.•^-
 
 THK 
 
 EYE OF SAN«PIETMO. 
 
 A TALE, 
 
 m THREE VOLUME?!. 
 
 Ruin from man is most conceal'd when near, 
 And sends the dreadful tidings in the blow ! 
 Is this the flight of fancy ? would it were ! 
 Heaven's Sovereign saves all beings, but Himself, 
 That hideous sight— a nakid human heart! 
 
 Young. 
 
 You've vvTong'd me all, and on you all — but hold — 
 1 form Revenge too mighty to be told ! 
 
 Ovid's Epistles, 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON; 
 
 PRINTED ron T, CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND I 
 BY I. GOLD, SHOE-LANE, FLEET-STREET. 
 
 1801.
 
 
 ABTEMTISEMENT 
 
 THE RE/WEIL 
 
 Unber many doubts and aj3preben- 
 
 ^ sions, does the Author of the following 
 
 /I Tale submit it to public inspection, 
 
 X and solicit public indulgence for a first 
 
 ; 'production. Unsanctioned in a Name, 
 
 unsupported by a Dedication, she 
 ^ *^ lets it down the Wind, to prey at 
 
 Fortune;" and while acknowledging 
 :; that she has zealously endeavoured at 
 ■ success, yet rests her firmest reliance 
 
 oii the candour and generosity of the 
 
 Reader. 
 
 2
 
 THE 
 
 EVE OF SAN-FIETEO. 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 '^ I am settled, and bend up 
 Each corporal agent to this terrible feat." 
 
 SnAKESPEAiRE. 
 
 '' lie seem'd for dignity composed 
 And high ex ploit. But all was false and hollow." 
 
 MiLTOK. 
 
 In the province of Terra di Lavora? 
 ia the kingdom of Naples, stood the 
 Castle of Moraldi, Marchese di Mo- 
 rano. Strong, and impregnable, it 
 remained, notwithstanding the sieges 
 it had sustained, the enemies it had 
 often repelled ; while its dark lofty 
 turrets, rearing high in air their crested 
 VOL, I. B heads,
 
 licads, seemed alike to bid defianee to 
 the devastations of war, and the ra- 
 Tages of years. 
 
 ]\IoRALDi, its present possessor, was 
 the younger brother of Bertoldo, Mar- 
 chcse di Albenza, whose domain ex- 
 ^nded along the river Pescara, in the 
 province of Abruzzo. Though linked 
 in the ties of blood and affinity, their 
 natures wei'e widely contrasted; and 
 .while in early life the good Bertoldo 
 had strove to conciliate the friendship 
 and aiftction of his brother, he had 
 outwardly returned his generous ad- 
 vances with coldness, inwardly envied 
 and detested him. The mind of Ber- 
 toldo was mild, elevated, liberal, and 
 benevolent ; that of Moraldi, fierce, 
 contracted, and implacable ; disdain- 
 ing at an early age, alike the control 
 of'^parental authority, (Tx the bonds of 
 
 fraternal
 
 fiatenial union, lie left his native castle, 
 to emerge in scenes more congenial 
 with his inclinations; and utterly re- 
 gardless of the prayers of the old 
 Marchese, the Remonstrances and en-" 
 treaties of Bertoldo, left Ahruzzo, and 
 plunged at once into a vortex of riot 
 and sensuality. Surrounded by the 
 g;ay, the dissolute, and the vicious, he 
 remembered his home but as the source 
 from whence he was to derive the means 
 of administering to his pleasures; and 
 while Bertoldo watched, with unremit- 
 ting tenderness and love, over the 
 death-bed of an only parent, Moraldi 
 revelled in the society of wantons, un- 
 mindful of the father who was sinkino; 
 under the sense of his shame, and 
 heedless of the disgrace and ruin with 
 which he was overwhelming his ancient 
 and illustrious house. 
 
 BS 
 
 Os
 
 On the death of the old Lord, it 
 was necessary that he should return 
 -once more to the scat of his ancestors ; 
 and it was then, for the first time in 
 his life, that a train of 4iew and serious 
 ideas seemed to have engaged him ; 
 he expressed remorse for the death of 
 his father, appeared anxious to he re- 
 instated in the good opinion of his 
 brother, assured Bertoldo that a re- 
 formation had already taken place in 
 his mode of life, and ended with in- 
 forming him, he had in view an alliance 
 with Juliana, the only child and heiress 
 of the Comte INIorano ; intimating, 
 however, that the success of this ob- 
 ject depended entirely on the favour of 
 his brother, to extricate him from his 
 present difficulties, and enable him to 
 be received at the palace of Morano, 
 rjs the suitor of his daughter. 
 
 Bf.rtoido
 
 Bertoldo listened with satisfaction 
 to the words of Morakli ; his bene- 
 ficent and noble spirit needed not the 
 insinuating address of the latter, to 
 win him to an acquiescence, M^hich had 
 in view the hope of reclaiming a bro- 
 ther still dear to his heart : he embraced 
 him ; and, in all the unsuspecting li- 
 berality of his character, pledged him- 
 self speedily to re-establish, and for the 
 future to assist his fortunes ; *' but 
 hear me, Morakli !'* he exclaimed, (as 
 an unsteady hand trembled in the 
 virtuous grasp of the Marchese,) 
 "there must be two conditions : first, 
 distniss Ubaldo from thy intercourse ; 
 and, secondly, assure me that ihy mar- 
 riage with Juhana has not avarice or 
 ambition for its object." — "Ubaldo," 
 (said Moraldij as he raised his eyes 
 to the countenance of the Marchese, 
 while strong corroding recollection 
 B 3 ruslied
 
 6 
 
 rushed upon him,) *' Ubaldo, tliongh 
 tlie companion of my thoughtless lioui a, 
 'never was the partner of my coufi- 
 «ience, or the sharer of my counsel; 
 jet; wiiile I disavow the friendsliip 
 with wliich the Marchese di ^Mbenza 
 reproaches me, I must stiil acknowledge 
 myself ])ound to Ubaldo by a princi- 
 ple of gratitude, which never can be 
 cancelled. Bertoldo ! hut for his mi- 
 raculous interference, must remember 
 this life had been forfeited to the 
 treaciiery of assassins." Bertoldo, 
 anxious for the welfare of his brother, 
 and solicitous to detach him from 
 scenes, and win him from pursuks, 
 degrading to liis rank and fame, it had 
 been his care to kecj) in employ at 
 Naj)]cs, such agents and emissaries as 
 would note the progress of Moraldis 
 profligate career, and thereby enable 
 hi?ri, ere too late, to lead lum back to 
 
 rcpu-
 
 rcputufion, happiness, and honour. 
 His understanding, as superior to 
 creduhty as was his soul fioni suspi- 
 cion, had never been misled as to the 
 conduct of his brother, or liis coui- 
 panions, by tlie reports of enemies, 
 the tongue of calumny, or tlie fabri- 
 cations of falseliood ; but while lie 
 knew the common associates of Mo- 
 raldi as creatures to be av^oided and 
 contemned, UbaJdo, the unknown 
 Ubaldo, was to be feared. 
 
 It was on the Eve of San-Pietro, 
 the night dreary, dark, and tempes- 
 tuous, that Moritivli, pie])ared to leave 
 the villa of a favourite mistress, re- 
 gardless of the entreaties of his com* 
 panions, and lieated with wine; obliged, 
 however, to be at Naples early tlie en- 
 suing morning, he pursued his pur- 
 pose. The road fiou) this place was 
 B 4 con-
 
 conhidercd hazardous to pass in the 
 obscurity of night ; and he had not 
 proceeded far, >vhcn he was attacked 
 hv ruffians, A\'ho attempted to plunder 
 liim. Want of personal courage cer- 
 tainly was not the failing of ]\Ioraldi; 
 long- he defended himself with skill 
 and bravery, till at last, overpowered 
 by number, and debilitated with recent 
 excesses, he was shrinking from the 
 stiletto of his adversary, raised at his 
 bosom, when the weapon was arrested 
 in its course by the strong-nerved arm 
 of one who had appeared to have been 
 attracted to the spot by the cry of 
 murder. The viU'^'^ns fled, and Mo- 
 raldi felt he owed his hfe to a stranger. 
 *'My dehverer !" cried he, *' words 
 are but poor acknowledgments for what 
 1 owe you ; yet, though for the pre- 
 sent an adverse fortune has limited 
 my power, 1 have a flither, Signior, 
 
 who
 
 who will not be tardy in testifying his 
 gratitude to my preserver. You have 
 saved the son of the Marchese di Al- 
 
 benza. " He stopt ; the sudden re* 
 
 membrance of that father, together 
 with the impression of horror left on 
 his mind, for a moment awakened 
 feeUngs to which he had long been a 
 Stranger ; and during a severe internal 
 conflict, humbled by shame, and ago- 
 nized by remorse, he shuddered as he 
 contemplated the divine interposition 
 in his favour. Lost for an instant in 
 a kind of insensibility to all around 
 him, he was recalled by the voice of 
 the stranger, whose deep and peculiar 
 tone startled and surprised him. It 
 has before been said, Moraldi inherited 
 all the courage of his ancestors. Ever 
 bold and intrepid, he spurned at the 
 idea of danger ; and where the accom- 
 plishment of any favourite object was 
 B 5 in
 
 1<> 
 
 in pursuit, there were no ditTicuItics h\9 
 undaunted spirit would not surmount : 
 such was now the man, whose frame, 
 ^^eakened hy indulgence, and whose 
 mind, enervated by guilty retrospec- 
 tion, shrunk timidly from a sound, 
 and stood tlie victim of an imaginary 
 terror! ^* The Signior di Albenza," 
 said his companion, in accents of proud 
 equality, ''is not unknown to 77ie; ibr 
 though chance has this night thrown 
 us in the way of each other — the 
 period yet must have arrived, when 
 the bond of obligation that links thee 
 to me no\r, would be poor, in com- 
 parison to that with which it is in 
 my power to enthrall tliee. Start not !" 
 (for Moraldi here betrayed an involun- 
 tary emotion,) ** but mark me: To 
 one great purpose have I dedicated my 
 life ; to perform a vow, registered at 
 the pillow of a dying parent, have I 
 
 submitted
 
 11 
 
 submitted to bear the burthen of an 
 existence, commenced in disgrace, 
 and nurtured in misfortune ; in the 
 hope, though at my latest moment, 
 of working a great revenge : I havq 
 risen superior to the world's oppression. 
 Your pardon, I trespass on your pa- 
 tience ; but I would teach Moraldi, 
 tilat the man before him is of no com- 
 mon stamp ; the hfe I saved you, was 
 an act of duty ; the rewards of your 
 family I disdain : your friendship I 
 "Would possess, j/o«?* confidence I would 
 share ; my reasons are strong, are 
 mighty ; and the period will come, 
 when you shall know my motives." 
 " I cotifess riiyself," replied Moraldi, 
 •^ at a loss to account in what manner 
 ttiy friendship can prove essential to 
 you, or the cause in which you appear 
 to b^ «K) much interested ; a stranger to 
 your ntttne, your character, and con- 
 b6 nexions,
 
 12 
 
 nexions, it does not follow, that be- 
 cause you have (for reasons best know i\ 
 to yourself,) become acquainted with 
 mine, that I should lightly promise 
 protection to one of whose history I 
 am ignorant: that I am in your power, 
 is a threat so vague, so futile, and ri- 
 diculous, as exceeds all bounds of pro- 
 bability, and is only calculated to ex- 
 cite the sentiments of contempt it me- 
 rits ; if, however, the assistance you 
 rendered me, was really the impulse of 
 humanity, and not the result of pre- 
 meditated design, then have you still 
 the most forcible claim on my good 
 offices. My friendship cannot be so 
 easily afforded." — '^ My name," au- 
 swered the stranger, <^ is Ubaldo : for 
 my origin, it is marked in characters 
 so black and so mysterious, that death 
 ^nd retribution alone can efface them ; 
 but that they must be effaced, is a 
 
 hope,
 
 13 
 
 hope, which even in those years of 
 tender infancy, (when the buoyant and 
 elastic spirits scarcely retain impressions 
 for an hour,) kindled a living flame 
 within my bosom, and warmed me 
 into action. • But you do well to spurn' 
 my offers — well to assume a conscien- 
 tious guise to him who has watched 
 your conduct, and ascertained its mo- 
 tives ; who knows thee as incapable of 
 acting from principle thyself, as thou 
 art unqualified to preach it to another* 
 Have I not observed thy progress from 
 the castle of thy father ? Have I not 
 followed thee to the Morano palace? 
 Aye, and when under the guilty co- 
 vert of the night thou hast vainly 
 thought deceit and treachery might 
 lurk unseen, have I not traced thy 
 fearful footsteps to the lone dwelling 
 of — — ^ — *VHorror!" cried Moraldi, 
 what art thou, that thus enveloped in 
 r 4 a cloud
 
 14 
 
 a cloud of dark obscurity, doth steal 
 upon me, more barbarous than the 
 hirclinsr wretch from whom but noAv 
 thy strange and hidden policy has 
 saved me, to blast my name, and dink 
 me deeper than perdition !" The time 
 and place was, at this moment, well 
 calculated to excite sensations of alai*m 
 and superstition ; the rugged and in- 
 tricate road, skirted on one side by an 
 immense wood, Avhose close, embow- 
 ering shades, excluding the beams of 
 the mid-day sun, rendered it a situ- 
 ation of peculiar gloom and solemnity: 
 while, on the other, a high stupendous 
 mountain, whose lofty summit rising 
 impervious to the sight, appeared every 
 instant ready to fall, aiid emsh the 
 unwary traveller as he passed, a gro- 
 tesque figure of San-Pietro, placed by 
 the holy zeal of some pilgrims at its 
 base, added considerably to the natural 
 1 awfulness
 
 1^ 
 
 awfulness of the scene. Not a breath 
 stole upon the death-like stilhiess of the 
 hour, save the. melancholy screamings 
 of the bird of night, whose harsh note 
 pierced, at intervals, through the re- 
 cesses of the forest; or the bat, as it 
 flitted its ominous way over the head 
 of Moraldi, as if presageful of those 
 events, which from this night were to 
 date their commencement ; while a pale 
 gleam of the moon, as it slowly emerged 
 from the hitherto blackened vault of 
 the horizon, enabled him plainly to 
 distinguish the person of UbaldO, as, 
 wrapped in apparently deep meditation, 
 lie stood before him. He was about 
 the age of thirty ; in stature tall, be* 
 yond the Ordinary size of men; in figure, 
 well-proportioned and majestic; and of 
 a deportment at once so lofty, noble, 
 and commanding, as bespoke him a 
 being of no vulgar source: for his 
 
 face,
 
 16 
 
 face, ' it was as a book, where men 
 might read strange matter,' regular 
 and handsome; yet so pecuhar was 
 its character, so various each turn and 
 change of his countenance, that the 
 most accurate physiognomist would 
 have been at a loss to pronounce which 
 was the ruUng passion of his mind. 
 In general, however, a cast of thought 
 and reflection, an air of closeness and 
 concealment, were legibly written on 
 every line of his strongly-marked fea- 
 tures ; penetration and distrust were 
 painted forcibly on his dark brow; 
 and from the glance of his keen and 
 scrutinizing eye, innocence itself would 
 have shrunk timid and abashed ; for it 
 expressed each movement of a soul 
 fitted to the blackest purposes, and 
 capable of the most atrocious deeds. 
 Yet so extraordinary were his abilities^ 
 so capacious his understanding, and 
 
 brilliant
 
 17 
 
 brilliant his talents, that the world was 
 dazzled by the display, and all ranks 
 of society throughout the city re- 
 ceived and courted him. Such was 
 the power of his conversation, that 
 while few points were unsubdued by 
 his eloquence, there was no argument 
 the subtle sophistry of Ms reasoiiing 
 did not confute. Lively^ active, and 
 vigorous in his faculties, quick in per- 
 ception, solid in his judgment, and nice 
 in discrimination; to conceive and to 
 act, were with him synonymous ; at- 
 tainment crowned his undertakings, 
 success waited on his wishes ; a Ma- 
 chiavel himself; falsehood and hypo- 
 crisy were unmasked in his presence ; 
 and though the epitome of vice, so well 
 did he assume the garb of virtue, that 
 tlie unwary were ever betrayed, the 
 unsuspecting beguiled ; while his easy 
 polished manners, fine person, and in- 
 sinuating
 
 siniiating address, made hm^ in all 
 places, the envy and wonder of one 
 sex, the admiration and ruin of the 
 other. 
 
 MoRALDi now remembered he had 
 sometimes met Ubaklo at many places 
 of pubUc resort in Naples, when the 
 latter had observed him with much 
 scrutiny and attention; this incident, 
 which had then merely excited a tran- 
 sient emotion of surprise, now rushed 
 upon his mind, in a torrent of inde- 
 scribable feelings, and bewildered him 
 in a chaos of doubt and conjecture. 
 Tliat Ubaldo was master of a secret 
 he had iniagiried locked within the 
 keeping of his own breast alone, was a 
 circumstance which almost led him to 
 doubt the existence of his senses, and 
 to conclude himscU" under the im- 
 pression of a fearful and terrinc dream ; 
 
 vainly,
 
 19 
 
 \-ainly, however, did he seek Cie il- 
 lusion, vainly did he endeavour to 
 chase from his too faitliful memory, 
 occurrences whose retrospection un- 
 manned him. When it happened also, 
 tliat a few nights since, as he had 
 returned by this same road, and at the 
 same hour, that an haggard female, 
 who was regarded by the neighbour- 
 hood as a sybil, and had her dwelling 
 among those mountains, shot across 
 him as he passed, and bade him ^'be- 
 ware the Eve of San-Pietro." Horror- 
 struck as her image flitted on his fancy, 
 he staggered against the leafless trunk 
 of a tree, the representative of guilt 
 and consternation. Ubaldo now ap* 
 proaclied, and extending his hand to 
 Moraldi, *' begged him to moderate 
 his apprehensions, assuring him, that 
 the propagation of his secret was con- 
 ditional, and rested entirely with him- 
 self,
 
 20 
 self, still to be kept buried in obli- 
 
 Bind but thyself to me by an oath 
 that I will dictate, and the man whom 
 now you fear — aye — as tlie one whose 
 very word could crush thee, shall prove 
 thy fiiend, and lead thee on to fortime ; 
 but remember, one interest lives be- 
 tween us from this hour; one path, 
 however narrow, must be our mutual 
 way through lift ; the day that sees 
 thee set thy hand against me, hurls 
 down eternal ruin on thy head ; there- 
 fore beware, Alben^a, that hereafter no 
 jealous fear, or envious suspicion, lead 
 thee to wish thou could'st evaide the 
 being who, having placed thee on thy 
 wishes' pinnacle, may prove'perchance 
 a clog thou wouldst shake off : but 
 fear it, and avoid it, as you would the 
 poisoned adder in its course ; for know 
 
 — Ubaldo
 
 21 
 
 — Uhaldo would pierce th rough Etha's 
 bowels for his vengeance ; — therefore" 
 
 '* Can I," interrupted Moraldi, 
 
 * ' seal a vow thus forcibly extorted, or 
 agtee to terms with which I am un- 
 acquainted ? or am I yet so far gone 
 in iniquity, as thus to plunge myself in 
 added guilt, because the views and in- 
 terests of a stranger demand it of me?" 
 
 **'Tis well," replied Uhaldo, cold- 
 ly ; '^ I cannot wonder that a mind so 
 strong in conscious purity, should 
 think but lightly of these trivial con- 
 sequences : to one cased in the armour 
 of an unsullied conscience, what is 
 disgrace, infamy, or public"—— 
 
 ''Uol-dV cried Moraldi, '' utter not 
 the sound, — I need not a further con- 
 firmation, to know you for the tyrant, 
 the arbiter of my fate ,' say then but 
 
 who
 
 22 
 
 who you are; answer me with truth 
 and candour to this cud, and I wWi 
 promise all that you can dictate." 
 
 ** The day will come," replied 
 Ubaldo, " when on that point you 
 may be satisfied ; but years may yet 
 roll over, ere that period ; and trust 
 me, they are the happiest 3'ou will 
 know ; what you require cannot be 
 now accorded, though thus far I will 
 assure you, the being lives not, who 
 
 knows from whence I sprang." He 
 
 paused, then added, in a tone of ve- 
 hemence, * ' Swear I or when next 
 we meet, thou shalt tremble at my 
 presence — 'twill be"' — " Hold !" cried, 
 ^loraldi, while every nerve seemed 
 contracted into torture — 
 
 *^ I do swear, -^bv von c:rcat Hea- 
 ven"— - 
 
 *' Mockery!"
 
 23 
 
 '* Mockery !;' ^xclaimcfl Ubaldo, 
 '^ priests aucl women niajce tlieir vows 
 by that." 
 
 [' By Hell! then;' cried Moraldi, 
 lialf frantic — 
 
 ^^ 'Trs a childish bugbear," which 
 wise men scoff at. — '' Swear," conti- 
 nued Ubaldo, drawing a poniard from 
 his bosom, '* that you M'ish this steel 
 may drink the crimsoned current from 
 your heart, when you prove false to 
 me, when you betray this night's event- 
 ful meeting, or cease to be my col- 
 league, and my friend. You hesi- 
 tate — the issue of your refusal is irre- 
 vocable." 
 
 MofiALDT, now sunk to the earth by 
 the awe-inspiring manner of his com- 
 panion, the victim of guilt, and trem- 
 
 blintr
 
 24 
 
 bling for his secret, took the fatal 
 oath ! while Ubaldo, quickly assuming 
 an air of complacency, replied — " 'Tis 
 well — on the morrow we shall meet 
 again ;" then passing through a brake 
 into the wood, he bade him " re- 
 member the Eve of San-Pietro, " and 
 disappeared, * * The Eve of San-Pietro ! '' 
 repeated Moraldi ; ^'lost, enslaved A 1- 
 benza, too late hast thou remembered 
 it!" 
 
 CHAP.
 
 25 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 *• From whence, but from the Author of all ill^ 
 Could spring so deep, a malice ?" 
 
 Milton. 
 
 JFrom this period, Moraldi and Ubaldo 
 became constant associates; and so 
 powerfid was the sway obtained by the 
 latter, that while the world considered 
 Moraldi as his patron and protector, 
 he was, in fact, the tool of his will, 
 and the slave of his caprice. Dissi- 
 pated and profligate as before had been 
 his career, it was blameless compared 
 with that into which the infatuating 
 example of his companion daily led 
 him. Plunged into scenes of vice and 
 intemperance, his health, was impaired, 
 VOL. r. c his
 
 1!^ 
 
 ills mind enervated, and his fortune 
 jsunk ; yet still he dreaded too much, 
 to have remonstrated, even had his 
 own inclination led him to do so: thus, 
 satiated with pleasure, and incapable 
 of enjoyment, he dragged on the chain 
 of a wearied existence, while in his 
 heart he abhorred Ubaldo, as the cause 
 of all his suiferings. Vainly had he 
 sought happiness among the gay and 
 the licentious ; alas ! the reality was 
 fled, while he only grasped an un- 
 substantial shadow, who mock((l his 
 prayers, and ever left him bankrupt in 
 his desires. To shut out recollection 
 and repel the forebodings of his con- 
 science, was his unceasing endeavour ; 
 yet remembrance would follow him by 
 day, and liaunt him in tlie gloom of 
 night ; while conscience, as a corrosive 
 worm within his breast, preyed upon 
 his peace, torturing the part which 
 
 nourished
 
 ttourisbed it. Oft'times, too, would ht 
 return in retrospection to those days, 
 when, Avith an unvitiated mind, inno- 
 een-ce and contentment had been his 
 own; when, loved and cherished in the 
 bosom of his family, his hours had 
 ghded away in chearfulness and tran- 
 quillity, his slumbers were serene and- 
 unbrokcn. Now, often would he start at 
 midnight from his j^iHow, and in all the 
 wildness of a disordered imagination, 
 iltncy himself at the '' shrine of San- 
 Pietro," and call aloud on Ubaldo, ** t6 
 keep the black, the damning secret, from 
 all the world !" then sink again upon 
 Iiis couch, again to dream of horror, 
 and to rise distracted. Frequently, 
 after these fits, did lie declare^' he 
 would seek his mysterious tyrant, and 
 force him to an avowal of his motives, 
 for \\'hat purpose, and by what means 
 he had thus possessed himself of the 
 c 2 dearest
 
 28 
 
 clearest secret of his soul ; death was 
 transport to the torments he endured— 
 hp would brave Ubaldo, though anni- 
 hilation Avere the consequence!" But 
 witli the dawn returned hope, love of 
 life, policy, ambition ; and !Moraldi, 
 waveriug and inconstant, * a feather 
 f(ir every wind that blew,' now would 
 consult his wary confederate, on a 
 marriage with the daughter of the 
 Conte Morano, a lady he had met at 
 the assemblies of a Neapolitan Noble, of 
 a most amiable disposition, but whose 
 large inheritance was her sole attraction 
 in the e3^cs of Moraldi ; the sentiment 
 of love, dehcate and refined, was not 
 in his nature ; yet he had infinitely too 
 much vanity to suppose she could 
 prove averse, when he sued for her 
 favour. Young, handsome, and of 
 insinuating manners, he had found the 
 generality of women too weak and in- 
 
 consi-
 
 29 
 
 cbtisiderate to resist his addresses, or 
 even to seek beyond the surface for an 
 excuse: how, th,en; was he stung by 
 mortification and resentment, when he 
 found the gentle Juliana not only dis- 
 couraged his suit, but positively re- 
 fused to listen to him. An alliance 
 with the house of di Alben^sa had long 
 been desired by the Cotite her father ; 
 it is true he would have preferred Ber- 
 .toldo ; aot because he was more vir- 
 ,tuous than Moialdi, but that he was 
 the elder brother; he,, hovvever, had 
 not offered, and >vas besides reported 
 to. be engaged to a lovely girl of hmiibJe 
 faVtune. The Co^nte, therie&re, in- 
 vited MoTaldi to his palace, .at the 
 same time commanding his daugi^t^r 
 to Teoeive him as her destined hus- 
 band, on pain of his eternal displea- 
 sure. Juliana re3Tix)nstrated, wept, en- 
 treated, but in vain, her father was 
 c 3 inexorable J
 
 :)0 
 
 iuexorahlc ; and her lover had too 
 little dclica^y, or feel in ^j;, to desist 
 from a pursuit, hecau^ie it waft ovcr- 
 M'helrnijig anOthe.r with anguish- and 
 despair. Just at tlHi> period he rc- 
 cjeivcd the news of his fatljer's. death ; 
 and caught with eagerness at the op- 
 portunity^ it prestntetl of becoming re- 
 conciled to th« Marchese:. advising 
 with Ubaldo, he determined immedi- 
 ately to repair to Abruzzo, and under 
 a shew of contrition and reformatio!!, 
 obtain such supplies from his brother, 
 .as were absolutely necessary to com- 
 plete his marriage. To this end» as has 
 before been related, he set off for tlie 
 castle, while Ubaldo, secure of his 
 prey, and exulting in the success of 
 his deep-laid projects^ remained at 
 Naples, to keep watch over the actions 
 of Juliana, till the return of Moraldi 
 for ever se(::urcd her his victim.. Mo- 
 raldi
 
 31 
 
 mkli assured the IMarcliesc, *^ though 
 an alliance with the heiress of Alorauo 
 certainly conduced to his interest, yet 
 the regard and preference he enter- 
 tained for her, promised to render it a 
 source of mutual happiness. " So feel- 
 ingly did he pourtray thq virtues and 
 accomplishments of his destined hride, 
 that the unsuspecting Afarchcse was 
 easily led to believe that which he so 
 ardently desired, and readily agreed 
 to advance any sum required of liini. 
 
 It was on the evening previous to 
 the day of Moraldi's departure, that 
 Bertoldo enti'usted him with the secret 
 of his heart, that he had long loved, 
 and was now resolved to espouse, a 
 woman of lowly birth, but who, rich 
 in worth ami beauty, had alone the 
 power to make him happy: ** Yet," 
 he continued, *' though the graces of 
 c 4 my
 
 iny Antonia would, in my estimation, 
 add lustre to the throne of a monarchy 
 my father had prejudices, against 
 \vhich, (as I could not convince,) I 
 was determined never to have contend- 
 ed : it was therefore my task, during 
 his life, to conquer my own feelings, 
 and fly the dangerous society of her I 
 adored; but," he added, and a tear 
 to the memory of a parent glistened on 
 his manly cheek, " that barrier it has 
 pleased Heaven to remove, and Anto- 
 nia will soon be mine." Moraldi listen- 
 ed to his brother's, recital with well- 
 feigned soHcitude: Ah! Could tiiat 
 brother have divined his inmost 
 tlK)uglits, how woukl he have recoil- 
 ed from the view of each sordid and 
 igno]>le passion ! Unable himself to 
 appreciate that genuine felicity which 
 awaked tlie Marchese, he was envious 
 of the good he could never attain; 
 
 and
 
 33 
 
 and forgetful of the numberless bene- 
 fits he had received, benefits whiclj 
 had never shone more conspicuously 
 than at the present, such Avas the im- 
 placable malice of his nature, that hg 
 •would have rejoiced in the downfal of 
 the very man who -had bestowed them, 
 Thait he was the younger, had^ from thp 
 £rst dawniugs of reason, been galling 
 to his «pirit ; Bertoldo, too, from hav- 
 ing always evinced traits of a pecu- 
 liarly amiable disposition, had been 
 the darling of his father's household, 
 and, Moraldi thought, of their father 
 also. Unmindful that his own beha- 
 viour had but merited a parent's se- 
 verest wrath, he jealously ascribed that 
 to injustice which w^as the result of 
 proper discrimination. The Marchese 
 was now the possessor of an immense 
 property, the inheritor of an ancient 
 c 5 and
 
 and hone 111 able name, lie would be thd 
 beloved husband of a most angelic 
 woman, was of powerful interest at 
 court, and above all, had lately ob- 
 tained a large estate by the death of a 
 maternal uncfe, to which Moraldi fiad 
 been the declared heir, but which lie 
 had forfeited by his reprobate and im- 
 prudent conduct. It is true, in ah 
 alliance with the Signtora Si Moraiio, 
 riches awaited his acceptance ; but they 
 were inconsiderable, when put in conr- 
 petition with those of his brother. His 
 '-wife, though virtuous, was certainty 
 deficient in those personal attractions 
 which distinguished tlie destined bride 
 of Bertoldo: he had been disGrraced' at 
 Court, and was, beside, the slave of a 
 being so mysterious, so inexplicable, 
 as often led Irinv to the superstitious 
 and weak belief that he was under the 
 
 domi-
 
 3S 
 
 dominion of a supernatural power. As 
 they sat in one of the saloons after the 
 heat of the day, the Marchese pointed 
 out, from the open lattice, some im- 
 provements he intended to make; and 
 extending his hand towards a small 
 but beautiful cottage on the right, 
 ** There," cried he, ** is the dweUing 
 of my love ! anxl there, under its 
 lowly peaceful roof, have passed the 
 choicest of my days 1 for, oh my bro- 
 -ther 1 what is wealth, dignity, or splen- 
 dour, in comparison to the calm de- 
 licious serenity mediocrity of situation 
 .affords, but whicli the elevation of 
 rank places beyond our reach !'* When 
 tliejr business was concluded, and just 
 before they parted for the liight, the 
 Marchese embraced his brother, re- 
 questing to know, in the most affec- 
 tionate terms, /'if there was yet any 
 c ^ further.
 
 36 
 
 ftirtlier service he could rentier him r" 
 '* Tiiere is one favour," replied Mo- 
 Taldi, *^ I tvould stiH intrude on your 
 literality ; not foi* myself, but a long*- 
 tricd and fktthful servant : my owh 
 extravagance, I blush to say it, ha^ 
 made it impossible for me to reward 
 Cotvino ^s he merits ; and I desire" — 
 ^' Enough,'- said the Marchese, '' there 
 Is a cabin vacant by the death, of an 
 old servant of our house; to you I 
 give it ; it shall be the future property 
 of Corvino, and be mine the care to 
 recompense his fidelity." There was a 
 peculiarity of expression in the coun- 
 tenance df Moraldi at diis momient ; ia. 
 livid paleness, a vacancy of the eye, 
 that would have alarmed, any more 
 suspicious observer than Bertoldo-; but 
 if he noticed it at all, it Was merely 
 as conteiving it to arise from fatigue 
 2 or
 
 ^7 
 
 or anxiety ; and again pressing the 
 hand of his brother, besought him 
 to seek reJ3'o's6 ;' and wishing him 
 health and rest, retired to his own 
 apartment. 
 
 CHAF.
 
 SB 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 *< Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, 
 Glamis, all 
 
 SHAKESPEARf:. 
 
 Early the next morning, Moraldi 
 left Terra di Lavora, and in due course 
 reached the city '^ it was midnight 
 when he arrived, owing to delays on^ 
 the road ; but anxious to commu- 
 nicate his success to Ubaldo, he flew 
 to his house, and ascending quickly to 
 his apartment, entered it unperceived 
 by him, who, seated at a table, seemed- 
 buried in the contemplation of some 
 object which lay before him; on it 
 ^'as a small trunk, several papers, and 
 a dagger, which appeared, as Moraldi 
 
 caught
 
 59 
 
 caught a hasty gllnipsc, to be marked 
 with spots of a reddisk hue : at this 
 sight, the blood receded cold to his 
 heart, a sensation dreadful as it was 
 probable, rushed upon Ms soul ; and 
 forgetful of his oath, of the awe- 
 inspiring being who had extorted it, 
 of hrs situation, the hour, and all the 
 AVorld, he darted forward, and grasping 
 the weaj^on, unahle to articulate from 
 the horrible conjectures wliich as&ailed 
 him, stood with his eyes fixed m 
 ghastly v/ildness on Ubaldo, who, 
 without betraying the smallest sign 
 of guilt or consternation, coolly taking 
 the dagger from Moraldr, excla-imed in 
 a voice of solemnity, ** Hast thou for- 
 gotten the Eve of San-Pietra? Weak 
 man 1^ hast thou forgotten, that on a 
 scrupulous observance . of thy vow, 
 alone depends thy preservation fronn a 
 fate whose chmax woxild be dreadful r" 
 
 'MJbaldo!'*
 
 40 
 
 *^ Ubaklo !" exclaimed Moraldi, wlio 
 now seemed actuated by a desperate 
 impulse to know tiie worst, " there 
 mxe cases where an oath enforced can 
 be iHjade kivialid ! circumstances, where 
 to require it, is an act of justice 1"' 
 
 '* Moraldi talk of justice, whose 
 practice has been but in the breach of 
 its most established rules ! Signior," 
 he added, temperating his voice, and 
 affecting an air of calmness and mo- 
 deration, *^ before w€ part this night, 
 we must know each other better ; to 
 those servile and faint-hearted wretches, 
 who are conteat with the drudging 
 and comnion lot of life, let us leave 
 the cant, of -.justice, the preachments of 
 virtue and morality ; to the shallow 
 . fool, who, toils with . mean submission 
 • tjirough his pilgrimage; of misery, 
 ^ unable, nay, oft unwilling, to amend 
 
 his
 
 4i 
 
 his hard condition, by an exertion 
 over prejudice, who^ in tlie visionary 
 idea of a promised after-existence, 
 barters present happiness ; to such, my 
 friend, leave fear, remorse, and the 
 vain bodings of the thing called con- 
 science ; to such, banish that crowd of 
 childish apprehensions, which. but now 
 would have led . thee to sacrifice thy 
 dearest interests to the;.>veak workings 
 of a woman's fancy ! for, granting that 
 the dagger which you saw did bear 
 presumptive evidence to a deed of 
 'darkness; is it, Moraldi, Such a crime 
 <to rid us 'of the iserpent in our Way ?' " 
 ;As he spoke, a smile of maHde gave 
 additional ferocity to the expression of 
 his eye: *^ Seek not," he continued, 
 laying his hand on his heart, '^ to 
 pierce the veil of mysteiy buried here ; 
 
 seek not" At this moment, when 
 
 the wild looks of Moraldi were bent as if 
 
 to
 
 42 
 
 to penetrate discovery through thf 
 soul of his companion, a step was 
 heard ascending the stairs, and Corvi- 
 no entered the apartment. lie came 
 fraught with intelhgence, gatliered 
 from thedomesticsof the Conte Morano, 
 the purport, that their master, piqued at 
 the delay which the embarrassed situa- 
 tion of Moraldi obliged him tomake, and 
 d i ss at isfied w i t h his ex c u s es, was pa r t ly 
 determined to bestow his daughter on 
 another, who, during the abs<wice of 
 MoraWi, had presented himself a can- 
 didate for her hand. This news, as 
 unwelcome as unexpected, quickly 
 turned the current of his thoughts ; 
 and those advantages which had for- 
 merly appeared insignificant, in comr- 
 pctition with his k)st peace and for- 
 feited integrity ; now, when so near 
 a prospect of their loss presented it- 
 scltj with that perversencss so natural 
 
 to
 
 to Imman beings, resumed more tlian 
 their wonted force over his mind, shone 
 in attainment more brilliantly than 
 ever, and bitterly did he regret having 
 betrayed feelings to Ubaldo, which 
 might make him careless ofy if not 
 inimical to his interest ; how then was 
 he smprised, when he found their late 
 conversation totally disregarded, and 
 while replacing luis papei^ in the 
 trunk, Ubaldo interrogated Corviuo 
 more fully as to what he had heard at 
 the palace, rallied his companion cm 
 the concern depicted in his eounte- 
 nance, and then assured him, if life 
 would rely on his counsel, the Signiora 
 should yet be his ! After this, they 
 spent the remainder of the night in 
 concerting future plans and specu- 
 lations ; and early the following morn- 
 ing, Moraldo repaired to the Conte 
 Morano's, whom he found;, as the ser- 
 vant
 
 44 
 
 vant had reported, wavering on which 
 he should hcstow liis daughter; for 
 ah'cady the rank of Moraldi had lost 
 soniewliat of its lustre, in the con- 
 templation of the immense riches that 
 would be added to his family in au 
 alliance with the Si^-nior Palazzi. 
 When the mind is in a state of fluc- 
 tuation, small is the portion of elo- 
 quence requisite to bring its vane to 
 the centre of our own wishes. To fix 
 the point was therefore no difficulty 
 with Moraldi, who possessed great 
 artifice and powers of persuasion. The 
 Conte, lured back to his original in- 
 tention, soon agreed to accept him 
 for his son-in-law, promising a liberal 
 income for their present support, and 
 to bequeath to them the whole of his 
 property when he died, on condition 
 that he took the name of Morano. 
 Moraldi readily assented ; and after 
 
 being
 
 45 
 
 being admitted to a conference with 
 Juliana, returned triumphing to Ubal- 
 do, resoh^ed never again to suffer 
 the intrusive feefings of remem- 
 brance or remorse, to frustrate his 
 ambitious hopes. Juliana now regard- 
 ing her fate as inevitable, flung her- 
 self on her knees before her father, 
 earnestly beseeching him to defer her 
 marriage for six months, promising in 
 that time ^' she would be the wife, 
 the wiUing wife of Moraldi." The Con- 
 te, somewhat melted by her tears and 
 distress, agreed at last to comply with 
 her request, on condition, at the ex- 
 piration of that period, she would sub- 
 mit implicitly to his will ; fearing, if 
 he now urged her too far, she might 
 by some desperate step defeat his 
 intentions, and render all his plans 
 abortive. It is thus the wretched ever 
 cling to procrastination as their last 
 
 resource.
 
 AG 
 
 vcsowYce. Alas ! they know nut, that 
 the delay of evil is but poUring addi* 
 tional bitterness into the cup of sorrow; 
 that the keenest reahty cannot equal 
 the self-created agony of the ima- 
 gination ; that suspense is the scorpion 
 of the mind ; and that it requires infi- 
 nitely less . fortitude to rush at once 
 upon certainty, painful however it may 
 prove, than to bear with patience the 
 lingering workings of a tortured fanc}'. 
 During the length of six months did 
 the lacerated heart of Juliana bear 
 heavy testimony to these sad truths: 
 in the course of that interval, Morakli 
 heard from his brother, ^' informing 
 him of his marriage, and expressing 
 impatience to hear that he also had 
 become a husband ; requesting he 
 would soon, with his bride, take up his 
 abojcat the castle of Albenza, tili tliat 
 
 of
 
 47 
 
 otV ^lorano was ready, for their re-^ 
 ceptiou." The offer was accepted, and 
 three months after the date of this 
 ktter, Moraldi led to the altar the 
 victim of his unfeeling policy and ara- 
 bition. They remained at Napks some 
 timeafter, in all the gaiety and splendour 
 of that luxurious city, during which, 
 Moraldi, tlirougli the influence of his 
 brother, was restored to the favour of his 
 sovereign. It was now that, he would 
 have given worlds to blot out the past^ 
 as a blackened speck, upon the fair 
 page of his present reputation ; it was 
 now lie proved the quickness of Ubal- 
 do's penetration, for it was now that 
 the news of hts death would have been 
 sweet as the note of harmony to his ear: 
 wlio he was, what he was, \rould, even 
 in tlie midst of society, abstract him 
 from all around, and bewilder him in 
 a labyrinth of unavailing conjecture. 
 
 Cor vino
 
 48 
 
 Corvino too, tlic mercenary tool of his 
 former purposes, yet lived to cross his 
 path, and fill him with fears and sus- 
 picion ; but for Ubaldo, he was a clog 
 that might easily be removed, a worm 
 that could be crushed ; yet as it was, 
 * that would but scotch the snake, not 
 kill it.' — The concealment too, at- 
 tached to the character of Ubaldo, 
 liad now began to spread through the 
 city, in reports very much to his dis- 
 advantage ; and becoming at last the 
 subject of serious animadversion, it 
 was finally resolved no longer to receive 
 him into famihes of honour and re- 
 spectability. — He smiled, as he turned 
 from the gates now shut against him ; 
 but it was not the smile of a peaceful 
 heart, rich in the possession of con- 
 scious rectitude; it was contempt for 
 feelings his nature did not understand, 
 but which the proud vaultings of his 
 
 spirit
 
 49 
 
 spirit despised : thus driven fi'om the 
 world, he sought in Moraldi that sup- 
 port and advancement the other da;'ed 
 not refuse ; and the night before the 
 departure of Moraldi from Naples, he 
 solemnly promised, his first care on 
 return should be the provision of his 
 friend. Once more arrived at the seat 
 of his ancestors, he was pressed to the 
 bosom of Albenza, while the fair Mar- 
 chesa welcomed her sister-in-law with 
 smiles of ineffiible sweetness. . • Moraldi 
 regarded the lovely figure of the 
 blooming Antonia with emotions that 
 may be conceived, but not described ; 
 loving and beloved, the pride and dar- 
 ling of her Lord, they seemed to live 
 but in the presence of each other, 
 while the gaze of pleasure, the chast- 
 ened look of rapture, with which he 
 followed each movement of her Q-raceful 
 form, went as so many daggers to the 
 VOL. I. D heart
 
 50 
 
 heart of Moraldi. No smile of con- 
 nubial tenderness beamed at bis ap- 
 proaeh, no sound of melting softness 
 thrilled its approbation on his ear ; his 
 absence alone seemed to diffuse a ray 
 of gladness over the care-worn coun- 
 tenrnce of Juhana : to her person he 
 had always been indiiferent; wedded 
 to her estate, and of a character vo- 
 luptuous, imperious, and overbearing, 
 it may easily be supposed she was the 
 last woman in the world to make him 
 happy: bred under the frown of a 
 harsh, austere parent, endurance and 
 resignation were virtues she had early 
 learnt, and practised ; though naturally 
 mild, gentle, and susceptible, it is more 
 than probable, kindness and conciliation 
 would have won from her that love, 
 which at first was not the voluntary 
 gift of her heart ; but her husband, 
 forgetful he had forged his own chains, 
 
 4 iuccs-
 
 51 
 
 incessantly upbraided her as the de- 
 priver of hi^ liberty, and loaded her 
 with reproach and revilings ; her meek 
 submission he considered as the mark 
 of a servile and apathetic mind, while 
 her respectful attentions and assiduities 
 still further increased his malice, and 
 only served to harden 'the proud spirit 
 they were intended :to'soften, Torn by 
 contending passions, his letters to Ubal- 
 do were sometimes written in a style 
 bordering -on frenzy. To him would 
 he paint the contrast between his lot 
 and that of his brother; to him de- 
 scribe !he beauties of the Marchesa, her 
 winning smiles and fond endearments, 
 as bending o'er her Lord, she rose to his ' 
 glowing fancy— and those smiles were 
 not for him, those endearments were 
 directed to the detested Bertoldo, that 
 man, who from infancy had towered 
 above him, the favoured of Heaven 
 ^ 2 and 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 imivERSinonuJNois
 
 and of fortune. *' Down, tortuiing 
 image 1" cried JNIoraldi, as he dashed 
 the pen from his trcndjhng hand, 
 *' let me fly from ye, thoughts that 
 hurl me to distraction 1" But Avhither 
 did he fly? to the fascinating pre- 
 sence of his brother's wife, to add fuel 
 to the llame which consumed and 
 preyed upon his peace and honour. 
 The Signiora di Morano was now in a 
 situation, which it was in a short time 
 expected would add to the family of her 
 Lord ; and at nearly the same period, 
 the anxious Bertoldo hoped also to 
 press to his heart a sacred pledge of his 
 affections. ' ' Thine must be a daugh- 
 ter, my brother!" he would exclaim ; 
 "and then, oh 1 then, our interests, our 
 wealth, our families shall be still more 
 
 closely united !" " Thine shall be a 
 
 daughter," wrote the artful Ubaldo, in 
 a letter to INIoraldi ; "in all thou art 
 
 to
 
 63 
 
 to follow his lead, in all he soars above 
 thee !" — Excellent, ill-fated Albciiza, 
 httle didst thou think, that the evening 
 of the day, which gave a son to the 
 h^pes of thy brother, saw thy dawn set 
 in blood. 
 
 In the course of a short thiie, the wllx; 
 of Morano was delivered of a boy, the 
 Marchese having made it Im i-cqucst, 
 they would not leave the castle till the 
 returning strength of Juliana rendered 
 it safe for her to do so ; adding also, 
 that the society of bis brother Vvould 
 make the expected period of the Mar- 
 chesa's confinement pass less heavily. 
 Juliana, naturally of a delicate frame, 
 and with a constitution much im- 
 paired by anxiety and sorroM'', was to 
 ill, as to be pronounced in some dan- 
 ger, ordered to be kept in profound 
 stilhiessp and even forbid the sight of 
 D 3 her
 
 64f 
 
 her infant, to whom she ckmg in idea 
 with all a mother's fondness and de- 
 hght; wliilc lier unfeeling Lord con- 
 tented himself with a cold enquiry at 
 the door of her chamber, and then 
 depart hI, to devote the rest of his day 
 to the Marchesa, whose ^ide he never 
 quitted, and who innocently received 
 liis compliments and marks of appro- 
 bation, merely as the tiibute of friend- 
 sliip and esteem due to her as the wife 
 of his brother. The clock of the castle 
 had just tolled the hour of eleven, when 
 the Marchese, remarking the beauty of 
 the evening, said he would walk down 
 by the river, to enjoy the effect of the 
 moon-light beam on its waters, desiring 
 IMoraldi would entertain Antonia till his 
 return, he was quitting the apart- 
 ment, when she caught his hand : 
 Ah! do not leave me to-night, my 
 husband !'' she exclaimed ; " I have a 
 
 - strange
 
 65 
 
 strange presentiment of evil, which i 
 have tried, but cannot dispel : I dreamt 
 last night, I was hurled by an in- 
 visible hand into the Pescara, and 
 when I reached the bottom, that you 
 were there to receive me. I know these 
 are weak and, childish apprehensions, 
 but comply^:; with me thii once, and 
 walk where you please to-morrow. " 
 
 The Marchese, though he adored 
 his wife, fejt ashamed of her indulging 
 in M'hat he .thought caprice, and laugh- 
 ing gaily to his' brother, said ^' he would 
 not be out-done even by the great 
 Cissar," and left the saloon. Moraldi 
 observing the extreme agitation of 
 Antonia, called loudly on him to re- 
 turn ; but the Marchese was beyond 
 hearing, and he therefore undertook. 
 the more agreeable office of consoling 
 his lovely companion, in preference to 
 j>4 seeking'
 
 56 
 
 seeking- his brother on tlie borders of 
 the Pesciira. He hud partly succeeded 
 in cahiiing- her uneasiness, wlrcn a 
 shrill and piercing shriek resounded 
 throu"]i the castle, and a servant rush- 
 ed into the room, whose pale aftrighted 
 looks bore ample testimony to some 
 dreadful catastrophe ; the wretched 
 Marchesa sunk senseless to tlie earth, 
 and was borne in that state to her 
 apartments by Morakli, who, after 
 consigning her to tlie care of her 
 attendants, hastened into the hall to 
 know if indeed any accident to his 
 brother had occasioned the alarm now 
 so general. When he reached it, he 
 found all the domestics of the family 
 assembled, and long was it before he 
 coukl obtain from the terrified mul- 
 titude, a confirmation of his fears : 
 pious ejaculations, prayers to the Vir- 
 gin, and appeals to their patcr-nosters, 
 
 were
 
 57 
 
 were the only answers returned to his 
 loud and reiterated enquiries, till trem- 
 bling with rage and impatience,* he 
 seized on Bianca the housekeeper, 
 (who, in one corner of the hall, with 
 a large groupe collected round her, 
 was recounting some terrible event, 
 accompanied with all the force of tears 
 and gesticulation) ; and in a voice of 
 tlmnder, commanded her to say the 
 cause of this general consternation, 
 and to inform him of the j\iarchese. 
 
 *^ On, my Lord!" answered the poor 
 trembling creature, *^ I have lived five 
 and thirty years in your gracious fa- 
 mily ; and little did I think, Holy 
 Santa Maria, to have witnessed such a 
 day as this !" 
 
 *' Drivel LE R !," exclaimed Moraldi, 
 
 '' What have you witnessed ? Dare you 
 
 D 5 thus
 
 58 
 
 tluis trifle with the agony of my fecl- 
 intrs — tell me this moment where is 
 your Lord — or this moment shall he 
 your last 1" 
 
 *' Grant me patience!" cried Bi- 
 anca, whose long service in the family 
 had caused her freedom of speech to 
 be much tolerated, ** grant me patience 
 from such a Signior as this : Ah ! it 
 was not with threats and blustei'ing 
 that my Lord the Marchese, God rest 
 his soul, got anything out of me: 
 No ; it was always, well, good Bi- 
 anca — and now, good Bianca, to your 
 story :•— and then he would hsten with 
 such patience to all I told hirri — he 
 will never hsten more!" Sh« cried, 
 as if overpowered by some sudden re^ 
 collection, " he is gone ! the Marchese, 
 the best of masters, the tenderest of 
 . husbands, the pride of the Albenzi, is 
 
 gone —
 
 59 
 
 gone — and we shall never, never, see 
 him more !" IMorakli, now assured 
 some disaster had befallen his brother, 
 was retiring from the hall, in order to 
 gain further information, when he met 
 Baptista, the steward of the castle, 
 who, holding in his hand the cloak of 
 the unhappy Bertoldo, stained in gore, 
 besought him> as he wished to be pre- 
 served from a sight the most appalling, 
 to go not towards the river : '^ Listen, 
 my Lord," he added, ** and I will tell 
 you all." 
 
 '^ BiANCA had spent the evening 
 about a mile from the castle, at the 
 cottage of her son ; and as I think it 
 lonely for a female to go through yon 
 wood after dark, not being required in 
 my office, I promised to walk and pro- 
 tect her. The moon shone brightly; 
 
 and I observed to Bianca" -'* Go 
 
 D 6 on/'
 
 GO 
 
 on," said Morakli, go on— '^ your ob- 
 servations are impertinent and ill- 
 timed." 
 
 ^' Well, my Lord, as I was saying, 
 tlie moon shone brightly, when I per- 
 ceived two men stealing along the oigQ 
 of the river, just under the ramparts, 
 I communicated my suspicions to Bi- 
 anca, who presently saw them also^ 
 this was no time for trifling, and we 
 pushed forward with all possible speedy 
 when a low hollow groan, as of a per- 
 son m the last agonies, reached me ; 
 and a few paces farther, brouglit us to 
 the view of such a scene, as, wTre I to 
 live an hundred years, I can never 
 foiget. The shore was covered with 
 blood, while a dagger, broken at the 
 hilt, the cloak, and this portrait of 
 the Marchesa, left me no doubt but that 
 my beloved master liad fallen a sacri- 
 fice
 
 61 
 
 iice to some of the remorseless banditti 
 who infest the woods of Abruzzo ; the 
 river, too, near the spot, was all stain- 
 ed with crimson ; and, too surely, the 
 good Marchese now sleeps beneath the 
 waters :" as he spoke, the wretched 
 widow of Albenza darted into the hall, 
 with her garments torn, her looks pale 
 and haggard, her eye wild and fren- 
 zied ; she instantaneously caught a 
 glimpse of the well-known habit of her 
 Lord, and uttering a scream that vi- 
 brated to the hearts of all around her, 
 clung in convulsive violence round the 
 good old Baptista ; then pressing the 
 crimsoned vestments to her lips, she 
 raised her meek eyes to Heaven, and 
 crossing her arms on her bosom, feebly 
 articulated, ^^ It is Thy will, Thy will, 
 great Heaven, and I must not com- 
 plain r' In a state of torpid derange- 
 ment was she carried to her bed, from 
 
 which
 
 62 
 
 which she never after arose, for three 
 hours from the time >vhich consigned 
 her Lord to an early grave, she gave 
 premature birth to a male infant, M'ho 
 survived its mother but ten minutes. 
 In. the mean while, Moraldi had the 
 river dragged near the place where 
 the fatal accident had happened, but 
 to no purpose, the body was never 
 discovered ; and soon after the funeral 
 honours had been paid to Antonia and 
 her hapless babe, the new Marchese, 
 with his family, departed for Naples. 
 Before he left the castle, he discharged 
 nearly all its ancient domestics, retain- 
 ing only Bianca, whom decency to the 
 memory of his brother obliged him to 
 keep. Masses were then performed 
 for the repose of the late Lord, and 
 Corvino put in possession of the cot- 
 taG:e, with the care of the castle as his 
 trust. In the course of five yeai-s spent 
 
 at
 
 63 
 
 at Naples, in a style of princely mag- 
 tiificence, the old Conte cli Morano 
 died. In the course, too, of that time, 
 Ubaldo became forfeit to the laws of 
 Hi^ country, for having in the heat of 
 passion killied a man with whom he had 
 Quarrelled at the gaming table ; con- 
 demned to die, the morning was ap- 
 pointed for his execution, when at the 
 moment he was expected to come forth, 
 what was the astonishment of the mul- 
 titude ! to see the gaoler rush forward 
 on the scaffold, and declare the cul- 
 prit was missing ; every reward was 
 now offered, ever}^ search made, to 
 find some clue to his retreat, but in 
 vain, he was never after seen or heard 
 of; and in the space of some months 
 the affair was forgotten, excepting in 
 the minds of a few, Avho, though they 
 did not dare deliver their sentiment in 
 
 public,
 
 64 
 
 public, 3Tt could not avoid suspecting 
 the Marchcse di Morano as beino; 
 privy to his escape ; who, from the 
 death of the Conte, resided entirely at 
 the castle in Terra di Lavora. Such 
 were the events that marked the early 
 life of its present possessor. Twenty 
 years from that period, is the one when 
 this history conniiences, a period when 
 the inhabitants of the castle consisted 
 of the Marchesa, now fast approaching 
 that end she had so long desire:! ; for, 
 worn out by the harsh treatment of* 
 her Lord, she was sinking gently into 
 the tomb, patiently looking forw^ard to 
 * another and a better world ;' for that 
 peace, of which his violent and iras- 
 cible disposition had long deprived 
 her ; an orphan girl, protected by her 
 benevolence; and their only son Ri- 
 naldo di Albenza, a young man, whose 
 
 amiable
 
 65 
 
 amiable disposition, brave and exalted 
 spirit, polished manners, and strikingly 
 handsome person, conciliated the love, 
 and gained the respect and applause 
 of ail who knevv^ him. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 66 
 
 CHAP. IF. 
 
 «^ Mourn not, the troubled heart at rest, 
 How still it lies within the breast ; 
 Death to the Avretched whispers peace. 
 And in the grave all sorrows cease." 
 
 ]FoR three successive nights had Viola 
 cli Benincasor watched by the pillow of 
 her dying protectress, unmindful that 
 lier own healtli gradually declined in 
 her unwearied efforts to >' restore the 
 broken and sinking constitution of the 
 ill-fated Marchesa. Viola was of that 
 order of beings on whom the voice of 
 humanity vibrated so strongly, that 
 she would have tended the couch of 
 the poorest menial in the castle with 
 
 equal
 
 67 
 
 equal care and assiduity as now found 
 her the constant attendant by the bed 
 of declining greatness. It is true, the 
 consciousness of fulfilling one of the 
 most sacred duties of nature, would in 
 that instance have whispered peace 
 and pleasure to her soul; but in the 
 present, she viewed the faded form, 
 the shrivelled hand, the dead sunk 
 eye of the Marchesa, as so many sad 
 omens of her own forlorn and isolated 
 state, as the grave in which her small 
 portion of terrestrial happiness was to 
 be entombed. '' Alas !" she cried, 
 *^ wherefore was the unwelcome gift of 
 existence bestowed on me? a wretch- 
 ed, hapless orphan, reared by the ca- 
 sual bounty of a strangef, supported 
 by those on whom i have no claims ; 
 deserted almost at my birth by parents: 
 whose province it was to have fostered 
 and protected tne ; what, when thou, 
 
 blessed
 
 6s 
 
 blessed sufiferlng sahit, sliall liave re- 
 gained tby native heaven, wliat will 
 become of me ? the child of obscuri- 
 ty ; perhaps," she added, her whole 
 countenance glowing with the reflec- 
 tion, "of disgrace, of dishonour.' 
 
 Eighteen years ago, a basket care- 
 fully wrapped up, and directed to the 
 ]\Iarchesa, was brought to the castle 
 by a countryman, who having depo- 
 sited his charge, was out of sight in a 
 moment ; the domestic carried it im- 
 mediately to his mistress, who, on open- 
 ing it, found, to her great astonish- 
 ment, that it contained one of the 
 most beautiful female infants she had 
 ever beheld. It slept; and a;^ she 
 gazed on its innocent and placid, coun- 
 tenance, the big tear started to her 
 eye, and fell upon its cheek: '* Poor 
 blossom !" she exclaimed, ^' with whom 
 
 dost
 
 69 
 
 dost thou seek an asylum from the- 
 keen blightings of the pitiless world ? — 
 with one who has felt its storms, and 
 buffeted its tempests. Ah me ! can I, 
 unable as I have been to contend 
 against the adverse winds of fortune 
 myself -r-can / shelter thee ? She raised 
 the child in her arms ; it smiled upon 
 her in its slumbers ; she pressed it to 
 her bosom — ^^ Yet I will cherish thee 1" 
 she cried, ^* poor, deserted Httle one; 
 will guard thee, if possible, from the 
 snares of vice, the cold contemptuous 
 charity of the unfeeling, from the 
 shafts of malice and adversity." To 
 her faithful attendant she now entrust- 
 ed the little burthen, and then pro- 
 ceeded to examine the basket, in hopes 
 she might find some clue to the de- 
 velopement of this extraordinary ad- 
 venture. It was lined with cloth of 
 the finest texture and most dehcate 
 
 whiteness :
 
 70 
 
 whiteness : *' Sad remnants of better 
 d^ys/' sighed the amiable Marchesa, 
 as she passed her hand over the quilt- 
 ing, and felt, or fancied she did so, 
 something like paper sewed between 
 the Jinen, her heart bounded ; has- 
 tily she tore it from the basket, and 
 found indeed a small packet, with her 
 own nanie on the envelope. Trembling 
 she unfolded the papers, and began to 
 read ; but she had not gone far in her 
 perusal, when, as if a basilisk had met 
 her eye, she started, and turning pale 
 as ashes, ^ had scarcely time to reach 
 the bell for assistance, me she sunk 
 on the floor. '* Great God !" she ex- 
 claimed, *' is this to fill up the measure 
 of my calamitous life ? am I destined 
 to be"— She stopped — the words died 
 away on her lips. Bianca would ha^^ 
 called for help, but she could not dis- 
 engage herself from the convulsive 
 
 grasp
 
 71 
 
 grasp of her Lady, who, unable to ar- 
 ticulate, yet appearing to be half suf- 
 focated with emotion, was muttering 
 inwardly to herself, and striving in 
 vain for utterance, in a little time, 
 however, she was, by the zeal and 
 attention of the housekeeper, restored 
 to something like composure : her first 
 words were, * * Bianca, where have you 
 placed the child?" 
 
 '*^ Within my own chamber," an- 
 4swered the affrighted creature; *' I 
 met my Lord the Marchese on the 
 stairs as I was bearing it away, but 
 hmng covered in my apron, he kncAV 
 not what I carried ; so I laid it care* 
 fully ' on the bed, my Lady, and it 
 sleeps now so soundly, and looks just 
 for all the world like an angel. ''Peace, 
 good Bianca," answered the Marchesa, 
 and observe me ; *' circumstances of 
 
 the
 
 the most important nature demand 
 that this affair should he for ever con- 
 signed to obHvion ; you must, there- 
 fore, here solemnly promise, never to 
 divulge what you have witnessed rela- 
 tive to this infant, but join with me in 
 declaring it to be the orphan of some 
 peasant in the neighbourhood, whom 
 I mean to educate and bring up :" 
 then turning quickly round, she ad- 
 ded, in a voice of terror, and low- 
 ering her tone almost to a whisper, 
 " Wheie ! where are the papers? Let 
 me hide them from all human 
 sio-ht — let me crush them for ever ! 
 
 Yet all ! No, no ; I cannot 
 
 crush remembrance — I can never ob- 
 literate from my thoughts these dumb 
 mementos of guilt and horror !" A 
 step was now heard in the outer room, 
 and witla a look of wildness and af- 
 fright, she collected the scattered pa- 
 pers
 
 7S 
 
 pers into her bosom, and hastened 
 from tlie apartment, again cautioning 
 Blanca to be faithful, and tender over 
 her charge. From this time all remains 
 of chcarfulness fled the brow of the 
 Marchesa ; the efforts she had hitherto 
 made to appear at ease in the company 
 of her Lord were no longer exerted ; 
 mournful and abstracted, she avoided 
 the presence of strangers, and gave up 
 all societ}^, while her sole delight was iii 
 watching the progress of her son's edu- 
 cation, and in inculcating lessons of 
 morality and wisdoiii on the pliant 
 tablet of his mind. Seldom did she see 
 the Marchese, for his visits, at best, 
 were cold and uninteresting; in ge- 
 neral they were spent in severe ani- 
 madversions on what he tenned her 
 moping discontented disposition, or 
 in venting on her those sallies of rage 
 and ill humour, indifferent persons 
 VOL. I. E would
 
 74 
 
 would not have tolerated. From ear- 
 liest youth he had formed his opinions 
 of female worth among the most de- 
 praved and abandoned of the sex, 
 accustomed only to associate with 
 mercenary prostitutes, the pure pre- 
 sence of his wife was a restraint ; her 
 very virtues yievt hateful to him ; for 
 truth would paint the contrast, in co- 
 lours so forcible and vivid, that con- 
 science sickened at the picture. To 
 have known her less perfect, to ha\x 
 proved her faulty in any one instance, 
 would have given him the proudest 
 satisfaction ; as it was, . she was des- 
 tined to be his reproach, without t^- 
 ing able to effect his amendment, his 
 reproof, without awakening his repen- 
 tance. It must be confessed, how- 
 ever, in a general, way, the Marchess 
 had attained the happy faculty gf 
 blocking out that intrusive visitor call- 
 ed
 
 75 
 
 ed remorse ; nor was it by the ordinary 
 mode of flying from its attacks^ that 
 he did so, tp the delusive arguments 
 of his former companion, IJbaldo, he 
 owed the power of refining on vice, 
 the art of reducing all things to so 
 false a system, that he became at 
 length able to reflect on his most 
 atrocious actions, without shame, and 
 without compunction : still there were 
 times when the sting of conviction 
 would pierce deeper than usual; and 
 then, if the reports of his domesticiR 
 Were to be credited, when the loud 
 blast howled around his chamber and 
 shook the lofty turrets of the castle, 
 when the thunder roared above his 
 head, and the lightning darted its 
 forked terrors through his casement, 
 then would he start trembling from his 
 pillow, and with an eye following some 
 shadowy form, utter ravings that sunk 
 E S deep
 
 76 
 
 deep into the hearts of those who heard 
 him. The introduction of the little 
 Viola he had scarcely noticed, wholly 
 given up to his pleasures, and con- 
 stantly engaged in the pursuit of some 
 ficsh intrigue, domestic occurrences 
 Jiad no claims for him ; he had rarely 
 seen her, while each succeeding year 
 witnessed the increasing fondness of 
 the Marchesa for her proteg<*e, and 
 saw her giving fresh proofs of merit to 
 deserve it. When the young Albenza 
 left Terra di Tavora, to travel, she 
 remained the sole companion of her 
 benefactress, who, in forming the mind 
 of her engaging and ductile pupil, 
 experienced a satisfaction she had 
 little hoped ever again to have tasted 
 in this w^orld. Highly accomplished 
 herself, she had small dithculty in per- 
 fecting Viola, not a word escaped her 
 lips, that she did not treasure as a sa- 
 cred
 
 77 
 
 cred relick on her memory, and at the 
 asre of seventeen, Viola di Benincasa 
 added to a sound and brilliant under- 
 standing, a noble and mgenuous mind, 
 one of the most interesting persons 
 that ever was beheld. To that dignity,- 
 which, notwithstanding her dependant 
 state, excited involuntary respect, she 
 united a form so light, so elegant, so 
 sylph-like, as might have characterised 
 a nymph of fabled antiquity ; her 
 countenance was the index of her pure 
 soul, and there was a sensibility and 
 sweetness in the '' liquid circle" of 
 her fine dark eye, that ri vetted atten- 
 tion, and enchained the heart. Such 
 was the fair being, who now bent in 
 sorrow and commiseration o'er the 
 dying couch of the neglected Mar- 
 chesa di Morano. On the third even- 
 ing of hei- confinement she seemed 
 somewhat better ; and stretching forth 
 E 3 a hand
 
 78 
 
 a hand to Viola, who sat solitary and 
 sad by her bed-side, ** Come nearer to 
 nu', my eliild," she cried, '' I would 
 remonstrate with you on the weakness 
 of tlius indulging useless regrets ; ra- 
 ther ought you ^o rejoice that my pil- 
 grimage of sorrow is nearly teiTninated, 
 and that the haven of my wislies ap- 
 pears in sight : for what but the hope 
 of rest and tranquillity in another world, 
 could have supported me under those 
 heavy trials, which, patient as I trust 
 I have been, were sometimes almost 
 beyond my sufferance. My Viola, my 
 child, do not weep! Next to the fond 
 idea of my darling boy, thou hast been 
 my heart's best consolation; and would 
 you now, by a grief which I cannot 
 alleviate, embitter the closing moments 
 of my wearied life ?" Viola could not 
 speak ; she raised the cold hand to her 
 lips, she bathed it with her tears, but 
 
 words
 
 79 
 
 words were denied her. " Check, tny 
 good girl, " continued die Marchesa, 
 ** this too lively effusion of sensibility ; 
 believe me 'tis a most dangerous gift, 
 and will plant many a thorn around 
 your heart. Perhaps you'll think, a 
 spirit, woimded by neglect, and chil- 
 led by disappointment, as mine has 
 been, will only present you with the 
 gbomy side of the prospect, ah, no I 
 I understand your feelings, I honour 
 them^ but I have too much regard for 
 your future welfare, not to warn you 
 against an indulgence, which, at a 
 period when others look forward to 
 many happy years) sinks me a martyr 
 to the tomb." She stopped, overcoine 
 by her exertions to speak, and hei* 
 head sunk back upon tlie ' pillow! 
 Bianca, who, with the Marchesa's at- 
 tendant Laurentine, constantly watch- 
 ed in an adjoining room, now entered 
 E 4 the
 
 80 
 
 tiic chamber: at the sight of her, th« 
 invalid raised her languid eyes, and 
 feebly demanded if any tidings had yet 
 arrived from the Marchese, or his sou ? 
 ^'he faithful old servant sliook her 
 head — '* ]\Jy young Lord could not be 
 apprised of your illness till last night, 
 my Lady, or depend ou*t he would 
 have been here long ago ; he is on 
 wings by this time, I doubt not ; for 
 
 my Lord the Marchese*' she added, 
 
 lowering her voice, and addressing 
 Viola, '' he never was in haste, but to 
 do mischief; where there was any good 
 to be done, the Signior Moraldi, God 
 bless him, was ever sure to be behind 
 hand." Viola looked angrily tewards 
 her, and placed her finger on her lips* 
 *' What is the hour, good Bianca?'* 
 demanded the ^larchesa, a look of 
 restlessness and inquietude pervading 
 every feature : " About eight, or half 
 
 past.
 
 81 
 
 past, my Lady. And thk day is ^ 
 
 '* the Eve of San-Pietro," answered the 
 domestic. The Mai^Iiesa groaned, and 
 covering with the bed-clothes her pallid' 
 face, seemed anxious to conceal its 
 expression. Viola had often thought 
 there was some secret griefj beyond 
 even the harsh treatment of her Lord, 
 that at trmes pressed heavy on her spi- 
 rits ; this conjecture was now strength- 
 ened, for the emotion she evinced at 
 the mention of the " Ev6 of San-Pie- 
 tro," con\inced her it recalled some 
 painful remembrance. Tlie evening 
 was now fai* advanced, and the Mar-^ 
 chesa seemed much exhausted : Viola 
 tenderly conjured her ta take some of 
 the reviving-^ cordial prescribed by her 
 physicians. Meek and unresisting, she 
 comphed : " I am past all medicinal 
 aid," she said; '' but for your sake, 
 and that of my adored Albenza, I will 
 E ^ adhere
 
 adliere to the direction^ given me. 
 There is, however, one condition I 
 have A^ith you ; pi mise you will pay 
 attention to your own health, and to- 
 night, at my 'request, take rest ; your 
 colour is faded, and there is a paleness 
 on your cheek which alarms me." She 
 then stretched out her arms, and re- 
 ceived Viola in her maternal embrace. 
 '' Protect and prosper this thy inno- 
 cent creature, mighty Heaven!" she 
 exclaimed ; ^^and oh, in these last aw- 
 ful moments, press not the yoke be- 
 yond ipy strength to bear." Viola 
 now rose from tlie ground, on which 
 she had been kneeling, and silently 
 closing the curtains, withdrew ; Bi- 
 anca still keeping her place in a large 
 arm-chair, her chin resting on her 
 stick, in an attitude of deep rumina- 
 tion, while our heroine softly shutting 
 the door, descended through the sa- 
 loons
 
 ^3 . . . 
 
 loons into tlie garden, in hopes of find- 
 ing benefit fjom the air. 
 
 For some time she traversed the 
 lawn with an unequal and hasty step, 
 then stopped, and involuntarily con- 
 templated the scene -before her ; for the 
 Sun, sinking in the west, cast a vivid 
 glow over the surrounding -landscape, 
 and added to the mild lustre of an Ita- 
 lian hemisphere, an appearance at X)nce 
 grand and beautiful. The castle was 
 seated on an amazing eminence, com- 
 manding an extensive prospect of the 
 vale below, to its right was Monte 
 Cassino, rearing high its nffljestic liead; 
 and on the left, plains of the freshest 
 verdure, intersected with a variety of 
 those clear mineral springs, so peculiar 
 to this enchanting spot : fertile com 
 fields, vineyards, and groves of the 
 myrtle, citron, and orange, gave rich- 
 E 6 ' ness
 
 84 
 
 nfss and luxuriance to the whole, im- 
 pregnating the air with odoriferous 
 perfume. On the top of the INIonte 
 Cassino stood aa ancient bencdictinc 
 monastery, the Abbate of which was 
 Confessor to the All^enza family; a 
 man of an haughty demeanour, severe 
 in the observance of all ecclesiastical 
 rites and ceremonies, still more rigid 
 in the denunciation of penances ; and 
 though many conjectured the holy 
 father had not always been a vSaint 
 himself, lie punished the most trivial 
 offences with a harshness and severity 
 very incompatible with the merciful: 
 ordinations of his sacred function : 
 over tlie Marchesc, who was his. patron,, 
 he possessed unbounded influence ; 
 while, on the contrary, his wife and 
 son seemetl to regard him with dislike 
 and distrust. Twilight was now gra- 
 dually diffusing its sombre shade, and 
 
 the
 
 85 
 
 the sinking rays of the departing Suit 
 were just seen faintly to tinge the spiral 
 tops of the abhey ; not a leaf trembled 
 in the gale ; a stillness as of a suspen- 
 sion of nature pervaded all around, and 
 threw over the sinking spirits of Viola 
 that kind of religious awe little re- 
 moved from superstition. She listened ; 
 she almost fancied the dying groans 
 of her beloved INfarchesa floated on; 
 the distant breeze, and shuddered as 
 the blush of shame passed over her 
 cheek for the sensation. " Ah ! where- 
 fore,'* she exclaimed, *' this uncon- 
 querable apprehension ? Wherefore is it 
 that the approach of death, the com- 
 mon portion of mortality, shoidd thus 
 fill the mind with inexplicable feelings i^ 
 or that the emancipation of the soul, 
 from this its frail and brittle tenement, 
 should ever be accompanied with the 
 pang of regret r" The idea led her into 
 
 a traia
 
 B6 
 
 a train of reflections very unlikely to 
 restore tranquillity to her bosom; 
 *' Even the Marchesa,"- she conti- 
 nued, pursuing the thread of her own. 
 thoughts, ^' even the. Marchesa, so 
 good, so angel-like, so faultless, seems 
 sometimes to wish a further respite, 
 Yet, have I nqt ofteji heard her say 
 she looked forward to the hour of dis- 
 solution, as the hope that supported 
 her existence? Too surely, then, her 
 impatience to see-^he Marchese, her 
 agitation at the mention of this day, 
 all, all, portend some secret uneasiness 
 disturbs the quiet of her parting mo-n 
 ments." A rustling here startled her, 
 and turning, she observed the tall 
 figure of a Monk, wrapped in the sablo 
 vestments of his order, winding round 
 the dell below, and proceeding tov.ards 
 the castle. Her eye followed his foot- 
 steps while he remained visible, and 
 4 when
 
 87 
 
 wbeu the increasing vapours obscured 
 his form, she inwardly supplicated his 
 visit to the poor sufferer might admi- 
 nister peace and consolation. As she 
 energetically raised her ha^ds in devo- 
 tion, a strain so full, so solemn, so 
 celestial, struck her ear, as lulled every 
 feeling of her soul into that kind of 
 mild serenity, which, though affect- 
 ing, is soothing ; though awful, is de- 
 lightful. Again it swelled in notes 
 clear and harmonious, then died away 
 in soft murmurs among the rocks and 
 caverns of the mountain: it was a re- 
 quiem to the soul of one just gone 
 forth. Viola sunk on her knees ; ' ' Holy 
 Virgin 1" she cried, '' if the prayer of 
 one sinner can reach the Throne of 
 mercy in adjuration for another, re- 
 ceive, great Providence, this thy ser- 
 vant newly departed; be his virtues 
 registered oii the page of thy all-boun- 
 tiful
 
 88 
 
 tiful clemency ; liis errors and his 
 frailties effaced, and unrecorded. '' 
 Tranquilized by this appeal, she arose 
 and moved towards the castle, the 
 loud beat of the clock warning her it 
 \vn.s time to i-eturn. Darkness had al- 
 ready spread its mantle on every ob- 
 ject ; and she feared, from the motion 
 of the clouds as they chased each other 
 in rapid succession, that the recent 
 calm had been but the prcliminary to 
 an approaching storm. As she hurried 
 along, something brushed past her, 
 and looking up, she beheld the Abbate 
 Zanotti; his cowl wns placed so as to 
 conceal every feature except the eyes ; 
 they were bent (as far as she coulcl 
 distinguish) with all the force of their 
 penetrative expression on herself.. 
 
 ^^ Save you, holy father," she faul- 
 tering said, bowing low as he passed. 
 
 ** Peace
 
 89 
 
 '* Peace be to thee, my child ; our 
 good daughter is^ I fear, fist gainiug 
 her final home ; and I grieve to say," 
 he continued, " is averse to making 
 such full and free confession of her 
 inward thoughts, as is required of all 
 true believers in our holy mother the 
 church, and is necessary to the insur* 
 ance of eternal 3alvation.'* 
 
 '* Good father," replied Viola, re- 
 spectfully, ** do you then deem con- 
 fession an indispensable duty, where 
 absolution ynust be superfluous ? Has 
 not the whole tenor of the Marchesa's 
 life beea one continued act of virtue, 
 piety, and benevolence? and are the 
 same mortifications requisite for the 
 repose of her pure spirit, as are in- 
 tended merely as alleviativ^es to the 
 trembling and apprehensive sinner ? 
 With God she has long been at peace ; 
 
 and
 
 90 
 
 and that she regards a mere ritual 
 ceremony a^ inefficient, I cannot won- 
 tler." 
 
 Zanotti regarded her some mi-^ 
 nutes in silence, and then sarcastically 
 demanded, ** Whether, among tlifl 
 amiable qualities of the Marchesa, that 
 was to be included which had taught 
 an inexperienced young woman to 
 despise the established principles • of 
 her country's faith, and to treat the 
 chosen ministers of its laws with con" 
 tempt?" - V • 
 
 '^ Oh r^ exclaimed Viola, her fin© 
 countenance beaming Avith the energy 
 of h^T feelings, *Vno longer shall the 
 Castle of Morg,no be a refuge for dis-s 
 tress, • a shelter for misfortune, an asy^ 
 lum for persecuted innocence ! now, 
 alas ! the wretched may cry in vain 
 
 for
 
 91 
 
 for pity, and sufFering virtue call iiii-. 
 heeded for relief! The Marchesa in- 
 culcate contempt for religion!" she 
 added, her whole face glowing with 
 indignation : " Holy father, she early 
 taught me to consider it as a sentiment 
 of the heart, not enslaved by preju- 
 dice, or fettered by superstition ; to 
 practise truth and sincerity, as the first 
 attributes of that Being, to whom the 
 humble offerings of an ingenuous 
 mind aie the most grateful sacrifices." 
 
 Zanotti g^zed upon her atten- 
 tively, and, though the darkness nearly 
 I) id her from his sight, experienced a 
 revulsion of thought and feature he 
 knew not how to define. Certain it 
 is she had awakened some extraordi- 
 nary recollections: he paused, — ^again 
 regarded her, — again refiected,— then 
 
 drew
 
 92 
 
 drew his garments round his persorr, 
 aiid passed on in silence. 
 
 When Viola reached home, Bianca 
 Was waiting at the door of the saloon 
 to receive her — 
 
 " Santa Marie be praised, Signiora^ 
 you are here at last \ I sent Giovanni 
 to seek your all over the castle, for 
 my Lady is anxious to see you before 
 she settles to sleep* She has had two 
 alarming fit^ since yau went out ; and 
 the physician, who is just gone, de- 
 clarer she cannot hold another." 
 
 " Sign 10 RA Viola," continued the 
 housekeeper, who added to an uncom- 
 mon share of curiosity, great love of 
 the marvellous, *' do you not think 
 s<j>niet]ung lies very heavy on the 
 
 mmd
 
 93 
 
 mind of my poor dear Lady ? As I 
 sit watching in tlie anti-room, I hear 
 her groan and sigh so deeply; then, 
 every quarter of an hour, she sends 
 nic to the window, to look if I can 
 perceive either the ISIarchese or his 
 s(p. Truly I take her but little com- 
 fort, for my poor old eyes cannot 
 stretch very far ; and, even if they 
 could, I much question whether they 
 will behold the Marchese till the breath 
 is fairly out of her body." 
 
 *' But the Signior," interrupted 
 Viola; *' some cause, of which we 
 are ignorant, must detain him. A 
 son so dutiful, so scrupulously atten- 
 tive as he has ever been to his mother, 
 would not voluntarily absent himself 
 at such a crisis as this." 
 
 *' I know not," replied Bianca, 
 
 " the
 
 94 
 
 '^ the Signior, it is true, xvas one of 
 finest, aye, and one of the best young 
 men that ever the sun shone on ! 
 Spirito Santo ! never shall I forget the 
 day whefn he mounted his horse at the 
 foot of tiie hill yonder. You remem- 
 ber it, Signiora; yourself and the 
 March esa had walked thus far wifh 
 him on his road ; I was just returning 
 from the cottage of poor Gradisca, in 
 the valli^y, and as he bowed to the 
 Marchesa, and bent his eyes on you, 
 Signiora." 
 
 "On me, good Bianca ! oh no, 
 no!" 
 
 ** But I say yes," cried Bianca, 
 ^ftgry at hearing her story thus in- 
 terrupted. " Holy Virgin! these 
 young • ones are such touch>vood ! 
 Surely you will allow the Signior to 
 
 have
 
 95 
 
 have the use of his eyes, and I much 
 question if, among the valu and 
 titled Ladies of the Court, he has 
 ever seen one so worthy his regards 
 as yourself, Signiora. But, as Iwas 
 saying, when he mounted his horse, 
 me thought the very person of hi^ 
 uncle and my ever dearly beloved 
 master stood before me : if you will 
 believe me, Signiora Viola> I looked 
 at him till I was frightened; and, 
 moreover, I could not help thinking 
 that if I were my Lord, the present 
 Marchese, the sight of him would 
 give me many any heart-ache. " 
 
 '^ Most true," replied Viola, sigh- 
 iaig; ** for there is in the ffecollection 
 of things once dear, biit now lost to 
 us for ever, a sensation far beyond 
 regret, far beyond common sorrow, or 
 describable suiFering ! " 
 , She
 
 96 
 
 She wiped tlie tear from her eye, 
 and taking tlie light from Bianca, 
 hade her order the servants to rest, 
 and then turned towards tlie great 
 staircase leading to the gallery which 
 contained the Marchesa s suit of apart- 
 ments. Slowly she ascended, the rain 
 now beat heavily against the case- 
 ments, the wind howled around the 
 immense building, and the castle 
 seemed almost to totter beneath its 
 violence. An involuntary horror stole 
 over the mind of Viola, and a sad 
 presentiment of future ill took pos- 
 session of it, and threw a terror over 
 her whole frame ; she stopped before a 
 large bow-window, which took in an 
 extensive view of the country, and 
 looked fearfully around her — '* Alas !" 
 she cried, '' how changed from the 
 gay morning scene, I contemplated 
 vith 50 much dehght I how are ye 
 
 faded^
 
 97 
 
 faded, nor leave behind one faint 
 vestige by which to trace ye; such is 
 the dawn of youth ; for, drest by the 
 glowing hand of fancy, it promises 
 eternal sunshine, and tells so sweet a 
 tale of love and happiness, as charms 
 the soul and lulls it into rapture; but 
 ah! soon comes the noon, and with 
 it such a train of doubts and fears, 
 and of alloys, as chase our dreams of 
 bliss, and every heated vision bursts iu 
 vapour; last then arrives the night, 
 and with it disappointment, truth, 
 conviction; then, when the sickening 
 eye gleams o'er the wreck of blasted 
 hopes, of blighted prospects, and of 
 torn affections, whaf s left the wither- 
 ed heart ? — To break ; and, locked 
 within the precincts of the grave, to 
 close its earthly cares and sink to 
 rest." She wept and moved from the 
 window ; for the wind, penetrating 
 , VOL. I. F throuo-li
 
 98 
 
 through its aperture, nearly extin- 
 guislied her light, she no>v entered the 
 saloon, and, as her eye glanced acci- 
 dentally on one of the larg-e mnTors, 
 she thought something dark and sha- 
 dowy was reflected in it : ri vetted to 
 tlie spot, she raised high the lamp to 
 ascertain whether indeed it was reality, 
 or a phantom of her own creation ; 
 but, whichever it might ha\'e been, 
 she saw it not again. She looked 
 around the apartment; all was still, 
 save now and then the distant mur- 
 murs of the thundcj', or the tall trees 
 of the forest, as they \\^ved, agitated 
 by the blast; she had, hoAve\'er, just 
 reached the small flight of stairs lead- 
 ing immediately to the ix)onis of the 
 Marchesa, when a sound, as of a low 
 restrained footstep, caught her atten- 
 tion ; again she turned, and again, by 
 the feeble glimmer of her lamp, I'lui- 
 
 cied
 
 99 
 
 cied she saw the same sable figure re- 
 ceding from her view. However the 
 mind of ViQla sunk beneath the pres- 
 sure of retrospective misfortunes, the 
 moment that an^ existing evil called 
 her to trial, — fortitude, energy, and 
 exertion, were her peculiar characteris- 
 tics ; in a calm and steady tone she 
 demanded, ^* Who goes there?" but 
 no sound, save the echo of her own, 
 answered to her call; and, carefully 
 extending her veil to preserve the 
 lamp, she reached, without further 
 interruption, the chamber of the Mar- 
 chcsa. As she approached the bed, a 
 sigh, as from the very bottom of the 
 heart, reached her ear, and when she 
 opened the curtains, she started back 
 at the great and visible alteration 
 which but two hours liad made on the 
 appearance of her friend. Her looks 
 were livid and ghastly, the smile of 
 F 52 hope
 
 100 
 
 hope and placidity which before had 
 illumined her countenance, had now 
 given place to a wandering unsettled 
 look, evidently denoting that a war of 
 conflicting emotions raged within her. 
 '* Viola!" she cried, '' the aNIarchesc 
 comes not, and I die overcharged 
 A\ ith a secret which congeals tlic very 
 life-blood of my heart : Thou knowest, 
 oh Heaven ! that my morning prayer, 
 my evening's last orison, has been but 
 to be spared a trial like this, but to be 
 portioned such a share of misery as 
 this poor weakened lacerated bosom 
 niiglit, in its feeble strength, support 
 without one murmur or reproach to 
 thee ! How vain my prayers ! how 
 useless my prostration, this dreaded 
 hour can witness: — to confess were 
 agony, destruction ! and oh ! conceal- 
 ment is but to plant eternal thorns and 
 stings upon the clay-cold pillow of 
 
 my
 
 iOl 
 
 my grave ! Aloraldi ! cruel, iinfeel- 
 ins: liusband ! little dost tliou think 
 uhat anguish rends this bosom 1 Yet, 
 too sure the day will come when thou 
 wilt feel worlds were too poor a ran- 
 som to redeem them ! ]\Iy boy T' slie 
 cried, the hot tear chasing down bcr 
 hollow cheek, " why art thou tinis 
 forbid a mother's last embrace, a pa- 
 rent's parting blessing ? Ptelentless 
 man ! when the dread fiat shall be sent 
 to thee, Moraldi, the hovering spectre 
 of thy hapless wife shall drive thee to 
 despair ! Yet, oh ! not so, Great 
 Providence ! I cannot wish him 
 punishment ! — Grant, when thy in- 
 terposition i^ most requisite, thy 
 mercy and forgiveness to the father 
 of my innocent child." Her voice 
 here grew fainter, respiration became 
 short and difficult, and drops of cold 
 perspiration chased each other down 
 F 3 her
 
 her forehead ; poor Viola scarcely 
 knew how to act, or what to tlihik; 
 she flew towards the door to call for 
 liclp, when the Marchesa raised her 
 head and motioned her to return. 
 
 *' My child/' she cried, " all the 
 comfort, all the consolation it is now 
 in my power to receive, it is in yours 
 to bestow; front every one would I 
 disguise my feelings, save youy in 
 whose ability it lies somewhat to me- 
 liorate my afflictions. Pity me, Viola,, 
 but do not think me guilty; pardoa 
 the alarm I cause you, and, oh ! en- 
 treat that I may obtain such a portion 
 of tranquillity as may enable me to 
 enter with calmness on a subject it has 
 long been torment for me but to re- 
 flect upon." — To have supposed crimi- 
 nality of any kind attached to tlie 
 character of the JMarchesa di INIorano^ 
 
 was
 
 103 
 
 was not within the compass of Viola's 
 thought. She looked at her for some 
 time, under the fixed impression that 
 anxiety, together witli the violence of 
 the fever, had certainly affected her 
 reason. This, however, proved not 
 the case ; on the contrary, she seemed 
 more composed, the fever was abated, 
 and a coldness of the most alarming 
 nature seemed stealing over her. Vi- 
 ola took her hands ; she pressed them 
 to her lips, she warmed them in her 
 bosom — 
 
 " My marfi than motlici r'" sne ex- 
 claimed, *' if you would not over- 
 whelm your unhappy Viola with an 
 accumulation of soitow, moderate 
 these transports; some dream, some 
 wandering of the imagination, the 
 common effect of ilhiess, has thus, 
 disturbed you. Trust me you will be 
 F 4} better;
 
 104 
 
 bcfter; yet live to sec the Marclicse, 
 and to ckisp your sou!'' 
 
 *^ Never," said the ^larchesa; *' in 
 this world we shall meet no more; 
 even now I feel liie is ebhing fast, and 
 that I must be brief: listen then my 
 best child, and mark me: — Vou are the 
 cause, the innocent cause of all you 
 have seen nie suffer !" 
 
 *' Merciful Heaven 1" exclaimed 
 Viola, " what is it 1 hear?'' 
 
 II' yuu give proof of SUch Violcut 
 
 emotions thus early," cooly replied the 
 iMarchesa, '' how am I to hope you 
 will ever bear tlie trials }ou are fated 
 to endure, with fortitude and resigna- 
 tion ?" 
 
 *' I WILL be calm, I will hear all, 
 
 bear
 
 105 
 
 bear all for yoin^ sake ; but yet I con- 
 jure you, by every thing that is dear 
 between us, to say who and what I 
 am ; who are my parents, and where- 
 fore am I thus abandoned by them ?" 
 
 *' UsTHArPY girl !" said the Mar- 
 chesa, in a solemn tone, '^ you know 
 not what you ask. The knowledge 
 you seek, would but deprive you of 
 tliat peace which ignorance alone can 
 secure you. This is no time for eva- 
 sion ; and, on a condition, which you 
 must promise to fulfil, rests all my 
 hope of comfort in my departure from 
 this world. I never deceived you, my 
 child, with any false account of your 
 birth; though, for certain reasons, it 
 was necessary I should my family ; to 
 this moment the Marchese knows you 
 but as the orphan of some lowly cot- 
 tager. Enclosed within the basket in 
 F 5 which
 
 106' 
 
 which you lay, were papers whicli cir- 
 cumstantially informed nie of every 
 thing relating to your birth and ori- 
 gin : to my protection were .you con- 
 signed, with a solemn chaige never to 
 reveal the secret reposed in me. That 
 I have fulfilled this duty most religi- 
 ously, witness Heaven ! but sad has 
 been the confidence to me ; and, oh! 
 fatal would be its communication to 
 you! There exists but one person to 
 whom I could un burthen n\y loaded 
 mind, and that is now impossible. 
 Viola," she continued, drawing from 
 nnder her pillow a small key, " take 
 this ; in the closet in my dressing- 
 room there is a cabinet, open it, and 
 in one of the recesses you will find, 
 by the nicest observation, a secret 
 spring, press on it with your finger, 
 and within is contained the packet I 
 mentioned, sealed up; it is your own 
 
 history y
 
 107 
 
 history ; a dark, a dreadful one ! Will 
 you solemnly assure me, as soon a^i 
 possible after my decease, you wilt. 
 burn that packet, and—" 
 
 " Alas ["interrupted Viola, ''what 
 is it you require from me? destroy, 
 even mthin my grasp, the very means, 
 perhaps, of recovering parents, friends, 
 protectors 1 Cruel Marchesa, never till 
 now did I suppose you capable of in- 
 justice 1" 
 
 *' Injustice !" exclaimed the Mar^ 
 chesa, in an agony ; " this is too much, 
 mistaken Viola ; thou hast no friendg, 
 
 no home, no Ah ! what would J 
 
 «ay ? Tliou art the child of 
 Thy parents are for ever dead to thee. 
 *.^0h man ! when in tlie moment of 
 thoughtless riot thy groveUing vanity 
 boasts the daugliters thou hast ruined, 
 tbe wives thou hast betrayed, could 
 F 6 conscience
 
 108 
 
 conscience picture such a scene as 
 this, and all thy nameless children rise 
 in desolate perspective to thy fancy, 
 how would'st thou shudder at each 
 wreck of virtue, and curse the hour 
 when blemished nature owned a blot ^ 
 like thee !" 
 
 '^ Yes, then," said Viola, after some 
 moments of deep rumination, *' too 
 surely all hope must for ever be ex- 
 tinct. My generous benefactress, for- 
 give me, I knew not what I uttered, 
 and I fear my rash extravagance lias 
 hurt you ; believe mc, not for king-- 
 doms would I plant a thorn within 
 the tender breast that fostered me; 
 and be assured the remainder of my 
 life shall prove the precepts you in- 
 stilled were cherished here, and, from 
 the force of your most pure example, 
 ihe sullied offspring of hcentious love 
 
 shall
 
 109 
 
 shall rise abovT the ignominy be- 
 queathed her; for here I promise, as 
 I do hope to prosper here, or wish for 
 life hereafter, to burn the gnilty 
 vestige of my birth, nor dare to hft 
 the veil which your compassionating 
 hand has drawn, to hide a mother's 
 wrongs, a father's vices." 
 
 While she spoke, eveiy beautiful 
 feature beamed with the pride of con- 
 scious worth and dignity, as, with her 
 soft eyes raised upwards, she bent o^^€T 
 the pallid form before her, breathing 
 peace and benignity. The last words 
 of Viola seemed to have communi- 
 cated comfort and assurance to th^ 
 dying Marchesa; she thanked and 
 blessed her, earnestly beseeching Pro- 
 vidence to shield and watch over hen 
 
 " NoTWiTiiSTANPiNo/' she coa- 
 
 tinued.
 
 no 
 
 tinned, *■ ' the great wealth which I 
 brought my Lord, it is not even in 
 my power to provide for }t)u. The 
 mistaken confidence of my poor father 
 left all to tlie generosity of the Mar- 
 chese. Alas ! he has none ; and so 
 sordid has been his treatment of me> 
 that I have scarcely ever been able to 
 appropriate the smallest sum to the 
 importatit duty of assisting my fellow- 
 creatures. When his death shall put 
 my beloved Albenza in possession of 
 his birthright, my Viola may rest 
 assured she will then find a, friend ; till 
 which time, you must tiust to those 
 talents aiid acquirements with which 
 you are endowed, for a more honour- 
 a])le subsistence than any dependen<^ 
 upon the rich and great can possibly 
 afford you. In my di^sk are three 
 letters, one to my son, one to the 
 Marchese, and oire to the Abbess of 
 
 the
 
 Ill 
 
 the Convent of the Santa L rsulina, at 
 Naples, she is my particular friend, 
 and with her joti will find an asylum 
 till some proper pursuit is marked out 
 for you, A trifle, all I have to trans- 
 fer,, you will find with the letters; it 
 is, I trust, sufficient to defray any ex- 
 penses you may immediately incur, 
 and place you above obligations to 
 strangers. This is but preparing for 
 possibilities, my Viola, for I have no 
 doubt but that your amiable disposi- 
 tion and lovely person will shortly en- 
 sure you a much more permanent 
 establishment, and one more equal to 
 your deserts. As soon as you can, 
 remove from the Castle, it will be no 
 place for innocence like yours : but 
 yet I would not, by any means, yoii 
 should incense the Marchese; he is 
 not likely to be your friend, but he 
 may be your powerful eaemy. Your 
 
 manne:s
 
 112 
 
 manner towards him must be respect- 
 ful and guarded ; and it would give me 
 o-reat satisfaction to know that you 
 would not long remain under a roof 
 where temptations of various kinds 
 will surround you." 
 
 She sunk back upon her pillow, as 
 if exhausted by the efforts she had 
 made to talk. Viola was terrified, and 
 threw her arms round to sustain her. 
 
 '^ No, my child, I am not in imme- 
 diate danger," she feebly cried; and, 
 again raising her head, ^' a very little 
 more, and then, God ! I await thy 
 summons. — I fear, my dear Viola, 
 much, very much, for your youth, 
 your beauty, and your unprotected 
 state; and I tremble when I think to 
 what multiplied distresses they may 
 expose you, in a world wlicre snares 
 2 arc
 
 113 
 
 are daily spread for the unwary and 
 unsuspecting. Still I place great reli- 
 ance on that well-known integrity of 
 character which marke<:l your earliest 
 actions ; but remember, Viola, put not 
 too much confidence in it yourself; 
 keep the strictest watch over your ow^i 
 conduct, and be assured Providence 
 "vvill keep watch over you. I have no 
 apprehension from the unmasked form 
 of effrontive and glaring vice; but be- 
 ware of that sophisticated, insinuating 
 villany, which, in the garb of truth, 
 ai>d the disguise of friendship, first 
 intoxicates the senses, and then works 
 its undermining passage to the heart. 
 Abhor erroneous principles, however 
 the language they are cloaked in 
 comes swTct and flowing to the ear ; 
 from the man who disseminates them 
 fly, as from a pestilence, he is only 
 plucking a sting from his own bosom, 
 
 to
 
 114 
 
 to rankle and corrode within yours; 
 he lulls you to a false security, to 
 awaken you to despair, to perdition. 
 Such men there are, — such an on^ I 
 think the Monk Zanotti. — 1 think, 
 my child, I could now rest awhile ; 
 retire then to your bed, you have 
 need of repose after all you have gone 
 through, and may good angels guard 
 you!" ' 
 
 Viola bent her knees, and, with a 
 heart too full for utterance, embraced 
 the Marchesa, and left the chamber* 
 
 CHAP.
 
 115 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 ' — ^^^ Now dare not I scarcte tread to my 
 
 own hearing, 
 Lest echo borrow superstition's tongue ; 
 And seem to answer me, like one departed. 
 
 Lord Orford* 
 
 HEN Viola left the March^sa, she 
 listened for some time at the door, to 
 discover if she slept ; twice she hearf. 
 her sigh, but soon convinced that she 
 slumbered, was retiring to her own 
 room, when in the deepened gloom at 
 the end of the long gallery, she again 
 perceived the same dusky form she 
 had before seen; her mind, affected 
 by tlK' late melancholy interview, and 
 deeply impressed by the last words of 
 the Marchesa respecting Zanotti, was 
 
 particularly
 
 U6 
 
 particularly open to the approach of 
 superstition ; she tried to speak, but 
 her voice failed her ; the domestics 
 were all at rest, except Bianca and 
 Laurentine, who watched in the dress- 
 ing room of their Lady. Still eager to 
 ascertain the cause of her terror, she 
 strained her eyes to penetrate the ob- 
 scurity^ of the apartment; but dimmed 
 with weeping, they almost refused 
 their office, and Viola could only make 
 out sufficiently of the figure to know 
 that it moved and vanished ; form or 
 size she could not distinguish ; that 
 any human being should obtain en- 
 trance at that hour, was out of tlie 
 question ; the servants were all tried 
 and faithful ; and even supposing they 
 were not, w hat inducement could this 
 person have for remaining in the cas- 
 tle, since plunder did not seem to be 
 the object. Wild with conjecture, she 
 
 was
 
 117 
 
 Avas afraid to turn, lest some more 
 appalling appearance should present 
 itself, when she presently heard a low 
 indistinct groan, as of a person in pain, 
 or dying: — at first, she thought it came 
 from the chamber of the Marchesa, 
 a moment's recoUectionhowever proved 
 it issued from the great stair-case, 
 ^vhich led from the end of the gallery. 
 There are few things so dreadful as the 
 impression of ^uninteUigible sound : 
 Viola was horror-struck — " Perhaps," 
 she cried, shuddering at her own sug- 
 gestions, ** it is the spirit of some mur- 
 dered parent ! — perhaps, horrible idea ! 
 the spectre of my hapless mother now 
 hovers near her wretched offspring, to 
 guard the guilty rclicks she has left." 
 
 *^ Save me! save me!'* she cried, co- 
 vering her face with her hands, — again 
 the groan was repeated; '* oh save 
 
 me!"
 
 118 
 
 meV shrieked Viola, as, agonized with 
 terror, she rushed into the dressing 
 I'oom, and sunk on the floor. 
 
 When Bianca, according to the 
 desire of Viola, had ordereil the ser- 
 vants to their respective chambers, 
 she summoned Laurentine, the INIar- 
 chesa's waiting maid, to her accus- 
 tomed duty of watching near the bed- 
 room of their Lady, and of guarding 
 her, in her adventurous passage from 
 the servants' hall, through the dark and 
 dreary galleries, for Laurentine liad 
 no terrors ; she could sieep as soundly 
 in one of the long-evacuated turrets 
 of the building, as in the most ha- 
 bitable part of it ; while poor old Bian- 
 ca, bigotted to all the absurd super- 
 stitions of her country ^s faith, imagined 
 every howling of the wind to be the 
 murmurs of some restless in\isible, and 
 4 every
 
 119 
 
 every object*, v/hich from her blind- 
 ness she could not clearly distinguish, 
 to be the perturbed ghosts of her early 
 and ill-fated Lord and Lady, whose. me- 
 mory she never ceased to revere, and 
 whose praises flowed as freshly from 
 her mouth at this period, as they had 
 done on that day, when the noble 
 Albenza led his bride, in all the pride 
 of youth and beauty, to the altar. 
 Laur-entine therefore was the stoutest 
 heart in the service of the Malrchese di 
 Morano ; for men as well as women 
 had listened so frequently to the ter- 
 rifib tales of Bianca, that not one of 
 them ever ventured about after dark, 
 unless in large parties. Bianca had 
 taken care to provide sufficiently of 
 wines and provisions as might setve 
 the exigencies of tlie night; and she 
 and Laureritine having made a plentiful 
 xepast, the latter chose her chair near 
 
 the
 
 120 
 
 the tabic, and with licr apron thrown 
 over her head, was soon, in spite of 
 M'md, weather, and evil spirits, in one 
 of those sound, comfortable slum- 
 bers, from which very gentle elociucnce 
 could not have awakened her ; not so 
 poor Bianca ; she listened, like Viola, 
 at the door of her mistress's chamber, 
 then looked fearfully around the apart- 
 ment, and at length, being convinced 
 all was safi% had just placed a large 
 bible before her, thrown her kerchief 
 across her shoulders to repel the night 
 air, and was most deliberately placing 
 the spectacles on her nose, when the 
 pale, trembling form of Viola darted 
 into the room, and for an instant 
 almost deprived the poor old house- 
 keeper of her reason.— '^ Holy Vir- 
 o-iu '" she at last articulated, '' what 
 have you seen, Signiora r raismg v i- 
 ola as well as she could, with her 
 
 shrunk
 
 121 
 
 slirunk and feeble arms, ^wA placinj}^ 
 her on the seat she had just left. ■' I 
 said the owl did not shriek so for 
 nothing to-night ; Laiirentine will cre- 
 dit me another time, I hope, when I 
 tell her, that every evening after sun- 
 set, the Marchese (my own dear 
 master I mean, Signiora) walks round 
 the castle, and then vanishes at the 
 western porch. — I only wonder some 
 folks rest as well in their beds as they 
 do ; but they do not rest always nei- 
 ther. — I warrant the night the Mar- 
 chese flew in such a wliirlwind out of 
 his apartment, he had seen more than 
 he wished to see ; but do Signiora take 
 something ; mercy on us how pale 
 you look!" 
 
 *' Good Bianca," sxiid Mola, who. 
 restored from her agitation, had re- 
 covered her presence of mind, '*you 
 mistake tlie cause of my terror; wluit 
 
 VOL. T. G CUllld
 
 could 1 see? Believe me, I know no 
 reason to whicli I can attribute my 
 fainting', save lowness of spirits, or 
 perhaps being startled at the noise of 
 thunder. " 
 
 *' Santa :\farie !'' said Bianca, '' how 
 dismally the wind roars; did you not 
 hear a noise, Signiora ?'* creeping as 
 close as she could to Viola. , 
 
 However Viola wished to appear 
 composed before the servants, she 
 could not reflect upon the mysterious 
 form she had encountered, without 
 shuddering. 
 
 *'No/' she cried, her voice trem- 
 bling as she spoke, '' I heard no 
 noise ; and if there were any," (trying 
 to discredit what most she feared), 
 ** Laurentinc could not sleep as sound4y 
 
 as she does.*' 
 
 '' Holy
 
 H3 
 
 *'HolV Sail M^rcor' reiterated Bi- 
 anca, *' Laiirentuie could sleep in pur- f 
 g'atory, tlierefore Sigiiioi-a dou't you- 
 comfort yourself in that way ; a sound 
 there was, and I remember the very 
 night my Lord th^ late Marchese died, 
 just as I was stepping into ^ bed, I * 
 
 heard — Jesu Marie !'* she cried, 
 
 devoutly crossing herself, ^' there's the 
 noise again !" — ^ — . 
 
 Viola caught her. arm ; "Good 
 Heavens'." she exclaimed, '^ something 
 certainly moves along the gallery at 
 this minute !" 
 
 BiANCA, with her rosary in her lap, 
 and her hands crossed upon her bible, 
 did not speak — she could not — terror 
 had deprived her of that great power 
 of articulation, which usually she so 
 amply possessed. 
 
 G Q Viola,
 
 124 
 
 ' VttttA listened ; %ut if the roariftg 
 ^f tlie blast admitted the least cessa- 
 tion, the loud snoring of Laurentinc 
 alnply filled up the Space ; she heard it 
 not agam : '* It was fancy," she cried, 
 as she raised a glass of water to her 
 lips, "it was fancy, and l have too 
 many ^real evils, to indulge in imaginary 
 ones." 
 
 ** Ah Signiora!" said Bianca, shak- 
 ing her head, drawing her chair still 
 closer, and looking most significantly 
 in Viola's face, ** this is the same noise 
 I heard on the night my Lord died ; 
 and between ourselves, Signiora Viola, 
 I' do not much wonder at it; to be 
 sure, it is not for poor servants to give 
 their opinions about their betters, but 
 I don't care who hears me say, my 
 Lord never came fairly by his end." 
 Viola looked towards her, and saw the 
 
 tear
 
 tear stand in either eye at this forcible 
 recollection of her former Lord: "Thou 
 precious drop of honesty and nature,'' 
 thought Viola, ** what art thou npt 
 worth? more by worlds than all the 
 iforced effusions ©f affected sensibility, 
 or counterfeited sentiment ! thou art 
 the purest flowing of the heart; sainted 
 Bertoldo! it will moisten the floweret 
 around thy tomb, while dry and withered 
 shal*Fgrow^the noxious weed, to choKe 
 thy brother's * unlamented grave. '-^ — 
 '^TheMarchese," said Viola, " it is well 
 known, was assassinated oh the banks 
 of the Pescara, and consequently''- 
 
 ' "All that," interrupted Bianca, '*I 
 know ; aye, and much more than you 
 can tell me, Signiora. When I said he 
 did not come fairly by his end, I did 
 not mean only that he w^as killed by 
 robbers." 
 
 G 3 An
 
 126 
 
 An uncommon sensation rushed 
 :\)pon tlie mind of Viola, as slie eag-eily 
 demanded of Biancii, ,lo wliat she al- 
 iyded? . 
 
 , '*San ]\Iarco forbid that 1 shoivld 
 allude to any x)ne, in particular,'* said 
 
 Jjianca, '* but-r— yet it was said, 
 
 that if my dear Lord and Lady had 
 but remained at their castle, without 
 •rUkers, you understand ine, Signiora, 
 they might have been there themselves 
 to this day," 
 
 . *'GooD Heavens! Bianca,'' said 
 Viola, ** do you know what you are: 
 saying ; you should be* particularly 
 careful how you give credit to reports 
 so injurious to"-— — 
 
 *'IIeports !" cried Bianca ; ^' truly, 
 Signiora, I do see but little now, but 
 
 in
 
 127 
 
 in those days I had my eyes about me 
 as sharp as any one, and — but as I 
 said before, it is no business of mine, 
 ajiy farther tlian that my Lord the 
 Alarchcse, God rest his soul, was such 
 a man as you would not meet with 
 once in a century ] so good, so hand- 
 some, and so brave withal ; and for 
 my Lady, she was aju Angel! Ah !" slie 
 continued, the tear again making its 
 appearance, *^it \yas a pity she. was so 
 line a creature; if .&he had. but had the 
 good fortune to have been but plain 
 and homely, some folks would not 
 have coveted their neighbours' goods hi 
 the manner they did. " 
 
 ** Did you see her after the death 
 of the Marchese ?" asked Voila. 
 
 *' See her, Signiora!" cried the house- 
 a 4 keeper,
 
 1^28 
 
 icecper, cTosiiiir her bible in no very 
 toniptaccnt nianiuT, '* they would not 
 let me see her, — no one Init GradLsca^ 
 ttie melancholy old soul who now hves 
 in the vale helow, was suffered to l)enear 
 hev wlien she died ; she was waiting- 
 woman to tlie Marehesa." — ** Alas !" 
 said Viola, looking affectionately at 
 her, '' she must have been a great loss 
 to you ; so young to die too, was 
 hard indeed ; you would have liked to 
 have been with her in her last mo- 
 inents. " 
 
 ** I WAS — I was" — cried the poor old 
 creature, half suffocated with the re- 
 memhranee ;. '^ when they turned me 
 out of her chamber, I laid me down 
 by the door that shut her from n>e, 
 and blessed be the Virgin ! 1 think I 
 lieard ker last sigl).'' 
 
 *'And
 
 129 
 
 " And the poor babe," cried Viofa, 
 wiping away her tears," how long did 
 that survive its unhappy mother P'' 
 
 *' Half an hour, but i did not seiy 
 it; they were both buried togiether. 
 God rest their souls, for I am sure they 
 are happy. It w^as much such a nighj; 
 as this I remember, and a fearful one 
 it was. 'Tis true, one ougiit not to 
 lament the dead ; but when I think 
 the body of my dear Lord now sleeps 
 beneath the waters, I envy the poorest 
 man, who Hes quietly in the earth ; 
 and this I am sure of^ his precious 
 soul never will be at peace till his 
 body is quietly laid by the side of my 
 Lady, in christian ground." 
 
 '* Was the Marchese di Morano af- 
 fected by his loss ?" said Viola, whose 
 G ^ curiosity
 
 13Q 
 
 curiosity was raised to a most painful 
 degree, ** did he lament him long?" 
 
 ** Yes, Signiora, at the gaming ta- 
 ble at Naples, and in such like 
 places, he lamented him, as I heard, 
 and left my poor Lady to pine, and 
 mope alone, for he woidd not allo\r 
 her company or diversion, though he 
 knew very well liow to enjoy them him- 
 self; but, however, thafs the way of 
 most husbands now-a-days. ** Well," 
 she continued, assuming an air of self- 
 importance, *^ if my Lord, the Mar- 
 chese, does at last come to a bad end, 
 its not for Avant of good advice; for 
 often and often have I warned the 
 Signior Moraldi against keeping bad 
 company when lie was a mere boy ; 
 and he was always for Uving with those 
 who were not over scrupulous. They 
 say, Signiora, when he was at Naples," 
 
 lowering
 
 131 
 
 lowering her tone almost to a v/hisper^ 
 '' he associated with a man -who dealt 
 ,with the devil; and he it was who 
 put him up to half his bad pranks." 
 
 Viola smiled at her simplicity, yet 
 the things she had gathered from the 
 vague and superstitious accounts of 
 Bianca, sunk deep into her mind. 
 '* Yes !" she exclaimed, '* the Marchesa 
 was in the right, this is no abode for 
 me when she is gone !" 
 
 *'San Marco forbid," cried the old 
 woman, /* that it should ! you are too 
 sweet a creature to remain here in 
 safety ! Ah ! Signiora, you are young 
 and innocent, and God grant you may 
 long continue so ! for though you are 
 very handsome now", that will not last 
 for ever. Beauty, as Father Jeronimo 
 used to tell me when I was a girl, is a 
 G 6 summer
 
 132 
 
 summer flower, that soon droops and 
 fades away ; but goodness, lie would 
 say, Bianca, is a strong and sturdy 
 evergreen, and blooms as freshly in a 
 winter's evening as in the fairest nioi:n 
 of spring. Pardon an old woman's 
 prating, Signiora ; my own sweet Lady 
 used to let me talk to her as freely a<v 
 though I had been an equal ; and early 
 habits are not easily forgotten." 
 
 '* Pa rdo y you !" cried Viola, *' front 
 whatever source it flows, such excellent: 
 counsel must e\'er remain engraven on 
 my memory ; the rivulet that circles- 
 round the humble cabin, is often er 
 clear and grateful to the taste than is 
 the muddy stream that stagnates round 
 the moated high castello." 
 
 '' I woui^D," thought Viola, ^'have 
 the inlet to my reason made through my 
 
 heart ;
 
 133 
 
 healt; one will refine the current of 
 tlie other; and those two powers, 
 which, when cTivided, cause war and 
 anarchy withm the mind, in mutual 
 action shall assist each other, and 
 prove the victors o'er each weaker 
 principle f 
 
 She soon perceived that Bianca had 
 talked herself into an inclination ta 
 follow the example of her companion 
 Laurentine ; nor was she sorry that a 
 stop was, by this means, put to a con- 
 versation she could but ill support, 
 promising to awaken her, if the Mar- 
 chesa called, she was soon the only 
 conscious being in the castle. Wish- 
 ing to dissipate reflection, she took a 
 book down from the shelf, opened it, 
 and began to read ; it was a volume 
 of Petrarch ; but her ideas were wan- 
 dering, and thought so rapidly suc- 
 ceeded
 
 134 
 
 cecdcd thought, that she turned down 
 her page, and taking the lamp, with 
 a step hglit and fearful, opened the' 
 door of tlie Marchesa's clianiber, and 
 approaclied the bed ; her sleep was 
 now easy and undisturbed, and with 
 pleasure she hailed the air of calm se- 
 renity diffused over her countenance. 
 Closing the curtains, she again re- 
 turned, and had recourse to her book; 
 but the soft complainings of the plain- 
 tive bard of Vauclure were too much 
 in unison with her own sensations to 
 be read with tranquillity. Viola was, 
 at this period, most unwilling to enter 
 on a retrospect, or rather into an in- 
 quisition of her feelings, for various 
 and. many reasons, reasons which, as she 
 could not justify to her understand- 
 ing, she was afraid to investigate. 
 .From the hour that slie had learnt the 
 mysterious manner of her entrance 
 
 hito
 
 135 
 
 into the Albenza family, she had con- 
 ceived a hope that, one day or another, 
 the cloud that hung pver her might be 
 dispersed ; not that her friend had ever 
 given her reason to harbour such an 
 idea, on the contrary, had always dis- 
 couraged it; but to a mind young, 
 sanguine, a^ad romantic, where are the 
 schemes and expectations too visionary 
 no't to be indulged ? At this moment 
 the confession of the IVIarchesa had 
 destroyed, for ever, her airy fabric of 
 anticipated happiness ; and stoical, in- 
 d^ed, must be that nature which can 
 survey the downfal of its dearest 
 wishes without the keenest anguish 
 and disappointment. It is true she 
 had always feared dishonour was at- 
 tached to her origin, and she feared it 
 frorn the principle of an ingenuous 
 disposition, for that mystery attendexl 
 it; ''and there are few instances," 
 
 ', argued
 
 136 
 
 argued Viola, *' where right needs the 
 cloak of conceahnent as its protection ; 
 'tis guilt alone that sculks in hiding- 
 places, and walks benighted under the 
 mid day sun." Rectitude stands forth, 
 stubborn as the rock; the winds may 
 buffet, and the wave assail it, but still 
 it rears its point, firmly to meet that 
 heaven whose strength it bears ; and 
 strong, beneath the tempests that sur- 
 round it, in scorn surveys the malice 
 of the element, and stands erect a 
 bulwark raised by Providence. In 
 despair she now beheld each cherished 
 vision flitting from her view, felt hope 
 was dead within her bosom ; for, had 
 she not bound herself solemnly and 
 irrevocably to consume each record of 
 her parents' fate? had she not been told 
 death would follow the knowledge of 
 it ? She was, too, about to leave for 
 ever the scene of her earliest youth, 
 
 endeared
 
 V37 
 
 endeared to her by ties sweet, thoiigli 
 now painful to recollection ; for ever ! 
 What a thought is tliat ! Even indif- 
 ferent, objects, under the conTiction 
 that we see them for the last time, 
 become interesting, and are of conse- 
 quence. She acknowledged that duty, 
 propriety, enforced the measure; but the 
 acknowledgment drew tears of such bit* 
 teruess from her eyes, as those who are 
 on the eve of losing, eternally, a beloved 
 and *' sacred home," alone can under-^ 
 stand. It is true " the world was all be- 
 fore" her; bat it was as a dreary and bar- 
 ren heath, over which she was to traverse 
 a forlorn and isolated wahderer, with- 
 out a guide, without one hospitable 
 roof to shelter under, or one faint 
 glimmering of light to cheer her dark 
 and solitary way. 'Tis a beaten track, 
 and niany a deserving traveller has 
 trodden it ; but none under circum- 
 stances
 
 stances so peculiarly inauspicious as 
 those of a young and destitute woman. 
 All men liave a centre, most find 
 ample reconipencc for their toils ; but 
 the goal of her destiny is dependence, 
 dependence on the precariousness of 
 health, on the uncertainty of talents,, 
 on the tyrannical caprices of pampered 
 individuals ! She bears the gripe of 
 poverty, beneath the scourge of pride; 
 she feels necessity freezing the tide of 
 liberal sentiment; she bends to those 
 slie despises ; she dwells with those she 
 inust condemn. 
 
 '* An ahen on the face of nature!'* 
 cried Viola; *^ wherefore do I exist? 
 Wherefore but to nourish within my 
 bosom an inmate destructive to my 
 repose, a pent-up flame, that will con- 
 sume my peace for ever!'' Her tears 
 now flowed fast ; for the unchecked 
 
 scusibiiity
 
 139 
 
 scusibilitj of the poet had but too 
 elfectually called forth all her own. 
 Alas ! Viola loved with all the fervour 
 and agony of an hopeless affection, 
 the son of the ^larchcsa, the last and 
 sole heir of the Albenzi ; a family who 
 would have preferred the extirpation 
 of their liigh nobility from off the 
 earth, rather than consent to an alli- 
 ance with one beneath them. It was 
 now two years since she had seen the 
 young Albenza ; but two years could 
 not obliterate his image from Viola's 
 heart : at iliat period he had been for 
 some time resident at the castle, — 
 li\Tly, handsome, of the most refined 
 manners, and enlarged understand- 
 ing, — he was formed to please, and he 
 succeeded. To say that he had lived 
 under the same roof with so fair a 
 being as Viola di Benincasor, and felt 
 indifferent to her attractions, would not 
 
 be
 
 140 
 
 be true : — by nature tencler sttid suis- 
 ceptible, be possessed great' and supe- 
 rior virtues ; and for bis failings, tbey 
 were tbose of an ingenuous and ele- 
 vated mind ; be was proud, impetu- 
 ous, and romantic ; be reconciled tbe 
 attentions be bad paid to Viola under 
 tbe common idea, tbat gallantry de- 
 manded, and custom sanctioned tbem; 
 but tbey were, in reality, too mucb in 
 unison Avitb liis own feelings, to be 
 quite disinterested, and be soon dis- 
 covered bis own peace was caugbt 
 in tbe snare, wbicb youthful vanity 
 had, at first, spread for another. 
 "With this conviction, bowever, came 
 also tbe dctcimination to crush this 
 infant passion in its growtb, and to fl^ 
 a place it was daily beconiing more 
 dangerous for liim to remain in ; for, 
 tbat be could unite himself to a wo- 
 man of obscure birtb, was a possibility 
 
 he
 
 141 
 
 lie did not dare to admit : he felt, as 
 the last of his house, it was unjust, it 
 was unwarrantable ; and to make a 
 dishonourable proposal to the being, to 
 whom the first pure offerings of his 
 love had been paid, was an idea he 
 recoiled from. Like others, Albenza 
 was subject to the frailties antl infir- 
 mities of human nature, but his heart 
 was untainted with vice : he had 
 shuddered at its influence over his fa- 
 thej's character, and sedulously avoid- 
 ed granting it an empire over his own : 
 and to entail ruin, misery, and disgrace 
 on an innocent girl, merely because 
 he thought himself master of her af- 
 fections, he considered as a crime of 
 the blackest dye. '' Yes, I will fly 
 from her," he cried, " fly from the 
 only woman I can ever sincerely love: 
 Hard tax of greatness 1 it is thus we 
 pay thee tribute, by the sacrifice of 
 1 the
 
 i4e 
 
 tlic licart's best ^'ratifications/* ite 
 did so ; and, as the old housekeeper 
 had asserted, his hist receding look Avas 
 bent on Viohi, his last ejacidation was 
 a mental prayer for her safety and 
 welfare. He did not, however, find 
 forgetfulness as easily attained as he 
 had hoped ; for, in the midst of plea- 
 sure, in the circles of gaiety and la- 
 sliion, in parties where every allure- 
 ment of yoath and beauty wer.^ dis- 
 played to attract him, tlie modest 
 form, tlic retiring manners, the sweet 
 soothing voice, of Viola was ever pre- 
 sent to his fancy, and formed so strik- 
 ino- a contrast to the bold and artiticial 
 women of the world who fluttered 
 round him, that distracted by a thou- 
 sand emotions, alternately tlie slave of 
 love, of regret, and mortification, he 
 would return to the solitude of his 
 own villa, and there, unheard, unseen 
 by. all, give utterance to a tenderness, 
 
 which
 
 143 
 
 which could it but have reached the 
 ear of Viola, would have more than 
 repaid her for years of anguish and 
 suffering. During his stay at Naples, 
 he seldom saw the Marchese ; for 
 ]\Iorano had no natural affections, and 
 Albenza, though scrupulous in obe- 
 dience to parental duty, and with the 
 highest notions of filial reverence, 
 could not entertain regard towards the 
 man he could neither respect nor es- 
 teem ; besides, he felt his mother's in- 
 juries, and, as such, saw the Marchese 
 in no very favourable point of view ; 
 while in possessing a son so eminently 
 gifted by nature, ^^ found little satis- 
 faction, but as it administered to the 
 ruhng passions of his mind, which 
 were vanity and ambition ; he knew 
 not the fond feelings of an anxious 
 father ; his -were the arrogant senti- 
 ments of an haughty tyrant, who 
 
 yiewed
 
 144 
 
 vie^vc(l ill h'nn the means by which his 
 own grandeur and consequence were to 
 be transmitted to posterity, anc} from 
 that cause alone was he of importance 
 to him. Large as were his possessions, 
 and inexhaustible as appeared his re- 
 sources, so unbounded had been his 
 profusencss and extravagance, that he 
 trembled as the time drew nigh, when 
 his son's coming of age would oblige 
 him to render up an account of that 
 part of his wife's property which was to 
 devolvT to him ; but which was so en- 
 cumbered, that he saw no probable means 
 of extricating himself from the effects 
 of his prodigality, but by some despe- 
 rate effort, which, as his last hope, he 
 was now determined to make. Cau- 
 tion was, however, necessary ; and his 
 first step was to prevent Albenza's 
 gaining access to his mother in lur 
 last moments; for he knew she was 
 
 well
 
 145' 
 
 ■well acquainted ^nih the state of his 
 affairs, and would consider it an act of 
 duty, to warn her son against the dan- 
 ger which threatened him. Having 
 s^ettled this plan, he wrote to Albenza 
 a letter, which, for art and subtlety, 
 would have shamed the most finished 
 scholar of the Machiavehan school. 
 He lamented the differences that so 
 long had existed between the Mar- 
 chesa and himself; confessed that his 
 own conduct had been erroneous ; ex- 
 pressed a wish to retrieve the past, by 
 every reparation in his power; and at 
 last, after veering through all the in- 
 tricacies of evasive language, he came 
 to the point, which was, a determina- 
 tion that Albeuza should espouse a 
 Lady, fixed on by him, as a suitable 
 and proper match ; concluding with 
 assuring him, it was the mutual wish 
 of both parents ; and not doubting, 
 VOL. I. H but
 
 \\6 
 
 but in liis union, their o\\-n would be. 
 lor cvcv cemented. The Lady, he in- 
 ibrnied liini, was his equal, handsome, 
 and possessing every accomphshment. 
 More particularly, he dwelt on the 
 probability that this marriage would 
 prove the means of his living for the 
 future on good terms with tlie Mar- 
 chcsa. He knew the vulnerable part 
 of Albcnza's character, was to delight 
 in being able to benefit others: and he 
 had frequently ventured to reason with 
 Ids father on this subject; he revered 
 and loved his mother; he saw she had 
 been unequally matched ; but he knew 
 likewise the fetters by M^hich she was 
 bound, were not to be unforged, and 
 therefore thought it infinitely more re- 
 spectable in the eyes of the world, that 
 she should appear to bear them lightly : 
 in public, he was her champion ; in 
 
 private,
 
 147 
 
 private, her friend, her consolation, 
 and support. 
 
 We have before said the Marchese 
 would have, experienced the utmost 
 satisfaction, could he, by any fault 
 discovered in his wife's conduct, have 
 found an apology fov his own ; in this, 
 however, he was foiled, and conse- 
 quently could only have recourse to 
 the fabrication of ill natured reports, 
 to sully the reputation, and destroy the 
 peace of her unblennshed, life. Al- 
 benza, more than once, had detected 
 the propagator of ^hese infamous ca-' 
 lumnies ; and while he laid the reptile- 
 tool of their circulation at his fi^tt, his 
 soul sunk under the mortification of 
 being the son of such a father. He 
 read the epistle twice over; but if tAe 
 contents surprised- him, the style in 
 which they were couched, astonished 
 " ^ him
 
 148 
 
 him still more. He had not heard 
 from his mother on this business, was 
 the first idea that occurred to him : he 
 had hitherto only bewi used to threats, 
 or coimnands, from the Marchese ; and 
 that he should now address him in the 
 language of persuasion, and consent to 
 reason, and suggest motives for his 
 actions, convinced him more was 
 *' meant than met the ear," and that 
 liis father must have an adviser. 
 '' Good God !" he exclaimed, ^^ can 
 I have betrayed to others a weakness 
 I have scarcely dared acknowledge to 
 myself ? Impossible! — Marry ! — that I 
 can never do: — Was it not enough, 
 that I burst every bond of inclination 
 as a sacrifice to duty, but that I must 
 now slavishly submit to the rigorous 
 enforcements of an arbitrary parent ? 
 Parent I I disclaim the name, where 
 tyranny assumes it : Shall I, a being 
 
 equally
 
 14.9 
 
 equally endowed with reason as my 
 father, forget tlie province that I owe 
 myself — and shall I not only hvlnp; 
 myself into wretchedness, hut draw 
 down misery on another's head, hy 
 plighting vows my heart can never 
 tjanction? no — never will I yield to 
 coercion : and sure, if there is a curse 
 more heavy than another, 'tis thr.t 
 inflicted hy parental despotism/' ills 
 thouglits now recurred to the ]\Iar- 
 Ciiesa : two uionths had elapsed since 
 lie had last heard from her, and thcii 
 slie was much out .of licalth ; tlie se- 
 verat letters he had written, liad iiever 
 heen ansv^xred, and he was now ir.oie 
 tiian ever at a loss to account for a 
 silence, as perplexhig as it was extra- 
 ordiuary. Of Viola he was entirely 
 ignorant ; for he felt too conscious cvc r 
 to mention her to liis mother; arid 
 though he would liave gi\cn much for- 
 II 3 ti<i!n -s
 
 150 
 
 tidings concerning }ier, he iiad not 
 courage to seek them. In this, state, 
 he sat clown to address Ills fatlier ; but 
 after several letters wrincii, and as 
 many destroyed, he deternillied to give 
 wv the intention, and the iitxt day to 
 seek an interview with him; a perusal 
 of what he had said, convincing liim 
 that liis sentiments were mucii more 
 likely to call forth the irritability of 
 his fatlicr's character, than to soften 
 iiiin in his favour. After a niglit pass- 
 ed in sleepless agitation and disquiet- 
 Lide, he arose early, to reach tlic JMo- 
 rauu palace ere the morning levcc of 
 the -Marclicse had assernbkxL He 
 found his fatlier risen, and in liis dres- 
 sing- Vvooai ; an air of unusual compla- 
 cciiuy was visible on liis countenance, 
 as St re telling forth his hand, he offered 
 it with a smile to hjs son; Albcnza 
 bo\\ cd coldly, but respectfully, for to 
 
 wear
 
 wear a manner foreign to his feeling^, 
 was a subterfuge he despised. 
 
 '^ I HAVE attended you, my Lord/' lie 
 cried, '^ in person, to reply. to the let- 
 ter with which you yesterday lionoured 
 mo ; to assure you, in one word, that 
 mtirriage Is a consideration I am by no 
 means prepared to answer ; and that I 
 rely on your generosity, and your af- 
 fection as a parent, to wave (at least 
 for the present) a plan, -whicli I fear 
 it will not be in my power to agree to, 
 and which militates in every respect 
 against my own wishes, and ideas of 
 happiness. 
 
 ** A LB EN z A," said the Marchese, 
 whose brow had been gradually lower- 
 ing daring the whole of this speech, 
 *' 1 am not piepared to meet disobe- 
 dience, or headstrong determination — 
 11 4 ■ could
 
 could I justify the proceeding to the 
 dignity of my own characteiv I would 
 prove how much more I have consi- 
 dered your welfare in this alliance, than 
 any good arising* to me, from your 
 marriage Avith the daughter of the 
 Conte di Montebino, I feel it equally 
 superfluous, and unnecessary, for me 
 to enter on a history of those grievances 
 which have, for long subsisted between 
 your mother and myself, any further 
 than to assure you, on my part, that I 
 think it now rests with you, by com- 
 pliance with our mutual wishes, to ef- 
 fect a reconciliation, I am to believe 
 you have long desired." 
 
 'V My Lord," rephed Albenza, 
 ** how much 1 have desired it, I re- 
 gret you have so long forgotten, or 
 rather, that you only remember it as a 
 stimulus to plunge me jnto that same 
 
 gulf
 
 153 
 
 giilf which lias swallowed up your 
 reputation and my mother's happi- 
 ness. Interest, my Lord, was the h^asis 
 on which your union was founded ; 
 liow has it terminated ? hi your dis- 
 grace, in my mother's misery : you 
 cannot, then, wonder I seek to avoid 
 that rock against which my parent's 
 bark so early foundered, or that I 
 should wish to profit by an example 
 which so nearly aifects my own situ- 
 ation/' 
 
 '' Boy,*' said the Marclicse, " from 
 whose example have you learnt to cavil 
 on the system of your father's conduct ? 
 wlio has instructed you to thwart that 
 will, which, Avhile I live, shall be tlic 
 
 law of your actions? or- or'' lii. 
 
 voi-ce trembling v^ith passion, " the d:iy 
 
 that sees you disregard it, siiali sec 
 
 your ruin. and estrangement from .that 
 
 H 5 house
 
 lioii.sc wJiich \vill never nckiiowledgc 
 its corrupt or degcucratc olrspring !" 
 
 *' My fam-il}', my Lord, can never 
 be disgraced by one, avIio scorns to 
 disgrace himself ! Why, ohmyflither! 
 should I marry ? My years are not so' 
 many, but that I may hereafter find 
 the chosen of my Iieart to be the ap- 
 proved of yours." Albcnza' stopped, 
 for the inward monitor of his bosom 
 toki him that could never be the case. 
 *' Suffer me," he continued, " after I 
 have paid a visit to m.y m.otber, to 
 proceed farther on my travels, and on 
 iny return, you, perhaps, may liave 
 revoked your severe intention ; or I 
 may have acvquired more submission to 
 comply with it." 
 
 " Aleenza," said the Marchese, 
 ■* liiark me — I should be sorry to sup- 
 pose
 
 155 
 
 pose your stubborn rejection of my 
 suit arises from 4.I1C indulgciice of any 
 grovelling or misplaced attachment to 
 one beneath you : hear me, presump- 
 tuous boy r' (for Albcnza here made 
 an effort to s})eak, ) ^^ by I leaven ! could 
 I think you capable of harbouring a 
 thought so injurious to the honour of 
 my name, I would disclaim and aban- 
 don you ! while my curse, the direst 
 one a father's maledictive vengeance 
 could entail, should follov/ 3"ou through 
 ilic world r 
 
 A L E E X z A ^\'as shocked, and wounded ' 
 to the soul by iliese words of his fatber: 
 '^ Good God r' he exclaimed, *^ am I 
 to bear the heavy judgment of a pa- 
 rent's curse, or go a willing victim to 
 immolate each privilege of my nature ! 
 Oh, my father! would that I could turn 
 your thoughts into yourself, and teach 
 II 6 vou
 
 166 
 
 you feeling for your child ! then would 
 I ask, is it a crime to love sense, 
 beauty, virtue, thougli clad in native 
 lowliness? Your pardon, my Lord, 
 but I would then remind you, when 
 our house's boast, the generous Ber- 
 toldo, raised a fair lily from its humble 
 vale, to bloom and shed its sweetness 
 o'er a richer soil." He turned, and 
 looked towards his father, but w;9S hor- 
 ror-struck at the expression of his coun- 
 tenance ; his lip was quivering, his 
 eye darted fire ; his face pale, ghastly, 
 and livid : " Villain !" he vociferated, 
 ** is it thus you dare reproach me? — 
 
 Bertoldo ! what have I to do with 
 
 him or what have you ? — his ex- 
 ample was a bad one ; and his untmiely 
 end will prove to you" 
 
 " That treachery, my Lord," inter- 
 rupted Alben^a, ''strikes at the best 
 
 of
 
 157 
 
 of nieii; and like a pestilence doth 
 spread around, nor spares nor vice nor 
 virtue'' 
 
 '^ Treachery T' reiterated the 
 Marches?, pacing the room in furious 
 agitation, '' begone 1 wretched boy, 
 and avoid my presence! — thou art as 
 a basihsk to my sight! but remember — 
 remember I" he cried, his words suf- 
 focated, *' I am resolute, I zvill be 
 obeyed !" The cause of your obstinate 
 disobedience I suspect ; and if I prove 
 your mother's base-born minion to be 
 the barrier, tremble, young man, at 
 my vengeance !" Saying this, he darted 
 violently out of the apartment, leaving 
 Albenza torpid with wonder and de- 
 spair. 
 
 In a few minutes, however, he was 
 awakened from his reverie by the en- 
 trance
 
 158 
 
 trance of a servant, mIio, placing a 
 note on the table, closed tlie door, and 
 Avltlidrew. It was from his father ; 
 the purport, to command his attendance 
 on him tliat night at the Contc di 
 INIontebino's assembly, imder pain of 
 his lasting displeasure. AVhcn Albenza 
 read the letter, his fust impulse was 
 ao'ain to seek his father, and resolutely 
 to refuse his compliance ; but reflec- 
 tion told him, moderation was oftener 
 successful, than violence or opposition, 
 and it ended, tlierefore, in a deteinrl- 
 nation to comply with his desire. Hav- 
 ing given this message, he left the pa- 
 lace, and proceeding to his own villa 
 on the bay, revolved over every part 
 of the late conversation. He had now 
 no longer a doubt but that his father, 
 by some means or another, had gained 
 a knowledge of his affection, and he 
 shuddered to what destruction it might 
 
 expose
 
 159 
 
 expose the unoffending, innocent Viola, 
 whose only crime was in being but too 
 Jovely and too amiable. AVho could 
 be, the Marchese's informant on this 
 subject, he was, at some loss "to con- 
 jecture ; he had never breathed his 
 passion to any Due ; but among various 
 suggestions, the possibility that it might 
 be the Father Zanotti, shot across his 
 mind. He was his father's Confessor, 
 his constant companion when at Mo- 
 rano ; and he now suspected him of 
 being his counsellor and abettor: yet 
 why this should be, he could in no 
 way account ; he had but a circum- 
 scribed knowledge of the character of 
 Zanotti, for never having particularly 
 liked his manners, he had held little 
 intercourse with him : the remarks, 
 however, he had made In that little> 
 were just and true ; he saw he possessed 
 uncommon brilliancy of talent, .great 
 
 pene-
 
 16(> 
 
 penetration, and vigour of mind ; but 
 tliat he was designing and reserved, 
 proud and inaccessible : yet still,- al- 
 lowing all this, he saw no reason, to 
 reconcile the idea of his exercising 
 those powers over one who had never 
 injured, and who could in no way inr 
 terest or concern him. These medita- 
 tions lasted till he arrived at his villa, 
 where he threw himself into a chair, 
 and endeavoured, by the exercise of Ins 
 reason, to argue himself into compo- 
 sure and peace ; still, however, lie 
 could think only of Viola ; for in the 
 true spirit of human contradiction, re- 
 sistance had but increased the warmth 
 of his sentiments; and in the thought 
 that she was for ever to be torn from 
 Jiim, she became dearer, and more 
 tenderly beloved : his repast was served 
 up, but Albenza could not eat ; pee- 
 vishly he turned from the lattice, for his 
 
 eye
 
 161 
 
 f} c sickened at the fair prospect tt pre- 
 sented : alas ! every thing around was 
 tinged with the dark colours of his own 
 imagination ; and the gna\ving convic- 
 tion at his heart, warned him that liap- 
 piness had for ever fled his once tran- 
 quil and contented bosom. 
 
 *^ That I must die, it is my only comfortj 
 Death is the privilege of human nature ; 
 And life without it, were not worth the talcing.'* 
 
 TJOWE. 
 
 TiiF. expiration of three weary hours 
 still found tlie desponding Viola wrapt 
 in pensive meditation, indulging hope- 
 less rei^iets, or romantic wishes for the 
 welfare of him she loved, in forming 
 excellent resolutions, or laying down 
 hard philosophic rules for her future 
 guidance and direction. The grey of 
 mornii^g was now faintly breaking 
 throj^igh the lattice, but not as usually 
 
 tinged
 
 tinged witli the lustre of tlic rising 
 sun ; the sky was black and lowering ; 
 tlie tempest of the night seemed scarce- 
 ly yet dispersed, and all nature wore 
 an aspect of gloom and hea\ iness ; 
 Viola, as was ever her wonted custom, 
 aj>proached the window, and welcomed 
 the return of day in her matin to tlie 
 Virgin ; lier prayer was long, and fer- 
 vent, for she supplicated a blessing 
 upon all her fellow-creatures, humbly 
 besought the Ruler over all things to be 
 her protector, for peace and comfort to 
 )ier m.aternal benefactress, for resigna- 
 tion to bear the ills and cares of life ; 
 and lastly, for strength and forbear- 
 ance to resist its temptations. She 
 found her mind much tran^juilized by 
 this appeal ; her determination formed, 
 and her courage renovated and assured, 
 she raised her eyes to llea\cn in gra- 
 titude for its mercies, and was rising 
 
 from
 
 163 
 
 fioni licr knees, when a noise in the 
 adjoining' room startletl her : she paus- 
 ed a few moments, and then distinetly 
 heard a groan issue from the bed cham- 
 ber ; in an instant she darted to it, 
 and found her friend apparently in th^ 
 agonies of death : scarce knowing what 
 she did, she flew to Blanca, and in a 
 scream of terror, aroused her from her 
 siumbery. '' FI-v !" cried Viola, ** oh 
 send immediately for the physician — •'— 
 your L:uly is dying" 
 
 TiiK poor frightened okl woman, 
 thougli hardly sensible, did immediately 
 as she v/as commanded, while Lau- 
 ren tine followed Viola to the Marchesa: 
 slic was almost speechless ; cold damps 
 hung upon her forehead ; her eyes VvCre 
 sunk, and dini, and there did not seem 
 the most distant probability of her 
 living another hour. . 
 
 '' ALAsir
 
 164 
 
 " Alas!'' cried Viola, *' wlint will 
 J)ccomc of mc ? Let me send for the 
 Confessor for any one !" 
 
 Tjie Marcliesa empliatically shook 
 lier head, and feebly excUiinicd, '* Oh 
 no, no ! not Zanotti T* 
 
 *' The Marchese," exclaimed th<j 
 distracted Viola, " the Signior, why 
 are they not here ?" 
 
 *' Too late, too late,'* murmured tlic 
 poor sufferer ; ^' it is too late." 
 
 She gazed around her with a vacant 
 insensible stare, at the same time 
 making violent efforts to speak. *' I 
 do not wish now," she at last articu- 
 lated, '^ to scr any one ; I feel myself 
 dying, and would be at peace." These 
 last words were spoken in broken and 
 
 interrupted
 
 16^ 
 
 interrupted sentences. " You have 
 given your sacred vv^ord, my Viola, to 
 fulfil my last injunction ; remember 
 and be faithful to your promise. I 
 sink into eternity, as into a quiet sleep, 
 where sorrow is forgotten, and wiicre 
 disquietude for ever reposes. God 
 protect and bless you : be good, and 
 you will be happy." Viola attempted 
 to speak, but Vv^ords were denied her. 
 
 ' *' Pardon, oh Heaven !" she pro- 
 ceeded, " my transgressions, as I for- 
 give those of my enemies, and forgive 
 the sins of my husband, as I forgive /;/;??. 
 Farewel, Viola ! a long, a last farewel 1 
 Bear to my boy the prayers and bless- 
 ing of his mother, and tell him some- 
 times to remember her avIio never 
 ceased to think of him. — Oh life !" she 
 cried, a celestial smile irradiating her 
 dying countenance, ** where is thy 
 
 value ?
 
 \G6 
 
 value? "Oh death ! A\here are thy ter- 
 rors ? Bless, hless you all ! — renieni- 
 
 ber " then sinking on the hosom 
 
 of the deserted Viola, her quiet soul 
 M'ingcd its pure flight to the icalms of 
 joy and immortahty ! 
 
 Such was the end of a woman 
 whose whole life had heen one con- 
 tinued series of sorrow and privation ; 
 privations she had borne without a 
 murmur, and sorrows she had sup- 
 ported Avithout a complaint ; under 
 misfortunes, where the generality of 
 minds would have been too much occu- 
 pied by the contemplation of their own 
 calamities, to have considered those of 
 others, she was mindful of all; a general 
 friend, an universal mother, with her 
 the injured e\'cr found redress, the 
 deserted gained protection; sympa- 
 thising, benevolent, and hberal, she 
 had ever a tear for the unfortunate, 
 2 a smile
 
 167 
 
 a smile for the prosperous and deserv- 
 ing; above the frailties, and superior 
 to tlie common weaknesses of her sex, 
 she pitied without arrogance, reproved 
 without severity; and the erring wan- 
 derer her reason would . have con- 
 demned, found an advocate in the 
 tenderness of her nature, an example 
 in the propriety of her conduct: she 
 «'as just, but not rigid ; religious, 
 without bigotry J quick, but not vio- 
 lent; determined, though not obsti- 
 nate; her principles Avere fixed, her 
 faith immoveable, and her morality 
 sincere. Yet this admirable being, so 
 immutable are the ways of Providence, 
 was the victim of successful villainy! 
 a sacrifice to tyranny and injustice ! 
 Why this should be— why "power is 
 not to men of skill, nor riches to those 
 of understanding," is far beyond the 
 compass- of our finite comprehensions : 
 
 blest.
 
 16S 
 
 blest, therefore, is the man wlio re- 
 ceives, with equal gratitude, his por- 
 tion of sweets and bitterness, (hard 
 lesson to practise !) who raises the cup 
 to his lips, under the strong convic- 
 tion that they are alike salutary and 
 efficacious. 
 
 YiOLA sunk on the body of her 
 benefactress, in a state to which lan- 
 guage can do but little justice, for 
 insensibility, the last fiicnd of the 
 wretched and bereaved sufferer, visited 
 her not ; she clasped the cold remains 
 to her bosom ; she gazed wildly on her 
 paUid features; she called loudly on 
 lier name. 
 
 *' Art thou indeed gone!" slie 
 cried ; " for ever fled from the hapless 
 creature who now lives but to desola- 
 tion and misery ! Oh cheerless chil- 
 dren
 
 (ireu of penury and want ! whither 
 will ye now fly for succour ? Return 
 to sorrow and distress ; that hand 
 which used to raise your drooping 
 heads, no more shall raise itself ; those 
 eyes which used so soft to beam upon, 
 ye, never shall open more !" 
 
 ■ ** Sign I OR A Viola," said Laurentine, 
 who sat at the bottom of the bed/ with 
 the tears gushing from her eyes in 
 torrents, *^ pray don't take on so, it 
 breaks my heart to see you ; to be 
 sure my dear Lady never can return, 
 but yet this is but what we must all 
 rome to one day or another; death 
 spares neither rich nor poor, old nor 
 young ; he feeds upon the best of 
 us." 
 
 '*' Alas !" cried Viola, ^'how ii]dis- 
 
 criminate, does it not appear r I am left 
 
 VOL. I. I to
 
 170 
 
 ijo waste in apathy and discontent that 
 life, which, had it but been hers, 
 would have benefited mankind. But, 
 ol) Heaven ! let nie not arraign thy 
 decrees, they are wise, they are omni- 
 potent !" 
 
 *' Tiiou art well corrected, daugh- 
 ter, in thyself," said Zanotti, who now 
 slowly entered the apartment, " and 
 therefore have redeemed the penance 
 I otherwise must have imposed on thy 
 impiety ! Peace be to this cham- 
 ber, "' he ci icd, devoutly crossing him- 
 self, and kneehng by the side of the 
 corpse, ^' and to the soul of the de- 
 
 paited" . Eianca now, witli tlie 
 
 rest of the servants, entered tlie apart- 
 mcjit, and all joined in the service. 
 His address was long and impressive, 
 and so exquisitely beautiful was the 
 language, so noble, so sublime the 
 
 sentiments
 
 171 
 
 sentiments it breathed, that Viola, 
 buried as she was in grief, could not 
 forbear raising her eyes to the De- 
 liverer. As she did this, the last words 
 of the INIarchesa rushed to her me- 
 mory — " such a man I think the 
 3\Ionk Zanotti," and she involuntarily 
 shuddei^d. For a moment his glance 
 met hers, but as momentarily he 
 dropt it on his book, while his strong 
 expressive countenance evinced a feel- 
 ing of anger and constraint. The 
 ceremony at an end, the weeping train 
 departed to their respective occupa- 
 tions, excepting those whose task it 
 was to perform the last melancholy 
 duties to their late Lady. Zanotti 
 took the hand of Viola, and led her 
 into the anti-roorp : the excessive 
 keenness of her feelings had now some- 
 what subsided ; meek and unresisting, 
 she followed the priest in sileace, and, 
 I 2 leaning
 
 172 
 
 leaning against a tabic, covered her 
 face with her handkerchief, and wept bit- 
 terly, while Zanotti paced the chambeiv 
 apparently buried in his own rumina- 
 tions, and totally regardless of the in- 
 teresting being, whose forlorn and 
 isolated situation might have drawn 
 pity and commiseration from the 
 hardest heart. 
 
 " I THINK, holy father," she at 
 length said, modestly and timidly ad- 
 dressing him, *' that an express ought 
 to be forwarded immediately to the 
 Marchese, with an acc*ount of this sad 
 event. " 
 
 ^' I HAVE heard from the Mar- 
 chese," he replied ; '' they will be here 
 shortly ; in the mean time, daughter, 
 endeavour tp conquer these violent, ef- 
 fusions of a weak and unavailing re- 
 gret
 
 173 
 
 •gr^t for one, whom not all your sigte 
 and tears can ev^er recall ; rather re- 
 joice that, since it has pleased Heaven 
 to lop a member from this illustrious 
 trunk, in mercy, it has struck at its 
 feeblest and most supei-fluous branch ;? 
 he drew his cowl over his face, and 
 then quitted the aj:)artment, leaving 
 Viola alone to brood and meditate oa 
 her sorrows. The last words of me 
 IVIonk had developed something of his 
 character; her dislike increased towards 
 him, and there was an irresivstibM an-e 
 with which he inspired hei', that pre?- 
 eluded all comfort in his society, and 
 filled her with uneasiness^ and dismay-. 
 The energies of Viola's chauacter, 
 though long clormaht, for want Of bc- 
 casion to call tliem forth, now stem-^ 
 ed. suddenly to expand and g^thet 
 strength ; as she felt, with all the 
 propriety inherent in her disposition^ 
 I 3 that
 
 174 
 
 that she should better testify her af- 
 fection towards lier lamented friend 
 by a strict adherence to her last 
 wishes and commands, than suffering 
 ]ier mind to sink under the enervation 
 of useless and unavailing lamentations. 
 Under all circumstances, she had 
 looked towards Providence as to a 
 great and universal guardian, and as 
 such, she now besought him to be her 
 consolation and support, to teach her 
 to bear adversity with fortitude, and 
 m all things to place her reliance on 
 him. This done, she rang the bell, 
 and requested to speak to Bianca, who 
 soon after obeyed her summons. 
 
 " Santa Marie!" she cried, '' Sig- 
 niora, what a change is here ! In 
 truth, it rives my very heart to see 
 the poor souls below stairs ; I declare, 
 ever since the breath has left my dear 
 
 Lady's
 
 175 
 
 Lady's body, I have bad enough to do 
 to distribute cordials for the support 
 of their drooping spirits." 
 
 " I WISH, good Bianca," replied 
 Viola, half smiling through her tears, 
 *^ you could administer any cordial 
 that would raise mine." 
 
 *' Holy San Marco! that I will do 
 most readily," replied the honest old 
 creature, taking her in the hteral sense; 
 *^ if you will but step down stairs now 
 into the little saloon, where I have 
 served you a small repast, you shall 
 have a glass of the best Florence in 
 the Marchese"s cellar, for all Bernardo 
 is so cross and stingy, forsQoth !" 
 
 ** I DTD not mean that kind of 
 
 cordTal, Bianca," said Viola, again 
 
 smiling at the simplicity of the house- 
 
 I 4 keeper ;
 
 171) 
 
 ketpui ; '' init as I ain, • ijulcecl, taint 
 aiiil exhausted, I will- accept your 
 oficr, after I lia^e consulted with you 
 (rii tlie means of executing one of my 
 (.'ear henefat tress's last directions, for 
 it is you vvho mu.^C assist nie in per- 
 fpiining it. As I am particuhirly situat- 
 ed now," slie cLdd^d, with a deep sigh, 
 *• I would rather not enter her apart- 
 liicnt again myself, till the arrival of 
 the Marehese." 
 
 ^^ You are right, Signiora; in this 
 world we cannot be too cautious. So 
 tlmiks the Abbate, I suppose ; for, by 
 the^Spirito Santo, he has taken away 
 the key of my Lady's chamber, that 
 no one may enter it till the evening, 
 when Father Jerome is to say mass 
 over the body." 
 
 " Good Heaven, Bianca !" said 
 
 Viol II,
 
 177 
 
 A^iola, " wliat an extraordinary mea- 
 sure ! — has Father Zanotti then so 
 much authority in the castle?" 
 
 '^ I KNOW not what andiority he 
 has a right to, Signiora, 1 only know 
 what he takes," repUed the old ser- 
 vant; *' and thongh I say it, who 
 should not say it, 1 am as good a 
 Catholic as ever entered the pale of 
 the church, yet, since Father Zanottt 
 has had such power in the castle, I 
 begin to tliink Laurentine net quite so 
 M'icked^ when she says ' a meddhng 
 priest makes every man's house too hot 
 to hold its master.' " 
 
 ^^ Hush, Bianca !" said Viola ; 
 your revered Lady never \vould have 
 suffered one such reflection on any 
 member of our holy religion." 
 
 I 5 '' AYell,
 
 17S 
 
 '' Well, well, Signiora, Fve done ; 
 poor folks must see all, and say no- 
 thing. Rest my dear Lady's soul, 
 she is an angel, and its not for me to 
 think 1 can be as good as she was. — 
 Ah ! 1 wonder," she cried, wiping the 
 tears from off her spectacles, '' what 
 will now become of poor Gradisca ?" 
 
 Viola, who remembered to have 
 heard that this Gradisca had formerly 
 been the attendant of Antonia, the 
 wife of Bertoldo, demanded, with 
 some interest, ^' where she dwelt?" 
 
 The old housekeeper, however, who 
 observed, with much concern, the 
 paleness of her cheek and the langour 
 of her whole frame, refused to answer 
 any further interrogations, unless she 
 would accompany her immediately to 
 tlie saloon; observing, *' she ought 
 
 not
 
 179 
 
 iiot to sit moping in a place where 
 every thing served to bring her recent 
 loss unceasingly before her eyes." — 
 Viohi, ever rational and resigned, 
 tlianked her for her zeal and atten- 
 tion ; and, leaning on her arm for 
 support, reached the saloon in melan- 
 choly silence. 
 
 1 6 CHAP.
 
 180 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 <^ There, at the foot of yonder nodding bc'eeh, 
 That writhes its odd fantastic root so high. 
 
 His Hstless length at noon-tide would he strctchji 
 And pore upon ihc brook that bubbles by. 
 
 Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
 Muttering his wayward fancies he Avould rove, 
 
 Now drooping woeful wan, like one forlorn, 
 Or craz'd A\ith care, or cross'd in hopeless love." 
 
 Gray. 
 
 ^W^iJEN Viola entered the saloon, all 
 her acquired fortitude forsook her : 
 for the attendant, in the well-meant 
 officiousness of providing her refresh- 
 ment, had unthinkingly spread it in 
 the place most hkely to call forth the 
 
 keenest
 
 181 . 
 
 keenest of her feelings. This room,/ 
 which opened upon the lawn, had been 
 the favourite of the deceased Mar- 
 chesa ; it was here they had occupied 
 themselves with books, or work, after 
 the heat of the day, and blest in the 
 society of each other, looked down 
 upon the tumultuous pleasures of the 
 world as trifling and inefficient. To 
 this enchanting spot, it had been one 
 of her principal amusements, to collect 
 all the various embellishments of na- 
 ture and of art; on one side it was co- 
 vered with the choicest paintings ; 
 between panniL^s, Avhere brackets, bear- 
 ing flowers, shed their sweetness, were 
 the largest Venetian mirrors, elegantly 
 decorated shelves contained each emi- 
 nent production of ancient and modern 
 literature ; small sofas were ranged- 
 in uniformity round the apartment ; a 
 tasteful drfipery, of tlie palest green 
 
 taffety^
 
 182 
 
 taflfety, cast a cool and tranquil shade 
 over the whole, while the ricliest 
 shrubs, with many rare exotics of dis- 
 tant climes, filled each vacant space, 
 diffusing fragrance and perfume. Here, 
 at early dawn, Viola had been wont to 
 prune away the rich exuberance of tlije 
 jessamine and woodbine, as their lux- 
 uriant tendrils broke through the treil- 
 lage into the interior : here, had she 
 distributed her welcome nourishment 
 to the feathered harmonists who nestled 
 in their foliage, or tended the lovely 
 plants that blossomed beneath her care, 
 then touched her lute in praises to the 
 Virgin, and hailed the IMarchesa's en- 
 trance to their morning repast with 
 filial smiles of tenderness and gratitude; 
 in refined and industrious pursuits they 
 there spent their morning; Viola M^ould 
 read, while the Marchcsa made cloath- 
 ing for the children of the indigent 
 
 tenantry,
 
 183 
 
 tenantry, or take her pencil, and sketch 
 some newly discovered beauty in the 
 surrounding' scenery : in the evening 
 she would join in the rustic fete of the 
 peasants on the lawn, and glide along 
 the dance with all the grace and light- 
 ness of a fabled nymph ; every one 
 loved, every one admired her; inno- 
 cent and chearful, delighted, and de- 
 lighting all, she sunk into tranquillity 
 and repose, she arose to joy and glad- 
 ness : " Painful reverse !" she exclaim- 
 ed, as her eye lingered on each me- 
 mento of her departed friend, ^' how 
 shall I support thee ?" With patience 
 and propriety, whispered the pride of 
 sense and understanding ; and Viola 
 obeyed its dictates. In a few minutes, 
 Bianca re-entered the room, with a face 
 bearing strong symptoms of wrath and 
 discomposure. '' There, Signiora 1" 
 she cried, placing a flask, with no 
 
 small
 
 184. 
 
 small violence, on the ta!)le, '* tliere's 
 the Florence ! I bore it off, 'spite of 
 that cross-grained BernardOjJJ^dio told 
 nie to touch it at my peril • /, for- 
 sooth 1 who have lived more years in 
 this family than he is old ; and to be 
 dared by such a mushroom upstart as 
 that \ There, Signiora, pouring out a 
 glass, and presenting it, with a curt- 
 sey, to Viola, much good may it do 
 you ; God knows, your wants are few 
 enough, for you to be thus grudged a 
 trumpery"—— 
 
 " Good Bianca, interrupted Viola, 
 *' I thank yon most sincerely for your 
 kindness to me; but I grieve you 
 should have engaged in a quarrel on 
 my account, particularly with so cap- 
 tious a being as Bernardo. " 
 
 *' I WONDER he's not ashamed of 
 4 himself,"
 
 himself," replied Bianca, *' to say the 
 disrespectfiii ihhigs be does of his bet- 
 ters : why, Sigiiiora, he declares, that 
 as for you, you are no higher than one 
 of us serN'ants; nay, for that matter, 
 not as good, for that you are only kept 
 upon cliarity, and will be sent packing, 
 as soon as my Lord comes : and for 
 my Lady, I d.ecjare it chokes laie to 
 repeat it— he sa}'s her foadness ibr you 
 was not altogether so disinterested ; 
 and hints, wicked wretch tJiat he is ! 
 tkat she was no better than slie should 
 be . ■ ■Holy Sau Marco ! how pale you 
 look, Signiora''— — 
 
 Pooii Viola, during this recital, had 
 indeed felt lier heart sink within her ; 
 the calumnies of a being so vile and 
 contemptible as this, had they been 
 directed to herself alone, would riot 
 have, affected her, but when levelled 
 
 at
 
 186 
 
 at the sacred memory of her beloved 
 protectress, and on lier account too, 
 raised in lier bosom sucli keen and 
 bitter sensations, as required all her 
 forbearance and strength of mind to 
 Support. I 
 
 '* My worthy friend," she at length 
 said, the glow of conscious integrity 
 crimsoning her whole countenance ; 
 '' I trust hi a hfe of honest mdustry, 
 to be-^ble to prove how much superior 
 goodness is to greaincss ; and for the 
 dc4>icable insinuations aimed at the 
 spotless character of your now-sainted 
 mistress, I can only say, I fear they 
 spring from a source, whose delight it 
 is, to brine: others to the debasement 
 of their own level" — 
 
 BiANCA looked at her stedfastly ; 
 ** that was said," she at last exclaim- 
 ed,
 
 • 187 
 
 ei\ '* just as my own sweet Lady 
 wo\ild have spoken ! Heaven keep thee, 
 Signiora ! Go where thou wilt, God's 
 blessing will follow thee — and belong 
 to who you may, you are an ornament 
 and a treasure." Viola pre.^sed hex 
 hand in silence. 
 
 BiANCA now besought her to taste 
 some of the deHcacies she had placed 
 before her; this, Viola at last com- 
 plied with, for she was faint and much 
 exhausted. During her moderate re- 
 past, she informed Bianca, it was her 
 wish to obtain the Marchesa's writing- 
 desk from out the dressing-room, 
 which, for many reasons, she did not 
 like to enter herself, till the arrival of 
 the Marchese ; she therefore requested 
 lier to seek it, when the apartment w as 
 next opened for the admittance of Fa- 
 ther Jerome ; to this the good Avoir.an 
 
 proniised
 
 pTomised a ready acquiescence, ob- 
 serving, at the sume tiirre, '* that she 
 •had as great a rl-glit to enter any room 
 in tliat castle, as the best priest in tlie 
 Pope's dominions." Viola now begged 
 she would tell her which was the cot- 
 tage of Gradisca, saying she felt 
 " nuich interested in her, as she had 
 heard, though extremely poor, she en- 
 tirely supported a young man, the son 
 of a dead sister, who was an idiot." 
 
 BiANCA, drawing her to the vi- 
 randa, pointed out the exact spot at 
 the bottom of the valley where it wa-s 
 situated; adding, 'Mf she then kept 
 to her right, she could not fail to know^ 
 it, by the wretched and gloomy ap- 
 pearance — and believe nie, Signiora, 
 it does not look half so bad on the out- 
 side, as within, either^ 
 
 Fob.
 
 189 
 
 For my part, " she continued, '' IVe 
 always fancied there was more in her 
 history than is known to every one, 
 siie is such a melancholy, moping crea- 
 ture : to be sure, she ha^ enough to 
 make her so, if it is- only living with 
 poor Lorenzo, who has never been in 
 his right senses since he was a boy of 
 eleven years old." 
 
 '' Was his derangement occasioned 
 by any accident ?" asked Viola. 
 
 '' Yes, Signiora," replied the old 
 woman; ''he fell, when playing with 
 some other children, from off the point 
 of yonder cliff there, and received a 
 contusion in his skull, which has ever 
 since affected his brain." 
 
 '' Did she never apply at the castle 
 for assistance ?" said Viola, '' surely the 
 
 Marchese
 
 190 
 Marchese would have afforded her some 
 
 le 
 
 lief; 
 
 '' Yes, Signiora, she has ap])licd 
 very often; hut you know, it is not 
 always ask, and have ; though, to he 
 sure, my I.ady was a good friend to 
 them while she lived ; and, I have of- 
 ten thought, pinched herself, that she 
 i^ight .give to others— I warrant Gra- 
 discais hut hadly off hy this time." 
 
 " How, then, does she pay the rent 
 of her cottage," asked Viola, '' if she 
 is so very poor as you represent her?" 
 
 " Sue has that given her hy my 
 Lord," answered tlie housekeeper, 
 *^ who offered, also, to get her nephew 
 into some place at Naples, where they 
 receive lunatics ; hut Gradisca said she 
 Avonld rather starve, than send him 
 
 thtre.j
 
 191 
 
 there ; and with this the Marchese was 
 very much enraged, and declared he 
 would turn her out of the cottage, for 
 her obstinate pride, as he called it, for 
 he would have no useless vagabonds 
 on his lands : and since that time, Sig- 
 niora, which is now nearly two years, 
 I verily beheve they would hav^e starv- 
 ed, if it had not been for the Mar- 
 ^hfsa." 
 
 *' I WILL go to the cottage this 
 evening," said Viola, musing, *' perhaps 
 these wretched creatures may be in 
 AV^ant of common necessaries. " Bianca 
 now informed her that Gradisca had 
 for some time past gained a small pit- 
 ISLneQ by making nets for the villagers ; 
 but that lately she had lost the use of 
 her arm, and had been obliged to give 
 up her employment : '* Yet, however," 
 she added, *' there are still feeling hearts 
 
 to
 
 m 
 
 to be found among the peasants of the 
 valley, which are not always given 
 to their betters; for most, as they 
 leave the vintage at noon, call in with 
 something comforting for poor Lo- 
 renzo—who is as harmless as a lamb . 
 I take my mite too, sometimes ; and 
 though it is bat httle, 'tis given witli a 
 hearty good will, and that is more than 
 all can say." 
 
 «' It ^aineth thee a creditor in Ilea- 
 ven, Bianca!" cried Viola enthusias- 
 tically, '' and with interest will it be 
 repaid thee there" 
 
 Ofi, ye bestowers of ostentatious 
 charity ! whose names swell public 
 chronicles, becaui^eye give a drop from 
 out the ocean of your treasures ; ye have 
 rewards on earth, in servile flatteries, 
 and laboured eulogies ; but the humble 
 
 peasant,
 
 193 
 
 l>easant, who spares one crust fronv out 
 his narrow scfip, to feed the famished 
 child of pqverty, whose siJent tear falls 
 on the withered hand that is raised to 
 grasp it, unwitnessed, unrecorded, re- 
 ceives it from his God !"— Her meal 
 being concluded, slie yielded to the 
 solicitations of Bianca, and sought for 
 an hour that repose she had not tasted 
 for the last three nights; the house- 
 keeper therefore concluded the con- 
 versation by teUing her, [' she had 
 ])cen oi-dered to prepare all things for 
 tlie reception of the Marchese and his 
 son," and then quitted the roOm. Har- 
 rassed in mind and body, Viola endea- 
 voured to court a respite from her . 
 caies in sleep ; but alas ! it is the friend 
 of prosperity, and ever flies tlie couch 
 of anguish and misibrtune : lono-was 
 It ere it answered to her summons, 
 and even then, ever restless flmcy was 
 VOL. I. . K avrake,
 
 awake, and in her dreams each e^'il wa!5 
 augmented ; in one of these, she started 
 from her pillow, and was surprised to 
 perceive the shade of evening approach- 
 ing, and to find the air already cool 
 and refreshing. She hastily pulled the 
 bell, and again giving a charge to 
 Bianca, not to fail securing the wri- 
 ting-desk, wrapt her veil around her 
 and proceeded to the valley. As she 
 walked, the calm serenity of the scene, 
 the slow chiming of the Convent bell, 
 the evening carol of the shepherd, as 
 he drove his flocks out of the meadow, 
 and the distant murmur of the cataract 
 rushing down the rocks, diffused that 
 kind of pensive pleasure over her, which 
 only souls of delicacy and refinement 
 can experience or^ appreciate : it was 
 now she enjoyed the melancholy de- 
 light of gazing on each object of past 
 felicity ; of recalling each word, look, 
 
 action,
 
 ^95 
 
 action, of those who had inspired it. 
 Passing on till she reached a small re- 
 cess, covered with ivy, and hewn out 
 of the rock, she faultered, overcome 
 by recollection ; for here, after sun-set, 
 the IMarchesa, Albenza, and herself, 
 had used to bend their steps, and spend 
 in social converse their evening, till 
 darkness spread its mantle around 
 them ; here, too, they had little con- 
 certs ; and while the soft cadence of 
 their plaintive trios swelled the gale, 
 Viola thought that love and happiness 
 would last for ever ; nor knew, uncon- 
 scious being as she was, that the barb 
 of disappointed affection rankles like 
 poisoned venom in the heart, never to 
 be extracted. 
 
 *^ Albenza !" she exclaimed, her 
 
 eye still rivetted to the spot, '' onqe 
 
 to have held a place within thy bosom, 
 
 K 2 was
 
 196 
 
 -was my youth -s fond ambition; but 
 I've since known too well the ])angs an 
 anxious lover feels, to wish such pangs 
 M-ere thine. Witness Heaven! tliy 
 wealth, thy dignities, to me were dross; 
 for 1 have often wished thou hadst 
 been. a peasant, I a princess, and when 
 I bade adieu, and left, in fancy, my 
 stately palace, to dwell with thee be- 
 neath a lowly cabin, if, as I prest my 
 head upon the rushes, perchance a 
 thought of greatness would intrude, 
 and paint the downy pillow I had left, 
 then I would think, when, ^ the close 
 of day, I drest our little cot for thy 
 return, how I had trimmed our board 
 to meet thy liking, or strained my 
 sight to greet thy welcomed presence, 
 tiren, when thy beaming eye rushed on 
 my fancy, thy outstretched arms, thy 
 looks of gratitude and fondness, oli ! 
 I would bless the hour when I left cities, 
 
 to
 
 m 
 
 to dwell with tliee, aii'humble, happy 
 wife !'' 
 
 Are not these the romantic wishes 
 of many a youthful heart, till time, 
 treachery, and conmierce with the 
 worlrj, teach VIS that the visions of dis- 
 interested feehng seldom, if ever, find 
 realization ? 
 
 She now slowly continued her walk, 
 laying on a descent, between two high 
 mountains, the trees of which were so 
 closely interwoven, that they formed a 
 kind of covered grove; and at the end 
 of a narrow path entered on the Valley, 
 which, indeed, exhibited a scene of 
 almost arcadian heauty and simplicity : 
 at the door of their cottages, the 
 elderly vintagers were sitting to repose, 
 after the heat of the day, while the 
 younger parts of their family danced 
 K 3 sportively
 
 198 
 
 sportively along to the jocuxid sound? 
 of* the tabor and pipe ; liere a shep- 
 herd, under the spreading of an acacia, 
 bewailed the cruelty of his mistress, in 
 the melting strains of his oboe ; while^ 
 a little farther in the closest part of 
 the thicket, sat the same flinty-hearted 
 damsel, lamenting the perfidy of some 
 more faithless swain ; on another spot 
 was a groupe of village politicians, dis- 
 cussing, with gravest import, the busi- 
 ness of their little state; and, not far disr 
 tant, a more trifling, though lessharmr 
 less, circle of females were assembled, — r 
 here flew the reputation of one, and 
 the good name of another, while, ia 
 imitation of their superiors, all respect 
 to the peace and tranquillity of their 
 neighbours was disregarded ; but what 
 most attracted the attention of Viola, 
 was a company of children, some en- 
 gaged in plucking the wild roses from 
 
 the
 
 199 
 
 the hedges, others chashig. the gaiuly 
 butterfly with their caps, while the 
 lest, with quiet, eager attention, were 
 listening to the fear-inspiring tales of 
 their companions, and trembhng at 
 the very stories themselves recounted. 
 These Viola pronounced were happy; 
 yet, as she gazed on the little plans of 
 their various amusements, she traced^ 
 with regret, the budding of each in- 
 fant passion, grieving that ever they 
 should blossom. She now soon reach- 
 ed the termination of the valley, and, 
 according to the dhection of Bianca, 
 perceived an angle to the right ; turn- 
 ing the corner of a narrow precipice, 
 i^he gained the pass, wjiich descended 
 «t few paces, ^t the bottom of which 
 ran a clear and liquid stream, mean- 
 dering round a small cottage, miser- 
 ably thatched with the decayed boughs 
 of trees, aind so worn away as to ad- 
 K 4 mit
 
 200 
 
 HI it the damp and rain in various 
 places. This, from its desolate ap- 
 pearance, slie conjectured to be tlie 
 abode, of Gradisca, and was making 
 the best of her way towards it, when 
 Iier eye was attracted by one of the 
 ^liiost interesting objects she had ever 
 beheld : on the side of the fountain 
 rech'ned the figure of a young man, 
 apparently al)out twenty; there v/as a 
 proportion in his form, the disguise of 
 liis very homely apparel could not 
 conceal ; his hat, which a little girl, 
 Avho sat beside him, was fancifully de- 
 corating with a wreath of vv^ild flowers, 
 lay upon the bank, and released from 
 its confinement a quantity of dark 
 chesnut hair, which waved over his 
 shoulders, and whose parting dis- 
 closed a forehead of the clearest brown, 
 and most ingenuous expression; his 
 cheek was pale and wan, and gave a 
 
 cast
 
 201 
 
 cast of dejection to his full dark eye, 
 as it bent mournfully on the ground, 
 that would have melted the sternest^ 
 lieart in his favour; his nose was aqui-; 
 line, his mouth perfectly formed, and 
 there was a candour and superiority in 
 the whole contour of his face ; in one 
 hand he held a little dog, while the 
 other was engaged in tracing, with 
 liis finger, grotesque figures in the 
 sand. Viola remained at some dis- 
 tance, and regarded him in silence : 
 presently he took a small flagelet from 
 his pocket, and putting it to his lips, 
 drew forth notes of such exquisite 
 pathos and simplicity, as might have * 
 vied with those of the fabled Orpheus. 
 
 ^^ Why will you play that sad tune 
 now?" said the child, twining her lit- 
 tle fat fingers in the glossy ringlets 
 of his hair; " you make me cry, and 
 K 5 I won't
 
 I won't came any more eveuliig«5 to> 
 k-eep you company by the brook here^ 
 if you do ; and then you Avill only 
 have Carlo, and he w ill not talk and 
 wng to you, as I do.'* 
 
 At these words, tlie young man far 
 the first time looked up ; and it wasi 
 then, from the wildncss of his counte- 
 nance, that Viola was certain she be* 
 held the maniac Lorenzo, 
 
 ** Do not leave me, Lilla !" he cried, 
 in a voice that pierced her very soul, 
 ** don't leave poor Lorenzo ! every 
 one leaves poor Lorenzo:" — but, he 
 added, with an unmeaning smile, and 
 in a rapid sort of whisper, '^ when I 
 am I,ord of that great castle I told you 
 of, I shall be rich Lorenzo, and I'll: 
 
 leave every body then !" ^' Alas 1" 
 
 thought Viola, shuddering, " what 
 
 connexion
 
 203 
 
 connexion in that thought !" — ** Yes/ 
 answered the child mildly^ '' but then 
 yon must not say such things as tiiat ; 
 beside, mother told me, when you 
 talked in so great a hurry, I was not 
 to stay with you ; but yet I shall, for 
 all what any body tells me, if you do 
 not play that tune again, and make 
 me cry so ; for you know I cried 
 enough yesterday, when Curio and 
 Paulo took your grapes away ; I wished 
 I had been a man, Lorenzo, I would 
 have beat them for it ; but yet don't 
 mind, for you shall always have half 
 mine, that you shall V* 
 
 Lorenzo uttered not a word, but 
 he returned the pipe into his pocket, 
 and then cast such a look on his 
 little companion as words could not 
 describe* 
 
 K 6 She
 
 204. 
 
 " Sue now approached them. Lo- 
 renzo had resumed, with the same 
 earnestness, his occapation of carving 
 in the sand, \vhile the chikl busied 
 herself in th.rowiiig pebbles into tlic 
 water. '' Is that the cabin qf Gra- 
 disca, ray good child ?" asked Viola, 
 patting her head. '' Yes, Signiora,'.^ 
 she answered, '' and if you want to 
 go there, I can shew you the way, and 
 take Lorenzo home at the same time^ 
 if you please." 
 
 As she spoke, he turned round, and 
 seeing a stranger, hastily snatched up 
 the dog, and was precipitately flying 
 from the spot, w^hen the voice of his 
 young attendant arrested his course, 
 and in an instant he stopped. '' Don't 
 cTo," she cried, without me, '' the 
 Signiora won't hurt you." Lorenzo 
 fixed his eyes upon her for some mo- 
 ments,
 
 ^05 
 
 incnts, tlien fetching a deep and heavy 
 sigh, he cried, '^ Won't you, Signiora, 
 nor beat nie, nor take Carlo from me ? 
 Oh no ! you look so sweet, you could 
 not!" then gazing round with a kind 
 of cunni^ig inquiry, he added, in an 
 
 under, though vehement tone ^' I 
 
 hate men 1 love only children and 
 
 dogs !" and then regarding her, hesi- 
 tatingly he said, ^' but I think I 
 could love you, if you would let me.'* 
 He put forth his hand ; it was dry, and 
 burning : Viola placed hers within it : 
 *^ How chill !" he cried, drawing it 
 through his arm, '' here — I will warm 
 it in my bosom, and it shall cool my 
 heart : — You weep — why do you weep? 
 Laugh," he added, with a convulsive 
 smile, *' laugh, as I do, at the bubbles 
 in the brook." Poor Viola, who had 
 borne her own misfortunes with firm- 
 ness and fortitude, felt all give way 
 
 before
 
 206 
 
 before tlie contemplation of tliis height 
 of human calamity: her hand, which 
 he held tight whhin his, trembled 
 violently, but not for worlds would she 
 have withdrawn it. In this manner 
 they walked on, Lilla followii^g, hold- 
 ing the jacket of Lorenzo, at the same 
 time admiring the dress of Viola, 
 whose tears, soft as the dew of morn- 
 ing, fell as they went along ; Poor 
 Lorenzo ! never before had the genuine 
 drop of sympathy moistened thy flinty 
 way. They reached the hovel in si- 
 lence, which, true to the description 
 of Bianca, was indeed the abode of 
 penury and sorrow. At the little gate, 
 or rather board placed across to serve 
 as a defence, stood a woman, whose 
 squalid look convinced Viola she must 
 be Gradisca; she was between forty 
 and fift} , tall, and there was something 
 in her whole person strongly indicative 
 
 of
 
 207 
 
 ol better day^ ; extrcmely infirm, on? 
 arm wastied up in a sling, while the 
 other leant on her stick. In the sight 
 of her nephew, all other objects were 
 disregarded, for a faint smile passed 
 ov^er her face as she welcomed his re- 
 tarn, and reproached his stay in the 
 i^me breath. The young man made 
 no reply, but pointed, with a look of 
 pleasure, towards Viola, who now en- 
 tered the cottage, theinside of which 
 was in a state of such desolation, as 
 she could have hardly conceived pos- 
 sible : one chair ; a large fragment, ta- 
 ken from the rock, serving as another ; 
 a table, tottering with decay, and a. 
 small broken altar, on which was a 
 crucifix, and image of the Virgin, 
 made up the whole of the furniture ; 
 still it Wets cleanly, the air fresh and 
 wholesome; for what they wanted in 
 the embellishments of art, was amply 
 
 repaid
 
 208 
 
 repaid by the profuse liberality of na- 
 tural adornn It'll ts, aud each casement 
 was filled with flowers, sweet and 
 grateful to the smell ; ^^ for these," 
 cried Cfradisca, '^ are comforts none 
 can deprive us of" 
 
 Lorenzo had now taken his usual 
 seat upon the stone, and in a gloomy 
 reverie, remained quiet and absorbed 
 in himself; his aunt having wiped 
 their single chair with her apron, for 
 the accommodation of Viola, then 
 placed herself by Lorenzo ; and Lilla, 
 having kissed his cheek, received the 
 evening blessing of Gradisca, and pro- 
 mised " she would come to-morrow 
 at the usual time," skipped gaily out 
 of the cottage, to pass the rest of 
 her evening with her more chearful 
 playmates, 
 
 '' Thou
 
 209 
 
 *^ Thou art a sweet one!" cried 
 Gradisca, following her witli her eyes, 
 till the angle of tlie precipice obscured 
 her from her view ; '* that child, Sig- 
 niora, I may call the solace of my hap- 
 less hoars ; her mother lives hard by, 
 and while all the young ones of the 
 "valley fly from my poor boy, this 
 little benevolent creature leaves every 
 thing to tend and follow htm ; she's 
 here every morning by^ sun-rise^ with 
 licr breakfast, to share with him ; and 
 though no one appears to humour his 
 fancies more than Lilla, no one can 
 manage him so well : — how fares the 
 good Marchesa, Signiora ?" she con- 
 tinued, ^* for if I mistake not, you 
 come from her ?" 
 
 " Well ! Gradisca,'* said Violaj 
 with a deep and heavy sigh, *' for she 
 
 is in Heaven" 
 
 '' Then !"
 
 210 
 
 '' Then !" exclaimed the poor crea- 
 ture, clasping her hands, *' my worst 
 apprehensions are fulfilled: Now, Lo- 
 renzo ! what will become of thee r I !" 
 she exclaimed, '' deserve all, can bear 
 all ; but thou, Lorenzo ! art devoted 
 
 -Dark, oh God! and inscrutable 
 
 are thy ways but, oh spare ! spare 
 
 not the guilty 1 thou art all powerful- 
 all just — thou canst remove the veil of 
 years — thou canst" • 
 
 *^ GuADiscA 1" interrapted Viola, in 
 a grave and solemn tone, " I have heard 
 much of thee ; but the wild agitation I 
 now witness, surprises and confounds 
 me : every one must feel the loss of 
 so excellent a character as the Mar- 
 chesa, deeply, severely feel it; yet 
 surely the Marchese would render you 
 some assistance ; and your poverty, 
 though great, is not alone sufficient to 
 
 affect
 
 211 
 
 .affect you thus; for I liave heard, 
 Graclisca, that in tjie dead of night, 
 Avhen quiet souls repose, and all's at 
 peace, that thou dost wander, like a 
 restless spirit, o'erchargcd with some 
 great crime.'* 
 
 *' Crime !" repeated the w^oman, 
 with an expression ^vhere fear, scru- 
 tiny, and severity, were mingled; 
 *' Signiora ! v/hat mean you ?" 
 
 '' You shall stay here for ever !" said 
 
 Lorenzo, hastily interrupting her 
 
 * ' for ever- — sleep here, and all night 
 I'll watch by you." 
 
 " Ah !" said Gradisca, '' do not 
 gaze so on me, Signiora ; that look of 
 yours recalls a sad circumstance to 
 my remembrance ; regard me not with 
 such suspicion ; you see before you 
 
 one
 
 one more weak tliaii wicked ; one who 
 has paid the forfeit of her faults by 
 years of torturing remorse." 
 
 *' Alas !" said Viola, " forgive me 
 if I wrong you, but I have k'arnt to 
 think under the shade of mystery 
 guilt must hu'k ; I do not seek to pe- 
 netrate any history you may wisli to 
 conceal ; yet, I know not why, some- 
 thing so extraordinary binds me to you, 
 
 that I feel 1 know not wliat -I 
 
 'would, if possible, do any thing to 
 serve you ; my means are circum- 
 scribed, yet still I think the Marchese 
 might be brought" > 
 
 *^ Oh no !" hastily interrupted Gra- 
 disca, *' name him not; you know 
 not the peculiarities of my situation ; I 
 am watched, guarded; cvcii at this 
 moment I tremble lest Bernardo over- 
 hears
 
 hears our conference, and you should 
 fall a sacrifice." 
 
 ' '' Surely !" said Viola, trembling in 
 every joint, '^ the Marehese cannot 
 
 have (lone ought that bears 
 
 not" . 
 
 "SiGNiORA," cried Gradisca, going 
 hastily towards the door, '' forbear — I 
 dare not — cannot confide in you — 
 
 hereafter I may Hark ! heard you 
 
 not a noise ? Oh, Signiora ! stay not 
 one instant longer ! to-morrow, or the 
 night after, if you could again steal to 
 this abode of wretchedness, I will ex- 
 plain all I can; but I entreat you to 
 be guarded ; much, very much, de- 
 pends on your circumspection: Sig- 
 niora, farewell." Viola placed her 
 
 iinger on her lips, in token of silence 
 ^and acquiescence ; and then hastening 
 
 through
 
 through the valley, was soon in view 
 of the castle. When she entered the 
 saloon, she sat down to recall her scat- 
 tered ideas, for her mind was a chaos, 
 A\'hcrc so many different thoughts con- 
 tended for pre-eminence, that one so 
 rapidly succeeded to another, as to 
 bewilder and distract her ; nor could 
 she reflect on the mysterious being she 
 had quitted, without sensations of in- 
 terest and dread; Gradisca had said 
 '* her look recalled painful recollec- 
 tions !" to what could this allude ? the 
 Marchesa, on her death-bed, had as- 
 sured her '' no one was acquainted 
 with the secret of her birth but her- 
 self." Lorenzo next arose to her fancy ; 
 his iiiteresting form, the simple pathos 
 of his wild appeals to her kindness, 
 drew tears in torrents from her eyes ; 
 '' and I am not able to assist this for- 
 lorn creature !" she exclaimed : " Oh 
 
 poverty !
 
 £15 
 
 poverty ! it is now I feel thy biting !'* 
 The more she' reflected on the late oc- 
 currence, the more was she determined 
 to obtain another interview with Gra- 
 disca ; her terrors of the Marchese in- 
 creased ; and when she thought of 
 Father Zanotti, an universal tremor 
 seized her. From this reverie she was 
 interrupted by tl:e entrance of Bianca, 
 who, after asking a variety of ques- 
 tions relative to the poor souls she had 
 been visiting, informed her that Father 
 Jerome had said mass over the body, 
 and she and Lauren tine were to sit up 
 with it; '* and I have taken the desk, 
 Signlora, into your dressing-room, as 
 I thought, perhaps, you had rather 
 examine it there, than where you 
 might be subject to interruption." 
 Viola thanked her for her attention ; 
 and requesting to have a light, waited 
 while Bianca went to fetch one, and 
 
 then
 
 then retired to her own room for the 
 iiight. How awful is the immediate 
 contemplation of death ! As Viola pass- 
 ed the chamber where lay the remains 
 of her benefactress, her heart beat 
 quick, her step was faultering and 
 timid ; the recollection, .too, of what 
 she liad witnessed there the night be- 
 fore, filled her with awe and supersti- 
 tion ; she looked through the shade of 
 the long gallery, where the sable figure 
 had vanished, but saw it not again : 
 *' too sure it was an omen of mor- 
 tality," thought Viola, and the idea 
 struck cold to her heart. When she 
 reached her own room, the fn'st object 
 that appeared was the desk of her be- 
 loved Marchesa : ah ! how many sad 
 reo'rets did it not brino- to her mind ! 
 
 o o 
 
 the loud bell of the castle nov/ chimed 
 the hour of eleven ; the moon shone 
 w ith resplendent brightness ; all was 
 
 hushed^
 
 sir 
 
 hushed, save the nightingale, wh» 
 warbled its plaintive song among the 
 jessamme, that twined' around the 
 lattice; but not, as usual, greeied by 
 Viola, who had once deliglued in its 
 note: Alas! when the harmony of the 
 soul is fled, objects once delightin-v 
 charm no longer ; 'tis an instrument 
 out of tune; one chord broken, and 
 the rest no longer vibrates to the touch 
 of melody! She now felt in her bo- 
 som for the key, and was approachino- 
 the table where the desk was placed^ 
 when the sounds, as of aperson pacino- 
 backwards and forwards under her 
 Window, distinctly struck her ear; she 
 felt apprehensive, she .knew not whv • 
 
 for that any of the inhabitants of the 
 castle, tempted by tlie beautv of the 
 evening, should be there e„j;yino. i, 
 was no uncommon circumstance, "shj 
 listened, and presently distinguishe 1 
 the sound of voices in earnest conver- 
 
 VOL. I. , 
 
 ^ sat ion ;
 
 21S 
 
 sallon ; one was familiar, and she fan- 
 cied it to be that of the IMonk Zanotti : 
 she stood a few moments,, hi hopes of 
 fiearing the purport of their discourse, 
 for tliat he should be there at that hour, 
 particularly when he had excused 
 jhimsclf from performing the ceremony 
 over the Marchesa, surprised and con- 
 junded her. The tone of Zanotti was 
 .ow and restrained, that of the stranger 
 seemed to break forth in accents of 
 xnpatience and con»piaint. Viola no\\r 
 It impelled by au irresistible impulse to 
 iipproach the window, yet the light 
 Avras an obstacle to her purpose, and 
 she remembered that near her dressing 
 room was a small closet, or bondoir, 
 containing books, wliere she deposited 
 the lamp, and then taking her stand 
 behind where the festoon of the curtain 
 concealed her, had a compleal view of 
 their persons; they had moved Irom 
 tlie spot where she iirst heard them, 
 
 but
 
 219 
 
 but by the light of the moon slie plainly 
 perceived the figure of the Monk Za- 
 notti; his garments weie wrapped 
 closely round him,, and his cowl drawn, 
 so as to entirely disguise his face^ stii'l 
 there was a majesty and peculiarity 
 Vhich she would Jiave reco.o.„ised 
 among a tJiousand ; the other Avas of 
 low stature, hut a cloak covering his 
 whole person, left no means to disco- 
 ver who he was : again they spoke in a 
 M'hisper; Zanotti seemed agitated and 
 impassioned; presently he grew louder, 
 and she distinctly^heard these words :— 
 
 "The crisis is not far distant," 
 
 here the rustlhig of the leaves, as they 
 waved in the hreeze, prevented her 
 hearing the conclusion of this sen- 
 tence : — 
 
 " I AM a wretch !" rephed thestran- 
 I. 2
 
 920 
 
 ger, in answer to that part of Zanotti'i^ 
 speech she had lost, '' the finger of 
 God has marked me; for at night, 
 when 1 return to my home, and think 
 to rest my head in sleep awhile, the 
 pillow's bathed in blood ! those silver 
 hairs ail clotted ! and then his groans 
 so mingle in the blast, that shakes my 
 dvvelhng, that I rise on fne !" 
 
 '* Hush !" repHed Zanotti, in a still 
 lower tone, ' ' we shall be overheard : 
 Patience ! I entreat you, all will yet 
 be well ! — mark me, all shall be well !'* 
 They then seemed to confer on more 
 amicable terms ; faint and sick, Viola 
 retreated from the window, though 
 she did not fetch back her light, dread- 
 ing, yet desiring to hear farther ; once 
 more therefore she left her seat and 
 approached the window ; the stranger 
 >^as gone, but Zanotti still walked 
 
 Avith
 
 With long and hasty Strides across the 
 lawn ; his pace Was unequal ; frequent- 
 ly he s-tapt, and with his eyes fixed oil 
 the earth, seemed \Vrapt in meditation. 
 Viola now felt chill, and softly closing 
 the lattice, hastened from it : *' Gra* 
 cious Providence T' she at last articu- 
 lated, and clasping her hands together^ 
 ^* What words of dreadfalimport have 
 I not heard ? Such a man" she repeat- 
 ed, " I think the Monk Zanotti :— 
 Wherefore, oh my soul I dost thou 
 tremhle with these lad portents? for 
 am not I a being too insigniiicant to 
 fear, too humble to be liable to dan* 
 gets, too inoffensive to deserve them ? 
 Qh Bertoido ! if it indeed be true, that 
 thy restless ^^irit yet wanders at the 
 silent hour of night — ^perhaps — oh hor* 
 rible suggestion 1 thy honoured form it 
 was, that shot across me to seek a fra- 
 tricide !" As much as possible fche 
 L 3 now
 
 OOQ 
 
 now endeavoured to calm the agitation 
 of her spirits, though she could not 
 forbear once more stepping to the case- 
 ment; but Zanotti "had disappeared, 
 and Viola, replacing the lamp on the 
 table, prepared to seek the letters : 
 witli a beating heart she gazed on tlie 
 superscription to Albenza • *' Perhaps," 
 she cried, her sensitive nature shrink- 
 ing from the idea, *' T am to bear a re- 
 commendation for myself :" the thought 
 could not support reflection, and laying 
 the letter beside her, she proceeded to 
 examine further : she first discovered a 
 variety of loose papers, containing ex- 
 tracts from different authors, and a 
 treatise in manuscript, which, from 
 the style and signature, she concluded 
 was the Marchesa-s own writing; this 
 was regarded as a precious treasure, and 
 its perusal deeply affected her. The 
 letter to the Marchese was carefully 
 
 enclosed
 
 enclosed in an envelope ; but, oh Hea- 
 ven ! wliat were her sensations, Avhcn, 
 after the strictest search, after separat- 
 ing* each paper carefully one from the 
 other, and spreading them before her 
 on the table, her own letter was not to 
 be found ! The sum, too, which the 
 Marchesa had particularly named as 
 being in the desk, was gone also ! 
 Viola could scarcely believe her senses; 
 she did not speak, she did not weep ; 
 wonder and astonishment had absorbed 
 every other fliculty, fur she saw herself, 
 by this unexpected stroke, bereft of 
 every support, without money, without 
 friends, and dependant on a man she 
 could never reflect on without horror. 
 ** My God !" she exclaimed, ** what 
 will become of me — whither can I 8:0? 
 AV iio now will succour — who protect 
 me ?" There did not exist one beinir 
 in the world on whom she had a claim ; 
 X. 4 while
 
 1224 
 
 while as often as the idea darted aeross 
 her, of what she had y-et to perform in 
 destroying the proofs of her own birth, 
 she became still more miserable and 
 apprehensive ; yet she determined, 
 Vvliatever it miglit cost her, strictly to 
 udliere to her premise, though till after 
 the interment of the Marchesa it would 
 be hazardous to attempt it, as persons 
 reguiariy sat up with the corpse, added 
 to which was the fear, that she might 
 excite suspicion from the awe-inspiring 
 Zanotti, now more dreaded than ever. 
 Strange it was, that, in all the recur- 
 rences of thought, this man w^as ever 
 the leading figure in her imagination, 
 yet had she been asked to account for 
 it, save from the opinion so recently 
 delivered of him by the Marchesa, she 
 would have been at a loss for a reply. 
 Since the Marehese had left Morano, 
 which was now three months, she had 
 
 scarcely
 
 scarcely ever seen him, for he was al- 
 ways disliked by the Marchesa, whose 
 observations oil his character had been 
 forin^d with too m-uch truth and dis- 
 crimination, for her ever to receive 
 pleasure or consolation fiom his society; 
 seldom he suffered himself to enter into 
 conversation, but when he did so, his 
 eloquence and perspicuity were rarely 
 equalkd, and never excelled : in the 
 midst of the largest and most chearful 
 circk, he wotdd sit absorbed, and ab- 
 stracted ; then start, and as if trying 
 to shake off an oppressive burthen, ea*- 
 tei' for a whrle on the topic of the day, 
 soon, however, to relapse into one <^ 
 his ordinary and gloomy reveries ; to>" 
 wards the Marchese his behaviour was 
 most mysterious; his manner far ft'Otft 
 respectful, was proud, arrogant, and 
 frequently bordering ou contempt, 
 while Morano seemed at once to fear, 
 L 5 hate,
 
 ^26 
 
 luite, court, and slmii him. Viola had 
 often turned iVom the iixed gaze of his 
 penetrating eye with a sensation she 
 trembled at exjieriencing, for such an 
 eye she thought slie had never before 
 seen; it was concealed, yet expressive of 
 each movement of a soul, which jnight 
 at once be the seat of extraordinary vir- 
 tues, or almost unmentionable crimes : 
 there was a lurking look of cunning 
 and dissimulation at one moment; at 
 another, they flashed in open indigna.- 
 tion or haughty superiority ; his conr 
 duct to Viola was inexplicable ; often 
 he would sit with his looks ri\ eted on 
 her countenance in so scrutinizing and 
 earnest a manner as to alarm and dis^ 
 tress her, then he would rise from his 
 seat, and after pacing the apartment 
 under great agitation, leave it without 
 littering a word. Now she reflected 
 &he was in a degree in his power ; feu- 
 
 though.
 
 227 
 
 thougli any one with the least discern- 
 ment might have seen aifection was 
 not the bond which hnked his fate to 
 that of the Marchese, still he had un- 
 bounded sway in the castle, and his will 
 was the law of its inliabitants. The clock 
 tolled twelve, but she could not sleep ; 
 awake to all the honors of her situa-^ 
 tion, poverty, desolation, dependance ; 
 she still continued to examine tlie desk, 
 in the faint hope that the letter might 
 have been overlooked in the eagerness 
 of her first search ; it was, however, 
 ^no where to be found : '^ Could the 
 Marchesa's mind have been wandering 
 in her last hours?" thought Viola, but 
 this idea was dismissed ahnost as soon 
 as suggested, for she had evinced no 
 signs of insensibility or derangement ; 
 eagerly she examined the lock, but it 
 bore no marks of violence, and the 
 key she was certain was that delivered 
 l6 to
 
 228 
 
 to lier by her fiieiicl, and till this mo- 
 ment had been worn in her bosom. In 
 this man.ner did she pass the principal 
 part of a night, the longest she had 
 ever known : in vain she tried to sleep, 
 for unceasingly the events of the day 
 erouded to her mind, and chased away 
 tranquillity. With anxiety and appre- 
 hension she looked forward to the ar- 
 rival of the Marchese, as an event that 
 would at once decide her destiny ; and 
 she longed, yet dreaded, to meet Ai- 
 benza, for in his remembrance each 
 fond affection of her now desolated 
 heart was centered : once, in the warm 
 enthusiasm of the moment, when the 
 cooler judgments were laid asleep, Al- 
 benza had confessed to Viola he loved 
 her; yetyoungas shethenwas, such was 
 the propriety of her character, tlie ge- 
 nuine rectitude of her disposition, that 
 she received this avowal of his prefe- 
 rence
 
 ^29 
 
 reiice in her favour, as a signal fcr their 
 meeting no more. 
 
 *' No, my Lord !" she exclaimed, 
 'incapable as 1 trust I have been, as 
 I trust I am, of the paltry disguise of 
 art or subterfuge, believe me, I can 
 only shew how valuable I consider the 
 gift you proffer me, by never proving 
 unworthy of it ; take back, my Lord, 
 that heart, which would be the most 
 dangerous inmate of my bosom, and 
 with it take this assurance, that Viola 
 di Benincasor, humble as she is, has 
 too much honour to disgrace another, 
 too much gratitude to plant a thorn 
 within the breast, that sheltered and 
 protected her." 
 
 Saying this, she hastily left him, 
 while Albenza, as has before teen 
 said, full of love, admiration, and 
 
 despair,
 
 230 
 
 despair, sought the city. Yet, though 
 Viola had had sufficient prudence to 
 put a negative on the hopes of her 
 lover, (for justice, duty, every principle, 
 demanded it,) in lier heart he reigned 
 more despotically than ever ! That she 
 could ever he his wife, was an impos- 
 sibility ; but that she was dear to him; 
 that there were times, when his re- 
 membrance might wander towards her, 
 was a source of the only comfort she 
 enjoyed. In proportion as her attach- 
 ment strengthened towards the son, 
 the more did her abhorrence of the 
 father ; for to her, gentle and un- 
 oifendmg as she was, with manners 
 peculiarly calculated to excite tender- 
 ness and kindness, he had been ever 
 hard and severe ; as a child, he had or- 
 dered her to be kept from his presence, 
 alledging "that children were nuisances 
 he did not chuse to be annoyed with ; 
 
 and
 
 231 
 
 and that had the Marchesa studied hjs 
 pleasure as mucli as her own grati- 
 fication, she would not have introduced 
 into his family this little foundling- 
 beggar, to lavish that fondness on, to 
 which her own son was alone entitled." 
 The grossness of these insinuations 
 preyed inwardly on the peace of his 
 wife; but conscious of the integrity 
 and purity of her motives, she seldom, 
 if ever, replied to them. " 
 
 Viola, therefore, had often been 
 the cause of many violent attacks on 
 his part, and much patient resignation 
 on hers ; for reasoning with the Mar- 
 chese was quite out of the question, 
 while, as she advanced in years, his 
 dislike of her increased ; for, if by any 
 chance they encountered each other in 
 the walks or grounds of the castle, he 
 would fix his eyes sternly on her for 
 
 some
 
 232 
 
 some moments, tlien turn away, with a 
 kind of angry imimtiencc, and quickly 
 strike into another path. His manner 
 w^as, however, totally different from 
 that of the still more formidable Za- 
 notti, for though he awed and im- 
 pressed her beyond all others, yet if 
 ever his nature seemed capable of soft- 
 ness, it was when he addressed Viola : 
 from this, it is more than probable, she 
 would have applied to him, for assist- 
 ance to gain admittance into some con- 
 vent ; but the dying words of the Mar- 
 chesa unceasingly sounded in her ears : 
 *' Such a man I think the Monk Za- 
 notti," and the intention, shuddering, 
 fled her breast. More than ever did 
 she now bl<ess that warning, for eter- 
 nally the midnight conference was in 
 her thoughts ; and she not only viewed 
 the Abbate as a man of bad propensi- 
 ties, but as one pnvy to, or engaged 
 
 in,
 
 1233 
 
 in, a imirden In Giadisca she had 
 also endless food for conjecture ; nor 
 Coidd she avoid concluding, from the 
 mysterious word.s of this -svoman, hut 
 that slie was ac(iuainted with some 
 hidden transactions relative to the Al- 
 benza family ; yet all was a labyrinth, 
 which. the further she explored, tlie 
 luorc was she bewildered and perplexed. 
 Youth has ever so strong a propensity 
 to the marvellous, tl^at there are few 
 who would not rather puzzle their way 
 through the intricacies it occasions, 
 than reach, by the strait road, a natural 
 effect produced by a common cause, 
 perhaps, m all the rhetoric of pliilo- 
 sophy, there does not exist so strong a 
 proof of how early the human heart is 
 in a state of vitiation, than this simple 
 axiom. Reason would certainly lead 
 us to suppose, the mind vigorous and 
 unrelaxed requires not such strong 
 
 incitements
 
 234 
 
 incitements to call forth its uses ; hut 
 content with the novelty and variety 
 successively presented, need not seek, 
 beyond the inexhaustible walks of na- 
 ture, for its resources or amusements ; 
 that it would revolt from the recital of 
 monstrous depravity, or dreadful crimes, 
 with afliight and disgust ; — in the ages 
 of primitive simplicity, this might have 
 been the case; but in the modern 
 epoch, minds are nurtured in a hot- 
 bed, reach maturity ere tlicy should 
 bud, and at a period when they ought 
 to ripen and bear fruit, the sap, corrupt 
 and withered, runs to seed, and all 
 its bloom is faded. This argument, 
 which might be levelled at the gene- 
 rality with truth and justice,' failed in 
 its application to our heroine ; lor few 
 had so early learnt the art of cou- 
 trouling their passions, or conquering 
 their failings. Many will excuse the 
 
 mu;jt
 
 Q35 
 
 most flagrant actions of their lives, 
 under the fallacious idea, that man is 
 born in error; but surely this is the 
 weakest and mo«t i^-norant of all 
 doctrines, since, from the equal dis- 
 tribution of our faculties, it is always 
 in our own power to encourage the 
 preponderation of virtue, and repel the 
 encroachments of vice ; these had been 
 the lessons inculcated by the amiable 
 Marchesa. ** iMy child," she used to 
 say, ** there are no characters so despi- 
 cable as those who think Fate intended 
 them to be so ; who sluggishly submit 
 to be the slaves of vice, because they 
 have not sufficient energy to counteract 
 it; who vainly and impiously imagine 
 * it is tlie lot which Proviilence has 
 marked out for them, ' and consequently 
 that it would be useless and ridiculous 
 to strive against it ; there are many will 
 argue, that this sentiment arises from 
 
 diffidence
 
 236 
 
 (liiKiclence or modesty ; but T sliould he 
 as apt to conclude it the eflcct of 
 vanity, operating on a narrow niind, 
 as I ain convinced self-debasement is 
 as pernicious, in its consequences, as 
 self-importance, and both leading from 
 tliat strait and open path through 
 which duty and rectitude have directed 
 us to steer our course. Never allow 
 yourself to be incapable of any thing 
 but a mean and ungenerous action ; 
 if you are good, it is in your pow- 
 er to be better; if bad, still re- 
 member, repentance never can be too 
 late, and that there is no being under 
 Heaven, however lost and infamous he 
 may appear, but is reclaim able, and 
 capable of amendment. In instances 
 of the head as well as the heart, tliis 
 principle still exists. All are Tfot blest 
 with genius ; I say blest, because those 
 who are gifted with it, arc considered 
 
 as
 
 237 
 
 as peculiarly favoured; but I cannot 
 help calling it a dazzling meteor, often- 
 er leading astray, than tending to our 
 welfare or prosperity. Seldom indeed 
 do you find the man, endowed with 
 what is called superior and refined 
 sense, possessing the more important 
 advantages of solidity, perseverance, 
 judgment or fortitude, rational under- 
 standing, or useful knowledge. The 
 reason is an obvious one ; these latter 
 ^re to be acquired by patience and 
 attention ; and he who has succeeded in 
 attaining, appreciates their worth, and 
 studies to preserve them ; but genius is 
 of spontaneous growth ; uncultivated, 
 unassisted, it springs up, and intoxi- 
 cates the mind ; we think it can be as 
 easily ensured as it seems to have been 
 bestowed ; like beauty, we Eiid it, for a 
 time, our passport through the world, 
 and every other more essential qua- 
 lification
 
 238 
 
 lification is neglected. Yet believe 
 Hie, of all the various properties be- 
 stowed on man, these two alone are 
 perishable, and fleeting. Vice aiul 
 virtue are immortal, and will most as- 
 suredly speak foi', or against us, at the 
 great account ; but genius and beauty 
 are more transient even than our ex- 
 istence. We witness their entomb- 
 ment ourselves, while the fickle and in- 
 constant throng, for uhom we prized 
 them, then nnheeding pass us by, or, if 
 they do pause, to gaze upon the ruin, 
 'tis but to pity us for what we are, not 
 in remembrance of what we have been." 
 Such were the precepts of this most 
 excellent woman ! such the precepts, 
 wliich raised up another to emulate her 
 exalted conduct ! Were every natural 
 mother as scrupulously to fullil her 
 duties to her offspring, as had the IMar- 
 chesa di IMorano to this adopted or- 
 l phan,
 
 239 
 
 plian, how few would have reason to 
 complain^ in the impatient bitlemess 
 of their hearts, " that it is sharper 
 thcln a serpent's tooth, to have a tliaiik- 
 less child" 
 
 The approach of day- light v/as now 
 dispelling the gloom and soinbreness of 
 her feelings ; fatigued with want of 
 sleep, she arose from the bed, (on 
 which, without taking off her clothes, 
 she had sat half the night,) and open- 
 ed the lattice to inhale the breeze; 
 almost insensibly her eye wandered 
 over the variegated landscape, for, ab- 
 sorbed in itself, her mind had little 
 taste for external objects; the sun was 
 rising majestically hi the east, and 
 tinging the tops of the trees with its 
 golden beam ; the birds gaily warbled 
 their matin song; the vintagers were 
 seen in picturesque distances, going 
 
 forth
 
 forth to their daily toils, some winding 
 round the precipices, others descending- 
 the steps of the mountain, hut all 
 laughing as they trolled along, with 
 aspects of pcacefulness and content. 
 With some impatience she awaited tlic 
 entrance of Laurentine or Bianca, as 
 from one of them she hoped to gain 
 furtiier information of Gradisca, re- 
 specting whom slie felt uncommonly in- 
 terested, more particularly as she wished 
 to learn the Marchese's reasons for thus 
 persecuting a poor friendless creature, 
 Avhose claims on his bounty seemed 
 stronger than those of any otiier tenant 
 on his estate, but who certainly was in 
 a situation of almost unprecedented 
 poverty and \vretchedness ; bui ied in 
 thought, she still continued at the lat- 
 tice, leaning on her hand, when music, 
 so sweet and melancholy, caught her 
 attention, as deprived her of every 
 
 faculty,
 
 5241 
 
 facuky, save that of listening; so low 
 it was, that she almost feared to breathe, 
 lest a note should escape her ; and so 
 soft, so soothing was the subject, that 
 Viola giving way to the enthusiasm of 
 the moment, wished, that like the Cyg- 
 net, she could have expired in its 
 strain ; but from the extreme earliness 
 of the morning, and the distance from 
 the castle, she could have fancied 
 '' that the tune of" Lorenzo, which had 
 unceasingly vibrated on her ear, still 
 pursued her; now it swelled high on 
 the gale! ^^ How sad that note!" she 
 cried, pressing back the jessamine, to 
 try and discover the musician ; as she 
 did this, she thought she distinguished 
 the sound of a well-known voice; she 
 paused ! her conjectures were shortly 
 confirmed, for ascending the hill to 
 her right, was Lorenzo, led by his' 
 ^^^^•^- ^i com-
 
 242 
 
 companion Lilla; the casement she 
 stood at, looked dhectly over the as- 
 cent, so that she had a full view of her 
 unexpected visitants, whose appearance 
 was, if possible, still more engaging 
 than it had been on the preceding day. 
 Lilla, with her innocent countenance 
 drest in smiles, skipped over the ver- 
 dure with the light steps of a fawn ; 
 while Lorenzo, to whose pale cheek 
 exercise had given a faint glow, and 
 whose profusion of dark ringlets wan- 
 toned in the zephyr, afforded, in his tall 
 and finely turned figure, a striking 
 contrast to his httle fat companion* 
 Sometimes she stopped to pluck for 
 him the wild flowers that sprung be- 
 neath her feet; or hokliiig him in an 
 attitude of attention, make him listen 
 to the feathered harmonists, who charm- 
 ed her with their melodies. Viola 
 n beheld
 
 243 
 
 beheld them with delight, nor could 
 she resist (as she gazed on the expres- 
 sive countenance of the child,) ex- 
 claiming in the beautiful language of a 
 foreign author, *' Good God ! how could 
 I lead such a creature as this round the 
 world with me!" Desirous now to 
 hold some conversation with them, she 
 left her chamber, and soon reached the 
 spot where they had seated themselves," 
 *' My sweet child," she cried, ^Miow 
 far you have strayed with your charge 
 this morning ! I hope Gradisca knows 
 of your coming, otherwise she would 
 be uneasy ; and you would not make 
 her so, I am sure." 
 
 '^NoT for all the world,'' replied 
 
 Ifilla ; *♦ I would not make any body 
 
 sorry ; but Gradisca said I might bring 
 
 Lorenzo here, for he laid awake talking 
 
 m2 of
 
 244 
 
 of you all niglit, Signiora ; but G radisca 
 tokl us wc must not enter the castle 
 for our lives, and if we saw an ugly 
 black-looking man, called Bernardo, 
 we were to run away directly. 
 
 *' But this," cried the maniac, tak- 
 ing up her last words with quickness, 
 " is ray castle, and I w^ill live here for 
 ever, and you shall live with me;" he 
 added, lifting his fine eyes to Viola, 
 *' and we will be so happy 1 look," tak- 
 ing something from his garment, " I 
 have twisted thee a bracelet ; I cut it 
 from m} hair ; I gathered thee a nose- 
 gay also, but wdien I had done, I 
 laughed and sported it down the w^inds, 
 as men do feehngs." — 
 
 ^' Ah my poor wanderer !*' said Viola, 
 passing her armthrough his, and looking 
 
 in
 
 U5 
 
 in Ills face, '^ was it right to have thus 
 followed their example ? In this, you 
 prove how much you are a man, they 
 do but trample on the bud they have 
 blighted ; oh Lorenzo ! thou should st 
 have worn thy flowers in thy bo- 
 
 '* I MEANT to have sheltered them 
 in thine," he cried, *^ but for a reason 
 ■ — people say I have no reason, but 
 
 you'll see there was a thorn among 
 
 them ;" and he added, in a wild im- 
 petuous tone, ** I would not plant 
 one in your breast ; so I blew away the 
 roses^ for fear you should have been 
 wounded by the thorns." 
 
 *' Alas !" said Viola, '^ so fair a 
 
 mansion to be so stripped, so plundered 
 
 of its brightest ornament, 'tis a sad 
 
 M 3 pity ;
 
 246 
 
 pity-; oh ! how would I cherish thee, 
 Lorenzo ! how would I entice thee 
 back to sense and reason ! I would 
 pour the balm of pity on tliy wounded 
 brain, and be to thee as a sister; but I 
 can be no one's sister; I am without 
 parents, friends, or one single tie to 
 bind me on earth; but let me not 
 think thus Lorenzo, or soon I shall 
 share thy calamities, as well as thy 
 
 *' We must go now, Signiora," said 
 the little girl, **for Gradisca said we 
 were not to stay after people were 
 stirring, and on that side of the cas- 
 tle I see a man peeping from the win- 
 dow." 
 
 ** Oh, haste then!" exclaimed Vi- 
 ola, *' and do not venture here again ; 
 
 it
 
 247 
 may be dangerous for you to do 
 
 It 
 so 
 
 ''Ah !" said Lilla, shaking her head, 
 *' Lorenzo will be so moping all day 
 now, I dare say he will go rambling 
 into the woods till night, and not let 
 any one find him ; he does so very 
 often, and when he comes home, he 
 looks so pale and so wan, and Gra- 
 disca cries so." 
 
 "Why do you cry, Signiora ?" she 
 continued, observing the tears course 
 down Viola's cheeks, '' I thought 
 Ladies like you never cried." 
 
 She now kissed her little hand, 
 with a natural grace many of her su- 
 periors could not have equalled ; and 
 drawing Lorenzo from the spot, tbey 
 M 4 were
 
 248 
 
 Averc soon out of sigiit of Viola, who, 
 after following them with her eyes, 
 till they wound into the depth of the 
 valley, retired to her own apartment, 
 where she soon after sunk into a quiet 
 slumber. 
 
 CHAP.
 
 849 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 ^^ All that the thought can frame, or wish re- 
 quire. 
 To steep the ravish'd senses in delight, 
 The sumptuous feast, enhanc'd with music's 
 sound, 
 Fittest to tune the melting soul to love ; 
 Rich odoursj breathing choicest sweets around.'' 
 
 LowTii. 
 
 ^^ If you should steal away the heart, 
 of some fair lady, Signior," said Carlo, 
 when he had finished his attendance in 
 his master's dressing-room, it will not 
 be from any pains you have taken with 
 yourself to-night, I am sure." 
 
 Alb EN z A smiled, and ordering Car- 
 lo to inquire if his carriage was ready, 
 M 5 prepared;
 
 250 
 
 prepared, with great reluctance, to 
 obey his fathers commands, in accom- 
 panying him to the Montebino Villa. 
 '' It was odd," he thought, " that in 
 all the circles he frequented, he had 
 never met either the Conte or his 
 daughter ; of the latter he had heard 
 much, that is, of her beauty, fashion, 
 and the brilliant parties she attracted 
 to her house ; but tliese were not cal- 
 culated to create her an interest in his 
 heart, who, though a warm admirer 
 of beauty, did not think it entirely 
 compensated for the want of those 
 mental embellishments, which add 
 lustre to the finest eyes, and expression 
 to the fairest face. He had not far to 
 go, the villa being only at; a short dis- 
 tance from his own on the bay, and he 
 had frequently remarked the elegance 
 with which it was fitted up, and the 
 j^plendouv and gaiety which seemed to 
 
 reign
 
 251 
 
 reign throughout the whole. When 
 he reached the Morano palace, he found 
 the Marchese waiting with some impa- 
 tience, nor did he forbear a severe 
 animadversion on the tardiness of his 
 son, who he affirmed was two hours 
 after his time ; this was, however, all 
 that passed during the drive, for Al- 
 benza, unwilling to enter into another* 
 altercation, knew his best resource was 
 in silence. It was now near midnight ; 
 but never, he thought, had he witnes- 
 sed so delightful a scene : the moon, 
 shining on the ba}', cast a soft and 
 silvery light, finely contrasted with 
 the brilliancy of the lamps which illu- 
 minated the different villas ; myriads 
 of stars twinkled in the firmament, 
 that from its clearness seemed scarcely 
 to have lost the azure of its meridian ; 
 a profound stillness reigned around, or 
 only at intervals interrupted by the 
 M 6 faint
 
 252 
 
 faint clashing of the oars in the water, 
 the murmur of Lazzaroni, or the dis- 
 tant sounds of mirth and conviviaHty. 
 They soon stopped before a flight of 
 marble steps, leading up to an extensive 
 sloping lawn, on which rooms, brilli- 
 antly lighted up, and full of company, 
 opened ; the air^ imprrgnated with the 
 perfume of the orange, citron, and 
 flowering myrtles, almost overpowered 
 with its fragrance, while the ear was 
 ravished by the. '' harmony of sweet 
 sounds" comins: from the different sa- 
 loons ; groupes of lovely women, and 
 elegant men, were scattered over the 
 lawn ; here wTre some sportively glid- 
 ing through the dance, while others, 
 reclined on banks embroidered with 
 flowers, were accompanying the soft 
 tones of their lutes in the meltingr 
 strains of their country ; now the sweet 
 cadence of a female voice thrilled in 
 
 transport-
 
 9.55 
 
 transporting numbers to the heart ; 
 again the fine tenor of a manly tone 
 raised the soul to grandeur and subli- 
 mity. They now entered a large sa- 
 loon, which, for taste and magnifi- 
 cence of decoration, far exceeded all 
 others Albenza had ever beheld ; be- 
 sides a profusion of variegated lamps, 
 were large golden tripods, depending 
 in chains from a ceiling ornamented 
 with allegorical paintings by the finest 
 masters, representing the race of Ata- 
 lante, the departure of ^Eneas from 
 Carthage, and the loves of Plero and 
 Leander ; baskets, bending beneath the 
 weight of the tuberose, jessamine, and 
 myrtle, filled up each space of an apart- 
 ment, the floor of which was covered 
 with an Indian matting of the richest 
 colours and most fantastic device ; a 
 fanciful drapery of silver-shaded Per- 
 sian tafitty cast a tempered brilliancy 
 
 on
 
 254 " 
 
 oil every object ; couches of the same 
 were placed around, while Etruscan 
 vases teeming with sweets, large mir- 
 rors reflecting forms of the most fasci- 
 nating description, cabinets of the most 
 costly workmanship, together with the 
 laugh, the song, the music that re- 
 sounded, conveyed to the mind an 
 idea that it was the enchanted residence 
 of some immortal being. The Conte 
 was waiting at the entrance, and re- 
 ceived the Marchese with the familiar 
 good humour of an old associate, while 
 extending his hand to Aibenza, (as he 
 cast his eyes in admiration on his fine 
 manly person,) he gave him the most 
 polite and cordial welcome, rallied him 
 in the easiest manner on his having so 
 long been a stranger to his father's 
 most intimate friend, and concluded 
 with saying, '^ he must immediately 
 introduce him to his daughter, who 
 
 was
 
 ^55 
 
 was engaged in one of the farther sa- 
 loons f Albenza bowed respectfidly on 
 the pressure' and followed the Conte, 
 who amused him in their tour throuo-h 
 the rooms with a Hvely account of 
 every remarkable person that passed 
 them. Nothing could be more pleasing 
 than the manners, or less restrained 
 than the parties, of the Conte di Mon- 
 tebino ; all was gaiety and fascination; 
 the httle world of Naples seemed in- 
 cluded in them ; but if the specjous 
 behaviour of Montebino had in a de- 
 gree succeeded in its effect on Albenza, 
 how much m.ore did he acknowledge 
 the influence of his senses, when in 
 terms the most flattering he presented 
 him to the Lady Olivia. Much as he 
 had. heard of tht uncommon beauty she 
 possessed, it fell in description far short, 
 of what in reahty it proved ; reclining 
 in the most graceful attitude on a sofa, 
 
 rested
 
 256 
 
 rested the clivlnity of tliis fairy palace, 
 surrounded by a croud of young Nea- 
 politans, each contending for a smile, 
 and submitting to the tyranny of the 
 lovely despot with tlie servility of Per- 
 sian slaves. She was dark, and her 
 countenance certainly wanted that 
 sweetness and ingenuousness so pecu- 
 liarly displayed on Viola's ; hers was 
 that kind of face, from which a painter 
 would have copied his Cleopatra ; its 
 natural expression was proud, violent, 
 and' majestic ; its assumed one, soft, 
 tender, and bewitching ; and to a form 
 which might have vied for symmetry 
 with that of the Grecian Venus, she 
 united a playfulness of imagination, 
 and a ready flow of language, which 
 passed with the indiscriminating for 
 sense and genius ; yet her a\ it was daz- 
 zling, not clear ; her observations more 
 alluring than just : and though the 
 I Signiora
 
 SIgniora di Montebino rarely failed io 
 entrance the senses, she never satisfied 
 the understanding, or reached the 
 heart ; and while all admired the cas- 
 ket, all found, on examination, that it 
 contained but a counterfeit o;em, of 
 little value : a short conversation, in 
 which she evidently threw out her 
 most attractive lures, soon convinced 
 Albenza, that independant of the un- 
 alterable attachment he felt for another, 
 she was the last woman in the world 
 who could make him happy; she was 
 a passionate lover of music, and a sci- 
 entific performer; but while Albenza 
 applauded her execution, he could not 
 forbear a sigh to the memory of Viola's 
 little simple airs, which she used to ac- 
 company with so much pathos and de- 
 licacy. The Conte was still in the 
 meridian of life, a libertine both in 
 theory and practice, with seductive 
 
 manners,
 
 258 
 
 manners, pleasing person, and elegant 
 address ; an adept in gaming ; his as- 
 semblies were notorious for high play, 
 but as his fortune was reputed to be 
 immense, all were too well entertained 
 at his expense to inquire into his re- 
 sources, or animadvert on the profli- 
 gacy of his conduct. 
 
 While the smiles of beauty, the 
 charms of music, and the graces of 
 wit and conversation, were all dis- 
 played to engage the attention of Al- 
 benza, the Marchese had engaged at 
 play, in the hope that this night would 
 prove more propitious than the last, 
 and that one lucky throvs^ would enable 
 him to repair some of his great and re- 
 cent losses ; his spirit seemed to have 
 been a prophetic one, for in the space 
 of a quarter of an hour he found him- 
 self a considerable winner : gaming 
 
 had
 
 Q59 
 
 had ever been one of his most favourite 
 pursuits, and having studied under a 
 skilful master of tlie art, (for Ubaldo 
 had first initiated him into this vice, ) 
 he was in general more than an • equal 
 match for his adversary ; flushed witli 
 success, and exhilarated by the quan- 
 tity of wine with which he plied him- 
 self, he still continued to sweep ail 
 before. him, exulting in the mortified 
 looks of his opponent, who, with the 
 desperation of a madman, continued 
 to bet higher and higher, in proportion 
 as his losses increased. A party had 
 now collected round them, among 
 whom was Montebino, a Signior Val- 
 verdi, and a Frenchman, whom he 
 had introduced, without mentioning- 
 his name, to the Conte as his particu- 
 lar friend. MontebinO; who was en- 
 gaged at the moment in earnest con- 
 versation with another person, bowed 
 
 his
 
 260 
 
 his welcome, and took no further ncH 
 tice ; but the stranger had excited uni- 
 versal curiosity : he .seemed about five 
 and thirty, of noble port, and most 
 dio-nified carriao'C, while a shade of 
 melancholy on his very handsome 
 countenance, gained him involuntary 
 interest and respect from all. As he 
 walked, leaning on the arm of Val- 
 verdi, a cry of '^ who is her" was 
 echoed on all sides, but no one could 
 give a satisfactory answer, for no one 
 knew him. The important game had 
 now attracted most of the men to tlic 
 spot ; but while many pitied his unfor- 
 tunate antagonist, all betted on the 
 victorious Marchesc, who still conti- 
 nued to push his success with looks of 
 triumphant malignity. Albenza, too, 
 oined in the crowd collected round 
 the table, and there beheld, while his 
 heart burnt with honest indignation, 
 
 his
 
 ^61 
 
 his profligate. parent, almost inajstate 
 of inebriety, hurling* down ruin and 
 despair on the head of a deluded fel- 
 low-creature, Avhose youth and inexpe- 
 rience ought alone to have been his 
 protection. At that moment, Al- 
 benza felt he could have sunk into the 
 earth ; he felt the blush of shame 
 crimson his manly cheek ; the pang of 
 mortification rend his virtuous and 
 noble breast, as casting another anxious 
 look on the inflamed countenance of 
 the Marchese, he darted from the place 
 in an agony almost insupportable. 
 
 MoNTEBiNO, Valverdi, and the 
 stranger, had now taken their stand 
 •close behind Morano. * 
 
 '^ Bravoe, Marchese !" cried tlie 
 Conte, '' I never witnessed better play 
 in my life:" — Addressing the French- 
 man, '^ your countrymen are, I know, 
 
 dis-
 
 263 
 
 distinguished for their skill, but I 
 think, Signior, you may now yield the 
 palm to our Italy without hesitation.'* 
 
 ** I AM no judge," returned the 
 Frenchman, sarcastically, '* and am 
 not prejudiced in favour of the vices 
 of one nation more than another, in- 
 dividually speaking, my Lord." He 
 continued, in a clear and steady tone 
 of voice, *' I have seen the art car- 
 ried to higher perfection than it is to- 
 night, but I acknowledge it was then 
 by one of your countrymen. " 
 
 *' That's a bold assertion !" said 
 Montebino, as the Marchese raised a 
 look of anger and contempt towards 
 the Frenchman ; certain it is a very 
 transient one sufficed, for he started, 
 and while the heated blood forsook his 
 cheek, turned hastily, and appeared to 
 pursue his game with increased earnest- 
 ness.
 
 563 
 
 ness. But this incident had not passed 
 unobserved; and many noticed, with 
 wonder and suspicion, the invohmtary 
 shudder he gave, at first sight of the 
 stranger, and the tremor which, not- 
 withstanding his efforts to conceal it, 
 visibly affected his enervated frame ; 
 while the foreigner, as if conscious of 
 his power, moved, and standing ex- 
 actly opposite Morano, proceeded in. 
 the conversation with the most per- 
 fect coolness. 
 
 *' You must remember the person I 
 allude to, my Lord," speaking to Mon- 
 tebino, *' for he w^as much talked of in 
 Naples ; I happened to be a resideni: 
 in this city for a short time at that 
 period, and never shall forget the im- 
 pression his appearance alone made 
 upon ray mind." 
 
 " If
 
 264 
 
 *' If you play with such inatten- 
 tion, my Lord Marchese," said the 
 Baronne, who was Morano's ad- 
 versary, '* Fortune will prove a jilt 
 at last." 
 
 *'The Marchese hecoming every in- 
 stant still paler, called for more wine, 
 and filling out a humper, requested 
 Montehino to pledge him, and ob- 
 serving, with forced calmness, *' that 
 she Avas a capricious jade," threw 
 again and again unsuccessfully. He 
 would now have given worlds to have 
 left the table, particularly when he be- 
 held the looks of all fixed with serious 
 scrutiny on himself; in honour, how- 
 ever, he was prevented going, and 
 therefore still continued to play, atid 
 to lose. 
 
 ^* We are quits my Lord, now," 
 
 said
 
 265 
 
 said his companion, *' for more than 
 half the sum you had won from 
 me." 
 
 ** Eternal curses on the dice!" 
 muttered the Marchese, and once more 
 he caught the impressive eye of the 
 Frenchman ri vetted on his counte- 
 nance. 
 
 '^ I THINK," said Montebino, *' I 
 have some recollection of the man 
 you speak of; he was an extraor- 
 dinary, mysterious character, and no- 
 torious for " 
 
 *' The greatest atrocities," inter- 
 rupted the stranger; *^ he became at 
 last amenable to the laws of his coun- 
 try for murder; there was^ however, 
 much interest made to get him off; 
 and it was said he was particularly 
 
 VOL. I. N- protected
 
 Q66 
 
 protected by a Neapolitan of dis- 
 tinguished rank, who, for some pri- 
 vate reasons, consented to be abso- 
 lutely the slave of this villain : it how- 
 ever was mere report, and consctpiently 
 might have been unfounded." 
 
 *' Now you speak of him," replied 
 the Conte, ** I perfectly iemember to 
 have both heard and believed this 
 story ; he escaped, after condemna- 
 tion, from the prison in which he was 
 confined, and has never been heard 
 of from that time, which is now full 
 twenty years ago." 
 
 Here a loud shout from the friends 
 of the Baronne, confirmed his victory 
 over the Marchese, and for a time 
 Suspended tlie conversation ; while Mo- 
 rano, furious with riage and disap- 
 pointment, and ghastly from con- 
 tending
 
 t67 
 
 tending passions, still continued to 
 throw ; affirming, with the most dread- 
 ful execrations, '^ that he would sit to 
 eternity, rather than give in." 
 
 The Prenchman cast on him a look 
 of mingled disgust and contempt, then 
 sighed deeply. 
 
 '* Do you remember the name of 
 the man you were just now mention- 
 ing, Signior r" asked the Conte. 
 
 *' There was a person exactly an- 
 swering your description," said Val- 
 verdi, " who was called" 
 
 '* Ubaldq," quickly ititerrupted the 
 Frenchman, and looking sternly in 
 the face of the Marchese;^' a more 
 dangerous man never existed ; loaded 
 witli crimes of the blackest dye, he 
 N a possessed
 
 268 
 
 possessed siicli wonderful and se- 
 ductive powers, as to impose on all, 
 who were not fortunate enough to have 
 <liscovered hi^ real character ; but how- 
 ever guilt may flourish for a transient 
 pcriody retributive vengeance must at 
 last overtake it. There can be no 
 friendships among the wicked ; inte- 
 rested combinations are the only ties 
 which bind them to each other; the 
 higlier villain, therefore, soon forgets, 
 in security, the obhgations he lies un- 
 der to an inferior colleague ; or if he 
 does remember them, 'tis but to plot 
 how he may rid himself of so galling a 
 memento ; thus they at length both 
 fall into the snare each laid for the 
 other, and then, when too late, with 
 bitterness acknowledge, that virtue 
 alone is happiness on earth. Mur- 
 der," he continued, while his words 
 seemed to fix his auditors in profound 
 
 attention,
 
 ^69 
 
 attention, ** never escapes detection in 
 the end ; it is a stain that cannot be 
 washed away ; a mark, no hand but 
 that of justice can eiface. Was there 
 not one living witness to prove it, it 
 would be written even in the eyes of 
 the offender !" 
 
 *' Look to the Marchese f" exclaim- 
 ed the Baronne, rising hastily from the 
 table, ** we must adjust our difference 
 some future opportunity ; in the mean 
 thne, I will seek the Signior di Al- 
 benza/' 
 
 Mora NO was now literally gasping: 
 for breath ; he tried to speak, but hia 
 voice failed, and the words died away 
 on his lips ; his eyes rolled wildly 
 round, as if in search of some object ; 
 his looks were wild and haggai d ; and 
 N S, strouij:
 
 £70 
 
 strong convulsions seemed to shake hi$ 
 whole body. 
 
 In tiie confusion this occasioned, 
 the stranger, with Valverdi, had dis- 
 appeared. Morano at last articulated, 
 ** I fancy the pressure of the officious 
 throng has caused me this sudden gid- 
 diness ; — desire my son" (speaking to 
 one of the servants, ) *' to attend me. 
 I thank you," he added, addressing 
 Montebino; '* I am better— well now — 
 we shall meet to-morrow, shall we not, 
 my friend ? Curses on the game, I am 
 a considerable loser after all." 
 
 *' Aye, Marchese !" said a keen 
 looking Italian, who had been hitherto 
 a silent observer of the scene, *' that 
 Fienchman acted like a spell upon 
 you." 
 
 Morano
 
 271 
 
 Mo RANG bit his lips, but affecting 
 an air of indiifeience and composure, 
 said, turning from him to Montebino, 
 ^* who was the Signior that accom- 
 panied Valverdi to-night, did you know 
 him ?'' 
 
 '' No one knew him,'' answered the 
 latter, "he is a stranger here, and I 
 could by no means learn liis name ; it 
 was an unpleasant circumstance, and 
 but tliat I owe Valverdi some civilitv, 
 I sliould have dechned the honour of 
 leceiving liim : notwilhstauding, I must 
 own he had the manners and appear- 
 ance of a gentlenian, and I confess has 
 much excited my curiosity." 
 
 *' It will not be v/orth your while 
 
 to enquire further respecting him," 
 
 answered Morauo, in a tone of peevish 
 
 N 4- anxiety ;
 
 anxiety ; ** some duel, or intrigue, or 
 business of that kind, brings him lierc, 
 you may dc^pend on it ; and it is cer- 
 tainly no affair of ours. " 
 
 '^ Tis a pity the Frencliman should 
 not hear you, my Lord," said the 
 Signior who had before spoken, and 
 glancing at the same time a penetrative 
 eye towards Morano, ^' for he seemed 
 much inclined to pry into the secrets 
 of others." 
 
 "• PI A II !" said the Marchese, *' what 
 mean you, Signior? do you dare in- 
 sinuate that he could possibly allude 
 to" 
 
 n'' I DARE," interrupted the other, 
 
 hurt by the haughty manner of JMora- 
 
 **no, look all men in the face, — which, 
 
 4 give
 
 give me leave to say, my Lord, my 
 own ocular demonstration convinces^ 
 me you cannot." 
 
 *^ Draw, villain f exclaimed the 
 half-frantic Ma4xhese, ^' that I should 
 
 be thus insulted ! by my life and 
 
 name, 'tis more than I will bear ! — un- 
 hand me, Signiors," he vociferated, 
 making a pass tovv^ards his opponent, 
 *' or I will cut my way through hinv 
 that stops me !" 
 
 *' I HOPE," said the object of his 
 ungovernable rage, and quietly parry- 
 ing the blow, ' ^ I am too much a man 
 of honour to take advantage of one 
 evidently intoxicated, and as evidently 
 smarting under the pressure of some 
 unpleasantly awakened feelings." Say- 
 ing this, h^ bowed) and left the room* 
 
 n5 ^^Conte,"
 
 274 
 
 *' CoxTE," said the Marchese, '' I 
 cannot say your society lias been as 
 select this evening as usually it is ;" 
 then taking his liand, ** my dear 
 friend," he added in a whisper, ** I am 
 at present reduced to some trifling em- 
 barrassments, which my ill luck to- 
 night has not tended to diminish, and 
 but that I depend on your well-known 
 friendship, I should be rather aukwardly 
 situated." 
 
 ** You may trust to me," answered 
 JMontebino ; '^ in the mean time I hope 
 love has been more propitious to your 
 son, than fortune has to you." 
 
 " I HOPE sd," replied the Marchese. 
 Who, at that moment, could have be- 
 held his inflamed countenance, his 
 haggard, frenzied look, and believed 
 hope was a sentiment he knew either 
 6 how
 
 9.75 
 
 how to feel, or to express? It is the 
 never-faiiing prop of unmerited mis- 
 fortune, but the guilty bosom ever bars 
 its entrance. Among the many silent 
 spectators of the events of the night, 
 had been the unhappy Albenza; in 
 wretchedness he had retired from the 
 disgraceful scene, but, mortified and 
 miserable, had again returned, to wit- 
 ness, with horror, the volume of dread- 
 ful matter unfolded in his father's 
 appearance : one instant he determined 
 to seek the Frenchman, and demand 
 an explanation of his conduct; and 
 another, publickly and openly to ex- 
 postulate with the Marchese, on the 
 impropriety of his behaviour : torn and 
 agitated by sensations, doubly pain- 
 ful, because widely contrasted, his 
 feelings became almost insupportable ; 
 a light figure too, crossing him at the 
 moment, by recalling the image of 
 N G Viola
 
 S>l6 
 
 Viola to his mind, recalled also the 
 keenest of his woes. When Albenza 
 left the castle of JMorano, we cannot 
 say, with the generality of the stoic 
 heroes of romance, that he sought a 
 cure for his hopeless predilection, in the 
 solitude of reflection, or by any power- 
 ful exertions of reason or philosophy. 
 No — Albenza was a mere mortal; per- 
 haps one of more impassioned senti- 
 ments, ardent affections, or livelier 
 emotions, did not exist ; yet these, 
 which, when properly regvdated, were 
 the noblest workings of his heart, had 
 sometimes led lii rn into difficulties, al- 
 ways, however, followed by repentance 
 and amendment : impatient under con- 
 troul, the firm rejection of Viola to his 
 suit, had but increased his passion ; 
 and while he argued himself into the 
 belief, that his leaving her was the 
 result of justice and rectitude, pique, 
 
 in
 
 m 
 
 in reality, had much to do witii 
 it. 
 
 On his arrival at Naples> therefore, 
 pleasure and dissipation were the re- 
 sources he flew to, yet they afforded 
 but a short-hved consolation,, and one 
 which, to a mind of innate goodness 
 and refinement, was very ineffectual: 
 he was soon disgusted, avoided the 
 busy ^^ throng, miscalled society," and 
 buried in the gloom of his own 
 thoughts, the once gay, lively Al- 
 benza, became a burthen to himself, 
 and a spiritless companion to the few 
 who sought him. The time had been,, 
 and before his heart had become irre- 
 vocably another's, when the insinuating^ 
 iovehness of the daughter of Monte- 
 bino might have had power to capti- 
 vate the senses, and mislead the judg- 
 ment; of the open, unsuspecting young 
 
 mact
 
 278 
 
 man it had long been her interest and 
 desh'c to attach ; but he now gazed 
 on her features with an apathy he could 
 not conceal, and listened to her con- 
 versation with an indifference he did 
 not seek to repress ; yet, however the 
 vanity of Olivia might be wounded by 
 his coldness, her mind was too narrow 
 to appreciate the delicacy of affection, 
 and in becoming the wife of Albenza, 
 the dearest wishes of her selfish and poli- 
 tic nature would be gratified ; he, on the 
 contrary, had no* view but love; no idea 
 of happiness beyond that which it was 
 in the power of Viola di Benincasor to 
 impart: sometimes he determined to 
 write to his mother, to acknowledge 
 his attachment, and endeavour to aain 
 her consent to an immediate and pri- 
 vate marriage ; he knew the liberality 
 of her nature considered the adventi- 
 tious advantages of wealth and nobi- 
 lity
 
 279 
 
 lity iiisignificant, in competition with 
 those rare qu ah fi cations which would 
 render the possession of Viola the 
 richest and most invaluable of bles- 
 sings. To how many schemes of feli- 
 city and delight did this romantic idea 
 not give rise : to be all to her, who 
 was every thing to him ; to be the 
 guardian of her honour, the protector 
 of her fortunes, the friend, the lover, 
 the husband of her on whom his soul 
 doated, transported him beyond him- 
 self, and Albenza forgot his father, 
 Olivia, the unknown Frenchman, and 
 all the w^orld. The difficulty of con- 
 cealing her from his father, the secrecy 
 under which he must steal to the dwel- 
 ling of his plighted love ; the care, the 
 circumspection, with which he would 
 hoard the treasure it contained, all, by 
 favouring the enthusiasm of his cha- 
 racter, only increased his desire to 
 
 realize
 
 realize that visionary bliss none but so- 
 young a lover could have fancied. 
 From this reverie he was startled by the 
 Baronne informing him of his father's 
 sudden indisposition. Albenza obeyed 
 the summons without hesitation, nor 
 could he forbear the supposition, that 
 the unexpected illness of the Marchcse 
 was occasioned by the sight of the mys- 
 terious foreigner who had given him so 
 much uneasiness, and whose story he 
 was convinced bore some dark refe- 
 rence to the past events of his father's 
 life ; what those events could be, trou- 
 bled and dismayed him ; a high sense 
 of honour was a leading trait in his 
 character, and the idea that that ho- 
 nour should be tarnished, was an 
 idea he could very ill support. He 
 found the Marchese evidently la- 
 bouring under the ^greatest agitation, 
 but affirming he was well, and insisting 
 
 to
 
 281 
 
 to go ; the carriage was waiting, and 
 Morano reminding the Conte of his 
 promised early visit in the morning, 
 took his leave, followed by Albenza, 
 more than ever determined to form no 
 connexion with a family towards whom 
 he could not forbear feeling repugnance 
 and suspicion. They proceeded to the 
 palace in silence, Albenza unwilling to 
 interrupt it, and the Marchese fearing 
 by an abrupt inquiry to fi'iistrate plans 
 pow more eSoducIal tO hltn th^^ ever : 
 disordered by the intemperance he had 
 indulged in, he drew his cloak over 
 his face, and counterfeiting sleep, 
 reached home without the effort of a. 
 word. 
 
 The result of Albenza's contempla- 
 tions during the drive, was a resolu- 
 tion at once to put a decided negative 
 on the intended marriage ; for which 
 
 purpose^
 
 282 
 
 purpose, instead of setting down tlic 
 Marcliese, he followed him up the 
 steps of the pahice, saying, '* he Avisli- 
 ed to speak with him hefore they parted 
 for the night." Had Albenza been of 
 a temper less rash or impetuous, he 
 would have foreseen that liis fathers 
 present disposition of mind was very 
 unhkely to prove propitious to himself, 
 but the subject was infinitely too near 
 his heart to admit of such cold moni- 
 tors as prudence cr precaution ; the 
 air, however, together with tlie agita- 
 tion into which the Marchese had been 
 thrown, at the unexpected mention of 
 Ubaldo, had much contributed in re- 
 storing him to sobriety ; his own re- 
 flections, indeed, had convinced him, 
 that he was but too sensible to many 
 goadhig recollections ; and much as 
 he wished to have retarded an expla* 
 nation M^ith his son," he could find no 
 
 reasonable
 
 '2S3 
 
 reasonable excuse to do so ; hi;s mind, 
 the dark record of harrowinp- retro- 
 spections, was now cast on such a sea 
 of trouble and disquietude, as required 
 time to recall its scattered resources, 
 and obtain composure : as it was, he 
 feared to excite suspicion in Albenza, 
 and almost overpowered with a variety 
 of emotions, he staggered to the first 
 seat which presented itself, fainting 
 and motionless. Albenza flew to liis 
 assistance, and after rendering all the 
 service in his power, entreated him to 
 walk into the air, and restore his spi- 
 rits. The Marchese, rejoiced at the 
 opportunity, quitted the apartment, 
 for in the privacy of his own, he hoped 
 to argue himself into tranquillity and 
 oblivion ; but in vain ; each step he 
 measured, the image of the Frenchman 
 stalked before him ; each echo of the 
 gale seemed to swell the name of 
 
 Ubaldo
 
 284 
 
 .Ubaklo in dreadful reverberation on 
 his ear ; Ubaldo, the dark mysterious 
 arbiter of liis destiny, the tyrant of 
 his fate, now rose in horrible array, 
 ■ and hurled him to despair. In the bit- 
 terness of thought, in the agony of 
 mental suffering, how did memory trace 
 back the years that were past, and pre- 
 sent to his tortured fancy the once 
 young, dissipated Moraldi, sacrificitig 
 his future peace, and hopes of happi- 
 ■^ ness, at the shrine of vicious propensi- 
 '* ties ! These, however, were but short- 
 lived sensations, forcibly recalled by 
 the sight of a man bearing a striking 
 resemblance to one long since buried 
 in the tomb ; that he had brought 
 back unwelcome intruders to the soul 
 of Morano was most certain ; he likd 
 even for a short period filled him with 
 remorse and repentance; but when, by 
 the revolvement of past occurrences, he 
 
 felt
 
 285 
 
 felt convinced security might yet be 
 his own ; when again the bad work- 
 ings of his disposition prompted the 
 means to make it '* doubly sure," wa» 
 he deterred by the recollection of past 
 offences, from the perpetration of pre- 
 sent ones? No. Did yet the still 
 small voice of one lurking principle of 
 religion awe him from his purpose ? 
 No. The Marchese di Morano sought 
 in this climax of depravity the only 
 resource against himself; for coukl 
 he, whose whole life had been one 
 palpable denial of his Maker, allow to 
 himself that such a Maker existed ? 
 Hell — madness was in the thought ; 
 and he flew, as his only consolation, to 
 the degrading credence, that the soul 
 sinks in the corruption of the body, 
 and both expire together. This sys'- 
 tem was now the hope that supported 
 him ; and while the Marchese practised 
 
 the
 
 286 
 
 the forms and ceremonies of devotion 
 in public, lie was in heart an atheist 
 and disbeliever. Having traversed the 
 apartment for some time, he soon rea- 
 soned himself into that collected frame 
 of wickedness, from which he was de- 
 termined no casual occurrence should 
 now^ force him to depart : *^ Shall I," 
 he cried, '^ gall the remainder of my 
 days by childish, feminine apprehen- 
 sions ? No ! rather let me seek that 
 annihilation I do not fear to meet : Al- 
 benza, wedded to my wishes — and then," 
 he cried, his voice tremblino- with 
 passion, *' one bold attempt places me 
 beyond the power of men — and God I 
 fear not !" He was now interrupted 
 by the hasty entrance of a servant with 
 a letter, brought express from the 
 castle ; it informed him of the death 
 of his wife, and was written by Za- 
 uotti. 
 
 " Was
 
 287 
 
 '' Was it well done, my Lord?" 
 said Albenza, who now entered the 
 room, and stood before his father, al- 
 most transfixed with grief; ^' was it 
 wtU done, thus to deprive ine, by an 
 artifice, of a consolation your tyranny 
 never should have withheld from me? — 
 My mother !" he exclaimed, energeti- 
 cally clasping his hands, *' thy wea- 
 ried eyes are closed for ever, and thy 
 unhappy son shall never behold thee 
 more !" 
 
 " "Whtnin,g boy! "said the Mar chese, 
 who could scarce conceal the joy he 
 felt at the success of his plans, *' is it 
 thus manly and vigorous minds lament 
 for the ordinary courses of nature ? 
 Your mother wished her death ; she was 
 one of those constitutionally discon- 
 tented beings, to whom life was rather 
 a burthen than a blessing; she was" — •—
 
 288 
 
 *^ Hold, my Lord!" cried Albcnza, 
 his face glowing like crimson, *' nor 
 by aspersing the memory of that ever 
 revered parent your cruelty has preci- 
 pitated to the grave, oblige me to 
 forget the sacred tie there is between 
 us, or to learn, that hi a case of injury, 
 there is no distinction between man 
 and man ! She was a virtuous, an in- 
 sulted woman ; therefore I protect her : 
 she was the best of mothers ; curses, 
 therefore, on the lips that dare profane 
 her character ! Hear me, my Lord ! I 
 am not the .whining boy you please to 
 call me ; I will guard persecuted inno- 
 cence, against malice and treachery, 
 with my life's blood : before we part, 
 it is necessary I undeceive you on the 
 hopes you may have formed relative to 
 mv alliance with the dauq-hter of ]\Ion- 
 tebino, for never will I take to my 
 arms as a wife, tlie woman my heai;t 
 
 does
 
 239 
 
 i 
 
 es not open to receive : I coiifess it 
 is in 3^our power to render me extremely 
 miserable, to oppress, to abandon me ; 
 hard as is the alternative, it is better 
 that, than that I should abandon my- 
 self; I can forfeit the dignities and 
 pnviieges annexed to my rank, but I 
 will never forfeit the dignity of my na- 
 ture ; I love Viola di Benincasor ; I 
 offered her my hand, my faith she has 
 long possessed, and she rejected me ! 
 But do not think, my Lord, that I will 
 ever be the husband of Olivia ; my 
 opinion of her is inconsequential, and 
 I will repress it ; but unless Viola be- 
 comes my wife, the Albenzi must sink 
 without an heir : your pardon, 1 have 
 now done ; I have candidly avowed 
 my sentiments, and I liaste to succour 
 my deserted Viola, to guard the ashes 
 of rny sainted mother from that igno- 
 miny, from which, as your wife, my 
 
 VOL. I. o Lord,
 
 290 
 
 Lord, 1 blubh to say slie has never 
 been protected." Saying this, the im- 
 passioned young man left the room, 
 and in the space of an hour was on the 
 road to Lavora, leaving the Marchese 
 so overcome with rage and fury, as to 
 have only the power of cursing and 
 denunciation left as his consolation. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME, 
 
 Printed by I. Gold, 
 Shoe- Lane.
 
 UMVIRSITY OF ILUNOI8-URIANA 
 
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