^
 
 LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS 
 
 AT URBANA-CHAMPAICN 
 
 823 
 T746S 
 V. 1
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/siren01trol
 
 A SIREN. 
 
 BY 
 
 T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE, 
 
 AUTHOB OF "THE GARSTANGS OF GARgTANG GRANGE, 
 
 "PAUL THE POPE AND PAUL THE FRIAR," 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 JN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 L N D N s 
 SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE. 
 
 1870. 
 
 [The Right of Tranalatton ie reserved.]
 
 J
 
 $1Z 
 
 T79is 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. The Last Night of Carnival 3 
 
 II. Apollo Vindex 19 
 
 III. St. Apollinare in Classe 30 
 
 IV. Father Fabiano 42 
 
 V. " The Hours passed, and still she came not." 56 
 
 VI. Gigia's Opinion 68 
 
 '^1 VII. An Attorney-at-Law in the Papal States 83 
 
 VIII. Lost in the Forest 102 
 
 IX. " Passa la BELLA Donna e par che dorma." 115 
 
 BOOK II. 
 C FOUR MONTHS BEFORE THAT ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING, 
 
 I. HoAv the Good News came to Ravenna 127 
 
 11. The Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare 140 
 
 HI. The Impresario's Report 153 
 
 «>.
 
 IV CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. I'AOI^ 
 
 IV. Paolina Foscarelli 167 
 
 V. Rivalry 177 
 
 VI. The Beginning of Trouble 189 
 
 VII. The Teaching or a Great Love 199 
 
 VIII. A Change in the Situation 214 
 
 IX. Uncle and Nephew 227 
 
 X. The Contessa Violante 238 
 
 XI. The Cardinal's Reception, and the Mabchese's 
 
 Ball 266 
 
 XII. The Arrival op the *' Diva." 269
 
 A SIREN. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 A SIREN. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF CARNIVAL. 
 
 It was Carnival time in tlie ancient and once imperial, 
 but now provincial and remote, city of Ravenna. It 
 was Carnival time, and the very acme and higli-tide 
 of that season of mirth and revel. For the theory 
 of Carnival observance is, tliat the life of it, unlike 
 that of most other things and beings, is intensified 
 vdih a constantly crescendo movement up to the last 
 minutes of its existence. And there now remained 
 but an hour before midnight on the Tuesday pre- 
 ceding the first day of Lent, Ash Wednesday — Dies 
 Cineruml — that sad and sober morrow which has 
 brought with it '' sermons and soda-water" to so 
 many generations of revellers. 
 
 Of course Carnival, according to the Calendar and
 
 4 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 Time's hour-glass, is over at twelve o'clock on the 
 night of Shrove Tuesday. Generally, however, in 
 the pleasure -loving cities of Italy, a few hours' law are 
 allowed or winked at. The revellers are not sup- 
 posed to become aware that it is past midnight till 
 about three or four in the morning. 
 
 Very generally the wind-up of the season of fun 
 and frolic consists of what is called a " Veglione," or 
 *' great making a night of it," which means a masked 
 ball at the theatre. And the great central chandelier 
 does not begin to descend into the body of the house, 
 to have its lights flapped out by the handkerchiefs of 
 the revellers amid a last frantic rondo, till some four 
 hours after midnight. But in provincial Ravenna, 
 a Pope's city under the rule of a Cardinal Legate, 
 there is — or was in the days when the Pope held 
 sway there — no Veglione. Its place was supplied, 
 as far as " the society " of the city was concerned, 
 by a ball at the " Circolo dei Nobili." 
 
 It was not, therefore, till four o'clock in the 
 morning, or perhaps even a little later, that the lights 
 would be extinguished on the night in question at the 
 " Circolo dei Nobili," and Carnival would, in truth, be 
 over, and the tired holiday-makers would go home to 
 their beds.
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF CAKNIVAL. 5 
 
 A few hours more remained, and the revehy was 
 at its height, and the dancers danced as knowing 
 that their minutes were numbered. 
 
 There had been a ball on the previous night at 
 the Palazzo of the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare. 
 But the scene at the Circolo was a much more 
 brilliant, animated, and varied one than that of the 
 night before at the Castelmare palace. The Marchese 
 Lamberto was the wealthiest noble in Kavenna, and 
 — putting aside his friend the Cardinal Legate — was, 
 in many other respects, the first and foremost man of 
 the city. He was a bachelor of some fifty years old. 
 And bachelors' houses and bachelors' balls have the 
 reputation of enjojdng the privilege of a somewhat 
 freer and more unreserved gaiety and jollity than 
 those of their neighbours more heavily weighted with 
 the cares and responsibilities of life. But such was 
 not the case at the Palazzo Castelmare. Presided 
 over on such occasions as that of the great annual 
 Carnival ball by a widowed sister-in-law of the 
 Marchese, the Castelmare palace was the most decorous 
 and respectable house, as its master was the most 
 decorous and respectable man, in Eavenna. 
 
 Not that it was a dull house. The Marchese 
 Lamberto, though a grave and dignified personage in
 
 b ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 the eyes of the "jeunesse cloree " of Kavenna, was 
 looked up to as one of the hest loved, as well as most 
 respected, men in the city. And there was not a 
 memher of the " society " who would not have been 
 sadly hurt at not being invited to the great annual 
 Carnival ball at the Castelmare palace. But the 
 same degree of laissez oiler jollity would not have 
 been " de mise " there as was permissible at the 
 Circolo. The fun was not so fast and furious as it 
 was wont to be at the club of the nobles on the last 
 night of the Carnival. 
 
 The whole society were at the latter gathering. 
 All the nobles of Kavenna were the hosts ; and every- 
 body was there solely and entirely to amuse and 
 enjoy themselves. Host and guests, indeed, were 
 almost identical. There were but few persons present, 
 and those strangers to the town, who did not belong 
 to their own class. 
 
 To the Marchese, on the previous night, most of 
 the company had contented themselves with going in 
 *' domino." At the Circolo ball a very large pro- 
 portion of the dancers were in costume. The Conte 
 Leandro Lombardoni, — lady-killer, Don Juan, and 
 poet, whose fortunes and misfortunes in these 
 characters had made him the butt of the entire
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF CAENIVAL 7 
 
 society, and had perhaps contributed, together with 
 his well-known extraordinarily pronounced propensity 
 for cramming himself with pastry, to give him the 
 pale, puffed, pasty face, swelling around a pair of pale 
 fish-like eyes, that distinguished him, — the Conte 
 Leandro Lomhardoni, indeed, had gone to the Castel- 
 mare palace as ^' Apollo," in a costume w^hicli 
 young Ludovico Castelmare, the Marchese Lamberto's 
 nephew, would insist on mistaking for that of ^Esop ; 
 and had now, according to a programme perfectly 
 well known previously throughout the city, come to 
 the Circolo as "Dante." The Tuscan "lucco," or 
 long flowing gown, had at least the advantage of 
 concealing from the public eye much that the Apollo 
 costume had injudiciously exhibited. 
 
 Ludovico Castelmare had adopted the costume of 
 a Venetian noble of the sixteenth century ; and very 
 strikingly handsome he looked in that most pictu- 
 resque of all dresses. The Marchese Lamberto was 
 at the ball, of course, but not in costume. Perhaps 
 the most striking figure in the rooms, however, was 
 one of those few persons who have been mentioned 
 as present, but not belonging to Eavenna, or to the 
 class of its nobles. This was a lady, well known at 
 that day throughout Italy as Bianca Lalli — " L^
 
 1 
 
 8 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 Lalli," or *' La Bianca," in theatrical parlance — for 
 she was one of the first singers of the day. Special 
 circumstances — to he explained at a future page — had 
 rendered it possible for remote little Ravenna to 
 secure the celebrated artist for the Carnival, which 
 was now expiring. The Marchese Lamberto, who, 
 among many other avocations and occupations, all of 
 them contributing in some way or other to the welfare 
 and advantage of his native city, was a great lover and 
 connoisseur of music, and patron of the theatre, had 
 been mainly instrumental in bringing La Lalli to 
 Ravenna. The engagement had been a most success- 
 ful one. The ''Diva Bianca " had sung through the 
 Carnival, charming all ears and hearts in Ravenna 
 with her voice, and all eyes with her very remarkable 
 and fascinating beauty. And now, on this last night 
 of the festive season, she was the cynosure of all eyes 
 at the ball. 
 
 Bianca had, as it so happened, also chosen a 
 Venetian costume of the same period as that of 
 Ludovico — about the middle of the sixteenth century. 
 In truth, it was mere chance that had led to this 
 similarity. And neither of them, as it happened, had 
 mentioned to the other the dress they intended to 
 wear. Bianca, in fact, used as she was to wear
 
 / 
 
 J 
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF CARNIVAL. 
 
 costumes of all sorts, and to outsliine all beauties neat 
 her in all or any of them, had thought nothing about 
 her dress, till the evening before; and then had 
 consulted the Marchese Lamberto on the subject : 
 but had been so much occupied with him during 
 nearly the whole of that evening at his ball, that she 
 had not said a word about it to any one else. 
 
 It could not but seem, however, to everybody that 
 the Marchese Ludovico and La Lalli had agreed 
 together to represent a pair belonging to the most 
 gorgeous and picturesque days of Venetian history. 
 And a most magnificently handsome pair they made. 
 Bianca's dress, or at least the general appearance and 
 effect of it, will readily be imagined by those ac- 
 quainted with the full-length portraits of Titian or 
 Tintoretto. A more strictly " proper " costume no 
 lady could wish to wear. And the jeunesse doree of 
 Kavenna, who had thought it likely that the Diva 
 would appear as some light- skirted Flora, or high- 
 kirtled Diana, were altogether disappointed. 
 
 But there was much joking and raillery about the 
 evident and notable j^air-ship of Ludovico and Bianca; 
 and it came to pass that, almost without any special 
 intention on their own part, they were thrown much 
 together, and danced together frequently. And this.
 
 10 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 under tlie circumstances, was still more the case tlian 
 it would have otherwise heen, in consequence of the 
 Marchese Lamberto not dancing. It was a long time 
 since he had done so. There were many men dancing 
 less fitted than he, as far as appearance and capa- 
 bility, and even as far as years went, to join in such 
 amusements. Nevertheless, all Eavenna would have 
 been almost as much surprised to see the Marchese 
 Lamberto dressed in mumming costume, and making 
 one among Carnival revellers, as to see the Cardinal 
 himself doing the same things. He had made for 
 himself a social position, and a life so much apart 
 from any such levities, that his participation in them 
 would have seemed a monstrosity. 
 
 It may be doubted, however, whether on this 
 occasion, at least, the dignified Marchese was satisfied 
 with the position he had thus made for himself. It 
 would have been too absurd and remarkable for 
 La Bianca to have abstained from dancing and at- 
 tached herself to him in the ball-room, instead of 
 consorting with the younger folks. Of course that 
 was entirely out of the question. But none the less 
 for that was the evening a time of cruel suffering and 
 martyrdom to the Marchese. Of course he believed 
 that the adoption of so singularly similar a costume
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF CARNIVAL. 11 
 
 by Bianca and his nephew was the result of pre- 
 arranged agTeement. And the thought, and all that 
 his embittered fanc}^ built upon the thought, were 
 making eyerj'thing around him, and all the prospect 
 of his life before him, utterly intolerable to him. 
 
 Ludovico and Bianca had been dancing together 
 for the third time — a waltz fast and furious, wdiich 
 they had kept up almost incessantly till the music 
 had ceased. Heated and breathless, he led her out 
 of the ball-room to get some refreshment. There 
 was a large supper-room which, on the cessation of 
 the waltz, immediately became crowded by other 
 couples bent on a similar errand. But there had also 
 been established a little subsidiary buffet in a small 
 cabinet at the furthest end of the suite of rooms, for 
 the purpose of drawing off some of the crowd from 
 the main supper-room. And thither Ludovico led 
 Bianca, thinking to avoid the crush of people rushing 
 in to the larger room. 
 
 The young Marchese — the " Marchesino," as he 
 was often called, to distinguish him from his uncle, 
 the Marchese Lamberto — was one of the small com- 
 mittee of the Circolo, who had had the management 
 of all the arrangements for the ball; and was, accord- 
 ingly, well aware of the whereabouts of this little
 
 12 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 " succursale" to the supper-room. But it is probable 
 that the existence of it was unknown to the great 
 majority of the company. At all events, so it hap- 
 pened, that when Ludovico and Bianca reached it, it 
 was wholly untenanted, save by Dante, in his long 
 red gown, solitarily occupied in cramming himself 
 with pastry. 
 
 " What, Dante in exile ! " cried Ludovico. *' Pray, 
 Sir Poet, which bolgici was set apart for those who are 
 lost by the ' peccato della gola ? ' or is a bilious fit in 
 the more immediate future holgia fearful enough?" 
 
 ''It is not so bad a holgia as that appointed for 
 some other sins," said the Conte Leandro, with his 
 mouth stuffed with cake, as he moved out of the room. 
 
 " What an animal it is ! " said Ludovico, laugh- 
 ing, as he gave Bianca a glass of champagne, and 
 filled another for himself. 
 
 " Take some of this woodcock pie, Signora 
 Bianca ? You must be starved by this time ; and 
 I can recommend it." 
 
 "How so? You have not tasted it yourself 
 yet." 
 
 *' No ; but I am going to do so. And my recom- 
 mendation is based on my knowledge of the qualities 
 of our woodcocks. They are the finest in the world.
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF CARNIVAL. 13 
 
 The marshes in the neighbourhood of the Pineta 
 breed them in immense quantities." 
 
 " Oh, I have heard so much of the Pineta. They 
 say it is so lovely." 
 
 " The most beautiful forest in the world. And 
 this is just the time when it is in its greatest beauty, 
 — the early spring, when the wild flowers are all 
 beginning to blossom, and the birds are all singing. 
 There is nothing like our Pineta ! " 
 
 " I should so like to see it. It does seem really 
 a shame to leave Ravenna without ever havino: seen 
 the Pineta." 
 
 " Oh, you must not dream of doing so. You 
 must make a little excursion one of these fine spring 
 days. It is just the time for it. Some morning, the 
 earlier the better. But I dare say your habits are 
 not very matutinal, Signora ?" 
 
 " Well, not very, for the most part. But I would 
 willingly make them matutinal for such a purpose at 
 any time. How far is it ?" 
 
 " Oh, a mere nothing — at the city gates almost — 
 a couple of miles, perhaps. You may go out by the 
 Porta Nuova, at the end of the Corso, and so to that 
 part of the forest which lies to the southward of the 
 city ; or by the northern road, which very soon
 
 ' 14 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 enters the wood on that side. Perhaps the finest 
 part of the Pineta is that to the southwards. Of 
 all places in the world it is the spot for a colazione 
 al fresco.'' 
 
 *' I should so like it. I have heard of the Pineta 
 di Eavenna all my life." 
 
 *' What do you say to going this very morn- 
 ing?" said Ludovico, after thinking for a minute. 
 *' There is no time like the present. It will be a 
 charming finish to our Carnival — new and original, 
 too ! Do you feel as if you had go enough left 
 for it?" 
 
 *' Oh, as for that," said Bianca, laughing with 
 lips and eyes, " I am up to anything. I should like 
 it of all things. But " 
 
 *' Ah ! what a terrible word that 'but' is. But 
 what?" said Ludovico, who had no sooner conceived 
 the idea than he became eager to put it into execu- 
 tion. ''But what?" 
 
 " But — a great many things. Unhappily, there 
 is no word comes oftener into one's life than that 
 odious ' but.' But who is to go with me ? I cannot 
 go all alone by myself?" 
 
 " Oh, that's no hut at all. Of course, Signora, I 
 did not propose such an expedition to you without
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF CARNIVAL. 15 
 
 proposing to myself the honour of accompanying 
 you," said Ludovico with a profound bow. 
 
 " What a scappata ! I should like it of all things. 
 But — there it comes again ! ' But ' the second ; 
 will not the good people say all sorts of ill-natured 
 and absurd things?" 
 
 " Not a bit of it — in my case, Signora. Every- 
 body knows that we have been very good friends ; 
 and that I have not been coxcomb enough to have 
 ever hoped to be aught more to you, having been 
 protected, as they all know, from such danger in the 
 only way in which a man could possibly be protected 
 from it," said Ludovico, bowing again. 
 
 " Dear me ! "What way is that ? It might be 
 so useful to know. Would it be equally applicable 
 to a lady, I wonder?" said Bianca, looking at him 
 half-laughingly, half-poutingly, with her head on 
 one side. 
 
 " Oh yes ! perfectly applicable in all cases, Sig- 
 nora. It is only to have no heart to lose, having lost 
 it already," returned he. 
 
 " Oh, come ! This is a confidence dans les regies! 
 And in return for it, Signor Ludovico, do you know 
 — speaking in all seriousness — that — if we really 
 do put this wild scheme into execution — I have
 
 16 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 a confidence to give you, and may take that oppor- 
 tunity of making it — a confidence, not which may 
 or may not he made, like yours, hut which I 
 ought to make to you, the necessity of making 
 which furnishes, to say the truth, a very plausible 
 reason for our projected tete-a-tete.'' 
 
 " Davvero, Signora ! Better and better ; I shall 
 be charmed to receive such a mark of your friend- 
 ship," said Ludovico, thinking and caring little on 
 what subject it might be that the Diva purposed 
 speaking to him : " and then, the fact is," he con- 
 tinued, ''that to-morrow morning will be the best 
 morning for the purpose of all the days of the year. 
 For we shall be quite sure that every soul here will 
 be in bed and asleep. On the first morning in Lent 
 one is tolerably safe not to fall in with early risers. 
 Our little trip, you may be very sure, will never be 
 heard of by anybody, unless we choose to tell of it 
 ourselves." 
 
 "And I am sure that I do not see why we should 
 not," said Bianca. 
 
 "I see no reason against telling all the town, for 
 my part," rejoined Ludovico ; " afterwards though 
 — you understand ; and not beforehand, or our little 
 escapade would be spoilt by some blockhead or other
 
 THE LAST NIGHT OF CARNIVAL. 17 
 
 insisting on joining us. Our friend Leandro there, 
 for instance ; think of it !" 
 
 *' The idea is a nightmare ! No ; we will not say 
 a word till afterwards. 'Tis the most charming 
 notion for a finale to a Carnival that ever was con- 
 ceived. I make jou my compliments on it, Signor 
 Ludovico." 
 
 *' So, then, all the ' huts ' have been butted and 
 rebutted?" said he. 
 
 " Well, I suppose so, — by the help of a strong 
 desire to yield to the temptation of so pleasant 
 a scheme, — the way ' huts ' generally are answered. 
 But we cannot go on the expedition as we are, I 
 suppose?" said she. 
 
 " I don't see why not. I dare say the old pines 
 have seen similar figures beneath them before now. 
 But you would not be comfortable without changing 
 your dress, and the mornings are still sharp. This 
 is how it must be. I will slip away before long, and 
 make all preparation necessary. I will get a hagarino 
 and a pon}^ — not from the Castelmare stables, you 
 understand, but from a man I know and can trust — 
 and I will come with it to the door of your lodging at 
 six o'clock. You will stay at the ball till the end. 
 Everybody will go by four o'clock, or soon after. 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 That will give you plenty of time to change your 
 dress. By six o'clock every soul in Kavenna will be 
 fast asleep. We shall drive to a little farm-house I 
 know on the border of the forest, leave our hagarino 
 there, and have our stroll under the trees just as long 
 and as far as is agreeable to you. Won't that do ?" 
 
 " Perfect ! I shall enjoy it amazingly. I will be 
 sure to be ready when you come at six o'clock." 
 
 "I will be there at six or thereabouts. Now we 
 will go back to the ball-room ; but don't dance till you 
 have not a leg left to stand on. We must have a 
 good long stroll in the Pineta." 
 
 " Lascia fare a me! I dare say I shan't dance 
 another dance — unless, indeed, we have one more 
 turn together before jon go. Is there time ?" 
 
 " Oh yes, for that plenty of time. If 3'ou are not 
 afraid of tiring yourself, one more last dance by all 
 means." 
 
 So giving her his arm, the Marchesino led his 
 beautiful and fascinating companion back to the ball- 
 room, where the music was again making the most of 
 the time with another waltz.
 
 ( 19 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 APOLLO VINDEX. 
 
 The Conte Leandro Lombardoni had not passed a 
 pleasant Carnival. Reconciled, as lie had recently 
 professed himself to be — after some one of the 
 frequent misfortunes that happened to his intercourse 
 with them — with the fair sex, he had begun his 
 Carnival by attempting to make his merit acceptable 
 in the eyes of La Lalli; and had failed to obtain 
 any recognition from her, even as a poet, to say 
 nothing of his pretensions as a Don Juan. To a 
 certain limited degree, it had been forced upon his 
 perception, that he had been making an ass of him- 
 self; and the appreciation of that fact by the other 
 young men among whom he lived had been indi- 
 cated with that coarse brutality, as the poet said to 
 himself, which was the outcome of minds not 
 " softened by the study of the ingenuous arts," as 
 his own was. He had been consistently snubbed 
 and flouted, he and his poetry, and his love-making, 
 and his carefully prepared Carnival costumes.
 
 20 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 The result was, that at the hall on that last night 
 of the Carnival, the Conte Leandro was not in charity 
 with all men, and, indeed, hardly with any man. 
 He was feeling very sore, and would fain have 
 avenged his pain by making any one else feel equally 
 sore, if he had it in his power to do so. 
 
 He was especially angry with Ludovico di Castel- 
 mare. Had he not chaffed him unmercifully about 
 the verses he had sent to La Bianca ? Was it not, 
 to all appearance, due to him that the Diva had 
 never condescended to cast a glance on either him 
 or his poetry ? Had he not called him ^sop, when 
 it was plain to all the world that he represented 
 Apollo ? And now this night, again, he had taken 
 the opportunity of turning him into ridicule in the 
 presence of La Bianca ; and he and she had spoken 
 of the possibility of their being troubled with his 
 company as of a nightmare. For the painful fact 
 was that their uncomplimentary expressions had been 
 heard by the poet ; who, when he had left Ludovico 
 and Bianca in the little supper-room together, had 
 retreated no further than just to the other side of a 
 curtain, which hung, Italian fashion, by the side 
 of the open door. Finding that there was nobody 
 there — for the little buffet was at the end of the
 
 APOLLO VINDEX. 21 
 
 entire suite of rooms, and all tliose who were not 
 either in the ball-room, or in the card-room, were 
 at that moment in the principal supper-room — it had 
 seemed well to the Conte Leandro, in his dudgeon 
 and spite against all the world, to ensconce him- 
 self quietly behind the curtain, and hear what 
 use Ludovico and Bianca would make of their 
 Ute-d-Ute. 
 
 The first advantage he obtained was to hear 
 himself spoken of as a nightmare ; and that naturally 
 prompted him to prick up his ears to hear more. 
 But when he had thus learned the whole secret of 
 the projected expedition, it struck him, as well worth 
 considering, whether there might not be found in 
 this the means of making his tormentor pay him for 
 some of the annoyances he had suffered at his 
 hands. 
 
 So ! the Marchese Ludovico, who ought to be 
 paj'ing his addresses to the Contessa Violante in the 
 sight of all Ravenna — the Contessa Violante Marliani 
 was great niece of the Cardinal Legate, between 
 whom and the Marchese Ludovico their respective 
 families had projected an alliance — was, instead of 
 that, going off on a ixirtie fine wdth the notorious 
 Bianca Lalli ! A tete-a-tete in the Pineta ! Mighty
 
 22 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 fine, indeed ! So sure, too, that nobody in the world 
 would find them out on Ash Wednesday morning! 
 And he is to be at her door at six o'clock in the 
 morning ! Very good ! Capitally well arranged — 
 were it not that Leandro Lombardoni may perhaps 
 think fit to put a spoke in the wheel. 
 
 A little further consideration of the manner in' 
 which such spoke might be most effectually supplied, 
 decided the angry and malicious poet — (poets, like 
 women, will become malicious when scorned) — to 
 seek out the Marchese Lamberto, whom he thought 
 he should probably find in the card-room. For 
 though the Marchese was no great card-player, and 
 never touched a card in his own house, he was wont, 
 at the Circolo, on such occasions as the present, to 
 cast in his lot with those who so consoled themselves 
 for the years that made the ball-room no longer their 
 proper territory. 
 
 But the Conte Leandro did not find the Marchese 
 among the card-players. 
 
 The events of the evening had already thrown 
 him back again into a very miserable state of mind, 
 from which the Marchese had been suffering such 
 torments as the jealous only know, during all the 
 latter half of the Carnival. It was strange that
 
 APOLLO VINDEX. 23 
 
 sucli a man as the Marchese Lamberto — it would 
 have seemed passing strange to any of tliose liis 
 fellow-citizens who bad known bim, tborougbly as 
 tbey supposed, all bis life ; very strange tbat sucb a 
 man, so calm, so judicious, so little liable to the gusts 
 of passion of any sort ; a man, tlie even tenor of wbose 
 well-regulated life bad ever been sucb as to expose 
 bim ratlier to tbe cbarge of almost apatbetic placidity 
 of temper, sbould tbus suddenly, in tbe full meridian 
 time of bis mature years, become subject to sucb 
 violent oscillations of passion ; to sucb buffetings by 
 storms, blowing now from one and now from tbe 
 opposite quarter of tbe sky. But no lengtb of pros- 
 perous navigation in tbe quiet waters of a land-locked 
 barbour will give evidence of tbe vessel's fitness to 
 encounter tbe storms and tbe waves of tbe open sea. 
 Tbe storm-wind of a strong passion bad, all at once 
 for tbe first time, blown in upon tbe sheltered 
 barbour in wliicb tbat placid life bad been led. 
 
 And yet tbat storm-wind did not produce tbe 
 same effect, as it would bave produced, and is seen 
 to produce every day on tbe strong, wide-spread 
 canvas of some young navigator on tbe ocean of life, 
 putting out into tbe open waters at tbe time wben 
 sucli storms are frequent. Every day we see sucb
 
 24 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 craft scudding with all sails spread before the blast 
 without attempt at reefing or tacking. Right ahead 
 they drive before the wind with no doubtful course. 
 But it was not and could not be so in the case of 
 the Marchese Lamberto. The whole habits of a 
 life — the ways, notions, hopes, desires, ambitions, that 
 time had made into a part of the nature of the man ; 
 the passions, which though calm and unviolent in 
 their nature, had become strong, not by forcible 
 energy, but by the deep and unconscious sinking of 
 their roots into the depths of his character — all 
 these things opposed a resistance to the new and 
 suddenly-loosed passion-wind, such as that which the 
 deep-rooted oak opposes to the tempest with no result 
 of conquering it, only with the result of causing its 
 own leaves and branches to be buffeted to and fro, 
 torn, broken, and wrecked. 
 
 Thus it was that the unhappy Marchese was 
 violently driven to and fro from hour to hour between 
 the extremities of love and hate, till his brain reeled 
 in the terrible conflict ; and alternate attraction and 
 repulsion bandied his soul backwards and forwards 
 between them. 
 
 A ball-room is not a pleasant exercise-ground for 
 a jealous man who does not dance. No "bolgia"
 
 APOLLO VINDEX. 25 
 
 of the liell invented by the sombre imagination of 
 the great poet could have surpassed, in torment, the 
 Circolo ball-room on that last Carnival night to the 
 Marchese Lamberto. 
 
 The sight of the sorceress who had bewitched 
 him, as he watched her in the dance, had once again 
 scattered to the winds all resolution, all hope of the 
 possibility of escaping from the toils. What was all 
 else that he desired to be put in comparison with 
 that raging, craving desire that he felt and sickened 
 with for her ? That w^as what he really wanted — 
 what he must have or die. It was madness to see 
 her, as he saw her then, in the arms of other 
 men, laughing, sparkling, brilliant with animation 
 and enjoyment. Worst hell of all to see her thus 
 with his nephew, her admiration for whom she had 
 frankly confessed ; whose ways with women he knew, 
 and whose intimacy with Bianca had already become 
 suspicious to him. 
 
 Yet not the less did he stand and gaze, as they 
 danced together, clearly the handsomest and best- 
 matched couple in the room — matched so admirably 
 evidently by design and forethought. 
 
 He had seen Ludovico and Bianca leave the ball- 
 room, after the last dance, together with the crowd
 
 26 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 of most of those who had been joining in it, and 
 had begun fluttering, poor moth, after the irresistible 
 attraction, to follow them towards the supper-room. 
 Missing sight of them in the throng for a minute, he 
 had followed on to the principal supper-room, and 
 not finding them there (for the reason the reader 
 wots of) had returned on his steps, and was sitting 
 on the end of a divan, by the door of the next room 
 to the ball-room, through which all had to pass who 
 wished to go thence to the supper-room. There 
 were people passing through the centre of the room 
 from door to door ; but there was no other, save the 
 Marchese, sitting down in it. 
 
 There the Conte Leandro found him, and came 
 and sat down by his side; much, at first, to the 
 Marchese' s annoyance. 
 
 " What ! you not in the supper-room. Signer 
 Leandro. I thought your place was always there?" 
 said the Marchese. 
 
 ''I'm no greater a supper-eater than another; 
 let them say what they please. But I have just 
 been getting a glass of wine and a biscuit in the 
 little supper-room at the further end there." 
 
 "What, are there two supper rooms? I did not 
 know that ! "
 
 APOLLO VINDEX. 27 
 
 " Only a buffet in the little room at the end, where 
 the papers generally are. It was mainly Luclovico's 
 doing, — in order to have less crow^l in the supper 
 room, — and perhaps to have a quiet place for a 
 tcte-a-tcte supper himself. Oh ! I knew better than 
 not to clear out, when he and La Diva Bianca came 
 in ; specially as there was nobody else there. Faith ! 
 I left them there alone together." 
 
 "Oh! that's where he is supping, then?" said 
 the Marchese, in the most unconcerned tone he could 
 manage. 
 
 "Yes; supping, — or enjoying himself in some 
 other way, quite as delightful. The fact is, Sig- 
 nor Marchese," continued the poet, in a lowered 
 voice, and rapidly glancing around to see that there 
 were no ears within such a distance as to overhear 
 his words, — "the fact is, that I am afraid Signer 
 Ludovico is less cautious than it would be well for 
 him to be, circumstanced as he is ! I am sure I did 
 not want to listen to what he and the Lalli were 
 saying to each other. It is nothing to me. But 
 they spoke with such little precaution, that I could 
 not help overhearing what they said; and what do 
 you think Ludovico is up to now ? " 
 
 " How should I know ! " said the Marchese, with
 
 28 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 tlie tips of his pale lips; for lie was grinding his 
 teeth together to prevent them from chattering in 
 his head. 
 
 " He is off at six o'clock to-morrow morning 
 tete-a-tete with La Bianca, on an excursion to the 
 Pineta. Coming it strong, isn't it ? " 
 
 " To-morrow morning ! " said the Marchese under 
 his hreath, and with difficulty ; for his Wood seemed 
 suddenly to rush hack cold to his heart, and he was 
 shivering all over. 
 
 " Niente meno ! I heard them arrange it all. 
 He is to slip away from the ball presently, in order 
 to make all needful preparations, and to be at her door 
 with a hagarino at six o'clock in the morning. 
 Doing the thing nicely, isn't it?" 
 
 For a minute or two the Marchese was utterly 
 unable to answer him a word. His head swam 
 round. He felt sick. A cold perspiration broke out 
 all over him; and he feared that he should have 
 fallen from his seat. 
 
 " He is a great fool for his pains," he said at last, 
 mastering himself by a great effort, sufficiently to 
 enable himself to utter the words in an ordinary 
 voice and manner. 
 
 " Well, it seemed to me a mad scheme, con-
 
 APOLLO VINDEX. 29 
 
 sidering all things. And the truth is, that I thought 
 your lordship would very likely think it well to put 
 a stop to it. And that is why I have bored your 
 lordship by mentioning it to you." 
 
 " At six o'clock, you say ? " asked the Marchese. 
 
 "Yes; that was the hour they fixed. Then he 
 is to drive her to a farm-house on the border of the 
 forest, leave the hagarlno there, and go into the wood 
 for a stroll. Not a bad idea for a wind-up of the 
 Carnival, upon my word ! " 
 
 " I think you have done very wisely and kindly 
 in telling me this, Signer Conte," said the Marchese, 
 in as quiet tones as he could command ; " and if you 
 will complete your kindness by saying no word of it 
 to anybody else, I shall esteem myself much obliged 
 to you." 
 
 " Oh ! for that you may depend on me, Signor 
 Marchese. I should never have thought of mention- 
 ing it to you, but for thinking that it would be a real 
 kindness to Ludovico to put a stop to it." 
 
 "Thanks, Signor Conte. A rivederla / '' said 
 the Marchese, rising. 
 
 ^' Fellcissima notte, Signor Marchese," returned 
 Leandro, rising also, and bowing to his companion.
 
 ( 30 ) 
 
 ClIAPTEK III. 
 
 ST. APOLLINAKE IN CLASSE. 
 
 The Marcliese remained at the ball to see one 
 more dance between Ludovico and Bianca after their 
 supper ; and then left the rooms. There was nothing 
 at all to cause remark in his thus retiring . before the 
 end of the evening. He never danced ; — he hap- 
 pened not to be playing cards on that evening. It 
 was quite natural that such a man should prefer 
 going home to bed to remaining with the jeunes gens 
 till the break-up of the ball. 
 
 How he enjoyed that last dance, which he stayed 
 to see, the reader may perhaps imagine. Standing 
 by a chimney-piece, on one corner of which he rested 
 his elbow, he in great measure shaded his face 
 with his hand, yet not so as to prevent him from 
 seeing every movement of the persons, and every 
 expression of the faces of the couple he was watching. 
 There was a raging hell in his heart. And yet he 
 stood there, and gazed eagerly, greedily one would
 
 ST. APOLLINARE IN CLASSE. 31 
 
 have said. And every minute, and every movement 
 blasted his eyes, and stabbed his heart, and poured 
 poison into his veins. 
 
 When the dance was over he did not move for 
 some time ; for he doubted his power to hold him- 
 self upright and walk steadily. Presently, however, 
 when Ludovico and Bianca had again quitted the 
 ball-room together, he gathered himself up, and 
 moved slowly away, shaking in every limb, pale, 
 fever-lipped, and haggard. 
 
 The man who gave him his cloak in the ante- 
 room remarked to another servant, as soon as he 
 v.-as gone, that he would bet that the Marchese 
 Lamberto vrould not be at the next Carnival ball. 
 
 At six o'clock, with wonderful punctuality for an 
 Italian, Ludovico, with a neat little hagarino and 
 fast-trotting pony, was at the door of the Diva's 
 lodging. But Bianca was not ready. Her maid 
 came dov/n to the door with all sorts of apologies, 
 and assurances that her mistress would be ready in a 
 few minutes. The few minutes, however, became half 
 an hour, as minutes will under such circumstances. 
 And the result of this delay was that Ludovico and 
 his companion were not the first travellers out of the 
 Porta Nuova that morninf?.
 
 32 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 During the whole of the past Carnival and the 
 latter months of the previous year there had heen 
 living in Eavenna a young girl, — an artist from 
 Venice, who had come to Eavenna with a commis- 
 sion given her by a travelling Englishman to make 
 copies of some of the more remarkable of the very 
 extraordinary and unique series of mosaics which 
 exist in the old imperial city. She had brought with 
 her a letter of introduction from her employer to the 
 Marchese Lamberto, — a circumstance which had led 
 to a degree of intimacy between the Marchesino 
 Ludovico and the extremely attractive young artist, 
 which threatened to stand more or less in the way 
 of the match which had been arranged by the high- 
 contracting parties between Ludovico and the Lady 
 Violante, the great niece of the Cardinal. The girl's 
 name was Paolina Foscarelli. 
 
 It is probable that in due time and season the 
 reader may become better acquainted with Paolina. 
 But at present there is no need of troubling him 
 with more particulars respecting her than the above, 
 save to mention that, having industriously and suc- 
 cessfully completed the greater portion of her task 
 in the churches within the city, she had determined 
 to make her first visit to the strange old Basilica of
 
 ST. APOLLINAKE IN CLASSE. 33 
 
 St. Apollinare in Classe, on that same Asli Wednes- 
 day morning. She did not purpose beginning her 
 task there on that day ; but intended merely to 
 reconnoitre the gi'ound, look to the needful pre- 
 parations that, had been made for her work, and 
 ascertain how far the spot was within her powers 
 of walking. 
 
 Paolina, too, had felt that the morning of Ash-' 
 ^yednesday was a favourable time for the first 
 experiment of an undertaking that a little alarmed 
 her. For she also had calculated that on such a 
 morning she should be little likely to meet anybody. 
 It was just about six o'clock when Paolina started on 
 her proposed walk; and she passed through the 
 Porta Nuova, therefore, a little more than half-an-hour 
 before Ludovico and his companion passed, travelling 
 in the same direction. 
 
 The road, which it was necessary for her to follow 
 in order to reach St. Apollinare in Classe, is the same 
 for the whole of the distance between the city and 
 the ancient church as that which Ludovico and 
 Bianca Avould follov/ to reach the celebrated pine 
 forest. The soil on which the forest stands is com- 
 posed of the accumulation of sand which the rivers — 
 mainly the Po — have brought from distant mountains, 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 31 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 and deposited in tlie bed of the Adriatic since the 
 old church was built " in Classe," — where the fleet 
 once used to be moored. The building thus stands 
 nearly at the edge of the forest, hardly more than a 
 stone's throw from the furthest advanced sentinels 
 of the wood. The road coming out from the city by 
 the Porta Nuova, on its way to the little town of 
 Cervia, a few miles to the southward, traverses ground 
 once thickly covered with palaces, streets, and churches, 
 — now open fields, — and passes by the western front 
 and doorway of the almost deserted old Basilica, a 
 little before it reaches the turning oif towards the left, 
 which enters the forest. 
 
 The walk before Paolina, when she had passed the 
 city gate, was about two miles or rather more. So 
 that had La Bianca taken a few less minutes to put 
 the finishing touches to the charming morning 
 toilette which replaced the gorgeous Venetian cos- 
 tume she had taken off, the hagarino which carried 
 her and Ludovico would infallibly have overtaken the 
 young artist. As it was, however, having m6re than 
 half-an-hour's start of it, she reached the church 
 before they came within sight of it. 
 
 Little Paolina had felt rather nervous when first 
 stepping into the cool fresh morning air from the
 
 ST. APOLLINAEE IN CLASSE. 35 
 
 door of the lodging she occupied. But the street 
 was utterly empt}^, and she took courage. The first 
 human beings she saw on her way were the octroi 
 officers at the gate. They sat apparently half asleep 
 at the doorway of their den, by the side of the city 
 gate, wrapped in huge cloaks ; and took not even so 
 much heed of her as to say " Good morning." 
 
 The long bit of straight flat road outside the gate 
 was equally deserted ; and Paolina, braced by the 
 morning air, stepped out vigorously, and began to 
 enjoy her w^alk. 
 
 There is little enough, however, in the country 
 through which she was passing to delight the eye. 
 The fields in the immediate neighbourhood of the 
 city are cultivated, and not devoid of trees. But the 
 cheerfulness thence arising does not last long. Very 
 soon the trees cease, and there are no more hedge- 
 rows. Large flat fields, imperfectly covered with 
 coarse rank grass, and divided by the numerous 
 branches of streams, all more or less diked to save 
 the land from complete inundation, succeed. The 
 road is a causeway raised above the level of the sur- 
 rounding district; and presently a huge lofty bank 
 is seen traversing the desolate scene for miles, and 
 stretching away towards the shore of the neighbour-
 
 36 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 ing Adriatic. This is the dike which contains the 
 sulkily torpid hut yet dangerous Montone. 
 
 Gradually, as the traveller proceeds, the scene 
 grows worse and worse. Soon the only kind of cul- 
 tivation to be seen from the road consists of rice- 
 grounds, looking like — what in truth they are — 
 poisonous swamps. Then come swamps pure and 
 simple, too bad even to be turned into rice grounds, 
 — or rather simply swamps w?ipure; for a stench at 
 most times of the year comes from them, like a 
 warning of their pestilential nature, and their unfit- 
 ness for the sojourn of man. A few shaggy, wild- 
 looking cattle may be seen wandering over the flat 
 waste, muddy to the shoulders from wading in the 
 soft swamps. A scene of more utter desolation it is 
 hardly possible to meet with in such close neighbour- 
 hood to a living city. 
 
 Paolina shivered, and drew her little grey cloak 
 more closely around her shoulders ; not from cold, 
 though a bleak wind was blowing across the marshes. 
 She was warmed by walking ; but the aspect of the 
 scene before her almost frightened the Venetian girl 
 by the savagery of its desolation. 
 
 The raised causeway, however, keeps on its course 
 amid the low-lying marshes on either side of it ; and
 
 ST. APOLLINAEE IN CLASSE. 37 
 
 presently the peculiar form of outline belonging to a 
 forest composed entirely of the maritime pine is 
 distinguishable on the horizon to the left. The road 
 quickly draws nearer to it ; and the large, hea\T, 
 velvet-like masses of dark verdure become visible. 
 In a forest such as the famous Pineta, consisting of 
 the maritime pine only, the lines, especially when 
 seen at a distance, have more of horizontal and less 
 of perpendicular direction than in any other assem- 
 blage of trees. And the effect produced by the con- 
 tinuity of spreading umbrella-like tops is peculiar. 
 
 Then, soon after the forest has become visible, 
 the road brings the wayfarer wdthin sight of a vast 
 lonely structure hea\'ing its huge long back against 
 the low horizon, like some monster antidiluvian 
 saurian, the fit denizen of this marsh world. It is 
 the venerable Basilica of St. Apollinare in Classe. 
 
 Through all this dismal scene Paolina tripped 
 lightly along wdth a quick step through the crisp 
 morning air, no little awed by the dreary, voiceless 
 desolation of it, but yet encouraged and not unpleased 
 by the solitude of it. 
 
 The walk she found to be quite within her powers, 
 at all events at that hour of the morning and in that 
 season of the year ; and when she stood before the
 
 38 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 western door of the ancient clmrcli, in front of which 
 the road passes, Ludovico and Bianca were only then 
 on the point of starting from the quarters of the latter 
 in the Strada di Porta Sisi. 
 
 Though knowing but little of the long and 
 strangely diversified story which presses on the 
 mind of a stranger read in history as he stands 
 before the door of that desolate old church, Paolina 
 could not but be much struck by the appearance of 
 the building and of the scene around it. If ever a 
 spot was expressive in every way by which a locality 
 can speak to the imagination of the abomination of 
 desolation, the view which spreads before the eye at 
 the huge doorway of the Basilica of St. Apollinare in 
 Classe is so. The general character of the country 
 around it has been described. But the church itself 
 is the most dreary and melancholy feature in the 
 landscape. No desolation resulting solely from the 
 operations of Nature, even in her least kindly mood, 
 can ever suffice to speak to the imagination as the 
 change and decay of the works of man's hand speak. 
 To produce the effect of desolation in its highest 
 degree man must have at some former period been 
 present on the scene, and the remains of his work 
 must be there to show that activity, life, energy, has
 
 ST. APOLLINAEE IN CLASSE. 39 
 
 once existed where it exists no more. Nature is 
 alwaj^s and everywhere progressive, and no senti- 
 ment of sadness belongs to progress. Man's ruined 
 work alone imparts the suggestion — (a delusive one, 
 indeed, but most forcible,) — of falling back from the 
 better to the worse. 
 
 Wonderfully eloquent after this fashion are the 
 temples of Paestum, far away there to the south 
 beyond Naples, on the flat strip of miserably culti- 
 vated soil between the Apennines and the Mediterra- 
 nean. But they are too far gone in ruin and decay 
 to speak with so living a voice of sadness as does 
 this old Byzantine church. The human element is 
 at Psestum too far away, — too utterly dead and for- 
 gotten. In St. Apollinare life still lingers. Life, 
 flickering in its last spark, like the twinkling of a 
 lamp which the next moment will extinguish, is still 
 there. Life more suggestive of death, than any utter 
 absence of life could be. 
 
 There are some dilapidated remains of conventual 
 buildings on the southern side of the church, mean, 
 and of a date some thousand years subsequent to 
 that of the Basilica. They are nearly ruinous, but 
 are still — or were till within a few j-ears — inhabited 
 by one Capucin friar, and one lay brother of the
 
 40 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 order, whose duty it was to mutter a mass, with 
 ague-chattering jaws, at the high altar, and act as 
 guardians of the building. 
 
 Small guardianship is needed. The huge ancient 
 doors — made of planks from vine trunks which grew 
 fifteen hundred years ago on the Bosphorus — are 
 never closed; probably because their weight would 
 defy the efforts of the two poor old friars, to whom 
 the keeping of the building is committed, to move 
 them. But a poor and mean low gate of iron rails 
 has been fitted to the colossal marble door-posts, 
 which suffices to prevent the wandering cattle of the 
 w^aste from straying into the church, but does not 
 prevent the fever-laden mists from the marshes from 
 drifting into the huge nave, and depositing their un- 
 wholesome moisture in great trickling drops upon 
 the green- stained walls. 
 
 But not even the low iron gateway was closed 
 when Paolina reached the church. It stood partially 
 open. After having stood a minute or two before the 
 building to look round upon the scene, Paolina 
 stepped up to the gate and looked into the church, 
 but could see no human being. Within, as without, 
 all was utter death-like silence. She shivered, and 
 drew her cloak more closely round her, as she stood
 
 ST. APOLLINARE IN CLASSE. 41 
 
 at the gate ; for the healthy blood was running 
 rapidly through her veins after her brisk walk, and 
 the deadly cold damp air from the church struck her 
 with a shudder, which was but the physical comple- 
 ment of the moral impression produced by the aspect 
 of the place. 
 
 After a minute, however, wondering at the still- 
 ness, half frightened at the utter solitude, and awed by 
 the vast gloomy grandeur of the naked but venerable 
 building, she pushed the gate, and entered.
 
 42 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 FATHER EABIANO. 
 
 Paolina entered hesitatingly, and starting at the 
 echoes of her footsteps on the flagstones, wet and 
 green, and slimy from the water, which often in 
 every year lies many inches deep on the floor of the 
 church. She advanced tovrards a small marble altar 
 which stands quite isolated in the middle of the huge 
 nave. And as she neared it she perceived, with a 
 violent start, that there was a living figure kneeling at 
 it. So still, so utterly motionless had this solitary 
 w^orshipper been, so little visible in the dim light was 
 the hue of the Franciscan's frock that entirely covered 
 him, that Paolina had not imagined that there had 
 been any living creature in the church. She saw, 
 however, in the same instant that she became aware 
 of his presence, that the figure was that of a Capucin 
 friar, and doubted not that he must be the guardian 
 of the church, whom she had been told she Avould 
 find there.
 
 FATHER FABIANO. 43 
 
 The little low altar, of an antiquity coeval with 
 that of the church, which stands in the centre of the 
 nave, is the sole exception to the entire and utter 
 emptiness of the place. There are, indeed, ranged 
 along the walls of the side aisles, several ancient 
 marble coffins, curiously carved, and with semi-circular 
 covers, which contain the bodies of the earliest 
 Bishops of the See. But the little altar is the sole 
 object that breaks the continuity of the open floor. 
 The body of St. Apollinare was originally laid 
 beneath it, but was in a subsequent age removed to a 
 more specially honourable position under the high 
 altar at the eastern end of the church. There is 
 still, however, the slab deeply carved with letters of 
 ancient form, which tells how St. Romauld, the 
 founder of the order of Camaldoli, praying by night 
 at that altar, saw in a vision St. Apollinare, who 
 ])ade him leave the world, and become the founder of 
 an order of hermits. 
 
 It was on the same stones that the knees of 
 St. Romauld had pressed, that the Capucin was 
 kneeling, as Paolina walked up the nave of the 
 church. The peaked hood of his brown frock was 
 drawn over his head, for the air of the church was 
 deadly cold, and the fever and ague of many a
 
 44 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 successive autumn had done their work upon him. 
 He was called Padre Fahiano, and was said to 
 be, and looked to be, upwards of eighty years old. 
 Probably, however, his age was much short of that. 
 For the nature of his dwelling-place was such as to 
 stand in the place of time, in its power to do worse 
 than time's work on the human frame. 
 
 Of course, it can be no matter of question, ivliy a 
 monk is here or is there, does this or does that. 
 Obedience to the will of his superiors is the only 
 reason for all that, in the case of other human beings, 
 depends on their own volition. The monk has no 
 volition. 
 
 No human being who had, it might be supposed, 
 would consent to live at St. Apollinare in Classe, 
 with one lay brother for a companion, and discharge 
 the duties assigned to the Padre Fabiano. But the 
 question why his superiors sent him there, was 
 still one that might suggest itself, though it was little 
 likely ever to be answered. And the absence of all 
 answer to such question was supplied by the gossips 
 of Eavenna, by tales of some terrible crime 
 against ecclesiastical discipline of which the Padre 
 Fabiano had been guilty some sixty years or so ago . 
 Certain it was that he had occupied his dreary posi-
 
 FATHER FABIANO. 45 
 
 tion for many years ; and it was ^yonclerful that fever 
 and ague and the marsh pestilence had not long 
 since dismissed him to the reward of his long 
 penitence on earth. 
 
 He rose from his knees as Paolina approached 
 him, and gravely bent his cowled head to her in 
 salutation. 
 
 " You are early, Signora," he said. " I suppose 
 you are the person for whom yonder scaffold has 
 been prepared." 
 
 " Yes, father, I am the artist for whom leave has 
 been obtained to copy some of your mosiacs." 
 
 *' You will find it cold work, daughter. The 
 church is damp somewhat. You would do better, 
 methinks, not to begin your day's work till the sun 
 has had time to warm the air a little." 
 
 " I had no thought, father, of beginning to-day. 
 I have brought nothing with me. I only thought 
 that I would walk out and have a look at the job 
 before me. It is not so far from the city as I 
 thought." 
 
 "It is far enough to be as lonely and as deserted 
 as if it were a thousand miles from a human habita- 
 tion," said the monk, looking into the girl's face with 
 a grave smile.
 
 46 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 " Yet you live here, from year's end to year's 
 end all alone, Padre mioy' said Paolina, timidly. 
 
 *^Not quite so, daughter," replied he. " Brother 
 Barnaba, a lay brother of our order, is my com- 
 panion. But he is ill with a touch of ague at 
 present." 
 
 '^ And how early would it be not inconvenient to 
 you. Padre mio, to open the church for me?" asked 
 Paolina. 
 
 *' I spoke not of your being early on my account, 
 daughter. If you come here at sunrise, you will 
 find the gate open, and me where you found me this 
 morning ; and if you come at midnight you will find 
 the same." 
 
 " At midnight, father ! " said Paolina, with a 
 glance of surprise and pity. 
 
 " Last October I was down with the fever," re- 
 turned the monk ; " but since that time I have not 
 failed one night to be on my knees where the blessed 
 St. Komauld knelt at the stroke of midnight. But 
 I have not had his reward ; — doubtless because I am 
 not worthy of it." 
 
 " What was the reward of St. Bomauld, father ? " 
 demanded Paolina. 
 
 "ffis midnight prayers were rewarded by the
 
 FATHER FABIANO. 47 
 
 vision of St. ApoUinare iu glory, who spoke to liim, 
 and gave him the counsel he sought. Night after 
 night, and hour after hour, have I knelt and prayed. 
 And I have heard the moaning of the wind from the 
 Adriatic among the pines of the forest yonder, and I 
 have seen the great crucifix ahove the high altar sway 
 and move in the moonlight when it comes streaming 
 through the southern windows ; and sometimes I 
 have hoped— and prayed — and hoped — but no vision 
 came ! " 
 
 The old monk sighed, and dropped his head upon 
 his bosom ; and Paolina gazed at him with a feeling 
 of awe, mingled with a suddenly rising fear, that 
 the tall and emaciated old man, whose light-blue 
 eyes gleamed out from beneath his cowl, was not 
 wholly right in his mind. She would have been 
 more alarmed had she been aware that the old 
 Padi'e Fabiano of St. ApoUinare was generally con- 
 sidered in Eavenna to be crazed by all those who did 
 not, instead of that, deem him a saint. 
 
 Before she had gained courage to answer him, 
 however, he lifted his head, with another deep sigh, 
 and said, in a very quiet and ordinary tone and 
 manner, — 
 
 *' Your scaffold is all prepared for you there,
 
 48 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 Signora, according to the directions of the Signor 
 Marchese Ludovico di Castelmare, who brought with 
 him an order from the Archbishop's Chancellor. 
 Will you look at it, and see if it is as you wish, and 
 say where you wish to have it placed." 
 
 The mosaics in the apse of the centre nave are 
 the most remarkable of those that remain at 
 St. Apollinare, though many of the series of me- 
 dallion portraits of the Bishops of the See from the 
 foundation of it, which circle the entire nave, are very 
 curious. Paolina had engaged to copy two or three 
 of the most remarkable of these ; but she intended to 
 begin her work by attacking the larger figures in 
 the apse. And the scaffolding had been placed there 
 on the southern side. 
 
 " I think that is just where I should wish to 
 have it," said Paolina, looking up at the vault. " If I 
 may, I will go up and see whether it is near enough 
 to the figure I have to copy." 
 
 *' Do so, my daughter. It looks a great height, 
 but I have no doubt that it is quite safe. The 
 Signor Marchese was very particular in seeing to it 
 himself. See, I will go up first to give you courage." 
 
 And so saying, the old man with a slow but firm 
 step began to ascend the ladder of the scaffolding.
 
 FATHER FABIANO. 49 
 
 And when lie had readied the platform at the top, 
 Paoliua, more used to such climbing than he, and 
 who in truth had felt no alarm whatever, followed 
 him with a lighter step. 
 
 " Yes, this will do nicely. Padre mio /" she said, 
 when she had reached the top; "it is placed jast 
 where it should be, and this large window gives just 
 all the light I want. It is a much better light than I 
 had to work by in San Yitale." 
 
 " I never was in San Vitale," replied the monk. 
 " I have been here fourteen years next Easter, and I 
 have never once been in Eavenna in all that time, 
 nor, indeed, further away from this church than just 
 a stroll within the edge of the Pineta." 
 
 " That is the Pineta we see from this window, of 
 course, Padre mio- What a lovely view of it ! And 
 how beautiful it is ! Where does that road go to, 
 Padre? To Venice?" 
 
 " ^o,Jigliuola mia. It goes in exactly the oppo- 
 site direction, southwards, to Cervia. The Venice road 
 lies away to the northward, through the wood that you 
 can see on the furthest horizon. It was by that road 
 I came to Piavenna. I shall never travel it again." 
 
 "From Venice, father? Did you come from 
 Venice ?" asked Paolina, eagerly. 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 " From La bella Venezia I came, daughter — four- 
 teen years ago. And once in every month I indulge 
 myself by going to the top of our tower — you can't 
 see it from this window, it is on the northern side of 
 the church —and looking out over the north Pineta as 
 far as I can see towards it. May God and St. Mark 
 grant that no tempter ever offer me the sight of 
 Venice again at the price of my soul's salvation ! I 
 shall never, never see Venice more ! " 
 
 '' You must be a Venetian, father, surely, to love 
 it so well ? " said Paolina, after a minute or two of 
 silence. 
 
 " A Venetian I am — or was, daughter ; as I well 
 knew you were when first you spoke. Might I ask 
 your name ? " 
 
 " Paolina Foscarelli, father. I am an orphan," 
 said she, softly. 
 
 '^No ! " said the monk, shaking his head, with 
 a deep sigh, and looking earnestly into the girl's face, 
 but without any appearance of surprise, — " No ; you 
 are not Paolina Foscarelli." 
 
 " Indeed, father, that is my name," said Paolina, 
 again recurring to her doubt whether the monk was 
 altogether of sound mind, and speaking very quietly 
 and gently; " my father's name was FoscareUi, and
 
 FATHER FABIANO. 51 
 
 the baptismal name of my mother was the same as 
 mine — Paolina." 
 
 " Jacopo and Paolina Foscarelli, who lived in the 
 little house at the corner of the Campo di San Pietro 
 and Paolo," rejoined the monk, speaking in a dreamy 
 far-away kind of manner. 
 
 "I have truly heard that they lived there," said 
 she ; " but I was only four years old when they died, 
 one very soon after the other, and since that I have 
 lived with a friend of my mother's, Signora Steno." 
 
 " The child of Jacopo and Paolina Foscarelli," 
 said the monk, in the same dreamy tone, and pressing 
 his thin emaciated hands before his eyes as he spoke ; 
 " and you have come here to find me ? " 
 
 " Nay, father, not to find you. I knew not that the 
 jKulre guardiano of St. Apollinare was a Venetian. I 
 came only to copy these pictures for my emplo3''er." 
 
 " Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful are the ways 
 of God ! Paolina Foscarelli, daughter of Jacopo and 
 Paolina, I Fabiano " 
 
 " Look, ixidremior'' cried Paolina, suddenly and 
 sharply, turning very pale, and grasping the parapet 
 rung of the scafi'olding as she spoke, " look ! in the 
 hagarino there on the road, just passing the church ; 
 certainly that must be the Signor Marchese Ludovico !
 
 52 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 — And with him — that lady ? — yes, it is — it certainly 
 is La Lalli — the prima donna, who has heen singing 
 at the theatre this Carnival." 
 
 She pointed as she spoke to a hagarino that had 
 just passed the western front of the church, and was 
 now moving along the hit of road visible from the 
 high window at which the monk and Paolina were 
 standing. 
 
 The tone in which she spoke caused the friar to 
 look at her first, before turning his glance in the 
 direction to which she pointed. She was pale, and 
 evidently much moved, after a fashion that, taken 
 together with the nature of the objects to which she 
 drew his attention, and the fact that it was the 
 Marchese Ludovico who had come to St. ApoUinare 
 to make the arrangements needed for the artist's 
 work there, left but little doubt in the old man's 
 mind as to the nature of her emotion. 
 
 He looked shrewdly and earnestly into her face 
 for a moment ; and then turning his eyes to the 
 stretch of road below, answered her : 
 
 *' Certainly, my daughter, that is the Marchese 
 Ludovico. The lady I never saw before as far as I 
 am aware. They are going towards Cervia." 
 
 *' No ! See, father ! They are turning off from
 
 FATHER FABIANO. 63 
 
 the road to the left. Where does that turning to the 
 left go ? " 
 
 " Only into the forest, daughter, — or to that little 
 farm-house you see there just at the edge of it. You 
 may get as far as the sea-shore through the Pineta ; 
 but the road is very bad for a carriage." 
 
 '' To the sea-shore ! " said Paolina, dreamily. 
 
 " Yes, by keeping the track due east. The shore 
 is not above a couple of miles away. But there is 
 no port, or even landing-place there. And there are 
 many tracks through the forest. You may get to 
 Cervia, too, that way. But it is hardly likely that 
 any one would leave the road to find a longer way 
 by worse ways through the forest. More likely the 
 object of the Signer Marchese is only to show the 
 lady the famous Pineta." 
 
 Paolina, while the monk was thus speaking, had 
 kept her eyes fixed upon the little carriage, which 
 was making its way along a by-road constructed on 
 the top of a dike by the side of one of the numerous 
 streams that intersect all the district ; and she con- 
 tinued to watch it till she saw it stop at the entrance 
 to the yard of the little farm-house, to which the 
 monk had called her attention. She then saw 
 Ludovico and his companion descend from the
 
 54 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 carriage, and leave it apparently in the charge of a 
 man, who came out from the farm-yard. And they 
 then left the spot where they had alighted on foot, 
 and in another minute were no longer visible from 
 the w^indow at which Paolina and the monk stood. 
 
 "How long a walk is it, father, from here into 
 the wood ? " asked Paolina, musingly. 
 
 *' It is a very short distance, daughter. There is 
 a footpath practicable in dry weather like this, a good 
 deal nearer than the road we saw the hagarino follow. 
 You might get to the edge of the Pineta in that way 
 in less than ten minutes." 
 
 "And would it be possible to return to the city 
 that way, instead of coming back to the road ? " 
 enquired Paolina. 
 
 " Yes ; for a part of the way there is a path along 
 the border of the wood. Then you must fall back 
 into the road. The way lies by the gate of the farm- 
 house." 
 
 " I think I will go back to the city now, father. 
 This scaffold is just where it will suit me. And to- 
 morrow, a little later perhaps than this, I hope to 
 come and begin my work. I shall have to come in a 
 carriage, at all events, the first time, because of 
 bringing my things. I am so much obliged to you,
 
 FATHEE FABIANO. 55 
 
 father, for your kindness. And I am so glad that 
 you are a Venetian. I little thought to find a 
 fellow-countrymen here." 
 
 "Or I to see this morning a Venetian — much 
 less — but we will speak more of that another time — 
 if you will permit an old man sometimes to speak to 
 you when you are at your work ?" 
 
 "Ma come — I can talk while I work. It will 
 be a real pleasure to me to hear the dear home 
 tongue. I will go down the ladder first. I am not 
 the least afraid." 
 
 So Paolina left the church, and the monk stood at 
 the yawning ever-open western door, looking after her 
 as she took the path he had indicated to her towards 
 the forest.
 
 56 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 CHAPTEE y. 
 
 ''THE HOURS PASSED, AND STILL SHE CAME NOT." 
 
 There was misgiving in the heart of the old man as 
 he stood at the door of the Basilica looking after the 
 light lithe form of Paolina as she moved along the 
 path, raised ahove the swamp on either side, that led 
 towards the edge of the forest. 
 
 The rays of the sun slanting from the eastward 
 lighted up all the path on which she was walking ; 
 and though the western front of the church was still 
 in shade, had hegun to suck up the mists, and to 
 make the air feel at least somewhat more genial and 
 wholesome. The monk pushed hack the cowl of his 
 frock, which had hitherto been drawn over his head, 
 the better to watch the receding figure of the girl as 
 she moved slowly along the path ; and still, as he 
 gazed after her, he shook his head from time to time 
 with an uneasy sense of misgiving. 
 
 It was not that the mere fact of the girl's entering 
 the Pineta alone seemed to him, accustomed as he
 
 *' THE IIOUES PASSED, AND STILL SHE CAME NOT." 57 
 
 was to the place and its surrounclings, to involve any 
 danger to her of any sort, heyond, indeed, the possi- 
 bility of losing herself for a few hours in the forest. 
 The whole extent of it is very frequently traversed by 
 the men in the employment of the farmers to whom 
 the Papal government was in the practice of letting 
 out the right of pasturage and management of the 
 wood. And these people were all known. There 
 were, it is true, encroachers on these rights, who 
 might well be less known, and less responsible 
 persons ; and possibly the forest paths might some- 
 times be traversed by people bound on some errand 
 of smuggling. But nothing had ever happened of 
 late years in the forest to suggest the probability of 
 any danger. 
 
 It was rather the nature of Paolina's own motives 
 for her expedition, as they were patent to the old 
 monk, that disquieted him on her behalf. He had 
 marked the expression of her face when she had seen 
 the hagarino with Ludovico and his companion pass 
 along the road towards the forest, and the change in 
 her whole manner after that. And monk, and 
 octogenarian as he was, he had been at no loss to 
 comprehend the nature of the emotions which had 
 been aroused in her mind by the sight. And he
 
 58 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 feared that evil might arise from the collision of 
 passions, which it seemed likely were about to be 
 brought into the presence of each other. 
 
 Perhaps, monk and aged as he was, the appre- 
 hensions with which his mind was busy seemed more 
 big with possible evil than they might to another. 
 Perhaps it was so long since he had had aught to do 
 with stormy passions that the contemplation of them 
 affrighted his stagnant mind all the more by reason 
 of the long years of passionless placidity to which it 
 was accustomed. Perhaps he had known passions 
 stormy enough in the long long past, and had experi- 
 ence of the harvest of evils which might be expected 
 to be produced by them. 
 
 Report said, that when Father Fabiano had been 
 sent by his superiors to occupy the miserable and 
 forlorn sentinel's post at the church-door of St. 
 ApoUinare, amid inundations in winter, and fever and 
 ague in summer, his appointment to the dreary office 
 had been of the nature of a penance and an exile. It 
 was said, too, that the sentence of exile, which placed 
 him in his present position, had been an alleviation 
 of a more rigorous punishment ; that he had been 
 allowed, after a period of many years of imprisonment 
 in a monastery of his order at Venice, to change that
 
 " THE HOURS PASSED, AND STILL SHE CAME NOT." 59 
 
 punishment for the duty to which he had been 
 appointed, and which would scarcely have seemed an 
 amelioration of destiny to any one save a man who 
 had for years been deprived of the light of the sun 
 and the scent of the free air. Some deed there had 
 been in that life which had called for such monastic 
 discipline ; some outcome of human passion when 
 the blood, that now crept slowly, while the aged 
 monk passed the hours in waiting for visions before 
 the altar of St. Apollinare, was running in his veins 
 too rapidly for monastic requirements. 
 
 It was evident from the few words that he had 
 let drop, when he became aware who the young 
 Venetian visitor to the church under his care Y\'as, 
 that some special circumstances caused him to feel a 
 more than ordinary interest in her. Some connec- 
 tion there must have been between some portion of 
 his life and that of som.e member or members of her 
 family. Of what nature was it ? Monkish tribunals, 
 however else they may treat those subjected to them, 
 at least keep their secrets: Frailties must be ex- 
 piated ; but they need not be exposed. And the true 
 story of the fault which condemned Father Fabiano 
 to end his days amid the swamps of St. Apollinare, 
 as well as the precise nature of the connection which
 
 60 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 had existed between him and Paolina's parents, can 
 he only matter of conjecture. 
 
 Paolina, as has been said, pursued her path 
 slowly. She had tripped along much more lightly 
 on her way from the city to St. Apollinare. And yet 
 she was urged on by a burning anxiety to know 
 whither Ludovico and Bianca had gone, and for what 
 purpose they had come thither. But, despite this 
 nervous anxiety, she stepped slowly, because her heart 
 disapproved of the course she was taking. It seemed 
 as if she was drawn on towards the forest by some 
 mysterious mechanical force, which she had not the 
 strength to resist. Again and again she had w^ell 
 nigh made up her mind to turn aside from the path 
 she was following. She would go only a few steps 
 further towards the edge of the forest. She looked 
 out eagerly before her, standing on tip -toe on every 
 little bit of vantage ground which the path afforded. 
 She would only go as far as that next bend in the 
 path. But the bend in the path disclosed a stile a 
 little further on, from which surely a view of all the 
 ground between the path she was on and the farm- 
 house at which Ludovico and his companion had 
 descended, might be had. She would go so far and 
 no further. And thus, poor child^ she went on and
 
 " THE HOUES PASSED, AND STILL SHE CAME NOT." 61 
 
 on, long and long after the monk had lost sight of 
 her, and with a deep sigh, had turned to go back 
 again into the church. 
 
 It had been six o'clock when Paolina started on 
 her walk to the church, and nothing had been settled 
 with any accuracy between her and the old friend and 
 protectress, with whom she had come to Ravenna, 
 and lived during her stay there, as to the exact time 
 at which she might be expected to return. The 
 name of the protectress in question was Signora 
 Orsola Steno, an old friend of her mother's, who, 
 when Paolina Foscarelli had been left an orphan, 
 had, for pure charity and friendship's sake, taken the 
 child, and brought her up. Latterly, by the exercise 
 of the talent inherited from her father, Paolina had 
 been able to do something, not only towards meeting 
 her own expenses, but towards making some return 
 for all that the good Orsola had done for her out of 
 her own poverty. And now this commission of the 
 Englishman who had sent her to Ravenna would go 
 far towards improving the prospects of both Paolina 
 and her old friend. 
 
 Old Orsola did not know exactty at what time to 
 expect Paolina back ; but she knew that Paolina's 
 purpose on that Ash- Wednesday morning was merely
 
 62 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 to walk to tlie cliurcli, and, having seen tlie prepara- 
 tions that had been made for her work, to return, 
 without on that occasion remaining to begin her task. 
 So that when the hour of the midday meal arrived, 
 and her young friend had not returned, old Orsola 
 began to be a little uneasy about her. 
 
 Nor was her uneasiness lessened by her entire 
 ignorance as to there being little or much, or no 
 cause at all for it. Never having left Venice before 
 in her life, old Orsola was as much a stranger in _ 
 Ravenna, and felt herself to be in an unknown world, 
 as completely as an Englishman would in Japan. 
 Since she had been in Ravenna she had frequently 
 heard the Pineta spoken of, and the old church out 
 there in which her young friend was to do a portion 
 of her task. But she had heard them both men- 
 tioned as strange and wild places, not exactly like 
 all the rest of the w^orld. And the old woman felt 
 that, for aught she knew, this Pineta, and the old 
 church in the wilderness on the borders of it, might 
 be a place full of dangers for a young girl all by 
 herself. 
 
 And as the hours crept on, and no Paolina came, 
 her uneasiness increased till she felt it impossible 
 to sit quietly at home waiting for her any longer.
 
 •• THE IIOLTiS PASSED, AND STILL SHE CAME NOT." 63 
 
 She must go out, and — do what? The poor old 
 woman did not in the least know what do do ; or of 
 whom to make any inquiry. The only person with 
 whom the two Venetian strangers had become at all 
 intimate in Eavenna was the Marchese Ludovico. 
 And the only step in her difficulty which old Orsola 
 could think of taking, after much doubt and hesita- 
 tion, was to go to the Palazzo Castelmare, and 
 endeavour to speak with the Marchesino. The letter 
 of introduction, which they had brought from the 
 English, patron, was addressed to the Marchese 
 Lamberto. But the acquaintance of the Venetians 
 with him had remained very slight ; and Orsola felt 
 so much awe of so grand and reverend a Signer, 
 that it was to the nephew only that she thought of 
 applying. 
 
 So, not without much doubt and misgiving, the 
 old woman put on her bonnet and cloak and made 
 the best of her way to the Castelmare palace. There 
 she found a porter lounging before the door, to whom 
 she made her petition to be allowed to speak to the 
 Signer Marchese Ludovico. 
 
 " My name is Orsola Steno," said the old woman 
 humbly, a little in awe of the majestic porter, chosen 
 for that situation for his size ; ^' and the Signor
 
 64 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 Marcliesino knows me very well. I am sure lie 
 would not refuse to see me." 
 
 Insolent servants in a great house are generally 
 a sure symptom of something amiss in the moral 
 nature of their masters. Good and kindly masters 
 have and make civil and kindly servants ; and the 
 big porter of the palazzo Castelmare was accordingly 
 by no means a terrible personage. 
 
 " Signora Orsola Steno! To be sure. I remem- 
 ber you very well, Signora, when you called on the 
 padrone last summer. I am sure the Signer Mar- 
 chesino would have pleasure in seeing you, if he were 
 at home. But he is not here. And to tell you the 
 truth, we have no idea where he is. He came home 
 early this morning after the ball, and instead of 
 going to bed, changed his dress, and went out again 
 at once ; and has not been back since. Some devilry 
 or other ! Che vuole ! We were all young once 
 upon a time, eh, Signora Orsola? And as for the 
 Marchesino, he is as good a gentleman as any in 
 Ravenna or out of it, for that matter. But he is 
 young, Signora, he is young! And that's all the 
 fault he has. Can I give him any message for you, 
 Signora?" 
 
 " The fact is," said old Orsola, after a few
 
 •' THE HOUKS PASSED, AND STILL SHE CAME NOT." 65 
 
 moments of rapid reflection as to the expediency of 
 telling lier trouble to the porter, and a decision 
 prompted by the good-natured manner of the man, 
 and by the poor woman's extreme need of some one 
 to tell her trouble to, — " the fact is, that I wanted to 
 ask the advice of the Signer Marchesino about a 
 young friend of mine, the Signora Paolina Foscarelli, 
 who went out of the city early this morning to go to 
 St. Apollinare in Classe, and ought to have been 
 back hours ago. And I am quite uneasy about 
 her." 
 
 " Why, your trouble, Signora, is of a piece with 
 our own," said the porter, with a burly laugh ; " and 
 it seems to me like enough we can help each other. 
 You miss a young lady ; and we miss a young 
 gentleman. When I used to go out into the marshes 
 a-shooting with the Marchese, we used to be sure, 
 when we had put up the cock bird, that the hen was 
 not far off ; or, if we got the hen, we knew we had 
 not far to look for the cock. Do you see, Signora ? 
 Two to one the pair of runaways are together ; and 
 they'll come home safe enough when they've had 
 their fun out. I dare say the Signer Marchesino 
 and the Signorina you speak of are old friends ? " 
 
 '' Why, yes, Signore. For that matter they are 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 6Q ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 — old friends ! " replied Orsola, adopting the porter's 
 phrase for want of one which could express the 
 meaning she had in her mind more desirably. 
 
 " To be sure — to be sure. And if you will take 
 my advice, Signora, you will go home, and give 
 yourself no trouble at all about the young lady. 
 Lord bless us ! what though 'tis Lenten-tide ? 
 Young folks will be young, Signora Orsola. They'll 
 come home safe enough. And maybe I might as 
 well say nothing to the Signer Marchesino about 
 your coming here, you know. When folks have 
 come to that time of life, Signora, as brings sense 
 with it, they mostly learn that least said is soonest 
 mended," said the old porter, with a nod of deep 
 meaning. 
 
 And Signora Orsola was fain to take the porter's 
 advice, so far as returning to her home went. But 
 it was not equally easy to give herself no further 
 trouble about Paolina. It might be as the porter 
 said ; and if she could have been sure that it was so 
 the old lady would have been perfectly easy. But it 
 was not at all like Paolina to have planned such an 
 escapade without telling her old friend anything 
 about it. She felt sure that when Paolina said she 
 was going to St. Apollinare to look after the pre-
 
 " THE HOURS PASSED, AND STILL SHE CAME NOT." 67 
 
 jDarations for her copying there, she had no other or 
 further intention in her thoughts. To he sure there 
 was the possibility that Ludovico might have known 
 her purpose of going thither, and might have planned 
 to accompany her on her expedition, without having 
 apprized her of any such scheme. And it might not 
 he unlikely that in such a case they had been tempted 
 to spend a few hours in the Pineta. And with these 
 possibilities Signora Steno was obliged to tranquillize 
 herself as she best might. 
 
 She returned home not without some hope that 
 she might find that Paolina had returned during her 
 absence ; but such was not the case — Paolina was 
 still absent. And though it was now some eight or 
 nine hours from the time she had left home, old 
 Orsola had nothing for it but to wait for tidings of 
 her as patiently as she could.
 
 68 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 GIGIA'S OPINION. 
 
 The aged monk of St. Apollinare, after watching 
 Paolina as she departed from the BasiHca, and took 
 the path towards the forest, returned into the church 
 to his devotions at the altar of the saint, as has been 
 said. But he found himself unable to concentrate 
 his attention as usual, not on the meaning of the 
 words of the litanies he uttered, — that, it may be 
 imagined, few such worshippers do, or even attempt 
 to do, — but on such devotional thoughts as, on other 
 occasions, constituted his mental attitude during the 
 hours he spent before the altar. 
 
 He could not prevent his mind from straying to 
 thoughts of the girl who had just left him ; of certain 
 long-sleeping recollections of his own past, which 
 her name had recalled to him ; of her very manifest 
 emotion at the sight of the couple in the bagarino, 
 and the too easy interpretation of the meaning of 
 that emotion ; and specially of her implied intention 
 of taking the same route that they had taken.
 
 GIGIA'S OPINION. 69 
 
 He tbouglit of tliese things, and a certain sense 
 of uneasiness and misgiving came over him. The 
 3'oung artist had spoken kindly and sweetly to him. 
 She had seemed to him wonderfully pretty, — and 
 that is not without its influence even on eyes over 
 which the cowl had been drawn for more than three- 
 score years ; she was a fellow- Venetian too, — and 
 that with Italians, who find themselves in a stranger 
 city, is a stronger tie of fellowship than the people 
 of less divided nations can readily appreciate ; and, 
 above all, there were motives connected with those 
 awakened remembrances of the old man which made 
 her an object of interest to him. And the result of 
 all this was, that he was uneasy at seeing her depart 
 on the errand on which he suspected that she had 
 gone. 
 
 After awhile he arose from his knees, and, 
 returning to the great open door of the church, stood 
 awhile irresolutely gazing out towards the forest to 
 the southward. He could not see the farmhouse, 
 which has been so frequently mentioned, from where 
 he stood, because it is to the eastward of the church. 
 After awhile he strolled out and along the road, 
 till he came in sight of the house on the border 
 of the forest. But there was no human being
 
 70 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 to be seen. Then, apparently having taken a reso- 
 lution, he went into the dilapidated remains of the 
 old convent, and ascended a stair to the room where 
 his sole companion, the lay brother, was ill in bed. 
 He gave the sick man a potion, placed a cup vvith 
 drink by his side, smoothed his pillow, and replaced 
 a crucifix at the bed-foot before the patient's eyes; 
 and then, with a word of consolation, descended 
 again to the road, and after another long look towards 
 the forest, slowly moved off towards the nearest 
 border of it. 
 
 It was between eight and nine when Father 
 Fabiano, moving slowly and irresolutely, thus saun- 
 tered off in the direction of the forest; but it was 
 nearly time for him to sound the " Angelus " at mid- 
 day before he returned. 
 
 Perhaps it was the fear that he might be late for 
 this duty, — a task which devolved on him, the lay 
 brother being ill, — that made his steps, as he re- 
 turned, very different from those with which he 
 had set forth. He came back hurrying, with a 
 haggard, wild terror in his eyes, shaking in every 
 limb, and with great drops of perspiration standing 
 on his brow. One would have said that all this 
 evident perturbation could not be caused only by the
 
 GIGIA'S OPINION. 71 
 
 fear of being late to ring the " Angelus." His first 
 care, however, was to pay another visit to his 
 patient. 
 
 " Ah ! Padre, you are going to have your turn 
 again. It is early this year. All this wet weather. 
 Why, your hand is shaking worse than mine ! " said 
 the sick man, as the old monk handed him his 
 draught. 
 
 And it was true enough that not only Father 
 Fahiano's hands were shaking, but he was, indeed, 
 trembling all over ; and any one but a sick man, 
 Ijing as the fevered lay-brother was lying, could not 
 have failed to see that it was from mental agitation, 
 rather than from the shivering of incipient ague, that 
 he was suffering. 
 
 " You think of getting well yourself, brother 
 Simone. I have not got the fever yet," said the 
 monk, making an effort to control himself and speak 
 in his ordinary manner. 
 
 '• May the saints grant that your reverence do not 
 fall ill before I am able to get up, or I don't know 
 what we should do." 
 
 "It is years, brother Simone, that make my 
 hand shake, more than ague this time, — years, and 
 many a former touch of the fever. I am not ill
 
 72 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 this time yet. And now I must go and ring the 
 ' Angelus.' " 
 
 And the old monk did go, and the *' Angelus'* 
 was duly rung. But Brother Simone, as he lay upon 
 his fevered hed, was very well able to tell that the rope 
 was pulled by a very uncertain and unsteady hand. 
 
 ''Poor old fellow! he's going fast! I wonder 
 whether there's any chance of their moving me when 
 he's gone ?" thought Brother Simone to himself. 
 
 But Father Fabiano, for his own part, judged 
 that prayer and penance were more needed for the 
 healing of his present disorder, than either bark or 
 quinine. And when he had rung the bell, he betook 
 himself again to the altar of St. Apollinare, and with 
 cowl drawn over his head, and frequent prostrations 
 till his forehead touched the marble flags of the altar- 
 step, spent before it most of the remaining hours of 
 that day. Nevertheless, it was true that, be the cause 
 what it might, the aged friar was ill, not in mind 
 only, but also in the body. And before the hour of 
 evensong came, — ^his coadjutor, Fra Simone, the lay- 
 brother, being by that time so much better as to be 
 able to crawl out, — Father Fabiano was fain to 
 stretch himself on the pallet in his cell. And Fra 
 Simone took it quite as a matter of course in the
 
 GIGIA'S OPINION. 73 
 
 ordinary order of things, that the father was laid up 
 in his turn with an attack of fever and ague. 
 
 It was much about the same time that Father 
 Fabiano had set out on that walk to the forest, from 
 which he had returned in such a state of agitation, 
 that old Quinto Lalli, the prima donna's travelling 
 companion, was made acquainted with the escax>acle 
 of his adopted daughter. Though she bore his name, 
 the fact was that the old man was in no way related 
 to the famous singer. But they had lived together 
 in the relationship first of teacher and pupil, and 
 then of father and daughter, by mutual adoption 
 ever since the first beginning of the singer's public 
 career ; and they mutually represented to each other 
 the only family ties which either of them knew 
 or recognized in the world. The old man had been 
 several hours in bed, when Bianca had returned from 
 the ball, at about five in the morning of that Ash- 
 Wednesday. And it was not till he came from his 
 room, between eight and nine, that he heard from 
 Gigia, Bianca's maid, that her mistress had not gone 
 to bed, but had only changed her dress, and taken a 
 cup of coffee before going out with the Marchese 
 Ludovico more than an hour ago in a hagarino. 
 
 There was nothing sufficiently strange to the
 
 74 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 former habits of liis adopted daughter in such an 
 escapade, or so unlike to many another frolic of the 
 brilliant Diva in former days, as to cause any very 
 great surprise to the old singing-master — for such 
 had been the original vocation of Signer Lalli. Yet 
 he seemed on this occasion to be not a little annoyed 
 at what she had done. 
 
 **And a very great fool she is for her pains," 
 cried the old man, with an oath ; " it is just the last 
 thing she ought to have done — the very last. I 
 really thought she had more sense ! " 
 
 " I am sure. Signer Quinto, she has not had one 
 bit of pleasure all this Carnival. A nun couldn't 
 have lived a quieter life, nor more shut up than she 
 has. With the exception of the old gentleman and 
 the Marchese Ludovico, she has never seen a soul !" 
 
 The old gentleman thus alluded to, it may be 
 necessary to explain, was the Marchese Lamberto. 
 
 " And where's the use of never seeing a single 
 soul, if she throws all that she has gained by it away 
 in this manner?" 
 
 " Why, Santa Virgine, Signer Quinto ! Where's 
 the harm ? Isn't the Signer Ludovico the old one's 
 own nephew ?" expostulated Gigia shrilly. 
 
 " The old one, as you call him, is not a bit the
 
 GIGIA'S OPINION. 75 
 
 more likely to like it for that. It is just the very 
 last thing she should have done. I do wonder she 
 should not have more sense," grumbled Quinto. 
 
 " Misericordia ! why what a piece of work about 
 nothing ! The old gentleman will never know any- 
 thing about it, you may be very sure. He is safe 
 enough in bed and asleep after his late hours, you 
 may swear. Besides, it's both best and honestest to 
 begin as jou mean to go on, and accustom him to 
 what he's got to expect," said Grigia, fighting loyally 
 for her side. 
 
 " All very well in good time. But it would be as 
 well for Bianca to make sure first what she has got to 
 expect." 
 
 "Why, 3^ou don't suppose, Signor Quinto, nor 
 yet that old Marchese don't suppose, I should think, 
 that he's going to marry a woman like my mistress, 
 to keep her caged up like a bird that's never to sing, 
 except for him?" 
 
 '*! tell you, Gigia, and jou would do well to 
 tell her, and make her understand, that she is not 
 Marchesa di Castelmare yet, and is not likely to be, 
 if this morning's work were to come to the ears of 
 the Marchese. It is just the very worst thing she 
 could have done; and I should have thought she
 
 76 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 must know that. I had rather that she should have 
 gone with any other man in the town." 
 
 " I am sure," said Gigia, with a virtuous toss of 
 the head, " she would not wish to go with any one of 
 them." 
 
 " And she ivoulcl wish to go with the Marchese 
 Ludovico ! There's all the mischief. Just what 
 I am afraid of. I tell you, Gigia, that if the Mar- 
 chese Lamberto hears of her going off in this manner 
 with his nephew, the game is all up. He would 
 never forgive it." 
 
 " You will excuse me, Signor Quinto," said Gigia, 
 with a demure air of speaking modestly on a subject 
 which she perfectly well understood — " You will 
 excuse me, if I tell you that I know a great deal 
 better than that. There's men, Signor Quinto, who 
 are in love because they like it ; and there's others 
 who are in love whether they like it or no, because 
 they can't help themselves ! " 
 
 "And you fancy the Marchese Lamberto is one 
 of those who can't help himself, eh?" grumbled 
 Quinto discontentedly. 
 
 " If I ever saw a man who was so limed that he 
 couldn't help himself, it's that poor creature of a 
 Marchese ! He's caught safe enough, you may take
 
 GIGIA'S OPINION. 77 
 
 my word for that, Signor Quinto. He's caught, and 
 can't budge, I tell you — hand nor foot, body nor 
 soul ! Lord bless jou, I know 'em. Why, do 
 you think he'd ever have come near my mistress 
 a second time if he could have helped himself ? 
 He's not like your j'oung 'uns, who come to amuse 
 themselves. Likely enough, he'd give half of all 
 he's worth this day never to have set eyes on her ; 
 but, as for giving her up, he could as soon give 
 himself up ! " 
 
 " Humph ! " grunted the old singer, with a shrug, 
 and a sound that was half a sneer and half a chuckle. 
 " I suppose he don't above half like the price he has 
 to pay for his plaything ! But that don't make it 
 wise in Bianca to drive him to the wall more than 
 need be. Limed and caught as he is, he's one that 
 may give her some trouble yet. For my part, I wish 
 she had not gone on this fool's errand this morning. 
 Now, I will go and get my breakfast. I shall be back 
 in half-an-hour. I expect Signor Ercole Stadione 
 here this morning." 
 
 Signor Ercole Stadione was the impresario of the 
 Ravenna theatre. 
 
 " And if he comes before you are back, Signor 
 Quinto?" asked Gigia.
 
 78 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 " If he should come before I am back, let the boy 
 call me from the cafe. And, Gigia, whenever he 
 comes, you can let him understand, you know, that 
 your mistress is in her own room, — resting after 
 the ball, you know. He's hand and glove with the 
 Marchese." 
 
 " I wasn't born yesterday, Signor Quinto, though 
 you seem to think so," returned Gigia, as the old 
 man began to descend the stairs. 
 
 Signor Quinto went to the cafe, and consumed his 
 little cup of black coffee, with its abominable potion 
 of so-called "rhum" in it, and the morsel of dry 
 bread, which constituted his accustomed breakfast; 
 and then, as he was returning to his lodging, encoun- 
 tered the " impresario " in the street. 
 
 "Well met, Signor Lalli!" cried little Signor 
 Ercole, cheerily. " I was on my way to your house 
 to settle our little matters. I have not seen you, I 
 think, since Sunday night. The bustle of these last 
 days of the Carnival ! How divinely she sang that 
 night ! If Bellini could have heard her, it would 
 have been the happiest day of his life." 
 
 "I am glad that you were contented, Signor 
 Ercole." 
 
 " Contented ! The whole city was enraptured.
 
 GIGIA'S OPINION. 79 
 
 There never was such a success. You have got that 
 little memorandum of articles ? " 
 
 *' No. I've got the paper signed at Milan ; but 
 not " 
 
 " Stay, let me see. True, true. I remember 
 now. It remained with the Marchese. We shall 
 want it, you know, just to put all in order. We can 
 call at the Palazzo Castelmare on our v\'ay, and ask 
 the Marchese for it ? " 
 
 " Will he be up at this hour, after last night's 
 ball ? " asked Quinto. 
 
 " He ? The Marchese ? One sees you are a 
 stranger in Ravenna, my dear sir. I don't suppose 
 the Marchese has ever been in bed after eight o'clock 
 for the last quarter of a century. He is an early 
 man, the Marchese, — an example to us all in that, as 
 in all else." 
 
 " Very well ; then we can call for the paper on 
 our way to my lodging ; it is not much out of the 
 way." 
 
 So they walked together to the Palazzo Castel- 
 mare, talking of the brilliant success of the past 
 theatrical season, and of the eminent qualities and 
 virtues of the Marchese Lamberto; and when they 
 reached the door the imjyresario desired the servant
 
 80 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 who answered the bell to tell the Marchese that he, 
 Signer Ercole, wished to speak with him, but would 
 not detain him a moment. 
 
 The Marchese, the man said, was not up yet. 
 He, the servant, had been to his door at the usual 
 hour, but had received no answer to his knock ; so 
 that it was evident that his master was still sleeping. 
 He had been very late the night before, — far later 
 than was usual with him, — and no doubt he would 
 ring his bell as soon as he waked. 
 
 *' The fact is," said Signer Ercole, as he and 
 Quinto Lalli turned away from the door, " that the 
 Marchese has not been well of late. He very often 
 does me the honour of conversing with me, — I may 
 say indeed of consulting me on subjects of art, — and 
 I grieve to say that I have of late observed a change 
 in him. He is not like the same man." 
 
 *' Getting old, I suppose, like the rest of us," 
 said Quinto. 
 
 " Like some of us," corrected Signer Ercole ; 
 " but. Lord bless you ! the Marchese is a young man 
 — a young man, so to speak, — he's not above fifty, 
 and a very young man of his years ; — at least he was 
 so a month or two ago. But changed he is. 
 Everybody has seen it. Let us hope that it is
 
 GIGLVS OPINION. 81 
 
 merely some temporary indisposition. Kavenna 
 can't afford to lose the Marchese." 
 
 " I suppose we had better put off seeing our 
 little bit of business till another time ?" said Quinto. 
 
 " Shall we say to-morrow, at the same hour ? 
 And I will get that paper from the Marchese in the 
 meantime," returned Signer Ercole. 
 
 ■ "That will suit me perfectly well; to-morrow, 
 then, at my lodgings at ten, shall we say ?" 
 
 " At ten ; I wdll not fail to wait upon you, Signer 
 Lalli, at that hour. In the meantime I beg you to 
 present my most distinguished homage to the d'lvina 
 Cantatrice,'' said the little impresario, taking off 
 his hat and holding it at arm's length above his 
 head, as he made a very magnificent bow. 
 
 " Servitor e suo, stimatissiino Signor Ercole ! A 
 dimane!'' replied old Quinto, as he returned the 
 impresario's salutation, with a slighter and less pro- 
 vincial bow. 
 
 " A dimane alle dieci! " rejoined the impresario ; 
 and so the two men parted. 
 
 " Not a bad bit of luck," thought the old sing- 
 ing master to himself, as he sauntered towards his 
 lodging, ''that the Marchese should be in bed this 
 morning. It gives a chance that he may never hear 
 
 VOL I. 6
 
 82 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 of this mad scapjmta with the Signor Ludovico. 
 Lose the Marchese Lamberto ! No, per Bacco ! 
 there are other people, beside the good folks of the 
 city of Eavenna, who can't afford to lose the Mar- 
 chese Lamberto just yet ! "
 
 ( 83 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AN ATTORNEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 
 
 At a little after twelve o'clock on that same Ash- 
 Wednesday morning, a servant in the Castelmare 
 livery brought a verbal message to the *^ studio " of 
 Signor Giovacchino Fortini, '' procuratore," — attorney- 
 at-law, as we should say, — requesting that gentleman 
 to step as far as the Palazzo Castelmare, as the 
 Marchese would be glad to speak with him. 
 
 The message was not one calculated to excite any 
 surprise either in the servant who carried it, or in 
 Signor Fortini himself. Signor Giovacchino was, 
 and had been for many years, the confidential 
 lawyer of the Castelmare family. And the various 
 business connected with large landed possessions 
 made frequent conferences necessary between the 
 lawyer and such a client as the Marchese, who, among 
 his other activities, had always been active in the 
 management and care of his estates. 
 
 Signor Giovacchino Fortini was very decidedly
 
 84 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 the first man of his profession in Kavenna, as indeed 
 might be expected of the person who had been 
 honoured for more than one generation by the con- 
 fidence of the Castelmare family. For the lawyer 
 was a much older man than the Marchese, and had 
 been the confidential adviser of his father. And old 
 Giovacchino Fortini's father and grandfather had sat 
 in the same " studio " before him, and had held the 
 same position towards preyious generations of the 
 Castelmare family. 
 
 For three generations also the Fortini, grand- 
 father, father, and son, had been lawyers to the 
 Chapter of Eavenna ; a fact which vouched the very 
 high standing and consideration they held in the 
 city, and at the same time explained the circum- 
 stances under which it had come to pass that the 
 *' studio " they had occupied for so many years, 
 seemed more like some public building than the 
 private of&ces of a provincial attorney. 
 
 In fact the " Studio Fortini " was a portion of an 
 ancient building attached to the Cathedral, in which 
 some of the less dignified members of the Chapter 
 had their residences. The building in question 
 encircled a small cloistered court, the soil of which 
 was on a lower level than that of the street outside
 
 AN ATTORNEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 85 
 
 it ; and tlie residences, to wliicli a series of little 
 doors around this cloister gave access, looked as if 
 they must have been miserably damp and umyhole- 
 some. But the '' Studio Fortini " ^Yas not situated 
 in any part of this damp lower floor. In the corner 
 of the cloister nearest to the Cathedral, there was a 
 wide and picturesque old stone staircase, which led 
 to an upper cloister, as sunny and pleasant looking 
 as the lower one was the reverse. There, near the 
 head of the stair, was a round arched deeply sunk 
 stone doorway, closed by a black door, bearing a 
 bright brass plate on it, conveying the information, 
 altogether superfluous to every man, woman, and 
 child in Eavenna, that there was situated the 
 "Studio Fortini." 
 
 This black door was never quite closed during 
 the day. It admitted anybody who chose to push it 
 into a small ante-room, on one side of which might 
 be seen through a glass door a long low vaulted room, 
 or gallery rather, running over some half dozen of 
 the inhabited cells below. And along the whole 
 length of it on either side, up to the height of the 
 small round arched windows placed high up in the 
 wall, were ranges of shelves occupied by many 
 hundreds of volumes, all of the same size, and all
 
 86 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 bound alike in parchment, with two red bands of 
 Russian leather running across the backs of them, 
 and all lettered and dated in black ink, of gradually 
 shaded degrees of fadedness. The place looked like 
 the archive-room of some public establishment, which 
 kept its archives in very unusually good order. 
 
 All these were the documents and pleadings in 
 all the lawsuits and other legal transactions of all 
 the clients of the three generations of the Fortini. 
 And it would not have been too much to say, that 
 Signer Giovacchino Fortini would have deemed the 
 destruction of this mass of papers as a misfortune 
 to be paralleled only by that of the Alexandrian 
 library. 
 
 On the opposite side to the long gallery the ante- 
 room gave access to a large and lofty vaulted chamber, 
 about one-sixth part of the space of which — that is, 
 a third of the floor and a half of the height — was 
 partitioned off by a slight modern wall and ceiling. 
 Two young clerks occupied the larger unenclosed 
 portion of the large hall, — for such its size entitled it 
 to be called, — and Signer Fortini's senior and con- 
 fidential clerk sat on the top of the ceiling, which 
 enclosed the smaller portion. A small wooden stair 
 gave access to this lofty position, which was admirably
 
 AN ATTOENEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 87 
 
 adapted for keeping an eye on the youngsters on the 
 iloor below. Under the same ceihng, in the snug 
 little room thus divided ofl*, sat Signer Fortini him- 
 self. And a very snug and bright-looking little room 
 it was, with a pretty stone-mullioned three-lighted 
 casement window opening to the south ; and in the 
 wall at right angles to it another window, offering 
 accommodation of a much more unusual and peculiar 
 kind. It opened, in fact, into the transept of the 
 cathedral, and had been intended to enable the 
 occupier or occupiers of the apartment, now inhabited 
 by the la"u^er, to enjoy the benefit of attending mass 
 without the trouble of descending into the church 
 for that purpose. If Signer Giovacchino Fortini did 
 not often use it for that purpose, it, at all events, 
 had the effect of imparting an ecclesiastical air to his 
 hahitat, which seemed to have a certain propriety in 
 the case of a gentleman whose business connections 
 with the hierarchy were so close, and unquestionably 
 added to the savour of unimpeachable respectability 
 which appertained to Signer Fortini and all belonging 
 to him. 
 
 Signer Fortini was a tall, thin, adust old man, 
 with a large, well-developed forehead, a keen, bright 
 hazel eye, and bristling, iron-grey hair, which had
 
 88 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING-. 
 
 once been black, and a beard to match, which seemed 
 as if the barber entrusted with the care of it were 
 always two or three days in arrear with his work. 
 By some incomprehensible combination of circum- 
 stances it seemed as if Signor Fortini's face were 
 never seen fresh shaven. His sharp chin and lan- 
 thorn jaws appeared to be perennially clothed with 
 a two days' old crop of grisly stubble, — two days' 
 growth, — neither more nor less ! 
 
 Long years ago he had buried a childless wife, 
 who was said to have been a wonderful beauty, and 
 to have been in many ways a trouble greater than 
 Signor Fortini knew how to manage, and a trial that 
 made his life a burthen to him. Those old troubles 
 were now, however, long since past and gone; and 
 Signor Fortini lived only for his law and his artistic 
 and antiquarian collections. He was like many of 
 his peers in the provincial cities of the Papal 
 dominions — a great antiquary and virtuoso. Anti- 
 quarianism is a "safe" pursuit under a government 
 the nature of which makes and finds very many 
 intellectual occupations unsafe. And this may 
 account for the fact, that very many competent 
 historical antiquaries and collectors are found in the 
 Pope's territories among such men as Signor Fortini.
 
 AN ATTOKNEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 89 
 
 The son and grandson of thriving lawyers, who 
 had for nearly an hundred years managed the affairs 
 of the Chapter and the estates of the principal landed 
 proprietors of the neighbourhood, was not likely to 
 be otherwise than well off"; and it was generally 
 understood that Signor Fortini was a wealthy man. 
 He loudly protested on all occasions that this was a 
 most mistaken notion ; but there never occurred an 
 opportunity of adding to his very remarkable col- 
 lection of drawings of the old masters, or his 
 unrivalled series of mediajval seals, or his all but 
 perfect library of the Municipal Statutes of the 
 mediaeval Communes of Italy, which found Signor 
 Fortini unprepared to outbid most competitors. 
 
 There were very few among his clients whom 
 Signor Fortini would not have expected to call on 
 him at his '' studio," instead of summoning him to 
 wait on them. But the Marchese di Castelmare was 
 one of these few, — perhaps as much, or more, on the 
 score of old friendship as on that of rank and social 
 importance. 
 
 The old lawyer was not more importantly occupied 
 when he received the Marchese's message, than by 
 intently examining a bronze medal through a mag- 
 uifying-glass ; and he sent back word that he would
 
 90 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 be with tlie Marchese immediate^. The fact was 
 he did not like the look of this summons at all. 
 He, too, had observed the unmistakable change in 
 his old friend ; and jumped to the conclusion that 
 what he was wanted for was to make, or to be con- 
 sulted about making, the Marchese's will. 
 
 " To think of his breaking up so suddenly, in 
 such a way as this. No stamina ! Why, he must 
 be twenty years my junior ; and I don't feel a day 
 older than I did ten years ago, not a day. He has 
 led a steady life too ; and seemed as likely a man to . 
 last as one would wish to look at. I suppose every- 
 thing will go to the nephew, — legacies to servants, 
 and something, I should not wonder, to the town 
 hospital, — not that I think he can have saved much, 
 if any thing. I should like that little cabinet Guido 
 and I don't suppose Signor Ludovico would care a 
 rush about it." 
 
 With these thoughts in his mind Signor Forfini 
 presented himself at the door of the Castelmare 
 palace within ten minutes of the time when he had 
 received the summons of the Marchese, and was 
 immediately ushered into the library. 
 
 A bright ray of sunshine was streaming in at the 
 large window, and flooding half the room with its
 
 AN ATTORNEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 91 
 
 comfortable warmth and cheerful light. But the 
 MarchesG, though he held a scaldino (a little earthen- 
 ware pot filled with burning braise) in his hand, and 
 was apparently shivering with cold, sat in his large 
 library-chair, drawn into the darkest corner of the 
 room, cowering over this scaldino, which he held 
 between his knees. He jumped up from his seat, 
 however, to receive his visitor with an air, one 
 would have said, of having been startled by his 
 entrance. 
 
 *' It is kind of you to come to me so quickly, 
 Signer Giovacchino," he said ; and then turning 
 angi'ily to the servant, who w^as leaving the room, 
 added in a cross and irritable voice, very unlike his 
 usual manner, " Why are not those i^ersiane shut ? 
 Close them directly, and then begone — quick ! " 
 
 The man, with a startled look, did as he was bid ; 
 and the heavy wooden jalousies thus shut reduced 
 the room to comparative darkness. 
 
 "I am afraid I find you very far from well, 
 Signer Marchese. Would not a little sun be pleasant 
 this bright morning? the air is quite fresh despite 
 the sunshine." 
 
 " I don't like the sun indoors ! I don't know 
 how my rascals came to leave ilie, i^ersiane open."
 
 92 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 '' I thought you seemed cold, Signor Marchese," 
 said the la^vvj^er, kindly 
 
 " So I am cold — very cold," he said, and his 
 teeth chattered as he said it; ''but the light hurts 
 my eyes." 
 
 *' It very often does so when one is not well." 
 
 *' Not well ! I'm well enough, man alive. But I 
 think I must have caught a little cold at the ball last 
 night," rejoined the Marchese, striving hard to speak 
 in his usual manner. 
 
 The lawyer, whose eyes had by this time become 
 accustomed to the diminished light, looked hard at 
 his old friend from beneath his great shaggy black 
 eyebrows, with a shrewdly examining glance, and 
 then slightly shook his head. 
 
 "Well, I daresay you'll be all right again in a 
 day or two. But any way, I am glad you sent for 
 me all the same. These things have to be done, you 
 know. And a man does not die a bit the sooner for 
 doing them. For my part, I always advise my 
 friends to have all such matters settled while they 
 are in health." 
 
 " What, in Heaven's name, are you talking 
 about ? I don't know what you mean," said the 
 Marchese, with an angTy irritability that was totally
 
 AN ATTORNEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 93 
 
 unlike his usual manner. I sent for the lawyer ; 
 and you come and talk to me as if you wanted to 
 play the doctor." 
 
 '^ I assure you, Signor Marchese, I have not the 
 slightest desire to play any part but my own. And 
 that I am perfectly ready to enter on. I am ready to 
 take your instructions, and will draw up the instru- 
 ment to-morrow or the next day. Thank God there 
 is no cause for hurry. And that is one of the advan- 
 tages of arranging all testamentary dispositions 
 while we are in health. My own will, Signor 
 Marchese, has been made these ten years." 
 
 *' What is that to me ? I may make my will ten 
 years hence, and yet get it done in quite as good 
 time as you have, Signor Fortini. Pray allow me to 
 judge for myself, w^hen I think it right to make my 
 will. I have usually been able to manage my own 
 affairs." 
 
 He spoke with a degree of anger and petulance, 
 jumping up from his chair, and taking a turn to the 
 window and back again, which seemed to conquer the 
 shivering fit from which he had been suffering. 
 
 " Manage your own affairs, Signor Marchese ! 
 Who would dream of interfering with your manage- 
 ment of them ? But did you not send for me to
 
 94 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 make your will ? " said the lawyer, standing 
 also. 
 
 " Send for you to make my will ! No. Who 
 the devil told you I wanted to make my will ? I said 
 nothing about making my will." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Signor Marchese. Perhaps 
 I jumped at a conclusion over hastily. I thought it 
 a wise thing to do, and so imagined that you were 
 going to do it ; — that's all. Let us say no more 
 about it. What commands have you then to give 
 me?" 
 
 The Marchese took another turn across the room 
 before replying ; and the observant lawyer saw him, 
 when his back was turned, pass his hand across his 
 brow, with the action of one ill at ease. Then re- 
 suming his seat, and motioning the lawyer to take a 
 chair, he said : — 
 
 *' If you will take a chair, Signor Giovacchino, I 
 will tell you the business for which I have sent for 
 you. I have thought it my duty — family considera- 
 tions — in fact, I've been thinking on the subject for 
 a long time — in short, Signor Fortini, I am about to 
 be married." 
 
 " Whew — w— w ! " whistled the lawyer, without 
 the least attempt at concealing the extremity of his
 
 AN ATTOKNEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 95 
 
 astonisliment ; and pushing back his chair a couple 
 of feet, as he raised his head to stare into his com- 
 panion's face. 
 
 " And pray, Signor, what is there to be astonished 
 at in such an intention?" said the Marchese, 
 evidently wincing under the lawyer's look. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Signor Marchese, but — the 
 fact is — one is always astonished at what one does 
 not expect, you know. You may depend on it, I 
 am not one bit more astonished than every human 
 being in Eavenna will be," said the lawyer, looking 
 hard at him. 
 
 '^I am not aware, Signor Fortini, that I have 
 to answer to any one save myself for the wisdom 
 of my resolution," said the Marchese, with a dig- 
 nity more like his usual manner than he had yet 
 spoken. 
 
 " Certainly not, Signor Marchese. Certainly 
 not. But the exception is an important one. You 
 7rill have to answer for the wisdom of your resolu- 
 tion to yourself," rejoined Fortini, drily. 
 
 " That, Signor Fortini, is my affair. As I told 
 you, I have considered the matter well ; and I have 
 made up my mind." 
 
 "May I ask, Signor Marchese, whether your
 
 96 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 intention has been communicated to your nephew ? " 
 asked the lawyer. 
 
 " As yet I have announced it to no one save 
 yourself. As soon as the necessary arrangements 
 with regard to matters of property have been 
 determined on, it will be the fitting time to 
 do so." 
 
 "Before any word can be said on that head, of 
 course, it is necessary that your lordship should 
 mention, what you have not yet confided to me, — 
 the name of the lady with whom you are about to 
 ally yourself." 
 
 " Of course ; and it is for the purpose of doing so 
 that I have requested your presence here this 
 morning, Signor Fortini. Before naming the lady, 
 I will merely remark to you, that a man at my time 
 of life may be expected to know his own mind, and 
 has a right to please himself. And bearing these 
 remarks in mind, you will understand that I do not 
 wish to hear any observations on the subject of the 
 choice I have made. My choice is made ; and that 
 is sufficient." 
 
 The Marchese looked up into the lawyer's face, 
 and paused for some reply to these preliminary 
 observations before proceeding to tell his secret ; but
 
 AN ATTOKNEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 97 
 
 the lawyer maintained a look and attitude of silent 
 expectation. 
 
 ''It is my intention," proceeded the Marchese, 
 " to marry the Signora Bianca Lalli ; — the lady 
 whose conduct, as well as her talent, has won the 
 good opinion of the entire city." 
 
 The old lawyer flung down on the table, with 
 a clatter, a paper-knife which he had taken into 
 his hand while speaking, and rising abruptly from 
 his chair, took one or two turns across the room 
 before he answered a word. Then coming in front 
 of the Marchese, and still continuing to stand, he 
 said, — 
 
 " You have warned me, Signer Marchese, not to 
 make any remarks on the communication you have 
 just made to me. There is one, however, which 
 perforce I must make. It is that I must decline to 
 take any instructions, or to act in any way, for the 
 forwarding of such a purpose." 
 
 " There are other attorneys in Ravenna, Signor 
 Fortini." 
 
 "Plenty, Signor Marchese; plenty who will be 
 
 abundantly ready to do your bidding. But 
 
 Giovacchino Fortini will not. Good heaven ! I 
 
 should expect to have my dear and honoured 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 old friend and patron, your father, coming out of his 
 grave to uj^braid me. Signor Marchese, you know 
 right well — as well as I do myself — that at this time 
 of day, I don't care two straws, as a mere matter of 
 gain, whether I continue to be honoured with the 
 transaction of your legal affairs or not. But I do 
 care on other grounds. And I do implore you to 
 believe that I am speaking to you more as a friend 
 than as a lav»^yer ; — that I am speaking to you as the 
 wdiole city would speak, and will speak when it hears 
 of this — this incredible — this monstrous notion, — 
 when I entreat you to think yet further on this 
 most disastrous purpose." 
 
 Of course when a man speaks as Signor Fortini 
 spoke to the Marchese, he does it not without some 
 hope that his words may produce an effect on the 
 person he addresses. But the lawyer had not much 
 expectation that in the present case what he said 
 w^ould be listened to. He spoke more for the dis- 
 charge of his own conscience, and because the feelings 
 he expressed were strong within him, than for any 
 other reason. And he fully expected that he should 
 be answered with words of anger and uncompromi'sing 
 rejection of his interference. 
 
 It was not without considerable surprise, therefore,
 
 AN ATTORNEY- AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 99 
 
 that lie heard the Marchesc's moderate answer to 
 the strong opposition he had offered to his intention. 
 
 " Well, Signer Fortini, I cannot doubt that what 
 you have said has been, at all events, dictated by a 
 strong regard for my welfare, as you understand it. 
 I have, as I told you, made up my mind upon the 
 subject. Nevertheless, counsel cannot but be useful, 
 and it is vrell not to be precipitate. I will, therefore, 
 so far accept your advice as to promise you that I will 
 give myself time to deliberate yet further on the step. 
 In the meantime you will note that my first com- 
 munication to you on the subject was made on this 
 first day of Lent ; so that when I again seek your 
 assistance in the matter, you will know that I have at 
 least not acted in a hurry, but have given myself due 
 time for mature reflection." 
 
 " I am delighted, Signer Marchese, to have ob- 
 tained from you at least thus much. It is at all 
 events something gained. And I shall still hope, 
 that further reflection may lead you to change your 
 purpose. Hoping that, I shall, 3'ou may depend upon 
 it, breathe no word of vvhat you have said to me to any 
 living soul. But you must understand that, without 
 such hope, I should have deemed it my duty to speak 
 on the subject with the Marchese Ludovico."
 
 100 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 " How SO, Signor Fortini ? A lawyer " 
 
 " Very true, Signor Marcliese. A lawyer, as you 
 would observe, is addressed by his client in con- 
 fidence, and the confidence should be sacred. But 
 you must remember that I have the honour to act in 
 this, as I and my father have done on all other oc- 
 casions for now three generations, not only for your 
 lordship, but for the whole of the family. I am the 
 legal adviser of the Marchese Ludovico, as I was his 
 father's, and as I am yours. It is my duty, therefore, 
 as I understand it, to look upon myself as bound to 
 consider the welfare and interests of the entire family ; 
 and I need not remark to you how cruelly those of 
 the Marchese Ludovico would be compromised by 
 such an event as we were contemplating just now." 
 
 " With regard to speaking to my nephew on the 
 subject, Signor Fortini, I can have no objection to 
 your doing so, if you think it your duty. He will, 
 of course, be informed of my intention by myself. 
 Do not forget, however, that my first communication 
 to you on this subject was on the first day of Lent, 
 Ash Wednesday." 
 
 " Forget it, Signor Marchese ! I am not likely 
 to forget it for a long time to come, I assure you," 
 said the lawyer, not a little surprised.
 
 AN ATTOENEY-AT-LAW IN THE PAPAL STATES. 101 
 
 " I mention it because I am anxious tliat you 
 should not accuse me of acting with precipitancy in 
 this matter ; that when I shall renew my application 
 to you, you may remember that I have had due 
 and sufficient time for reflection. Addio, Signor 
 Giovacchino," said the Marchese, reverting to the 
 more friendly form of address ; " addio, ed a rivederci 
 fm poco ! " 
 
 " Servo suo, Lusfnssimo Signor Marchese, A 
 rivederci ! "
 
 102 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 LOST IN THE EOREST. 
 
 SiGNOR FoRTiNi Went straight home to his pleasant 
 little snuggery under the wing, — it might almost be 
 said, under the roof, — of the Cathedral, and sat 
 down in his easy chair to resume the occupation that 
 had been interrupted by the summons from the 
 Marchese. He took up the medal he had been 
 examining, and the magnifying glass, in a manner 
 that implied a sort of ostentatious protest to himself 
 that the calm and even tenour of his own life and 
 occupations was not to be disturbed from its course 
 by all the follies and extravagances of the world 
 around him. 
 
 But *' mentem mortalia tangunt ! " The glass was 
 soon laid aside : the medal remained idly in his 
 hand, and his mind would recur to the things he had 
 just seen and heard. 
 
 That an old bachelor should be caught at last by 
 a pretty face, and make a fool of himself in his
 
 LOST IN THE FOKEST. 103 
 
 mature age, was no nnprecedeuted phenomenon. 
 Tliat a man, wlio liad never in any way made a fool 
 of himself at the proper age for such an operation, 
 should, after all, do so when those who did so in 
 their salad days have become wise, was not unheard 
 of. Nevertheless, Signor Fortini, who, in the course 
 of his seventy years, had had a tolerably wide experi- 
 ence of mankind, was astonished that the Marchese 
 Lamberto di Castelmare should have been tempted to 
 act as he proposed to act. 
 
 " The very last man," said Signor Fortini 
 musingly to himself, " that I could have suspected 
 of such a thing ! The man who has the highest 
 reputation in the city for sound judgment and unex- 
 ceptionable conduct, to turn out the greatest fool ! 
 An old ass ! How little he dreams of what he is 
 bringing upon himself. Let alone the terrible fall, 
 the disgrace, — in every way, disgrace and contempt 
 and ridicule ! It seems impossible, even now, that 
 he should be in earnest. He must be mad ! And, 
 davvero, his manner was at times so strange, that I 
 could almost believe he really is not quite in his 
 right mind. Very strange his manner was, — very ! 
 And very ill he looked, too. Everybody has been 
 saying that he looked ill, — that he looked old, — that
 
 104 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 there must be something wrong with him. Wrong 
 with a vengeance ! So this was the cause of it all : 
 the Marchese Lamberto is in love ! Bah ! — Bah ! ! 
 — Bah! ! ! — (with crescendo expression of disgust). 
 Poor devil ! Well, I was in love once, or fancied 
 myself so. But then I was twenty-five years old. 
 Un altro paio di maniche I And I very soon found 
 out my mistake. But he, at his time of life ! And 
 such a woman ! Well, the Emperor Justinian mar- 
 ried Theodora. So, I suppose we Kavennati have 
 authority for madness in that kind. And that poor 
 good fellow, the Marchese Ludovico, too ! It is too 
 bad. And all because such a creature as that is 
 cunning enough to know how to drive a hard bargain 
 for the painted face she has to sell. But that is the 
 sort of woman who can make that sort of conquest. 
 A good woman now, who would have made him an 
 honoured and good wife, would never have made 
 such a blind, abject slave of him. He is bewitched ! 
 He is mad ! and ought not to be allowed to carry out 
 so insane a project ! Perhaps it may still be possible 
 to induce him to hear reason. It was very odd, that 
 way, that just at last he promised me he would think 
 of it again before he finally decided. Very odd. 
 Just as if a man has not finally decided in such a
 
 LOST IN THE FOREST. 105 
 
 matter before he sends to liis lawyer ! It is all very 
 — very strange. And I have a good mind to speak 
 to Signor Ludovico at once. I think it would be 
 the right thing to do, — I do think that would be 
 the most proper thing to do. The old fool ought 
 to be treated as one no)i compos /" 
 
 And then the old lawyer, after spending nearly an 
 hour in such musings, got up and went to his house, 
 — not two minutes' walk from his *' studio " — to his 
 solitary but comfortable two-o'clock dinner. 
 
 By the time he had finished his repast, he had 
 made up his mind that he would at once confer with 
 the Marchese Ludovico on the subject of his uncle's 
 disastrous project. It was by that time nearly half- 
 past three ; and Signor Fortini walked out towards 
 the Circolo, having little doubt that he should find 
 Ludovico there at that hour. 
 
 But on his way thither he met the man he was in 
 search of in the street. The young Marchese was 
 walking at a hurried pace, and appeared to be scared, 
 troubled, and heated. Nothing could be more unlike 
 his usual easy, lounging, ijoco-curante bearing. The 
 lawyer saw at once that something was the matter ; 
 and thought that, in all probability, the Marchese 
 Lamberto had been already forestalling him, by
 
 106 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 speaking to Ms nephew himself on the subject of his 
 projected marriage. 
 
 '* Oh, Signer Ludovico," said Fortini, as he met 
 him, " I was on my way to the Circolo, on purpose 
 to see if I could meet wdth you there." 
 
 " Why, what is it ? Have you any news to tell 
 me ?" said the young man in a hurried manner, that 
 the lawyer thought odd. 
 
 "Yes. I wished to speak to you on rather an 
 important matter. Have you seen the Marchese 
 Lamberto this morning?" 
 
 "No. I have been out of the town. I am but 
 this moment come back," replied Ludovico, evidently 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I should be glad to speak to you for a few 
 minutes before you go to the Palazzo Castelmare. If 
 you are going to the Circolo, I would walk with you, 
 and we could speak there," said Fortini. 
 
 " I'll be there in less than ten minutes. But I 
 want first to run just as far as La Lalli's lodging in 
 the Strada di Porta Sisi, only to ask a question," 
 said Ludovico. 
 
 " La Lalli again ! The devil fly away with her ! 
 It was about her that I wanted to speak to you," 
 said the lawyer.
 
 LOST IN THE FOREST. 107 
 
 " What about her ? Have j'OU seen her ? Do 
 3-0U know where she is ?" asked Ludovico, hurriedly 
 and anxiously. 
 
 " I seen her ! No. Where she is ? In her bed 
 most likely, after dancing all last night, I should 
 think!" 
 
 " Well, I must run and just ascertain whether 
 she is at home ! " said LudoYico, again trying to 
 escape. 
 
 But the old lawyer, partly put a little bit out of 
 temper by the young man's evident wish to get rid 
 of him, partly angered by finding the nephew thus 
 running after the same mischief that was threatening 
 to ruin his uncle, and partly thinking that it w^as 
 desirable that the news he had to tell should be told 
 before. Ludovico should come to speech with his 
 uncle, was determined not to let him escape till he 
 had said what he had to say. 
 
 " Very well, Signor. I can say what I have to 
 say in the street as well as anywhere else. Though 
 I confess I expected a somewhat more ready reception 
 of information which concerns you nearly, Signor 
 Marchese, and which I am prompted to tell you by 
 my interest in your welfare. Listen ! Your uncle 
 sent for me this morning for the purpose of
 
 108 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 announcing to me his intention of marrying this 
 Bianca Lalli ! " 
 
 " So I have been told this very morning," said 
 Ludovico. 
 
 " I thought you said that you had not seen your 
 uncle this morning ! " returned the lawyer. 
 
 *' No more I have ; but are there not two persons 
 from whom such an intention may be learned ? " 
 said Ludovico, with a slight approach to a sneer. 
 
 *' The lady, you mean ? " said Fortini. 
 
 " Exactly so — the lady ! " rejoined Ludovico. 
 
 ''^The lady herself told you that the Marchese 
 Lamberto had proposed marriage to her ? " persisted 
 the lawyer. 
 
 " The lady herself told me so," replied the 
 Marchese. 
 
 " But I thought you said that you had only just 
 now returned to the city?" objected the lawyer 
 again. 
 
 " Eeally, Signer Fortini, one would think that I 
 was being examined before a police-magistrate ! 
 However, since my tongue has let the cat out of the 
 bag, you may take the creature, and make the most 
 of her ! I did receive the intelligence in question 
 from the lady concerned, and I have just returned
 
 LOST IN THE FOREST. 109 
 
 to tlie city. She communicated the fact to me during 
 a little excursion we made together to the Pineta 
 this morning, after the hall. Now 3-0U know all 
 ahout it," said Ludovico, still in a hurry to get away. 
 
 "Not quite!" rejoined Fortini, quite impertur- 
 bahly. "If you went to the Pineta with her — (did 
 anj-Lody ever hear of such a mad thing ?) — and 
 returned this morning, how can you want to go now 
 to her house to ask whether she is there ?" 
 
 " Because, you very clever inquisitor, though I 
 went to the Pineta with her, I did not say that I had 
 come hack with her." 
 
 " The deuce you did not ! Did another gentle- 
 man undertake the duty of escorting the lady back to 
 town ? It is all exceedingly pleasant for the Mar- 
 chese Lamberto, upon my word! — oh, exceedingly! 
 — and realJy a foretaste to him of the joys to come, 
 quite frankly offered to him on the part of the lady ! " 
 sneered the old lawyer. 
 
 " Pshaw ! how she may have come back, or with 
 whom, I don't know, and can't guess ; and that is 
 just what I am anxious to find out," said Ludovico, 
 in provoked impatience. 
 
 " I don't understand. Where did you part with 
 the lady?" persisted the lawyer, interested rather
 
 110 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 by the evident uneasiness of the Marchese Ludovieo, 
 than by any care how and in what company Bianca 
 might have found her way back to the city. 
 
 " Well, that's just the curious part of the 
 matter. If you want to know how the thing hap- 
 pened, since you know so much already, walk with 
 me to the Strada di Porta Sisi, and I will tell you 
 how it happened. At the ball we spoke of the 
 Pineta, — she had never seen it, — asked me to show 
 it to her. In short, we agreed to start on leaving 
 the ball, instead of going to bed. I got a hagarino, 
 and drove her to the farmhouse by the edge of the 
 wood, just behind St. Apollinare ; left the hagarino 
 there, and strolled into the wood. It was there that 
 she told me of my uncle's purpose. And I was not 
 a little taken aback, as you may suppose. However, 
 that is matter for talk by-and-by. "We strolled 
 about a good while, then sat down. She told me a 
 good deal of the history of her life. We must have 
 been talking — I don't know how long ; but a long 
 time. Then she said she was so sleepy, she must 
 have a little sleep ; she could keep her eyes open no 
 longer. Natural enough ! She had been dancing all 
 night — had never closed her eyes for a minute since. 
 The bank we were sittin<? on was the most delicious
 
 LOST IN THE FOEEST. Ill 
 
 place for a siesta that can be conceived. In two 
 minutes she was fast asleep. She slept on and on 
 till I was tired of w\aiting. No doubt I should have 
 slept too, had not the intelligence she had given me 
 been of a sort to keep me waking, for one while at 
 least. Having my mind full of this, and not being 
 able to sleep, I strayed aw^ay from her, and returned 
 in a few minutes, as I think, to the place where I 
 had left her, — but could not find her. I could not 
 be sure about the place. One bit of the forest is so 
 much like another, — ^just the same thing over and 
 over again, — that I could not feel quite sure of the 
 spot. I still think I w^ent back to the right place ; 
 but there she was not. Then I searched the wood 
 all round, far and near, for, I should think, a couple 
 of hours or more. I called aloud, again and again, 
 all to no purpose. And what on earth has become 
 of her I cannot imagine." 
 
 " And wh}^ you need trouble your head about it, 
 I don't see. I wished the devil might fly aw^ay with 
 her just nov/ ! And if the devil has taken the hint 
 and done so, I confess it seems to me about the best 
 thing that could happen ! Why on earth you, of all 
 people in the world. Signer Ludovico, should be so 
 anxious to recover the lady, I confess I cannot under-
 
 112 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 stand. Would it not be the best tbing in the world 
 for you if she were never heard of again ?" 
 
 " Oh, x>er amore cli Dio, Signer Giovacchino, 
 don't talk in that way. Never heard of again ! I 
 shall be really uneasy if I don't hear of her again 
 in a very few minutes. It is so extraordinary. 
 What can have become of her?" 
 
 " Become of her ! Why, she waited, of course : 
 got tired of waiting for you, and so strolled back 
 to the town. That sort of lady does not much like 
 waiting, I fancy." 
 
 " That sort of lady does not much like walking 
 so far as from the Pineta here, I fancy. Besides, 
 I should have overtaken her on the road." 
 
 "In any case what is there to be uneasy about. 
 No harm can have happened to her. No such luck, 
 ])er Bacco /" 
 
 " Harm ! No ; no haiin can have happened to 
 her, beyond losing herself in the forest. What I 
 am afraid of is that she has strayed and not been 
 able to find her way. And God knows how far 
 she may wander. When I tell you that in wander- 
 ing away from the place where I left her, for not 
 above a quarter of an hour, I lost my way, and that 
 when I found, as I supposed, the place where we
 
 LOST IN THE FOEEST. 113 
 
 had been, I could not be sure wbetber it was tbe 
 same spot or not ; you may suppose how easy it is 
 to lose oneself. And I don't suppose the poor girl 
 would be able to walk very far. If she has not 
 returned, I must get help and go back to the forest 
 and search till I find her." 
 
 "It's far more likely that you will find that she 
 has returned home. I wish, for my part, that she 
 had never set foot within a dozen miles of Eavenna. 
 Just think what it would be ! But I trust — I trust 
 we may yet be able to induce your uncle to listen 
 to reason." 
 
 "I'll tell you what, Signor Fortini. I should 
 not be surprised if it should be found more possible 
 to make the other party hear reason." 
 
 "What, the lady!" 
 
 " Yes, the lady — if we set about the matter in 
 the right w^ay." 
 
 " AYell, Signor Ludovico, it may be that you 
 may understand such matters and such people better 
 than I can pretend to do. It is not improbable. 
 But my conceptions of the power of persuasion have 
 never risen yet to a belief in the possibility of per- 
 suading a dog who has got a lump of butter in his 
 mouth to relinquish it." 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 ASH WEDNESDAY MOKNING. 
 
 *' Umph ! you are not particularly gallant, Signor 
 Giovaccliino. We shall see. But all that must be 
 matter for future conversation. Here we are at her 
 door. Let us see if anything has been heard of 
 her." 
 
 Ludovico, leaving his companion for an instant 
 in the street, sprang up the stairs to make inquiry; 
 and in the next minute returned looking very much 
 vexed and annoyed, with the information that nothing 
 had been seen or heard of the Diva since she left 
 the house in his company at an early hour that 
 morninff.
 
 ( 115 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "PASSA LA BELLA DONNA E PAR CHE DORaLl." 
 
 — Tasso. 
 
 " What's to be clone now ? I absolutely must find 
 lier," said Ludovico, looking, as lie felt, exceed- 
 ingly puzzled and annoyed. 
 
 "Well, yes. Considering tlie nature of the 
 information she gave you this morning, and bearing 
 in mind that her existence in the flesh promises 
 to be the means of leaving you without the price 
 of a crust of bread in the world, and the further fact 
 she was last seen starting on a tcte-d-tete expedition 
 with you at six o'clock in the morning, I admit that 
 it is desirable that you should find her," said the 
 lawyer, with somewhat grim pleasantry. 
 
 " For heaven's sake. Signer Giovacchino, don't 
 talk in that sort of way, even in jest," replied the 
 young man, looking round at the lawyer with an 
 uneasy eye. "After all, nothing can have happened 
 to her, you know, worse than losing herself in the 
 Pineta."
 
 116 ASH WEDNESDAY MORNING. 
 
 '' Pooli ! happen to her. What should happen 
 to her ? Either you did not go hack to the place 
 where you left her ; or, likely enough, after stroHing 
 a little away from it, and not finding you, she sat 
 down, and two to one, fell asleep again. I would 
 wager that she is, at this moment, fast asleep under 
 the shadow of a pine-tree, making up for last night." 
 
 " But what had I hetter do ? If she is still either 
 sleeping or waking in the forest, I must find her." 
 
 " Let us just step as far as the gate, and make 
 some inquiry there. If she returned to the city she 
 must have come to the Porta Nuova. And she could 
 hardly have entered the town without drawing the 
 attention of the men at the gate. Just let us make 
 inquiry there in the first place." 
 
 So they went together to the Porta Nuova, and 
 nothing more was said between them during the 
 short walk. But it seemed as if the manifest un- 
 easiness of Ludovico had infected his companion. 
 Yet it was evident that thoughts of a different nature 
 were busy in their minds. The Marchese Ludovico 
 pressed on faster than the old lawyer could keep up 
 with him, and was very unmistakably anxious about 
 the object of his quest, and the tidings which he 
 should be able to hear at the gate.
 
 "PASSA LA BELLA DONNA." 117 
 
 Signor Fortini had apparently got some other 
 and newly-conceived thought in his mind. He 
 looked two or three times shrewdly and furtively 
 into the face of the young Marchese ; and closely 
 compressed his thin lips together, and drew into a 
 knot the shaggy eyebrows over his clear and thought- 
 ful eyes. Some notion had been suggested to his 
 mind which very plainly he did not like. 
 
 At the gate nothing had been seen of the object 
 of their search. The octroi officers perfectly well 
 remembered seeing the Marchese Ludovico, who 
 was well known to them by sight, drive through the 
 gate very early that morning in a hagarino with a 
 lady. One man had recognised the lady as the 
 prima donna at the opera. And they were very sure 
 that she had not returned to the city since, at least 
 by that gate. 
 
 But one of the officers volunteered the informa- 
 tion that another young lady had that morning 
 passed out of the city on foot a little before the 
 time at which the hagarino had passed with the 
 Marchese and the prima donna. And the men, after 
 some consultation together, were sure that neither 
 had that young lady returned by the gate they 
 guarded.
 
 118 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 Ludovico looked at the lawj-er, and tlie lawj'er 
 looked at Ludovico; but neither of them could 
 suggest anything in explanation of so strange a 
 circumstance. 
 
 ' ' I saw nothing of any such person either in the 
 Pineta or on the road," said Ludovico. *' Who could 
 it have been?" 
 
 The old la'\\7er only shrugged his shoulders in 
 reply. 
 
 " There is a young lady," resumed Ludovico, 
 after some minutes of thought, " a friend of mine — a 
 young artist engaged in making copies -from the 
 mosaics in our churches. I know that it was her 
 purpose shortly to begin some work of this kind at 
 St. Apollinare in Classe. It may be that she had 
 selected this morning for the purpose of going out to 
 look at her task, — though I almost think that I 
 should have been informed of her intention." 
 
 " The plot seems to thicken with a vengeance," 
 said the lawj'er, with an impatient shrug, and a slight 
 sneer of ill-humour, provoked by the multiplicity of 
 his young client's lady friends. " I daresay," he 
 added, " the young ladies are not playing hide-and- 
 seek in the Pineta all by themselves." 
 
 " But what had I better do ? " said the young
 
 "PASSA LA BELLA DONNA." 119 
 
 Marchese, looking with increased anxiety into the 
 lawyer's face ; " the fact is — you see, Signer Giovac- 
 chino, this new idea, this possibility that Paolina — 
 that is the young artist's name — may be — may have 
 been in the forest — in short, I feel more uneasy than 
 before till I can learn what has become of both of 
 them." 
 
 " Do you mean," said the lawyer, with a sneer in 
 his voice, but at the same time looking into his 
 companion's face with a shrewd expression of investi- 
 gation in his eye, — "do you mean that the two 
 ladies may possibly have fallen in with each other, 
 and may in such case not improbably have fallen out 
 with each other ? You know best, Signor Marchese, 
 the likelihood of anj- trouble arising out of such a 
 meeting." 
 
 " For God's sake don't speak in such a tone, 
 Signor Giovacchino. I tell you I am seriously un- 
 easy. Should they have met under such circum- 
 stances — God only knows What would you 
 
 advise me to do, Signor Giovacchino ? " said the 
 Marchese, looking into the lawyer's face with in- 
 creasing and now evidently painful anxiety. 
 
 "It is ill giving advice without knowing all the 
 circumstances of a case, Signor Marchese," returned
 
 120 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 Fortini, somewhat drily, looking hard at the young 
 man as he spoke, and putting a meaning emphasis 
 on the word *'all." 
 
 "You do know all the circumstances as far as 
 I know them myself. The thing happened exactly 
 as I told you," replied Ludoyico. 
 
 *' You left her sleeping on a bank in the forest, 
 and have never seen her since?" said the lawyer, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 ** Exactly so! I returned to the spot where I 
 had left her — at least as far as I could tell it was the 
 same spot — and she was no longer there," replied 
 Ludovico. 
 
 "But you were not sure that you did return to 
 the same spot ? You could not recognise it again 
 with certainty ?" 
 
 " So it seemed to me when I was there. I think 
 it must have been the same place. But when I did 
 not find her, I could not feel sure of it. Every spot 
 in the Pineta is so like all other spots. One pine- 
 tree is just like another ; and the grassy openings, 
 and the little thickets of underwood, are all the same 
 over and over again. I felt that I could not be sure 
 that the place was the same." 
 
 " Was there no fallen tree, no track of road, no
 
 " PASSA LA BELLA DONNA." 121 
 
 specialty of weed or flower, that the spot might be 
 identified by?" 
 
 *'None I think — none that I am aware of or can 
 remember. There was a little rising of the ground 
 — a sort of bank, and the grass was sprinkled all 
 over with wild flowers. There were violets close 
 at hand, I know, because I remember the scent 
 of them ! But when I came to tiy, it seem'd 
 to me that I found all these things in a dozen other 
 places." 
 
 " Nevertheless, you know at what point you 
 entered the Pineta; it cannot be very difficult to 
 have the whole wood, within such a distance as it is at 
 all likely that she should have strayed to, thoroughly 
 searched. But the best men for the purpose would 
 be some of the foresters in the employ of the farmers 
 of the forest. I dare say that we might find — what 
 is that coming along the road yonder?" said the 
 lawyer interrupting himself. 
 
 The two gentlemen had been standing during the 
 above short conversation just on the outside of the 
 gate, and looking down the stretch of long straight 
 road towards St. Apollinare and the pine forest. 
 
 "It is a knot of men coming along the road. 
 They are likely enough some of the very fellows we
 
 122 ASH WEDNESDAY MOENING. 
 
 want. In that case we might get them to go back 
 with us without loss of time." 
 
 " "With ns ? " said the lawyer, who had not bar- 
 gained when he left his home, for any such expedi- 
 tion. '* Well, I don't mind helping you. Signer 
 Marchese, in your search," he added, after a moment's 
 consideration; "but I am not going to walk to the 
 Pineta this afternoon ; and I should think you must 
 have had enough of it for to-day. But I will tell you 
 what I can do. We will send one of these fellows 
 to my house to order my servant to come here with 
 my calessino as quick as he can ; and if these men 
 are the people we want — What are they doing ? 
 They are carrying something ! Why surely — Signer 
 Marchese ! " said the old lawyer, looking into his 
 companion's face, while a strange expression of 
 understanding, mixed with a blank look of dismay 
 and alarm, stole over his own features. 
 
 *'What is it?— What have they got?— Why, 
 heavens and earth ! it is — Signer Fortini, is it not 
 a dead body they are carrying ? My God ! " 
 
 The young man griped his companion's arm hard, 
 as he spoke, and the action enabled the lawyer to 
 remark that he was shaking all over. 
 
 In another minute the men whom they had seen
 
 "PASSA LA BELLA DONNA." 123 
 
 coming along the road were close to the gate. They 
 were six in number ; and they were hearing — some- 
 what, between them. They advanced beneath the 
 covered gateway, and there, as it is necessary to do 
 in the case of everything brought into the town, they 
 set their burthen down on the flag- stones, at the feet 
 of the officers of the gate, and of the Marchese and 
 the law}-er. 
 
 Their burthen was a door lifted from its hinges, 
 and supported by three slender stakes drawn green 
 from a hedgerow. And on the door there lay, covered 
 with a sheet, what was evidently a dead body. 
 
 Ludovico, with his eyes starting from his head, 
 and horror in ever}^ feature of his face, still clutching 
 one hand of the old lawyer in his, stretched forward 
 with one advanced stride towards the extemporized 
 bier, and with his other hand lifted the sheet. 
 
 A shriek of horror burst from him.. ''Ah! 
 Paollna mia / " he cried aloud ; and then with a 
 deep groan, as of one in physical pain, he fell into 
 Signer Fortini's arms, and sunk in an insensible 
 state of sick faintness on the flag-stone pavement 
 beneath the old gateway.
 
 BOOK II 
 
 FOUR MONTHS BEFOEE THAT ASH WEDNESDAY 
 IklORNING.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOW THE GOOD NEWS CAME TO KAVEXNA. 
 
 Such were the events of that last night of carnival, 
 and of the Ash- Wednesday that followed it; — an 
 Ash-Wednesday remerabered many a year afterwards 
 in Eavenna. 
 
 The old lawyer, Fortini, standing a pace behind 
 the Marchese Ludovico, when the latter lifted up the 
 sheet from the face of the dead, saw only that it was 
 the face of a woman. Paolina Foscarelli he had 
 never seen ; and Bianca Lalli he had seen only once 
 or twice on the stage ; the lawyer not being much of 
 a frequenter of the theatre. There could be little 
 doubt that the body lying there beneath the gate- 
 v/ay, with the officials standing with awe-stricken 
 faces around it, together with the six peasants who 
 had brought it thither, was that of one or other of 
 those two young women. 
 
 Of course there were plenty of persons at hand 
 vvho were able to set at rest all doubt as to the
 
 128 FOUE MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 identity of the murdered woman, — for such it was 
 pretty clear she must be considered to be. And of 
 course all interests in the little provincial city were 
 for many days to come absorbed in the terrible inte - 
 rest belonging to the investigation of the foul deed 
 which had been done. 
 
 But in order to set before the reader the whole of 
 this strange story intelligibly, and to give him the 
 same means of estimating the probabilities of the 
 questions involved in it, and of reaching a solution 
 of the mysterious circumstances which the autho- 
 rities, who were called upon to investigate them, were 
 in possession of, it will be expedient to go baclv to a 
 period some four months previous to that memorable 
 
 Ash-Wednesday. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 It was a bitterly cold night in Ravenna, towards 
 the latter end of November, some four months before 
 that Ash- Wednesday on which the events that have 
 been narrated occurred. Untravelled English people, 
 who have heard much of "the sweet south," of the 
 sunny skies of Italy, and of its balmy atmosphere, 
 do not readily imagine that such cold is ever to be 
 found in that favoured clime. But the fact is that 
 cold several degrees below the freezing point is by no
 
 HOW THE GOOD NEWS CAME TO EAVENNA. 129 
 
 means rare in tlie sub-Alpine and sub-Apennine 
 districts of northern Italy. 
 
 And Eavenna is a specially cold place. At 
 Florence, the winter, though short, is often sharp 
 enough; and the climate of the old Tuscan city is 
 considered a somewhat severe one for Italy. But the 
 district which lies to the north-eastward, on the low 
 coast of the upper part of the stormy Adriatic, is 
 much colder. There is nothing, neither hill nor 
 forest, between the Friulian Alps and Eavenna, to 
 prevent the north-eastern winds, bringing with them 
 a Siberian temperature, from sweeping the low shelter- 
 less plain on which the ancient capital of the Exarchs 
 is situated. 
 
 They were so sweeping that plain, and howling 
 fiercely through the deserted streets of the old city, 
 on the November evening in question. 
 
 Nevertheless there were several persons loiter- 
 ing around the door of that ancient hostelry, the 
 " Albergo della Spada," in the Yia del Monte, then 
 as now, and for many a generation past, the prin- 
 cipal inn of Eavenna. They were wrapped in huge 
 cloaks, most of them with hoods to them, which gave 
 the wearers a strange sort of monkish appearance. 
 And they from time to time blew upon their fingers, 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 FOUR MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 in the intervals of using their mouths for the purpose 
 of grumhling at the cold. But they none of them 
 resorted to tramping up and down, or stamping with 
 their feet, or threshing themselves with their arms, 
 or had recourse to movement of any kind to get a 
 little warmth into their bodies, as Englishmen may 
 he seen to do under similar circumstances. How- 
 ever cold it may he an Italian never does anything 
 of this sort. It must he supposed, that to him cold 
 is a less detestable evil than muscular exertion of 
 any kind. 
 
 There were some half-dozen men standing about 
 the door; and though they were doing nothing, it 
 was not to be supposed that they stood there in the 
 bitter cold for their own amusement. The fact was, 
 they were waiting for one of the great events of the 
 day at Kavenna, — the arrival of the diligenza from 
 Bologna. It was past six o'clock in the evening; 
 and it could not now be long before the expected 
 vehicle would arrive. 
 
 It is a distance of some sixty miles from Bologna 
 to Eavenna; the diligence started at five in the 
 morning, and was due at the latter city at five in the 
 evening. But nobody expected that it would reach 
 its destination at that hour. It had never done so
 
 now THE GOOD NEWS CAME TO EAYENNA. 131 
 
 witlii]! the memory of man, even in the fine clays of 
 summer ; and now, wlien tlie roads were rough with 
 ridges of frozen mud ! It was now, however, nearly 
 half-past six — yes, there went the half-hour clanging 
 from the cracked-voiced old bell in the top of the 
 round brick tower, which stands on one side of the 
 cathedral, and by its likeness to a minaret reminds 
 one of the Byzantine parentage of its builders. 
 
 Half-past six ! The loiterers about the inn door 
 remark to each other, that unless "something" has 
 happened old Cccco Zoppo can't be far off now. 
 
 The arrival of the Bologna diligence, the main 
 means of communication between remote out-of-the- 
 way Ravenna and the rest of the world, was always a 
 matter of interest in the old-world little city, where 
 matters of interest were so few. And on a pleasant 
 evening in spring or summer the attendance of ex- 
 pectant loungers was wont to be far larger than it 
 was on that bitter November night, and to include a 
 large number of amateurs ; whereas the half-dozen 
 now waiting were all either officially or otherwise 
 directly interested in the arrival. Indeed, there was 
 a very special interest attached to the coming of 
 the expected vehicle on that November night ; and 
 nothing but the extreme severity of the weather
 
 132 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 would kave prevented a very distinguished assem- 
 blage from being on the spot to hear the first news 
 that was expected to be brought by one of the 
 travellers. 
 
 " Eccolo ! I heard the bells, underneath the gate- 
 way. Per Bacco, it is time ! I'm well-nigh frozen 
 alive," said Pippo, the ostler. 
 
 *'If they don't keep him an hour at the gate," 
 rejoined a decidedly more ragged and poverty-stricken 
 individual, who held recognized ofiice as the ostler's 
 assistant. 
 
 '' Not such a night as this ! Those gentlemen 
 there at the gate can feel the cold for themselves, if 
 they can't feel nothing else," rejoined the ostler, who 
 was a frondeur and disaffected to the government, in 
 consequence of a drunken grandson having been 
 turned out of the place of third assistant scullion in 
 the kitchen of the Cardinal Legate. " There's the 
 bells again ! They've let him off pretty quick. I 
 thought as much," added the old man, with a chuckle. 
 
 " Wasn't Signor Ercole's woman here with a 
 lanthorn just now?" said another of the bystanders, 
 a young man, who, though wrapped to the eyes in 
 the universal all-levelling cloak, belonged evidently 
 to a superior class of society to the previous speakers.
 
 HOW THE GOOD NEWS CAME TO EAVENNA. 133 
 
 " St, Signor Conte, slie is there in the kitchen. 
 Per Dlo ! she would have had no fingers to hold the 
 light for her master, if she had stayed out here," 
 replied the ostler. And then the rattle of wheels 
 became distinct, and in the next instant the feeble 
 light of a couple of lamps became visible at the far 
 end of the street, as the coach turned out of the 
 Piazza Maggiore into the Via del Monte, and 
 struggled forwards towards the knot at the inn 
 door ; it came at a miserable little trot, but with an 
 accompaniment of tremendous whip -cracking, that 
 awoke echoes in the silent streets far and near, and 
 imparted an impression of breathless speed to the 
 imagination of the bystanders, who, being Italians, 
 accepted the symbol in despite of their certain know- 
 ledge that the reality of the thing symbolised was 
 not there. Like the immortal Marchioness, Dick 
 Swiveller's friend, in the Old Curiosity Shop, the 
 Italians, when the realities of circumstances are 
 unfavourable, can always manage to gild them a little 
 by " making believe very strong." 
 
 " Now then, Signora Marta, bring out your 
 light, " called the deputy ostler in at the inn door. 
 
 The individual addressed as Signor Conte became 
 evidently excited, and prepared himself to be the first
 
 134 FOUB MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 to present liimself at the door of the coach as it drew 
 up opposite the inn. The ostler stepped out into the 
 street with his stable lanthorn. Signora Marta, 
 shivering, with a huge shawl over her head, took up 
 her position, lanthorn in hand, behind the Signor 
 Conte, and the ramshackle old coach, rattling over the 
 uneven round cobble-stones of the execrable pavement 
 with a crash of noise that seemed to threaten that 
 every jolt would be its last, came to a standstill at 
 the inn door. 
 
 The Signor Conte Leandro Lombardoni — that 
 was the name of the young man hitherto called II 
 Signor Conte — opened the door with his own hand, 
 and, putting his head eagerly into the interior, 
 cried, — 
 
 ' " Are you there, Signor Ercole ? Well ! What 
 news ? Have you succeeded ? Let me give you a 
 hand." 
 
 " Grazie, Signor Leandro, grazie," replied a 
 high-pitched voice of singularly shrill quality from 
 within the vehicle, *' I don't know whether I can 
 move. Misericorclia I die viaggio ! What a journey 
 I have had. I am nearly dead. My blood is frozen 
 in my veins. I have no use of my limbs. I shall 
 never recover it ; never ! "
 
 HOW THE GOOD NEWS CAITE TO EAYENNA. 135 
 
 And tlien very slowly a huge bundle of cloaks and 
 rags and furs, nearly circular in form and about five 
 feet in diameter, began to move towards the door of 
 the carriage, and gradually, by the help of Signor 
 Leandro and Signora Marta, to struggle through it 
 and get itself down on the pavement. 
 
 "And this I do and suffer for thee, Eavenna!" 
 said the bundle in the same shrill tenor, maldng an 
 attempt, as it spoke, to raise two little ^^I'ojecting fins 
 towards the cold, unsympathising stars. 
 
 ''But have you succeeded, Signor Ercole?" 
 asked the other again, anxiously. 
 
 "I have succeeded in sacrificing myself for my 
 country," replied the shrill voice with chattering 
 teeth ; '' for I know I shall never get over it. I am 
 frozen. It is a very painful form of martyrdom." 
 
 " But you can at least say one word, Signor 
 Ercole ? You can say jes or no to the question, 
 whether you have succeeded in our object ? " urged 
 the Conte Leandro. 
 
 Signor Ercole Stadione, however, who was, as the 
 reader is aware, no less important a personage than 
 the impresario of the principal theatre of Eavenna, 
 knew too well all the importance that belonged to the 
 news he had to tell to part with his secret so easily.
 
 136 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 " Signor Conte," he quavered out, " I tell you I 
 am frozen ! A man cannot speak on any subject in 
 such a condition. I know nothing. My intellectual 
 faculties have not their ordinary lucidity. I must 
 endeavour to reach my home. Marta, hold the lamp 
 here." 
 
 " And I who have waited here for your arrival ever 
 since the ventl-quattro ! Per Dio I Do you think I 
 ain't cold too ? And the Marchese is expecting you. 
 Of course, you will go to him at once ? " 
 
 *'I don't know that I shall ever recover myself 
 sufficiently to do so. It is useless for the city to 
 expect more from a man than he can accomplish. 
 When I have got thawed, I will endeavour to do my 
 duty. Good night, Signor Conte ! " said the little 
 impresario, preparing to follow his servant with the 
 lanthorn, as well as the enormous quantity of wraps 
 around him would allow him to do so. 
 
 " Come now, Signor Ercole, 3^ou won't be so ill- 
 natured. You know how much interest I take in the 
 matter. Think how long I have waited here for you, 
 and nobody else has cared enough to do that. Come 
 now, be good-natured, and tell a fellow. Just one 
 word. Look here now," added the Conte Leandro, 
 seeing that he was on the point of losing the gratifi-
 
 HOW THE GOOD NEWS CAME TO EAYEXNA. 137 
 
 cation for the sake of which he had undergone the 
 penance of standing sentinel in the cokl for the L^st 
 hour, and that his only hope was to hring forward 
 les grands moycns, — " see now, the only thing to. 
 bring you round is a glass of hot punch. Now, 
 while 5^ou go home and get your things oif, I will go 
 to the cafe and get you a good glass of punch, hot 
 and strong — smoking hot ! and have it brought to 
 your house, all hot, you know, in a covered jug. 
 But before I go, you will just say the one word : 
 Have you been successful ? Come now. Just one 
 word." 
 
 Signer Ercole Stadione, the impresario, would 
 much have preferred not saying that one word just 
 then. He knew perfectly well that the grand object 
 of his questioner was to be the first to carry the 
 great news to the Circolo — the club where all the 
 young nobles of the town were in the habit of con- 
 gregating ; and to make the most of the sort of 
 reputation to be gained by being the first in Eavenna 
 to have accurate information on the matter in ques- 
 tion. He knew also that within a quarter-of-an-hour 
 after the news should be told to Signer Leandro 
 Lombardoni it would be known to all Eavenna. 
 Further, he was perfectly aware that, frozen or not
 
 138 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 frozen, lie must wait that evening on the Marcliese, 
 of whom Signer Leandro had spoken — the Marchese 
 Lamberto di Castehnare, in order to communicate to 
 him the news which Signer Leandro was so anxious 
 to hear ; that not to do so would be as much as his 
 standing and position in Ravenna were worth. And 
 he would have preferred that the Marchese should 
 not have heard what he had to tell before telling it to 
 him himself; which he thought likely enough to 
 happen, if he let the cat out of the bag to Signor 
 Leandro. But the offer of the punch was irresistible. 
 The poor little impresario knew how little possibility 
 there was of finding any such pleasant stimulant in 
 the cold, cheerless, wifeless little quartiere which he 
 and Marta called their home. His teeth were 
 chattering with cold ; and the hot punch carried the 
 day. 
 
 " Trojypo huono, Signor Conte ! Truly a good 
 glass of hot ponche would be the saving of me ! It is 
 very kindly thought of. Well, then ; listen in your 
 ear. But you won't say a word about it till to- 
 morrow morning. It is all right. The thing is 
 done. The writings signed. Have I done well, eh ? 
 Have I deserved well of the city, eh ? But you won't 
 say a word ! "
 
 HOW THE GOOD NEWS CAME TO EAYENNA. 139 
 
 *' Bravo, SignorErcole! Bravo, bravissimo ! Not 
 a word. Not a word. I run to order tlie puncli. 
 Good nigiit. Not a word to a living soul ! " 
 
 And the Conte Leandro ran off to give a hast}' 
 order at the cafe in the Piazza, on his way to the 
 Circolo to spread his important news all over the 
 town.
 
 140 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE MARCHESE LAMBERTO DI CASTELMARE. 
 
 SiGNOR Leandro Lombardoni felt himself to be 
 abundantly repaid for bis bour of waiting in tbe cold 
 street, and for tbe hajocchi expended on tbe glass of 
 punch, by the position be occupied at the Circolo all 
 that evening. He was the centre of every group 
 anxious to gain tbe earliest information respecting a 
 matter of the highest interest to all the society of 
 Ravenna. And the matter belonged to a class of 
 subjects respecting which the Conte Leandro was 
 especially desirous of being thought to be thoroughly 
 well-informed, and to have interest in the highest 
 quarters. 
 
 The fact was, that Signor Ercole Stadione, the 
 Ravenna impresario, had undertaken a journey to 
 Milan, in the hope of accomplishing a negotiation in 
 which the whole of the smaller provincial city had 
 felt itself deeply interested. He had gone thither for 
 the purpose of engaging tbe celebrated prima donna.
 
 THE MALCHESE LAMBEKTO DI CASTELMAEE. 141 
 
 Bianca Lalli, to sing at Eavenna during tlie coming 
 CarnivaL The pretension was a very ambitions one 
 on the part of the impresario — or, as it may be more 
 properly said, on the part of the city — for the step 
 was by no means the result of his own independent 
 and unaided enterprise. Such matters were not done 
 in that way in the good old times in the smaller cities 
 of Ital}' . The matter had been much debated among 
 the leading patrons of the musical drama in the little 
 town. The chances of success had been canvassed. 
 The financial question had been considered. Certain 
 sacrifices had been determined on. xind it had been 
 settled what terms the impresario should be em- 
 powered to offer. 
 
 It had been fully felt and recognised that the hope 
 of engaging the famous Bianca Lalli to sing at remote 
 little Eavenna, during a carnival, was a singularly 
 ambitious one. But there had been circumstances 
 which had led those who had conceived the bold idea 
 to hope that it would not prove to be so impossible 
 as it might at first sight appear. There had been 
 whispers of certain difiiculties — untoward circum- 
 stances at Milan. Ill-natured things had been said 
 of the " divina Lalli." Doubtless she had been 
 more sinned against than sinning. But to put the
 
 142 FOUE MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 matter crudely — which, of course, no Italian who had 
 to speak of it, was ever so ill-bred as to do — it would 
 seem that the great singer had placed herself, or had 
 been placed, in such relations with somebody or other 
 bearing a great name in the Lombard capital, that 
 the paternal Austrian government, at the instance of 
 that somebody's family, had seen good to hint, in 
 some gentle, but unmistakable manner, that it might, 
 on the whole, be better that the divine Lalli should 
 bless some other city with her presence during the 
 ensuing season. And then came the consideration, 
 that in all probability most of the great cities of the 
 peninsula had, by that time, made their arrangements 
 for the coming Carnival. Not impossible, too, that 
 the " diva " herself might be not disinclined to allow 
 a certain period of such comparative obscurity as an 
 engagement at Eavenna would bring with it, to 
 pass after her exit from Milan under such circum- 
 stances, before re-appearing on other boards where 
 she would be equally in the eyes of all Europe. But 
 this ground of hope, though it may have been felt, 
 was never so much as alluded to in words, in 
 Eavenna. In short, Eavenna had determined to 
 make the bold attempt. And now Signer Ercole 
 Stadione had returned from the arduous enterprise to
 
 THE MAPtCHESE LAMBEKTO DI CASTELMARE. 143 
 
 announce that it liad been crowned with complete 
 success. 
 
 None but those who have had some opportunity 
 of becoming acquainted with the social habits and 
 manners of the smaller cities of Italy — and that as 
 they were some twenty years ago, and not as they are 
 now — can imagine the degree in which a matter of 
 the kind in question could be felt there to be a sub- 
 ject of general public interest. From the Cardinal 
 Legate, who governed the province, down to the little 
 boys who hung about the cafe doors, in the hope of 
 picking up a half-eaten roll, there was not a human 
 being in the city w^ho did not feel that he had some 
 part of the glory resulting from the fact that ''La 
 Lalli " was to sing at Ravenna during the Carnival. 
 The contadini — the peasants outside the gates — 
 even though they were only just outside it, cared 
 nothing at all about the matter : another specialty of 
 the social peculiarities of the peninsula. 
 
 The Cardinal Legate, restrained by the profes- 
 sional decorum of his cloth, said nothing save 
 among his quite safe intimates ; but, perhaps, like 
 the sailor's parrot, he only thought the more. 
 
 As for the jeunesse doree of the Circolo, to whom 
 Signer Leandro recounted his great tidings with all
 
 144 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 the- self-importance to which the exclusive possession 
 of news of such interest so well entitled him, it is 
 impossible to do justice to the enthusiasm which the 
 news excited among them. 
 
 All sorts of pleasing anticipations were indulged 
 in. They were all jealous of each other by anticipa- 
 tion. Already, in the gravest spirit of business, a 
 scheme for taking off her horses at the city gates 
 and harnessing their noble selves to the carriage of 
 the expected guest was discussed. 
 
 The reputation enjoyed by the great singer 
 Bianca Lalli at that time was very high throughout 
 Italy. But, perhaps, — any one of her rival god- 
 desses would have said undoubtedly, — it was a 
 reputation not wholly and exclusively due to her 
 strictly vocal charms. She was, in truth, a woman 
 of more than ordinary beauty ; and was universally 
 declared to exercise a charm on all who came within 
 reach of her influence beyond that which even extra- 
 ordinary beauty has always the privilege of exercising. 
 All kinds of stories were told of her boundless power 
 of fascination. In crude language, again, — such as 
 her own countrj^men never used concerning her, — the 
 reputation of " la diva Lalli " was tout soit iKu, a 
 reputation de scandale. And it will be readily
 
 THE MAECHESE LAMBERTO DI CASTELMAEE. 145 
 
 imagined that the enthusiasm in her favour of the 
 3'oung frequenters of the Circolo at Kavenna was none 
 the less vehement on this account. 
 
 It must, however, be added that she undoubtedly 
 was a very admirable singer. Had this not been the 
 case, the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare would 
 not have interested himself so much as he had done 
 in the plans and negotiations for bringing her to 
 Eavenna. The Marchese was not a man to be much 
 influenced by the prima donna's reputation for beauty 
 and fascination. But he was "fanatico per la 
 musica." He was the acknowledged leader in all 
 matters musical in Ravenna ; the most influential 
 patron of the opera in the city ; and all-powerful in 
 the regulation of all theatrical affairs. 
 
 The Marchese Lamberto held a rather special 
 position in the social world in Ravenna. His fortune 
 was large ; and the nobility of his family ancient. 
 But it was not these circumstances only, or even 
 mainly, that caused him to hold the place he did in 
 the estimation of his fellow-citizens. He was a 
 bachelor, now about fifty years old ; and during some 
 thirty of those years he had always been before the 
 public in one manner or another, and always had in 
 every capacity won golden opinions from all men. 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 14G FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 Tliougli abundantly ricli enough to have gone occa- 
 sionally to Eome, or even to have resided there 
 entirely, if he had chosen to do so, he had, on the 
 contrary, preferred to pass his whole life in his native 
 city. And Eavenna was flattered by this, to begin 
 with. Then his residence in the provincial city had 
 been in many respects a really useful one, not only 
 to that section of the body politic which is called, par 
 excellence, society, but to the public in general. He 
 had held various municipal offices, and had dis- 
 charged the functions belonging to them with credit 
 and applause. He was treasurer to a hospital, and a 
 generous contributor to its funds. He was the 
 founder of an artistic society for the education of 
 young artists and the encouragement of their seniors. 
 He was the principal director of a board of '^publica 
 beneficenza." He was the manager, and what we 
 should call the trustee for the property of more than 
 one nunnery. He was intimate with the Cardinal 
 Legate, and a frequent and honoured guest at the 
 palace. Of course in matters of orthodoxy and well- 
 affected sentiments towards the Church and its 
 government he was all that the agents of that 
 government could desire. It has already been said 
 that he was at the head of all matters musical and
 
 THE MAECHESE LAMBEETO DI CASTELMAEE. 147 
 
 theatrical in Eavenna. And besides all tliis, lie gave 
 every year three grand balls in Carnival ; and his 
 house was at all times open every Sunday and Wed- 
 nesday evening to the elite of the society of the city. 
 
 Gradually it had come to be understood, rather by 
 tacit agreement among the society which frequented 
 these reunions than in obedience to any desire ex- 
 pressed by the Marchese on the subject, that on the 
 Sunday evening ladies were expected ; and on those 
 days a sister-in-law of the Marchese, the widow of a 
 younger brother, was always there to do the honours 
 of the Palazzo Castelmare. The Wednesday evening 
 parties had come to be meetings of gentlemen only. 
 And on these occasions one marked element of the 
 society consisted of all that the city possessed in the 
 way of professors of natural science. For the Mar- 
 chese was, in a mild way, fond of such pursuits, and 
 had a special liking for anatomical inquiries and 
 experiments. 
 
 In one respect only could the world fail to be 
 wholly and perfectly contented with the Marchese 
 Lamberto di Castelmare. At the age of fifty he was 
 still a bachelor ! Not that the continuance of the 
 noble line of Castelmare was thereby compromised. 
 The sister-in-law already mentioned had a son, a
 
 148 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 young man of two-and-twenty, at the time in ques- 
 tion, who was the heir to the wealth and honours of 
 the house, and who, it was to be hoped, would also 
 inherit all that accumulated treasure of public esteem 
 and respect which his uncle had been so uninter- 
 ruptedly laying up. Neither could a social objection 
 to the Marchese's bachelorhood be raised on the score 
 of any such laxity of moral conduct as the world is 
 wont to expect, and to tolerate with more or less of 
 indulgence, in persons so free from special ties. Had 
 the Marchese been an archbishop himself, instead of 
 being merely the intimate friend of one, it could not 
 have seemed in Kavenna more out of the question to 
 mention his respected name in connection with any 
 scandal or inuendo of the kind. There was not a 
 mother in Ravenna who would not have been proud 
 to see her daughter honoured by any such intercourse 
 with the Marchese as might be natural between a 
 father and his child. Proud indeed the most noble 
 of those matrons would have been could she have 
 supposed that any such intercourse tended towards 
 sentiments of a more tender nature. But all hopes 
 of this kind had been long given up in Ravenna. It 
 was quite understood that the Marchese was not a 
 marryiDg man.
 
 THE MAECHESE LAMBERTO DI CASTELMAEE. 1-19 
 
 Not that even now, in his fiftieth year, he might 
 not well have entered the lists with many a younger 
 man as a candidate for the favour of the sex. He 
 was a man of a remarkably fine presence, tall, well 
 made, and with a natural dignity and graceful bearing 
 in all his movements, which were very impressive. 
 He had never given in to the modern fashion of wear- 
 ing either beard or moustache. And the contours 
 of his face were too good and even noble to have 
 gained anything by being so hidden. The large, 
 strong, rather square jaw and chin, and smooth 
 placid cheeks were strongly expressive of quiet deci- 
 sion and dignified force of will. The mouth, almost 
 always the tell-tale feature of the face, seemed in his 
 case rather calculated to puzzle an}^ one who would 
 have speculated on the meanings shadowed forth by 
 the lines of it. It was certainly, with its large rows 
 of unexceptionably brilliant teeth, a very handsome 
 mouth. And it was often not devoid of much sweet- 
 ness. Nobody had ever imagined that they detected 
 any evil expression among its meanings. But where- 
 as a physiognomist looking at that generally faithful 
 expositor of the moral man, when it was at rest, 
 would have been inclined to say, that it was a mouth 
 indicative of much capacity for deep and strong
 
 150 FOUE MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 passion, a further study of it in its varied movements 
 would have led him to the conclusion that no strong 
 or violent passions had ever been there to leave their 
 traces among its lines. The whole face was so 
 essentially calm, unruffled, and placidly dignified. 
 
 The loftly noble forehead, the strongly marked 
 brow, the well- opened calm grey eye, all told the 
 same tale of a mind within well-balanced, thoroughly 
 at peace with itself, and thoroughly contented with 
 its outward manifestations, and with every particular 
 of its position. 
 
 Clearly the Marchese di Castelmare was a remark- 
 ably handsome man. And yet there was something 
 about him, — and always had been even as a young man, 
 — which seemed to be in natural accordance with the 
 fact that he had never seemed to seek female society, 
 save as an amphytrion receiving all Eavenna within 
 his hospitable doors. There was a kind of austerity 
 about his bearing ; — a something difficult to define, 
 which would have prevented any girl from fancying 
 that he was at all likely to want to make love to her ; 
 a something which made it as impossible that the 
 refined courtesy of his address should have called a 
 pleased blush to any girl's cheek, or made her pulse 
 move one beat the faster, as that she should have
 
 THE MARCHESE LAMBEETO DI CASTELMAEE. 151 
 
 been so afiected by the imposition of the hands of tlie 
 bishop who confirmed her ! 
 
 Such as the Marchese was, any committee in the 
 world would have chosen him its president, any jury 
 in the world would have named him its foreman, any 
 board in the world have selected him as its chairman, 
 any deputation in the world v/ould have put him for- 
 ward as its spokesman ; any sovereign in the world 
 might have aj^pointed him grand master of the cere- 
 monies ; but never at any period of his life would the 
 suffrages of the ball-room have pitched upon him to 
 be the leader of the cotillon. 
 
 Perhaps it was that his life had been always too 
 full to spare any space for such lighter matters. He 
 had been left the head of his family when quite a 
 young man, and had at once, in a great degree, 
 stepped into the place he had ever since occupied 
 in the social world of his native city. And what 
 with his music, which was with him really a passion, 
 and what with his dabblings in science, and what 
 w^ith the multifarious business he had always made 
 for himself by real and useful attention to the affairs 
 pertaining to all the functions he had filled, his life 
 had really been a fully occupied one. 
 
 Any man, woman, or child in Ravenna would
 
 152 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 have said, if sucli an unpleasant idea had crossed 
 their minds, that what Ravenna would do without 
 him it was frightful to think. He was very popular, 
 as well as profoundly respected hy all classes of his 
 fellow-citizens. Though certainly a very proud man, 
 his pride was of a nature that gave offence to no- 
 body. He was not only proud of being Marchese di 
 Castelmare ; he was very proud of the esteem, the 
 affection and respect of his fellow-citizens. And 
 perhaps this was, next to his love of music, what 
 most resembled a passion in his nature, and what 
 most ministered to his enjoyment of life. 
 
 It was to this phoenix of a Marchese that Signor 
 Ercole Stadione, the impresario, having comforted 
 himself with the Conte Leandro's j)uiich, and got 
 somewhat thawed, and having changed his mountain 
 of travelling wraps for a costume proper for per- 
 senting himself in such a presence, repaired to 
 report the result of his journey to Milan.
 
 ( 153 ) 
 
 CHIPTER III. 
 
 THE IMPRESARIO'S REPORT. 
 
 It has been said that Signor Ercole Stadione, when 
 he was first introduced to the reader under circum- 
 stances somewhat unfavourable to that dignity of 
 appearance and deportment on which he specially 
 prided himself, presented the appearance of a round 
 mass some five feet in diameter. And it may be 
 thence concluded, that when reduced to the propor- 
 tions familiar to the citizens of Kavenna, his utmost 
 longitudinal dimensions did not exceed that measure. 
 The impresario was in truth a very small man, 
 weighing perhaps seven stone with his boots. But 
 Signor Ercole held, and very frequently expressed, 
 an opinion that dignity and nobility of appearance 
 depended wholly on bearing, and in no wise on mere 
 corporeal altitude. Men were measured in his country 
 (Eome), he said, from the eyebrow upwards. And 
 though Rome is not exactly the place, of all others, 
 where one might expect to find such an estimate
 
 154 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 of human value prevailing, — unless, indeed, small- 
 ness of that which a man has above his brow be 
 deemed the desirable thing,^it was undeniable that 
 little Signer Ercole carried a mass of forehead which 
 might have been the share of a much taller man. 
 
 Nor were the pretensions put forward by the 
 im2)resario on this score altogether vain. He was 
 no fool ; — a shrewd as well as a dapper little man, 
 active and clever at his business, and well liked both 
 by the artists and by the public, for which he 
 catered, despite of being one of the vainest of 
 mortals. M Vanity makes some men very odious to 
 their felEws ; — in others it is perfectly inoffensive ; 
 and thoi»h damaging to a claim to respect, is per- 
 fectly cSnpatible with a considerable amount of 
 liking i§r the victim of it. 
 
 A very dapper little man was Signer Ercole, as 
 he stepped forth, about eight o'clock, entirely refitted, 
 to wait upon the Marchese at the Palazzo Castelmare. 
 He was dressed in complete black, somewhat thread- 
 bare, but scrupulously brushed. He had a large 
 frill at the bosom of his shirt, and more frills around 
 the wristbands of it ; one or two rings of immense 
 size and weight on his small fingers ; boots with 
 heels two inches high, and a rather long frock-coat
 
 THE IMPRESAEIO'S REPOKT. 155 
 
 buttoned closely round Lis little body. Signor Ercole 
 had never been known to wear a swallow-tailed coat 
 on any occasion. And spiteful people told each 
 other, that his motive for never quitting the greater 
 shelter of the frock was to be found in his fear of 
 exhibiting to the unkindly glances of the world a 
 pair of knock-knees of rare perfection. 
 
 When his toilet was completed, he threw over 
 all a handsome black cloth cloak turned up with a 
 broad border of velvet, which he draped around his 
 person with the air of an Apollo, throwing the 
 corner of the garment round the lower part of his 
 face and over his shoulder, in a manner wholly 
 unattainable by any man born on the northern side 
 of the Alps ; and kindly telling Marta that he would 
 take the key, and that she had better not sit up for 
 him in the cold, stepped forth on his errand. 
 
 ^' Ben tomato, Signor Ercole! I thank you for 
 coming to me," said the Marchese, rising from his 
 seat at his library-table, which was covered with 
 papers and books, to receive the iminesario. 
 
 Despite the extreme cold, this owner of a large 
 fortune, and of one of the finest palaces in Eavenna, 
 was not sitting in an easy-chair by the fire, as an 
 Englishman might be expected to be found at such
 
 156 • FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 an hour. The Italian's day is not divided into two 
 portions as clearly as an Englishman's day is divided 
 by his dinner hour into the time for business or out- 
 door exercise, and the time for relaxation, for a book 
 or other amusement. He is quite as likely to apply 
 himself to any business or work of any kind after 
 dinner as before. Still less has he the English- 
 man's notion of making himself comfortable in his 
 home. 
 
 There was a miserable morsel of wood fire in the 
 room in which the Marchese sat ; but it was at the 
 far end of it. And in many a well-to-do Italian 
 home there would have been none at all. In order 
 not to be absolutely frozen, he sat in a large cloak, 
 and had beside him, or in his hands, a little earthen- 
 ware pot filled with burning braize — a scaldino, as it 
 is called, — the use of which is common to the noble 
 in his palace, and the beggar in the street. 
 
 He pointed to a chair near the table, and as he 
 spoke, paid his visitor the ordinary courtesy of offer- 
 ing him his scaldino. 
 
 " My duty, my mere duty, Eccellenza," said 
 Signor Ercole, letting his cloak fall gracefully from 
 his shoulders, and declining the proffered pot of 
 braize with an action that m.ight have suited an
 
 THE IMPRESARIO'S REPORT. 157 
 
 Emperor. *' Of course my first care and object on 
 arriving was to wait on j'om* Excellency. I arrived 
 with barely a breath of life remaining in my body. 
 "What a journey ! Wliat a journey ! But if I had 
 been frozen quite I could not have forgotten that my 
 first duty was to report what I have accomplished to 
 your Excellency." 
 
 " Thanks, good Signor Ercole, thanks ; you know 
 the interest I take in all that concerns the honour of 
 our theatre, and the pleasures of our citizens ; and I 
 may truly add, in all that touches your interest, my 
 good Signor Ercole." 
 
 " Tro2:)po huono ! Eccellenza ! Troppo huono 
 davrero ! " said the little man, half rising from his 
 chair, to execute a bow in return for the Marchese's 
 speech, while his cloak fell around his legs. 
 
 " I suppose that in such weather as this the 
 diligence was behind its time— ^ natiirale — but I 
 have already heard, in a general way, that you have 
 been successful. I congratulate you on it, Signor 
 Ercole, with all my heart ! " 
 
 '■ I trusted that I should have been the first to 
 tell your Excellency the news. I am conscious that 
 it was due to you, Signor Marchese, to be the first to 
 hear the result of my negotiation. But die viiole ?
 
 158 FOUR MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 There was the Conte Leandro waiting for the coach, 
 and standing at the door as I got out of it, more dead 
 than alive ! And there was no way of getting rid of 
 him. I was forced to tell him, in a word, that our 
 hopes were crowned with success. He faithfully 
 promised to keep the fact secret. But, doubtless, all 
 the town knows it by this time ! Che vuole ? " 
 
 ^' E naturals f e naturale ! "" returned the Mar- 
 chese, with a graceful wave of his hand ; " naturally 
 they are all anxious to know the result of our 
 impresario's labours. And I was not left in ignor- 
 ance. My nephew ran in from the Circolo to tell 
 me ; he had just heard it from Signer Leandro. 
 But I thought that I should have a visit from your- 
 self, Signor Ercole, before long." 
 
 " jK come, e come, Signor Marchese ; could your 
 Excellency imagine that I could so fail in my duty 
 as to have omitted waiting on your lordship ! Had 
 it not been that I was half killed by this awful 
 weather, I should have placed myself at your Excel- 
 lency's orders an hour ago. Oh, Signor Marchese, 
 such a journey from Bologna hither ! I know what 
 is my duty to the city ; I know what is expected of 
 me. But — Eccellenza, there are benefactors to their 
 country, who have statues raised to them, that have
 
 THE IMPEESAEIO'S EEPORT. 159 
 
 suifered less in the gaining of them, than I have 
 this day." 
 
 ^'Povero, Signer Ercole ! But who knows? 
 Perhaps we may see the day when Eavenna will 
 reward jouv exertions with a monument. Why 
 not ? It must he a statue, life size, nothing less, 
 with ' Ercole Stadione, La Patria liconoscente,^ on 
 the hase," said the Marchese, with an irony, the fine 
 flavour of which did not in the least pierce, as it was 
 not intended to pierce, the plate armour of the little 
 i mj)rcsarlo's vanity. 
 
 " Oh, Eccellenza ! " said the poor little man, 
 ■^ith the most perfect good faith in the propriety, as 
 well as the seriousness, of his patron's proposition. 
 
 *' And novr, then," said the Marchese, ''let us 
 hear all about it. She accepts our terms ? " 
 
 " The scrittura has been signed before a notary, 
 Excellenza." 
 
 " Bravo ! she sings — ? " 
 
 *' The whole rejyertorio, Signor Marchese ! What 
 is there she could not sing ? " 
 
 " And three representations a week ? " 
 
 " Three representations a week. My instructions 
 were formal on that point, as your Excellency 
 knows."
 
 160 rOUK MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 *' Good ! quite right ! And now Avhat is slie, this 
 diva ? What is she like ? We know that Signer 
 Ercole Stadione is as good a judge of the merits of 
 the lady as of the singer ? " said the Marchese, with 
 a smile. " I don't ask you about her singing," he 
 added. " We have all heard all that can be said 
 about that." 
 
 "Well, Signer Marchese, if I am to speak my 
 own poor opinion, I take the Signora Lalli to be 
 decidedly the most beautiful woman it was ever my 
 good fortune to see," said Signer Ercole, with a voice 
 and manner of profound conviction. 
 
 " Paris himself, if called "on to be umpire once 
 again, could require no more conclusive testimony, 
 my good Signer Ercole. But that is not exactly 
 what I mean. Her mere beauty is a matter that 
 does not interest me very keenly. What I want to 
 know is what sort of a scenic presence has she ? 
 Can she take the stage ? I do not ask if she is 
 captivating in a drawing-room ; but has she the face 
 and figure needed to be effective in the theatre? 
 I need not tell you, my friend, that these are two 
 different things, and do not always go together." 
 said the Marchese, whose interest in the matter 
 was, as he said, wholly theatrical ; first, that he and
 
 THE IMPRESAKIO'S REPORT. 161 
 
 the society of Ravenna should enjoy some fine 
 singing during the coming Carnival ; and, secondly, 
 that the Lalli should produce such an enthusiasm as 
 should lead all the theatrical world to think and say, 
 that a great stroke had been achieved, and a very 
 public- spirited thing done in bringing about the 
 engagement. He was anxious that the step, which 
 he had had a large share in taking, should result in 
 a great and universally admitted success. 
 
 " Eccellenza ! I have no doubt that your lord- 
 ship will be satisfied in these respects. Most true it 
 is, as your Excellency so judiciously remarks, that we 
 require something more than merely a beautiful face, 
 or even than a fine figure. And I have never had the 
 good fortune to see * La Lalli ' on the boards. But 
 as far as my poor judgment goes, she is admirably 
 gifted with all the requisites for achieving the result 
 we desire. Then there is the testimony of all Milan ! 
 And I succeeded in speaking with an old friend who 
 had seen her the year before last at Naples, and whose 
 report I can trust. The opinion seems to be universal 
 that few artists have ever possessed the gift of 
 fascinating an audience to the degree that she does. 
 Your Excellency may take my word for it, she is a 
 very clever woman. My own interviews with her 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 sufficed to convince me of that fact. And I need not 
 tell your Excellency, that little as some of the empty- 
 headed young gentlemen in the stalls may suspect 
 it, talent, — not only the special talent of song but 
 general talent, — has much to do with the power of 
 fascination that a gifted actress exercises." 
 
 *' Most true, mio hravo Signor Ercole ; you speak 
 like an oracle ; and if she left on you the impression 
 that she is a clever woman, I have no doubt in the 
 world that she is so." 
 
 There was no irony in the Marchese's mind when 
 he said this ; and the little impresario, highly gratified 
 again, half rose from his chair to bow in return for 
 the compliment. 
 
 "As for the specialties of her face and person," 
 continued the impresario, "they appeared to me 
 highly favourable. Very tall, — perhaps your lordship 
 or I might say too tall. But — on the stage — the 
 prejudice is in favour of a degree of tallness that we 
 might not admire off it. Gestures, bearing, and the 
 movement of the person equally capable of expressing 
 majestic dignity, or heart-subduing pathos. A most 
 graceful walk. In short, a persona tutta simpatica. 
 As for the head — magnificent hair, — blonde, which 
 for choice I would always prefer — the true Titian
 
 THE IMPRESARIO'S REPORT. 163 
 
 sun-tinged aubm-n, — a telling eye, finely formed nose, 
 and mouth of inexpressible sweetness ! " 
 
 ^' Per Bacco, Signor Ercole, a Phoenix indeed ! 
 A Diva davvero!^'' said the Marchese. 
 
 " Eccellenza, she'll do," said the little man 
 nodding his head with its top-heavy forehead three or 
 four times emphatically. " If she do not make such 
 a sensation in Kavenna as we have not known here 
 for a long time, say that Ercole Stadione knows 
 nothing of his profession." 
 
 "Bravo! bravo !" cried the Marchese, gleefully 
 rubbing his hands. " And now, my good friend, I 
 won't keep you from the bed and the rest you so 
 well deserve any longer. You may depend on it 
 that your zeal in this matter wont be overlooked or 
 forgotten." 
 
 " Troppo hicono, Eccellenza ! But there was one 
 word I wished to say to your lordship," continued 
 little Signor Ercole, dropping his voice to a lower 
 key, and speaking with some hesitation, — one little 
 word that I thought it might be useful, or — or — 
 desirable to mention " 
 
 " Yes, speak on, my dear Signor Ercole, I am 
 all attention. What is it ? No drawback I hope ! " 
 
 ** Only this, Signor Marchese," said the little man
 
 164 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 casting a glance round the room, dropping his voice 
 still more, and bringing his head nearer to the ear of 
 the Marchese ; " only this : — you see if there had been 
 nothing — disagreeable, — nothing untoward, as I may 
 say — your lordship understands, we should never 
 have had La Lalli at Eavenna. There has been a — 
 sort of difficulty — your lordship understands— spite- 
 ful things have been said — calumny — all calumny no 
 doubt — the constant attendant of merit, alas ! we all 
 know. But — in short — here in Eavenna — it would 
 not be — desirable, — your Excellency understands and 
 appreciates what I would say a thousand times better 
 than I can say it. It would be in every point of view 
 better, as your Excellency sees, that no idle chatter 
 of this kind should be set about here. It would be 
 inexpedient for more reasons than one." 
 
 *' Quite so ; quite so. Your ideas on the subject 
 are happily judicious, Signer Ercole. What have we 
 to do with misunderstandings that may have arisen 
 at Milan ? Of course, it is not our business to have 
 ever heard anything of the kind. And I'll tell you 
 what I'll do, and that at once, before there is time 
 for any mischief to be done. I will just give my 
 nephew a hint. He can be trusted. He is discreet. 
 And it will be easy for him to put down at once and
 
 THE IMPRESARIO'S REPORT. 165 
 
 discountenance any talk of the kind, or any rumour 
 that might find its way among our youngsters." 
 
 " The very thing, Eccellenza ! The Marchese 
 Ludovico will understand the thing at once. And 
 half a word from him would give the key-note, as I 
 may say, to the tone of talk ahout the lady. Ravenna 
 must not he thought to be contenting herself with 
 that which Milan rejects," said Signor Ercole, with 
 the air of a patriot. 
 
 '' I should think not, indeed ! And, doubtless, 
 Milan would have been but too glad to retain La 
 Lalli, had it not been for some unimportant 
 contretemps. Ludovico shall put the matter in its 
 right light." 
 
 As he spoke, the Marchese rang a little hand-bell 
 which stood on his library table ; and on a servant 
 entering from the anteroom, he told him just to step 
 across to the Circolo, and request the Marchese 
 Ludovico to be so good as to come to him for five 
 minutes. 
 
 In very little more than that time the man 
 returned, saying that the Marchese Ludovico was not 
 at the Circolo. He had been there for a few minutes 
 at the beginning of the evening, but had gone away 
 without saying whither he was going.
 
 166 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 The Marchese knitted his brows when this 
 message was given to him ; and after a minute's 
 thoughtful silence, shook his head in a manner 
 that showed him to be not a little displeased. 
 From a look of intelligence that might have been 
 observed in Signor Ercole's eyes, it might have been 
 judged that he understood that the Marchese was 
 more annoyed than on account of the momentary 
 frustration of his immediate purpose, and that he was 
 aware of the nature of his annoyance. But he did 
 not venture to say any word on the subject ; and the 
 Marchese took leave of him, merely saying that he 
 would not forget to act on Signor Ercole's caution 
 when he should see his nephew the next morning.
 
 ( 167 ) 
 
 CHAPTEH IV. 
 
 PAOLINA FOSCARELLI. 
 
 The young Marcliese Ludovico di Castelmare had in 
 the early part of the evening lounged into the Circolo, 
 as was the habit of most of those of his class, seniors 
 as well as juniors ; but he had, as had been correctly 
 reported to his uncle, very shortly left it without 
 saying a word to any one as to how he intended to 
 dispose of his evening. The Marchese Ludovico 
 flattered himself, as people are apt to flatter them- 
 selves in similar cases, that his absence would be 
 little noted, and that his reticence would suffice to 
 leave all Eavenna in ignorance as to the errand on 
 which he was bound when he left the Circolo. So 
 far was this from being the case, however, that there 
 was not one, at all events among the younger men, 
 whom he left behind him, who did not know perfectly 
 well where he was gone ; and that his uncle, when by 
 the unforeseen accident that has been related he was
 
 168 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 made aware of his absence from the club, was at no 
 loss to guess what he had done with himself. 
 
 But in order that the reader may have a like 
 advantage, it will be necessary to mention very briefly 
 some circumstances which occurred previously to the 
 period referred to in the former chapters. 
 
 Some months before the time of Signer Ercole 
 Stadione's journey to Milan, a wandering Englishman 
 had arrived at Kavenna, and having spent three or 
 four days in examining with much interest the 
 wonderful wealth of Mosaics of the fourth, fifth, and 
 sixth centuries, still preserved in the churches of the 
 ancient capital of the Exarchs, had continued his 
 route to Venice. 
 
 There, in the gallery of the Academia, his atten- 
 tion had been attracted by a female student, who was 
 engaged in copying a canvas of Tintoretto. As it so 
 happened that the traveller was a competent judge of 
 such matters, he was struck by the goodness of the 
 work, especially when considered in connection with 
 the appearance of the artist. She was evidently very 
 young, — a slim, slender girl, whose girlish figure 
 looked all the more willow-like from the simple 
 plainness, and what seemed to the Englishman the 
 insufficiency, of her clothing. For the weather.
 
 PAOLINA FOSCAEELLI. 169 
 
 though not so severe as when it had half frozen 
 Signor Ercole Stadione, was already very cold, — cold 
 enough to have depopulated the gallery of its usual 
 crowd of copying artists. At some distance from the 
 young girl's easel, sitting in a corner lighted up by a 
 stray ray of sunshine, there was an old woman busily 
 knitting, — probably the girl's mother, or protrectress. 
 And besides those two, and the Englishman, and a 
 lounging attendant wrapped in his cloak, there was 
 no other soul in the gallery. 
 
 Yet the young student busily plied her task ; 
 nor was she surprised into looking up by the stopping 
 of the stranger behind her chair. He did not see her 
 face, therefore ; and it would be consequently unfair 
 to imagine that any portion of the interest he could 
 not help feeling in her was to be attributed to the 
 ordinary charm of a pretty face, whereas it was really 
 due partly to the artistic merit of her copy, partly to 
 her bravery in sticking to her work despite the 
 severity of the season, and partly to her youth and 
 very apparent poverty. 
 
 Suddenly, as he watched the progress of her work 
 slowly growing beneath the rapid movements of her 
 slender, blue-cold fingers, the idea came into his 
 mind that here might be a favourable opportunity of
 
 170 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 obtaining what he had much wished to procure when 
 he had been at Kavenna, — some drawings of several of 
 the most remarkable of the Mosaics in the churches 
 of San Vitale and St. Apollinare in Classe. He was 
 quite satisfied from what he saw that the young artist 
 was competent to execute the drawings he required. 
 The conscientious determination, which alone could 
 have made her continue her work under such circum- 
 stances, was a guarantee to him that she would do 
 her best. It was not probable that the expectations 
 of the girl before him as to remuneration would go 
 beyond such sum as he was willing to pay. And 
 lastly — though truly not least in that Englishman's 
 mind — it might be that such a proposal would be a 
 very acceptable boon to a poor and meritorious artist. 
 So managing to speak to the attendant, when he was 
 at a far part of the gallery, he learned from him that 
 the girl's name was Paolina Foscarelli ; that the old 
 woman was, the officer believed, her aunt ; that 
 her name was Orsola Steno ; and that they lived 
 together at No. 8 in the Campo San Donato. 
 
 That same evening the stranger desired his 
 servitore di piazza to make inquiries about Signora 
 Orsola Steno, and her niece, who copied in the 
 gallery; and the next morning he was told that, if
 
 PAOLINA FOSCAKELLI. 171 
 
 he would call upon the Dh-ector of the Gallery, that 
 gentleman would be happy to reply to any inquiries 
 about the Signorina Paolina Foscarelli. 
 
 The Englishman waited on the Director forth- 
 with, and from him learned that such a commission 
 as he had thought of giving to the young copyist 
 could not be better bestoAved in any point of view. 
 The Director spoke highly of her artistic capabilities, 
 and more highly still of her character and worth. 
 She had been left an orphan, wholly unprovided for, 
 several years ago. Her father had gained his living 
 by copying in the galler}^ The old woman, Orsola 
 Steno, with wdiom she lived, was no relation to her, 
 but had been the dear friend of her mother, and had 
 taken the orphan to live with her out of pure charity. 
 They were very poor, — very poor, indeed. But 
 Paolina w^as beginning to do something. She had 
 already sold one or two copies of small pictures. 
 The larger work, on which she was engaged, she had 
 undertaken by the advice of the Director, in the 
 hope of disposing of it when the following summer 
 should bring with it the usual incoming tide of 
 travellers. 
 
 The result was that the stranger, taking with him 
 a little note from the Director, went again to the
 
 172 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 gallery tlie next day, and finding Signorina Paolina 
 at lier post as usual, then and there made his 
 proposition to her. 
 
 He was glad, when in doing so he spoke face to 
 face with the girl, that the matter had been settled in 
 his mind before he had seen her. For he was pleased 
 to be sure that his judgment had not been warped in 
 the matter by the irresistible prejudice in favour of a 
 beautiful girl. And had he seen Paolina first, he 
 could have had no such assurance. In truth, the 
 poor Venetian painter's orphan child was very 
 beautiful. 
 
 It is little to the purpose to attempt a detailed 
 description of her beauty ; for such descriptions 
 rarely, if ever, succeed in conveying to the imagina- 
 tion of a reader any accurate presentation of the 
 picture, which the writer has in his mind's eye. 
 She was dark. Hair, brows, eyes, and complexion, 
 were all dark ; and the contour of the face was of the 
 long or oval type of conformation — very delicate — 
 transparently delicate — more so, the Englishman 
 thought, not without a pull at his heart-strings, than 
 was quite compatible with a due daily supply of 
 nourishment. Still she did not look unhealthy. 
 At seventeen a good deal of pinching may be
 
 PAOLINA FOSCARELLI. 173 
 
 undergone without destro}dng the elastic vigour of 
 youth. 
 
 But the chief and most striking charm of the 
 beautiful face was unquestionably imparted to it from 
 the moral and intellectual nature within. There 
 was a calm and quiet dignity in the expression of the 
 pure and noble brow, which may often have been seen 
 in women of similar character, and of some twenty- 
 five years of age. But it is rare to find such at 
 seventeen. Doubtless the having been left alone in 
 the world at so tender an age, had done much towards 
 producing the expression in question. It was added 
 to, moreover, by the singular grace of the girl's 
 figure and mode of standing there before the stranger, 
 as she had risen from her easel on his presenting her 
 with the Director's note. 
 
 She was rather above the middle height, and very 
 slender ; — more so, the Englishman thought again, 
 than she ought to have been. She was very poorly 
 and even insufficiently clad. But the little bit of 
 quite plain linen around her slim throat was spot- 
 lessly clean ; and her poor and totally unornamented 
 chocolate-coloured stuff dress was in decently tidy 
 condition, and was worn with that nameless and 
 inexplicable grace which causes it to be said of
 
 174 FOUE MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 similarly gifted women that they may wear any- 
 thing. 
 
 And the stranger was delighted, too, with her 
 manner in accepting his proposition. Though she 
 made no attempt to conceal, and, indeed, eagerly 
 expressed her sense of the value to her of the pro- 
 posal that was made to her, there was a modest, and 
 at the same time self-respecting, dignity ahout her 
 acceptance of it, which was to his mind an earnest of 
 the highly conscientious manner in which the task 
 would he carried out. 
 
 It was therefore settled at once that Paolina, 
 together with her friend and protectress, the Signora 
 Orsola Steno, should proceed to Kavenna as soon as 
 she could conveniently do so. A list of the works of 
 which she was required to make copies was given to 
 her. It included, besides the whole of the very 
 interesting Mosaics in San Yitale, and several of the 
 curious Mosaic portraits of the early bishops of the 
 city in the church of St. Apollinare in Classe, two 
 remarkable full-length figures from the ancient 
 baptistery, the representation of the Saviour as the 
 "Good Shepherd" in the celebrated mausoleum of 
 the Empress Galla Placidia, and the portraits of the 
 Apostles in the private chapel of the Cardinal. Of
 
 PAOLINA FOSCAEELLI. 175 
 
 all these works, exact copies were to be executed on a 
 scale of one -sixth the size of the originals; and it 
 was calculated that the work would require at least 
 fifteen months to do it in. A sufiicient sum of 
 money was paid in advance to enable Signora Orsola 
 Steno and her ward to move to Ravenna, and to begin 
 their residence there ; and satisfactory arrangements 
 were made for subsequent quarterly payments of 
 two-thirds of the price to be paid for the completed 
 copies. 
 
 Besides all this, the English patron provided the 
 young artist with a letter of introduction, which he 
 doubted not would make smooth all difficulties which 
 might lie in the way of her obtaining the permissions 
 and facilities necessary for the execution of her task. 
 This letter was addressed to the " Illustrissimo Signor 
 il Signor Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare." The 
 English traveller had brought from Rome a letter of 
 introduction to the Marchese, and had received from 
 him, during his short stay at Ravenna, all that 
 courteous attention and friendly interest in his 
 artistic researches which Englishmen are always sure 
 to meet with in the smaller cities of Italy, even in 
 yet larger measure than in the larger capitals, where 
 stranj^ers of all sorts are more abundant.
 
 176 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 Thus equipped and provided, Paolina Foscarelli, 
 accompanied by Signora Orsola Steno, had arriYcd in 
 Ravenna in the March of the same year, in the 
 November of which Signor Ercole Stadione had made 
 his journey to Milan.
 
 ( 177 ) 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 RIVALRY. 
 
 The first care of the two Venetian women, on arriving 
 in their new place of abode, which seemed to them 
 almost as much a foreign country as Pekin might 
 seem to an Englishman, was, of course, to present 
 their letter of introduction to the powerful and 
 illustrious protector to whom they were recommended. 
 But there had, thereupon, arisen a difference of 
 opinion between the older and the younger lady. 
 Old Orsola Steno, acting on the wisdom which certain 
 observations of life picked up in her sixty years of 
 passage through it had probably taught her, was 
 strongly of opinion that the important letter should 
 be presented to the Marchese by Paolina in person, 
 — or if not that, by both of them together. But 
 Paolina strongly objected to this mode of proceeding; 
 and urged her friend to take upon herself the duty 
 of waiting on the Marchese. Orsola contested the 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 FOUR BIONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 point as strongly as she could. But as it was very 
 rarely that Paolina had ever opposed her in any 
 thing, she was the less prepared to resist opposition 
 on the present occasion. And as Paolina was in 
 this matter obstinate, old Orsola yielded; and set 
 forth by herself to walk to the Palazzo Castelmare. 
 Nobody had ever any difficulty in obtaining access to 
 the popular Marchese ; and the Signora Orsola Steno 
 was at once ushered into his library, — presented her 
 letter, and was received with all courtesy and 
 kindness. 
 
 To receive recommendations of all sorts, to be 
 asked to render all kinds of services, was nothing 
 new or uncommon to the Marchese. He ran over the 
 Englishman's letter rapidly. 
 
 " Va bene ! va bene ! At your service, Signora ! 
 I shall be most happy to give you all the assistance in 
 my power. I remember very well that Signer Vilobe 
 (Willoughby was the Englishman's name) was desi- 
 rous of procuring copies of some of our mosaics. I 
 am very happy he has found so competent a person 
 to execute them." 
 
 Signora Orsola made a feeble attempt to point 
 out that she was not herself the artist who was to 
 make the copies in question ; but what with her
 
 RIVALRY. 179 
 
 awe of the grand seigneur to whom she was speaking, 
 and what with the strangeness of her Venetian tones 
 to her hearer's ear, and what with the Marchese's 
 hurry, her explanation failed to reach his compre- 
 hension. 
 
 " Yes ! You and your companion will need to 
 find a suitable lodging, the first thing. We must 
 see to it for you. But the fact is, Signora Foscarelli, 
 that I am more than usually busy this morning. I 
 am expecting some gentlemen here on business every 
 minute. If you will excuse me, therefore, I will 
 entrust the commission of finding a proper quartiere 
 for you to my nephew. He will be more likely than 
 I am to know where what you require is likely to be 
 found. He shall call upon you this morning. Where 
 are you.? At the locanda cW Tre lie ! Very good. 
 Of course you don't want to remain in an inn longer 
 than can be helped. I will tell my nephew to go to 
 you this morning." 
 
 So Signora Steno returned to the " Tre Ee," a 
 little alarmed at the thought that she had passed 
 herself off for another person and a somewhat 
 different one, but charmed with the courtesy and 
 kindness of the Marchese. And in less than an 
 hour the strangers from Venice heard two voices
 
 180 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 below in the entrance of the locanda inquiring for two 
 Venetian ladies who had recently arrived in Kavenna. 
 
 Two voices ! — for it had so happened that when 
 the servant, whom the Marchese Lamberto had sent 
 to his nephew to request him to undertake this little 
 commission for him, found the Marchese Ludovico 
 at the door of the Circolo, the Signore Conte Leandro 
 Lombardoni was lounging there with him. 
 
 " Bah ! what a bore ? My uncle is always 
 making himself the maestro di casa, the manager, 
 the protector, the servant of ail the world. Tell the 
 Marchese I'll go directly," he said to the servant ; 
 then added to his companion, " Come, Leandro, 
 don't desert me ! Let's go together and see what 
 these Venetian women want." 
 
 " I ought to go to the Contessa Giulia at two. 
 She'll be waiting for me, and will be furious if I 
 disappoint her. Never mind, what must be, must 
 be ! I Tre Re ! Ugh, what a distance ; why, it is 
 at the other end of the town ? " 
 
 " Never mind, come along ; it will do you good 
 to walk half a mile for once and away," returned 
 Ludovico, who knew perfectly well how much to 
 believe about the Contessa Giulia's despair at his 
 friend's non-appearance.
 
 KIVALRY. 181 
 
 Thus tlie two young men went together to the 
 locanda tie' Tre Be to execute the commission en- 
 trusted to his nephew by the Marchese Lamberto. 
 
 *'Yes," said a slatternly girl, who came forth 
 from some back region at the call of the two young 
 men, and who stared at them with an offensive 
 mixture of surprise and understanding interest, when 
 they inquired for the ladies recently arrived from 
 Venice. *'Yes, they were upstairs, on the right 
 hand, in No. 13." So they climbed the stairs, 
 knocked at No. 13, were told to ixissare by the voice 
 of Signora Orsola, and in the next instant were in 
 the room with the two strangers. 
 
 The first glance at the occupants of the chamber 
 produced a shock of surprise, which manifested itself 
 in so sudden a change of manner and bearing in the 
 two young men, that it would have been ludicrous to 
 any looker-on. The two hats came down from the 
 two heads with a spring-like suddenness and quick- 
 ness ; and both the young men bowed lowly. 
 
 ''Ladies," said Ludovico, addressing himself 
 mainly to the elder, but turning also towards the 
 younger as he spoke, while the Conte Leandro stared 
 unmitigatedly at Paolina ; " we come to you, sent by 
 my uncle the Marchese di Castelmare, and charged
 
 182 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 by Irim to assist you in finding a convenient quartiere 
 for your residence in Eavenna. Permit me to say on 
 my own behalf," he added, turning more entirely 
 towards Paolina, " that I hope it may not be a 
 short one ! " 
 
 '' If the Signorina would make her stay among us 
 as long as we would wish it, she would never leave 
 Ravenna any more," said the Conte Leandro, with a 
 glance from his sharp little eyes, and a bow of his fat 
 person, that were meant to be quite killing. 
 
 ''It is this young lady, I conclude, who has 
 undertaken to copy some of our mosaics for the 
 Englishman, who writes to my uncle, then ? " said 
 Ludovico with a good-humoured and bright smile. 
 
 " That is it. Signer — though she is but such a 
 slip of a thing to look at. I was afraid the Signer 
 Marchese had taken it into his head that I was 
 Paolina Foscarelli. Lord love you ! I could not 
 make, nor yet copy a picture, if it were to save 
 my life ! " 
 
 ** My uncle will be equally happy to have it in his 
 power to oblige either lady," rejoined Ludovico. • 
 
 ''I am sure the Marchese is too good," said 
 Signora Steno ; ''we remain here till the Signorina 
 Foscarelli has finished the job she has undertaken.
 
 RIVALRY. 183 
 
 and no longer, nor no shorter. And some place we 
 must find to live in the while. And if your lordship 
 could tell us where we would he likely to find a 
 couple of hedrooms, a hit of a sitting-room, and the 
 use of a kitchen, it would be very kind." 
 
 " There will he no difficulty ahout that, I think, 
 Signora," said theMarchese Ludovico ; "I will go at 
 once and inquire ! I think I know where what we 
 want may he had. If you will permit me, I will 
 return to jou here in less than half an hour." 
 
 ^' Troppo garhato, Signer Marchese ! " said Orsola. 
 
 " If the Signorina will permit me," said Leandro, 
 *' I think I know of just such a little quartierino as 
 would suit her, snug, quiet, and perfettcunente 
 liberoJ" 
 
 To this offer, Paolina felt herself constrained to 
 reply by a silent little bow. His former speech had 
 received no reply whatsoever. 
 
 *^ I think I had better do what my uncle has told 
 me to do, Leandro," said the Marchese Ludovico, 
 drily. 
 
 And Paolina felt sufficiently grateful to him for 
 the amount of snubbing contained in his accent to 
 say the first words she had spoken since they entered 
 the room. " We shall be exceedingly obliged to you,
 
 184 rOUK MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 Signore, if you will do so. Any quartiere which 
 the Marchess Lamberto di Castelmare could recom- 
 mend to us," she added, with a significant emphasis 
 on the words, " would be sure to suit us." 
 
 " But perhaps the Marchese Lamberto may not 
 know half as much about such matters as I do, hella 
 Signorinu. People forget so many things by the time 
 they come to the age of the Marchese," said the 
 Conte Leandro, with a leering smile, which was 
 meant to establish a confidential understanding 
 between him and Paolina. But the young girl's only 
 answer was to turn in her chair a little more away 
 from him towards the window. 
 
 " I think we had better leave the ladies, and see 
 if we can find for them what they require. I should 
 prefer doing myself what my uncle has entrusted to 
 me," said Ludovico, with a frown on his brow. 
 
 " Yery good — do so. You say you shall be back 
 here in half an hour ; if these ladies will permit me 
 I will remain with them till you come back, and 
 then we can all go and look at the quartiere you have 
 found together," said the Conte Leandro. 
 
 Poor Paolina, though perfectly determined not to 
 acquiesce in this arrangement, was quite at a loss 
 what to say or do to prevent it from being carried out.
 
 RIVALRY. 185 
 
 ''But you forget your engagement to the Con- 
 tessa Giulia," said Ludovico ; '' surely you had better 
 make haste to keep it." 
 
 He had no belief whatever in any such engage- 
 ment, and had a very faint hope that any care for 
 consistency would avail to induce his friend the 
 Conte Leandro to affect the necessity of keeping it. 
 But he also was perfectly determined not to leave 
 him in the room with the strangers, though almost 
 as much at a loss as Paolina how to prevent it. 
 
 " Oh, hang the Contessa Giulia ! In any case, it 
 is too late to go to her now, and I am sure I shall 
 like much better to stay here," said Leandro. 
 
 " Yery likely. But j^ou forget that it may not be 
 equally agreeable to these ladies that you should 
 remain here, and they just arrived from a journey 
 too," said the Marchese Ludovico, who was inwardly 
 cursing his folly in having brought his friend with 
 him on this errand, which he unquestionably would 
 not have done had he had the remotest idea what 
 manner of ladies they were that his uncle had deputed 
 him to attend on. 
 
 " By- the-by, Leandro," he said, suddenly, as he 
 was moving towards the door, " you must come with 
 me after all ; for now I remember that the rooms I
 
 186 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 had in my mind were let a short time since, and the 
 best thing we can do will be to go and look at those 
 you spoke of." 
 
 " Oh ! I will tell you where they are " said 
 
 Leandro. 
 
 "No, no! that won't do at all; come — come 
 along. I won't go there without you. Come ! " said 
 the Marchese. 
 
 And this was said in a manner that had the 
 effect of making Leandro take leave of the ladies, 
 with many hopes that they might meet again 
 ere long. 
 
 Very soon after the two young men were in the 
 street together, Ludovico protested that he must call 
 at the Circolo before attending to the business they 
 were on ; and when he got there he pretended to be 
 obliged to run home for a minute to the Palazzo 
 Castelmare, which was hard by, saying that he would 
 return and rejoin the Conte Leandro in less than five 
 minutes. And very heartily did that deceived gentle- 
 man abuse his friend, when he had waited an hour, 
 and found that he did not return at all. Then, poor 
 gentleman ! he knew that he had been bamboozled, — 
 cruelly treated, as he said himself. And he perfectly 
 well understood his dear friend's object, too !
 
 RIVALRY. 187 
 
 " Such an intolerable, abominable coxcomb as 
 that Ludovico is ! As if he fancied that nobody was 
 to have a chance of speaking to that pretty girl but 
 himself. As if he thought that he had the ghost of 
 a chance with a woman, if I thought it worth while 
 to cut him out ! " grumbled the gallant, gay Lesmdro 
 to himself. 
 
 The Marchese Ludovico, meanwhile, the instant 
 he had succeeded in freeing himself from his com- 
 panion, darted off in search of an apartment, which 
 he thought would just suit his fair clients ; hurried 
 back to them, at the inn ; and had them installed 
 in their new quarters by that evening. 
 
 *' I am sure I do not know how to thank you 
 enough for all your kindness, Signer Marchese. I 
 do not know what we should have done without it," 
 said the Signora Orsola. 
 
 " For all your kindness ! " repeated Paolina, 
 with a look and an emphasis which, while it expressed 
 her gratitude, left him at no loss to understand 
 what part of all he had done for them had chiefly 
 seemed to the pretty Paolina to merit her special 
 thanks. 
 
 And these were the facts and the circumstances 
 that had brought about a state of matters which left the
 
 188 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 Marcliese Lamberto and the gossips of the Circolo in 
 no doubt where the young Marchese Ludovico had 
 gone to pass his evening, when his uncle sent for 
 him to the club for the purpose which the reader wots 
 of, and failed to find him there.
 
 ( 189 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF TKOUBLE. 
 
 Nearly eight months had elapsed between that day 
 when the Signora Orsola and the Signorina PaoHna 
 were installed in their new lodging and the day when 
 the Marchese Ludovico was sitting in the more than 
 modest little room over a miserable morsel of fire, 
 with the tw^o Venetians, when his uncle sent for him 
 to give him the hint about any inconvenient gossip 
 that might be whispered concerning the Signora 
 Bianca Lalli, in accordance with the suggestion of 
 the impresario. 
 
 The Marchese Lamberto had made the personal 
 acquaintance of the young artist, who had been 
 recommended to his protection very shortly after the 
 day on which he had deputed his nephew to find a 
 lodging for her ; and he had instantly become aware 
 that he had made a mistake in so doing ; — that he 
 would certainly have deemed it better to take that
 
 190 FOUK MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 care upon himself rather than have confided it to the 
 young Marchese, if he had had the least idea what 
 sort of a person the Venetian artist was. Neverthe- 
 less, he had heen very strongly impressed with the 
 propriety of Paolina's manner and bearing, and 
 after one or two more interviews, with the thorough 
 modesty of her mind, and purity and dignity of her 
 character. And the Marchese was a man well com- 
 petent to form a sound judgment of such matters. 
 
 He had no reason to think that the young man, 
 his nephew, was as prudent, as steady, as little liable 
 to the influence of female beauty, as cold, if you will, 
 as he himself had been at the same age. On the 
 contrary, the character, which the Marchese Ludovico 
 had made for himself in Kavenna, was a rather 
 diametrically opposite one. But he was strongly 
 of opinion that in any enterprise of an illegitimate 
 nature which his nephew might attempt with the 
 young artist, he would have his trouble only for his 
 pains. And, of course, any enterprise of any other 
 nature was wholly out of the question. 
 
 Still, as the months went on he would have been 
 far better contented that his nephew should have 
 been less often at the home of the two Venetians. 
 There were circumstances which made such visits
 
 THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. 191 
 
 especially inexpedient at the present time. He 
 knew tliat the young man was there much oftener 
 than he judged to he in any way desirable ; and the 
 young man luas there much oftener than his uncle 
 knew. The Marchese Lamberto was still very much 
 persuaded that Paolina had not been led by his 
 nephew into any false step of a seriously blamable 
 nature. But this was by no means any reason with 
 the Marchese for approving of his nephew's conduct. 
 The intercourse was altogether objectionable. Talk 
 was engendered, — talk of an undesirable description; 
 and this was excessively disagreeable to the Marchese, 
 who had views for his nephew which might be 
 seriously compromised by it. A liaison of the kind, 
 let the real nature of it be what it would, was in any 
 case discreditable to his nephew and heir, and 
 damaging more or less to the position which he 
 wished to see the young man occupy in the town. 
 It was especially so, as has been said, at the present 
 conjuncture. 
 
 Then, of course, it could not be otherwise than 
 injurious to the girl. She had, in some sort, been 
 recommended to his care. And it disturbed him 
 much, that the conduct of his nephew should be the 
 means of damaging her reputation.
 
 192 FOUE MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 Yet the Marchese, being a man of sense, knew 
 very well that it would not have done any good to 
 attempt to exercise any such authority over the young 
 man as to forbid him to visit the lodging of the 
 Venetians. In the first place, such a step would, 
 according to the notions and ways of looking at things 
 of the society in which he lived, have placed him 
 himself in a very ridiculous light ; — a danger w^hich 
 was not to be contemplated for an instant ! And, 
 besides, the Marchese was very well aware that even 
 if such an attempt did not cause his nephew to 
 assume a position of open rebellion, it would only 
 have the effect of making him do secretly and still 
 more objectionably what he did, as it was, compara- 
 tively openly. 
 
 Comparatively, it must be said ; for Ludovico was 
 very much more frequently at the little house in the 
 Strada di S. Eufemia than his uncle wotted of. 
 
 Not much more frequently, however, than was 
 very well known by most of his contemporaries and 
 fellow-habitues of the Circolo, — by pretty well the 
 whole of the "society" of Ravenna, that is to say. 
 And in the earlier part of the time in question, — of 
 the eight months, that is, from the March in which 
 the young artist came to Ravenna, to the November
 
 THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. 193 
 
 in which Signor Ercole Stadione had made his 
 journey to Milan — there had been plenty of joking 
 and raillery about Ludovico's enthralment by the 
 " bella Veneziana," and many attempts to compete 
 with him for so very attractive and desirable a 
 " buona fortuna." But all this had only been at the 
 beginning of the time. Ludovico had taken the 
 matter in a tone and in a humour, that had soon put 
 an end to all such joking and to all such attempts. 
 It was in all ways easy for him to do this. He was 
 popular, and much liked among the young men, in 
 the first place. His social position, as the heir of 
 one of the first families of the province whether for 
 wealth or nobility of race, and of a man of such social 
 standing as his uncle, made it a very undesirable thing 
 to quarrel with him. And even without any of such 
 vantage-ground of position, Ludovico di Castelmare 
 was a man, whose path it would have been dangerous 
 to cross in such a matter as this, and who was very 
 well capable of affording to any woman, in whom he 
 was interested, a very efficient protection against any 
 such offence as the most enterprising of the jeimesse 
 doree of Ravenna might have been disposed to 
 offer her. 
 
 The Conte Leandro Lombardoni had made the 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 FOUE MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 utmost of the chance that had rendered him the 
 earliest acquaintance of the beautiful Venetian in 
 Eavenna, with the exception of Ludovico himself. 
 He had chattered, and boasted after the manner of 
 his kind. He had succeeded in finding out the 
 lodging, which Ludovico had taken so much pains to 
 conceal from him, and had endeavoured to establish 
 himself on the footing of a visiting acquaintance in 
 the Strada Sta. Eufemia. But it had come to pass, 
 that a degree of intimacy had very quickly grown up 
 between Paolina and Ludovico, which permitted her 
 to let him understand that he would render her an 
 acceptable service by once again ridding her of the 
 Conte Leandro, as he had done on that first day of 
 their acquaintance. And the result was that, one 
 evening, the gallant Conte, on knocking at the door of 
 the house in the Strada di S. Eufemia, had it opened 
 to him by his friend Ludovico, — and further, that 
 he never came back there any more, or was heard 
 again to make any allusion whatever to his Venetian 
 acquaintances. 
 
 But what was no longer said jestingly before 
 Ludovico' s face was none the less said enviously, 
 sneeringly, or knowingly behind his back. It was 
 perfectly well understood by all the young men in
 
 THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. 195 
 
 Ravenna that lie was desperately in love with the 
 beautiful Venetian artist. As to the terms on which 
 he stood with her there were differences of opinion. 
 But by far the more accredited notion was that the 
 affair was quite a normal and ordinary one; and 
 that the charming Paolina was the young Marchese's 
 mistress. 
 
 Would he give her up, when the marriage, which, 
 as was well known to all Ravenna, his uncle had 
 been arranging for him with the young Contessa 
 Violante di Marliani, and which was expected to 
 come off shortly, should be consummated ? That was 
 the more interesting point for speculation. Would 
 he, as really seemed not impossible, be mad enough 
 to carry on with this Venetian girl to such an extent 
 as to give umbrage to the family of the Contessa, and 
 perhaps even endanger the match ? This also was 
 debated among his young peers of the Circolo, while 
 he was passing the hours in the Strada di Sta. 
 Eufemia. 
 
 His uncle was far from being aware how far 
 matters had gone with his nephew in this matter. 
 But he knew enough to make him uneasy about it, 
 and to lead him to endeavour to push on the match 
 with the Contessa Violante by every means in his
 
 196 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 power : for tlie marriage with the Lady Yiolante was, 
 in every point of view, a desirahle one. The 
 Cardinal Legate of Kavenna was a Marliani, and the 
 young lady in question was his great-niece — the 
 granddaughter of his only brother. She had lost 
 both her parents at an early age, and now lived at 
 Ravenna with a great-aunt, — the younger sister of 
 the Cardinal, under his protection and wing, as it 
 were. The family was not a rich one, but the 
 Cardinal had worn the purple many years. He had 
 held very lucrative offices in the Apostolic Court 
 previously, and had doubtless amassed very consider- 
 able wealth, and the Lady Violante was his only 
 heiress. Besides that, of course the position of her 
 great -uncle as Legate rendered her all that was 
 desirable as a match for the noblest of the province — 
 not to mention other grander possibilities in the 
 background. The reigning Pontiff was a very aged 
 man. The Cardinal di Marliani was thought to 
 stand very well at Rome. Who knew what might 
 happen ? It would have been too monstrous if the 
 hope of such a marriage as this were to be endan- 
 gered by a silly fancy for the pretty face and slim 
 figure of a little artist. 
 
 The Marchese Lamberto had felt his position to
 
 THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLE. 197 
 
 be a difficult one. He really did not know what line 
 it would be wisest to take. Ludovico bad spoken 
 among his associates at the Circolo in a manner 
 which had effectually silenced all light allusion to the 
 ladies in the Strada di Santa Eufemia. He could 
 not speak exactly in the same tone to his uncle ; but 
 the hints that the Marchese Lamberto had from time 
 to time thrown out to the effect that, under the circum- 
 stances of the case, he did not approve of his nephew's 
 intimacy with the Signorina, Paolina Foscarelli, had 
 been received in a manner by the younger man which 
 had w^arned the elder that some caution was required 
 in the task of guiding his nephew in this matter. 
 He had never had much cause to be dissatisfied with 
 his nephew's conduct, or with his behaviour towards 
 himself : but some years before the present time, he 
 had been made aware that the Marchese Ludovico 
 was one of those whom it is easier to lead than to 
 drive ; and that any attempt at a little too much 
 driving would be likely to lead to kicking, and 
 perhaps to an entire breaking of reins and traces. 
 
 And, being a man of sense, he had acted on the 
 hints thus given him with considerable success. The 
 Marchese Ludovico had submitted on most occasions 
 to be led with all desirable docility. But now, in this
 
 198 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 matter, wherein judicious leading was more than ever 
 before in his life necessary to him, he seemed to 
 decline to be led at all. 
 
 How could the perplexed Marchese do otherwise 
 than frown when he was told that his nephew was not 
 at the Circolo at that hour of the evening, knowing 
 very well where such absence showed him to be? 
 Yet he probably would have done, or attempted to 
 do, something else, — or, at all events, the frown 
 would have been a yet heavier and blacker one, — 
 could he not only have guessed where his nephew 
 was at that moment, but have also heard what was 
 passing in the little salottino of the Strada di S. 
 Eufemia. 
 
 Some account of the conversation there may 
 perhaps serve the purpose of saving all necessity for 
 a detailed account of the intercourse which had 
 taken place between Ludovico and Paolina during 
 the last eight months. The story of it will be 
 sufficiently understood from a peep at its result.
 
 ( 199 ) 
 
 CHAPTEK VII. 
 
 THE TEACHING OF A GREAT LOVE. 
 
 Paolina had been working all clay in the church of 
 San Vitale. She had very nearly completed the 
 copies she was to make there ; and they were the 
 most important in extent of all she had engaged to 
 execute. It had been necessary to erect a scaffolding 
 for the purpose of bringing the artist sufficiently near 
 to her subject ; and the permission to have this done 
 had been obtained by the all-powerful interest of the 
 Marchese Lamberto. Many an hour had Ludovico 
 passed on that scaffolding by the artist's side as she 
 plied her slow and laborious task ; and many a 
 " Paul " had the old sacristan pocketed with a grin 
 of understanding, as he had opened the door of the 
 church to the young Marchese, the object of whose 
 visit he had long since learned to understand. 
 
 And Paolina herself ? Did she approve of these 
 visits made thus in the perfect seclusion of that old
 
 200 FOUE MONTHS BEFOKE. 
 
 church at the hours when its doors were shut to the 
 puWic ? Did she like the hours so spent in tete-d- 
 tete conversation with the handsome young Marchese. 
 She, who had so readily found the means to make 
 the entreprenant Conte Leandro keep his distance, 
 and had succeeded in disemban-assing herself of him 
 altogether, — could she find no possible means for 
 avoiding the assiduities of the Marchese Ludovico ; 
 could she not at least have induced old Orsola to 
 accompany] her in the church of San Yitale, as she 
 had accompanied her in the gallery at Venice. 
 
 Perhaps old Orsola did not like climbing up a 
 ladder to a scaffolding. Perhaps she had the 
 superstitious dislike to an empty and lonely church 
 not uncommon to uneducated Italians. The fact was 
 at all events that, even after Ludovico had, upon 
 more than one occasion, brought the rushing blood 
 into the dark face of Paolina by surprising her at her 
 work on the scaffolding near the vaults of the church, 
 old Orsola never made her appearance there. She 
 was always at her place on one side of the fire during 
 the visits of the Marchese to the quartiere in the 
 Strada di Santa Eufemia in the evening ; but it was 
 equally true that she almost always went to sleep. 
 
 It is so natural and so desirable that the old
 
 THE TEACHING OF A GREAT LOVE. 201 
 
 should sleep under such circumstances and on such 
 occasions ! It is so evidently for the benefit of all 
 the parties concerned, that the tendency may l^e 
 reckoned among the instances of beneficent adapta- 
 tion with which the whole order of Nature is filled ! 
 
 It can hardly be doubted, — Ludovico could hardly 
 be blamed for the persuasion — that Paolina did like 
 his visits. It may be pretty safely assumed that 
 those blushes, which greeted the appearance of his 
 head above the planks as he climbed to the scaffold- 
 ing, were not painful blushes. How early in those 
 eight months it came to pass that her heart leaped at 
 the click of the huge old key in the lock, as the 
 sacristan admitted Ludovico by a turn of it which, as 
 she had well learned, heralded his coming, it might 
 be hard to say. Paolina herself could not probably 
 have told this to her own heart. But that such had 
 come to be the case long before the evening when the 
 Marchese Lamberto sought his nephew at the Circolo, 
 and could not find him, can hardly be doubted. 
 
 Thus much having been admitted, it seems as if 
 there might be reason to fear that Paolina may 
 appear worthy of censure to those of her own sex, to 
 whom her story is here commended, to a degree 
 which truth, and an acquaintance with times, places,
 
 202 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 and national manners, would not quite justify. But 
 in these matters of national appreciation, of fitness 
 and unfitness, and of propriety and impropriety, the 
 nuances are so fine and subtle, that it is somewhat 
 difficult, in trying to explain them, to say just what 
 one means without seeming to say more than one 
 means. 
 
 One thing is clear. Paolina was as thoroughly 
 and essentially modest and innocent a girl as ever 
 breathed ; but she was so "by the grace of God," — 
 from natural idiosyncrasy and instinctive purity of 
 heart, that is to say, rather than from teaching of 
 any kind, or from any knowledge of good or evil. 
 She was an orphan, the child of parents who were 
 *'■ nobody," and she was left in the world to find her 
 own way in it as she could. So much the more, 
 replies the prudent- English matron, ought she to 
 have been extra careful lest the breath of misconcep- 
 tion should even for a passing moment sully her. It 
 is the sentiment of a people, who, " aristocratic " as 
 they may be, do really feel that that which is best 
 and purest in the highest lady of the land may be, 
 and should be, also the heritage of the lowliest. But 
 such is not practically the feeling in those social 
 latitudes where Paolina was born and bred.
 
 THE TEACHING OF A GEE AT LOVE. 203 
 
 The breath that tarnishes the clear mirror of a 
 noble damsel's name, says and teaches that social 
 feeling, brings dishonour to a noble race ; and she 
 has failed in her duty to her race. But who could 
 be injured by any light word spoken or light thought 
 thought of such an one as poor Paolina ? She was 
 an " artist." What treason to art, what lese-majeste 
 against the beautiful in every one of its manifesta- 
 tions, to conceive that in that fact any reason was to 
 be found why a less nice conduct in such matters 
 should be expected of her ! And yet, for reasons 
 which it would take a volume to elucidate, so it is, 
 that in the countries where art is deemed to be most 
 at home, and where it is in the larsfest deofree the 
 occupation of large sections of the people, it is deemed 
 that a less strict rule with reference to the matters 
 under consideration is laid on them than on others. 
 What if a young female artist " perfectly free from 
 ties," as would be urged, and whose conduct in such 
 a matter could hurt nobody, — what if such an one 
 chose to form a tie not recognized by the Church ? 
 The Church herself would look very leniently on the 
 venial fault. And though Paolina was such as she 
 has been described, it was impossible but that such 
 notions, not specially set forth or taught, but per-
 
 204 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 vading all the unconscious teaching of the world 
 around her, should have rendered her less sensitively 
 anxious as to the possibility of misconception lighting 
 on her, than an equally good English girl would have 
 been. Could she have been indifferent to the danger 
 that slander should tarnish her good name ? asks an 
 Englishwoman. But the whole world in which she 
 lived would not have felt it to be slander. It would 
 have been too much in the ordinary course of things. 
 
 How Paolina felt in the matter, Ludovico was 
 made to understand on that evening which has been 
 so often referred to ; and the reader may gather from 
 the conversation that passed between them. 
 
 Paolina had worked hard all day. The mosaics 
 in San Yitale were nearly finished. Ludovico had 
 been with her on her scaffolding during the few hours 
 of light of the short afternoon. He had become 
 sensible that the intercourse between him and Paolina 
 had latterly been growing to be less frank, unreserved, 
 and easy than it had been. He had once been quite 
 sure that Paolina loved him with the whole force of a 
 thoroughly virgin heart. He had latterly begun 
 almost to think that he had been mistaken in her. 
 She w^ould turn from him. She would fall into long 
 silences. She w^as embarrassed in speaking to him ;
 
 THE TEACHING OF A GEEAT LOYE. 205 
 
 and it had often happened lately that talk had passed 
 between them, which had seemed as if they were 
 speaking at cross-purposes — as if there were some- 
 thing not understood or misunderstood between them. 
 
 xind Ludovico had come to the house in the 
 Strada di Sta. Eufemia that evening, safely relying 
 on the expectation that the Signora Orsola would go 
 fast asleep, and determined to bring matters to an 
 understanding between him and Paolina. 
 
 " You can hardly, I think, doubt, Paolina mia, 
 that I love you dearly, — far more dearly than anything 
 else on the face of the earth. Do you not see and 
 know that all my life is devoted to you ? You do not 
 doubt, darling, do you?" said Ludovico, as he sat 
 holding one of her hands in his. 
 
 She sat silent for awhile, and with her face 
 turned away from him, though she made no attempt 
 to take her hand from his. 
 
 "You do not doubt it, Paolina?" he asked 
 again. 
 
 " If I did doubt it, — if I had doubted it, Ludovico, 
 you could not have taught me the lesson which you 
 have taught me — the lesson w^hich you well know you 
 have so thoroughly taught me, to love you. We neither 
 of us doubt of the love of the other. But ."
 
 206 FOUE MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 She still continued to sit with her face averted 
 from him; and, after another pause, finished her 
 speech only hy a little sad shake of her head. 
 
 Now the truth was that Ludovico often did doubt 
 very much whether Paolina really loved him. He 
 did not understand the position in which they stood 
 towards each other at all. Here was a little utterly 
 unpretending artist, dependent on no one but herself, 
 owing no duty to any one, to whom he had been 
 making love for the last eight months, as he had 
 never in his life made love before, who assured him 
 that she loved him ; — how was it that she had not 
 been his mistress months and months ago ? How to 
 account for so strange a phenomenon ? He knew 
 very well, that if the exact truth of his position with 
 regard to the little Venetian artist were known or 
 guessed at by any of the men with whom he lived, he 
 would have appeared to them an object of the utmost 
 ridicule, — a dupe, — a fool of the very first water. 
 What on earth could he have been about all the 
 time? 
 
 And there were moments in which he was tempted 
 to think the same of himself; — bitter moments of 
 cynical world-wisdom, in which he scoffed at himself 
 for having been led to play the part he had played for
 
 THE TEACHING OF A GEEAT LOYE. 207 
 
 these last eight months. He would resolve at such 
 moments to " speak plainly " to Paolina ; and, if such 
 plain-speaking failed of the effect it was intended to 
 produce, to put her out of his mind and never waste a 
 minute or a thought upon her again. 
 
 But such plain-speaking had never got itself 
 spoken, — had seemed, when he was in presence of 
 the intended object of it, utterly impossible to be 
 spoken. And as for the other alternative, he knew 
 at the bottom of his heart, that it was as much out of 
 his power to put it in practice, as it was to forget his 
 own identity. 
 
 Something there was in the girl different from 
 anything he had ever known in any other specimen 
 of the sex he had ever become acquainted with. 
 Something too there unmistakably was in his feeling 
 towards her very different from aught that he had 
 ever felt before. What spell had come over him? 
 And what the deuce was the nature of her power over 
 him ? And what the deuce was her own meaning, 
 and feeling, and the motives of her conduct ? 
 
 It really was necessary, however, that they should 
 in some way come to understand each other. If he 
 had been becoming for some time past discontented 
 with the state of matters between them, it was
 
 208 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 evident that Paolina had been becoming ill at ease 
 and unhappy also. In some fashion or other some 
 more or less plain speaking was evidently needed. 
 
 And Paolina herself ? What was her feeling on 
 the subject ? Whence did her unmistakable malaise, 
 distraught behaviour in Ludovico's presence, paling 
 cheeks, hours of reverie, when she should have been 
 busily at work — whence did all this come ? What 
 was really in her mind when she told him that 
 doubtless they both loved each other, and then ended 
 her words with a *'but," and a sad shake of her 
 drooping little head ? 
 
 She had found this man, her first acquaintance, 
 in a strange land, good-natured, pleasant, kind, 
 useful, handsome, protecting and, at the same time, 
 deferential in his manner ; and she had liked him. 
 He had delivered her from the Conte Leandro, and 
 there had come into her mind comparisons between 
 the two men. He had been on her side in that 
 matter; they had wished the same thing, and had 
 accomplished it against a third person ; there had 
 been, as it were, a secret between them on the 
 subject; and hence had grown a bond of union. 
 She had advanced from liking to admiring. Thence 
 to the consciousness that she was admired. She had
 
 THE TEACHING OF A GEEAT LOVE. 209 
 
 gone onwards throngli tlie usual phases of surprising 
 herself in the act of thinking of him at all sorts of 
 hours, and gradually discovering that he filled an 
 immense portion of her lonely life there in the 
 strange city, till she came to the stage of mingling 
 the avowal '' Gli voglio tanto bene " with her last 
 prayers to Mary Mother hy her hedside at night, and 
 meditating on the words he had said and the looks 
 he had looked, after she had laid her head upon the 
 pillow. 
 
 She had thus quietly walked onwards into the 
 deep waters of a great love, before any question had 
 ever suggested itself to her as to whither she was 
 going, and whether there might not be danger of 
 perishing in those deep waters. 
 
 Now nothing is clearer or more undoubted by 
 every good and well-conditioned girl among our- 
 selves, than the certainty that any man who unmis- 
 takably seeks to win her love either means and hopes 
 to make her his wife, or is merely fooling her for 
 his own abominably selfish amusement, or is in- 
 sulting her and endeavouring to injure her in a 
 manner that makes it at once her duty and her 
 inclination to spurn him from her with horror and 
 loathing. 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 But here, again, as the lawyers say, " locus regit 
 actum." That which the English girl feels, under 
 such circumstances, so naturally, that she deems it 
 an inseparable part of her nature that she should so 
 feel, [she feels because of the teaching of the whole 
 social atmosphere in which she has lived. The 
 Italian girl, in the position of Paolina, does not 
 feel it, because she has lived in a very different social 
 atmosphere. 
 
 It is quite certain that Paolina, — if the question, 
 whether it was in anywise on the cards that the 
 Marchese Ludovico di Castelmare had conceived, or 
 w-as likely to conceive, any project of marrying her, 
 Paolina Foscarelli, had suggested itself, or had been 
 suggested, to her at any time during those eight 
 months, — would at once have replied to her own heart 
 or to any other person, that such an idea was utterly 
 preposterous and out of the question. 
 
 But he had been striving to convince her that he 
 loved her by every means in his power for months 
 past, and had succeeded in so convincing her. Was 
 he merely playing with her ? That idea never entered 
 into her head. As she, with sad and transparent frank- 
 ness, had told him, neither of them could doubt the 
 love of the other. What doubt could remain, then.
 
 THE TEACHINGS OF A GREAT LOVE. 211 
 
 as to the alternative ? What doubt of the atrocious 
 nature of his designs and intentions towards her? 
 No doubt at all. Ought she not, therefore, with 
 the intensest scorn of what-do-you-take-me-for-sir 
 indignation to have repelled the insult offered to 
 her ? 
 
 Poor Paolina had no conception that any insult 
 at all was offered to her or intended. Ludovico was 
 minded to offer to her that which it was in his power 
 to offer, for her to accept if it suited her, or to decline 
 if it suited her not. The species of tie that he offered 
 her was all he could offer her. It was one very 
 frequently offered and very frequently accepted in 
 similar cases. Had the possibility that she might 
 one day accept such been suggested to her, it would 
 have produced no horror in her mind. She had no 
 conviction during all these eight months that she 
 never could or would accept such a position from any 
 man. Why, then, did not matters proceed harmoni- 
 ously and smoothly between them? Why had not 
 Paolina become Ludovico's mistress before this 
 time ? What was the meaning of the averted face, 
 
 and of that broken off ''but " which she had 
 
 found it so difficult to follow with a completed 
 sentence ?
 
 212 FOUE MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 The meaning was, that Paolina's own heart, 
 during those hours of reverie filled with the medita- 
 tion of her love, — during those pourings forth of her 
 confessions of love to her heavenly confidant in her 
 bedside prayers, — during her nightly review of the 
 love-passages of the day, — her own heart, as it 
 became clearer to her, had revealed to her, that 
 she could not accede to any such proposal as that 
 which, she was well persuaded, the Marchese could 
 alone offer to her ; — had revealed it to her, not in 
 obedience to any moral principle ; — not by any 
 what-do-you-take-me-for process of indignant virtue ; 
 but by an instinctive feeling irresistible and not to 
 be gainsayed, that the love she had to bestow must 
 possess its object wholly and entirely, or not at all. 
 It was quite a matter of course that Ludovico would 
 marry some lady in his rank of life. She was not 
 ignorant of the position in which he stood with regard 
 to the Contessa Violante. And his openness to her 
 on this subject is a curious indication of the very 
 wide difference between the mode in which the whole 
 subject would be looked at by both parties in the 
 world in which they lived, and in our own. 
 
 Philosophers, as the result of much learned 
 observation and long reasonings, come to the con-
 
 THE TEACHING OF A GREAT LOVE. 213 
 
 elusion that monogamy is best suited, on the whole, 
 to the nature, the requirements, and progressive 
 improvement of mankind. A pure -hearted woman, 
 who loves with a true and great love, finds a shorter 
 cut to the same conviction. 
 
 And the growing depth and earnestness of 
 Paolina's love had arrived at teaching her this with 
 unmistakable clearness. She might pine, might die 
 — might compel her heart to turn to stone ; — might 
 seek the refuge of a cloister, which is the southern 
 equivalent for suicide ; — but she could not — she felt 
 she could not live and be content to share her 
 lover's love with another. It was not any sensation 
 of the nature of jealousy so much as an unconquer- 
 able feeling that not to have all was to have nothing ; 
 — that she must have all and for ever ; — that she and 
 he must be one ; — one flesh and one spirit. 
 
 Of course all this ought to be taught, and is 
 taught to all respectably educated young persons in 
 more regular and didactic fashion. But to poor 
 little unschooled Paolina it was taught not less 
 authoritatively by the greatness and the purity of 
 her own love.
 
 214 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 A CHANGE IN THE SITUATION. 
 
 '^ Neither of us can any more doubt the love of the 
 other, Ludovico mio ! " Paolina had said in reply to 
 his pleading, "but 
 
 ** But what, tesoro mio ? What ' but ' can come 
 between us, if there is no such doubt to come between 
 us ? " urged Ludovico, gently drawing her towards 
 him by the hand he still held locked in his own. 
 
 Again Paolina paused some minutes before reply- 
 ing, less apparently from hesitation to speak what was 
 in her mind, than because she was applying her whole 
 mind to the better understanding of her own meaning. 
 
 *^It is not, that I doubt whether you love me, 
 Ludovico mio ! " she said at length, but still without 
 turning towards him ;' " I know you love me truly 
 and well. But I sometimes think, that you do not 
 love me in the same way that I love you. I never 
 knew before that there could be different ways of
 
 A CHANGE IN THE SITUATION. 215 
 
 loving. But now it seems to me, — and I have tliouglit 
 so mucli, oh, so much of it, — that somehow you look 
 
 less to the whole of everything, how^ can I say 
 
 what I mean? — less to all our lives, and all our 
 selves, in your love, than I do." 
 
 " What can you mean, Paolina ? A different way 
 of loving ! I know hut of one way ! " said Ludovico 
 with a somewhat banal flourish. 
 
 "What would become of me, Ludovico mio,'' she 
 said, now looking round into his face, with a look 
 in her deep true eyes, that made him feel for the 
 moment as though all the world were truly as nothing 
 to him, in comparison with her love; — ''what would 
 become of me, if you were to cease to love me ? I 
 should wither away, and die. It is probably what will 
 happen tome ! " 
 
 .."Paolina!" he exclaimed, in a voice of strong 
 reproach. 
 
 She put her hand upon his shoulder, as if to beg 
 him to let her complete what she wished to say ; and 
 continued, — 
 
 "But what would happen to you, if I were — it is 
 impossible, but if I were — to cease to love you ? w^ould 
 not that show you, that there is a difference between 
 ways of loving ?"
 
 216 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 ''No, cara mia, it would shew no such thing. Look 
 now, Paolina ! They tell of lovers' perjuries. But I 
 never said one word to you that I did not believe to 
 be true. Nor will I ever do so. Were you to be 
 taken from me, by your own heart, and your own act, 
 or in any other way, I do not believe that I should 
 wither and die. But it does not follow, that I should 
 suffer less. I should live on, not because my love is 
 weaker, but because my body is stronger than yours. 
 God grant that such a lot may never befall me." 
 
 *' It never can befall you, amoi^ mio ! but, Ludovico, 
 you could not only live, but you could love — some 
 other woman ; " she uttered the words with a little gulp 
 of emotion, and continued : " Do you imagine, that 
 if I lived to a thousand years, I could ever love any 
 other than you ? " 
 
 " What right have you to say, Paolina, that I 
 should ever, or could ever love another but you ? " 
 said Ludovico, indignantly. 
 
 *'Nay, Ludovico, must you not do so always ? Are 
 you not professing to do so even now ? Are you not 
 promising your love to the Contessa Violante ? will 
 she not have a better right to your love than I ? " 
 
 Ludovico started, and drawing himself a little back 
 from Paolina, looked at her with reproachful surprise.
 
 A CHANGE IN THE SITUATION. 217 
 
 It was not that lie was surprised at learning tliat slie 
 was aware of liis engagement to the Contessa. He 
 had, as has heen said, concealed nothing from her in 
 that respect. But he was vexed, and surprised at the 
 feeling she manifested on the suhject. 
 
 " You surprise me, Paolina ! " he said. *' Would it 
 have been better if I had concealed all this from you ? 
 Many men, — most men perhaps, in similar circum- 
 stances — would have done so. But I cannot treat jon 
 in that way. I have been, and would always be open 
 and sincere to you in all things. You know all about 
 this match. You know that it is a family arrange- 
 ment, managed by my uncle. You know, that if I 
 wished it ever so much, I can't avoid it. You know, 
 or ought to know, that it is not, and cannot be a 
 matter of affection in any way. You know that in 
 the world, such marriages are arranged and are known 
 and understood to be arranged, for reasons, and on 
 grounds, with which love has nothing to do. Does 
 not all Eavenna know, including the lady herself doubt- 
 less, that I am to marry her because she is the great- 
 niece of the Cardinal Legate ? Can I be expected to 
 love her, because she is the Cardinal's niece ? Surely, 
 my Paolina, you are not speaking or thinking of this 
 matter, with your usual good sense ! "
 
 218 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 *'I can't help it, Ludovico; I am, at all events, 
 speaking with my whole heart ! " she said in a tone 
 of profound sadness. "If what you say is true, — 
 and do not imagine, dearest, that I have the smallest 
 doubt that all you say to me is entirely and perfectly 
 true, — just think of the lot of that povera Contessa 
 Violante ! Poverina / I dare say she, — think of the 
 wrong I should be doing her ! Think how she 
 would hate me ! " She shuddered as she spoke. 
 ** Nobody, I think, ever hated me yet," she con- 
 tinued; "and it seems to me so horrible to be 
 hated. And more horrible still to know that I 
 should be justly hated ! And then, tesoro mio ! — 
 Mio ! — How could I ever say mio 1 Never, never, 
 never, mio T' she cried, bursting into passionate 
 tears. " No, never mine ! The very word itself, 
 which comes so naturally to my lips, tells me, like a 
 knell in my heart, that it can never be ! " 
 
 " But, Paolina, angiola mia,^^ said Ludovico, who 
 had heard her with a look of consternation, "what 
 has thus changed you ? For it is a change. You 
 knew all these things before. What has occurred to 
 put such notions into your mind all of a sudden ?'* 
 
 "Not all of a sudden, Ludovico! The blessed 
 Virgin knows for how many sad and solitary hours I
 
 A CHANGE IN THE SITUATION. 219 
 
 have been thinking, and thinking, and thinking of 
 all this ! She knows how many nights I have passed 
 in tears to think of it. "What has put it into my 
 head, you say ? Ludovico, it is my love for you that 
 has put it into my head ! It is my strong love that 
 has opened my eyes, and made me see that I cannot 
 — cannot — I mean — that I cannot share your love 
 with another ! " 
 
 The words came forced from her with a great 
 effort, and with a sob that seemed as if it would 
 choke her. 
 
 " Oh my Paolina, what words are these ? " said 
 he, his own voice trembling with trouble and emotion. 
 
 *^ It is true, Ludovico ! It is my true love that 
 has opened my eyes. I fear that I have done very 
 wrong ; and the blessed Saints know that I shall 
 have my punishment ! I have done wrong in loving 
 you, and letting you love me ! But I did not know 
 it, I did not think, I did not see where I was 
 going ! I ought to have known that love was not for 
 a poor girl like me ! I ought to have known that 
 evil and misery would come. But till I loved you 
 with my whole, whole heart, Ludovico ; and till I 
 found out that I did, I did not know that — that it 
 would be so, — that I should feel as I feel now."
 
 220 rOUE MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 Ludovico got up from his seat, and began 
 walking up and down the floor of the little room, 
 sighing deeply, and passing his hand again and 
 again across his forehead. Presently he sat down 
 again, bringing his chair so as to front her fully as 
 he sat. 
 
 " Paolina," he said, looking sadly into her eyes 
 with a deeper meaning in his own than she had ever 
 seen there ; *' your words have made me very, very 
 miserable ! I never in all my life was so unhappy as 
 I am now. You must listen now, my Paolina, to 
 what I am going to say ; and you must think well 
 before you answer me. You see, dearest, that it is 
 necessary that we should quite understand this 
 matter, and understand each other. Many men, if 
 they had been told what you have now told me, 
 would begin to reproach a girl with not loving them, 
 — to say that it was clear she did not care for them. 
 I will not do so. I will not pretend to think that 
 you do not love me. I know that you do, as well as 
 you know that I love j-ou with my whole heart. 
 And with this knowledge in both our hearts, think 
 what is the meaning and the end of what you have 
 been saying. You know that this marriage is 
 inevitable ! And the consequence of it is to be that
 
 A CHANGE IN THE SITUATION. 221 
 
 we two are both to be broken-hearted, — to condemn 
 ourselves to pass loveless lives, — to give each other 
 up, — see each other no more, — make all the future a 
 blank to both of us. Good God, Paolina ! You 
 cannot mean that ! " 
 
 " When you have married, Ludovico mio, — when 
 I have said those dear words for the last, last time, 
 you will have plenty of things to make you forget 
 your poor Paolina ! And for me, I shall be heart- 
 broken doing no wrong to any other, instead of 
 heart-broken and doing terrible wrong all the time ! 
 And, dearest, it would be worse than heart-break. I 
 could not — it is stronger than I am ! It seems 
 like a new horrible thing shown to me, which I never 
 saw or thought of before ! When it comes close to 
 me I shudder at the thought ." 
 
 "At what thought, Paolina ? At the thought of 
 my being married to the Contessa Violante ? " asked 
 Ludovico, looking steadfastly into her eyes. 
 
 She bore his gaze without withdrawing her sad, 
 still eyes for awhile, thinking deeply before she 
 answered. 
 
 *' No, Ludovico ; not at the thought of your 
 being married to the Contessa Violante ! That is a 
 thought which may break my heart. But it does not
 
 222 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 make me shudder, as that other thought does; — 
 the thought of — of — of loving one, who — who — who 
 owes his love to another ; the thought of taking 
 by stealth whatever share of love may he given to me 
 stolen from the rightful owner. Never ! never ! 
 never ! Would you then be mine, — all mine, for 
 ever, and ever, and ever ! Oh, my love, my love ! 
 If you don't understand this, love has not opened 
 your eyes as it has mine. Do you think that I could 
 endure the thought of being married to another 
 man ? The bare notion is horror — horror — horbor ! 
 Would I not rather die this minute; ay, or die a 
 thousand times ! " 
 
 Again Ludovico got up from his chair and paced 
 the room, sometimes stopping abruptly in apparently 
 deep thought, and sometimes resuming his walk 
 with every appearance of despair in his face and 
 gestures. It is needless to say that Paolina had 
 spoken the very inmost truth that was in her heart 
 in all its entirety; but she had also succeeded in 
 making him feel that it was so. 
 
 There is often a feeling in a man's mind on such 
 occasions — a feeling too closely allied to selfishness — 
 which leads him to be dissatisfied with what seems 
 to him the unwillingness of a woman to make
 
 A CHANGE IN THE SITUATION. 223 
 
 sacrifices to her love. And often a woman, knowing 
 this, and calculating mostly falsely, is urged to yield 
 by a desire of proving that she does not deserve such 
 a suspicion. But Ludovico had no such thought in 
 his mind. He knew that Paolina had not only 
 spoken truly, but had represented her mind accu- 
 rately. It was not that she " respected herself." 
 The poor child had never received any lessons which 
 could teach her such respect. She had been perfectly 
 ready to accept the social position of Ludovico's 
 mistress, until the power of a great, true, and pure 
 love had unsealed the eyes of her understanding, of 
 her imagination, and of her heart to the nature — not 
 of the social position of such a tie as that proposed 
 to her — but of the absolute imperious necessity of 
 sharing such a love with none. Putting all notion 
 of principle, of duty, of the understood expediency 
 of conforming to laws divine, and human, out of the 
 question, such a love as Paolina felt demands this 
 with a cogency of insistence that cannot be set aside. 
 And the man who hopes, or flatters himself, or 
 suffers himself to be persuaded that such a love has 
 been given to him upon any other terms, is — he 
 may rely upon it with the certainty due to an 
 eternal law of nature — deceived. The quality of
 
 224 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 tlie love wliicli may have so been given to him is of 
 a different kind. 
 
 After awhile Ludovico came again and stopped 
 directly in front of the chair in v^^hich Paolina was 
 sitting ; but he remained standing, and placing his 
 tw^o hands, one on either of her shoulders, and looking 
 down into her face with moist eyes, he said, — 
 
 " My love, my true and best — my only love ! I 
 cannot lose you, Paolina ; I cannot give you up. 
 Truly — truly I had rather that any other thing — any 
 other evil that could happen, should happen to me. 
 We are, and we must be, all in all to each other, my 
 Paolina, now and ever. There is no alternative 
 possibility to this. Love has opened my eyes, too, 
 my darling angel ! Your love has opened my eyes ; 
 I will know no other love, — no other woman — call 
 none other wife but you ! Paolina, you will be mine ? 
 — my all ? my only one ? " 
 
 " Ludovico ! " she exclaimed, looking up at him 
 with an ecstasy of joy, and yet with a great terror 
 upon her face ; " but what will happen — what will 
 happen to you ? What will be done to me ? " 
 
 ^' We must see, my heart's treasure ! We must 
 have patience ; you must trust to me. You do trust 
 me, non e vero '} I must put oiBf this marriage ; —
 
 A CHANGE IN THE SITUATION. 225 
 
 then find means to break it. And, after all, what 
 can my uncle do ? I am dependent on him while he 
 lives ; but I must succeed to all he has when he dies. 
 My promised wife ! Are you mine — mine for ever? 
 Will you now put your dear little hand in mine, 
 and promise me, and have faith in me, and wait 
 for me, and have patience till I can see my way, 
 and love me all the time, my own — my darling ? " 
 
 *'I am your own, Ludovico ; — ^yours, anyway: 
 to live for you, if such a lot may be mine ; to die 
 still yours, if it may not ! Wait ! Patience ! What 
 shall tire my patience ? So I know that you are 
 loving me — me only — all the time, I shall ask 
 nothing more ! But, oh, I am so frightened ! And 
 then I shall be a cause of such mischief and trouble 
 to you. Would it not have been better for you if 
 you had never seen poor Paolina ? " 
 
 " No, no, no, no ! It would have been a 
 thousand million times worse for me ! Be of good 
 heart, my treasure ; nothing can hurt you. We must 
 keep our secret for a while ; and nothing will hurt me, 
 if we manage well. But I must think ; my mind is 
 in a confusion ; — a joyful confusion, dearest ! But I 
 must think it all over. If you see me less often, be 
 sure that it is because I am planning for our happiness. 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 And now, darling, — my own, my own, now really 
 .and for ever, my own — one kiss to seal our contract ! 
 You won't refuse me that. I take you thus in my 
 arms, my Paolina, for the first time as your promised 
 husband. Good-night — good-night — my own ! I 
 trust I may be able to think of what I am doing at 
 the Palazzo to-night. Good-night, my own ! '* 
 
 And thus the Marchese Ludovico returned that 
 evening to the Palazzo Castelmare, about an hour 
 after Signer Ercole Stadione had quitted it, pledged 
 to find some means of breaking off the match with 
 the Contessa Violante Marliani, to which all Ravenna 
 was looking forward, and engaged to be married to 
 the little obscure Venetian orphan artist.
 
 ( 227 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 
 
 LuDOVico Di Castelmaee did not see his uncle that 
 evening. He returned to the Palazzo, thoughtful 
 enough, direct from the house in the Strada di 
 Santa Eufemia, and there learned that the Impre- 
 sario had been with the Marchese ; that he had 
 brought the good news of his success in having 
 engaged " La Lalli " to sing at Ravenna during the 
 coming Carnival; and that he, Ludovico, had been 
 sent for by his uncle from the Circolo. What for, 
 the servant could not tell him. He could only say 
 that the Marchese had seemed much put out at the 
 Signer Marchese Ludovico' s absence, and that he 
 had shortly afterwards gone out to pass the 
 remainder of the evening at the palace of the 
 Cardinal Legate. 
 
 Ludovico was by no means so anxious to see his
 
 228 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 uncle as to wait to do so till lie sliould return at 
 night. He betook himself to his own quartierino, 
 locked the door, and sat down to think. 
 
 He had said no more than the truth to Paolina 
 when he professed that he had never spoken a word 
 with the intention of deceiving her. Nor had he 
 been otherwise than entirely sincere in all that he 
 had just been saying to her. Nevertheless he felt, 
 somewhat more strongly and clearly, perhaps, than 
 while he had been looking into Paolina's eyes, that he 
 had undertaken rather a tremendous task in declaring 
 that he would break o£f the projected marriage with 
 the Lady Yiolante, the great-niece of the Cardinal, — 
 a match which both families considered to be defini- 
 tively arranged, and which was expected and looked 
 forward to by all Kavenna, and that for the purpose and 
 with the view of making so terrible a mesalliance as 
 that he contemplated. The Marchese Ludovico felt 
 all the weight of the inheritance of a great name and 
 a still greater social position, which devolved upon 
 him from his uncle. It was bad enough to con- 
 template the effect which would be produced, as 
 regarded himself, by the step he contemplated. But 
 it was perfectly terrible to think of the effect it would 
 produce on the Marchese Lamberto. Ludovico was
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 229 
 
 proud, in liis more easy-going way, of the position he 
 occupied as his uncle's nephew in the society of the 
 city ; but it was not to him the breath of his nostrils 
 as it was to his uncle. 
 
 He felt, as a weak man is apt to feel in similar 
 positions of difficulty, that the best and quickest, 
 and, above all, the easiest, way out of all embarrass- 
 ment would be to run away from it — to quit 
 Ravenna, and give it up — it, and all its inhabitants 
 for ever. He could do this. He felt that Paolina 
 would be worth such a sacrifice. But how to accom- 
 plish such a step while his uncle lived ? 
 
 As it was all he could do was to procrastinate, he 
 thought of the old Italian proverb, '^ Gain time, and 
 you will pull through," and he determined to profit 
 by the wisdom of it. Even procrastination would 
 not be without difficulty. But something might be 
 done in that way, — some time might be gained. 
 And then there was always that never-failing resource 
 and consolation of those who, in the words of 
 Horace, limit their ambition to adapting themselves 
 to circumstances instead of adapting circumstances to 
 them, something might turn up ; though, for the 
 present, it was difficult to see what that something 
 could possibly be, unless it were the death of his
 
 230 FOUB MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 uncle, a perfectly robust and healthy man in the 
 fiftieth year of his life. 
 
 Might possibly the something take the shape of a 
 change or mitigation of Paolina's resolve ? No sooner 
 did the idea cross his mind than he felt ashamed of 
 it, and his heart smote him for having for a moment 
 harboured a thought that involved falseness to his 
 promise to her. Nevertheless, it was not the last 
 time that the thought recurred. 
 
 The next morning he met his uncle. 
 
 '* I had Stadione with me yesterday evening," 
 said the Marchese, *' and I wanted to speak to you 
 about something he said. I was sorry to be told 
 that you were not at the Circolo." 
 
 ** I was sorry that Beppo did not find me. What 
 was it ? Signer Ercole has succeeded in his mission, 
 I hear." 
 
 " Yes ; and it was on that matter I wanted to 
 speak to you ; but this morning will do as well for 
 that. It was not that that vexed me, Ludovico. I 
 won't ask you to tell me where you were, and I don't 
 want to play the inquisitor ; but the fact is, I know 
 very well without asking. And, my dear nephew, I 
 cannot but tell you that you are acting unwisely, — 
 imprudently even."
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 231 
 
 " What have I done that is wrong, sh- ? Is it 
 not fitting that I should show some attention to 
 people who came here recommended to you, and 
 whom you yourself first commissioned me to assist ? " 
 said Ludovico. 
 
 " What is the good of answering in that way, 
 Ludovico. Just as if we hoth did not know hetter 
 than that, and know too what we hoth mean ? Pay 
 some attention ! Pshaw ! Do you think that I am 
 quite a fool? As if I did not know what you go 
 there for, and what you have been going there for 
 these eight months past, since first I was blockhead 
 enough to throw that pretty girl in your way. Now, 
 figliuolo mio, it is my duty to tell you that that sort of 
 thing won't do — just at present. I don't want, as I 
 said, to play the inquisitor, nor do I wish to play the 
 preacher. When you are married you must guide 
 your own conduct as you may think fit ; but now 
 every consideration of propriety and prudence should 
 teach you that you must not continue to run after 
 that young person in the sight of all the town in the 
 way you do. Here you are on the point of contracting 
 a marriage, which " 
 
 *' On the point, uncle ? We are surely a long 
 way from that yet ? " said Ludovico.
 
 232 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 *^ A long way ! I don't know what you mean by 
 a long way ; if we are not further advanced, it is your 
 own fault. We might bring the negotiation to a 
 conclusion at once. It might all be settled this 
 Carnival. 
 
 " This Carnival, uncle ? Impossible ! I must 
 have a little time. There are so many things to be 
 thought of." 
 
 " What is there to be thought of, that has not 
 been thought of already ? They are in no hurry ; they 
 look upon the matter as arranged. But in decency, 
 we cannot show any backwardness ; it does not look 
 well. 
 
 '' Well, uncle : at all events, let this Carnival 
 pass over. Let me have this last Carnival ; then 
 Lent is of no use : after that we will see about it." 
 
 '* Well, be it so. But, my dear boy, you know all 
 the importance of this marriage ! You know how 
 desirable it is in every point of view ; — family, rank, 
 station, influence, money, — though that happily we 
 have no need to seek ; why, it was only last week, — 
 this is a secret, and must go no further, but I know I 
 can trust to your discretion ; — only last week, that I 
 got a letter from my old friend, Monsignore Paterini 
 at Rome, in which he speaks in almost open terms of
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 233 
 
 tlie chance, and even probability, that our Cardinal 
 might — ahem ! — find the next conclave a particularly 
 interesting one. You know how Paterini stands at 
 Home, and that a hint from him is as good as a 
 volume from another ; and just think of the possibili- 
 ties that such a contingency might open before you ! 
 I won't say any more ; but do now during this Carni- 
 val, show yourself a little more at the palace, and pay 
 a little attention, and let the world see that you 
 occupy the place with regard to the Contessa Violante, 
 that 5^ou really do occupy. Basta /" 
 
 '" I will do the best I can, sir, to merit your appro- 
 bation," said Ludovico, feeling that he was expected 
 to say something, and not well knowing how to do it. 
 
 " And now about the matter I wanted to speak of 
 last night. La Lalli comes to us, you see, for the 
 Carnival : it is a great triumph for Ravenna. She is 
 certainly the first singer in Italy, since England with 
 its brute power of money, robbed us of poor Sparderini. 
 But between you and me, figliuolo mio, we should 
 never have got her, if there had not been certain diffi- 
 culties — certain scandals, — che so io ? — at Milan. All 
 that is no business of ours, you know, tiitf altro ! But 
 there has been talk ; — stories have got about ! — mere 
 calumny probably, as Signor Ercole very justly
 
 234 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 remarked, — but it is very desirable that such things 
 should not be the talk of the town here. It is 
 mauvais genre to chatter about such matters. You 
 can make it mauvais genre among the youngsters 
 at Kavenna, if you choose. Do so ; you understand ! 
 That's all." 
 
 " Perfectly, uncle ! Lasci fare a me ! I'll see to 
 it ; though I confess I do not quite understand why 
 we need trouble ourselves about any such gossip," 
 said Ludovico, delighted to be able to fall in with his 
 uncle's wishes in something. 
 
 " Well, I should have thought that you might 
 understand. In the first place I don't want it to be said 
 or imagined, either here or elsewhere, that Ravenna 
 has taken up with a singer, who could not get an 
 engagement elsewhere. Not that that is the case by 
 any means. But don't you see, if it is said that she 
 was obliged to leave Milan, it puts us in the position 
 of a j9is alter ! And I don't like that. In the next 
 place, I don't want to have light talk about a person 
 whom I have had so large a share in bringing to the 
 city. These are things you ought to learn to think 
 of, caro mio ! " replied the Marchese, a little annoyed 
 at having to put his feelings on the subject into such 
 plain words.
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 235 
 
 '* I'll take care that things shall be as you wish. 
 When is she to arrive ? " asked Ludovico. 
 
 " About the end of the year — in a month's time 
 or thereabouts. Stadione did not mention whether 
 the day of her coming had been fixed. Her first 
 appearance will be on the night of the BefFana, the 
 6th of January." 
 
 "Because they were talking at the Circolo of 
 getting up some little matter of welcome, — taking 
 the horses from her carriage, and drawing her in, or 
 something of that kind, and a serenata of course. 
 Leandro is busy already with a poem for the occasion, 
 you may swear ! " 
 
 " Bravo ! bene ! If only our good friend the 
 Conte keeps his muse within tolerable limits ! It 
 would not do to quite smother her in verse on her 
 first arrival; and, you know, our good Leandro has 
 rather a special gift that way. Well, get up any kind 
 of dimostrazione you like for the occasion, — it will all 
 help to give eclat to our opening. You can arrange 
 all about the when, and the where, &c. with Stadione. 
 We are going to have a meeting of the Belle Arte 
 Committee here this morning. They'll be here 
 directly ! " said the Marchese Lamberto, pulling out 
 his watch.
 
 236 FOUE MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 " One word more, uncle, before I'm off," said 
 Ludovico. 
 
 "What is it? — money, I suppose?" said the 
 Marchese, again taking out his watch. 
 
 *'No, sir; not money this time, — unless, indeed, 
 you insist on it," said the nephew, laughing. 
 
 '* Not at all, not at all ! I won't press it on you 
 by any means ! " said the uncle in a similar tone; 
 *' but what were you going to say ? " 
 
 "Why, with reference to what you were saying 
 just now, about the Signorina Foscarelli," replied 
 Ludovico, in quite a different tone. "I am always 
 anxious to shape my conduct in accordance with your 
 advice, uncle. You see La Foscarelli has all but 
 finished her work at St. Vitale, you know : she is to 
 do her copying in the Cardinal's Palace next, for you 
 have kindly arranged for her permission to do so. 
 Now, she can't very well go to the palace, for the first 
 time, alone, you know ! If you had not expressed the 
 opinions you have on the subject, I should have gone 
 with her, thinking no harm. But perhaps — to the 
 palace, you know, — it would be better, if you would 
 not mind it, to accompany her, for the first time, 
 yourself." 
 
 ** Very right, very properly thought of, my dear
 
 UNCLE AND NEPHEW. 237 
 
 boy ! Yes ; I can go with her — or I can send Burini, 
 which will come to the same thing." 
 
 " No, uncle ; not the same thing— to send a 
 mere maestro ell casa, — a servant ! It would not be 
 nice for the poor girl ; it would make all the difference 
 with the servants and people at the palace : if I avoid 
 going with her to please you, you will go with her 
 yourself, won't you ? " 
 
 " Very well, very well ; I'll go with her. If any 
 man has more to do of his o^yn than all the rest of 
 the city put together, there are sure to be other folk's 
 affairs thrust on him also ; it has been so with me 
 all my life. Well, I will find half an hour somehow." 
 
 " Thanks, uncle ! Good-by, I wish you well 
 through your meeting." 
 
 " We shall see each other at dinner ? " 
 
 *' Yes. A rivederla ! "
 
 238 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 
 
 The Contessa Violante Marliani lived, as has been 
 said, with her great-aunt, a sister of the Cardinal. 
 They occupied a small house nearly contiguous to 
 the palace, which was almost more their home than 
 theu' own dwelling. The Marchesa Lanfredi, the 
 Cardinal's sister, though a great-aunt, was not yet 
 sixty years old. She had been left a childless 
 widow, very scantily provided for, early in life, and 
 had retired from Bologna, her husband's native 
 place, to live first at Foligno, of which city her 
 brother had been bishop, and afterwards at Ravenna, 
 to which he had been subsequently promoted. The 
 Cardinal was six or seven years her senior. His 
 elder brother, the grandfather of the Lady Violante, 
 had inherited the family estates in the neighbour- 
 hood of Pesaro, and had died, leaving them to his
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 239 
 
 only son, Violante's father, wlien the latter was a 
 very young man. 
 
 This Conte Alberto Marliani had married for 
 love, as it is called. That is to say, that he had 
 not married for any of the reasons for which 
 marriages among people of his rank and his country 
 are usually made ; but had been attracted by a 
 pretty gentle face seen in a Koman ball-room. The 
 pretty gentle face had remained always gentle ; but 
 had soon ceased to be pretty. 
 
 The Contessa Marliani was inclined to devotion. 
 The Conte was very much disinclined to anything of 
 the sort. He soon got tired of his wife, repented of 
 his marriage, and commenced an active system of 
 breaking her heart. It was not a very difficult task, 
 for she was as gentle in spirit as in face. He com- 
 pleted it when his only child Violante was about 
 nine years old. But he had also completed, much 
 about the same time, the entire dissipation of the 
 never very large Marliani property. And it so 
 happened that, very shortly afterwards, his own 
 career was brought to a conclusion, which his 
 relatives felt to have overtaken him a few years 
 too late ! He was travelling from Eome down to 
 Pesaro to complete the sale of the last portion of
 
 240 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 the estates, the proceeds of which had been antici- 
 pated, when he was very opportunely drowned in 
 attempting to cross the Tiber swollen by flood. 
 
 The little Violante, thus left an almost destitute 
 orphan, was nevertheless a personage of some impor- 
 tance. She was the only remaining scion of the 
 family ; and the position of her great-uncle seemed to 
 promise a renewed period of prosperity and fortune 
 to the old name. Violante was the Cardinal Legate's 
 natural and sole heir. The Cardinal was a very rich 
 man ; and in amassing wealth and attaining honours, 
 he had, like a true Italian, never thought the less of 
 the additions to, and provisions for, the fortunes and 
 splendour of the family name, which he was winning, 
 because he was himself a priest, and would leave no 
 heirs of his name. The peculiarities in the position 
 of a sacerdotal aristocracy have engrafted the passion 
 of nepotism in the hearts, as well as the practice of 
 it in the manners, of the members of Kome's 
 hierarchy. 
 
 Generally the family tie is a stronger one among 
 the Italians than among ourselves. In the upper 
 classes, it is certainly so ; and, probably, among all 
 classes. It may be thought strange, perhaps, that 
 this should be the case with a people whose lives are
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 241 
 
 supposed to be less pervaded by the sentiment of 
 domesticity tlian our own. The explanation may, 
 however, perhaps be found in the greater and more 
 h'equent disruption of family ties, which is caused 
 by that more active social movement, which pushes 
 our younger sons away from the parental stock in 
 search of the means of founding families of 
 their own. 
 
 And one of the results of the Italian mode of 
 living and feeling is seen in the very common family 
 ambition of Churchmen. 
 
 The little Violante then, as has been said, was a 
 personage of some importance, at least in the eyes of 
 the Cardinal and his sister ; and when she was left 
 an orphan, was at once taken to live with her great- 
 aunt, under the auspices of her Cardinal great- 
 uncle. Both of those remaining members of the 
 family would have preferred that the one remaining 
 
 scion of the race should have been a boy ; but 
 
 when the young Contessa should be married, of 
 course her name should be thenceforward borne as 
 part of that of the family into which she should 
 marry, — as is so commonly the case in Italy, (many 
 of the oldest and most illustrious names in the 
 peninsula having survived to the present day solely 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 by virtue of such arrangements) ; and the Marliani 
 be thus saved from extinction. 
 
 The young Contessa Violante, when she reached 
 the age of young-ladyhood, had not the " fatal gift 
 of beauty." Some people think that such a depriva- 
 tion is the most unfortunate from which a woman 
 can suffer. Others maintain that the absence of 
 beauty is, upon the whole, no real misfortune. But 
 however philosophers may settle this question, it 
 can hardly be doubted that no young girl devoid of 
 beauty, was ever yet persuaded that to be unattractive 
 in appearance, was otherwise than a very, very 
 sore affliction and misfortune. Nature often kindly 
 mitigates the blow by making the unlovely girl 
 unconscious of her want of beauty. But this was not 
 the case with the young Contessa Violante Marliani. 
 
 Violante knew that she was not beautiful, or even 
 pretty. Probably in her own estimate of herself she 
 exaggerated her plainness. She was one of those 
 persons who have not the gift of self-deception. 
 Neither was she elegant in person. And yet there 
 was something about her bearing, which would have 
 prevented any one from imagining that she was other 
 than a high-born lady. There was strong evidence 
 of intellect in her face; and it was doubtless from
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 243 
 
 within that came that quiet dignity of bearing that 
 marked her. 
 
 And it was a dignity compatible and combined 
 with the most perfect gentleness and almost humility 
 of manner; — a dignity arising not from the con- 
 sciousness of any high position or high qualities, 
 but from the consciousness of that sort of gentle 
 passive strength, which knows that no external 
 circumstance, or difficulty, or pressure will avail to 
 make its owner step but a hair's breadth aside from 
 the path which conscience has marked as that of 
 right and duty. 
 
 Violante was tall and slender, but her figure was 
 not graceful. People did not say of her that she 
 was slender ; they said she was thin. And that 
 was incontestably true. She was very thin. But 
 her shoulders were high and square, and there was 
 a sort of angularity and harshness about all the lines 
 of her person. Her head seemed somewhat too 
 large for her body ; and the upper part of it seemed 
 too large for the lower portion. She had a large, 
 square forehead, white enough, but strongly marked 
 with inequahties of surface, which, however much 
 they might have delighted a phrenologist, were not 
 conducive to girlish comeliness. Her hair was of
 
 244 FOUE MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 the very light reddish quality, which has not a single 
 touch in it of that rich sunny auhurn, which makes 
 so many heads charming, red though they be. Her 
 face was perfectly white, yet not clear of complexion. 
 And the pale grey eyes beneath their all but colour- 
 less brows completed the impression of a general 
 want of vigour and vitality. 
 
 A little before the end of that year in which the 
 Kavenna impresario performed his memorable journey 
 to Milan with the results that have been recorded, 
 Yiolante di Marliani reached her twenty-third birth- 
 day; a few months before that day the Marchese 
 Ludovico had reached his twenty-second. It was a 
 difference on the wrong side, but not so great as to 
 form any serious objection to the proposed match. 
 But twenty- three is a rather mature age for an Italian 
 noble lady to reach unmarried. That such should 
 have been the case with the Signora Violante was by 
 no means because no suitor for her hand had ever 
 presented himself. Several such aspirants had 
 entered the lists. For the Contessa Violante was 
 the great-niece of her great uncle. But some of 
 these had appeared objectionable to the Cardinal and 
 his sister ; — who also were not at all likely to forget 
 all that was due to the prospects arising from such a
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 245 
 
 relationsliip, and all that it implied ; and all of 
 them had been objectionable to the young Contessa 
 herself. 
 
 Violante's expectations, indeed, in that line, or 
 in any other of all the different ways in which happi- 
 ness may come to mortals in this world, was very 
 small. For the first nine years of her life she had 
 lived the only companion of a very miserable mother. 
 And all that mother's misery had apparently come 
 from the fact of her having a husband. Those first 
 years of the child's life had been very sad, very 
 monotonous, very depressing. Perhaps the effect of 
 them did but confirm the speciality of an idiosyncrasy, 
 which would have been much the same without them. 
 But, at all events, when the child was brought to the 
 house of her great-aunt, it seemed as if her mind and 
 character had been too long and too uniformly toned 
 to accord with sadness, for happiness to have any 
 power of taking hold of her. 
 
 The old Marchesa Lanfredi, who took the young 
 Contessa under her roof, and under her care, was not 
 a bad sort of woman in the main; but she was 
 thoroughly and consistently worldly, and judged every- 
 thing from a worldly point of view. The Contessa 
 Marliani was an important little lady in her eyes ;
 
 246 FOUE MONTHS BEFOKE. 
 
 and was treated by her witli an indulgence and con- 
 sideration which she would have considered out of 
 place in the case of a child not born to such 
 expectations and such a destiny. She was not 
 contented with her young relative ; but was more 
 perplexed and puzzled by her than angered. And as 
 Violante grew towards womanhood, her great-aunt 
 understood her less and less. 
 
 In the first place, she had a much stronger 
 tendency towards devotion than the Marchese 
 Lanfredi thought either natural or becoming' in a 
 young woman. Of course it was right and proper to 
 pay due attention to one's religious duties; there 
 was no necessity to tell her, a Cardinal Archbishop's 
 sister, that, it was to be supposed. But she had a 
 strong objection to excess in such matters. And to 
 her mind Violante carried her devotional practices, 
 and yet more her devotional ideas, to excess. Of 
 the latter, indeed, the old Marchesa Lanfredi 
 disapproved altogether. Young people had no ideas 
 upon the subject in her time ; — and the world 
 was certainly a better world then than it had been 
 since. 
 
 And then, worst of all, it gradually became evident 
 to the Marchesa' s mind that there was a more or less
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 247 
 
 direct connection in the way of cause and effect 
 between lier niece's religious notions and feelings 
 and the strange readiness she had shown to find 
 objections to both of the two persons who had been 
 judged by her family to be admissible suitors for 
 her hand. The Marchesa began to entertain a 
 strong aj)prehension that her niece had conceived 
 the idea of '^ entering into religion; " i.e. of becoming 
 a nun. 
 
 It had been necessary at the time of Violante's 
 first coming to live with her aunt, to select a 
 governess for her ; and a lady had been found fitted 
 to teach her all that it was proper for a noble young 
 Italian lady to know. But when she became 
 seventeen it was judged expedient to change this 
 lady for another. A different sort of person was 
 required. Custom and the habits of life and con- 
 venience of the Marchesa made it expedient that a 
 duenna should be provided to attend on the young 
 Contessa ; but she was supposed no longer to need 
 an instructress. 
 
 The person selected for this trust was not perhaps 
 altogether such as might have been desired. By 
 some fatality, arising probably from some latent 
 incompatibility between the institution itself and the
 
 248 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 eternal order of things, it would seem as if the 
 persons entrusted with that responsible situation 
 rarely did turn out to be exactly the right people in 
 the right place. Perhaps in the case of the young 
 Contessa Violante her great-aunt had sought to find 
 some attendant and companion for her who should 
 have a tendency to correct that too great proclivity to 
 retirement from the world — to a life in which religion 
 was the chief interest and occupation, and to a 
 sad and unhopeful view of the world around and 
 before her — which she lamented in her niece. If 
 so, the choice she made was not followed by the 
 results she hoped from it; and was attended by other 
 inconveniences. 
 
 The Signora Assunta Fagiani, the widow of a 
 distinguished Bolognese professor of jurisprudence, 
 was certainly quite free from all those dispositions 
 which the Marchesa regretted in her niece. But 
 she was not altogether discreet or judicious in 
 the method she adopted for reconciling the young 
 girl to the world, and to worldly views and hopes and 
 objects. 
 
 She very soon perceived that to Yiolante the con- 
 sciousness of her own want of personal attractions was, 
 despite her yearning for a life to be filled with thoughts
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 249 
 
 and objects to wliich beauty could contribute nothing, 
 a source of bitter and ever-present mortification. 
 There was inconsistency, doubtless, in regret for the 
 deficiency of personal attraction in persons who, 
 with perfect sincerity, declared to themselves that 
 to enter a convent was their greatest object in life. 
 But Yiolante was not aware that if the beauty had 
 been there the devotional aspirations would not have 
 been there ! That, which causes more deeply 
 implanted in her nature than she knew of were 
 impelling her to desire and to yearn for, the imperfect 
 teaching of the world around her had led her to 
 imagine to be unattainable save by the gifts of 
 personal beauty. And, knowing that if that were 
 so there was no hope for her, her bruised heart had 
 sought the only refuge w^iich seemed to be open to 
 such misfortune. 
 
 The Signora Fagiani's first attempt at finding a 
 remedy for this state of things consisted of a vigorous 
 endeavour to persuade her pupil that her own 
 estimate of her personal appearance was altogether 
 a mistaken one. All the former experience of the 
 old lady led her to consider this an easy task. 
 And she w^as much surprised to find that her 
 insinuations, assertions, and persuasions on this
 
 250 FOUB MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 subject were totally thrown away on her pupil. . The 
 precious gift of personal vanity had been denied to 
 poor- Yiolante ; and she saw herself somewhat more 
 unfavourably than others saw her. 
 
 Then the duenna changed her tactics ; and strove 
 to point out how very little a pretty face signified to 
 any girl in the position of the Contessa di Marliani. 
 To a poor girl, indeed, whose face was her fortune, 
 it was another matter. But the niece of the Cardinal 
 Legate ! . . . Bah ! Did she imagine that she would 
 lack suitors ? She had nothing to do but to make 
 the most of the advantages in her hand, and she 
 would see herself surrounded by all the beaux, while 
 the prettiest girls in the room might go whistle foi 
 the smallest scrap of attention. And then, when 
 married, with rank, station, wealth at her command, 
 what would it signify ? 
 
 And in urging all these considerations, the 
 Signora Assunta Fagiani spoke at least sincerely, and 
 expended for the benefit of her pupil the best wisdom 
 that was in her. 
 
 Partly, however, she was working for her own 
 purposes, as well as for the advantage, as she under- 
 stood it, of her charge. Of course, as she judiciously 
 considered, her position gave her, in a great
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 251 
 
 degree, tlie valuable patronage of the disposal of the 
 Lady Violante's hand in marriage. And, of course, 
 this advantage of her position was equally well 
 understood by others ; and among these by a certain 
 Duca di San Sisto, a Bblognese noble, w^hose sadly- 
 dilapidated fortunes much needed the aid that might 
 be derived from the coffers of the wealthy Cardinal 
 Legate. The Duca di San Sisto had interests at 
 Rome also, which might be most importantly served 
 by the influence of the Cardinal Marliani. So that 
 a marriage with the Lady Violante seemed to be 
 exactly the very thing for him. But the cautious, 
 and carefally-masked inquiries which the Duke had 
 set on foot, after the fashion in which such things 
 are done in Italy, had brought him the information 
 that a marriage was almost as good as arranged 
 between the lady in question and the Marchese 
 Ludovico di Castelmare, an old acquaintance of the 
 family. Were it not for that impediment, the Duke 
 thought that he might have good reason to hope that 
 his plan might succeed. 
 
 Now it so happened that the Signora Assunta 
 Fagiani was an old friend of the Duca di San Sisto ; 
 and when the wddow of the professor of jurisprudence 
 was promoted to the important post she held in the
 
 252 FOUK MONTHS BEFOKE. 
 
 household of the Marchesa Lanfredi, that nobleman 
 did not fail to find means for securing the con- 
 tinuance of her friendship. It was the object and 
 purpose, therefore, of Signora Assunta Fagiani that 
 the Lady Yiolante should become in due time 
 Duchessa di San Sisto, and not Marchesa di Castel- 
 mare. But she understood her position quite well 
 enough to be aware that the end she had in view 
 must be approached cautiously and patiently. 
 
 Violante had, of course, been informed at the 
 proper time that her family destined her to become 
 the wife of the young Marchese Ludovico di Castel- 
 mare. Now, if Yiolante's temper and disposition 
 had been other than it was; had she been able to 
 think of herself differently from what she did ; had it 
 been possible for her, in a word, to have supposed that 
 the Marchese Ludovico loved her, he was the man 
 whom she could most readily have taught herself to 
 love. They had been, to a certain degree, acquaintances 
 from an early period of their childhood. He was the 
 only young man she had ever known with anything 
 like the same degree of intimacy ; and Ludovico, as 
 we know, was not devoid of qualities calculated to win 
 a lady's love. 
 
 But Violante knew right well that Ludovico did
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 253 
 
 not love her, and tliat there had never been any 
 probabilit}^ that he should do so ; and, had she any 
 lingering doubt on the subject, the good Assunta 
 took very good care to dispel it. And there was a 
 bitterness in this knowledge which did much towards 
 producing in Violante the state of mind that has 
 been described. She was not in love with Ludovico, 
 but she had liked him — he was the only man she 
 had ever liked at all. She knew that she was to be 
 married to him if he could be persuaded to marry 
 her, and if she were sufficiently obedient to marry 
 him. She thought that no man could ever love her, 
 and she knew very certainly that this man did not. 
 Her own hope and firmest purpose, therefore, was, if 
 such resistance to the higher authorities might in 
 any way be possible to her, to avoid a marriage with 
 Ludovico di Castelmare : if possible to her, she 
 would fain escape from any marriage at all. If this 
 should be altogether impossible, then the Duca di 
 San Sisto, as well as anybody else. It was not that 
 she had any hope that the Duca di San Sisto would 
 love her : but, at least, it had not been proposed to 
 him to love her, and found impossible by him to 
 do so. At least the unloving husband would not 
 be the one man whom she felt she might have
 
 254 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 loved had he deemed it worth his while to ask her 
 love. 
 
 Yet, with all this, Violante had not learned, as 
 perhaps most women in her place would have done, 
 to hate Ludovico for having found it impossible to 
 love her, — for having condemned her to feel the spretce 
 injuria formes, which so few of the sex can ever 
 forgive. Had she ever reached the point of loving 
 him it might, perhaps, have been otherwise. As it 
 was, she was too gentle, too humble, in her esti- 
 mate of her own worth and power of attraction to be 
 angry with him : and yet she was sufficiently 
 interested in the matter to listen not unwillingly to 
 all the gossip that the Signora Assunta poured into 
 her ear about Ludovico, tending to show that he was 
 unworthy of pretending to her hand. 
 
 Assunta's object, of course, was to break the 
 match with the Marchese di Castelmare for the sake 
 of bringing on one with the Duca di San Sisto. 
 
 Violante's object, it has been said, was to avoid 
 any marriage at all — specially that immediately 
 proposed to her ; and the stories, which from time to 
 time Assunta brought her of the goings on of 
 Ludovico, had a double interest for Violante. In 
 some sort, all such intelligence was acceptable to her,
 
 THE CONTESSA VIOLANTE. 255 
 
 as tending to make it unlikely that her only escape 
 from a loveless marriage with him would be by her 
 own resistance to the wishes of her family. Yet, at 
 the same time, it was bitter to her, and ministered 
 an unwholesome aliment to her morbid self-depre- 
 ciation.
 
 256 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 THE CARDINAL'S RECEPTION, AND THE MARCHESE'S 
 BALL. 
 
 On the first day of the New Year, according to long- 
 estahlished custom, there was a grand reception in 
 the evening at the palace of the Cardinal Legate. It 
 was to be, as always on that occasion, a very grand 
 affair. All the diamonds, and all the old state 
 carriages, and all the liveries in Eavenna were put in 
 requisition. Old coats, gorgeously bedizened with 
 broad worsted lace of brilliant colours, and preserved 
 for many a year carefulty, but not wholly success- 
 fully, against time and moth, were taken by fours 
 and fives from the cypress-wood chests in old family 
 mansions, where they lay in peace from year's end to 
 year's end if no marriage or other great family 
 solemnity intervened to give them an extra turn of 
 service, and were used to turn dependants of all 
 sorts into liveried servants for the nonce ; and
 
 THE CARDINAL'S RECEPTION. 257 
 
 nobody imagined or hoped that anybody else would 
 look upon this display as anything else than absolute 
 and frank ostentation. Nobody supposed that any 
 human being would be led into believing that this 
 state indicated the ordinary mode of life of the 
 persons who exhibited it. Everybody in Italy has 
 been for so many generations so very much poorer 
 than his forefathers were, that such a state of things 
 has long since been accepted by universal consent as 
 a normal one ; and it is understood on all hands that 
 these fitful displays of the remnants of former 
 grandeur, this vain revisiting of the glimpses of the 
 moon by the ghosts of long-departed glories, shall be 
 taken and allowed as protests on behalf of the bearers 
 of old noble names to the effect that their ancestors 
 did really once live in a style conformable to their 
 ideas — that they perfectly know how these things 
 should be done, and would be found quite prepared to 
 resume their proper state, if only the good old days of 
 prosperity should come again. 
 
 And there is the good as well as the seamy side 
 (not, alas, to the old liveries ! for they had been 
 mostly turned and turned again too often) ; but to 
 the feelings and social manners which prompted such 
 a manifestation of them. At least, in such a 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 FOUE MONTHS BEFOKE. 
 
 condition of social manners and feelings mere wealth 
 was not installed on the throne of Mammon in the 
 eyes of all men. If one of the old coaches was more 
 pitiably rickety than the rest ; if the ancient-fashioned 
 coat of some long-descended marchese was itself as 
 threadbare as the old family liveries ; if some 
 widowed contessa had crept out from the last 
 habitable corner of her dilapidated palazzo, where 
 she was known to live on a modicum of chicory- 
 water, brought in a tumbler from the nearest cafe, 
 and a crust ; not on any such account was there the 
 smallest tendency towards a derisive smile on the lip, 
 or in the mind of any man, at these pitiable attempts 
 to keep up appearances, which everybody considered 
 it right to keep up. Not on any such account was 
 the stately courtesy of the Legate's reception in the 
 smallest degree modified. It was subject, indeed, to 
 many modifications ; but these were wholly irre- 
 spective of any such circumstances. 
 
 There is a peculiar sort of naivete about Italian 
 ostentation, which robs it of all its offensiveness. 
 Nobody exhibits their finery or grandeur for the sake 
 of crushing another ; nobody feels themselves crushed 
 by the exhibition of it. The old noble who turns out 
 his gala liveries and other bedizenments on a festal
 
 THE CAKDINAL'S KECEPTION. 259 
 
 day, does it to make up liis part of tlie general show, 
 which is for the gratification of all classes, and is a 
 gi-atification to them. But it is a curious com- 
 mentary of the past history of Italy that, as between 
 city and city, there is the feeling, the wish, and the 
 ambition, to crush and humble a rival community by 
 superior magnificence. 
 
 Nobody expected much immediate gratification 
 from attending the Cardinal's reception. There was 
 little to be done save to bow to the host and to each 
 other. Ices were handed round — none the less 
 because it was bitterly cold — and cakes and comfits. 
 Old Contessa Carini, who had a grandchild at home, 
 and no money to buy bonbons with, emptied half a 
 plateful of them into her handkerchief, the old 
 servant who handed them helping her ; and the 
 Cardinal, who happened to be standing by, smilingly 
 telling her to give the little one his benediction with 
 them. The brave old Contessa still kept her 
 carriage, as it became a Carini to do ; though she 
 starved her poor old shrivelled body to enable her to 
 keep her half-starved horses. And " society" gave her 
 its applause for struggling so hard to do that which it 
 became her to do in the state of life to which it had 
 pleased God to call her; and no soul in the room
 
 260 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 dreamed of thinking the less of her because of the 
 sharp poverty that confessed itself in her eagerness to 
 make the most of the opportunity of the Legate's 
 hospitality. 
 
 The Conte Leandro Lombardoni had a bilious 
 headache the following morning in consequence of 
 over-cramming himself with cakes and sweetmeats. 
 One active-minded old gentleman originated the 
 remark that the cold was greater than had been 
 known in Kavenna for the last seven years ; and this 
 fact, repeated again and again by most of the 
 company to each other, supplied the material of 
 conversation for the first half-hour. Then somebody 
 alluded to the circumstance that, whereas it had been 
 said that La Lalli was to have arrived before the end 
 of the year, the fact was, that she had not yet come : 
 and thereupon the Marchese Lamberto had autho- 
 ritatively declared that the lady had been detained by 
 an unforeseen circumstance of no importance, and 
 would infallibly reach Ravenna on the evening of 
 the 3rd. 
 
 And thenceforward this interesting news formed 
 the sole topic of conversation till the carriages were 
 ordered ; and all the finery was taken home again 
 to be laid up in lavender till that day twelvemonth.
 
 THE CARDINAL'S EECEPTION. 261 
 
 There was to be, also according to annual custom, 
 the first ball of the Carnival at the Palazzo Castel- 
 mare on the following evening ; but for this the state 
 trappings reserved for the Legate's reception on the 
 Capo d'Anno, were not required. 
 
 The balls given by the Marchese Lamberto di 
 Castelmare every Carnival were the grand and 
 j)rincipal gaieties of Ravenna. The whole of the 
 ** society" were invited, and to be prevented from 
 going by illness or any other contretemps was a 
 misfortune to be lamented during all the rest of the 
 year. At the Palazzo Castelmare people really did 
 expect to enjoy themselves. There was dancing for 
 the young, cards for the old, and eating and drinking 
 for all. For the Palazzo Castelmare was the only 
 house in Ravenna at which suppers were ever given. 
 There three balls and three handsome suppers were 
 provided for all the society of Ravenna every year ! 
 And the first of these always took place on the 
 2nd of January ; the Capo cVAnno being left for the 
 state reception at the Legate's palace. 
 
 Well might little Signor Ercole Stadione say, 
 what would become of Ravenna if anything were to 
 happen to the Marchese Lamberto ! 
 
 All the people came much about the same time ;
 
 262 FOUE MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 and there was then half an hour or so, before the 
 dancing commenced, during which the main object 
 and amusement of the assemblage was to escape from 
 a misfortune, which it was well known the Conte 
 Leandro meditated inflicting on the society. He 
 was known to have written a poem for the opening 
 of the new year, which was then in his pocket, and 
 which he purposed reading aloud to the company, if 
 he only could get a chance ! He was looking very 
 pale, and more sodden and pasty about the face than 
 usual, from the effects of his excesses at the Legate's 
 the night before. But his friends had no hope that 
 this would save them from the poem, if he could in 
 anywise obtain a hearing. 
 
 *^ Take care, he is putting his hand in his coat- 
 pocket ! That's where it is, you know ; he'll have it 
 out in half an instant, if we stop talking! Oh, 
 Contessina, you are always so ready! Do invent 
 something to stop him, for the love of heaven ! " 
 said a young man to a bright - looking girl next 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, Signer Leandro, since you are riconciliato 
 con hel sesso,^' said the Contessina, alluding to 
 words which, to the great amusement of all Eavenna, 
 Leandro had written in the album of a lady who
 
 THE CARDINAL'S RECEPTION. 263 
 
 asked the poet for his autograph, — " smce you are 
 reconciled to the fair sex, will you he very kind and 
 see if I have left my fan where I put off my shawl in 
 the ante -room ? " 
 
 "Bravo, Contessina ; now let us get to another 
 part of the room, before he gets back. Oh, 
 Ludovico," he continued, addressing the young 
 Marchese Castelmare, whom they encountered as 
 they were crossing the room, '^ for the love of 
 heaven, let us begin ! Make the musicians strike 
 up, or we shall have Leandro in full swing in 
 another minute ! " 
 
 " I assure you, Signer Ludovico, the danger is 
 imminent ! " said the Contessina. 
 
 " When I saw him at work last night at the 
 Cardinal's pastry, I thought he must have made 
 himself too ill to come here to-night," said the 
 former speaker; "but I suppose poets can digest 
 what would kill you or me ! " 
 
 " If Leandro begins to read, I vote we all are 
 seized with an invincible fit of sneezing," said 
 another of the grown-up children. 
 
 " Well, we may as well begin at once ; I will go 
 and tell the Contessa Violante that we are ready," 
 said Ludovico, moving off.
 
 264 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 It was a matter of course, that lie should open 
 the ball with the Contessa Violante, — not only by 
 reason of her social standing in the city, but because 
 of the position in which he was understood to stand 
 towards her. 
 
 Tiolante was sitting at the upper end of the 
 room between her great-aunt and the sister of the 
 Marchese Lamberto, Ludovico's mother. She was 
 very handsomely dressed in plain w^hite silk, but was 
 looking pale and dispirited. When Ludovico came 
 up and offered his arm, bowing low as he did so, she 
 rose and accepted it without speaking. 
 
 " I had almost made up my mind," she said as 
 soon as they had moved a pace or two towards the 
 middle of the large ball-room, " not to dance at all 
 to-night : I am not well." 
 
 " Oh, Signorina, how unfortunate ! What a dis- 
 appointment ! But it would be cruel to force you to 
 dance, when it is against your inclination," said 
 Ludovico, with a very unsuccessful attempt to put a 
 tone of tenderness into his voice. 
 
 "I will not do so, after this dance," said 
 Violante ; " but I suppose we must dance the first 
 dance together ! " 
 
 ** I am sorry it should be a matter of such dis-
 
 THE CARDINAL'S RECEPTION. 265 
 
 agreeable duty to you, Signora Yiolante," said 
 Ludovico in a tone of pretended pique. 
 
 " It is equally disagreeable to me to dance with 
 any other partner ; I am not well, as I have told 
 you. Signer Ludovico ; I have no business to be 
 here ; I think my health becomes weaker from day 
 to day. And the blessed Saints only know when — 
 it may be possible to think of carrying into effect the 
 arrangements desired by our parents ! " 
 
 *' I am sure that mine would not wish to 
 urge you on the subject to — to decide more quickly 
 than you would wish to. I can assure you, Signora, 
 nothing would be more contrary to my own feelings 
 than to do any such violence to yours. Indeed I 
 may say " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I think I understand all about it. 
 Signer Ludovico. Might it not be possible to find 
 means of pleasing all parties in this matter, if 
 only all parties understood each other. Signer 
 Ludovico ? " 
 
 She dropped her voice almost to a whisper as 
 she said these last words, with a rapid furtive glance 
 at his face. 
 
 " And now," she added, speaking in a louder 
 tone, " we had better give our minds to the present
 
 266 FOUE MONTHS BEFOEE. 
 
 scene of the farce, and perform the opening quadrille, 
 as is expected of us ! " 
 
 " I am truly sorry, Signora, that you should be 
 called upon to do this sort of thing, when you are so 
 unwell, as to make it even more disagreeable than it 
 might be to you otherwise. But believe me," con- 
 tinued he, speaking in a low voice, and with an 
 emphasis that indicated that his words had reference 
 rather to what she had spoken to him in a similar 
 tone than to the words of his own which had 
 immediately preceded them, — "believe me that it 
 is my wish to meet your wishes in all respects." 
 
 There was a Jesuitism in this speech, which did 
 not recommend it or its speaker to the Contessa 
 Yiolante. She would have been far better pleased by 
 a more open reply to the confidence which she had 
 half offered. She only said in reply : 
 
 *' I am disposed to think, that such is the case in 
 the matter which more nearly concerns us both, 
 Signer Ludovico, than anything else. But— 
 although we knew just now that we had to dance 
 together, it was you who had to ask me, you 
 know, and not I you. Yery little active power of 
 influencing her own destiny is allowed to a girl ; come, 
 we had better attend now to the business in hand ! "
 
 THE CARDINAL'S RECEPTION. 267 
 
 There was notliing more, except such ordinary 
 words between each other or the others dancing in 
 the same set, as the dance itself led to, spoken by 
 the Contessa and Ludovico. The former declined all 
 other invitations to dance, and went home at the 
 earliest moment she could induce her aunt to do so. 
 
 There was much talk going on in all parts of the 
 room as to the announced coming of the great singer 
 on the morrow. The young men settled together 
 the last details of their plans for the triumphal 
 entry of the "Diva;" and the ladies were by no 
 means uninterested in hearing all that their cavaliers 
 had to tell them on this subject. Much was said, 
 too, about the qualities of La Lalli both as a singer 
 and as a woman. Everybody agreed that she was 
 admirable in the first respect ; and there was not a 
 man there, who had not some anecdote to tell, which 
 he had heard from the very best authority, tending 
 to set forth the rare perfection of her beauty, and the 
 wonderful power of the fascination she exercised on 
 all who came near her. 
 
 She was to arrive quite early on the morrow. 
 It was understood that she purposed passing the 
 previous night, — that night in short, which those 
 who were discussing her were spending at the
 
 268 rOUE MONTHS BEFOKE. 
 
 Castelmare ball, at the little town of Bagnacavallo, 
 a few miles only from Kavenna. Such a scheme 
 looked, — or would have looked in the eyes of any 
 other people than Italians, — rather ridiculously like 
 the ways and fashions of royal progresses, and state 
 entries into cities. But the Kavenna admirers of the 
 coming " Diva " neither saw nor suspected the slightest 
 absurdity ; and it is to be supposed that La Lalli 
 knew all the importance of first impressions, and that 
 she did not choose to show herself to her new wor- 
 shippers for the first time under all the disadvantages 
 of arriving tired and dusty from a long journey.
 
 ( 269 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF THE "DIVA." 
 
 On the morrow of the March ese's ball was the great 
 clay of the arrival of the divine songstress. And it 
 was as lovely a day for the gala doings, which 
 had been arranged in honour of the occasion, as 
 could be desired. A brilliant sun in a cloudless sky 
 made the afternoon quite warm and genial, despite 
 the general cold. An Italian sun can do this. Where 
 he shines not it may be freezing. As soon as he has 
 made his somewhat precipitous exit from the hard 
 blue sky, the temperature will suddenly fall some 
 ten degrees or more. But as long as he is in 
 glory overhead, it is summer in the midst of 
 winter. 
 
 Three o'clock had been named as the hour at 
 which the coming " Diva " would reach the city 
 gates. But the plans wdiich the young habitues of 
 the Circolo had arranged for receiving her, had been
 
 2 70 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 in some degree modified. The scheme of harnessing 
 their noble selves to her chariot-wheels had been 
 abandoned ; and instead of that it had been under- 
 stood that the Marchese Lamberto would himself go 
 in his carriage to meet her a few miles out of the 
 city and bring her in. The Marchese Ludovico and 
 the young Barone Manutoli were to accompany the 
 Marchese Lamberto, and to assist in receiving the 
 lady ; but were to return to the city in the carriage 
 which she would leave, on getting into that of the 
 Marchese, or in any other way that might seem good 
 to them. The Marchese Lamberto and the lady 
 alone were to occupy his handsome family equipage. 
 There was to be a band of music in attendance, which 
 would precede the carriage as it entered the city ; 
 and some half-dozen young officers of a regiment of 
 Papal cavalry, which chanced to be then stationed at 
 Kavenna, [intended to ride at each door of the 
 carriage as it returned to the city. Altogether it 
 was to be a very brilliant affair. And all the gay 
 world of Kavenna was on • the tiptoe of expectation 
 and delight. 
 
 The Marchese Lamberto, indeed, looked upon his 
 share in the pageant as a great bore. He had had 
 to put off one or two more congenial occupations for
 
 THE AKKIVAL OF THE " DIYA." 271 
 
 the purpose of doing on the occasion his part of that 
 which he deemed his duty to the city. Professor 
 Tomosarchi, the great anatomist, who was at the 
 head of the hospital, and curator of the museum, 
 was to have come to the Palazzo Castelmare that 
 morning to show the Marchese an interesting experi- 
 ment connected with the action of a new anodyne ; 
 and Signor Folchi, the pianist, was to have been 
 with him at one, to try over a little piece of the 
 Marchese's own composition. And both these 
 appointments, either of which was far more in- 
 teresting to the Marchese Lamberto than driving 
 out in the cold to meet the stage goddess, had to be 
 set aside. 
 
 Nevertheless, he had deemed it due to his own 
 position, and to the occasion, to grace this little 
 triumphal entry with his presence. If he had left 
 it wholly in the hands of his nephew, and the other 
 young men, it might have been the means of start- 
 ing the Signora Lalli amiss on her Ravenna career 
 in a manner he particularly wished to avoid. After 
 that little hint on the subject, which the impresario 
 had given him, he was specially desirous that any- 
 thing like an occasion for scandal should be avoided 
 in all that concerned the sojourn of the Signora Lalli
 
 272 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 in Kavenna. He, the Marchese Lamberto, the intimate 
 friend of the Cardinal, and the most pre-eminently 
 respectable man in Ravenna, had had a very large — 
 certainly the largest — share in bringing this woman 
 to the city ; and he was anxious that the engage- 
 ment should lead to no unpleasant results of any 
 kind. 
 
 It might be very possibly that the little matters 
 at which the irnpresario had hinted, were not alto- 
 gether calumnious ; — that the lady might be one of 
 those members of her profession who seek other 
 triumphs besides those of her own scenic kingdom, 
 and the story of whose lives in the different cities 
 they visit is not confined to the walls and to the 
 records of the theatre. It might very well be that 
 a little caution and looking after was needed in the 
 matter. It would be as well, therefore, to take the 
 thing in hand at once in a manner that should put 
 the lady on a right course from the beginning; — 
 all which could be excellently well accomplished 
 by at once taking her, as it were, into his own hands ; 
 and would, on the other hand, be endangered by 
 throwing her from the first into those of the youngsters 
 who purposed going out to meet her. 
 
 So the Marchese sacrificed himself; put off the
 
 THE AERIVAL OF THE " DIYA." 273 
 
 anatomist and the musician ; spent tlie morning in 
 arranging all the details of the proposed cavalcade 
 with the young men who were to compose it ; and 
 at two o'clock got into his open carriage to drive out 
 towards Bagnacavallo. The young Barone Manutoli 
 and Ludovico were in the carriage with him. But 
 it was understood, as has been said, that they 
 were to leave it when they met the heroine of the 
 day, who was to enter Bavenna with the perfectly 
 safe and unattackable Marchese alone in the carriage 
 with her. 
 
 " I wonder whether she is as lovely as she is 
 said to be ? " said Manutoli, as they drove out beyond 
 the crumbling and ivy-grown brick wall, which had 
 helped to repel the attack of Odoacer the Goth ; 
 but which had, some thirteen hundred years ago, 
 failed to keep out the mischief brought into the city 
 by the comedian Empress Theodora, whose beauty 
 had promoted her from the stage to the throne. 
 
 Ahsit omen ! And what, indeed, can there be 
 in common between Goths and Greeks of the Lower 
 Empire, who lived thirteen hundred years ago, with 
 the good Catholic subjects, and the quiet Catholic 
 city of our Holy Father the Pope, in the nineteenth 
 century ! 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 At all events, it may be taken as very certain 
 that no omen of the sort and no such thoughts 
 were present to the minds or fancies of any of those 
 who were about to form the escort of the modern 
 actress. 
 
 " All who have ever seen her, speak in the most 
 rapturous terms of her great beauty," said Ludovico, 
 in reply to his friend's remark. 
 
 "Don't be too sure about it, Jigliuoli miei, or it 
 is likely enough you may be disappointed," said the 
 Marchese Lamberto. " People repeat such things 
 one after the other ; there is a fashion in it. I have 
 always found that your stage beauty is as often as not 
 no beauty at all off it ; and then you know stage 
 work and the foot-lights are terribly quick users-up 
 of beauty. And La Lalli is not. at the beginning of 
 her career. But what have we to do with all that ! 
 che diavolo ! She is a great singer ; she comes here 
 to delight our ears, not our ej^es ! " 
 
 " But time and work make havoc with the voice 
 as well as with the face and figure, Signer Marchese! '* 
 said Manutoli. 
 
 "Not to the same degree. Signer Barone, and 
 not quite so rapidly," replied the Marchese, with 
 the manner of one laying down the law on a subject
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF THE "DIVA." 275 
 
 of which he is an acknowledged master. *' Of com S3 
 a voice which has done much work, is not the same 
 thing as a perfectly fresh one ! A chi lo elite ? though, 
 observe, you very often gain more in knowledge, and 
 in perfection of art, than you lose in freshness of 
 organ. But with proper care, voice, though a perish- 
 able thing, is not so rapidly and fatally so, as mere 
 beauty of face ; that is sure to go very soon. I have 
 not troubled myself to inquire, as you may imagine, 
 much about the state of La Lalli's good looks. But 
 I have informed myself of the condition of her voice, 
 as it was my duty to do. And I think that in that 
 respect, v/hich is the only one we need care about, 
 the city will find that we have not done badly." 
 
 *'For my part, I confess a romanzo comes very 
 specially recommended to my ears from a lovely 
 mouth!" said Ludovico ; "and I fully expect to 
 find La Lalli quite up to the mark in this respect. 
 I shall be disappointed if she is not." 
 
 '' From all I have heard, we shall none of us be 
 disappointed ! " said Manutoli. 
 
 " We shall see in a few minutes ! " returned 
 Ludovico, looking at his watch. 
 
 " There's something in the road now, I think, as 
 far as I can see ! " said Manutoli, who had stood up
 
 276 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 in the carriage, holding the rail of the driver's seat 
 with one hand. The road stretched long and flat, in 
 a perfectly straight line hefore them for a great distance. 
 "Yes," continued he, "there is certainly something 
 coming along the road ; — a carriage hy the quickness 
 with which it nears us : now for it ! " 
 
 " Tell him to draw up, Ludovico ; and he might 
 as well turn round so as to he ready to drive hack. 
 We will wait here till she comes; and our friends 
 on horseback may as well remain here too," said 
 the Marchese. 
 
 So the little party drew up, and all eyes were 
 turned to the small cloud of dust rapidly approaching 
 them. 
 
 " Yes : it is a carriage, and no mistake ; and 
 coming along at a good pace too ! " said Manutoli. 
 
 "It is she, no doubt ; she was to sleep at 
 Bagnacavallo," returned Ludovico. 
 
 " Signori ! " said the Marchese, addressing the 
 four or five mounted officers, " will you kindly put 
 your horses across the road, so that the lady's driver 
 may see that he is to stop, and that there may be no 
 mistake." 
 
 And then an open carriage became clearly visible, 
 and in the next minute, it could be seen that it was
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF THE "DIVA." 277 
 
 occupied by two persons ; — a lady and another figure 
 — an old man apparently — muffled in a huge blue 
 travelling-cloak. 
 
 Then in another instant the travelling-carriage, 
 finding the road blocked before it, had stopped, and 
 in the next, the Marchese Lamberto, hat in hand, 
 was standing at the door of it, on the lady's side ; — 
 the two young men standing immediately behind him, 
 and the horsemen crowded round, craning over the 
 necks of their horses. 
 
 Oh ! per Bacco ! There is no mistake about 
 it; she is startlingly beautiful. Eeport had not 
 said half enough. And, somehow or other, it 
 appeared as if a travelling-costume w^as specially 
 becoming to her. At least, it seemed so to the 
 innocent youths who so first saw her. Had there 
 been any women present their minds would have at 
 once gone back from the splendid effect produced 
 to all the details of the artfully combined causes 
 which had gone to the producing of it. But 
 there were no ladies present, save the " Diva " alone. 
 
 Such a Diva ! She wore a little blue velvet hat, 
 with a white feather in it very coquettishly placed on 
 a superb wealth of hair of the richest auburn tint. 
 She was very delicately fair, with just such an
 
 278 FOUR MONTHS BEFOKE. 
 
 amount of the loveliest carnation on lier cheeks as 
 might be produced by the perfection of health and 
 joyousness and youth ; or might he, a lady critic 
 would have whispered, by some other equally effec- 
 tual means. She had large — veiy large — wide-opened, 
 clear, and limpid light-blae eyes, with that trick of 
 an appealing look in them which always seems to say 
 to every manly heart, ^' You, alone of all the harsh, 
 cold, indifferent crowd around us, are he to whom I 
 can look for sympathy, comprehension, and fellow- 
 feeling." And now these e^^es looked round from 
 one to another of those around her with a look of 
 smiling, innocent surprise and inquiry that de- 
 manded an explanation of the unprecedented circum- 
 stances with a childish freshness the most engaging. 
 She wore a bright blue velvet pelisse, trimmed 
 with ermine, which admirably showed to the greatest 
 advantage her magnificently shaped bust, and round 
 slender waist ; and bent forward towards the 
 Marchese, as he stood at the carriage-door, with 
 inimitable grace of gesture, and a smile on her sweet 
 lips that would have utterly defeated and put to 
 shame any St. Antony exposed to such temptation. 
 • " Signora," said the Marchese, who looked very 
 handsome, as he stood with his hat in his hand, and
 
 THE AEPJVAL OF THE "DIVA." 279 
 
 bowed with stately courtesy, " Kavenna welcomes 
 you, and places itself at your feet in our persons. 
 Permit me to present to you these gentlemen, who 
 have had the good fortune to be selected among 
 many aspirants to that honour, to assist me in 
 welcoming you to our city : the Barone Adolfo 
 Manutoli ; my nephew, the Marchese Ludovico di 
 Castelmare." 
 
 " E Lei clunque e il Marchese Lamherto di 
 Castelmare ? " said the lady, in the sweetest possible 
 of silvery tones, and with an air of humble wonder 
 at the greatness of the honour done her, mingled 
 with grateful appreciation of it, that was inimitabty 
 well done ; and held up two exquisitely-gloved 
 slender little hands, as she spoke, half joining them 
 together in thankful astonishment, and half extending 
 them towards him with an almost caressing move- 
 ment of appeal. 
 
 "6'/, Signora ; I am the man you have named; 
 I am fortunate that my name should have reached 
 your ears ; more fortunate still in having had a 
 part in making the arrangements that have brought 
 you here ; — and most fortunate of all if I shall 
 be so happy as to make your sojourn among us 
 agreeable."
 
 280 FOUK MONTHS BEFOKE. 
 
 " Signor Marchese ! Lei e trojppo garhatOy — 
 troppo buono ; ma troppo huo7io, davvero ! " said 
 the pretty creature ; and tlie appealing eyes looked 
 into his with the semblance of a tear of emotion 
 in them. 
 
 " Will you allow me the pleasure, Signora, of 
 conducting you to the city in my carriage ? " said 
 the Marchese, with a graceful wave of his hand 
 towards his handsome equipage. *' I have thought 
 it might possibly be agreeable to you to place it 
 and myself at your disposition on this occasion." 
 
 " Ma come ? It is too great an honour, davvero. 
 But to make my first appearance in your city under 
 such auspices will go far towards assuring me such 
 a success at Eavenna, as it is my most earnest wish 
 to attain." 
 
 The Marchese put out his hand to assist her to 
 alight, as he added, — 
 
 "Perhaps you will allow these gentlemen to 
 return in your carriage, Signora? They have no 
 other here. I did not think it necessary to bring a 
 second carriage." 
 
 " Come loro commandano ! — as their lordships 
 please," said La Lalli with a graceful bow ; though 
 the young men were of opinion, that her eyes very
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF THE "DIVA." 281 
 
 plainly said, as she glanced towards them, that she 
 would have preferred that they should have returned 
 in the same carriage together. 
 
 She rose, as she spoke, and giving her hand to 
 the Marchese, put one foot on the carriage-step in 
 the act of descending, and then paused to say, as if 
 she had forgotten it till that moment : 
 
 **Will you permit me, Signor Marchese, to 
 present my father to you, Signor Quinto Lalli ? I 
 never travel without his protection ! " 
 
 The old man in the corner moved slightly, and 
 made a sort of bow with his head. He had remained 
 quite still and passive in his cloak and his corner all 
 through the rest of the scene, taking it all apparently 
 as something very much in the common order of 
 things. Perhaps the piece that was being played 
 had been plaj^ed too often in his presence to have 
 any further interest for him. 
 
 While thus presenting her father, as she called 
 him, to the Marchese, the beautiful actress had 
 remained for the moments necessary for that pur- 
 pose, with her matchless figure poised on the one 
 dainty foot, which she had stretched down to the 
 step of the carriage. The attitude certainly showed 
 the svelte perfection of her form to advantage ; and
 
 282 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 from the unavoidable circumstances of tlie position, 
 it also showed one of the most beautifully formed 
 feet that ever was seen, together with the whole 
 of the exquisite little hottine that clothed it, a 
 beautifully turned ankle, and perhaps as much as 
 two inches of the silk stocking above the boot. 
 
 The mere chance that caused the lady to bethink 
 herself of presenting her father just at that moment, 
 was thus quite a piece of good fortune for the young 
 men on foot and on horseback, who were standing 
 around, which no other combination of circumstances 
 could have procured for them. 
 
 Then the Marchese handed her with graceful 
 gallantry to his carriage, took the place in the back 
 of it by the side of her ; and the little cavalcade 
 began its return to the city. At a small distance 
 from the walls, they found the band stationed, and 
 thus preceded by music, and passing through all the 
 dite of the population in the streets, the Marchese 
 conducted her to the Palazzo Castelmare, and handed 
 her up the grand staircase to the great saloon, where 
 all the theatrical world of Ravenna, and many of the 
 more notable patrons of the theatre, were assembled 
 to receive her. 
 
 Signor Ercole Stadione, the little impresario, was
 
 THE AERIYAL OF THE "DIVA." 283 
 
 there of com-se, and in high enjoj^ment of the 
 triumph of the occasion, and of the importance 
 which his share in it reflected on him. He buzzed 
 about the large saloon from one group to another, 
 raising himself on tiptoe as he looked up into the 
 faces of his noble friends and patrons, and rubbing 
 his hands together cheerily in the exuberance of his 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " You had the happiness of accompanying the 
 illustrissimo Sign or Marchese to receive our honoured 
 guest to-day, Signor Barone ! " said he to Manutoli, 
 who was giving an account of his expedition, and of 
 the first appearance of the new "Diva," to a knot of 
 young men grouped around him ; "mi rallegro / mi 
 rallegro / Ravenna could not have had a more 
 worthy representative than yourself, Signor Barone ! 
 But is she not divine ! What beauty ! What a 
 grace ! " 
 
 "Why, Signor Ercole, one would think you had 
 begotten her yourself. She is a pretty creature 
 certainly. What a smile she has ! " 
 
 "Eh bene, SignGvi mici / Are you satisfied? 
 Are you content? Have we done well?" said the 
 little man, buzzing off to another group. " Che vi 
 pare ? Is she up to the mark, or is she not ? "
 
 284 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 " Bravo, Signor Ercole ! We are all delighted 
 with her ! " said one. 
 
 "If she sings as she looks," cried another, 
 '^Ravenna has a prima donna such as no other city 
 in Italy has." 
 
 " Or in Europe, ^:>e?' Bacco ! " added a third. 
 
 " What do you think of her, Signor Leandro ? 
 Did I say too much ? " asked the happy impresario, 
 moving off to a console, against which the poet was 
 leaning in an abstracted attitude, while his eye, in a fine 
 frenzy rolling, managed nevertheless to look out for 
 the manifestation on the Diva's face of that impres- 
 sion which he doubted not his figure and ]pose must 
 make on her. 
 
 " What a bore she must find it having to talk to 
 all those empty-brained fellows that have got round 
 her there, just like buzzing blue-bottle flies round a 
 sugar-barrel ! I wonder it does not occur to the 
 Marchese that it would be more to the pui-pose to 
 present to her some of the brighter intelligences of 
 the city. She must think Ravenna is a city of block- 
 heads ! And one can see with half an eye, that is the 
 sort of woman who can appreciate intellect ! " 
 
 " It will be for you, Signor Conte, to prove to 
 her that our city is not deficient in that respect.
 
 THE ARRIVAL OF THE "DIVA." 285 
 
 Sapristi ? Would you desire a better subject ? 
 What do you say to an ode, now, on the rising of a 
 new constellation on the shores of the Adriatic ? 
 Hein ! Or an impromptu on seeing the divine Lalli 
 enter Ravenna through the same arch under which 
 the Empress Theodora must have passed?" 
 
 ''I had already thought of that,'' snapped the 
 poet, sharply. 
 
 *' Of course you had," said the obsequious little 
 man. " An impromptu, by all means ! You could 
 have it ready to present to her at the theatre to- 
 morrow." 
 
 '^ Unless the Marchese thinks fit to present me to 
 the lady presently, I shall decline to write anything 
 at all," rejoined Signor Leandro, thus unjustly 
 determining, in his ill-humour, to punish all Ravenna 
 for the fault of one single individual. 
 
 The Diva was, in the meantime, winning golden 
 opinions on all sides. She had bright smiles, and 
 pretty captivating looks, and courteous, prettily- 
 turned phrases for all. But amid all this she 
 contrived unfailingly all the time, by means of some 
 exquisitely subtle nuance of manner, to impress every 
 person present with the unconsciously-conceived feel- 
 ing that there was something more between her and
 
 286 FOUR MONTHS BEFORE. 
 
 the Marchese and his nephew than between her and 
 anybody else in the room; that she in some sort 
 belonged to them, and was being presented to the 
 society under their auspices. She remained close by 
 the side of the Marchese. She would look with an 
 appealing and inquiring glance into his face at each 
 fresh introduction that was made to her, as if to ask 
 his sanction and approval. She had some little word 
 from time to time either for his ear, or that of his 
 nephew, spoken in such a manner as to reach those 
 of nobody else ; while, gracious to all, she delicately 
 but markedly graduated the scale of her graciousness 
 towards those who were introduced to her, according 
 to the degree of intimacy which seemed to exist 
 between them and the Marchese. The result was 
 that the Marchese, without having been in the least 
 conscious by what means and steps it had been 
 brought about, felt, by the time the gathering was 
 at an end, a sort of sense of proprietorship in the 
 brilliant and lovely artiste; — it was so evidently he 
 who was presenting her to the city ! She herself 
 so evidently felt that it would become her to rule her 
 conduct in all respects at Kavenna according to the 
 Marchese's wishes and ideas, and there was so sweet 
 and so subtle a flattery in the way in which she
 
 THE AEEIVAL OF THE "DIVA." 287 
 
 made this felt, that when, after all the crowd had 
 retired, and she was ahout to take leave of the 
 Marchese to go to the lodging that had been 
 prepared for her, she ventured to take his hand 
 between both hers, while looking up into his face to 
 thank him, in a voice quivering with emotion, for his 
 kindness to her, there passed a something into the 
 system of the Marchese from that contact of the palms 
 that he found it very difficult to rid himself of. 
 
 END OP VOL. I.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PBINTED BY SMITH, ELDER AND CO. 
 
 OLD BAILEY, E.G.
 
 UNIVERSmr OF ILLINOtt-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 056515288 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 ,f^fM 
 
 1 f 
 
 '■■'' f 
 
 1 " ! 
 
 ; 1 
 '• i 
 
 i 
 
 / 
 
 ! 
 
 ! j 
 ;• 1