erroneous opinion respecting her son's 
 sentiments towards Rosalia, threv^r the mind 
 of the Countess into sorrow^ and perplexity, 
 and her alarmed fancy pourtrayed Ferdi- 
 nand struggling with the mingled emotions 
 of concealed love and despair. 
 
 Deeply impressed with these apprehen- 
 sions, the Countess strictly observed the 
 actions of Ferdinand ; but her usual pene- 
 tration was now of no avail. The melan- 
 choly of Ferdinand encreased. She often 
 caught his eyes earnestly fixed on the 
 Count Guidoni and Rosalia, as they sat 
 beneath the shade conversing, or as ihe 
 latter attentively listened to the expressive 
 accents of the Count, as he read, or recited 
 the most admired authors. Yet Ferdinand 
 still res^arded the Count with sentiments of 
 the liveliest friendship, and appeared to 
 encourage his passion for Rosalia, by afford- 
 ing him every opportunity of paying her 
 
 those
 
 VI VON 10. 115 
 
 those interesting attentions which render a 
 lover so amiable. 
 
 While the Countess and her son were 
 equally unhappy, though neither knew the 
 cause of the other's distress, Rosalia and 
 the Count, tenderly engrossed by each 
 other, were insensible to every thing but 
 the mutual desire of pleasing. The rose 
 again bloomed on the cheek of Rosalia, 
 and the sweet tranquillity of her mind shone 
 in her eyes. Guidoni, alone, conscious of 
 the sentiment that reigned in his breast^ 
 experienced the agonizing fear of losing 
 her who was dearer to him than life. 
 
 In the presence of Rosalia, all his 
 anxiety ceased ; the rapture of hearing her 
 voice, of gazing on her beautiful counte- 
 nance, and watching her slightest wish, 
 formed the joy of Guidoni, the supreme 
 bliss of his existence. But, in the silence 
 of night, while sighing on his couch, or 
 wandering through the groves, all his terrors 
 revived. Could he have dared to hope he 
 was dear to her^ he would instantly have 
 
 throw u
 
 li.6 VIVONIO. 
 
 thrown himself at the feet of the MarchesC;, 
 and confessed his ardent afiection ; but the 
 apprehension of being banished from her 
 sight, the dread of not having gained an 
 interest in her heart, deterred him ; for 
 Guidoni possessed not that credulous va- 
 nity so common in young men of rank and 
 personal attractions, which leads them to 
 imagine that every young female must be 
 sensible of their merits, and rejoice in their 
 addresses. Guidoni had beheld Rosalia 
 surrounded by some of the most amiable 
 and accomplished cavaliers, had observed 
 that she was insensible to their most 
 animated assiduities— how then could he 
 arrogate to himself the hope of creating an 
 interest in the bosom of one for whom so 
 many had sighed in vain ? 
 
 Had the innocent Rosalia suspected that 
 love formed the charm of her existence^ 
 and that Guidoni was the favoured object 
 of- her heart, her confusion and timidity 
 would have soon informed the Count of hi? 
 happiness ; for to the fatal effects of that 
 
 .passion>
 
 VI VON 10. 117 
 
 passion, when imprudently indulged, the 
 lovely girl was no stranger. Many of the 
 pious inmates of Santa Maria had derived 
 all their misfortunes from that s;^urce ; and 
 Rosalia had early learned to tremble at the 
 thoughts of a young female devoted to an 
 affection for one who might not be ap- 
 proved of by the authors of her being, or 
 who, from his vices or situation, might be 
 totally unworthy of regard. 
 
 Though Rosalia had often, with tears of 
 pity, attended to the calamities i3roduced by 
 love, yet she had never heard the' nature of 
 that sentiment described, consequently she 
 could not distinguish the illusions that 
 darkened her own reason : her excellent 
 understanding and. refined education v/ere 
 of no service in revealing to herself the 
 real state of her heart ; and even nov/, 
 while she distinguished the Count with 
 chaste and virtuous affection, she imagined 
 that she felt a superior friendship for him^ 
 because his merits- were superior to those 
 of almost all other men. 
 
 GuidonI
 
 118 VIVONIO. 
 
 Guidoni was, indeed, worthy of her teii- 
 derest love. He was, like herself, pious, 
 generous, humane, benevolent, a friend to 
 \irtue, and though he shunned and abhorred 
 vice, he could sigh at the miseries of her 
 votaries, and extend the hand of liberality 
 to raise them from the abyss^, and restore 
 them to the paths of virhie. 
 
 Any other than Guidoni would have read, 
 in the modest tenderness of Rosalia, that he 
 was beloved. The Count, with all the 
 diffidence of sincere aflection, dared not 
 entertain the idea. 
 
 The temple which Rosalia had adorned, 
 was the beloved resort of Guidoni. There 
 the melodious voice of her whom he adored, 
 resounded through the. embowering shade, 
 while he gently breathed the accompani- 
 ment, fearful lest the soft instrument should 
 deprive his enraptured ear of one harmo- 
 nious tone. 
 
 Had the heart of the Countess been at 
 case, she would have beheld with delight 
 the artless afiection of Guidoni and Rosalia : 
 
 The
 
 VIVO N 10. 
 
 119 
 
 The congeniality of their sentiments, alike 
 innocei)t and noble — the incomparable 
 beauty of their persons — their various 
 accomplishments — their virtues — their ami- 
 able and interesting converse — all assured 
 the Countess they could be happy only 
 with each other. 
 
 - A fortnight had now elapsed since the 
 departure of the Marchese and Count Al- 
 vanio, when the latter suddenly returned 
 alone. Not finding the Countess in the 
 villa, he enquired after her, and understood 
 she had %\alked towards the temple. The 
 Count immediately bent his steps that way. 
 As he drew nigh to the temple, the tones 
 of a lute assured him of Rosalia being also 
 there, and he was on the point of entering, 
 when he beheld Count Guidoni leaning 
 over her chair, and listening with silent 
 rapture to her performance. The Countess 
 sat at a small distance, pensively regarding 
 them ; but Ferdinand was not of the party. 
 Surprise and anger prevented the Count 
 entering, and he hastily returned to the 
 
 villa.
 
 120 VI VON 10. 
 
 villa, commanding his attendant to signify 
 to the Countess his desire to see her imme- 
 diately. 
 
 The approach of the Count Alvanio had 
 not been noticed; and the Countess and 
 Rosalia were extremely surprised when the 
 servant announced his return, and his wish 
 to converse with his lady alone. 
 
 ^' Ah ! where is my beloved father }** 
 exclaimed the terrified Rosalia. 
 
 '' The Marchese did not accompany my 
 Lord/ Signora/' replied the domestic. 
 
 '; Be composed, my beloved child/' cried 
 the Countess ; '' suffer me to attend the- 
 Count. Do not be thus alarmed. Perhaps 
 the Duke would not permit the absence of 
 the Marchese. In a few moments your 
 anxiety will be relieved.'' 
 
 Perceiving how much the Countess was 
 distressed, Rosalia endeavoured to repress 
 her emotion ; but her pale looks and trem- 
 bling form discovered how much she was 
 afF-Jcted. 
 
 Supported by the Countess and Guidoni, 
 
 whose
 
 VIVONIO. 1^1 
 
 whose agitation equalled her own, Rosalia 
 reached the colonnade, where the Count 
 met them/ and entirely dissipated the fears 
 of the lovely girl,, by assuring her of the 
 health of the Marchese, and the perfect 
 recovery of the Duke. 
 
 The Count's reception of Guidoni was 
 coldly polite ; and the latter concluding, 
 from Alvanio's manner, that he wished to 
 be alone w^ith his family, bade the Countess 
 and Rosalia adieu, and then departed, op- 
 pressed with the sad presentiment, that the 
 few short hours of bliss he had enjoyed 
 were fled for ever. 
 
 A thousand times he reproached himself 
 for not havins^ fallen at the feet of Rosalia 
 and implored her pity. Yet, would that 
 have been honourable, in the 'absence of 
 the Marchese ? No. The soul of Guidoni 
 disdained the idea of soliciting the affec- 
 tions of a lovely young female, whose parent 
 had not sanctioned his addresses. 
 
 With a mind torn by contending emo- 
 tions, the Count sullered his horse to 
 
 vo;. I. G - proceed
 
 122 vivoNio. 
 
 proceed as the animal pleased^ nor observed 
 that he did not pursue the proper route. 
 
 The Count Alvanio was almost distracted 
 at the intimacy which Guidoni appeared to 
 have with his family^ and severely re- 
 proached the Countess for her imprudence 
 in permitting his visits. The Countess in 
 vain endeavoured to excuse her conduct, by 
 alledging, that it had long been her opinion 
 that Ferdinand and Rosalia were not at- 
 tached to each other by any other senti- 
 ments than those of friendship^ and a regard 
 such as might subsist between an affec- 
 tionate brother and sister. 
 
 The Count was sensibly hurt at the 
 assertions of his lady^ and requested her 
 not to admit the Count Guidoni on the 
 following day^ should he call at the villa. 
 This the Countess, reluctantly promised. 
 The Count then informed her he had ob- 
 tained the approbation of the Marchese 
 and the Duke, for the immediate disclosure 
 of their intention respecting the long- 
 projected alliance, and that the former had 
 
 written
 
 VI VON 10. 123 
 
 written to his daughter to enforce his 
 wishes. — '' I bear a large packet for Ro- 
 salia," continued the County " but I do not 
 think it proper to deliver it into her hands 
 till I have considered in what manner I can 
 put an end to the hopes of the Count 
 Guidoni^ and which I aiwinclined to believe 
 'will not be difficult, as you say he has not 
 yet declared his sentiments to her. I cer- 
 tainly admire the Count, and I think he 
 possesses too much honour to interrupt the 
 designs of the Marchese, when he learns 
 that the union of Ferdinand and Rosalia 
 has been resolved on from their childhood.'* 
 
 The Countess sighed, for she felt almost 
 assured that this alliance would never take 
 place ; but had she been equaMy certain 
 that the heart of Ferdinand would not be 
 severely pained by the rejection of his 
 hand, she would have rejoiced in the pros- 
 pect which the termination of the Count s 
 views opened, to the hopes of Guidoiii. 
 
 The Count now anxiously enquired for 
 
 his son, who had been absent several hours, 
 
 r, 2 but
 
 124 VI VON 10. 
 
 but could not obtain any information re- 
 specting him ; he was therefore obliged to 
 await patiently his return. 
 
 Ferdinand did not make his appearance 
 till the family were just sitting down to 
 supper. The faint animation that illumined 
 his countenance, on perceiving the Count, 
 soon yielded to the air of dejection which 
 had of late pervaded his features. The 
 Count observed his melancholy Vv^ith plea- 
 sure ; for he attributed it to grief arising 
 from the attentions which the Count Gui- 
 doni had imprudently been permitted to 
 pay to the beautiful Rosalia. 
 
 At supper Rosalia made a thousand affec- 
 tionate enquiries relative to the health of 
 the Duke, and expressed the most earnest 
 desire of obtaining permission to return to 
 the castle. The Count assured her it was 
 the wish of the Marchese that she should be 
 conducted thither in a few^ days. 
 
 The sweet emotions of filial love added 
 new lustre to the expressive eyes of the 
 lovely girl, as she spoke her thanks to the 
 
 Count
 
 vivoNio. 125 
 
 Count for this pleasing intelligence, and 
 as she anticipated the rapture of being 
 folded in the arms of her revered parents^ 
 her Santa Clara, and the beloved compa- 
 nions of her early youth. 
 
 In the midst of the enchanting vision^ 
 the image of Guidoni intruded, and the 
 brilliant glow that suffused her cheeks 
 instantly fled — her eyes filled with tears — 
 die immediately arose from her seat — at- 
 tempted to apologize to the Count and 
 Countess, and precipitately retired. ' 
 
 Astonishment and anger rivetted the 
 Count to his seat, nor was the amazement 
 of Ferdinand less. The Countess, who but 
 too well defined the feelings of her beloved 
 Rosalia, was grieved to the heart, and her 
 deep sighs spoke her sympathy. 
 
 '' You will do y/ell, Madam, to follow, 
 and enquire into the cause of this sudden 
 transition from joy to sorrow. Signora di 
 Romanzini claims your attention,'' cried 
 the Count, with some asperity. 
 
 The Countess instantly obeyed. The 
 G 3 Count
 
 196 vivoNio. 
 
 Count then commiinded Ferdinand to re- 
 main in liisov/n apartment on the following 
 morning, till he should require his at- 
 tendance. 
 
 Though extremely surprised at this man- 
 date, Ferdinand immediately promised obe- 
 dience. 
 
 '' Retire to your apartments/' resumed 
 the Count — '' I will visit you as early as 
 possible to-morrow ; yet, should I dek.y 
 beyond your expectaliofi, still ybu must 
 remain there. I request you will not admit 
 any visitor ; I prohibit even your friend 
 the Count Guidoni. You are doubtless 
 surprised at my conduct — a few days will 
 explain the mystery. You may retire." 
 
 Ferdinand withdrew, and the Count paced 
 the saloon in much agitation, endeavouring 
 to collect his ideas and arrange his plans. 
 
 ClIAF
 
 VI VON 10. 
 
 127 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 T] 
 
 HE trembling Rosalia had no sooner 
 entered her apartment, than she yielded to 
 the sorrow that had almost overwhelmed 
 her : emotions new and undescribable as- 
 sailed her bosom; she found herself weeping 
 at the idea of separating from one who was 
 almost a stranger ; a chilling horror stole 
 o<^er her heart; her faltering lips faintly 
 pronounced the name of — Love! — and she 
 fell senseless oil her couch. 
 
 On recovering, she perceived herself in 
 
 the arms of the Countess, who, pale and 
 
 terrified, was calling on her name in accents 
 
 of the mildest pity, while her attendant, 
 
 g4 Biancha,
 
 128 VI VON 10. 
 
 Biancha^ was tremblingly administering re- 
 storatives. 
 
 Rosalia gazed for a moment on the tear- 
 ful eyes of her beloved Countess, then hid 
 her face, and again tears of bitter anguish 
 bedewed her cheek. 
 
 As soon as the poor Biancha, who was 
 almost distracted at the state of her adored 
 lady, was prevailed on to withdraw, the 
 CoLintess, with the most delicate and 
 friendly remonstrances, succeeded in ren- 
 dering the mind of Rosalia more com.posed. 
 
 " Exert that fortitude,'' said the amiable 
 Countess, '' for which, m.y Rosalia, you 
 have ever been approved. Child of my 
 affection, I only am imprudent — I ought to 
 have reflected on the probable conse- 
 quences of introducing to your notice an 
 object so interesting. Ah ! do not grieve 
 me by this excessive emotion. Speak to 
 me, Rosalia — inform me, has the Count 
 Guidoni explained his sentiments ?" 
 
 The penetration of the Countess thrilled 
 the soul of Rosalia; burning blushes crim- 
 soned
 
 VI VON 10. 129 
 
 soned her beautiful face^ and the support of 
 a noble pride succeeded to conquer her 
 affliction. 
 
 " No/' cried the lovely girl^ interrupting 
 the Countess^ " no, my revered friend, 
 your Rosalia is not the degraded being 
 you imagine— I have never been insulted 
 by a tale of love, unsanctioned by a pa- 
 rent's approbation. If, as I fear, my heart 
 now feels the influence of that fatal senti- 
 ment, I am justly punished for my folly 
 and presumption ! 
 
 ''■ Ah ! coiild I suppose it possible to 
 behold and converse with the Count Gui- 
 doni, and remain insensible of his merits? 
 You have been v/itness of the weakness that 
 has disgraced me! — witness also my re- 
 pentance, and fixed resolve of never more 
 beholding the cause of my imprudence, 
 unless a father commands me to receive him. 
 Had I, my beloved, my almost mother> 
 had I suspected my weakness, I would have 
 instantly flown his presence, certain that 
 G 5 conscioua
 
 ISO VI VON 10. 
 
 conscious rectitude would have supported 
 me under the painful duty.'* 
 
 The Countess gazed on her with the 
 highest admiration : the modest dignity of 
 her manner, her sensibility and resolution^ 
 were equally charming ; and the Countess 
 indulged the pleasing hope that Rosalia, 
 now convinced of her danger, would not 
 fail to exert the noble firmness necessary 
 to bear up beneath the arduous task of ren- 
 dering the claims of love subservient to 
 those of filial duty. 
 
 The affectionate attentions and fascinating 
 sweetness of the Countess considerably 
 tranquillized the mind of her lovely charge; 
 and when, at a late hour, she arose to 
 depart, Rosalia bade her good night, with a 
 degree of composure that charmed this 
 kind disinterested friend. 
 
 Biancha now attended, and expressed 
 her joy at finding her dear lady so much, 
 recovered : she entreated permission to re- 
 main in the apartment during the night ; 
 
 but
 
 / VI VON 10. 131 
 
 but this Rosalia would not permit, and 
 Biancha was soon dismissed. 
 
 When alone, the tears of Rosalia again 
 flowed. She bitterly lamented the weakness 
 she had been guilty of, in yielding her 
 heart to one who, though so amiable and- 
 deserving, had never professed more than 
 inviolable friendship. 
 
 '^ Alas!'* she exclaimed, " why did I 
 consent to leave the peaceful habitation of 
 my early youth — for surely my heart fore- 
 boded some calamity ! Ah ! why did my 
 adored parent yield to the solicitations of 
 the Countess, and undertake the ill-omened 
 journey? Yet wherefore do I com.plain ? 
 Is not mj afiliction the effect of my in- 
 discretion ? Hov7 frequently have I listened 
 to the recital of the miseries produced by 
 lovCy and yet I have sufiered myself to be- 
 come too sensible of the attentions of a 
 stranger, who may have perceived, and 
 perhaps despises, my folly ! Ah ! even 
 now, do I not regret that I am not certain 
 of being beloved, though a few minutes only 
 G 6 are
 
 \ 
 
 132 VI VON 10. 
 
 are fled since I gloried in the consciousness 
 of never having been addressed on the 
 subject — strange inconsistency ! How can 
 I " 
 
 These agonizing reflections were^ how- 
 even soon suspended by the sweet tones of 
 the flute; — strains of thrilling harmony 
 floated on the breeze of night. 
 
 Rosalia scarcely dared to breathe. The 
 plaintive adagio was continued ; it was an 
 air which she had frequently sung in the 
 temple. When the music ceased, a deep 
 sigh relieved her oppressed heart. Again 
 she listened ; at intervals the strains re- 
 turned. Once, in the middle of an en- 
 chanting cadence, the mi'isician was suddenly 
 interrupted, and she faintly distinguished 
 the voices of men conversing with quick- 
 ness. After a few minutes, the voices were 
 no longer heard, and all was silent. An 
 unaccountable terror struck on her beating- 
 heart. That Guidoni was th« musician, she 
 did not doubt ; to what unknov/n danger 
 might he not be exposed ! A thousand 
 
 dreadful
 
 VI VON 10. 133 
 
 dreadful images assailed her fancy — murder! 
 — banditti ! — her senses almost fled. Hastily 
 wrapping her clothes around her lovely 
 form^ she approached the window. The 
 brilliance of an Italian midnight rendfered 
 the surrounding: obiects visible. The hollow 
 dashing of the waves, and the soft breeze 
 murmuring through the groves^ alone vvere 
 heard. In vain her eyes wandered in search 
 of Guidoni, while her attentive ear caught 
 the faintest sound that mingled with the 
 breeze. 
 
 For half an hour she had continued 
 anxiously listening, when the sound of a 
 footstep was heard in the serpentine path 
 beneath her window. 
 
 The moon shone fuR on the person of a 
 man^, who was advancing slowly : she soon 
 perceived it vvas not the Count Guidoni ; 
 the air of the figure led her to slippose it 
 v/as Ferdinand. As he approached nearer^ 
 she was confirmed in the idea; but as he 
 passed beneath the window he paused, and 
 she had scarcely time to escape undi.s- 
 covered. 
 
 Released
 
 134 vivoNio. 
 
 Released from her fears respecting the 
 safety of Guidoni, her thoughts now re- 
 verted to the embarrassment he must have 
 suffered in being discovered by his friend, 
 and she shuddered at the inference that 
 might be drawn from the nocturnal wander- 
 ings of the Count. 
 
 '' Ah! to what distress has my impru- 
 dence exposed me !" sighed Rosalia. " How 
 shall I dare to raise my eyes to those of my 
 dear^ generous parents ; my confusion >vill 
 betray my unpardonable folly. My revered 
 aunt too — her swxet, mild glances will 
 never more fill my heart willi delight. I 
 shall tremble in the presence of those 
 v/hom I have never beheld but with joy and 
 reverence." 
 
 She now passed the night in tears of sad 
 regret^ and the first rays of the sun darted 
 through the pale pink curtains of her win- 
 dows ere she felt the influence of sleep. 
 
 Languid and melancholy^ she descended 
 to breakfast. The Countess alone wel- 
 comed her with cheerfulness. An air of 
 chagrin and absence marked the features of 
 
 the
 
 vivoNio. 135 
 
 the Count ; he regarded her with a scruti- 
 nizing look, and hoped she had perfectly 
 recovered from her sudden indisposition. 
 
 '' Not perfectly, my Lord/* replied she, 
 deeply blushing — '' Is my cousin absent, 
 .my Lord?'' she continued, eager to escape 
 the observations of the Count. 
 
 " No, lovely Rosalia/' returned the 
 Count, his disturbed air instantly yielding 
 to smiles. — '^ How happy am I to witness 
 this charming attention to i\\Q companion 
 of your youth. I feared the busy scenes 
 you have been engaged in of late had 
 obliterated the sweet domestic affections of 
 your heart." 
 
 " Oh, my Lord!" she replied, '^'^ is it 
 possible you could have conceived so de- 
 grading a suspicion ! Oh, no ! while I 
 have life, my sentiments of friendship and 
 affection to my friends can never cease. 
 No splendor, no situation can ever erase 
 the regretted scenes of my early vears." 
 
 '" Why regretted, my amiable young 
 
 friend?" enquired the Count. Signora 
 
 5 ^i
 
 136 vivoNio. 
 
 di Romanzini has it still in her power 
 to continue dear to the hearts of those 
 who place their happiness in herkeep- 
 inrr. Heaven forbid I should ever be^ 
 hold the felicity of my valued friends 
 diminished ! — but that can never occur^ 
 while Rosalia can en crease their tran- 
 quillity/' 
 
 '' Kb, never, I hope !" ejaculated the 
 conscious Rosalia. — The entrance of a ser- 
 vant prevented the Count's saying more^ 
 and the conversation turned on indifferent 
 subjects. 
 
 The name of Guidon! was not mentioned^ 
 and Ferdinand did not appear during break- 
 fast. Afterwards the Countess and Rosalia 
 retired to the dressing-room of the former; 
 but the Countess very prudently avoided 
 any conversation which could revive the 
 emotions of the latter. 
 
 Meanwhile Ferdinand impatiently awaited 
 the promised visit of the County who did 
 not appear till late. 
 
 The solemnity of the Count's air struck 
 
 the
 
 VI VON 10. 137 
 
 the heart of Ferdinand with excessive 
 alarm, and he eagerly enquired the cause. 
 
 " Be composed, my son/' said the County 
 relaxing a little from his gravity; '' what I 
 have to communicate will be equally gra- 
 tifying to your affections and your pride — 
 attend/" 
 
 The Count took a chair, and, desiring his 
 son to be seated, began — '' It is almost 
 needless to say how anxiously I have 
 watched over you from early childhood to 
 this hour, or to add with what solicitude 
 and care I have studied everv method to 
 promote your honour and happiness. You 
 were scarcely risen from childhood, when 
 I introduced you to'the angelic female who, 
 with her parents and my approbation, will 
 unite her destiny with your's. The beauty 
 of your cousin is not her chief recommen- 
 dation; her virtues, her rank, and fortune^ 
 will. ensure you honour, wealth, and power. 
 Rejoice, thei'efore, my son, for the lovely 
 Rosalia di Romanzini is your's." 
 
 Afy
 
 138 VI VON 10. 
 
 '' My Lord!" cried the amazed Ferdi- 
 nand^ while the pallid hue of death over- 
 spread his fine countenance; his eyes fell 
 beneath the steady gaze of the Count, and 
 he hesitated. 
 
 '' What is the cause of this agitation ?" 
 demanded the Count, in a tone of severity. 
 
 Ferdinand durst not encounter the pe- 
 netrating glances of his father; he remained 
 silent and confused, till the Count, in ex- 
 treme anger, repeated his enquiry. 
 
 '' I fear," faltered Ferdinand, '' I fear^ 
 my revered father, I am not so sensible of 
 this intended honour as I could wish.'' 
 
 " Impossible!" exclaimed the County 
 rising. '^^ 
 
 '' Alas ! it is too true, "sighed Ferdinand. 
 '' Permit me to withdraw, ray Lord. I " 
 
 '' Stay, Signor," commanded the Count, 
 '^ stay, and deign to inform me how you 
 possess the temerity to decline such an 
 alliance. You cannot be insensible of the 
 perfections of Rosalia." 
 
 *' Oh no, my father!" replied Ferdinand. 
 
 '' Rosalia
 
 vivoNio. 139 
 
 '■' Rosalia di Romanzini is, indeed;, the most 
 charming of her sex; but I — my surprise 
 is extreme. This is the first intimation I 
 have ever received of your design. I am 
 unprepared ; I — —Why has this intention 
 been so long concealed ?'' 
 
 '' It was the generous wish of the Mar- 
 chese to leave your*s and his daughter's 
 affections unbiassed/' returned the Count. 
 ^' But cease, my dear Ferdinand — I too 
 clearly see the disappointment of my long- 
 cherished hopes. Oh ! how could I ex- 
 pect — but, my son, I would not e.rer/ the 
 authority of a parent ; I would not cotnpel 
 you to enter into engagements repugnant 
 to the feelings of your heart. Do not then, 
 by an obstinate resistance to my commands^ 
 oblige me to enforce my will.'* 
 
 The agitation of Ferdinand was excessive; 
 he several times attempted to speak, but 
 could not articulate a sentence. 
 
 " You were wrong in continuing your 
 friendship with the Count Guidoni, after 
 the arrival of Rosalia at Naples/" resumed 
 
 the
 
 140 V I V o K I o. 
 
 the Count Alvanio. — " I fear you encourage 
 the absurd idea, that the lovely angel re- 
 gards him with partiality : dismiss the 
 erroneous supposition ; she is not capable 
 of such weakness — and the Count Guidoni 
 has evinced that his attentions proceeded 
 from gallantry alone, by hastily quitting 
 this part of the country, in a few hours 
 after I had informed him of your engage- 
 ments/' 
 
 " Is it possible, my Lord, you informed 
 the Count Guidoni that I was acquainted 
 with your intentions ?" anxiously demanded 
 Ferdinand. 
 
 '' Certainlv. 
 
 '' V/hat a detestable hypocrite he must 
 suppose me'/' exclaimed Ferdinand. 
 
 '^'^ By no means," coolly replied the 
 Count : '^' I easily understood he had never 
 spoke to you on the subject, and I very 
 properly placed your silence to a modest 
 diffidence/' 
 
 '' Poor Guidoni !" ejaculated Ferdinand. 
 
 "' Silence, Signor," said the Count, in an 
 
 ,■ ' ^i^^gry
 
 VIVONIO. 141 
 
 angry and authoritative tone. '' I will not 
 hear my actions commented on. You are 
 not now ignorant of my views — prepare 
 yourself to ohejij ;ne/' 
 
 Oppressed with sorrow, Ferdinand bowed. 
 The Count now withdrew, leaving i\-\G for- 
 mer to deplore, in private, his own secret 
 woes, and those of his most valued friend;, 
 who, he was well assured, adored Rosalia^, 
 and who, he was sensible, had flown only 
 from the dread of interrupting the hap- 
 piness of one apparently so undeserving of 
 such delicate attention. 
 
 '' Ah !" exclaimed Ferdinand, "^ why did 
 I not repose my sorrows in the bosom of 
 friendship ! Generous, noble Guidoni ! 
 delicacy and manly honour alone sealed 
 your lips, while I, selfish and reserved^ 
 confined to my own breast a secret, which^, 
 if divulged, would have spared us both the 
 agony each too severely feels ! Yes, Gui- 
 doni will now conclude that my dejection 
 proceeded from witnessing the mutual af- 
 fection subsisting between liim and the 
 
 charming
 
 142 VI VON 10. 
 
 charming Rosalia. Dear Rosalia!" conti- 
 nued the unhappy Ferdinand, '[ innocent, 
 artless angel ! my ungenerous reserve has 
 been the means of destroying your peace 
 also ! — ivfy own sorrows 1 might have en- 
 dured, but to have rendered miserable all 
 those I held most dear, is madness!" 
 
 A prey to heart-rending anguish, Ferdi- 
 nand quitted his apartments, and sought 
 the most retired shades, there to indulge 
 his secret grief. Meanwhile the Count 
 had proceeded to the apartments of the 
 Countess, and presented to Rosalia the 
 packet he had withheld till the departure 
 of the Count Guidoni. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 vivoNio. 143 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 .Jli<AGER to peruse the epistles of her be- 
 loved parent and Santa Clara, Rosalia 
 hastened to her apartment, whither the 
 Countess was soon summoned ; for Rosalia 
 had fainted ere she had concluded the letter 
 of the Marchese. 
 
 The Countess was not surprised at the 
 ituation in which she found her; already- 
 acquainted by the Count with the purport 
 of the Marchese's epistle to his daughter^ 
 she had expected the consequences it had 
 now produced. With eyes filled with the 
 tears of pity, she assisted to recover the 
 lo\ely afflicted from her swoon ; but Rosalia 
 
 had
 
 144 vivoNio. 
 
 had experienced a shock too great for her 
 delicate frame to support^ and her insensi- 
 bility was of long continuance. 
 
 When at length she opened her eyes, she 
 faintly ejaculated the name of Guidoni, and 
 burst into tears. The soothing softness 
 and adectionate expressions of the Countess, 
 contributed to the recovery of Rosalia, 
 whoj while she trembled at the recollection 
 of what she had read, requested her amiable 
 friend to peruse the letters. 
 
 The Countess reluctantly com.plied. 
 
 The Marchese, in terms truly parental, 
 explained to his daughter his wishes re- 
 specting her union with Ferdinand, and 
 seemed not to entertain a doubt of her 
 affection for her cousin ; he gently urged 
 her to signify her consent, and requested 
 her to return to the castle in a fortnight, to 
 celebrate her nuptials. 
 
 The letter of Santa Clara breathed the 
 most animated concern for the happiness 
 of her niece. The amiable woman desired 
 her to write herexpresssentimentsregarding 
 
 Ferdinand,
 
 VI VON 10. 145 
 
 Ferdinand, and advised her by no means 
 to imagine that the Marchese required a 
 reluctant obedience to his wishes — '' My 
 beloved Rosalia/' continued the Abbess, 
 '' has not the frowns of a rigid parent to 
 encounter; it is her happiness alone that 
 can constitute that of her friends/* 
 
 This letter poured balm into the wound- 
 ed heart of Rosalia, and tears of mingled 
 gratitude and sorrow bedewed her pallid 
 cheek. 
 
 She lamented, wath heartfelt concern, 
 her inability to comply with the commands 
 of her adored Hither, and dreaded the effects 
 her rejection of Ferdinand might produce. 
 The remembrance of Guidoni added to 
 the poignancy of her feelings, and she 
 " wept a predilection which appeared likely 
 to prove fatal to the happiness of her dear- 
 est friends. 
 
 The entrance of the physician put a pe- 
 riod to private discourse; and, as. he en- 
 joined repose and quiet, the subject was 
 not renewed after his departure. 
 
 VOL. I. H When
 
 146 VI VON 10. 
 
 When the Countess perceived Rosalia 
 had become more composed, she attended 
 the Count, who was impatiently waiting 
 her appearance. His anxiety respecting 
 Rosalia being satisfied, he informed the 
 Countess how much averse to the union he 
 had found his son, and again reproaciied 
 her as being the occasion of the present 
 disappointments and distresses. 
 
 The Countess was excessively hurt ; and 
 the Count, vexed at the effects of his harsh 
 treatment, apologised for his indiscretion. 
 
 '^ Forgive me, my beloved Isabella," said 
 the Count, tenderly ; '' this asperity, you 
 well know, is not natural — I am almost dis- 
 tracted by the obstinacy of Ferdinand — I 
 am convinced he will die rather than accept 
 the hand of Rosalia, averse as they both 
 seem to the union.'' 
 
 " Apprized of that, could you now wish 
 their union?" enquired the Countess. 
 
 " Yes," returned Alvanio ; ^' their alli- 
 ance has so long been the first wish of my 
 
 heart.
 
 vivoNio. 147 
 
 heart, that I cannot relinquish the hope of 
 it without extreme agony." 
 
 " I fear you must/' seriously replied the 
 Countess. 
 
 The Count appeared extremely agitated 
 ' — '' Then/' said he, after pausing some 
 minutes, " then I must submit to my fate — 
 but I shall never more know peace. Re- 
 turn, I intreat, my Isabella/' continued he, 
 '' return to the chamber of Rosalia, and, 
 if possible, represent to her the felicity 
 which may attend her compliance." 
 
 '' Ah ! my Lord," returned the Countess, 
 " do not give me the pain of denying ^our 
 request — I cannot utter a falsehood — Rosa- 
 lia must not be influenced by me on this 
 subject — spare me xhQ dissembling task !" 
 
 '' it is well/' replied the Count, with a 
 deep sigh ; '' leave me, Isabella — I was 
 wrong to urge such a request." 
 
 The Countess, alarmed and shocked at 
 
 the agonizing inquietude which evidently 
 
 overwhelmed the Count, endeavoured to 
 
 sooth his disordered mind, by the most en- 
 
 II 2 dearing
 
 148 VI VON 10. 
 
 dearing and consoling expressions of sym- 
 pathy ; and she succeeded so far as to obtain 
 from him a promise, that he would make 
 the painful effort of reconciling himself to 
 the disappointment of his hopes. 
 
 The Countess had no sooner withdrawn, 
 than the Count again indulged the anguish 
 of his heart: To meet, in one moment, 
 the dissolution of his favourite plan, wound- 
 ed him to the soul ; and his distress was in- 
 creased, by the recollection of an impru- 
 dent step which he had suddenly taken with 
 the Count Guidoni. 
 
 Alvanio, on the preceding night, was 
 writing in his own apartment, when the 
 soft tones of Guidoni's flute interrupted, 
 and threw him into a violent rage. Under 
 the influence of this passion, he descended 
 into the garden, from whence he suddenly 
 issued on the astonished Guidoni. In a 
 haughty tone the incensed Count demand- 
 ed — " Who disturbed the silence of the 
 night?" 
 
 Guidoni sought not to conceal himself; 
 
 he
 
 vivONio. 14Q 
 
 he advanced towards the Count Alvanio, 
 and apologized for the alarm he had occa- 
 sioned. 
 
 The mild dignity of Guidoni's manner 
 calmed the anger of Alvanio, and he po- 
 litely mentioned his surprise at beholding 
 the former so distant from his own residence 
 at so late an hour. 
 
 The young Count replied, that his pre- 
 sence there was merely accidental; his horse 
 had strayed vfrom the proper pa^th, and he, 
 being absorbed in melancholy reflections, 
 hsd not attended to \k\Q circumstance, until 
 the dark mists of evening drew him from 
 his reverie. — " In vain I exerted myself to 
 recover \^q road," continued Guidoni ; 
 ^*" after wandering about for several hours, I 
 found myself at some trifling distance from 
 your vill'a, my Lord. Unwilling to intrude 
 at such ail hour, 1 sought shelter in the 
 temple, which I am perfectly acquainted 
 with, and w^as beguiling X\i^ hours with my 
 iiute when you discovered me." 
 
 " You will pardon me. Count Guidon!,'* 
 H % ' said
 
 150 V1VONI0. 
 
 said Alvanio; ''I had supposed that the 
 charms of the beautiful Rosalia where the 
 attractions that occasioned the strains of 
 harmony and love so near my residence." 
 
 Guidon ij trejmblingly alive to whatever 
 related to the lovely object of his cares^, 
 replied — " I would^ my Lord, I could en- 
 tertain the enchanting hope of having been 
 attended to by Signora di Romanzini — but 
 rny presumption has never flattered me 
 with such an idea/* 
 
 '' Without jiatierif, the Count Guidoni 
 might justly hope that his attentions were 
 highly pleasing to any lady whom he ho- 
 nours with his esteem/' returned Alvanio; 
 ^' that Rosalia should prove insensible/' 
 continued he, '' is not surprising — the affi- 
 anced bride of an amiable young man 
 could yield only her fnendsliip to the friend 
 of her destined husband/* 
 
 A deep sigh burst from the lips of Gui- 
 doni, and he appeared sinking to the earthy 
 when the Count made an effort to support 
 him. 
 
 Expressions
 
 ^ VIVONIO. 151 
 
 Expressions of astonishment and con- 
 cern were uttered by Alvanio^ who found 
 much difficulty in recovering the wretched 
 Guidoni from the shock he had received. 
 
 ''Ah, is it possible'/' faintly ejaculated 
 the Count Guidoni. '' Cruel Ferdinand, 
 you have undone your friend for ever!" 
 
 " Good heaven V cried the Count Alva- 
 nio, " surely my son informed you that 
 the hand of Rosalia di Romanzini had been 
 disposed of in his favour from her childhood. 
 My valued friend^, the Marchese di Ro- 
 manzini,, has refused the most noble offers, 
 in consequence of this long projected 
 union. Ferdinand surely could not have 
 been tbus disingenuous." 
 
 " Oh ! too truly, till this moment/* re- 
 turned Guidoni, '' I have been fatally ig- 
 norant of this circumstance." 
 
 " Then the romantic folly of my son," 
 said Alvanio, '' ha-i occasioned this unfor- 
 tunate ii^jsunderstanding — a ridiculous de- 
 licacy seals his lips on this subject. Fear- 
 ful lest the mind ot Rosalia might be in- 
 H 4 fluenced
 
 i^>2 VI VON 10. 
 
 fliienced by motives of filial duty in ac-' 
 cepting his hand, he permits her to be sur- 
 rounded by the most accomplished cava- 
 lierSj and he wouM be properly punished 
 should she particularly distinguish some 
 other noble youth. Hitherto the heart of 
 Rosalia has been faithful to its first affection, 
 and she will speedily be recalled to Orenza^ 
 to celebrate the approaching nuptials. 
 Early to-morrow morning I shall make 
 known to her the wishes of the Marchese/* 
 '' It is in vain/' said Guidoni^ after a 
 melancholy pause, '' it is in vain to attempt 
 concealing the situation of my heart — my 
 horror and anguish have too plainly re- 
 vealed the truth. To your honour, my 
 Lord, I entrust this fatal secret. The pure 
 angelic soul of Rosalia has never been agi- 
 tated by an avowal of my presumptuous 
 folly. Say to my friend that I respect the 
 motive of his silence — tell him I fly from a 
 scene so fraught with danger to my repose. 
 May he be happy — may the exalted felicity 
 he will soon enjoy ever continue— I dare 
 
 not
 
 /VIVONIO. 15S 
 
 not behold him^ nor the lovely angel who 
 blesses him with her love ; do not suffer her 
 to despise the friend of Ferdinand — I en- 
 treat you, my Lord, account for my ab- 
 sence in such a manner as will not permit 
 her to suspect the sad truth. Adieu, my 
 Lord; ma,y you experience the completion. 
 of your happiness — mine is fled for ever!'' 
 
 The Count Alvanio was extremely af- 
 fected ; he strove to detain the unhappy 
 Guidoni. but he darted from him with in- 
 conceivable r^apidity, and the thick myrtles 
 entirely veiled his retreat. 
 
 The concern of the Count Alvanio soon 
 subsided, and he returned to the villa;, ex- 
 ulting in the success of his artifices. But 
 when, in the morning, the decided aversion, 
 of Ferdinand and Rosalia to the proposed; 
 alliance dashed ail his aspiring hopes to 
 the earth, he became a prey to the keenest 
 amotions of grief, anger, and remorse. 
 He reflected, \vith horror, that he had ren- 
 dered himself odious and contemptible in 
 his own opinion^ by having practised a 
 H 5 shameful
 
 154 vivoNio. 
 
 shameful falsehood, and ruined the peace 
 of three of the most amiable beings in the 
 world. 
 
 Distracted by his own feelings^ the Count 
 knew not how to resolve — to relinquish his 
 views of such an alliance was death; yet 
 he felt assured that he must submit to the 
 unavoidable necessity of so doing, as he 
 well knew the Marchese would not endan- 
 ger the happiness of his beloved Rosalia. 
 
 The County bewildered- with a thousand 
 maddening reflections, was pacing the sa- 
 loon, when Don Hernandez de Marino was 
 announced. 
 
 Surprise and pleasure animated the coun- 
 tenance of Alvanio, as he received his 
 friend, with every demonstration of the 
 highest satisfaction. 
 
 Don Hernandez de Marino was related to 
 the Countess Alvanlo. On the Count's ar- 
 rival in Spain, this nobleman commenced 
 an intimate friendship with him, intro- 
 duced him to the notice of the lovely Isa- 
 bella
 
 TIVONIO. 155 
 
 bella de Riverra, and finally, prevailed on 
 her to become Countess Alvanio. 
 
 The Countess regarded Don Hernandez as 
 a brother ; he had ever been a favourite 
 with Don Anselmo, her deceased father, 
 whose nephew he was ; and, becoming an 
 orphan in his in-'ancy;, was entrusted to the 
 care of Don Anselmo^ who, it was gener- 
 ally imagined, would bestow the hand of 
 his fair daughter on his esteemed nephew, 
 whose rank was unexceptionable, though 
 his fortune was by no means affluent. 
 
 For years the friendship- of Marino and 
 Alvanio had continued undiminished ; and 
 the latter now rejoiced at the unexpected 
 appearance of Hernandez, as he hoped to 
 derive the most essential service from his 
 counsel in the present trying exigence. 
 
 '' To what am I to attribute this unlocked 
 for pleasure V said the Count, embracing 
 his friend. 
 
 ^' Merely to a love of variety," replied - 
 Hernandez. " I am weary of Madrid, and 
 am come to Italy to enjoy the soft luxu- 
 11 6 rious
 
 J 56 TivoNro. 
 
 rioits pleasures of Naples. Do you intend 
 to remain any time at this villa,?'* 
 
 *' No," returned Ahanio ; " at present 
 (/ I must continue here, a few days; the in- 
 disposition of a young lady confines me 
 to this place." 
 
 '^^ Who is your fair guest?" enquired 
 Hernandez. 
 
 '' The lovely Rosalia di Romanzini." 
 
 Don Hernandez was silent, and the Count 
 continued — '' My expectations are over, 
 my friend ; the hearts of Rosalia and Fer- 
 dinand are not under my controul, and I 
 fear I shall never behold the accomplish- 
 ment of my hopes/' 
 
 '' Is she beautiful?" demanded Don Her- 
 nandez. 
 
 '' Beyond description!" afHrincd the 
 Count. 
 
 '' indeed ! has she rejected the hand of 
 Fer'^inand?" asked Don Hernandez. 
 
 '^ Not positively^" returned Alvanio ; 
 
 " but her present illness is the consequence 
 
 3 of
 
 vrvoNio. 
 
 157 
 
 of liaving been informed that the Marchese 
 required her compliance." 
 
 ' I never approved of the Marchese's^ 
 concealing his intentions/' said Hernandez ; 
 '• I suppose she has but lately received the 
 ijitimation of his \vill ?" 
 
 '•' Only this morning/' replied the Count. 
 
 '• She is very young/' observed Her- 
 nandez. '* Perhaps some more fortunate 
 cavalier possesses that heart which ought to 
 be Ferdinand's." 
 
 '' Alas!" sighed Alvanio^ '' you are right 
 in your conjecture." 
 
 "Who is he ?" demanded Don Hernan- 
 dez^, with surprise and quickness. 
 
 "A Piedmontese nobleman — the Count 
 Guidoni," 
 
 -' Guidoni!" exclaimed, the noble Spa- 
 niard. '" Is he in Naples.^" 
 
 In answer to this question, the Count re- 
 lated all that had occurred since his return 
 from the Castle of Orenza. Don Hernandez 
 did not approve of his friend's conduct in 
 
 some
 
 15S TiroNia. 
 
 some particulars^ and appeared thoughtful 
 and uneasy. After a pause^ he said — 
 
 '' You have not conducted this intricate 
 business well^ my friend ; however^ regret 
 is idle now ; to-morrow we may consult 
 farther. At present the situation of your 
 charming guest claims all your attention. 
 Where is the Countess? — rpermitme to pay 
 my respects/' 
 
 At that moment the Countess entered 
 the saloon, and Rosalia was for an instant 
 unremembered;, in the surprise and satis- 
 faction of this unexpected meeting. 
 
 During dinner^ Ferdinand and Rosalia 
 were the only subjects that engrossed the 
 conversation, and Don Hernandez expres- 
 sed much curiosity to behold the lovely 
 Rosalia; he was also anxious to see the son 
 of his friend, whom he remembered an 
 amiable and engaging youth, but Ferdi- 
 nand did not appear. 
 
 When the Count and Don Hernandez re- 
 tired to take their siesto, the Countess flew 
 to the couch of Rosalia, who was much re- 
 covered^
 
 vivoNio. 159 
 
 covered, and consoled by the affectionate 
 promises which the Countess had that morn- 
 ing given her, to write to Santa Clara, and 
 inform her of the real state of her young 
 friend's heart with respect to Ferdinand. 
 
 During this interview the name of Gui- 
 doni was not mentioned; Rosalia supposed 
 he had called as usual at the villa, and the 
 Countess's silence on the subject, she con- 
 cluded, arose from their mutual resolution 
 never to introduce his name in their dis- 
 course. 
 
 When the Countess had bade adieu to her 
 beloved Rosalia, Biancha, who was per- 
 mitted to remain in the chamber of her 
 lady, began to sigh heavily, and to talk in 
 an under voice to herself. Rosalia, alarmed^ 
 eagerly enquired the cause. 
 
 "Oh the saints!" exclaimed Biancha^ 
 ''are you awake^ Signora?'* 
 
 '' You do not seem disposed to suffer me 
 to repose, Biancha,'' mildly replied Rosa- 
 lia. '' What were you saying?" 
 
 " Indeed^ Signora/' hesitated Biancha,
 
 160 VIVONIO. 
 
 '' I — I dare not tell — you will be so dis- 
 pleased — '' 
 
 '' If you have ought to say unfit for my 
 ear, it were best you were silent^ Biancha/* 
 returned her lady. - 
 
 '' Unfit — Oh no, Signora; but — you 
 never permit me to tell you any thing — L 
 believe if our burning mountain fell into 
 the middle of the sea, I must net speak of 
 it — Oh, if I dare — it is all truth, I assure 
 you, Signora/' 
 
 Rosalia imagining that Biancha had only 
 some wonderful supernatural tale to relate, 
 and being eager to divert her own thoughts 
 from reflecting on the painful incidents 
 which had lately o(5:urred, desired the girl 
 to acquaint her with the information she 
 appeared so anxious to communicate. 
 
 •^^ Oh, I am so happy I" cried Biancha. 
 '' San Pietro defend me ! How you will 
 be surprised at the deceit of some people ! 
 ■ — Cavalier, indeed! — if I, or Carloni, had 
 told such a tale, I should expect that — '' 
 
 ''Begin yoiu: story, Biancha, or I will 
 
 hear
 
 VIVONIO 161 
 
 hear no more/' said Rosalia^ unaccount- 
 ably agitated. 
 
 '' Pardon me^ Signora — but I am so an- 
 gry. Well then^ Signora, did you hear 
 the charming music last night?*' 
 
 Rosalia, extremely confused, made no 
 reply, and Biancha run on. 
 
 ''Oh, how beautiful that amiable cava- 
 lier plays !-— but I did nat know it was him 
 then — however, Signora, the Count was 
 playing last night, and I and Yilletta, the 
 Countess's attendant, were walking in the 
 little almond walk, near the gate that opens 
 into the myrtle grove, under your win- 
 dow. Weil, Signora, we were listening 
 at this gate, and wondering who it was that 
 played so sweetly, when Villetta heard a 
 footstep — she ran directly up the almond 
 walk; but I, frightened out of my wits, 
 ran through the gate into the myrtle grove, 
 and who should I happen to see ^\xt the 
 Count Ahanio — I saw him quite plain, aa 
 I hid behind one of the trees. Presently 
 the music stopped, and I heard voices. — ^ 
 
 Now^
 
 162 vivoNio. 
 
 Now, Signora, I am sure you will blame 
 me for what I did." 
 
 " Proceed/' faintly articulated Rosalia. 
 
 '' Indeed, Signora, I could not help fol- 
 lowing the Count Alvanio. — Well, when I 
 came to a turn in the walk, there I saw the 
 handsome young Count Guidoni leaning 
 against one of the trees — the moon shone 
 full on his face — his eyes were shut, and he 
 looked as pale as death — Oh, how I trem- 
 bled ! I thought the Count Alvanio had killed 
 him, till I heard Mm talk to the young 
 Count, and desire him to compose himself 
 - — and then-^ '* 
 
 '^^ Oh, Heavens!" exclaimed Rosalia. 
 
 Biancha, terrified at the looks of her 
 lady, who was as pale as the Count had 
 been described, would instantly have flown: 
 to the apartments of the Countess; but 
 Rosalia recovering, peremptorily forbade 
 her, and commanded her to proceed with, 
 her discourse. 
 
 Biancha then related, tolerably correct, 
 the conversation that passed between the 
 
 Counts
 
 vivoNio. 163 
 
 Counts Alvanio and Guidoni. Rosalia lis- 
 tened with astonishment and horror; but 
 these painful sensations soon yielded to 
 emotions of the purest rapture — Guidoni, 
 the virtuous, noble-minded Guidoni, adored 
 her, and she now exulted in the certainty 
 of possessing his affections, while she wept' 
 the artifices of Alvanio, which had led the 
 former into the erroneous opinion of her 
 being fondly attached to Ferdinand. Rosa- 
 lia had ever respected the Count Alvanio 
 as the chosen friend of her revered parent, 
 and the nephew of the Duke ; how painful, 
 therefore, was the discovery of his unwor- 
 thiness ! A deviation from strict truth had 
 ever appeared to the virtuous mind of the 
 innocent Rosalia, an error of the first mag- 
 nitude; and this feeling rendered the Count 
 Alvanio an object of horror in her eyes. 
 That Ferdinand had been as unconscious as 
 herself of the intentions of the Marchese, 
 she had learned from the Countess; and she 
 had likewise heard, with infinite satisfaction, 
 that he was a§ unwilling to comply with the 
 
 commands
 
 164 rivoNio. 
 
 commands of the Count as she could de- 
 sire; the assertion which the Count had 
 ventured of Ferdinand^s being ardently at- 
 tached to her^ was therefore a falsehood of 
 the most glaring kinJ, and excited her ab- 
 horence. 
 
 With the delicacy of true friendships she 
 quickly resolved not to wound the feelings 
 of the Countess, by informing her of the 
 despicable conduct of the Count ; and she 
 cautioned Biancha never to breathe the 
 slightest Hint of what she had so fortunately 
 discovered. 
 
 The faithful attendant vowed to be silent, 
 and was delighted with the patient hearing 
 her beloved lady had afforded her intelli- 
 gence. 
 
 The account Rosalia had just received 
 led her to indulge the most pleasing hopes. 
 Certain that the Marchese, when acquainted 
 with their mutual disinclination to the mar* 
 riage, would permit her rejection of Fer- 
 dinand, she now felt no concern arise from 
 the dread of hurtin«: the feelin.^s of the 
 
 Count
 
 vivoNio. 165 
 
 Count Alvanio; and her beloved Countess, 
 she well knew, would not repine at the ex- 
 tinction of* views which, had they been ac- 
 complished, must have destroyed the hap- 
 piness of her Rosalia. 
 
 Rosalia was too much the child of Na- 
 ture, not to feel the most exquisite plea- 
 sure from the assurance of Guidoni's love, 
 and a thousand fairy visions of future feli- 
 city were pictured by her vivid fancy. That 
 Guidoni would soon be undeceived respect- 
 ing her union with Ferdinand, she enter- 
 tained not the least doubt, and when once 
 more happy in the protection of the Mar- 
 chese, enjoying the society of her beloved 
 friends at Orenza and Santa Maria, per- 
 haps Guidoni migiht stray near the ancient 
 walls of the castle, and become the fa- 
 voured guest of the Duke. 
 
 Indulging thus the sweet illusions of 
 hope, she sunk into calm repose. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 166 vivoNio. 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 ITH a heart relieved from a weight of 
 woe, and her countenance beaming ange- 
 lic serenity, Rosalia arose from her couch;, 
 and descended to the saloon, where she 
 found the Count and Countess, and Don 
 Hernandez, assembled to breakfast. 
 
 The Count welcomed Rosalia with the 
 most winning-politeness — she blusheddeep- 
 ly, and averted her eyes, as she replied to 
 his compliments. In the expressive smiles 
 of the Countess, she read the sincere plea- 
 sure that amiable woman experienced on 
 beholding her so much recovered. 
 
 Her attention was next engaged by Don 
 
 Hernandez
 
 VITONIO. 16T 
 
 Hernandez de Marino, whom the Countess 
 introduced as her relation and friend; as 
 such, Rosalia regarded him, with the most 
 lively prepossession in his favour, while his 
 graceful elegant form, and his polite insi- 
 nuating address, bespoke him a sensible 
 and accomplished cavalier. 
 
 Don Hernandez was about forty-two, but 
 did not appear more than two-and-thirty ; 
 his figure was strikingly majestic, his coun- 
 tenance was handsome, and his large dark 
 eyes were animated and expressive ; his air 
 was alternately commanding, or gracefully 
 soft. In conversation, he was alike quali- 
 fied to shine, by his extensive knowledge, 
 and a peculiar talent of leading captive 
 the heart of sensibility, or diffusing the 
 liveliest gaiety by his wit and vivacity. 
 
 When Rosalia entered the saloon, Don 
 Hernandez stood gazing at her lovely face 
 and form with the most profound admira- 
 tion. His imagination had never repre- 
 sented any being so truly beautiful; and he 
 did not hesitate^ when apart with the 
 
 Count;,
 
 168 vivoNio. 
 
 Count, to pronounce her the most perfect 
 production of human nature. 
 
 In this ideahe was fuliy confirmed when 
 he entered into conversation with her; 
 beautiful, well informed, sensible, entirely 
 destitute of affectation, and preserving the 
 most enchanting naivette, she fascinated the 
 heart, while her piety and modest elegance 
 forbade the slightest familiarity. 
 
 When the Countess and Rosalia had with- 
 drawn, Don Hernandez lavished the most 
 Tapturous praise on the extreme beauty and 
 superior talents of the latter; and filled 
 the heart of the Count with dismay, by 
 advising him by no means to think of soli- 
 citing her further on the subject of her 
 union with Ferdinand. 
 
 '\ The Marchese," observed Don Her- 
 nandez, '' will never insist on her compli- 
 ance ; and such excellence should be free 
 from disgusting importunities, which can 
 never produce any good effects. The mind 
 of Rosalia possesses fortitude as well as sen- 
 sibility — she will never consent to what she 
 
 judges
 
 vivoNio. 3G9 
 
 judges v/rong. Desist, therefore, my friend, 
 and endear yourself to the Duke di Orenza^ 
 by preferring Rosalia's felicity to the aggran- 
 dizement of your son. The future favour 
 of your illustrious relative may amply re- 
 ^vard the present sacrifice/' added Don 
 Hernandez, significantly. 
 
 The sudden tr. trance of Ferdinand in- 
 terrupted the conversation, and the Count 
 immediately introduced him to his friend. 
 
 Don Hernandez distinguished Ferdinand 
 by many vv^ell-turned compliments, which 
 were received very coldly ; for Ferdinand 
 had, when a child, conceived an unac- 
 countable aversion to Marino, and this 
 aversioii, norvvithstanding a separation of 
 many years, still existed. 
 
 Not the slightest reference was made to 
 the proposed alliance ; the Count and Don 
 Hernandez soon withdrew to the cabinet 
 of the former, leaving Ferdinand nlone, 
 a prey to suspense, qnd a thousand contend- 
 ing emotions. 
 
 In the hope of finding the Count disen- 
 "voL. I. I <Z"a«red,
 
 170 VIVONIO. 
 
 gaged^ Ferdinand had entered the saloon, 
 with the determination of revealing to his 
 father^ that his heart was no longer in his 
 own power to bestow, and to throw himself 
 on his mercy. Disappointed in this inten- 
 tion by the presence of Don Hernandez^ 
 of whose arrival he had, until then, been 
 ignorant, having since the preceding morn- 
 ing confined himself to his own apartments, 
 where he scarcely permitted his own at- 
 tendants to disturb his melancholy reflec- 
 tions, Ferdinand now resolved to acquaint 
 the Countess with his secret sorrows, and 
 to request her interference with the Count. 
 In the apartment of his mother he en- 
 countered Rosalia, and an eclair cissement en- 
 sued between these amiable young friends, 
 which happily terminated the fears of Fer- 
 dinand, and determined him to delay his 
 communications for the present. Certain 
 that Rosalia would not be urged to a union 
 from which her heart revolted, Ferdinand 
 now rejoiced in the prospect of being 
 
 spared
 
 Vivo N 10. 171 
 
 Spared the painful task of resisting the com- 
 mands of a revered parent. 
 
 The Count Alvanio possessed many ami- 
 able qualities; he was an affectionate hus- 
 band, and an indulgent parent, but his 
 mind had no permanent strength or firm- 
 ness; it was, therefore, possible to draw 
 him from the line of rectitude, when the 
 aggrandizement of his much loved-son was 
 concerned. Without judgment and art to 
 conduct difficult plans, he would frequent- 
 ly undertake, without being able to execute 
 them. While he resided in Spain, the 
 shining talents and profound knowledge of 
 Don Hernandez were repeatedly exerted 
 in his aid; and the Count Alvanio was dis- 
 tinguished by the Court of Madrid for se- 
 veral excellent political plans, which had 
 really been suggested and carried into effect 
 by the superior abilities of his friend, who 
 secretly directed every action of the Count. 
 After Alvanio returned to Naples, a regu- 
 lar correspondence commenced between 
 these friends, and continued uninterrupted 
 I 2
 
 17S TIVOKIO. 
 
 till Don Hernandez unexpectedly appeared 
 at the villa. 
 
 Intimately acquainted with all the con- 
 cerns of Alvanio, Hernandez had been long 
 accustomed to consider the alliance of the 
 Di Orenza and Alvanio families as certain ; 
 but even his friendship to the Count would 
 not stimulate him to advise perseverance^ 
 on a point so likely to increase the honour 
 and wealth of his friend, after having seen 
 Rosalia fii Romanzini. On the contrary^ 
 Don Hernandez made use of the most for- 
 cible arguments to dissuade the Count from 
 requesting the Marchese to enjoin his love- 
 ly daugl>ter to com.pliance. 
 
 The warmth and earnestness of Hernan- 
 dez excited the suspicions of Alvanio, who 
 anxiously requested the former to inform 
 him, whether the fascinating charms of 
 Rosalia had not made an impression On his 
 heart? — *' Assure me of this terrible truth/' 
 added the Count, '' and I shall then, in- 
 deed, feel that all my hopes are annihi- 
 lated." 
 
 Don
 
 vivoNio. 173 
 
 Don Hernandez appeared confused and 
 angry at this attempt to develop his pri- 
 vate sentiments. The alarmed and ago- 
 nized manner of the Count, likewise hurt 
 his feelings, and offended him ; and he 
 would have quitted the cabinet in silent in- 
 dignation, had not his friend detained and 
 intreated him to excuse his hasty expres- 
 sions, -and to attribute them to the violent 
 agitation of his mind. 
 
 . Don Hernandez then protested he had no 
 other view in the advice he had given, than 
 the interest of his friend; and represented 
 so forcibly the improbability of the Mar- 
 chese or the Duke ever commandins the 
 lovely Rosalia to yield her consent to an 
 alliance to Vvhich neither she nor Ferdi- 
 nand had the least inclination, that the 
 Count agreed to write to the Marchese, to 
 state the mutual disinclination of the cou- 
 sins to the proposed union, and to resign 
 his hopes hi a manner that could not fail to 
 increase their ancient friendship. 
 
 On this prudent resolution Hernandez 
 1 3 bestowed
 
 ,174 YiVONlO. 
 
 besf owed flattering commendations^ and In- 
 sisted upon having the happiness of com- 
 anunicating the generous resolve to Ferdi- 
 nand and Rosalia, while the Count should 
 be employed in preparing his dispatches. 
 
 Thft Countess, accompanied by her son 
 and Rosalia, attended Don Hernandez in 
 the saloon, where he had requested their 
 presence, and where he now received the 
 grateful acknowledgments of Rosalia for 
 the friendly concern he had shewn for the 
 happiness of herself and Ferdinand ; th^ 
 latter had too much gallantry to say much 
 on the subject, and Hernandez rallied him, 
 with great vivacity, on his patiently endur- 
 ing such an interference. 
 
 The Count soon after made his appear- 
 ance, and llosalia expressed her thanks for 
 his consideration and indulgence, in terms 
 that seemed to afifect and reconcile Alvanio 
 to his disappointment. 
 
 The Count now intimated, that if she 
 wished to address the Marchese, and the 
 ^fadre Santa Clara, he shouy^^be^happy to 
 
 enclose
 
 vivoNio. 175 
 
 enclose her letters in the packet he pur- 
 posed speedily sending oiT to Orenza. Ro- 
 salia retired, truly sensible of his friendly 
 ktentions, and the generous manner in 
 which he bore so disagreeable an occur- 
 rence. 
 
 The letter she now addressed to the Mar- 
 rhese breathed unfeigned regret — a filial 
 sorrow at wanting power to conform her 
 inclinations to her duty, was evident in 
 every line. 
 
 Her epistle to the Abbess v/as less inge- 
 nuous : she feelingly lamented that the long 
 indulged hopes of the Duke and the IVfar- 
 chese were on the point of becoming ex- 
 tinctj by the insensibility that subsisted 
 between Ferdinand and herself; but she 
 gave not the slightest hintv>hich might lead 
 to a supposition that her heart was suscep- 
 tible of the medt^ of another. Accus- 
 tomed, in writing to this valued friend, to 
 submit every thought of her mind to her 
 inspection, she now felt confused and em- 
 barrassed — she durst not trust herself to 
 1 4 write
 
 176 vivoNio. 
 
 vzrite the name of Giiidoni, and till now 
 she had always mentioned him ; but at those 
 times she was not conscious, of her own 
 sentiments for him ; her praises^ therefore, 
 were as animated as artless— -delicacy now 
 prohibited the pleasing theme ; her letter, 
 of course, spoke only her regrets, and the 
 disinterested conduct of the Count AI- 
 vanio. 
 
 Having finished and presented her let- 
 ters to the Count, who soon after dispatch- 
 ed them, with his own, to Orenza, she re- 
 turned to her apartments, restless and dis- 
 coDipc^sed — she had acted with a disingenu- 
 ousness foreign to her nature, and could 
 scarcely support \\\q^ self-disapprobation 
 she now felt. Justly fearing that if she en- 
 couraged these painful reflections, her looks 
 would betray the agitation of her mind, 
 she endeavoured to divert her thoughts, by 
 preparing for -difiie which was to take place 
 on the following day. But vainly did she 
 attempt to suppress a regret, which she 
 trembled to confess even to herself, when 
 
 she
 
 vivoNio. 17T 
 
 she reflected that the Count Guidoni would 
 be absent from the numerous party invited 
 to celebrate the recovery of her beloved 
 relative, the Duke di Orenza. At length 
 the evening devoted to festivity arrived — 
 the luxuriant groves of the villa Alvanio 
 were now splendidly illuminated^ and the 
 apartments of the elegant dwelling dis- 
 plaved the most costly arrangements^ and 
 the most delicious collations. 
 
 Shining in beauty and splendour, Rosalia 
 appeared conspicuous in the vivacious 
 throng; but the flattering incense of un- 
 bounded admiration could not, for a mo- 
 ment, efface the remembrance of Count 
 Guidoni. Several times she was oppressed 
 with emotions she was unable to subdue ; 
 but the scrutinizing glances of Don Her- 
 nandez at length alarmed her pride, and 
 caused her to assume a vivacity foreign to 
 her heart. 
 
 She had justly imbibed a dread, that the 
 
 Count Alvanio suspected her sentiments 
 
 for Guidoni ; and the fixed observation with 
 
 I 5 i which
 
 178 vivoNio. 
 
 ^vhich Hernandez now regarded hei^ created 
 a distressing apprehension^^ that the Count 
 had revealed his suspicions to his friend, 
 and thence directed the eye of curiosity 
 towards her conduct. The sudden gene- 
 rosity that marked the Count's relinquish- 
 ment of his highh/^-prized hopes, contri- 
 buted to strengthen this opinion ; and Rosa- 
 lia could not silence the suggestions of her 
 heart, which represented the late amiable 
 conduct of Ahanio, as the effect of his 
 havino- discerned her attachment to Gui- 
 doni, succeeded by a wish of atoning for 
 the unhappiness he had caused the Count 
 to suffer, by the fabrication he deceived 
 him with. The sacriiice the Count Alva- 
 nio had made, claimed her sincere grati- 
 tude; yet she felt humiliated, while thus 
 surmisino; the cause of his kindness. Den 
 Hernandez had announced the determina- 
 tion of the Count, nay, his words had ob- 
 liquely implied, that he had strengthened 
 the resolutions of Alvanio to resign hi 
 claims on the Marchese; it was, therefore^ 
 
 more
 
 VI VON 10. 179 
 
 more than probable that Hernandez was ac- 
 quainted with her predilection for Giiidoni. 
 
 Impressed with these ideas^ she now be- 
 came more and more confused and embar- 
 rassed by the unremitting attentions of Doa 
 Hernandez; to avoid which, she, at lengthy 
 joined a group of the youthful nobility, 
 who were displaying their attractions in the 
 festive dance» 
 
 The young and handsome Marchese di 
 Mazzini eagerly engaged her hand, and she 
 soon mingled in the sprightly throng. 
 
 At the conclusion of the dance, and 
 while the young Marchese was pi^fuse in 
 his polite attentions to his lovely partner, 
 Ferdinand approached, and, in a low tone, 
 intreat€d her to accompany him to the 
 Countess. 
 
 Having made herexcuses to the Marchese, 
 Rosalia immediately proceeded with her 
 cousin. He appeared pale and agitated, 
 his voice faltered, as he several times at- 
 tempted to address his lovely relative. 
 
 When they had quitted the square, he 
 1 6 caught
 
 130 VIVONIO. 
 
 caught her hand, and quickly hurried her 
 towards the entrance of the villa; which 
 having reached, Ferdinand^ in a low and 
 almost inarticulate voice^ said — ^'Pardon 
 me, dearest Rosalia — my mother — she is in 
 the sak)on— proceed thither^ my beloved 
 cousin^ and-^'* 
 
 Some company then advancing, Ferdi- 
 nand suddenly ceased, and, in silence, con- 
 ducted her towards the door of the saloon, 
 where he hastily quitted her. 
 ^ Rosalia hesitated to enter — an impulse 
 of terror, occasioned by the wild and alarm- 
 ing air of Ferdinand, suspended her steps. 
 
 A deep sigh from within struck on her 
 ear, and immediately after, a voice, in a 
 tone of complaint, uttered several indis- 
 tinct expressions. 
 
 ' Rosalia remained alarmed and irresolute; 
 she was close to the door, but dared not 
 enter. 
 
 A footstep sounded on the marble pave- 
 ment, and again the pathetic tones were 
 heard — she once more made an effort to 
 
 regain
 
 VIVONIO. 181 
 
 resfain her coura2:e. The voice, she re- 
 marked, was soft and plaintive — the lan- 
 guage Italian, spoken with somewhat of 
 the Spanish accent. 
 
 She no longer hesitated — she opened 
 the door — and at that instant heard the 
 Countess exclaim — '' Alas ! this imprudent 
 action may involve m.e in innumerable dif- 
 ficulties ! — Would I could see Signora di 
 Romanzini." 
 
 Rosalia', on hearing this anxious wish ex- 
 pressed, blushed at her own timidity, and 
 entered the saloon. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 18:2" VIVONIOV 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 1 HE noise occasioned by the opening of 
 the door alarmed the Countess; she sprang 
 from her seat, and her companion hastily 
 retreated to the most obscure part of the 
 room. 
 
 Rosalia, checked by the action of the 
 Countess, hesitated to advance, till that 
 lady approached, and taking her hand, apo- 
 logised for her apparent surprise. 
 
 The eye of Rosalia involuntarily fol- 
 lowed the figure of the person who had 
 fled on her entrance; but the dark robe of 
 the stranger would not allow of a minute 
 
 scrutiny.
 
 VIVO NIC. 1S3 
 
 scrutiny, and she could scarcely distinguish 
 the outlines of the form. 
 
 The Countess observed the anxious gaze 
 of the lovely girl, and immediately re- 
 quested the stranger to advance^ who in- 
 stantly obeyed ; and, to the astonishment 
 of Rosalia, she beheld a beautiful young- 
 female, attired in black, her face partly 
 concealed by a veil of the same colour^ 
 her dark eyes were suffused with tears, as 
 she raised them towards heaven, and, with 
 graceful timidity, approached. 
 
 Rosalia stood the image of surprise; 
 she gazed on the young stranger, and then 
 turned her eyes with a look of enquiry on 
 the Countess, who said — 
 
 , '' Circumstances of the most complica- 
 ted nature, my beloved Rosalia, induce me 
 to implore your assistance — the present 
 time will not admit of explanation — will 
 you consent to receive this amiable young 
 person into your apartments, in the capa- 
 city of an additional attendant?*' 
 
 To this request Rosalia immediately as- 
 3 sented^
 
 184 vivoNio. 
 
 sented^ and the Countess ordered the young 
 stranger to attend with lights to the apart- 
 ments of the former. 
 
 Having entered the dressing-room^ the 
 Countess exclaimed — '' Charming Rotalia^, 
 permit me to introduce this lovely young 
 female to your friendship. The birth of 
 Josephine is equal to your own — her for- 
 tunes should have been great — her virtues 
 are her best portion — affiictionS;, which at 
 present oppress her, render concealment 
 indispensable. Had I acted with propriety, 
 she would, before now, have been known to 
 you ; as it is, I give to your friendship one 
 deserving of your tenderest considerations. 
 How fortunate,'' added the Countess, " w^as 
 your entrance into the saloon, at the mo- 
 ment my heart was torn with indecision — 
 What occasioned you to forsake the gar- 
 dens?" 
 
 " Your son," replied Rosalia, '' desired 
 my presence, with so much earnestness, 
 that I found it impossible to refuse." 
 
 A death-like paleness overspread the 
 
 countenance
 
 VIVONIO. 1S5 
 
 countenance of Josephine, and the Coun- 
 tess exclaimed — '' Is it possible V 
 
 Rosalia beheld the effects of her infor- 
 mation with dismay ; Josephine hid her 
 face and wept\, while the Countess regarded 
 the latter w^ith looks of pity and distress. 
 
 A slight rap at the door of the dressing- 
 room, occasioned new terror. Josephine 
 started from her seat^ and the Countess 
 jjcinted to an inner room, whither her faiir 
 protegee instantly retired. 
 
 '' Be not alarmed and surprised at these 
 mysterious proceedings, my Rosalia/' said 
 the Countess; " hereafter all shall be ex- 
 plained — I will answer this intruder/* ad- 
 ded she, as, with an air of solemnity, she 
 proceeded to and threw open the door, 
 when, to the surprise of Rosalia and her- 
 self, she discovered Ferdinand ! 
 
 On perceiving the Countess, he instantly 
 threw himself at her feet, and entreated 
 forgiveness. 
 
 ^' You may enter for a moment,'' said 
 the Countess, with an air of dignified dis- 
 pleasure.
 
 186 vivoNio, 
 
 pleasure^ and retreating towards the middle 
 of the chamber; '' unfortunate^ disobedi- 
 ent young man, you can scarcely increase 
 my sorrows/' 
 
 This severe reproof seemed to penetrate 
 the heart of Ferdinand^ — '' I came, my mo- 
 ther/' said he, with humility, '' to see my 
 Josephine, to vow never more to molest 
 her tranquillity — but I will no longer in- 
 trude—I submit for the present/' Ferdi- 
 nand hesitated, then resumed — '' Yet let 
 me entreat permission to see her once 
 more, before I leave the villa. Oh, my mo- 
 ther! why not now? Your presence will 
 sanction mine — T acknowledge my rash de* 
 sign, and implore pardon. The excess of 
 my affection will not, I fear, palliate my 
 imprudence in the eyes of Josephine. That 
 my views were just and honourable, I trust 
 the lovely object of my love cannot doubt. 
 You my m.other," added he, "have al- 
 ready looked my pardon — permit me to- 
 see my Josephine — suffer ir^e to intreat 
 her's also " 
 
 ^^ Ferdinand,
 
 TIVONIO. IS7 
 
 " Ferdinand, Ferdinand/' answered the 
 CountesS;, solemnly, " the sophistry of 
 youth deludes you ! Was it just and honour- 
 able to tear from the bosom of security a 
 young and lovely female, v/ho possessed 
 too much virtue and delicacy to become 
 the voluntary companion of your flight ? 
 Learn, mistaken youth, that had Josephine 
 yielded to your importunities, and become 
 your wife, you would not have long en- 
 joyed the fruits of your disobedience and 
 imprudence ; for such are her circum- 
 [ stances, tha-t her life would probably have 
 been the forfeit of your temerity." 
 
 To describe the feelings of Ferdinand on 
 receiving this information, w^ould be im- 
 possible. His amazement and terror w^ere 
 so excessive^ that the Countess requested 
 the presence of Josephine, to aid her in 
 soothing his extreme agitation. 
 
 The tears of Josephine awakened all the 
 sensibility of her. lover; regardless of the 
 presence of the Countess and Rosalia, and 
 the blushes of Josephine, he threw him- 
 self
 
 188 vivoNio. 
 
 self at the feet of the latter^ and vowed to 
 live devoted to heralone^ yet never to seek 
 another interview^ till her safety rendered 
 it no longer dangerous.' " Oh, my mo- 
 ther!'* he cried^ when the blushing Jose- 
 phine had disengaged herself from his fond 
 entreaties, " say, tell me^ is my adored Jo- 
 sephine yet secure from her persecutors ? 
 Have not I plunged her into irremediable 
 misery?" 
 
 '' It would have been much better had 
 you not removed her from Naples,'" re- 
 plied the Countess gravely ; " however, she 
 cannot return thither. But,'* continued 
 she, " let us trust to Providence, who has 
 already evinced its protecting goodness, in 
 not permitting the accomplishment of your 
 intentions. Retire, Ferdinand," she ad- 
 ded, ^'and forget not the vow you have 
 just uttered — seek not to see Josephine 
 without my permission — console yourself 
 with this assurance, I do not disapprove 
 your affection. In happier times, perhaps, 
 she may still be your's. Yet remember 
 
 you
 
 VI VON 10. 189 
 
 you have a father — at present all attempts 
 to obtain his approbation would be in vain 
 — yet of that in future, I do not despair/* 
 
 In an ecstacy of joy, Ferdinand poured 
 forth his grateful thanks to his amiable mo- 
 ther; and, at the feet of Josephine, be- 
 sought a confirmation of his pardon, and 
 his re-establishment in her favourable opi- 
 nion. 
 
 Josephine, with glowing cheek, smiled 
 her forgiveness, and softly promised to be 
 guided by th*e Countess ; acknowledging, 
 that sanctioned by her approbation, she 
 should ever consider him with sentiments 
 of the truest regard. 
 
 The Countess now insisted on her son's 
 departure, and Ferdinand, after commit- 
 ting Josephine to the friendship of Rosalia, 
 reluctantly withdrew. 
 
 , The Countess now addressed the asto- 
 nished Rosalia — '' The scene you have just 
 beheld, my young friend," said she, ^' no 
 doubt excites your liveliest interest. To 
 
 my
 
 19§ vivoNio. 
 
 my Josephine I depute the task of expla- 
 nation — yet you must suspend your wish 
 till to-morrow — the tale you will probably 
 deign to listen to is too prolix to come 
 within the limits of this night. I must now 
 bid you adieu. And you^ my inestimable 
 Josephine/' continued the Countess, turn- 
 ing to her fair protegee, '' you, in the pro- 
 tection of this amiable young lady, will be 
 happier far than you have hitherto been 
 with me." 
 
 ^' My beloved, revered protectress," 
 answered Josephine, while tears of grati- 
 tude wetted her cheek, " Ah, but for your 
 benignant care, how hapless had been the 
 fate of the wretched orphan you have ever 
 cherished with maternal tenderness!" Then 
 addressing herself to Rosalia, " Allow me, 
 amiable Lady Rosalia," continued she, ''to 
 say how truly sensible my heart is of the — " 
 
 '' Allow me," interrupted Rosalia, with 
 a fascinating smile, '' allow me to request 
 my friend to dry these tears, and to accept 
 
 an
 
 VI VON 10. 191 
 
 an assurance^ that I feel highly obliged to 
 the Countess^ for permitting me to call 
 her amiable protegee my friend/' 
 
 The Countess alternately embraced the 
 lovely girls, and, after having joined their 
 hands, withdrew; but quickly returned-— 
 '^'^ My dear Rosalia,'* said she, '''the ap- 
 pearance of your attendant Biancha, whom 
 I have just perceived ascending the stairs, 
 reminds me of having neglected to request 
 you will use your own discretion in the 
 confidence you mean to admit her to, re- 
 ^specti'ng my Josephine/' 
 
 ^'^ Confident of the fidelity of Biancha," 
 replied Rosalia, ^' I will, with your per- 
 mission, entrust her with so much of Sig- 
 nora Josephine's situation as will prevent 
 the familiarity which the idea of equality 
 might create in the manners of my simple 
 attendant/' 
 
 " Act according to your own judgment^ 
 my dear young friend," answered the Coun- 
 tess; '^ your opinion of Biancha directs 
 mine. My ideas are so confused by the 
 
 occurrence
 
 192 VI VON 10. 
 
 occurrence of this evening, that I am ut- 
 terly forgetful. Josephine, you must quit 
 these apartments as seldom as possible; the 
 chamber adjoining this suite shall immedi- 
 ately be prepared for you." 
 
 The entrance of Biancha interrupted the 
 conversation, and the Countess again with- 
 drew. 
 
 The attendant looked surprised on seeing 
 Josephine, but prudently checked all indi- 
 cations of curiosity, and merely requested 
 to know if her lady had any commands ? 
 
 Rosalia, >vith delicate attention, directed 
 the notice of Josephkie to several fine 
 paintings which ornamented the apartment, 
 and, in a low tone of voice, begged she 
 would amuse herself, while Biancha should 
 be informed of what was necessary for her 
 to know. 
 
 While Josephine endeavoured to divert 
 her thoughts with contemplating several 
 portraits and landscapes, by the exquisite 
 pencil of Titian, Rosalia informed Bian- 
 cha, that the Countess had requested her to 
 
 receive
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 191 
 
 receive the young lady^ who was present^ 
 as an attendant in her apartments. 
 
 " In the view*of any of the domestics who 
 may chance to behold Signora Josephine/' 
 continued Rosalia, '^behave as if she was 
 your equal ; when alone, Biancha, rem em- 
 ber ^he is miney and conduct yourself acr 
 cordingly; nay, pay her greater attention, 
 for she is under affliction/' 
 
 The faithful attendant listened with tearp 
 ful eyes, and promised to observe her duty 
 strictly. 
 
 Rosalia then addressed her new friend, 
 and assured her, she might, with perfect 
 security, confide in the fidelity of Biancha, 
 whose respectful and ingenuous manners 
 almost immediately prepossessed Josephine 
 in favour of this faithful domestic. 
 
 *' The Count Alvanio, Signora, has been 
 enquiring for you, and, if you are not in- 
 disposed, requests you will again join the 
 company3'' said Biancha. 
 
 Rosalia, aware that she could not long 
 VOL. I. K absent
 
 194 vivoNia. 
 
 absent herself from the gardens unobserv- 
 ed^ felt the necessity of immediately re- 
 turning to the festive throng, and apolo- 
 gized to Josephine for bidding her so early 
 an adieu. 
 
 ''' I fear/' said Rosalia, '' I shall not have 
 the pleasure of seeing you till to-morrow. 
 With reluctance, I leave you to yourself; 
 to-morrow we will devote to friendly com- 
 munications.*' 
 
 '' Permit me to ask/' said Josephine^ 
 '' whether the small chamber beyond your 
 dressing-room is occupied .^" 
 
 '' Sometimes by Biancha/"* replied Rosa- 
 lia, " though very seldom." 
 
 " Pardon m^;, Signora," said Josephine, 
 *"^ may I request youwill allow me to inha- 
 bit that apartment, while I shall have the 
 bappiness of residing under your protec- 
 tion?" 
 
 " Most assuredly," returned Rosalia; 
 ^^ had I supposed you would condescend to 
 accept the chamber you mention, I should 
 have proposed it/' 
 
 ^' Condescend
 
 VI VON 10. 
 
 195 
 
 '' Condescend — Ah, Signora !'' sighed 
 fosephine. 
 
 '" Dear Josephine, forgive me; I regret 
 having given you a moment's uneasiness/* 
 said the amiable Rosalia ; '' I am infinitely- 
 gratified by your wish of being near me.'* 
 Then having ordered Biancha to prepare 
 the inner chamber for the reception of the 
 new guests and to serve refreshments to her, 
 Rosalia was continuing to give further in- 
 structions, when a rap at the door caused 
 her to desist — it was one of the Countess's 
 attendants with a message, and Rosalia was 
 obliged to hasten away. 
 
 She found the Coitntess in the Orange- 
 walk, surrounded by a large party, all of 
 whom had been eagerly enquiring for the 
 lovely heiress. 
 
 Ill a moment Rosalia was assailed by a 
 multitude of complimentary regrets, caused 
 by her late absence, succeeded by reite- 
 rated entreaties, not to withdraw herself 
 
 during the evening. 
 
 K 2 Amongst
 
 196 vivoNio. 
 
 Amongst the crowd that now hovered 
 around her, Don ^Hernandez de Marino 
 was extremely solicitous to obtain the fa- 
 vour of her hand in the dance, politely in- 
 sinuating^, that the Countess had ventured 
 tb promise her compliance. 
 
 Rosalia, on this intimation, permitted 
 the elegant Spaniard to lead her to the 
 sprightly throng : but the impossibility of 
 banishing from her mind the singular oc- 
 currence which had just taken place, pre- 
 vented her paying much attention to the 
 dance, or to her graceful partner; who, 
 observing her abstraction, with infinite cha- 
 grin, and half-offended by her indifference, 
 conducted her to a seat, and soon after 
 joined a party of ladies, who seemed more 
 disposed than Rosalia to attend to his endea- 
 vours to please. 
 
 All solicitations to induce Rosalia to 
 dance again, were politely rejected; which 
 Don Hernandez remarking, he hastily re- 
 turned to the side of her chair, around 
 
 which
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 197 
 
 Tvhich was a group of cavaliers^ assiduously 
 vying with each other in their gallant at- 
 te-Btions. 
 
 The spirits of Rosalia were depressed, 
 she appeared inattentive to the flattering 
 throng that surrounded her; and Don 
 Hernandez taking occasion to introduce 
 some serious topic, she soon found herself 
 almost alone with him. His manners now 
 assumed a softness so perceptible^ that she 
 could not avoid being conscious of it; and 
 when he introduced love, and its unhappy 
 effects, when unrequited^ into his dis- 
 course, she could no longer remain a silent 
 hearer, but rising, requested to be con- 
 ducted to the Countess^ near whom she 
 continued during the remainder of the 
 evening, still assiduously attended by Don 
 Hernandez. 
 
 During supper, the eyes of the Count 
 Alvanio were frequently fixed on Rosalia, 
 with undisguised earnestness, and she again 
 found herself under the necessity of as- 
 suming vivacity ; the effort was painful, 
 k3 and
 
 198 VI VON 10. 
 
 and she rejoiced when the moment of re- 
 tiring arrived. 
 
 The faint blush of the morning illumined 
 the east^ when, at length, she entered her 
 apartment. 
 
 From Biancha she learned that Josephine 
 had, at the command of the Countess, re- 
 tired early to repose. ^' By order of Signora 
 Josephine," continued the attendant, '' I 
 informed the Countess of her having re- 
 quested, and obtained my ladv's permission, 
 to occupy the pink chamber ; and the 
 Countess then repeated the orders you, 
 Signora, were pleased to give, about re- 
 freshments; and her last command was to 
 inform Signora Josephine that it was her 
 wash she should retire at an early hour to 
 rest/* 
 
 Rosalia soon dismissed Biancha ; but in 
 vain she solicited sleep— the occurrences 
 of the night- — the image of Guidoni — and 
 a succession of hurried ideas, presented 
 themselves, and forbade repose. 
 
 The brilliant rays of the sun had pene- 
 trated
 
 VIVONIO. • 199 
 
 trated the latticed windows before she sunk 
 into short and disturbed slumbers, from 
 which she awoke, languid and sad. 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 OSEPHINE^ who for some time had been 
 watching beside the bed of Rosalia, anxi- 
 ously observed the indications of inquietude 
 that frequently appeared in her counte- 
 nance; and when she awoke, Josephine, 
 with earnest solicitude, requested permis- 
 sion to send Biancha to signify her indispo- 
 sition to the Countess. To this proposition 
 Rosalia acceded, and then partook, with 
 K 4 Josephine>
 
 200 VI VON 10. 
 
 Josephine, a slight breakfast in her own 
 apartment. 
 
 The Countess,, on receiving the message, 
 hastened to the chamber of Rosalia, and 
 had the pleasure of finding her lovely guest 
 not so much indisposed as the fears of those 
 about her person had suggested ; the lan- 
 guor of her countenance; however, too 
 plainly indicated the unhappiness which 
 preyed on her mind, and the Countess in- 
 wardly wished her charge had never beheld 
 the Count Guidoni. 
 
 Resolving not to indulge the unavailing 
 regrets of Rosalia, the Countess seemed 
 not to observe her uneasiness, and quickly 
 began to discourse on the situation of Jose- 
 phine. 
 
 The renewal of this theme caused Rosa- 
 lia to forget her own secret sorrows, and 
 the lively interest which, on the preced- 
 ing evening, she had taken in the concerns 
 of the lovely unfortunate, revived with 
 added strength. When the Countess had 
 withdrawn^ Josephine prepared to relate 
 
 the
 
 VIVONIO. 201 
 
 the story of her misfortunes, but grief im- 
 peded her utterance, while Rosalia, with 
 tenderness and compassion, strove to chace 
 the tear of sad recollection from the cheek 
 of her friend, who^ gratefully sensible of 
 the delicate and soothing attention she ex- 
 perienced, suppressed her emotion, and, 
 in the voice of sorrow, began her narra- 
 tion. 
 
 '' The few incidents which mark my life^ 
 Signora Rosalia, are soon detailed. My 
 mother was the dau^^hter of Don Garcio de 
 Gironne, a grandee of Spain, who became 
 a widower before his children, one son 
 and one daughter, had attained an age to 
 be sensible of his excessive sorrow for his 
 own and their irreparable loss. 
 
 ^^Devoted to the memory of this beloved 
 and lamented wife, Don Garcio retired to a 
 secluded estate near Placentia, and there 
 educated the children of his Victoria. 
 
 '' My uncle was only two years older than 
 
 his sister; equal in personal beauty, but 
 
 totally opposite iu dispositions, the haughty 
 
 K 5 soul
 
 S02 TIVONIO. 
 
 soul of Carlos displayed its propensities 
 even in his infantine amusements; his ta- 
 lents promised to be brilliant^ and as he 
 improved in years and knowledge^ his pride 
 grew with his personal qualifications^ and 
 his mental and polite attainments; yet he 
 was duteous to his father and generous to 
 all; his sister he almost adored^ and the 
 young Victoria, my regretted mother, re- 
 turned the alTection of her brother with the 
 tendei^est regard. The sweetness of her 
 disposition, and her extreme beauty, were 
 a theme of admiration among all those who, 
 in my grandfather's confined circle, ever 
 beheld her. 
 
 "^ When Carlos had arrived at the proper 
 age, he was placed in the university of Sa- 
 lamanca, where he became acquainted with 
 a young nobleman, named Don Alphonso 
 deAvilla; and so great a friendship had my 
 uncle conceived for this young cavalier, 
 that he prevailed on Don Garcio to permit 
 him to bring his friend on a visit to the 
 castle. 
 
 '' Carlos
 
 VI VON 10. 205 
 
 " Carlos and Don Alphonso were re- 
 ceived with every demonstration of joy; 
 a splendid fete was given in honour of the 
 former's birth-day^ which was celebrated in 
 less than a fortnight after his return to the 
 castle. 
 
 '' Victoria^ who had been on a visit to a 
 neighbouring convent, returned home on 
 the eve of her brother's natal day^ and, 
 for the first time, beheld Don Alphonso de 
 Avilla. 
 
 '' Alphonso and Victoria were both of 
 them too amiable not to be mutually charm- 
 ed with each other, and the admiration each 
 felt was succeeded by an attachment which 
 was sanctioned by the approbation of Don 
 Garcio. 
 
 '' Carlos and Alphonso were to remain 
 another year at the university ; at the ex- 
 piration of which period, the nuptials of 
 Don Alphonso and Victoria were to be ce- 
 lebrated. 
 
 '' After passing two months at the caotle^ 
 
 enjoying all the happiness resulting from 
 
 true friendship and reciprocal love, the 
 
 K 6 friends
 
 S04: VI VON 10. 
 
 friends bade a reluctant adieu to Don Gar- 
 cio and Victoria, and departed for vSala- 
 manca. 
 
 '^''A correspondence, equally innocent as 
 tender, commenced between Alphonso and 
 his Victoria, and continued, uninterrupted 
 for half-a-year, when a circumstance of a 
 most melajicholy nature deprived the lovers 
 of the only solace that could enliven the 
 lingering hours of separation. 
 
 '' Don Garcio became suddenly and vio- 
 lently indisposed; and Carlos was immedi- 
 ately summoned to the castle, where he 
 arrived only in time to receive his revered 
 father's last sigh. 
 
 "For several days his affectionate off- 
 spring mourned their loss with the deepest 
 sorrow. Time, however, ameliorated their 
 griefs, and the claiii^s of love and friend- 
 .ship reminded them of Alphonso. To the 
 surprise of Carlos, neither letter nor mes- 
 sage were received from the former, and 
 his friend bepame extremely uneasy at his 
 apparent neglect. Too proud to write to 
 
 Alphonso^
 
 vivoNio. 205 
 
 Alphonso^ to enquire the reason of this 
 unfriendly procedure^ Don Carlos passed 
 two months at the castle^ vainly endea- 
 vouring to console his sister^ whose grief 
 for the death of her father was now min- 
 gled with the agonizing suspense in which 
 she was held by the inexplicable conduct of 
 Alphoriso. 
 
 '' At the earnest entreaties of Victoria^ 
 Don Carlos was at length prevailed upon 
 to visit the university, where, to his amaze- 
 ment, he learned that Don Alphonso had 
 not returned from Zamora, whither he had 
 gone on an excursion with a young noble- 
 man, whose character Don Carlos had never 
 approved of. He was a young man of rank 
 and expectations ; and many, deceived by 
 his specious manners, had given him the 
 reputation of being virtuous : several of 
 the superiors of the university were, how- 
 ever, of a contrary opinion ; they had ac- 
 cidentally heard enough of his private vices^ 
 to pronounce him a most dangerous hypo- 
 crite. Of these particulars Carlos was now 
 
 informed^
 
 205 vivoNio. 
 
 informed^ and he was shocked at his friend's 
 having made choice of such an associate. 
 
 '^ Still unwilling to condemn Alphonsa 
 for a silence that might be the effect pf ac- 
 cident, not neglect, and having recollect- 
 ed that his friend had set out on this excur- 
 sion several hours before the summons 
 which announced the illness of Don Gar- 
 cio had arrived at the university, Carlos 
 was willing to conclude that Alphonso had 
 not heard of the melancholy event which 
 had succeeded. 
 
 " Pleasing himself with the idea, that his 
 friend might not yet be totally undeserving 
 his regard, Carlos proceeded to Zamora, 
 where all his hopes were completely anni- 
 hilated. 
 
 '' Alphonso and the young nobleman, to 
 whose name I am a stranger, the Countess 
 not being herself acquainted with it, had 
 left Zamora seven or eight wrecks previous 
 to the arrival of Carlos, whose surprise, 
 anger, and concern, were^trongly excited,, 
 by hearing that two handsome, but imm.o- 
 4 dest
 
 vivoNio. 207 
 
 dest women^ accompanied them on their 
 tour. 
 
 " No sooner had Don Carlos received 
 this disgusting information, than he left 
 Zamora, and journeyed, with all possible 
 speed, back to the castle. 
 
 " Spare me, lady Rosalia,'' continued Jo- 
 sephine, '' spare me the sad recital of the 
 agonies which the unhappy Victoria en- 
 diiredj when she learned the falsehood and 
 unworthiness of Alphonso — the tenderest 
 care of Don Carlos could but merely pre- 
 serve her life— her happiness fted for ever I 
 
 '' A life of religious seclusion now^ be- 
 came the most ardent wish of Victoria ; and 
 her brother finding it in vain to combat her 
 intreaties and resolves, reluctantly gave his 
 consent, and attended his lovely and un- 
 fortunate sister to the convent, where, hav- 
 ing prevailed upon the Abbess to curtail 
 the time of her noviciate, she shortly after 
 took the veil. 
 
 '' In this convent Victoria had, in her 
 days of happiness, formed a sincerfe friend- 
 ship
 
 208 vivoNio. 
 
 ship with my beloved protectress, then 
 Donna Isabella de Riverra. This invaluable 
 friend had accompanied her to the castle on 
 the day on which she first beheld Don Al- 
 phonso, and was, therefore, no stranger to 
 the accomplishments and apparent merits 
 of her friend's regretted lover, whose per- 
 fidy, and the sad effects it had produced on 
 the hapless Victoria, she continued to la- 
 ment with sincere sorrov^. 
 
 " However, the consolatory sympathy of 
 friendship did not long cheer the drooping 
 spirits of Victoria ; in less than three 
 months after her admission. Donna Isabella 
 was removed from the convent, and Victo- 
 ria sunk into the deepest despondence. 
 
 ''^ Donna, Isabella had been but a short 
 time at Madrid, when a report prevailed 
 there, that Donna Victoria de Gironne had 
 fled from her convent with Don Alphonso 
 de Avilla. 
 
 '' To this report Donna Isabella at first 
 gave no credit, but. the fact was soon proved 
 beyond all doubt ; and the whisper was ge- 
 
 neralj,
 
 VI VON 10. 209 
 
 iieral, that tlie Inquisition was busily em- 
 ployed in endeavours to trace the fugitives; 
 they, however, remained undiscovered. 
 
 '^ Donna Isabella was dreadfully shocked 
 at the circumstance, but when she repeat- 
 edly heard that the lovers continued to 
 elude their vigilant pursuers, and, at length, 
 that the hope of discovering their retreat 
 had abated, her fears c<^ased, and she be- 
 came the wife of the Count Alvanio, who 
 had been introduced to her by her cousin, 
 Don Hernandez de Marino. 
 
 ^^ From this period, three years and a half 
 elapsed without the Countess receiving the 
 least intelligence of her lost friend ; at the 
 expiration of this time, and while the Al- 
 vanio family were residing at an elegant 
 villa near Seragosa, a peasant one even- 
 ing requested to be admitted to the pre- 
 sence of the Countess. MylDcloved pro- 
 tectress being then alone, ordered the man 
 to be shown into the room where she then 
 was. He presented a small billet, which 
 th/e Countess had no sooner perused, than 
 
 she
 
 210 VIVONIO. 
 
 she fainted ; when recovered^ she ordered 
 her favourite attendant, Paulina^ to pro- 
 ceed with her to the cottage of the peasant^ 
 which they soon reached." 
 
 Tears and deep sighs here impeded the 
 utterance of the sorrowful Josephine ; and 
 it was some time before the soothing sym- 
 pathy of Rosalia could calm her emotion. 
 At length she continued her mournful re- 
 cital. 
 
 '^ In the cottage cf the ]>easant, reclined 
 on the bed of death, tiie Ceuntess beheld 
 her loved friend, Victoria dc Gironne. Sink- 
 ing on her knees beside the almost lifeless 
 form of her unfortunate friend, the hu- 
 mane Countess bathed, with tears of agony, 
 the icy hand which was freely extended to 
 her. Yet wherefore should I dwell on that 
 affecting interview — let it suffice to say, 
 when the emotions of these sorrowing 
 friends had somewhat subsided, my expir- 
 ing mother presented me, then about two 
 years old, to the Countess, who received 
 
 me
 
 VIVO^'lO 211 
 
 me as a sacred deposit, and solemnly vov^ed 
 to protect and g*uide my hapless youth. 
 
 ''^Most truly has that most benevolent of 
 women fulfilled the awful vow she then 
 took, though, by the observance of it, she 
 ran th# utmost hazard of involving herself 
 in Irremediable ills. My mother's life had 
 been forfeited by the breach of her reli- 
 gious vows, and disgrace and infamy, of 
 course, attached themselves to her unfortu- 
 nate offspring. 
 
 '' The most profound secrecy, in what- 
 ever related to the unhappy affair, was 
 therefore indispensibly necessary ; for the 
 Countess well knew the Inquisition would 
 pursue her with rigour, should her commu- 
 nication with, and humane attentions to, 
 my mother, ever become known. 
 
 *' Paulina, the attendant of the Coun- 
 tess, had a sister who had been seduced 
 from her home, and had not been heard of 
 from that period. The Countess was ac- 
 quainted with this circumstance, and at the 
 moment I was consigned to her benevolent 
 
 care.
 
 212 vivoNio. 
 
 care, the project occurred to her of repre- 
 senting Donna Victoria as Inis^ the sister of 
 Paulina, and myself as the offspring of that 
 unfortunate young woman. 
 
 '' The Countess delicately hinted this 
 plan to my dying parent, who p#fectly 
 approved of the just precaution ; and the 
 good Paulina, rejoicing in the opportunity 
 she now had of testifying her affection for 
 her amiable lady, cordially undertook to 
 aid the deception. 
 
 '' My dear parent grew weaker every 
 succeeding moment ; she placed a casket 
 in the hands of the Countess, and having 
 faltered a blessing on me, and embraced 
 her weeping friend, she sunk into a slumber^ 
 in which she expired. 
 
 '' The Countess, overcome with the 
 shock, was for soiiie time insensible. Her 
 recovery being at last effected, she was 
 conveyed to the villa, where her indisposi- 
 tion was accounted for by Paulina; who, 
 while the domestics were extolling the sin- 
 gular humanity of their lady, presented me 
 
 as
 
 YIVONIO. 
 
 S13 
 
 as the child of that sister, of whose mourn- 
 ful end she had just given the relation. 
 
 " Paulina, who now passed for my aunt, 
 was .universally respected ; every one, 
 therefore, exerted, their efforts to console 
 and amuse me, and to dry the tears of Pau- 
 lina. 
 
 '' On the third day the remains of my la- 
 mented mother were interred as those of 
 Inis Perez ; and it was generally understood, 
 that in consequence of the compassion the^ 
 Countess felt for my orpTian state, and the 
 regard she bore Paulina, -she had conde- 
 scended to patronise her little niece. 
 
 " My eariy years passed happily ; the 
 Countess continued to lavish tVi^ fondest 
 caresses on me, and Paulina was tenderly 
 attached to me. Unconscious of noble 
 origin, and equally unapprized of the dread- 
 ful circumstances which had involved in one 
 common ruin the fate of both parents and 
 my own, I had no cause of sorrow, but 
 when reflecting on the early privation of 
 tliat tenderness which had fixed an impres- 
 sion
 
 ■^14 VIVONIO. 
 
 sion on my young heart never to be erased. 
 At an age when children in general are apt 
 to forget, or at most, but faintly remem- 
 ber the cherishers of their infant days, I 
 wept, with keen sorrow, the recollection 
 of those affectionate endearments I had 
 lost for ever. The Countess indeed amply 
 supplied the place of my lamented mo- 
 ther, whose image, even at this hour, my 
 memory faithfully represents ; and I feel a 
 mournful pleasure whenever my kind pro- 
 tectress intimates that I resemble her. 
 
 '^^ At the age of five years I was placed in 
 a convent ; this change was at first produc- 
 tive of extreme sorrow — I \>fas now sepa- 
 rated from my beloved Countess, and more- ' 
 over from her amiable son, who had fre- 
 quently been allowed to join in my infan- 
 tile amusements. Nor did the grief of 
 Ferdinand, at parting, appear to be less 
 than mine. 
 
 '^ In this sacred retreat I remained near 
 fourteen years, and received, by order of 
 the Countess, an education suitable to my 
 
 birth.
 
 vivoNio. 215 
 
 hirth. The Abbess, though an intimate 
 friend of my kind protectress, was not en- 
 trusted with the knowledge of my real ori- 
 gin. As the -niece of Paulina, and the pro- 
 tegee of the Countess, she only considered 
 me; while her great regard for that ami- 
 able lady, joined to the innate goodness of 
 her ov^n heart, taught her to cherish the 
 orphan committed to her care. The favour 
 of this worthy woman gave me some con- 
 sequence in the society, and shielded me 
 from many mortifications. 
 
 " The fate of my m.other by no means 
 prepossessed the Countess in favour of a 
 conventual life, and all attempts to induce 
 me to take the veil were strictly prohi- 
 bited ; my generous benefactress ever af- 
 firming, that when she should consider.my 
 education as perfected, she proposed to 
 place me near her ov/n person. 
 
 ''I had just attained my fifteenth year^ 
 when the Countess announced to me the 
 intended departure of the Count and fa- 
 mily from Spain, and I was ordered to pre- 
 pare
 
 21 G vivoNio. 
 
 pare^to accompany them to Italy. Much 
 as I regretted to bid adieu to the Abbess^ 
 and many of the sisterhood, I began to 
 prepare for this journey with sensations of 
 pleasure ; they, however, were of short 
 duration, for the Abbess entreated the 
 Countess to permit me to remain with her 
 some time longer. 
 
 '' My dear benefactress could' not resist 
 the importunities of her valued friend; and 
 thous^h I was sensiblv affected with this 
 proof of the amiable Abbess's regard, yet I 
 sufTered extreme sorrow on seeing: the 
 Countess depart ; and the grief of that ex- 
 cellent lady appeared no way inferior to 
 my own. 
 
 '' The Abbess's affectionate regard claim- 
 ed, however, my warmest gratitude, and I 
 endeavoured to suppress my sorrowing re- 
 grets^ and thenceforward devoted myself to 
 the pleasing task of soothing the declining 
 hours of my pious friend. 
 
 '' The three following years the Countess 
 continued to favour me with her corres- 
 pondence^
 
 VIVONIO. 217 
 
 pondence, and the letters of that amiable 
 iady were my chief delight. At the expi- 
 ration of this period, the venerable Abbess 
 died, and my benevolent protectress v/as 
 no sooner informed of the melancholy 
 event, than she dispatched Paulina to Spain, 
 for the purpose of conducting me to Italy. 
 
 '' The Countess presented, by Paulina^ 
 a considerable donation to the new supe- 
 rior, and several remembrances to some of 
 my young friends In the convent. 
 
 '' With involuntary sighs, I bade adieu 
 to the quiet abode of my early years, and 
 arrived at Naples about five inonths since. , 
 
 '' I was received at the pailazo, by the 
 Countess, with unfeigned joy, and con- 
 ducted to an apartment, prepared by her 
 orders for my reception. 
 
 '' It being^ generally undei-stqod in the 
 pailazo that I had been educated in a libe- 
 ral manner, purposely as a kind of com- 
 panion to the Countess, my never ming- 
 ling with the domestics, consequently,; ex- 
 cited no surprise^ npr curiosity. 
 
 VOL. I. L '' Still
 
 218 vivoNio. 
 
 '' Still considering myself the niece of 
 Paulina, I was now astonished at the num- 
 ^berless distinctions shewn me by my sup- 
 posed aunt, and ventured to intreat her to 
 conduct herself towards me with that friend- 
 ly familiarity which our relationship autho- 
 rized ; but I only received vague answers, 
 and undiminished respect. 
 
 " When I attended mass, Paulina always 
 accompanied me ; nor was I permitted even 
 to walk in the gardens without her. 
 
 *' In the apartments of the Countess I 
 passed many hours, employed in various 
 kinds of needle-work, comprising in the 
 society of this dear lady the height of my 
 happiness; the sweetness of her dispo- 
 sition, and the affability of her manners, 
 had long endeared her to all the domestics 
 — how much more so then to me, who was 
 indebted to her bounty for every blessing 
 in life. 
 
 ** Several weeks elapsed, during which 
 nothing occurred to disturb the serenity of 
 my mind. At length, being alone one 
 
 evening
 
 ViVONiO, ^i§ 
 
 evening in the apartment of the Countess, 
 busily employed at some embroidery, a 
 footstep, crossing the room, occasioned 
 me to look round ; I saw no one, and at- 
 tributing the sound to fancy, proceeded 
 with my work, the while singing, ' in a low 
 voice, a favourite canzonet of the Coun- 
 tess. 
 
 ''An exclamation, uttered by some per- 
 son^ near me, caused me to start from my 
 chair, and, to my extreme surprise and 
 confusion, I beheld an elegant young cava- 
 lier. 
 
 '' My first impulse was to fly from the 
 apartment; but the stranger, whose emo- 
 tioji almost equalled my own, respectfully 
 intreated me to remain ; then politely apo- 
 logized for his intrusion, and requested me 
 to inform him whether the Countess had 
 been long out. 
 
 " Recovering from my embarrassment 
 
 I replied, the Countess had been absent 
 
 several hours-~then begged he would in- 
 
 ^ ^ form
 
 220 TIVONIO. 
 
 form m^ who I should acquaint my lady- 
 had wished to see her. 
 
 'instead of replying to my question, 
 the cavalier hastily exclaimed — ^ Your 
 lady! Is it possible you attend on the 
 Countess^ my mother?' 
 
 '' I answered in the affirmative, and the 
 cavalier was proceeding to make further 
 enquiries, when the entrance of Paulina 
 relieved me from my awkward situation. 
 
 ^•^ The surprise of Paulina was extreme, 
 on perceiving the cavalier, who, leaving 
 a slight message for the Countess, respect- 
 iully withdrew. 
 
 " I silently resumed my work, which, 
 however, went on but slowly ; my thoughts 
 incessantly wandered towards Signor Fer- 
 dinand. I had just beheld the companion 
 of my early days — no longer the amiable 
 child with whom I had passed so many 
 happy hours, but a graceful elegant cava- 
 lier, ;whom I should not have known to be 
 the son of my benefactress, had not his 
 own expressions proclaimed him such. 
 
 '' toxA
 
 vivoNio. 221 
 
 ^' For the first time since my arrival in 
 Italy, I had how beheld Signor Ferdinand; 
 this circumstance was not singular, as I had 
 been totally confined to the Countess's 
 apartments and my own. I had often wished 
 to see the amiable companion of my child- 
 hood, but had never avowed my wishes, 
 and I now began to accuse ipyself of in- 
 gratitude. It is true, I had only once seen 
 the Count Alvanio during my residence in 
 the pallazo ; but for the few years which 
 in my infant state I had passed with, the 
 Countess in Spain, I had been unnoticed 
 by the Count, consequently there was no- 
 thing remarkable in my not feeling a de- 
 sire to behold him. 
 
 " On the following morning I attended 
 the Countess in her apartment, and she al- 
 most immediately began to rally me on my 
 late interview with her son. 
 
 ' Ferdinand has amused me extremely/ 
 
 continued the Countess, ^ with his lively 
 
 description of your terror on beholding 
 
 him. On his learning, that in you he had 
 
 L 3 seen
 
 ^22 vivoNio. 
 
 seen the companion of his early youth, he 
 made me promise to permit him to apolo- 
 gize to you for the alarm he caused you to 
 feel/ 
 
 " A tear of grateful pleasure stole from 
 Hiy eye, while I would have declined the 
 honour intended me ; but the Countess pe* 
 remptorily insisted on my compliance. 
 
 '' I was again seated at the embroidery, 
 in the Countesses dressing-room, when her 
 son entered the apartment. My involun- 
 tary confusion prevented my hearing the 
 whole of his graceful address, or of reply- 
 ing to it as I ought to have done. The Coun- 
 tess, however, kindly allowed my embar- 
 rassment to pass unnoticed, and in a short 
 time I regained composure. You, Signora 
 Rosalia, too well know the amiable man- 
 ners of your generous cousin, to need a 
 detail of his various powers of pleasing — ■ 
 I but too soon became sensible of his me- 
 rits, and trembled at my own danger. 
 
 " For several weeks I occasionally saw 
 Ferdinand in tne apartment of the Coun- 
 tess,
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 92S 
 
 less, who, undoubtedly, did not observe 
 the delicate attentions he paid her unhappy 
 ■protegee. An incident afterwards occurred, 
 which determined me to inform my bene- 
 volent protectress of that, which had never 
 been the object of her suspicions. 
 
 '' On a small table, in my own apart- 
 ment, I one evening found a letter ad- 
 dressed to me. Though surprised at the 
 circumstance, I could not resist the wish of 
 perusing its contents — I opened the folds 
 — and, to my amazement and confusion, 
 discovered it contained a declaration of af- 
 fection from Signor Ferdinand! 
 
 ^'^I will not attempt to describe the va- 
 rious emotions of my heart after I had read 
 this epistle ; suffice it, the sense of duty 
 predominated, and 1 took the earliest op- 
 portunity of informing the Signor Ferdi-" 
 nand of my fixed resolve, never to encou- 
 rage professions inconsistent with his rank 
 and filial obligations, as Vv'ell as incompati- 
 ble with the humble circumstances of one, 
 whose chief pride and happiness^ it was, to 
 L 4 owe
 
 224 
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 owe her all to the benevolent generosity 
 of his amiable mother. I then added, I 
 had no secrets from the Countess, and if I 
 forbore to show her the epistle he had ad- 
 dressed to me, my forbearance mlist be at- 
 tributed to the fear I had of exposing him 
 to the displeasure of his noble parents. 
 
 '' Ferdinand quitted me in extreme emo- 
 tion, and my heart but too feelingly parti- 
 cipated his sorrows. Supported, however, 
 by the sense of having acted right, I only 
 lamenfed his having bestowed a serious 
 thought on one so much beneath him as 
 myself. Could I have supposed our rank 
 to be equal, and there existed no obstacle 
 to oppose his addresses, the tender regard 
 of Ferdinand would have formed the basis 
 of my happiness; but, circumstanced as I 
 was, I prized his fame, and the tranquillity 
 of his noble family, beyond my own life. . 
 
 '' Soon after this incident, the Countess 
 acquainted me with the sad history of my 
 parents; and while I. wept their sufferings, 
 I felt my spirits soothed by the knowledge 
 
 I had
 
 VIVONIO. 2f5 
 
 I had now gained, of my birth being not 
 inferior to his, whom I regarded with so 
 much esteem. 
 
 '' The Countess, on the day after the re- 
 cital, delivered to mc the casket which had 
 been committed to her care by my dying 
 mother. Judge my surprise, when, on 
 opening it, I found it contained jewels of 
 immense value, and a small scroll of writing. 
 
 " The scroll was hastily unfolded by tlie 
 Countess, who turned pale a^ death, and^ 
 in faltering accents, murmured severe re- 
 proaches on what she termed her own neg- 
 lect. 
 
 " Almost overcome by terror, I intreat- 
 ed to know the cause of her agitation ? 
 
 ' My dear child,' exclaimed the Coun- 
 tess, in reply, ' I fear I have acted wrong, 
 in not examining the contents of this casket 
 earlier.' 
 
 ' Here,' continued she, after a pause, and 
 directing my attention to a folded paper 
 which had been inclosed in the scroll, ' here 
 
 L r> is
 
 !^26 vivoNio. 
 
 is a letter addressed to Don Carlos de Gi- 
 ronne ; it ought to have been presented to 
 him soon after your mother^s decease. 
 From some words she uttered immediately- 
 preceding her dissolution^, I imagined the 
 casket was not to be inspected till you had 
 arrived ^ at years of maturity^ consequent- 
 ly never examined its contents. I now 
 find I have been in an error^ and shall never 
 cease to reproach myself for the unpardon- 
 able omission. However^ though I may 
 not appear in the affair;, I will secretly en- 
 deavour^ by the most strenuous exertions^ 
 to remedy the evil/ 
 
 '' When I could prevail on my benefac- 
 tress to forbear her self-upbraidings^ we 
 proceeded to read the scroll. This, Lady 
 Rosalia/"* continued Josephine^, presenting 
 to the former a large roll of paper, " this 
 is the qiournful scroll alluded to. It would 
 be impossible for me to repeat the con- 
 tents; r.llow r/iethen to beg you will pe- 
 ruse it/' 
 
 Rosalia
 
 VI VON 10. 22? 
 
 Rosalia received the paper from the hand 
 of the weeping Josephine, and read as 
 follows: 
 
 ^' A delightful presentiment 
 occupies my mijid — surely my Alphonso 
 lives ! The domestics of Don Felix are not 
 yet returned — hark ! I am called — Oh ! that 
 my heart may have strength to support the 
 blissful tidings — I will believe its presages 
 
 — my Alphonso yet lives!" 
 
 * * * ^ * * * 
 
 " No — my hopes are fled for ever — and 
 yet I retain my senses ! The mangled corpse 
 of my beloved proves my misery irreme- 
 diable — I am resigned — I have ruined thee, 
 my Alphonso^ and am content tp endure 
 the severity of fate. 
 
 '' I will no longer seek to screen myself 
 
 from the punishment which attends on the 
 
 breach of my religious vows — the friendship 
 
 of Don Felix is exalted — to his care I will 
 
 L 6 confide
 
 228 vivoNio. 
 
 confide my innocent babe — hapless orphan ! 
 —beloved Josephine, when the ashes of 
 thji wretched mother rest in the silent grave^ 
 thy tears may flow over the sad story of her 
 errors/' 
 
 * * * ^c * ^ * 
 
 " I have employed myself all the last day 
 and night in writing a short history of my 
 life^ distinct from this journal — Josephine, 
 dear child of my hearty may the perusal of 
 it warn thee to avoid thy mother's crimes. 
 
 " Each succeeding day brings, me new 
 proofs of the generous friendship of Don 
 Felix de Romna — noble-minded man! To 
 him I am indebted for the preservation of 
 my own and my infant's life — he found me 
 insensible on the skirts of the forest, with 
 my babe folded in my arms — he had me 
 conveyed to his castle, and has shown me 
 the most respectful and generous attentions 
 —he weeps with me the fate of my Al- 
 phonso, to whose memory he proposes to 
 erect a cenotaph inscribed with his vir- 
 tues. . ^ 
 
 ^^I have just mentioned my determina- 
 tion
 
 vivoNio. 229 
 
 tion of delivering myself up to the Inqui- 
 sition — Don Felix heard me with, horror — 
 he shall not dissuade me from my resolve-^ — 
 the terrors of guilty and the agonies of re- 
 morse^ rend my soul ! Don Felix ordered 
 my child to be brought — he pleaded for the 
 hapless babe — smiling cherub^ for thy sake I 
 will not yield myself up to the dread tri- 
 bunal. A few days hence, and my bene- 
 volent protector hopes to provide me a 
 secure asylum in a convent, of which his 
 own sister is Abbess. 
 
 '' I am rejected — Donna Theresa, a rela- 
 tion of Don Felix, with whom she resides, 
 delicately informed me, that my continu- 
 ance in the castle has given rise to reports 
 injurious to my fame; and the Abbess, In 
 consequence, has refused me admission. 
 Well, to this stroke I must also submit — 
 Alphonso, for whom alone I valued life and 
 fame, is no more — Ah ! I had forgot my 
 child---Oh ! agony in&upportable — this dis- 
 grace will follow her. 
 
 '' Weak, credulous woman ! Why did I 
 
 ever
 
 230 vivoNio. 
 
 ever imagine Don Felix disinterested — he 
 has offered me his hand — proposed having 
 the ceremony of our nuptials privately 
 performed. I am totally unknown to all 
 but him, and this union, he avers, will in- 
 sure perfect security to myself and my hap- 
 less infant — I have decidedly rejected his 
 proposals — my heart is dead to affection — 
 I will not, even to benefit my child, ^be- 
 come a second time perjured to my religi- 
 ous vows. My Josephine, my sweet babe, 
 w^ill find protection from on High. 
 
 '' I am shocked and distressed at the un- 
 ceasing importunities of Don Felix — there 
 is a want of delicacy and feeling in thus 
 urging me to become his — I have been 
 compelled to repeat my refusal, with some 
 degree of severity. 
 
 " Don Felix has at length yielded to my 
 just representations — in about three days I 
 shall leave the castle, and be conducted to 
 a convent in France.'* 
 
 The following passages in the journal 
 seemed to have been pursued with a tre- 
 mulous
 
 VIVONIO. §31 
 
 mulous hand, and, in several places^ were 
 scarcely intelligible. Rosalia having, with 
 some difficulty, decyphered the characters, 
 at length continued to read on : 
 
 '- Surely the distraction of my mind has 
 pictured horrid images! It must be delu- 
 sion — last night — no, I will not record a 
 dream — it could not be reality — 
 
 '' Oh, no — no, I am not deceived — it is 
 too true — at the hour of midnight my 
 senses were shocked and dismayed with the 
 sight of Don Felix, stealing, like an as- 
 sassin, across my chamber— he approached 
 — my piercing shrieks drove him hence, 
 muttering the most dreadful execrations — 
 Whither shall I fly! That vile Donna The- 
 resa — she laughs at my bitter complaints 
 and tears. My brain is distracted ! — My 
 child ! — Alphonso ! — Oh, Alphonso- ! — lost 
 — murdered ! 
 
 " Feeble and exhausted, I have just risen 
 
 from the bed of sickness — they tell me I 
 
 have been ill several weeks. My child, it 
 
 appears, has been carefully attended the 
 
 4 while
 
 S32 vivoNia. 
 
 while — Don Felix professes contrition for 
 the past — I will try the sincerity of this 
 man's repentance. 
 
 '' Ah ! my suspicions are confirmed — I 
 am not permitted to quit the castle — what 
 methods can I devise to obtain my release 
 from this detested place — I must^ I will 
 stoop to the hateful task of dissimulation. 
 My affected demeanour has succeeded to 
 my wish — Don Felix expects my compli- 
 ance with his proposals when my health 
 shall be re-established— rather would I die 
 the most painful of deaths. — But my child^ 
 my precious^ my only treasure^ how sweet- 
 ly she smiles and prattles ! Ah^ beloved 
 babe, for thy sake only do I wish to exist. 
 
 " I will leave no means untried to ac- 
 complish my escape — to remain here is lin- 
 o^erin^ torture. 
 
 '' Five anxious days have elapsed with- 
 out a prospect of success — Don Felix has 
 renewed his ungenerous persecutions. 
 
 "'Oh, merciful Providence! Last night 
 I discovered a secret passage — I am con- 
 
 vinced;,
 
 vivoNio. 233 
 
 vinced, by the ways I then explored^ that 
 it leads beyond the castle walls. 
 
 " Cottage in Arragon. 
 
 *' I effected my escape — I wandered^ with 
 my hapless babe, three days through the 
 Pyrenees. At length, exhausted almost to 
 death, I encountered some friendly mule- 
 teers, who conveyed me to Seragosa — 
 Isabella de Riverra, my dear, my valued 
 friend, has an estate near. 
 
 '' I will apply to her to protect my child; 
 for myself, human aid can now be of no 
 avail. Already do I feel the icy hand of 
 death ! Scarcelv had I stren«:th to scrawl 
 the few lines I just now dispatched by the 
 owner of the cottage which shelters my 
 sinking frame — Oh, Isabella, friend of my 
 youth, companion of my happy days, at- 
 tend to my dying supplications — hasten to 
 receive my last sigh, and '' 
 
 Here
 
 :234 VI VON 10, 
 
 Here the scroll concluded; Rosalia min- 
 gled her pitying tears with the filial sorrow 
 of Josephine ; the former paid the tribute 
 of humanity to the sufferings of the un- 
 happy Victoria^ while the latter wept over 
 the misfortunes and the memory of an un- 
 fortunate and departed parent. 
 
 Wiien Josephine had regained some de- 
 gree of composure^ she resumed her mourn- 
 ful narration. 
 
 '' The Countess appeared greatly anect-^ 
 ed, while perusing the scroll^ and when 
 she had concluded^ she renev/ed her re- 
 grets and self-reproaches. In vain we search- 
 ed for the manuscript which my lamented 
 mother had mentioned contained the his- 
 tory of her life ; the jewels^ the scroll, 
 and a miniature^ picture of my father^ were 
 the only contents of the casket. 
 
 " Wlien the Counters confided to me the 
 secret of my real origin, she gave me a 
 strict charge never to divulge it ; as there 
 was, she said, but too much reason \o fear 
 that my uncle, Don Carlos, would extend 
 
 the
 
 vivoNio. 235^ 
 
 the implacable resentment he bore his sister 
 to her unfortunate offspring. His indigna- 
 tion and rage at the elopement of his sis- 
 ter^ the Countess informed me^ exceeded 
 all bounds ; and he solemnly voy/ed never 
 to forgive or behold her more. 
 
 ^Had I comprehended the meaning of 
 my dying friend's words/ said the Countess, 
 after perusing the scroll^ ' I should most as- 
 suredly have devised means for the delivery 
 of the letter she addressed to her brother; 
 yet there never was any ground to hope 
 the effect might have been favourable to 
 you ; and if I think my own conduct re- 
 prehensible^ it is only for not strictly ful- 
 filling her last injunctions. Even then, the 
 utmost secrecy for the security of my own 
 person was necessary ; for in X\\q apparent 
 disposition of Don Carlos, to have openly 
 appeared in the affair, would have been to 
 expose myself to the fury of his unabated 
 rage, and thence draw upon me the rigor- 
 ous judgments of the Inquisition. It is 
 an affair which, even at this late period, I 
 
 dare
 
 '236 
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 dare not personally interfere in ; since, 
 from all I can learn^ Don Carlos still main- 
 tains an inveterate resentment against the 
 authors of your existence ; he being still 
 ignorant of the demise of his sister, as also 
 of the fate of your unfort^j^nate father^ 
 who has never been heard of since the time 
 Donna Victoria eloped from her convent. 
 
 '' The Countess ceased her interesting 
 discourse, and soon after left me to my 
 own reflections. Deeply affected by a re- 
 view of the melancholy incidents detailed 
 by my unfortunate parent, I was for some 
 time susceptible of sorrow only for her dis- 
 tresses; timcj however, alleviated my griefs 
 and my thoughts again involuntarily turiied 
 on Ferdinand. 
 
 " Three weeks elapsed, during the course 
 of which I neither saw nor heard of him. 
 At length I ventured to ask Paulina whe- 
 ther the vSignor Ferdinand was absent from 
 the pallazo ? 
 
 '^Her reply was in the affirinative; she 
 added, he was on a visit to the Marchese 
 
 di
 
 vivoNio. 237 
 
 di Romanzinij at Orenza' Castle. Impelled 
 by more than ordinary curiosity^ I asked 
 several questions respecting the family of 
 the Marchese^ and heard^ v/ith a sensation 
 of pain, that Ferdinand purposed to reside 
 ^chiefly at the castle, and that Signora di 
 Roraanzinij the daughter of the March ese, 
 possessed irresistible attractions. 
 
 '' This information rr.ade me keenly sen- 
 sible of the misery of my own situation^ 
 and also determined me to engage the 
 Countess, if possible, to place me in a 
 convent. The return of Ferdinand, how- 
 ever, prevented the immediate execution of 
 my intention; 
 
 '' I was walking in the gardens on the 
 evening of the day on which he returned 
 to the pallazo ; Paulina being much indis- 
 posed, had not then accompanied me. 
 While moving slowly on, ruminating on 
 the peculiarity of my own circumstances, 
 and pensively regarding the last rays of the 
 setting sun, I was startled from my reverie 
 by the sudden appearance of Ferdinand. 
 
 My
 
 238 vivoNio. 
 
 My first impulse was to fly; but, struck 
 with the dejection so visible in the air of 
 Ferdinand, I hesitated, and had no longer 
 the power to attempt a retreat. The Coun- 
 tess was then engaged abroad; Paulina was 
 confined to her own apartment ; the rest of 
 the domestics were employed in the pal- 
 lazo ; observation, therefore, was not lo 
 be dreaded. 
 
 *' With all the sophistry of self-delusion, 
 I permitted myself to be prevailed on to 
 continue in the gardens; vainly hoping, 
 that by remonstrances on the impropriety 
 of the pursuit, I might induce Ferdinand 
 to desist from his rash procedure. 
 
 ** But what was the result of this impru- 
 dent conference ? Alas ! the respectful ad- 
 dress, the importunate intreaties of Fer- 
 dinand, pleaded so powerfully in his behalf, 
 that, at length, I confided to him the se- 
 cret of my noble origin. The joy which 
 animated his countenance on receiving this 
 information, convinced me of my own im- 
 prudence.
 
 vivoNio. 959 
 
 prudence, and I terminated our interview 
 as speedily as possible. 
 
 '' When I regained my apartment, I wept 
 bitterly ; the more I reflected on what had 
 passed, the more conscious I became of 
 the impropriety with which I had acted. I 
 had informed Ferdinand of my birth being 
 noble; and that my parents, who had been 
 unfortunate/ were no more; but I had not 
 detailed the particulars of their mournful 
 story, nor intimated the fears the Countess 
 reasonably entertained, of my being per- 
 secuted by an unrelenting relative, should 
 he ever discover in me the offspring of a 
 union he had never ceased to reprobate. 
 By this disingenuous procedure, I had en- 
 couraged the hopes of Ferdinand, while 
 my own heart confessed the improbability 
 of their ever being accomplished. I well 
 knew that the Count Alvanio would never 
 allow his only son to wed the degraded or- 
 phan of the proscribed Alphonso and Vic- 
 toria de Avilla. 
 
 ** These agonizing reflections completely 
 
 subdued
 
 240 vivoNio. 
 
 subdued my mind, and I sunk into a state 
 of insensibility, in which 1 was found by 
 ray benevolent protectress, who, on her 
 return from her visit, had sought my apart- 
 ment. 
 
 '' When I recovered, I found myself sup- 
 ported by the Countess, who tenderly en- 
 quired the cause of my late sw oon. Grief 
 and shame suppressed the disclosure of the 
 truth, and I could utter only intreaties to 
 be immediately placed in a convent. 
 
 '' The Countess for some time gently op- 
 posed my repeated requests ; at length, 
 however, she reluctantly agreed to comply 
 with them ; though she forbore not to ex- 
 press her astonishment at my having formed 
 so singular a wish as that of leaving her. 
 
 "On the following day the Countess, 
 with her wonted gentleness, demanded of 
 me, whether I persisted in my wish for reli- 
 gious retirement ? Being answered by me in 
 the affirmative, she proposed my residing 
 in the convent of Benedictines, situated 
 near her own residence, where I should 
 
 remain.
 
 VI VON 10. 241 
 
 remain^ she added^ until her next visit to 
 Orenza^ when she would accompany me 
 ,to, and place me within the sacred walls of 
 Santa Maria. 
 
 '' A few days after this arrangement, I 
 was conducted to my new abode, where 
 for some time I inwardly applauded the re- 
 sistance whicn honour and gratitude had 
 opposed to the weakness of my own heart ; 
 likewise, for having had recourse to a mea- 
 sure which could not fail to put a final stop 
 to the importunities of Ferdinand Alvanio. 
 
 ''^ In the last particular, however, I too 
 soon found myself deceived : Ferdinand 
 appeared at the convent, and continued to 
 repeat his visits, on various pretexts; some- 
 times accompanying the Countess, but more 
 frequently alone. In these, visits no op- 
 portunity was afforded him of a private in- 
 terview ; at length, by successfully bribing 
 the portress, by her means he conveyed a 
 letter to me. This letter breathed a repeti- 
 tion of the sentiments contained in his for- 
 mer epistle ; he renewed therein the offer 
 
 VOL. I. M of
 
 S42 V^IVONIO. 
 
 of his hand^ and concluded with solemnly 
 conjuring me not to reveal^ at least for 
 some time^ the secret of his heart to the 
 Countess. This letter of Ferdinand's threw 
 me into a most perplexing dilemma. The 
 secrecy he required implied a dread of 
 jinhappy consequences, should the Coun- 
 tess be informed of the sentiments h<5 pri- 
 \ately professed to entertain for me. 
 
 '' To me it appeared probable^ that ma- 
 ternal tenderness might induce that affec- 
 tionate mother to regard with indulgence 
 the youthful imprudence of a beloved son ; 
 but should the secret of the unhappy pre- 
 dilection be made known to the Count Al- 
 "vanio;, the effects of his wounded pride and 
 heated resentment were greatly to be feared. 
 
 '' Was it therefore possible for me to ex- 
 pose Ferdinand to the effects of an anger 
 so reasonably dreaded ? or was it consist- 
 ent with the deep sense I entertained of the 
 vast obligations the Countess had heaped 
 on me^ to permit the clandestine addresses 
 of her son } My heart recoiled alike from 
 
 each
 
 VIVONIO. ^iS 
 
 each idea. On delivering the letter^ the 
 portress had required me to prepare an ans- 
 wer ; I felt the impropriety of writing, but 
 to remain silent, might subject me to fur- 
 ther solicitations. After a short delibera- 
 tion, I concluded it would be best, there- 
 fore, to declare my decided resolve; and I 
 accordingly returned an answer to Ferdi- 
 nand, calculated, as I then imagined, to 
 put a period to his unauthorised pursuit. 
 
 *^*^On the following day I received another 
 billet; the ardent and persuasive expres- 
 sion it contained, convinced me that my 
 late representations had proved of no 
 avail; and for several weeks afterwards^ 
 Ferdinand continued to distress me alter- 
 nately with visits and letters. 
 
 ''' At length the contending emotions of 
 my mind were productive of a severe in- 
 disposition; at the commencement of 
 which, the portress, alarmed by the fear of 
 discovery, acquainted Ferdinand that my 
 illness was caused by his persevering in 
 M 2 addresses
 
 244 vivoNio. 
 
 addresses which it plainly appeared I did 
 hot approve. 
 
 " This information produced a few lines, 
 from Ferdinand; in which he solemnly pro- 
 mised never to address me for the future, 
 unless, indeed^ he should obtain my per- 
 mission, 
 
 " Relieved from his solicitations^ I gra- 
 dually recovered my healthy to the delight 
 of my generous benefactress, who little 
 suspected what had occasioned my illriess. 
 
 " I was just recovering from my indis- 
 position^ when I heard, Signora^ of your 
 arrival at Naples — your fame soon reached 
 the convent; I also heard that Ferdinand 
 constantly accompanied your steps ; and, 
 though I felt not the sensation of envy, I 
 could not restrain my tears, at the compara- 
 tive view of the felicity of your lot and 
 the unhappiness of mine. 
 
 '.' The Countess proposed introducing 
 me to your notice^ but as I feared such a 
 step might draw me again into the society 
 
 of
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 245 
 
 of Ferdinand, I declined the honour^ with 
 a repugnance so visible, that my benefi- 
 cent friend never resumed the subject. 
 
 '' The invariable silence, and the discon- 
 tinuance of visits I had exacted, was now 
 rigidly observed by Ferdinand; and many 
 weeks elapsed without my either seeing or 
 hearing from him. 
 
 ^^ Melancholy and dejected, I daily v/an- 
 dered through the dark cloisters, and my 
 mind insensibly became attached to the 
 idea of devoting the remainder of my life 
 to religious seclusion ; the recollection of 
 my mother's fate, alone deterred me from 
 declaring to the Countess what I then 
 thought was the predominant wish of my 
 soul. 
 
 '' I was in this frame of mind, when the 
 Countess intimated to me her intended de- 
 parture from Naples, and, at the same time, 
 proposed m.y accompanying her to the villa 
 Alvanio. This I declined ; but I had not 
 then learned that it was the intention of 
 Ferdinand to remain at the palazzo. In 
 M 3 not
 
 S46 vivoNio. 
 
 not assenting to the proposition of my 
 benefactress, I soon discovered I had acted 
 imprudently; for scarcely had she quitted 
 Naples, when her son renewed his addres- 
 ses with increased ardour. 
 
 *'*^ Notwithstanding every argument em- 
 ployed by Ferdinand, I stilt preserved 
 strength of resolution to persist in refus- 
 ing my consent to a private marriage. At 
 length, after repeated summonses from the 
 Countess, he was obliged to hasten to the 
 villa. 
 
 '' Ferdinand had been absent from Na- 
 ples about a week, when one evening, just 
 after vespers, I was informed a stranger 
 waited to speak to me at the gate. 
 
 ''^ I attended, and observed I was per- 
 mitted to receive my visitor alone. On 
 Seeing the man, I instantly recognised in 
 him a servant of Ferdinand's. He handed 
 me a small billet, which I had no sooner 
 perused, than, almost overcome with ter- 
 ror, I scarcely retained sense. At that mo- 
 ment the portress entered, and, in a whis- 
 per^
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 247 
 
 per, informed me she knew all. ' The 
 Signer Ferdinand/ she continued, ' is 
 mortally wounded — he is only a few paces 
 from the convent — can you deny his re- 
 quest to close his dying eyes ?' 
 
 '' More dead than alive, I yielded to the 
 suggestions of the portress, who conducted 
 me, by a private way, through the gardens^ 
 into a narrow lane behind the convent 
 walls ; down this lane I was hurried by my 
 conductress, and the man who had brought 
 the billet — a carriage was in waiting, into 
 which I was suddenly lifted. Unable to 
 support the shock, I fainted. 
 
 *^*^ The motion of the carriage restored 
 me to animation, and the voice of Ferdi- 
 nand, in soothing accents, struck my ear* 
 The whole truth now appeared — I had been 
 decoyed, betrayed : my indignation at the 
 deception that had bpen practised, and my 
 sorrow at finding myself thus the dupe of it, 
 were excessive. 
 
 '' While I expressed my resentment at his 
 
 ungenerous proceedings, Ferdinand heard 
 
 M 4 me
 
 248 vivoNio. 
 
 me in silence. At length, in an agitated 
 and hurried tone;, he said — 
 
 ^ You condemn this step, Josephine, 
 without knowing my motives for it. Hear 
 me, I conjure you ! — Two days since, my 
 father commanded me to receive the hand 
 of my amiable relative, Signora di Roman- 
 zini ; and though, when assured of the mu- 
 tual indifference that subsists between my 
 cousin and myself, he seemed to resign the 
 hopes he had indulged, yet he afterwards 
 privately informed me, that if he should 
 find the Marchese still anxious for this long- 
 projected union, he would then insist on 
 my obedience. Thus circumstanced, my 
 Josephine, can you still blame me for pur- 
 suing the only method I could devise, to 
 prevent our being separated for ever ? Ren- 
 dered desperate by the idea of being com- 
 pelled to relinquish you, I obtained leave 
 to visit Naples. I left the villa yesterday, 
 and in the hope that my ardent entreaties 
 would prevail on you to become mine, and 
 thus ensure the felicity of my future days, 
 
 I formed
 
 vivoNio. 249 
 
 I formed and executed the scheme you so 
 severely condemn. You cannot but per- 
 ceive/ he continued, ' the impossibility 
 of my conducting you back to the convent, 
 and unless you consent to accompany me 
 to the village where ' 
 
 " While Ferdinand spoke, my agitation 
 was extreme ; I could scarcely support the 
 shock of hearing, that he was destined to 
 become the husband of another, but much 
 less the agony of my feelings, at his having 
 supposed me capable of receding from 
 those sentiments I had repeatedly avowed, 
 and as often solemnly assured him I would 
 ever adhere to. 
 
 'I am perfectly sensible," interrupted 
 I, ' that my return to the convent is im- 
 practicable — your imprudent conduct has 
 left me but one alternative — I insist on be- 
 ing conducted to the villa/ 
 
 " Finding that no argument he could 
 
 use had power to alter my resolves, he at 
 
 length gave orders to drive to the villa, 
 
 which, having reached, he led me through 
 
 M 5 a private
 
 S50 vivoNio. 
 
 a private door, and Jhen into a small sa- 
 loon^ where he silently quitted me. I had 
 been alone but a few minutes, when the 
 Countess entered; her surprise on behold- 
 ing me was extreme ; judge how much it 
 increased, when, falling at her feet, and in 
 a voice rendered almost inarticulate by my 
 tears, I detailed the progress of her son's 
 attachment to me; and concluded with in- 
 forming her of the events of the evening. 
 '' You, Signora, may conceive what were 
 my emotions, when my dear protectress 
 tenderly raised me from the floor, and said 
 every thing her feeling heart could sug- 
 gest, to sooth the agonies of my mind. Far 
 from indicating the slightest displeasure at 
 my having so long concealed the sentiments 
 her son professed to entertain for me, she 
 warmly commended the steadiness with 
 which I had withstood his repeated solicita- 
 tions, and continued to console me with 
 the kindest assurances of unabated friend- 
 ship. 
 
 '' Your
 
 VIVONIO. S51 
 
 ^^ Your entrance^, Signora, happened at 
 the moment when the Countess expressed 
 an anxious wish to behold you. Ah^ the 
 instant you appeared^ my heart warmly in- 
 clined me to solicit your favour/' 
 
 " That you will ever be the object of my 
 esteem and friendship/* returned Rosalia, 
 ^' there can be no doubt. The just princi- 
 ples that direct your conduct, will ever in- 
 sure to you the admiration and respect of 
 all who know you. A short time hence/' 
 continued she, '' v/e shall depart for Oren- 
 za; there my Josephine will indeed- find 
 friends, who, in virtue and benevolence, 
 resemble her amiable Countess, and who 
 will exert all their power and interest to 
 serve her/* 
 
 The entrance of Biancha^ with some slight 
 refreshments, prevented further conversa- 
 tion on the late subject. The discourse 
 then turned on the Madre Santa Clara. To 
 the just praises Rosalia bestowed on the 
 amiable Abbess, Josephine listened with 
 M 6 unfeigned
 
 252 VIVONIO. 
 
 unfeigned pleasure, while she anticipated^ 
 in idea, the tranquil serenity that awaited 
 her within the sacred walls of Santa Maria. 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 AVING partook of the refreshments, 
 Rosalia and Josephine retired to the bou- 
 doir. Here, after dwelling awhile on the 
 virtues of her beloved relatives and friends, 
 the former recounted to her attentive au- 
 ditor all she was acquainted with, relative 
 to the death of the Marchesa, the loss of 
 her lamented brother, and the consequent 
 sufferings of the Marchese. 
 
 That the Marchesa; her deeply regretted 
 
 mother.
 
 vivoNio. 253 
 
 mother, had expired soon after her birth, 
 and that, a short time after that melancholy- 
 event, Vivonio had been stolen from his 
 parental home, were all that Ticsalia had 
 ever heard of To the more shocking par- 
 ticulars relating to' the former circumstance, 
 she was still a stranger. 
 
 In speaking of her introduction to the 
 gay world at Naples, she mentioned the 
 Count Guidon i— her hesitation— her blushes, 
 while pronouncing his name, escaped not 
 the penetration of Josephine ; and the heart 
 of Rosalia was soon open to the inspection 
 of her friend. 
 
 The entrance of the Countess gave a turn 
 to the conversation; that amiable lady be- 
 held with pleasure the glow of mutual 
 friendship that animated the countenances 
 of Rosalia and Josephine, and expressed 
 the satisfaction she experienced in the most 
 lively tei:ms. 
 
 An hour had glided away unperceived, 
 when the Countess was compelled, reluct- 
 antly.
 
 254 vivoNio. 
 
 antly^ to withdraw, in order to join the 
 Count and Don Hernandez at supper. 
 
 Nothing material occurred during the 
 remainder of the evening ; on the follow- 
 ing morning, Rosalia, who could no longer 
 absent herself from the family, descended 
 to the saloon to breakfast. 
 
 On entering the apartment, she was met 
 by Don Hernandez, who, while leading her 
 to a chair, complimented her on her reco- 
 very in the most insinuating terms. The 
 Count Alvanio was polite, but rather cold 
 in his address to her, while the expressive 
 eyes of Ferdinand seemed to ask a thou- 
 sand questions respecting his Josephine. 
 
 Several days had passed, unmarked by 
 any material occurrence, when alTairs of 
 consequence called the Count to Naples, 
 whither Don Hernandez accompanied him. 
 
 As the Countess entertained very few 
 
 visitors in the absence of the Count, the 
 
 villa was now almost deserted. Roi^alia, 
 
 for several days past, had anxiously ex- 
 
 4 peeled
 
 vivoNio. 255 
 
 pected to hear from Orenza, but no answer 
 to the Count's letter had yet arrived; ano- 
 ther messenger was therefore dispatched, 
 with a packet from Rosalia^, who endea- 
 voured to patiently await his return. 
 
 On the evening of the messenger's de- 
 parturC;, the Countess being engaged in 
 writing to the County, and Ferdinand being 
 absent, Josephine obtained permission to 
 accompany Rosalia in a walk through the 
 romantic groves that surrounded the villa. 
 
 Charmed with the delightful views, and 
 unmindful of the declining light, they had 
 strayed to a considerable distance, when 
 the last rays of the setting sun sunk in the 
 western wave. The sudden appearance of 
 Ferdinand allayed those fears which had be- 
 gun to pervade the bosoms of the fair 
 friends. 
 
 ^With the most animated looks of sur- 
 prise and pleasure, Ferdinand resigned his 
 horse to the care of his servant, and was 
 qiiickly by the side of Josephine, express-
 
 256 vivoNio. 
 
 ing the happiness he experienced from the 
 fortunate encounter. 
 
 Conscious that this interview had not 
 been premeditated^, neither Rosalia nor Jo- 
 sephine felt inclined to repress the satis- 
 faction which the appearance of Ferdinand 
 had excited; nor were either sensible, that 
 when he pointed out the distant sail;, faint- 
 ly distinguished by the light of the moon;, 
 or the shadowy tints on the swelling waters 
 of the bay, he was only seeking to pro- 
 tract the moment of separation. 
 
 At lenofth the liiihts in the windows of 
 thevilla appeared sometimes visible through 
 the thick myrtles, and Rosalia reminding 
 her companion that the Countess might be 
 alarmed at their absence, the party imme- 
 diately hastened their return to the villa, at 
 the entrance of which they separated; Jo- 
 sephine retired to her own apartment, while 
 Ferdinand and Rosalia proceeded to the 
 saloon. 
 
 On entering the apartment, Rosalia al- 
 
 , most
 
 VIVONIO. ^Wl 
 
 most instantly found herself in the arms of 
 the Marchese. 
 
 '' My father ! my beloved father !" cried 
 the delighted Rosalia, as she bent with filial 
 reverence to receive the paternal benedic- 
 tion. 
 
 '' Child of my love, dear Rosalia/' softly 
 ejaculated the enraptured parent ; compose 
 yourself — let not my unexpected appear- 
 ance thus affect you/' 
 
 The heart of Rosalia was too full for 
 reply. The Marchese^ in gentle accents, 
 soothed her filial emotion, and conducting 
 her to a chair, placed himself on a seat be- 
 side her. 
 
 It was then she learned that the Marchese 
 had arrived only a few minutes prior to her 
 entrance. She enquired earnestly after the 
 health of the Duke, and also that of Santa 
 Clara : the answers she received were per- 
 fectly satisfactory; and shortly after the 
 conversation became general. 
 
 Supper being speedily announced, the 
 
 remainder
 
 S58 VIVONIO. 
 
 remainder of the evening passed in social 
 converse, no opportunity occurring for 
 the discussion of private concerns. 
 
 The Marchese being extremely fatigued 
 with his late journey, retired early to rest ; 
 Rosalia, and the Alvanio party^ soon fol- 
 lowed his example. 
 
 When Rosalia, on the following morn- 
 ing, entered the breakfast-^room, she per- 
 ceived the Count Alvanio and Don Hernan- 
 dez, both of whom had just returned from 
 Naples, in earnest discourse with the Mar- 
 chese ; the conversation ceased on her ap- 
 proach. 
 
 The Marchese was, as usual, affection- 
 ately attentive to his beloved child. The 
 Count Y^as polite and animated, and Don 
 Hernandez respectfully assiduous, though 
 he frequently embarrassed Rosalia by his 
 scrutinizing gaze. After breakfast the 
 Countess and Rosalia were preparing to 
 withdraw, Vvhen the Marchese, in a low 
 voice, desired the latter to attend him in 
 
 another
 
 vivoNio S59 
 
 another apartment. Trembling, she curt- 
 seyed obedience, and immediately followed 
 her father. 
 
 The Marchese, after some slight obser- 
 vations on the beautiful situation of the 
 villa, and several other trifling remarks, 
 which were evidently intended to afrord 
 his daughter an opportunity to recover her 
 composure, said^^" You have determined 
 then, my Rosalia; to reject the addresses 
 of your cousin ? " 
 
 '' The uniform indulgence, my father," 
 answered Rosalia, with blushes and hesita- 
 tion, '^ the affectionate solicitude you have 
 ever expressed for the happiness of your 
 Rosalia, have encouraged her to hope that 
 her rejection of the alliance will not offend^ 
 as her heart cannot submissively accord 
 with your wishes.'* 
 
 The Marchese remained silent a few mo- 
 ments — he affectionately took the hand of 
 Rosalia — '' You are then, my child/' said 
 he, '' perfectly indifferent to the merits of 
 your amiable cousin?'* 
 
 ^ Rosalia,
 
 260 VlVONIO. 
 
 Rosalia^ who had tremblingly expected 
 to hear the name of Guidoni, now re- 
 gained her courage, and replied, '' As a re- 
 lative, my Lord, Ferdinand will ever pos- 
 sess my sincerest regard; yet had I enter- 
 tained for him other sentiments than those 
 of esteem and friendship, I should have 
 been most unfortunate." 
 
 She then informed the Marchese of the 
 attachment subsisting between Ferdinand 
 and Josephine. 
 
 As she spoke> the glow of heartfelt sa- 
 tisfaction appeared on the cheek of the 
 Marchese, and he commended the artless 
 warmth with which his lovely daughter 
 pleaded the cause of friendship ; but he 
 forbore to express his judgment of the 
 Countess's conduct, respecting Josephine, 
 whom he extremely wished to behold; his 
 great regard for Ferdinand rendering him 
 anxiously desirous of observing a young 
 female, whose pretensions were, the Mar- 
 chese thought, rather imprudently sanc- 
 tioned by the Countess. 
 
 On
 
 VITONIO. ^61 
 
 On the Marchese signifying his wish to 
 see Josephine^ Rosalia promised to prepare 
 her friend for the interview. The former 
 then presented to his daughter a letter from 
 her revered Santa Clara; and Rosalia, after 
 expressing her artless thanks to the Mar- 
 chese for his indulgent goodness^ in per- 
 mitting her to decline the alliance, with- 
 drew. 
 
 When Rosalia entered her apartment, 
 she found the Countess conversing with 
 Josephine. Each directed her attention to 
 the lovely girl, who immediately acquaint- 
 ed her beloved Countess with what had 
 passed in her late interview with the Mar- 
 chese. 
 
 A smile of pleasure played on the ex- 
 pressive features of the Countess, on hear- 
 ing that the Marchese seemed disposed to 
 interest himself for her protegee, and she 
 soon withdrew to discourse with him on 
 the subject. 
 
 The Countess had been gone about half 
 an hour, wjien Josephine was summoned to 
 
 attend
 
 g6^ VI VON 10. 
 
 attend her ; the presence of Rosalia was 
 also requested. 
 
 The efforts of the latter to sooth the 
 agitated spirits of her amiable friend, were 
 of no effect ; pale and trembling, she ac- 
 companied Rosalia to an apartment where 
 the Countess and the Marchese di Roman- 
 zini were seated. 
 
 Both arose on the entrance of the young 
 ladies, and the Countess immediately tak- 
 ing the hand of Josephine, presented her 
 to the Marchese, who received her with the 
 most friendly and delicate politeness. 
 
 The Countess had very briefly detailed to 
 the Marchese the leading incidents relative- 
 to her f^iv protegee ; and now she requested 
 Josephine to permit that nobleman to view 
 the picture found in the casket. This re- 
 quest was instantly complied with; for Jo- 
 sephine constantly wore the miniature. 
 
 The Marchese surveyed the portrait with 
 emotion — '' It must be so," softly ejaculated 
 he; then, as if fearful of having said too 
 much^ he paused for a few moments^ and 
 
 then
 
 ^ vivoNio. 965 
 
 then proceeded — '' Signora Josephine/* 
 said he, '' I will not atteuipt to say how 
 much I admire and respect the noble pro- 
 priety which has hitherto marked your con- 
 duct. I consider my Rosalia as truly fortu- 
 nate, in having for a friend, a young lady 
 possessed of so much virtue and prudence. 
 Allow me to assure you of my perfect es- 
 teem ; and believe me when I say, I hope 
 to see your troubles speedily terminated." 
 
 Tears of gratitude bedewed the cheek of 
 Josephine; she could scarcely command 
 words to express the deep sens6 she enter- 
 tained of the Marchese's kindness. Rosa- 
 lia, however^ amply compensated for the 
 deficiency of her friend, by the animation 
 and tenderness with which she thanked the 
 Marchese for his commendations of her Jo- 
 sephine. 
 
 Mutually grateful and happy, the young 
 friends withdrew ; and the Marchese im- 
 mediately hastened to seek the Count Alva- 
 nio, whom he found with Don Hernandez 
 in the saloon. 
 
 Don
 
 ^M VIVONIO. 
 
 Don Hernandez politely formed some 
 slight excuse to withdraw. They were no 
 sooner alone^ than the Marchese, addressing 
 the Count Alvanio in the most friendly 
 terms, regretted that all hopes of an alli- 
 ance between their families were now at an 
 end. 
 
 '' I assure you, my dear Count/' conti- 
 nued the Marchese, '' on receiving your 
 letter, I was in no small degree shocked at 
 the information it contained ; nor was the 
 Duke less affected. We, like yourself, had 
 fondly indulged the idea that Rosalia re- 
 garded her amiable cousin with the most 
 favourable sentiments. Our affections, how- 
 ever, are not always directed by our judg- 
 ments. I hope Ferdinand will not be se- 
 verely pained by this disappointment — a 
 disappointment, I assure you, my friend, 
 equally unlooked for by the Duke and me, 
 as by yourself, and one which I sincerely 
 lament. I was too mi>ch concerned at the 
 circumstance, to be able to answer your 
 letter; I hastened to the villa, determined 
 
 personally
 
 VtVONIO* ^^ 
 
 personally to express my regrets on the 
 subject, and allow me to hope our ancient 
 friendship may not be interrupted by this 
 unforeseen event." 
 
 " Be assured, my Lord/' replied the 
 Count, '' I feel too much honoured by your 
 friendship, to permit any circumstance, 
 however important, to render me unsoli- 
 citous for a continuance of your favourable 
 regard. I hope I am not so degradingly 
 selfish as to suffer the high esteem I bear 
 you, my Lord, to be effaced by the care 
 you justly take of an inestimable daugh- 
 ter's happiness. I am, indeed, severely 
 grieved,'' continued the Count, '^at the 
 disappointment of my hopes; yet the hap- 
 piness of Signora Rosaiia is a consideration 
 too important for me to wish her to be- 
 come the bride of my son, in opposition 
 to her own inclinations. We must pati- 
 ently submit to our fate. May Signora 
 Rosalia," the Count added, with emotion, 
 ^'^ may she enjoy that felicity which my 
 Ferdinand, I fear, has lost for ever." 
 
 VOL. I. N The
 
 f66 ' vivoNio. 
 
 ' The Marchese felt the truest uneasiness 
 on observing the agitation and chagrin of 
 the Count, and was no less surprised at 
 hearing him aver that Ferdinand regarded 
 Rosalia with tender affection. 
 
 The Marchese said every thing in his 
 power to alter this opinion, yet he spoke 
 with great caution, fearful lest a word 
 should drop that might convey to the Count 
 an intimation of his son's predilection for 
 Josephine, a subject on which the Countess 
 . had requested his silence. 
 
 In a short time the emotion of the Count 
 subsided; and the Marchese, at his pressing 
 entreaties, consented to pass a week at the 
 -villa. 
 
 On re-entering her apartment, Rosalia, 
 while Josephine was employed in arrang- 
 ing some .music, began to peruse the epis- 
 tle of Santa Clara, the contents of which 
 wounded her to the heart. 
 
 The amiable Abbess tenderly hinted her 
 suspicions, that her beloved Rosalia had 
 not written to her with that candour for 
 
 which
 
 vivoNio. ' 2C7 
 
 which she had ever been distinguished — 
 " There is a restraint in your stile, my Ro- 
 salia/' wrote Santa Clara, '' which I cannot 
 avoid saying has caused me uneasiness. Ah, 
 my child 1 if the noble ingenuousness of 
 your nature has yielded to the sophistry of 
 the world, with what agony shall I reOect 
 upon the fatal earnestness with which I 
 urged the Marchese to consent tp youi* re- 
 siding at Naples ! Beware, my Rosalia, be- 
 ware of the shadow of concealment; no- 
 thing is so fatal to the happiness and repu- 
 tation of youth. Your rank and situation 
 particularly enjoinscircumspection; reflect, 
 , my dearest child, if you refuse your con- 
 fidence to those attached to you by every 
 natural and moral tie, you will soon cease 
 to love or reverence them; and ingra- 
 titude and deceit will usurp the dominion 
 of innocence, filial love^ and every other 
 amiable and endearing quality. You v/ill 
 weep v/hen you read these lines — you will 
 say, how severe ! — but believe me, Rosalia, 
 I have drawn too just a picture of human 
 N 2 nature;
 
 268, vivoNio. 
 
 nature ; and remember^ the happiness of 
 Rosalia will form the earthly felicity of her 
 f.iends, and should she fail in her affection 
 and duly^ every hope would vanish, and 
 only in the tomb of her sainted mother, 
 would those who were once most dear to 
 Rosalia cease to weep their sorrows." 
 
 Sighs of agonizing grief b.urst from the 
 lips -of Rjosalia, while perusing the fore- 
 going lines, and before she had concluded 
 reading the epistle, she sunk on her conch, 
 overwhelined with terror and shame. The 
 idea of Guicloni now made her tremble, 
 and she inwardly vowed to confess her folly 
 to her revered friend, and to exert, hence- 
 forward, every possible endeavour to ba- 
 nish his image from her mind. 
 
 For some time she continued insensible 
 to the anxious enquiries of the alarmed Jo- 
 sephine, who, with tender solicitude, sought 
 to calm her emotion. Rosalia at length 
 presented her the letter of Santa Clara, and 
 Josephine, with sentiments of respect and 
 
 veneration
 
 vivoNio. 269 
 
 Teneration for tiie writer, read the serious 
 advice it contained. 
 
 '' If any thing could increase the re- 
 spectful regard I entertain for the amiablfe 
 Abbess/' said Josephine, '' it would be this 
 letter. Dear lady Rosalia, why do you 
 weep? There is nothing so dreadful in ail 
 this. The excellent woman who feels so 
 much for your happiness, does not mean to 
 imply that this portrait suits her Rosalia. 
 Perhaps she has too forcibly delineated the 
 consequences that generally attend impru- 
 dent concealments; but the heart of Rosa- 
 lia is open to her friends. The Countess is 
 lio stranger to the artless predilection you 
 entertain for the Count Guidoni ; even I 
 have been honoured with the knowledge of 
 your sentiments; and surely, my friend^ 
 surely you must be convinced that the 
 Countess will explain every thing, so as to 
 leave no doubt of the innocent and noble 
 mind of Rosalia being free from dissimula- 
 tion. She well knows, that delicacy and ti- 
 midity alone prevented your confiding the 
 N 3 secret
 
 270 vivoNio. 
 
 secret of your heart to your revered Santa 
 Clara.'' ; 
 
 '' Dear Josephine/' answered Rosalia, 
 " how infinitely superior to your unhappy 
 friend are you in every respect. Alas! why 
 did I leave t\\Q tranquil abode of my early 
 days — why engage in the tumultuous scenes 
 of life, when I possess neither resolution 
 nor fortitude to support me through the 
 trials which too generally occur in an in- 
 tercourse with the world?'* 
 
 '' You deceive yourself, Signora, with 
 .respect to the qualities of your own mind/* 
 replied Josephine ; ^' I have hear^ of too 
 many instances of your firmness and' reso- 
 lution, to allow me to adopt the idea, that 
 one who has ever been mo^t exemplary for 
 the strict performance of moral and reli- 
 gious duties, can v/ant fortitude to resist a 
 transient impression." 
 
 Rosalia remained silent— her heart only 
 replied to the observations of Josephine- — 
 that whispered, there was a material differ- 
 ence between the perseverance she had 
 
 shown.
 
 vivoNio. 271 
 
 shown, in sacrificing her own pleasure to 
 the satisfaction or ease of the beloved in- 
 mates of Santa Maria, or in performing the 
 humane office of watching beside the couch 
 of an expiring friend, to the strength of 
 resolution required to erase from her mind 
 the loved- image of Guidoni. In the ful- 
 filling of those duties, her inclination had 
 kept pace with her actions; but in renounc- 
 ing all idea of Guidoni, she should act ex- 
 pressly contrary to her heart; Rosalia, how- 
 ever^ was truly sensible of the kind inten- 
 tion of Josephine, and her reason assured 
 her, that it was her duty to resign every 
 hope relative to the Count. 
 
 A mourn PhI serenity followed this con- 
 viction, and R9salia seized the first oppor- 
 tunity of changing the discourse. At din- 
 ner, the Marchese silently observed the 
 melancholy air of Rosalia, and attributed it 
 to the contents'^ of the letter she had re- 
 ^ceivedj though he by no means suspected 
 the purport. 
 
 Rosalia heard with regret, that the Mar- 
 N 4 chese
 
 272 vivoNio. 
 
 chese had consented tor prolong his stay 
 for some days at the villa. No longer dar- 
 ing to tliiink of Guidoni^ she became impa- 
 tient to quit a place which continually re- 
 minded her Oi him ; and though reluctant 
 to bid the Countess adieu, yet she knew, 
 that after the departure of Don Hernandez 
 she might hope to have the happiness of 
 that lady's company at Orenza. 
 
 At the request of the Countess, it had 
 been settled, that Josephine should accom- 
 pany the Mr.rchese, and his daughter, to the 
 castle; from whence, it was designed, that 
 Josephine should immediately retire to the 
 convent of Santa Maria. To this arrange- 
 ment, which would separate him from his 
 adored Josephine, Ferdinand most reluct- 
 antly yielded, Vvhile the truly amiable ob- 
 ject of his cares submitted with mcdest 
 firmness, only requesting to he periBitted 
 to pursue her journey in the same carriage 
 with Eiancha, as she fell extremely unwil- 
 ling to attract that notice which her accom- 
 panying Rosalia might excite. 
 
 CHAR,
 
 VIVONIO. 
 
 CKAP. XVI.. 
 
 Ji HE few days the Marchese continued 
 at the viila^ were passed in a round of plea- 
 sure. Rosalia^ however; heartily rejoiced^ 
 as she beheld the period of her return to 
 Orenza approach. 
 
 On the evening preceding the day fixed 
 for the depai'ture of the Marchese and his 
 daughter^ Ferdinand obtained a short in- 
 terview with his Josephine ; she listened to 
 his ardent protestations of eternal love with 
 emotions of mingled hope and fear; and 
 mournfully conscious of the many obsta- 
 cles which might impede their union> en- 
 N 5 deavoured
 
 274 VI VON 10. 
 
 deavoured to conceal the sorrow with which 
 the approaching separation filled her heart. 
 But when the moment arrived in which Jo- 
 sepiiine was to receive the parting embrace 
 of her beloved protectress^ all the mater- 
 nal care and benevolent kindness of that 
 amiable woman^ were remembered by her 
 grateful iwotegee, whose emotions then al- 
 most overpowered her senses. 
 
 The repeated assurances given by the 
 Countess of visiting Orenza^ at length 
 composed her agitated mind^ and the af- 
 fectionate solicitude of Rosalia succeeded 
 in reconciling her to the unavoidable sepa- 
 ration. 
 
 As the Marchese had signified his inten- 
 tion to commence his journey at the dawn 
 of day, the family assembled in the break- 
 fast-room long before sun-rise. An air of 
 melancholy pervaded every countenance^ 
 and when the carriages were announced^ 
 and the Countess arose to embrace Rosalia, 
 their mutual emotion affected the whole 
 party; amongst whom^ Don Hernandez 
 
 appeared
 
 vivoNio. 275 
 
 appeared considerably agitated. As he led 
 Rosalia to the carriage, his hand trembled, 
 and when he uttered his regrets and adieus, 
 his voice faltered, and his words were 
 scarcely articulate. 
 
 The fortitude with which Rosalia had 
 bade farewell to the enchanting scenes of 
 the villa Alvanio, forsook her, when seated 
 beside her father ; she viewed; perhaps for 
 the last time, those delightful shades where 
 the image of Guidoni presided, and she 
 could. no longer restrain the tears of pain- 
 ful^ yet pleasing, retrospection. 
 
 The Marchese,. v;ith extreme concern, 
 observed her emotion ; for the first time, 
 the suspicion of his daughter's having some 
 secret cause of sorrow, glapiced on his 
 mind — the idea alarmed him. Durins: the 
 few days he had resided at the villa, he had 
 perceived an air of singular dejection occa- 
 sionally shade her expressive countenance; 
 this unusual appearance, joined to the aver- 
 sion she showed to mixing in the gay par- 
 ties formed at the villa, had excited an opi- 
 N 6. nion.
 
 ^76 VIVONiO. 
 
 inon, that her residence there had become 
 peculiarly disagreeable; the Marchese had 
 therefore hoped that her removal w or. Id re- 
 store her tranquillity ; what then was his as- 
 tonishmentj to behold her evidently absorb- 
 ed ill grief, on quitting a place to which he 
 imaained she had imbibed a dislike! 
 
 The road led round the plantations which 
 partly encompassed the foot cf the emi- 
 nence on which the temple stood; at sight; 
 of this sweet recess, rendered peculiarly in- 
 teresting by the remembrance of Guidoni, 
 the tears of Rosalia increased. 
 
 Concealing the surprise and concern 
 which the grief of his daughter occasioned, 
 the Marchese endeavoured to calm her un- 
 easiness, while he, for the present, suppres- 
 sed his wish of enquiring into the cause 
 of it. 
 
 Deeply affected by the indulgent kind- 
 ness of her father, and blushing at her 6wn 
 weakness, Rosalia checked her tears, and 
 strove to assume an air of serenity; yet 
 S her
 
 vivoKio. - ^Z77^ 
 
 Ber countenance was but too frequently 
 expressive of pensive melancholy. 
 
 During the remainder of the jonrneyj 
 the Marchese anxiously v/atched every turn 
 of his daughter's varying features, and at 
 length experienced the mournful convic- 
 tion of her being the prey of a secret sor- 
 row, which had undermined her happiness,. 
 
 A faint glow of animation diflused itself 
 ever her cheek, as she distinguished the 
 lofty turrets of the castle rising above \\\id 
 majestic pines, and her heart again beat 
 Vvith fijiai rapture, while her fancy antici- 
 patexl the parental welcome of its venerable 
 owner. 
 
 With tea'rs of grateful rapture, Rosalia 
 soon found \!x\q pleasing vision realized^ 
 The good old Duke, supported by the aged 
 Bernardo, met the Marcheseand his dau2:h- 
 ter at the ancient gate, v/here the domestics 
 were assembled to welcome the arrival of 
 their beloved Signora, and her truly revered 
 parent. 
 
 The return of the lovely heiress diffused 
 
 cheerfulness^
 
 ^78 YIVONIO. 
 
 cheerfulness^ and innocent mirth/ through 
 the lofty halls of the castle; the smile that 
 illumined the face of the venerable Orenza, 
 and the honest indications of joy testified 
 by the faithful domestics^ spoke to the in- 
 nocent heart of Rosalia^, and she partici- 
 pated in the general satisfaction, %vith a de- 
 ee of serene happiness to which she had 
 
 been long a stranger. ' 
 
 On retiring to her own apartment^ she 
 there found Josephine' waiting her appear- 
 ance. The latter had declined joining the 
 party of the Duke^ until her story should 
 be made known to him. An apartment, 
 adjoining that of Rosalia^ had been pre- 
 pared for her reception^ but she could not 
 retire to rest without first seeing her ami- 
 able friend. 
 
 On the following morning, after break- y 
 fast, Rosalia detailed to the Duke the parti- 
 culars of Josephine's history ; and that hu- 
 mane nobleman assured her, he would exert 
 all liis interest to obtain an order from the 
 
 court
 
 V I V o N I a. 279 
 
 court of Spain, to restore to the innocent 
 young sufferer the large estates forfeited by 
 the crin>e of her father, Don Alphonso de 
 Avilla. 
 
 The Duke then advised, that Josephine, 
 in the mean time, should fix her residence 
 at Santa Maria; as that step would preclude 
 the necessity of continuing under her pre- 
 sent assumed humiliating character. 
 
 The Marchese, who was present, had just 
 begun to propose the making Father Al- 
 bertini a confidant in the affair, when that 
 pious man entered the apartment. 
 
 After the Father had expressed, in ani- 
 mated terms, the pleasure he experienced 
 on beholding the Marchese and Rosalia 
 once more the inhabitants of Orenza, Di 
 Romanzini led to the concerns of the hap- 
 less Josephine. 
 
 Albertini was too well acquainted with 
 the humane disposition of the Marchese, to 
 be surprised at his affording protection to 
 the unfortunate; and when the latter en- 
 quired
 
 280' vivoNio» 
 
 quired of the Father, whether he would 
 wish to see his Mr protegee, Albertini as- 
 sented, with evident satisfaction; 
 
 An attendant was then ordered to inform 
 Signora Josephine that her presence was 
 V desired. 
 
 " I think. Father/' said the Marchese, 
 '^ you have often mentioned having resided 
 in Spain — probably you may not be a 
 stranger to the parents of this amiable 
 young lady, who pof-:sesses. virtue and beauty 
 sufficient to interest the coldest heart ; and 
 I may venture to s^y '' 
 
 The entrance of the blushing Josephine 
 interrupted the Marchese, Vv^ho instantly 
 arose, and taking her hand, presented her 
 to the Duke, by whom she was received in 
 the kindest manner; and to whose polite 
 and friendly compliments she replied with- 
 modest grace and respectful gratitude. 
 
 The March ese had observed, that the 
 moment Josephine appeared, Albertini 
 gazed on her with looks of wild astonish- 
 ment;
 
 VIVONIO. S81 
 
 ment ; on hearing her speaks, his agitation 
 evidently increased; and when the Mar- 
 chese led her towards him^, he uttered a 
 heart-rending sighj and lixing his expres- 
 sive eyes on Di Romanzini^ he exclaimed — 
 '' You are deceiviaig me — it is impossible!" 
 
 ^' Her name is Josephine de Avilla/* said 
 the Marchese. 
 
 '-' My child! my child!'' cried the asto- 
 nished and enraptured Albertini, as he 
 clasped the - almost fainting form of the 
 amazed* Josephine. '' Revive, revive, my 
 Josephine,'' he added, in tremulous ac- 
 cent!?, '' image of my lost Victoria, revive 
 and bless thy happy parent." 
 
 ^'^Oh merciful Providence !" faintly ar- 
 ticulated Josephine, '' am I indeed support- 
 ed by a father's arm ? Oh, Rosalia — kind, 
 generous friends — assure me that my hap- 
 piness is real !" 
 
 '' The moment I became acquainted with 
 your story," said the Marchese, in reply Xo 
 Josephine, ^'I was certain, that in you I 
 
 shoulcl.
 
 §82 VI VON 10. 
 
 should behold the daughter of my invalu- 
 able friend ; though 1 did not think myself 
 then at liberty to communicate the circum- 
 stance to the Countess Alvanio. Years are 
 past/' he continued^ " since I first listened 
 to the recital of the woes of Alphonso and 
 Victoria." 
 
 " Your mother/' fearfully enquired Al- 
 bertini, '' tell me — does she live ?" 
 
 The tears of Josephine answered this 
 question. 
 
 The Father, with a look of pious resig- 
 nation, raised his eyes to Heaven ; then 
 turning to his daughter, , " pardon me, my 
 dearest child/' said he; " I cannot behold 
 these tears — I bend in submission to the 
 Divine will Blessed shade of my beloved 
 Victoria — may'st thou witness the felicity 
 of this moment ! My generous, my bene- 
 volent friend!'* continued Albertini, ad- 
 dressing the'Marchese,'' inform me how I 
 am again in possession of a treasure I had 
 long since considered as ho more ?" 
 
 '' The-
 
 vivoNio^ 283 
 
 ''The history of your child/ my friend/' 
 returned the Marchese^ " you must learn 
 from Rosalia/ whoj I understand, is acquaint- 
 ed with every circumstance relating to Jo* 
 sephine ; whom, should we trust to repeat 
 the detail, I fear she would never do justice 
 to her own m.erits. At present I will in- 
 form you, that to the noble and disinter- 
 ested friendship of the Countess Alvanio, 
 you are indebted for the fond and aftecti- 
 onate care your daughter has experienced 
 from the age of two years. The regard that 
 amiable lady entertained for Donna Victo- 
 ria, manifested its sincerity in her maternal 
 protection of her child/' 
 
 Albertini listened with amazement to the 
 assertions of the March ese, and severely 
 reproached himself for so long avoiding 
 an interview with the Count and Countess 
 Alvanio; but his self-condemnation ceased, 
 when he learned vthat the Count did not 
 even suspect that his lady's little protegee, 
 
 Josep]iine>
 
 284 vivoNio. 
 
 Josephine;, was any other than she had 
 been represented. 
 
 Albertini could scarcely suppress his im- 
 patience to hear the interesting detail of 
 his daughter's life; but he feared to in- 
 crease the emotion ^vhich still a^ntated the 
 lovely girl ; and the Marchese insisted that 
 no further communication should proceed^ 
 till both had recovered from the effects of 
 their late joyfal surprise; the day was 
 therefore devoted to the unrestrained in- 
 dulgence of those delightful sensations 
 which filled the bosom$ of this delighted 
 party. 
 
 With heartfelt delight, the Marchese ob- 
 served the lively pleasure which now spar- 
 kled in the expressive eyes of his beloved 
 child;, affectionately interested in the con- 
 cerns of Josephine, Rosalia experienced 
 the most exquisite emotions, when con- 
 templating the felicity of her friend ; and 
 even Guidoni was scarcely remembered, 
 while she congratulated her on the fortu- 
 nate
 
 vivoNio. 285 
 
 nate circumstance of finding, in one of the 
 most virtuous of men^ a pra-ent and pro- 
 tector. 
 
 At night, when Rosalia and Josephine 
 had withdrawn, the Marchese informed Fa- 
 ther Albertini of the affection subsisting 
 between his daughter and Ferdinand. Al- 
 bertini received this intelligence with con- 
 tending emotions. 
 
 '' The pleasure I feel at this information, 
 my friend/' said the Father, '" is lessened 
 by the fears I naturally entertain of being 
 disappointed in the efforts I shall make to 
 procure my pardon /rom the Pope, and 
 the difficulty of obtaining a reconcilia- 
 tion \^\th Bon Carlos. Should I succeed 
 in my attempts, with what pleasure should 
 1 bestow the hand of my Josepnine on my 
 amiable pupil ! Yet there remains a possi- 
 bility of failure ; and the daughter of a 
 proscribed, and degraded man, would ne- 
 Yer be deemed an eligible bride for Fer- 
 dinand Alvanio; nor could I blame the 
 Count for opposing the union with all his 
 
 power.
 
 286 VI VON I o, 
 
 power. Whatever may happen, I shall 
 bow with humble submission to the AIl- 
 wdse decree ; I have found my child all I 
 could wish her to be, and will rely upon 
 Providence to direct her future fafe/' 
 
 tlND OF " VOL. I. , 
 
 tANE, MINERVA PRESS, LEADENHALL-STREET.
 
 Jujl Publijhed, 
 THE IMPENETRABLE SECRETp 
 
 BY MR. LATHOM, 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES, 12M0. 
 
 Price 9 J. sewed. 
 
 " This tale," says the Author in his preface, <• is not a 
 romance, for I have been faithfully assurec*, that the incidents 
 contained in it have acuinliy taken place. In action, they can- 
 not but have excited a consukral->je interest to the parties who 
 were conceined in them j should ijalf tiieir interest accompany 
 them to the close-, xVe. Author will judge hinibtU sufficiently 
 repaid for the pronu.ig.uion of his secret." 
 
 It this was iuf obj.-tt, vve do^ibt nnt but he will be amply 
 repai<.i } for we scldoni nmeiubcr uj have met with a taie pos- 
 sessing so much ;o catch the f^eJmgs and improve the heart. 
 The adventitious aids of declamatory uiaiugue, and second- 
 hand sentiment, he carefuLy avoids; and has a ax tiled through 
 the classic retreats of Mis. Radciitfe, wiihoui; bt )ppino- us to 
 bait with an Alpine de- , : ption of the read. 1 ne story is 'tniilt 
 on an incident v-^hich has long brcn a favourite on the st i<e, in. 
 a comedy of Shake.^peare''s, hikI was lately intrc-duced i!,iO;he 
 dressing-room, by the Canterbury Taks of Mrs. Lee. But 
 the circumstapc.'s that pieoede the disclosure of the seciet, 
 and the events that unravel ihe \\eb of the m' stery, are, not- 
 withstanding, n.ost unusually interesting ; auvl, unless vv e ■:^ive 
 j.rediito thetruiy auiiior-like avowal jusi cp.ioied froii; ihe ure« 
 ^ace, peifecily originaL 
 
 Brit^Jh Criticy December, 1 805.
 
 'Just puhlisbedy 
 
 THE YOUNG FATHER, 
 BY W. F. WILLIAMS, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES, 12M0. 
 
 FricG 125. seuxd. 
 
 If this production cannot be tanked In the first class of 
 works 6t the same kind, it -ctrtainly may, when compared 
 with ihs oidirai y run of novels, be allowed a consfdei aMe deal 
 of merit. Th s, it must be confessed, is no very higl praise. 
 In every departtnent of literature, goa^i works are, p rhaps, 
 comparatively r;irej but this pa' ticclarly hrlds in the case of 
 novels, i'he present srovel, hov\ever, ceaainly pjsses^es 
 some interest «t 'calt, and nothing appears in it which is grossly 
 absurd and unnatural. 
 
 Literary J oiirnalf December^ 1805.