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VEIRI
FROM THE FUND OF
CHARLES MINOT
- CLASS OF 1828





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THE ITALIAN.


SEP 26 "ņi
Bury St. Edmund's:
Printed by T.C. Newhy, Angel Hill.
-
7


THE
ITALIA N.
CHAPTER 1.
In earliest Greece to thee, with partial choice,
The grief-full muse address'd her infant tongue;
The maids and matrons on her awful voice,
Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung.
COLLIN'S ODE TO FEAR.
THE wounds of Vivaldi and of his
servant were pronounced by the Bene-
dictine, who had examined and dressed
them, to be not dangerous, but those of
one of the ruffians were declared doubt-
ful. Some few of the brothers displayed
much compassion and kindness towards
the prisoners; but the greater part
seemed fearful of expressing any degree
of sympathy for persons who had fallen
within the cognizance of the Holy Office,
VOL. III. . B


-
THE ITALIAN.
and even kept aloof from the chamber
in which they were confined. To this
self restriction, however, they were not
long subjected; for Vivaldi and Paulo
were compelled to begin their journey
as soon as some short rest had sufficiently
revived them. They were placed in the
same carriage, but the presence of two
officers prevented all interchange of con-
jecture, as to the destination of Ellena
and the immediate occasion of their
misfortune. Paulo, indeed, now and
then hazarded a surmise, and did not
scruple to affirm, that the abbess of San
Stefano was their chief enemy; that the
Carmelite friars who had overtaken
them on the road, were her agents; and
that, having traced their route, they
had given intelligence where Vivald
Ellena might be found.
I guessed we never should escape the
abbess, said Paulo, though I would not
disturb you, signor mio, nor the poor
lady Ellena, by saying so. But your
abbesses are as cunning as inquisitors,
and are so fond of governing, that they


THE ITALIAN.
3
had rather, like them, send a man to the
devil, than send him no where.
Vivaldi gave Paulo a significant look,
which was meant to repress his impru-
dent loquacity, and then sunk again
into silence and the abstraction of deep
grief. The officers, meanwhile, never
spoke, but were observant of all that
Paulo said, who perceived their watch-
fulness, but because he despised them
as spies, he thoughtlessly despised them
also as enemies, and was so far from
concealing opinions, which they might
repeat to his prejudice, that he had a
pride in exaggerating them, and in dar-
ing the worst, which the exasperated
tempers of these men, shut up in the
same carriage with him, and compelled
to hear whatever he chose to say against
the institution to which they belonged,
could effect. Whenever Vivaldi, recalled
from his abstractions by some bold as-
sertion, endeavoured to check his im-
prudence, Paulo was contented to solace
his conscience, instead of protecting
himself, by saying, It is their own fault;
B 2


THE ITALIAN.'
they would thrust themselves into my
company; let them have enough of it;
and, if ever they take me before their
reverences, the Inquisitors, they shall
have enough for it too. I will play up
such a tune in the Inquisition as is not
heard there every day. I will jingle all
the bells on their fool's caps, and tell
them a little honest truth, if they make
me smart for it ever so.
Vivaldi, aroused once more, and se-
riously alarmed for the consequences
which honest Paulo might be drawing
upon himself, now insisted on his silence,
and was obeyed.
They travelled during the whole
night, stopping only to change horses.
At every post-house, Vivaldi looked for
a carriage that might enclose Ellena,
but none appeared, nor any sound of
wheels told him that she followed.
With the morning light he perceived
the dome of St. Peter, appearing faintly
over the plains, that surrounded Rome,
and he understood, for the first time,
that he was going to the prisons of the


THE ITALIAN.
5
Inquisition in that city. The travellers
descended upon the Campania, and then
rested for a few hours at a small town
on its borders.
When they again set forward, Vi-
valdi perceived that the guard was
changed, the officer who had remained
with him in the apartment of the inn
only appearing among the new faces
which surrounded him. The dress and
manners of these men differed consider-
ably from those of the other. Their
conduct was more temperate, but their
countenances expressed a darkercruelty,
mingled with a demureness and a solemn
self-importance, that announced them at
once as belonging to the Inquisition.
They were almost invariably silent; and
when they did speak, it was only in a
few sententious words. To the abound-
ing questions of Paulo, and the few
earnest entreaties of his master, to be
informed of the place of Ellena's desti-
nation, they made not the least reply ;
and listened to all the flourishing
speeches of the servant against Inqui-


THE ITALIAN.
sitors and the holy office with the most
profound gravity.
Vivaldi was' struck with the circum-
stance of the guard being changed, and
still more with the appearance of the
party who now composed it. When he
compared the manners of the late with
those of the present guard, he thought
he discovered in the first the mere fero-
city of ruffians; but in the latter, the
principles of cunning and cruelty, which
seemed particularly to characterize In-
quisitors; he was inclined to believe,
that a stratagem had enthralled him,
and that now, for the first time, he was
in the custody of the holy office.
It was near midnight when the pri-
soners entered the Porto del Popolo,
and found themselves in the midst of
the carnival at Rome. The Corso,
through which they were obliged to
pass, was crowded with gay carriages
and masks, with processions of musi-
cians, monks, and mountebanks, was
lighted up with innumerable flambeaux,
and resounded with the heterogeneous


THE ITALIAN.
rattling of wheels, the music of sere-
naders, and the jokes and laughter of
the revellers, as they sportively threw
about their sugar plumbs. The heat of
the weather made it necessary to have
the windows of the coach open; and
the prisoners, therefore, saw all that
passed without. It was a scene, which
contrasted cruelty with the feelings and
circumstances of Vivaldi ; torn as he
was from her he most loved, in dreadful
uncertainty as to her fate, and himself
about to be brought before a tribunal,
whose mysterious and terrible proceed-
ings appalled even the bravest spirits.
Altogether, this was one of the most
striking examples, which the chequer
work of human life could shew, or
human feelings endure. Vivaldi sick-
ened as he looked upon the splendid
crowd, while the carriage made its way
slowly with it; but Paulo, as he gazed,
was reminded of the Corso of Naples,
such as it appeared at the time of car-
nival, and, comparing the present scene
with his native one, he found fault with


THE ITALIAN.
every thing he beheld. The dresses
were tasteless, the equipages without
splendour, the people without spirit;
yet, such was the propensity of his
heart to sympathize with whatever was
gay, that, for some moments, he forgot
that he was a prisoner on his way to the
Inquisition ; almost forgot that he was
a Neapolitan ; and, while he exclaimed
against the dullness of a Roman car-
nival, would have sprung through the
carriage window to partake of its spirit,
if his fetters and his wounds had not
withheld him. A deep sigh from Vi-
valdi recalled his wandering imagina-
tion; and, when he noticed again the
sorrow in his masters's look, all his
lightly joyous spirits fled.
My maestro, my dear maestro !-he
said, and knew not how to finish what
he wished to express.
At that moment they passed the the-
atre of San Carlo, the doors of which
were thronged with equipages, where
Roman ladies, in their gala habits, cour-
tiers in their fantastic dresses, and masks


THE ITALIAN.
of all descriptions, were hastening to
the opera. In the midst of this gay
bustle, where the carriage was unable
to proceed, the officials of the Inquisi-
tion looked on in solemn silence, not
a muscle of their features relaxing in
sympathy, or yielding a single wrinkle
of the self-importance, that lifted their
brows; and, while they regarded with
secret contempt those, who could be
thus lightly pleased, the people, in re-
turn, more wisely, perhaps, regarded
with contempt the proud ‘moroseness,
that refused to partake of innocent plea-
sures, because they were trifling, and
shrunk from countenances furrowed with
the sternness of cruelty. But, when
their office was distinguished, part of
the crowd pressed back from the car-
riage in affright, while another part ad-
vanced with curiosity; though, as the
majority retreated, space was left for
the carriage to move on. After quitting
the Corso, it proceeded for some miles
through dark and deserted streets, where
only here and there a lamp, hung on,
B 5


10
THE ITALIAN.
high before the image of a saint, shed
its glimmering light, and where a me-
lancholy and universal silence prevailed.
At intervals, indeed, the moon, as the
clouds passed away, shewed for a mo-
ment, some of those mighty monuments
of Rome's eternal name, those sacred
ruins, those gigantic skeletons, which
once enclosed a soul, whose energies
governed a world! Even Vivaldi could
not behold with indifference the gran-
deur of these reliques, as the rays fell
upon the hoary walls and columns, or
pass among these scenes of ancient
story, without feeling a melancholy
awe, a sacred enthusiasm, that with-
drew him from himself. But the illu-
sion was transient ; his own misfortunes
pressed too heavily upon him to be long
unfelt, and his enthusiasm vanished like
the moonlight.
A returning gleam lighted up, soon
after, the rude and extensive area, which
the carriage was crossing. It appeared,
from its desolation and from the ruins
scattered distantly along its skirts, to


THE ITALIAN.
. 11
eve
be a part of the city entirely abandoned
by the modern inhabitants to the re-
liques of its former grandeur. Not
even the shadow of a human being
crossed the waste, nor any building ap-
peared, which might be supposed to
shelter one. The deep tone of a bell,
however, rolling on the silence of the
night, announced the haunts of man to
be not far off; and Vivaldi perceived in
the distance, to which he was approach-
ing, an extent of lofty walls and towers,
that, as far as the gloom would permit
his eye to penetrate, bounded the ho-
rizon. He judged these to be the pri-
sons of the Inquisition, Paulo pointed
them out at the same moment. Ah,
signor! said he despondingly, that is
the place! what strength! If my old
lord, the Marchese, were but to see
where we are going! Ah!-
He concluded with a deep sigh, and
sunk again into the state of apprehension
and mute expectation, which he had
suffered from the moment that he quit-
ted the Corso.


12
THE ITALIAN.
,
The carriage, having ' reached the
walls, followed their bendings to a con-
siderable extent. These walls, of im-
mense height, and strengthened by in-
numerable massy bulwarks, exhibited
neither window, nor grate, but a vast
and dreary blank; a small round tower
only, perched here and there upon the
summit breaking their monotony.
The prisoners passed what seemed to
be the principal entrance, from the
grandeur of its portal, and the gigantic
loftiness of the towers that rose over it;
and soon after the carriage stopped at
an archway in the walls, strongly bar-
ricadoed. One of the escort alighted,
and, having struck upon the bars, a
folding door within was immediately
opened, and a man bearing a torch ap-
peared behind the barricado, whose
countenance, as he looked through it,
might have been copied for the
Grim-visaged comfortless Despair
of the poet.
No words were exchanged between


THE ITALIAN.
re
him and the guard; but on perceiving
who were without, he opened the iron
gate, and the prisoners, having alighted,
passed with the two officials beneath the
arch, the guard following with a torch.
They descended a flight of broad steps,
at the foot of which another iron gate
admitted them to a kind of hall; such,
however, it at first appeared to Vivaldi,
as his eyes glanced through its gloomy
extent, imperfectly ascertaining it by
the lamp, which hung from the centre
of the roof. No person appeared, and a
death-like silence prevailed; for neither
the officials nor the guard yet spoke;
nor did any distant sound contradict the
notion, that they were traversing the
chambers of the dead. To Vivaldi it
occurred, that this was one of the burial
vaults of the victims, who suffered in
the Inquisition, and his whole frame
thrilled with horror. Several avenues,
opening from the apartment, seemed to
lead to distant quarters of this immense
fabric, but still no footstep whispering
along the pavement, or voice murmuring


14
THE ITALIAN.
through the arched roofs, indicated it
to be the residence of the living.
Having entered one of the passages,
Vivaldi perceived a person clothed in
black, and who bore a lighted taper,
crossing silently in the remote perspec-
tive; and he understood too well from
his habit, that he was a member of this
dreadful tribunal.
The sound of footsteps seemed to reach
the stranger, for he turned, and then
paused, while the officers advanced.
They then made signs to each other,
and exchanged a few words, which nei.
ther Vivaldi, nor his servant, could un-
derstand, when the stranger, pointing
with his taper along another avenue,
passed away. Vivaldi followed him with
his eyes, till a door at the extremity of
the passage opened, and he saw the in-
quisitor enter an apartment, whence a
great light proceeded, and where several
other figures, habited like himself, ap-
peared waiting to receive him. The
door immediately closed; and, whether
the imagination of Vivaldi was affected,


THE ITALIAN.
15
or that the sounds were real, he thought,
as it closed, he distinguished half stifled
groans, as of a person in agony.
The avenue, through which the pri-
soners passed, opened, at length, into
an apartment gloomy like the first they
had entered, but more extensive. The
roof was supported by arches, and long
arcades branched off from every side of
the chamber, as from a central point,
and were lost in the gloom, which the
rays of the small lamps, suspended in
each, but feebly penetrated.
They rested here, and a person soon
after advanced, who appeared to be the
jailor, into whose hands Vivaldi and
Faulo were delivered. A few mysterious
words having been exchanged, one of
the officials crossed the hall, and as-
cended a wide staircase, while the other,
with the jailor and the guard, remained
below, as if awaiting his return,
A long interval elapsed, during which
the stillness of the place was sometimes
interrupted by a closing door, and, at
others, by indistinct sounds, which yet


16
THE ITALIAN.
appeared to Vivaldi like lamentations
and extorted groans. Inquisitors, in
their long black robes, issued, from time
to time from the passages, and crossed
the hall to other avenues. They eyed
the prisoners with curiosity, but without
pity. Their visages, with few excep-
tions, seemed stamped with the cha-
racters of demons. Vivaldi could not
look upon the grave cruelty, or the fero-
cious impatience, their countenances
severally expressed, without reading in
them the fate of some fellow creature,
the fate, which these men seemed going,
even at this moment, to confirm; and,
as they passed with soundless steps, he
shrunk from observation, as if their
very looks possessed some supernatural
power, and could have struck death. But
he followed their fleeting figures as they
proceeded on their work of horror, to
where the last glimmering ray faded into
darkness, expecting to see other doors
of other chambers open to receive them.
While meditating upon these horrors,
Vivaldi lost every selfish consideration


THE ITALIAN.
17
in astonishment and indignation of the
sufferings, which the phrenzied wicked-
ness of man prepares for man, who,
even at the moment of infliction, insults
his victim with assertions of the justice
and necessity of such measures. Is this
possible ! said Vivaldi internally, Can
this be in human nature !--Can such
horrible perversion of right be permitted!
Cani man, who calls himself endowed
with reason, and immeasurably superior
to every other created being, argue him-
self into the commission of such horrible
folly, such inveterate cruelty, as exceeds
all the acts of the most irrational and
ferocious brute. Brutes do not delibe- ,
rately slaughter their species; it remains
for man only, man, proud of his prero-
gative of reason, and boasting of his sense
of justice, to unite the most terrible ex-
tremes of folly and wickedness!
Vivaldi had been no stranger to the
existence of this tribunal; he had long
understood the nature of the establish-
ment, and had often received particular
accounts of its customs and laws; but,


18
THE ITALIAN.
though he had believed before, it was
now only that conviction appeared to
impress his understanding. A new view
of human nature seemed to burst, at
once, upon his mind, and he could not
have experienced greater astonishment,
if this had been the first moment, in
which he had heard of the institution.
But, when he thought of Ellena, consi-
dered that she was in the power of this
tribunal, and that it was probable she
was at this moment within the same
dreadful walls, grief, indignation, and
despair, irritated him almost to phrenzy:
He seemed suddenly animated with su-
pernatural strength, and ready to attempt
impossibilities for her deliverance. It
was by a strong effort for self-command,
that he forbore bursting the bonds,
which held him, and making a desperate
attempt to seek her through the vast
extent of these prisons. Reflection,
however, had not so entirely forsaken
him, but that he saw the impossibility
of succeeding in such an effort, the mo-
ment he had conceived it, and he forbore


THE ITALIAN.
19
to rush upon the certain destruction, to
which it must have led. His passions,
thus restrained, seemed to become vir-
tues, and to display themselves in the
energy of his courage and his fortitude.
His soul became stern and vigorous in
despair, and his manner and countenance
assumed a calm dignity, which seemed
to awe, in some degree, even his guards.
The pain of his wounds was no longer
felt; it appeared as if the strength of
his intellectual self had subdued the
infirmities of the body, and, perhaps,
in these moments of elevation, he could
have endured the torture without
shrinking.
Paulo, meanwhile, mute and grave,
was watchful of all that passed; he ob-
served the revolutions in his master's
mind, with grief first, and then with
surprize, but he could not imitate the
noble fortitude, which now gave weight
and steadiness to Vivaldi's thoughts.
And when he looked on the power and
gloom around him, and on the visages
of the passing Inquisitors, he began to


20
THE ITALIAN.
repent, that he had so freely delivered
his opinion of this tribunal, in the pre-
sence of its agents, and to perceive, that
if he played up the kind of tune he had
threatened, it would probably be the
last he should ever be permitted to per-
form in this world.
At length, the chief officer descend-
ed the staircase, and immediately bade
Vivaldi follow him. Paulo was accom-
panying his master, but was withheld by
the guard, and told he was to be disposed
of in a different way. This was the mo-
ment of his severest trial; he declared
he would not be separated from his
master.
What did I demand to be brought
here for, he cried, if it was not that I
inight go shares with the signor in all
his troubles ? This is not a place to come
to for pleasure, I warrant; and I can
promise ye, gentlemen, I would not
have come within an hundred miles of
you, if it had not been for my master's
sake.
The guards roughly interrupted him,
리며 ​제세 ​마리 ​Men
une
22
3. 5


THE ITALIAN.
21
and were carrying him away, when
Vivaldi's commanding voice arrested
them. He returned to speak a few
words of consolation to his faithful ser-
vant, and, since they were to be sepa-
rated, to take leave of him.
Paulo embraced his knees, and, while
he wept, and his words were almost
stifled by sobs, declared no force should
drag him from his master, while he had
life ; and repeatedly appealed to the
guards, with—What did I demand to
be brought here for ? Did ever any
body come here to seek pleasure ?
What right have you to prevent my
going shares with my master in his
troubes ?
We do not intend to deny you that
pleasure, friend, replied one of the
guards!
Don't you? Then heaven bless you!
cried Paulo, springing from his knees,
and shaking the man by the hand with
a violence, that would nearly have dis-
located the shoulder of a person less
robust.


22
THE ITALIAN.
So come with us, added the guard,
drawing him away from Vivaldi. Paulo
now became outrageous, and, struggling
with the guards, burst from them, and
again fell at the feet of his master, who
raised and embraced him, endeavouring
to prevail with him to submit quietly to
what was inevitable, and to encourage
him with hope.
I trust that our separation will be
short, said Vivaldi, and that we shall
meet in happier circumstances. My
innocence must soon appear.
We shall never, never meet again,
signor mio, in this world, said Paulo,
sobbing violently, so don't make me
hope so. That old abbess knows what
she is about too well to let us escape ;
or she would not have catched us up so
cunningly as she did ; so what signifies
innocence! O! if my old lord, the
Marchese, did but know where we are !
Vivaldi interrupted him, and turning
to the guards said, I recommend my
faithful servant to your compassion; he
is innocent. It will some time, perhaps,


THE ITALIAN.
23
be in my power to recompence you for
any indulgence you may allow him, and
I shall value it a thousand times more
highly, than any you could shew to
myself! Farewell, Paulo, --farewell!
Officer, I am ready.
.O stay, signor, for one moment,
stay! said Paulo.
We can wait no longer, said the
guard, and again drew Paulo away,
who looking piteously after Vivaldi, al-
ternately repeated, Farewell, dear ma-
estro ! farewell, dear, dear maestro !
and, What did I demand to be brought
here for? What did I demand to be
brought here for ?—what was it for, if
not to go shares with my maestro? till
Vivaldi was beyond the reach of sight
and of hearing.
Vivaldi, having followed the officer up
the staircase, passed through a gallery
to an anti-chamber, where, being de-
livered into the custody of some persons
in waiting, his conductor disappeared
beyond a folding door, that led to an
inner apartment. Over this door was


24.
THE ITALIAN.
an inscription in Hebrew characters,
traced in blood colour. Dante's in-
scription on the entrance of the infernal
regions, would have been suitable to a
place, where every circumstance and
feature seemed to say, “ Hope, that
comes to all, comes not here!”
Vivaldi conjectured, that in this
chamber they were preparing for him
the instruments, which were to extort a
confession; and though he knew little
of the regular proceedings of this tri-
bunal, he had always understood, that
the torture was inflicted upon the ac-
cused person, till he made confession of
the crime, of which he was suspected.
By such a mode of proceeding, the in-
nocent were certain of suffering longer
than the guilty ; for, as they had no-
thing to confess, the Inquisitor, mis-
taking innocence for obstinacy, perse-
vered in his inflictions, and it frequently
happened that he compelled the inno-
cent to become criminal, and assert a
falsehood, that they might be released
from anguish, which they could no


THE ITALIAN.
25
longer sustain. Vivaldi considered this
circumstance undauntedly; every fa
culty of his soul was bent up to firmness
and endurance. He believed that he
understood the extent of the charge,
which would be brought against him, a
charge as false, as a specious confirma-
tion of it, would be terrible in its con-
sequence both to Ellena and himself.
Yet every art would be practised to
bring him to an acknowledgment of
having carried off a nun, and he knew
also, that, since the prosecutor, and the
witnesses are never confronted with the
prisoner in cases of severe accusation,
and since their very names are con-
cealed from him, it would be scarcely
possible for him to prove his innocence.
But he did not hesitate an instant whe-
ther to sacrifice himself for Ellena, de-
termining rather to expire beneath the
merciless inflictions of the Inquisitors,
than to assert a falsehood, which must
involve her in destruction.
The officer, at length, appeared, and,
having beckoned Vivaldi to advance,
VOL. III.


THE ITALIAN.
uncovered his head, and bared his arms.
He then led him forward through the
folding door into the chamber; having
done which, he immediately withdrew,
and the door which shut out Hope,
closed after him.
Vivaldi found himself in a spacious
apartment where only two persons were
visible, who were seated at a large table,
that occupied the centre of the room.
They were both habited in black; the
one, who seemed by his piercing eye,
and extraordinary physiognomy, to be an
Inquisitor, wore on his head a kind of
black turban, which heightened the na-
tural ferocity of his visage; the other
was uncovered, and his arms bared to
the elbows. A book, with some instru-
ments of singular appearance, lay before
him. Round the table were several
unoccupied chairs, on the backs of
which appeared figurative signs, at the
upper end of the apartment, a gigantic
crucifix stretched nearly to the vaulted
roof; and, at the lower end, suspended
from an arch in the wall, was a dark


THE ITALIAN,
27
curtain, but whether it veiled a window,
or shrouded some object or person, ne,
cessary to the designs of the Inquisitor,
there were little means of judging. It
was, however, suspended from an arch,
such as sometimes conceals a casement,
or leads to a deep recess.
The Inquisitor called on Vivaldi to
advance, and, when he had reached the
table, put a book into his hands, and
bade him swear to reveal the truth, and
keep for ever secret whatever he might
see or hear in the apartment.
• Vivaldi hesitated to obey so unqua-
lified a command. The inquisitor re-
minded him, by a look, not to be mis
taken, that he was absolute here; but
Vivaldi still hesitated. Shall I consent
to my own condemnation ? said he to
himself. The malice of demons like
these may convert the most innocent
circumstances into matter of accusa-
tion, for my destruction, and I must
answer whatever questions they choose
to ask. And shall I swear, also, to
C 2


THE ITALIAN.
conceal whatever I may witness in
this chamber, when I know that the
most diabolical cruelties are hourly
practised here?
ere? .
;,'
The Inquisitor, in a voice which would
have made a heart less fortified than
Vivaldi's tremble, again commanded him
to swear, at the same time, he made a
signal to the person, who sat at the op-
posite end of the table, and who ap-
peared to be an inferior officer.'
· Vivaldi was still silent, but he began
to consider that, unconscious as he was
of crime, it was scareely possible for
- his words to be tortured into a self-
accusation; and that, whatever he
might witness, no retribution would be
prevented, no evil withheld by the oath,
which bound him to secresy, since his
most severe denunciation could avail
nothing against the supreme power of
this tribunal. As he did not perceive
any good, which could arise from re-
fusing the oath ; and saw much imme-
diate evil from resistance, he consented
to receive it. Notwithstanding this,


THE ITALIAN.
29
when he put the book to his lips, and
uttered the tremendous vow prescribed
to him, hesitation and reluctance re-
turned upon his mind, and an icy cold-
ness struck to his heart. He was so
much affected, that circumstances, ap-
parently the most trivial, had at this
moment influence upon his imagination.
As he accidentally threw his eyes upon
the curtain, which he had observed
before without emotion, and now thought
it moved, he almost started in expec:
tation of seeing some person, an Inqui-
sitor perhaps, as terrific as the one
before him, or an accuser as malicious
as Schedoni, steal from behind it. ..
The Inquisitor having administered
the oath, and the attendant having
noted it in his book, the examination be-
gan. After demanding, as is usual, the
names and titles of Vivaldi and his
family, and his place of residence, to
which he fully replied, the Inquisitor
asked, whether he understood the nature
of the accusation on which he had been
arrested...


30.
THE ITALIAN.
The order for my arrestation informed
me, replied Vivaldi.
Look to your words ! said the Inqui-
sitor, and remember your oath. What
was the ground of accusation ?
I understood, said Vivaldi, that I was
accused of having stolen a nun from her
sanctuary.
A faint degree of surprise appeared
on the brow of the inquisitor. You ·
confess it, then ? he said, after the pause
of a moment, and making a signal to
the secretary, who immediately noted
Vivaldi's words.
I solemnly deny it, replied Vivaldi,
the accusation is false and malicious.
Remember the oath you have taken!
repeated the inquisitor, learn also, that
mercy is shewn to such as make full
confession ; but that the torture is ap-
plied to those, who have the folly and
the obstinacy to withhold the truth. .
If you torture me till I acknowledge
the justness of this accusation, said Vi.
valdi, I must expire under your inflic-
țions, for suffering never shall compel


THE ITALIAN.
31
me to assert a falsehood. It is not the
truth which you seek; it is not the
guilty, whom you punish; the innocent,
having no crimes to confess, are the
victims of your cruelty, or, to escape
from it, become criminal, and proclaim
a lie.
Recollect yourself, said the inquisitor,
sternly. You are not brought hither to
accuse, but to answer accusation. You
say you are innocent; yet acknowledge
yourself to be acquainted with the sub-
ject of the charge, which is to be urged
against you! How could you know this,
but from the voice of conscience ? -
:: From the words of your own sum-
mons, replied Vivaldi, and from those of
your officials who arrested me.
How! exclaimed the inquisitor, note
that, pointing to the secretary; he says
by the words of our summons; now we
know, that you never read that summons.
He says also by the words of our offi-
cials ;--it appears, then, he is ignorant,
that death would follow such a breach
of confidence.


32
THE ITALIAN.
It is true, I never did read the sum-
mons, replied Vivaldi, and as true, that
I never asserted I did; the friar, who
read it, told of what it accused me, and
your officials confirmed the testimony.
No more of this equivocation! said
the inquisitor, Speak only to the ques-
tion.
I will not suffer my assertions to bę
misrepresented, replied Vivaldi, or my
words to be perverted against myself.
I have sworn to speak the truth only;
since you believe I violate my oath, and
doubt my direct and simple words, I
will speak no more.
The inquisitor half rose from his chair,
and his countenance grew paler. Auda-
cious heretic ! he said, will you dispute,
insult, and disobey, the commands of
our most holy tribunal! You will be
taught the consequence of your des-
perate impiety.-To the torture with
him!.. .
A stern smile was on the features of
Vivaldi ; his eyes were calmly fixed on
the inquisitor, and his attitude was un-


THE ITALIAN.
33
daunted and firm. His courage, and
the cool contempt which his looks ex-
pressed, seemed to touch his examiner,
who perceived that he had not a common
mind to operate upon. He abandoned,
therefore, for the present, terrific mea-
sures, and, resuming his usual manner,
proceeded in the examination,
Where were you 'arrested ?
At the chapel of San Sebastian, on
the lake of Celano.
You are certain as to this ? asked the
inquisitor, you are sure it was not at the
village of Legano, on the high road be-
tween Celano and Rome. :
Vivaldi, while he confirmed his asser-
tion, recollected with some surprise,
that Legano was the place where the
guard had been changed, and he men-
tioned the circumstance. The inquisitor,
however, proceeded in his questions,
without appearing to notice it. Was any
person arrested with you ?
You cannot be ignorant, replied Vi.
valdi, that Signora di Rosalba was
ven-
C 5


34
THE ITALIAN.
seized at the same time, upon the false
charge of being a nun, who had broken
her vows, and eloped from her convent;
nor that Paulo Mendrico, my faithful
servant! was also made a prisoner, though
upon what pretence he was arrested I
am utterly ignorant.
The inquisitor remained for some mo-
ments in thoughtful silence, and then
inquired slightly concerning the family
of Ellena, and her usual place of resi-
dence. Vivaldi, fearful of making some
assertion that might be prejudicial to
her, referred him to herself; but the
inquiry was repeated..
She is now within these walls, replied
Vivaldi, hoping to learn from the man-
ner of his examiner, whether his fears
were just, and can answer these ques-
tions better than myself. .
The inquisitor merely bade the notary
write down her name, and then remained
for a few moments méditating. At length,
he said, Do you know where you now
are ?


THE ITALIAN.
35
Vivaldi, smiling at the question, re-
plied, I understand that I am in the
prisons of the inquisition, at Rome.
Do you know what are the crimes
that subject persons to the cognizance
of the holy office ?
Vivaldi was silent.
Your conscience informs you, and your
silence confirms me. Let me admonish
you, once more, to make a full confession
of your guilt; remember, that this is a
merciful tribunal, and shews favour to
such as acknowledge their crimes ?
Vivaldi smiled; but the inquisitor
proceeded.
· It does not resemble some severe, yet
just courts, where immediate execution
follows the confession of a criminal, No!
it is merciful, and though it punishes
guilt, it never applies the torture but in
cases of necessity, when the obstinate
silence of the prisoner requires such a
measure. You see, therefore, what you
may avoid, and what expect.
But if the prisoner has nothing to


36
THE ITALIAN.
confess ? said Vivaldi,-Can your tora
tures make him guilty ? They may force
a weak mind to: be guilty of falsehood ;
to escape present anguish a man may
unwarily condemn himself to death!
You will find that I am not such a one.
Young man, replied the inquisitor,
you will understand too soon, that we
never act but upon sure authority; and
will wish, too late, that you had made.
an honest confession. Your silence
cannot keep from us a knowledge of
your offences; we are in possession of
facts; and your obstinacy can neither
wrest from us the truth, or pervert it.
Your most secret offences are already
written on the tablets. of the holy office;
your conscience cannot reflect them
more justly.--Tremble, therefore, and
revere. But understand, that, though
we have sufficient proof of your guilt,
we require you to confess; and that the
punishment of obstinacy is as certain, as
that of any other offence.
Vivaldi made no reply, and the inqui-


THE ITALIAN.
37
sitor, after a momentary silence, added,
Was you ever in the church of the
Spirito Santo, at Naples ? i.!
Before I answer the question, said
Vivaldi, I require the name of my ac-
cuser.
You are to recollect that you have no
right to demand any thing in this place,
observed the inquisitor, nor can you be
ignorant that the name of the informer
is always kept sacred from the know-
ledge of the accused. Who would ven-
ture to do his duty, if his name were to
be exposed to the vengeance of the
criminal, against whom he informs? It
is only in a particular process that the
accuser is brought forward..
The names of the witnesses? de-
manded Vivaldi. The same justice
conceals them also from the knowledge
of the accused, replied the inquisitor.
And is no justice left for the accused?
said Vivaldi. Is he to be tried and con-
demned without being confronted with
either his prosecutor, or the witnesses !
Your questions are too many, said


38
THE ITALIAN.
the inquisitor, and your answers too
few. The informer is not also the pro-
secutor; the holy office, before which
the information is laid, is the prosecutor,
and the dispenser of justice ; its public
accuser lays the circumstances, and the
testimonies of the witnesses, before the
court. But too much of this.
How! exclaimed Vivaldi, is the tri-
bunal at once the prosecutor, witness,
and judge? What can private malice
wish for more, than such a court of jus-
tice, at which to arraign its enemy?
The stiletto of the assassin is not so sure,
or so fatal to innocence, I now per-
ceive, that it avails me nothing to be
guiltless; a single enemy is sufficient to
accomplish my destruction.
You have an enemy then? observed
the inquisitor.
Vivaldi was too well convinced that
he had one, but there was not sufficient
proof, as to the person of this enemy, to
justify him in asserting that it was
Schedoni. The circumstance of Ellena
having been arrested, would have com-


THE ITALIAN.
39
pelled him to suspect another person as
being at least accessary to the designs
of the confessor, had not credulity
started in horror from the supposition,
that a mother's resentment could posa
sibly betray her son into the prisons of
the inquisition, though this mother had
exhibited a temper of remorseless cru-
elty towards a stranger, who had in-
terrupted her views for that son. :
You have an enemy then ? repeated
the inquisitor.
That I am here sufficiently proves it,
replied Vivaldi. But I am so little any
man's enemy, that I know not whom to,
call mine.. ;
"It is evident, then, that you have no
enemy, observed the subtle inquisitor,
and that this accusation is brought
against you by a respecter of truth, and
a faithful servant of the Roman interest.
Vivaldi was shocked to perceive the
insidious art, by which he had been be-
trayed into a declaration apparently
so harmless, and the cruel dexterity,
with which it had been turned against


40
THE ITALIAN.
him. A lofty and contemptuous silence
was all that he opposed to the treachery
of his examiner, on whose countenance
appeared a smile of triumph and self-
congratulation, the life of a fellow-
creature being, in his estimation, of no
comparative importance with the self-
applauses of successful art; the art too,
upon which he most valued himself
that of his profession. '. .....:- !
· The inquisitor proceeded, You per-
sist, then, in withholding the truth?
He.paused, but Vivaldi making no reply,
he resumed.. Hii : ;;
Since it is evident, from your own
declaration, that you have no enemy,
whom private resentment might have
instigated to accuse you; and, from
other circumstances, which have oc-
curred in your conduct, that you are
conscious of more than you have con-
fessed, --it appears, that the accusation,
which has been urged against you, is
not a malicious slander. I exhort you,
therefore, and once more conjure you,
by our holy faith, to make an ingenuous.


THE ITALIAN
confession of your offences, and to save
yourself from the means, which must of
necessity be enforced to obtain a con-
fession before your trial commences. I
adjure you, also, to consider, that by
such open conduct only, can mercy be
won to soften the justice of this most
upright tribunal, .. .
· Vivaldi, perceiving that it was now
necessary for him to reply, once more
solemnly asserted his innocence of the
crime alleged against him in the sum-
mons, and of the consciousness of any
act, which might lawfully subject him
to the notice of the holy office.
The inquisitor again demanded what
was the crime alleged, and Vivaldi having
repeated the accusation, he again bade
the secretary note it, as he did which,
Vivaldi thought he perceived upon his
features something of a malignant satis-
faction, for which he knew not how to ac-
count. When the secretary had finished,
Vivaldi was ordered to subscribe his
name and quality to the depositions, and
he obeyed.


42
THE ITALIAN.
The inquisitor then bade him consider
of the admonition he had received, and
prepare either to confess on the morrow,
or to undergo the question. As he
concluded, he gave a signal, and the
officer, who had conducted Vivaldi into
the chamber, immediately appeared.
You know your orders, said the in-
quisitor, receive your prisoner, and see
that they are obeyed.
The official bowed, and Vivaldi fol-
lowed him from the apartment in me.
lancholy silence


CHAPTER II.
Call up the Spirit of the ocean, bid
Him raise the storm! The waves begin to heave,
To curl, to foam: the white surges run far
Upon the dark'ning waters, and mighty
Sounds of strife are heard. Wrapt in the midnight
Of the clouds, sits Terror, meditating
Woe. Her doubtful form appears and fades,
Like the shadow of Death, wben he mingles
With the gloom of the sepulchre, and broods
In lonely silence. Her spirits are abroad!
They do her bidding! Hark, to that shriek! ..
The echoes of the shore have heard !
ELLENA, meanwhile, when she had
been carried from the chapel of San
Sebastian, was placed upon a horse in
waiting, and, guarded by the two men
who had seized her, commenced a jour-
ney, which continued with little inter-
ruption during two nights and days.
She had no means of judging whither
she was going, and listened in vain ex-
pectation, for the feet of horses, and the
voice of Vivaldi, who, she had been
told, was following on the same road.
The steps of travellers seldom broke


44
THE ITALIAN.
THE ITALIAN.
upon the silence of these regions, and,
during the journey, she was met only
by some market-people passing to a
neighbouring town, or now and then
by the vine-dressers or labourers in the
olive grounds; and she descended upon
the vast plains of Apulia, still ignorant
of her situation, . An encampment, not
of warriors, but of shepherds, who were
leading their flocks to the mountains of
Abruzzo, enlivened a small tract of these
levels, which were shadowed on the
north and east by the mountainous
ridge of the Garganus stretching from
the Apennine far into the Adriatic,
The appearance of the shepherds was
nearly as wild and savage as that of the
men, who conducted Ellena; but their
pastoral instruments of flageolets and
tabors spoke of more civilized feelings,
as they sounded sweetly over the de-
sert. Her guards rested, and refreshed
themselves with goat's milk, barley
cakes, and almonds, and the manners of
these shepherds, like those she had for-
merly met with on the mountains, proved


THE ITALIAN
45
to be more hospitable than their air had
indicated.;
.: After Ellena had quitted this pastoral
camp, no vestige of a human residence
appeared for several , leagues, except
here and there the towers of a decayed
fortress, perched upon the lofty acclivi-
ties she was approaching, and half con-
cealed in the woods. The evening of
the second day was drawing on, when
her guards drew near the forest, which
she had long observed in the distance,
spreading over the many rising steeps
of the Garganus. They entered by a
track, a road it could not be called, which
led among oaks and gigantic chesnuts,
apparently the growth of centuries, and
so thickly interwoven, that their branches
formed a canopy, which seldom admitted
the sky. The gloom, which they threw
around, and the thickets of cystus, juni-
per, and lenticus, which flourished be-
neath the shade, gave a character of
fearful wildness to the scene.
Having reached an eminence, where
the trees were more thinly scattered,


46
THE ITALIAN.
Ellena perceived the forests spreading on
all sides among hills and vallies, and
descending towards the Adriatic, which
bounded the distance in front. The
coast, bending into a bay, was rocky
and bold. Lofty pinnacles, wooded to
their summits, rose over the shores, and
cliffs of naked marble of such gigantic
proportions, that they were awful even
at a distance, obtruded themselves far
into the waves, breasting their eternal
fury. Beyond the margin of the coast,
as far as the eye could reach, appeared
pointed mountains, darkened with fo-
rests, rising ridge over ridge in many
successions. Ellena, as she surveyed
this wild scenery, felt as if she was
going into eternal banishment from so-
ciety. She was tranquil, but it was
with the quietness of exhausted grief,
not of resignation ; and she looked back
upon the past, and awaited the future,
with a kind of out-breathed despair.
She had travelled for some miles
through the forest, her guards only now
and then uttering to each other a ques-


THE ITALIAN.
ll.
tion, or an observation concerning the
changes which had taken place in the
bordering scenery, since they last pass
ed it, when night began to close in
upon them.
Ellena perceived her approach to the
sea, only by the murmurs of its surge
upon the rocky coast, till, having reached
an eminence, which was, however, no
more than the base of two woody moun-
tains that towered closely over it, she
saw dimly its gray surface spreading in
the bay below. She now ventured to
ask how much further she was to go,
and whether she was to be taken on
board one of the little vessels, apparently
fishing smacks, that she could just dis-
cern at anchor.
You have not far to go now, replied
one of the guards, surlily; you will soon
be at the end of your journey, and at
rest.
They descended to the shore, and
presently came to a lonely dwelling,
which stood so near the margin of the
sea, as almost to be washed by the


48
THE ITALIAN.
waves. No light appeared at any of
the lattices; and, from the silence that
reigned within, it seemed to be unin-
habited. The guard had probably rea-
son to know otherwise, for they halted
at the door, and shouted with all their
strength. No voice, however, answered
to their call, and, while they persevered
in efforts to rouse the inhabitants, El-
lena anxiously examined the building,
as exactly as the twilight would permit.
It was of an ancient and peculiar struc-
ture, and, though scarcely important
enough for a mansion, had evidently
never been designed for the residence
of peasants.
The walls, of unhewn marble, were
high, and strengthened by bastions ;
and the edifice had turreted corners,
which, with the porch in front, and the
sloping roof, were falling fast into nu-
merous symptoms of decay. The whole
building, with its dark windows and
soundless avenues, had an air strikingly ·
forlorn and solitary. A high, wall sur-
rounded the small court in which it


THE ITALIAN.
stood, and probably had once served
as a defence to the dwelling; but the
gates, which should have closed against
intruders, could no longer perform their
office; one of the folds had dropped
from its fastenings, and lay on the ground
almost concealed in a deep bed of weeds,
and the other creaked on its hinges to
every blast, at each swing seeming ready
to follow the fate of its companion,
The repeated calls of the guard, were,
at length, answered by a rough voice
from within ; when the door of the porch
was lazily unbarred, and opened by a
man, whose visage was so misery-struck,
that Ellena could not look upon it with
indifference, though wrapt in misery of
her own. The lamp he held threw a
gleam athwart it, and shewed the gaunt
ferocity of famine, to which the shadow
of his hollow eyes added a terrific wild-
ness, Ellena shrunk while she gazed.
She had never before seen villainy and
suffering so strongly pictured on the
same face, and she observed him with a
degree of thrilling curiosity, which for
VOL. III.


50
THE ITALIAN.
a moment excluded from her mind all
consciousness of the evils to be appre-
hended from him.
It was evident, that this house had
not been built for his reception; and
she conjectured, that he was the servant
of some cruel agent of the Marchesa de
Vivaldi.
From the porch, she followed into an
old hall, ruinous, and destitute of any
kind of furniture. It was not extensive
but lofty, for it seemed to ascend to the
roof of the edifice, and the chambers
above opened around it into a corridor.,
Some half sullen salutations were ex-
changed between the guard and the
stranger, whom they called Spalatro, as
they passed into a chamber, where, it
appeared that he had been sleeping on
a mattress laid in a corner. All the other
furniture of the place, were two or three
broken chairs and a table. He eyed
Ellena with a shrewd contracted brow,
and then looked significantly at the
guard, but was silent, till he desired
them all to sit down, adding, that he


THE ITALIAN.
151
would dress some fish for supper. El-
lena discovered that this man was the
master of the place; it appeared also
that he was the only inhabitant; and,
when the guard soon after informed her
their journey concluded here, her worst
apprehensions were confirmed. The
efforts she made to sustain her spirits,
were no longer successful. It seemed
that she was brought hither by ruffians
to a lonely house on the sea shore, inha-
bited by a man who had “ villain” en-
graved in every line of his face, to be
the victim of inexorable pride and an
insatiable desire of revenge. After con-
sidering these circumstances, and the
words, which had just told her, she was
to go no further, conviction struck like
lightning upon her heart; and, believing
she was brought hither to be assassinated,
horror chilled all her frame, and her
senses forsook her. . ;,,,
On recovering, she found herself súr-
rounded by the guard and the stranger,
and she would have supplicated for
D 2


52
THE ITALIAN.
their pity, but that she feared to exas.
perate them by betraying her suspicions.
She complained of fatigue, and requested.
to be shewn to her room. The men
looked upon one another, hesitated, and
then asked her to partake of the fish,
that was preparing. But, Ellena having
declined the invitation with as good a
grace as she could assume, they con-
sented that she should withdraw. Spa-
latro, taking the lamp, lighted her across
the hall, to the corridor above, where
he' opened the door of a chamber, in
which he said she was to sleep.::. 11 tists
· Where is my bed? said the afflicted
Ellena, fearfully, as she looked round.'
2. It is there on the floor, replied Spa-
latro, pointing to a miserable mattress,
over which hung the tattered curtains
of what had once been a canopy. If
you want the lamp, he added, I will
leave it, and come for itin a minute or two.
- Will you not let me have a lamp for
the night, she said in a supplicating and
timid voice.


THE ITALIAN
53
For the night ! said the man gruffly ;
What! to set fire to the house.
· Ellena still entreated that he would
allow her the comfort of a light.
Ay, ay, replied Spalatro, with a look
she could not comprehend, it would be
a great comfort to you, truly! You do
not know what you ask.
: What is it that you mean? said Ellena,
eagerly; 1 conjure you, in the name of
our holy church, to tell me! ..'. .
Spalatro stepped suddenly back, and
looked upon her with surprise, but
without speaking.
i .
Have mercy on me! said Ellena,
greatly alarmed by his manner; I am
friendless, and without help!
What do you fear, said the man, reco-
vering himself; and then, without wait-
ing her reply, added-Is it such an un-
merciful deed to take away a lamp?..
Ellena, who again feared to betray
the extent of her suspicions, only replied,
that it would be merciful to leave it,
for that her spirits were low, and she


54
THE ITALIAN.
required light to cheer them in a new
abode.
We do not stand upon such conceits
here, replied Spalatro, we have other
matters to mind. Besides, its the only
lamp in the house, and the company
below are in darkness while I am losing
time here. I will leave it for two mi-
nutes, and no more. Ellena made a
sign for him to put down the lamp; and,
when he left the room, she heard the
door barred upon her.
She employed these two minutes in
examining the chamber, and the possi-
bility it might afford of an escape. It
was a large apartment, unfurnished and
unswept of the cobwebs of many years,
The only door she discovered was the
one, by which she had entered, and the
only window a lattice, which was gra-
ted. Such preparation for preventing
escape, seemed to hiņt how much there
might be to escape from.
Having examined the chamber, with-
out finding a single circumstance to en..


THE ITALIAN.
55
courage hope, tried the strength of the
bars, which she could not shake, and
sought in vain for an inside fastening to
her door, she placed the lamp beside it,
and awaited the return of Spalatro. In
a few moments he.came, and offered her
a cup of sour wine with a slice of bread;
which, being somewhat soothed by this
attention, she did not think proper to
reject.
· Spalatro then quitted the room, and
the door was again barred. Left once
more alone, she tried to overcome appre-
hension by prayer.; and after offering
up her vespers with a fervent heart, she
became more confiding and composed.
But it was impossible that she could
so far forget the dangers of her situation,
as to seek sleep, however wearied she
might be, while the door of her room re-
mained unsecured against the intrusion
of the ruffians below; and, as she had
no means of fastening it, she determined
to watch during the whole night. Thus
left to solitude and darkness, she seated
herself upon the mattress to await the


:56
THE ITALIAN
return of morning, and was soon lost in
sad reflection ; every minute occurrence
of the past day and of the conduct of her
guards moved in review before her judga
ment; and, combining these with the
circumstances of her present situation,
scarcely a doubt as to the fate designed
for her remained. It seemed highly im-
probable that the Marchesa di Vivaldi
had sent her hither merely for impri-
sonment, since she might have confined
her in a convent, with much less trouble;
and still more so, when Ellena considered
the character of the Marchesa, such as
she had already experienced it. The
appearance of this house, and of the
man, who inhabited it, with the circum-
stance of no woman being found residing
here, each and all of these signified, that
she was brought hither, not for long im-
prisonment, but for death. Her utmost
efforts for fortitude, or resignation, could
not overcome the cold tremblings, the
sickness of heart, the faintness and uni-
versal horror, that assailed her. How
often, with tears of mingled terror and


THE ITALIAN,
57
grief, did she call upon Vivaldi-Vivaldi,
alas ! far distant to save: her; how
often exclaim in agony, that she should
never, never see him more! . ."
She was spared, however, the horror
of believing that he was an inhabitant
of the Inquisition. Having detected the
imposition, which had been practised
towards herself, and that she was neither
on the way to the holy office, nor con-
ducted by persons belonging to it, she
concluded, that the whole affair of Vi-
valdi's arrest had been planned by the
Marchesa, merely as a pretence for con-
fining him, till she should be placed be-
yond the reach of his assistance. She
hoped, therefore, that he had only been
sent to some private residence belonging
to his family, and that, when her fate
was decided, he would be released, and
she be the only victim. This was the
sole consideration, that afforded any de-
gree of assuagement to her sufferings.
The people below sat till a late hour.
She listened often to their distant voices,
as they were distinguishable in the
• D 5


58
THE ITALIAN.
pauses of the surge, that broke loud and
hollow on the shore; and every time
the creaking hinges of their room door
moved, apprehended they were coming
to her. At length, it appeared they had
left the apartment, or had fallen asleep
there, for a profound stillness reigned
whenever the murmur of the waves
sunk. Doubt did not long deceive her,
for, while she yet listened, she distin-
guished footsteps ascending to the cor-
ridor. She heard them approach her
chamber, and stop at the door; she
heard also, the low whisperings of their
voices, as they seemed consulting on what
was to be done, and she scarcely ventured
to draw breath, while she intensely at-
tended to them. Not a word, however,
distinctly reached her, till, as one of
them was departing, another called out
in a half whisper, It is below on the
table in my girdle ; make haste. The
man came back, and said something in
a lower voice, to which the other replied,
She sleeps, or Ellena was deceived by
the hissing consonants of some other


THE ITALIAN.
59
words. He then descended the stairs ;
and in a few minutes she perceived his
comrade also pass away from the door;
she listened to his retreating steps, till
the roaring of the sea was alone heard
in their stead.
Ellena's terrors were relieved only for
a moment. Considering the import of
the words, it appeared that the man,
who had descended, was gone for the
stiletto of the other, such an instrument
being usually worn in the girdle, and
from the assurance, She sleeps, he
seemed to fear that his words had been
overheard ; and she listened again for
their steps, but they came no more.
Happily for Ellena's peace, she knew
not that her chamber had a door, so
contrived as to open without sound, by
which assassins might enter unsuspect-
edly at any hour of the night. Believ-
ing that the inhabitants of this house
had now retired to rest, her hopes and
her spirits began to revive; but she was
yet sleepless and watchful. She mea-
sured the chamber with unequal steps,


60
THE ITALIAN.
often starting as the old boards shook
and groaned where she passed ; and
often pausing to listen whether all was
yet still in the corridor. The gleam,
which a rising moon threw between the
bars of her window, now began to shew
many shadowy objects in the chamber,
which she did not recollect to have ob-
served while the lamp.was there. More
than once, she fancied she saw some-
thing glide along towards the place
where the mattress was laid, and, almost
congealed with terror, she stood still to
watch it; but the illusion, if such it
was, disappeared where the moonlight
faded, and even her fears could not give
shape to it beyond. Had she not known
that her chamber door remained strongly
barred, she would have believed this was
an assassin stealing to the bed, where it
might be supposed she slept. Even now
the thought occurred to her, and vague
as it was, had power to strike an anguish,
almost deadly, through her heart, while
she considered that her immediate situ-
ation was nearly as perilous as the one


THE ITALIAN.
61
she had imaged. Again she listened,
and scarcely dared to breathe; but not
the lightest sound occurred in the pauses
of the waves, and she believed herself
convinced, that no person except her-
self, was in the room. That she was
deceived in this belief, appeared from
her unwillingness to approach the mat-
tress, while it was yet involved in shade.
Unable to overcome her reluctance, she
took her station at the window, till the
strengthening rays should allow a clearer
view of the chamber, and in some degree
restore her confidence; and she watched
the scene without as it gradually became
visible. The moon, rising over the
ocean, shewed its restless surface
spreading to the wide horizon; and the
waves which broke in foam upon the
rocky beach below, retiring in long
white lines far upon the waters. She
listened to their measured and solemn
sound, and, somewhat soothed by the
solitary grandeur of the view, remained
at the lattice till the moon had risen
high into the heavens; and even till


62
THE ITALIAN.
morning began to dawn upon the sea,
and purple the eastern clouds.
Re-assured, by the light that now
pervaded the room, she returned to the
mattress; where anxiety at length
yielded to her weariness, and she ob-
tained a short repose.


CHAPTER III..
And yet I fear you; for you are fatal then,
: When your eyes roll so. a . • '.
Alas! why goaw you so your nether lip?
Some bloody passion shakos your very framo:
These are portents; but yet I hope, I hope,
They do not point on me.
SHAKESPEARE.
ELLENA was awakened from profound
sleep, by a loud noise at the door of her
chamber; when, starting from her mat-
tress, she looked around her with sura
prise and dismay, as imperfect recollec-
tions of the past began to gather on her
mind. She distinguished the undrawing
of iron bars, and then the countenance
of Spalatro at her door, before she had
a clear remembrance of her situation
that she was a prisoner in a house on a
lonely shore, and that this man was her
jailor. Such sickness of the heart re-
turned with these convictions, such
faintness and terror, that unable to supe
port her trembling frame, she sunk


THE ITALIAN.
again upon the mattress, without de-
manding the reason of this abrupt in-
trusion.
I have brought you some breakfast,
said Spalatro,- if you are awake to take
it; but you seem to be asleep, yet.
Surely you have had sleep sufficient for
one night ; you went to rest soon
enough
Ellena made no reply, but, deeply
affected with a sense of her situation,
looked with beseeching eyes at the man,
who advanced, holding forth an oaten
cake and a bason of milk. Where shall
I set them ? said he, you must needs be
glad of them, since you had no supper.
· Ellena thanked him, and desired he
would place them on the floor, for there
was neither table nor chair in the room.
As he did this, she was struck with the
expression of his countenance, which
exhibited a strange mixture of archness
and malignity. He seemed congratu-
lating himself upon his ingenuity, and
anticipating some occasion of triumph ;
and she was so much interested, that


THE ITALIAN.
65
her observation never quitted him while
he remained in the room. As his eyes
accidentally met her's, he turned them
away, with the abruptness of a person
who is conscious of evil intentions, and
fears lest they should be detected ; nor
once looked up till he hastily left the
chamber, when she heard the door se-
cured as formerly.
The impression, which his look had
left on her mind, so wholly engaged
her in conjecture, that a considerable
time elapsed, before she remembered
that he had brought the refreshment
she so much required; but, as she now
lifted it to her lips, a horrible suspicion
arrested her hand; it was not, however,
before she had swallowed a small quan-
tity of the milk. The look of Spalatro,
which occasioned her surprise, had ac-
companied the setting down of the
breakfast, and it occurred to her, that
poison was infused in this liquid. She
was thus compelled to refuse the sus-
tenance, which was become necessary
to her, for she feared to tastę even of


THE ITALIAN.
WOW
25
the oaten cake, since Spalatro had
offered it, but the little milk she had
unwarily taken, was so very small, that
she had no apprehension concerning it.
The day, however, was passed in
terror, and almost in despondency; she
could neither doubt the purpose, for
which she had been brought hither, nor
discover any possibility of escaping from
her persecutors; yét that propensity to
hope which buoys up the human heart,
even in the severest hours of trial, sus-
tained, in some degree, her fainting
spirits. -' ?
i During these miserable hours of so-
litude and suspense, the only alleviation
to her suffering arose from a belief, that
"Vivaldi was safe, at least from danger,
though not from grief; but she now
understood too much of the dexterous
contrivances of the Marchesa, his mother,
to think it was practicable for him to
escape from her designs, and again
restore her to liberty...
All day Ellena either leaned against
the bars of her window, lost in revery,


THE ITALIAN.
67
while her unconscious eyes were fixed
upon the ocean, whose murmurs she no
longer heard ; or she, listened for some
sound from within the house, that might
assist her conjectures, as to the number
of persons below, or what might be
passing there. The house, however,
was profoundly still, except when now
and then a footstep sauntered along a
distant passage, or a door, was heard to
close ; but not the hum of a single voice
arose from the lower rooms, nor any
symptom of there being more than one
person, besides herself, in the dwelling.
Though she had not heard her former
guards depart, it appeared certain that
they were gone, and that she was left
alone in this place with Spalatro. What
could be the purport of such a proceed-
ing, Ellena could not imagine ; if her
death was designed, it seemed strange
that one person only should be left to
the hazard of the deed, when three must
have rendered the completion of it cer-
tain. But this surprise vanished, when
her suspicion of poison returned; for it


68
THE ITALIAN.
was probable, that these men had be
lieved their scheme to be already nearly
accomplished, and had abandoned her
to die alone, in a chamber, from whence
escape was impracticable, leaving Spa-
latro' to dispose of her remains. All
the incongruities she had separately
observed in their conduct, seemed now
to harmonize and unite in one plan;
and her death, designed by poison, and
that poison to be conveyed in the dis-
guise of nourishment, appeared to have
been the object of it. Whether it were
that the strength of this conviction
affected her fancy, or that the cause was
real, Ellena remembering at this mo-
ment that she had tasted the milk, was
seized with an universal shuddering,
and thought she felt that the poison had
been sufficiently potent to affect her,
even in the inconsiderable quantity she
might have taken. :::......
While she was thus agitated, she dis-
tinguished footsteps loitering near her
door, and, attentively listening, became
convinced, that some person was in the


THE ITALÍAN.
69
corridor. The steps' moved softly, some-
times stopping for an instant, as if to
allow time for listening, and soon after
passed away.
It is Spalatro! said Ellena; he believes
that I have taken the poison, and he,
comes to listen for my dying groans !
Alas! he is only come somewhat too
soon, perhaps ! . . . .
As this horrible supposition occurred,
the shuddering returned with increased,
violence, and she sunk, almost fainting,
on the mattress ; but the fit was not of
long continuance. When it gradually
left; her, and recollection revived, she
perceived, however, the prudence of
suffering Spalatro to suppose she had
taken the beverage he brought her, since
such belief would at least procure some
delay of further schemes, and every
delay afforded some possibility for hope
to rest upon. Ellena, therefore, poured
through the bars of her window, the
milk, which she believed Spalatro had
designed should be fatal in its conses
quençesin.'. .na'son


70
THE ITALIAN.
It was evening, when she again fan-
cied footsteps were lingering near her
door, and the suspicion was confirmed,
when, on turning her eyes, she perceived
a shade on the floor, underneath it, as
of some person stationed without. Pre-
sently the shadow glided away, and at
the same time she distinguished de-
parting steps treading cautiously..
It is he, said Ellena; he still listens
for my moans !
This further confirmation of his designs
affected her nearly as much as the first;
when anxiously turning her looks towards
the corridor, the shadow again appeared
beneath the door, but she heard no step.
Ellená now watched it with intense soli-
citude and expectation fearing every
instant that Spalatro would conclude her
doubts by entering the room.' And, O!
when he discovers that I live, thought
she, what may I not expect during the
first moments of his disappointment !
What less than immediate death! ..
The shadow, after remaining a few
minutes stationary, moved a little, and


THE ITALIAN.
then glided away as before. But it
quickly returned, and a low sound fol.
lowed, as of some person endeavouring
to unfasten bolts without noise. Ellena
heard one bar gently undrawn, and then
another; she observed the door begin
to move, and then to give way, till it
gradually unclosed, and the face of Spa-
latro presented itself from behind it.
Without immediately entering, he threw
a glance round the chamber, as if he
wished to ascertain some circumstance
before he ventured further. His look
was more than usually haggard as it
rested upon Ellena, who apparently,
reposed on her mattress..
Having gazed at her for an instant; he
ventured towards the bed with quick
and unequal steps; his countenance ex-
pressed at once impatience, alarm, and
the consciousness of guilt. When he
was within a few paces, Ellena raised
herself, and he started back as if a sud-
den spectre had crossed him. The more
than usual wildness and wanness of his
looks, with the whole of his conducts,


72
THE ITALIAN.
seemed to confirm all her former terr
and, when he roughly asked her how
she did, Ellena had not sufficient pre-
sence of mind to answer that she was
ill. For some moments he regarded her
with an earnest and sullen attention,
and then a sly glance of scrutiny, which
he threw round the chamber, told her
that he was inquiring whether she had
taken the poison. On perceiving that
the bason was empty, he lifted it from
the floor, and Ellena fancied à gleam of
satisfaction passed over his visage.
You have had no dinner, said he, I
forgot you; but supper will soon be
ready; and you may walk up the beach
till then, if you will. sati
Ellena, extremely surprised and per-
plexed by this offer of a seeming indul-
gence, knew not whether to accept or
reject it. She suspected that some
treachery lurked within it. The invi-
tation appeared to be only a stratagem
to lure her to destruction, and she de-
termined to decline accepting it; when
again she considered, that to accomplish


THE ITALIAN.
73
this, it was not necessary to withdraw
her from the chamber, where she was
already sufficiently in the power of her
persecutors. Her situation could not
be more desperate than it was at present,
and almost any change might make it
less so.
As she descended from the corridor,
and passed through the lower part of
the house, no. person appeared but her
conductor; and she ventured to inquire,
whether the men who had brought her
hither were departed. Spalatro did not
return an answer, but led the way in
silence to the court, and, having passed
the gates, he pointed toward the west,
and said she might walk that way. ...
Ellena bent her course, towards the
s many sounding waves,” followed at a.
short distance by Spalatro, and, wrapt
in thought, pursued the windings of the
shore, scarcely noticing the objects
around her ; till, on passing the foot of
a rock, she lifted her eyes to the scene
that unfolded beyond and observed some
huts scattered at a considerable distance,
VOL. III.


74
THE ITALIAN.
apparently the residence of fishermen.
She could just distinguish the dark sails.
of some skiffs turning the cliffs, and en.
tering the little bay, where the hamlet
margined the beach ; but, though she
saw the sails lowered, as the boats ap-
proached the shore, they were too far
off to allow the figures of the men to
appear, To Elena, who had believed
that no human habitation, except her
prison, interrupted the vast solitudes of
these forests and shores, the view of the
huts, remote as they were, imparted a
feeble hope, and even somewhat of joy.
She looked back to observe whether
Spalatro was near; "he was already
within a few paces; and, casting a wist-
ful glance forward to the remote cot-
tages, her heart sunk again.
It was a lowering evening, and the
sea was dark and swelling ; the screams
of the sea birds too, as they wheeled
among the clouds and sought their high
nests in the rocks, seemed to indicate an
approaching storm. Ellena was not so
wholly engaged by selfish sufferings,
was


THE ITALIAN.
75
but that she could sympathize with
those of others, and she rejoiced that
the fishermen, whose boats she had ob-
served, had escaped the threatening
tempest and were safely sheltered in
their little homes, where, as they heard
the loud waves break along the coast,
they could look with keener pleasure
upon the social circle, and the warm
comforts around them. From sueh con-
siderations, however, she returned again
to a sense of her own forlorn and friend-
less situation.
Alas! said she, I have no longer a
home, a circle to smile welcomes upon
me! I have no longer even one friend,
to support, to rescue me! I-a miserable
wanderer on a distant shore! tracked,
perhaps, by the footsteps of the assassin,
who at this instant eyes his victim with
silent watchfulness, and awaits the mo-.
ment of opportunity to sacrifice her!
Ellena shuddered as she said this, and
turned again to observe whether Spa-
latro was near. He was not within
view; and, while she wondered, and
E
2


76
THE ITALIAN.
congratulated herself on a possibility of
escaping, she perceived a monk walking
silently beneath the dark rocks that
overbrowed the beach. His black gar-
ments were folded round him ; his face
was inclined towards the ground, and
he had the air of a man in deep medi-
tation,
His, no doubt, are worthy musings!
said Ellena, as she observed him, with
mingled hope and surprise. I may ad-
dress myself, without fear, to one of his
order. It is probably as much his wish,
as it is his duty, to succour the. unfor-
tunate. Who could have hoped to find
on this sequestered shore so sacred a
protector ! his convent cannot be far off.
He approached, his face still bent
towards the ground, and Ellena ad-
vanced slowly, and with trembling
steps, to meet him. As he drew near,
he viewed her askance, without lifting
his head; but she perceived his large
eyes looking from under the shade of
his cowl, and the upper part of his pe-
culiar countenance. Her confidence in


THE ITALIAN.
77
his protection began to fail, and she
faltered, unable to speak, and scarcely
daring to meet his eyes. The monk
stalked past her in silence, the lower
part of his visage still muffled in his
drapery, and, as he passed her, looked
neither with curiosity, nor surprise.
Ellena paused, and determined, when
he should be at some distance, to en-
deavour to make her way to the hamlet,
and throw herself upon the humanity of
its inhabitants, rather than solicit the
pity of this forbidding stranger. But in
the next moment she heard a step be-
hind her, and, on turning, saw the monk
again approaching. He stalked by as
before, surveying her, however, with a
sly and scrutinizing glance from the
corners of his eyes. His air and coun-
tenance were equally repulsive, and still
Ellena could not summon courage
enough to attempt engaging his com-
passion; but shrunk as from an enemy.
There was something also terrific in the
silent stalk of so gigantic a form; it an-
nounced both power and treachery. He
en


78
THE ITALIAN
passed slowly on to some distance, and
disappeared among the rocks.
Ellena turned once more with an in-
tention of hastening towards the distant
hamlet, before Spalatro should observe
her, whose strange absence she had
scarcely time to wonder at; but she had
not proceeded far, when suddenly she
perceived the monk again at her shoul-
der. She started, and almost shrieked ;
while he regarded her with more atten-
tion than before. He paused a moment,
and seemed to hesitate ; after which
he again passed on in silence. The
distress of Ellena increased; he was
gone the way she had designed to run,
and she feared almost equally to follow
him, and to return to her prison. Pre-
sently he turned, and passed her again,
and Ellena hastened forward. But,
when fearful of being pursued, she again
looked back, she observed him con-
versing with Spalatro. They appeared
to be in consultation, while they slowly
advanced, till, probably 'observing her
rapid progress, Spalatro, called on her


THE ITALIAN.
79
to stop, in a voice that echoed among
all the rocks. It was a voice, which
would not be disobeyed. She looked
hopelessly at the still distant cottages,
and slackened her steps. Presently the
monk again passed before her, and Spa-
latro had again disappeared. The frown,
with which the former now regarded
Elena, was so terrific, that she shrunk
trembling back, though she knew him
not for her persecutor, since she had
never consciously seen Schedoni. He
was agitated, and his look became
darker.
Whither go you? said he in a voice
that was stifled by emotion,
Who is it, father, that asks the ques.
tion? said Ellena, endeavouring to ap-
pear composed. . .
Whither go you, and who are you?
repeated the monk more sternly.
I am an unhappy orphan replied El-
lena, sighing deeply, If you are, as your
habit denotes, a friend to the charities,
you will regard me with compassion.


THE ITALIAN.
Schedoni was silent, and then said
Who, and what is it that you fear ?
I fear-even for my life, replied El-
lena; with hesitation. She observed a
darker shade pass over his countenance.
For your life! said he, with apparent
surprise, Who is there that would think
it worth the taking.
Ellena was struck with these words,
Poor insect! added Schedoni, who
* would crush thee!
Ellena made no reply; she remained
with her eyes fixed in amazement upon
his face. There was something in his
manner of pronouncing this, yet more
extraordinary than in the words them-
selves. Alarmed by his manner and
awed by the increasing gloom, and
swelling surge, that broke in thunder
on the beach, she at length turned away,
and again walked towards the hamlet,
which was yet very remote.
He soon overtook her; when rudely
seizing her arm, and gazing earnestly
on her face, Who is it that you fear, said
he; say who?
manna
ore


THE ITALIAN.
81
That is more than I dare say, replied
Ellena, scarcely able to sustain herself.
Hah! is it even so ! said the monk,
with increasing emotion. His visage
now became so terrible, that Ellena
struggled to liberate her arm, and sup-
plicated that he would not detain her.
He was silent, and still gazed upon her,
but his eyes, when she had ceased to
struggle, assumed the fixt and vacant
stare of a man, whose thoughts have
retired within themselves, and who is no
longer conscious to surrounding objects.
I beseech you to release me! repeat-
ed Ellena, It is late, and I am far
from home.
That is true, muttered Schedoni, still
grasping her arm, and seeming to reply
to his own thought, rather than to her
words,-that is very true,
The evening is closing fast, continued
Ellena, and I shall be overtaken by the
storm.
Schedoni still mused, and then mut-
tered—The storm, say you? Why ay,
let it come.
E 6


82
THE ITALIAN.
As he spoke, he suffered her arm to
drop, but still held it, and walked slowly
towards the house. Ellena thus com-
pelled to accompany him, and yet more
alarmed both by his looks, his incoherent
answers, and his approach to her prison,
renewed her supplications and her
efforts for liberty, in a voice of piercing
distress, adding, I am far from home,
father; night is coming on. See how
the rocks darken! I am far from home,
and shall be waited for.
That is false, said Schedoni, with em-
phasis; and you know it to be so
Alas! I do, replied Ellena, with.
mingled shame and grief, I have no
friends to wait for me!
What do those deserve, who delibe-
rately utter falsehoods, continued the
monk; who deceive and flatter young
men to their destruction ?
Father! exclaimed the astonished
Ellena.
Who disturb the peace of families-who
trepans with wanton arts, the heirs of


THE ITALIAN.
83
noble houses-who-hah! what do such
deserve ?
Overcome with astonishment and ter-
ror, Ellena remained silent. She now
understood that Schedoni, so far from
being likely to prove a protector, was
an agent of her worst and, as she had
believed, her only enemy; and an ap-
prehension of the immediate and terrible
· vengeance, which such an agent seemed
willing to accomplish, subdued her
senses; she tottered, and sunk upon
the beach. The weight, which strained
the arm Schedoni held, called his at-
tention to her situation.
As he gazed upon her helpless and
faded form, he became agitated. He
quitted it, and traversed the beach in
short turns, and with hasty steps, came
back again, and bent over it-his heart
seemed sensible to some touch of pity.
At one moment he stepped towards the
sea, and taking water in the hollows of
his hands, threw it upon her face; at
another, seeming to regret that he had
done so, he would stamp with sudden


84
THE ITALIAN.
fury upon the shore, and walk abruptly
to a distance. The conflict between
his design and his conscience was
strong, or, perhaps, it was only between
his passions. He, who had hitherto
been insensible to every tender feeling,
who, governed by ambition and resent-
ment, had contributed by his artful in-
stigations, to fix the baleful resolution
of the Marchesa di Vivaldi, and who
was come to execute her purpose,-
even he could not now look upon the
innocent, the wretched Ellena, without
yielding to the momentary weakness,
as he termed it, of compassion.
While he was yet unable to baffle the
new emotion by evil passions, he des-
pised that, which conquered him. And
shall the weakness of a girl, said he,
subdue the resolution of a man! Shall
the view of her transient sufferings un-
nerve my firm heart, and compel me to.
renounce the lofty plans. I have so ar-
dently, so laboriously imagined, at the
very instant when they are changing
into realities ! Am I awake! Is one


THE ITALIAN.
85
spark of the fire, which has so long
smouldered within my bosom, and con-
sumed my peace, alive! Or am I tame
and abject as my fortunes ? hah! as my
fortunes! Shall the spirit of my family
yield for ever to circumstances? The
question rouses it, and I feel its energy
revive within me.
He stalked with hasty steps towards
Ellena, as if he feared to trust his reso-
lution with a second pause. He had a
dagger concealed beneath his monk's
habit; as he had also an assassin's heart
shrouded by his garments. He had a
dagger-but he hesitated to use it, the
blood which it might spill would be ob.
served by the peasants of the neigh-
bouring hamlet, and might lead to a
discovery. It would be safer, he con.
sidered, and easier, to lay Ellena, sense-
less as she was, in the waves; their i
coldness would recal her to life, only at
the moment before they would suffocate
her.
As he stooped to lift her, his resolu-
tion faltered again, on beholding her
innocent face, and in that moment she


86
THE ITALIAN.
moved. He started back, as if she could
have known his purpose ; and knowing
it, could have avenged herself. The
water, which he had thrown upon her
face, had gradually revived her, she
unelosed her eyes, and, on perceiving
him, shrieked, and attempted to rise.
His resolution was subdued, so tremb.
lingly fearful is guilt in the moment
when it would execute its atrocities.
Overcome with apprehensions, yet agi-
tated with shame and indignation against
himself for being so, he gazed at her for
an instant in silence, and then abruptly
turned away his eyes and left her. El-
lena listened to his departing steps, and,
raising herself, observed him retiring
among the rocks that led towards the
house. Astonished at his conduct, and
surprised to find that she was alone,
Ellena renewed all her efforts to sustain
herself, till she should reach the hamlet
so long the object of her hopes; but she
had proceeded only a few paces, when
Spalatro again appeared swiftly ap-
proaching. Her utmost exertion availed
her nothing; her feeble steps were soon


THE ITALIAN.
87
overtaken, and Ellena perceived herself
again his prisoner. The look, with
which she resigned herself, awakened
no pity in Spalatro, who uttered some
taunting jest upon the swiftness of her
Aight, as he led her back to her prison,
and proceeded in sullen watchfulness.
Once again, then, she entered the gloomy
walls of that fatal mansion, never more,
she now believed, to quit them with
life ; a belief which was strengthened
when she remembered that the monk,
on leaving her, had taken the way hither;
for, though she knew not how to account
for his late forbearance, she could not
suppose that he would long be merciful.
He appeared no more, however, as she
passed to her chamber, where Spalatro
left her again to solitude and terror, and
she heard that fateful door again barred
upon her. When his retreating steps
had ceased to sound, a stillness, as of
the grave, prevailed in the house ; like
the dead calm, which sometimes precedes
the horrors of a tempest.


CHAPTER IV.
I am settled and bend up
Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.
SHAKESPEARE.
SCHEDONI had returned from the
beach to the house, in a state of pertur-
bation, that defied the controul of even
his own stern will. On the way thither
he met Spalatro, whom, as he dispatched
him to Ellena, he strictly commanded
not to approach his chamber till he
should be summoned.
Having reached his apartment, he se-
cured the door, though not any person,
except himself, was in the house, nor
any one expected, but those who he
knew would not dare to intrude upon
him. Had it been possible to have shut
out all consciousness of himself, also,
how willingly would he have done so !
He threw himself into a chair, and re-
mained for a considerable time motion-


THE ITALIAN.
89
less and lost in thought, yet the emo-
tions of his mind were violent and con-
tradictory. At the very instant, when
his heart reproached him with the crime
he had meditated, he regretted the am-
bitious views he must relinquish if he
failed to perpetrate it, and regarded
himself with some degree of contempt
for having hitherto hesitated on the sub-
ject. He considered the character of
his own mind with astonishment, for
circumstances had drawn forth traits, of
which, till now, he had no suspicion.
He knew not by what doctrine to explain
the inconsistencies, the contradictions,
he experienced, and, perhaps, it was
not one of the least that in these mo.
ments of direful and conflicting passions,
his reason could still look down upon
their operations, and lead him to a cool,
though brief examination of his own
nature. But the subtlety of self love
still eluded his inquiries, and he did not
detect, that pride was even at this in-
stant of self examination, and of critical
import, the master spring of his mind,


90
THE ITALIAN.
In the earliest dawn of his character,
this passion had displayed its predomi.
nancy, whenever occasion permitted,
and its influence had led to some of the
chief events of his life.
The Count di Marinella, for such had
formerly been the title of the confessor,
was the younger son of an ancient family,
who resided in the duchy of Milan, and
near the feet of the Tyrolean Alps, on
such estates of their ancestors, as the
Italian wars of a former century had left
them. The portion, which he had re-
ceived at the death of his father, was
not large, and Schedoni was not of a
disposition to improve his patrimony
by slow diligence, or to submit to the
restraint and humiliation, which his nar-
row finances would have imposed. He
disdained to acknowledge an inferiority
of fortune to those, with whom he con-
gidered himself equal in rank; and, as
he was destitute of generous feeling and
of sound judgment, he had not that lof-
tiness of soul, which is ambitious of true
grandeur. On the contrary, he was


THE ITALIAN.
91
necessary and to coder. 10
satisfied with an ostentations display of
pleasures and of power, and, thoughtless
of the consequence of dissipation, was
contented with the pleasures of the mo-
ment, till his exhausted resources com-
pelled him to pause and to reflect. He
perceived, too late for his advantage,
that it was necessary for him to dispose
of part of his estate, and to confine him-
self to the income of the remainder. In-
capable of submitting with grace to the
reduction, which his folly had rendered
expedient, he endeavoured to obtain by
cunning, the luxuries, that his prudence
had failed to keep, and which neither
his genius, nor his integrity could com-
mand. He withdrew, however, from
the eyes of his neighbours, unwilling to
submịt his altered circumstances to their
observation.
Concerning several years of his life,
from this period, nothing was generally
known; and, when he was next disco-
vered, it was in the convent of the Spi-
rito Santo, at Naples, in the habit of a
monk, and under the assumed name of
·


92
THE ITALIAN.
Schedoni. His air and countenance
were as much altered as his way of life;
his looks had become gloomy and severe,
and the pride, which had 'mingled with
the gaiety of their former expression,
occasionally discovered itself under the
disguise of humility, but more frequently
in the austerity of silence, and in the
barbarity of penance.
The person, who discovered Schedoni,
would not have recollected him, had
not his remarkable eyes first fixed his
attention, and then revived remembrance,
As he examined his features he traced
the faint resemblance of what Marinella
had been, to whom he made himself
known.
The confessor affected to have for-
gotten his former acquaintance, and
assured him, that he was mistaken re-
specting himself, till the stranger so
closely urged some circumstances, that
the former was no longer permitted to
dissemble. He retired, in some emo-
tion, with the stranger, and, whatever
might be the subject of their conference,


THE ITALIAN.
93
he drew from him, before he quitted the
convent, a tremendous vow, to keep
secret from the brotherhood his know-
ledge of Schedoni's family, and never to
reveal without those walls, that he had
seen him. These requests he had urged
in a manner, that at once surprised and
awed the stranger, and which at the
same time, that it manifested the weight
of Schedoni's fears, bade the former
tremble for the consequence of disobe-
dience; and he shuddered even while
he promised to obey. Of the first part:
of the promise he was probably strictly
observant; whether he was equally so
of the second, does not appear; it is
certain, that after this period, he was
never more seen, or heard of, at Naples.
Schedoni, ever ambitious of distinc-
tion, adapted his manners to the views
and prejudices of the society, with whom
he resided, and became one of the most
exact observers of their outward forms,
and almost a prodigy for self-denial and
severe discipline. He was pointed out
by the fathers of the convent to the


94
THE ITALIAN.
juniors as a great example, who was,
however, rather to be looked up to with
reverential admiration, than with a
hope of emulating his sublime virtues.
But with such panegyrics their friend-
ship for Schedoni concluded. They
found it convenient to applaud the aus.
terities, which they declined to prac.
tise; it procured them a character for
sanctity, and saved them the necesa
sity of earning it by mortifications of
their own ; but they both feared and
hated Schedoni' for his pride and his
gloomy austerities, too much, to gratify
his ambition by any thing further than
empty praise. He had been several
- years in the society, without obtaining
any considerable advancement, and with
the mortification of seeing persons, who
had never emulated his severity, raised
to high offices in the church. Some-
what too late he discovered, that he was
not to expect any substantial favour
from the brotherhood, and then it was
that his restless and disappointed spirit
first sought preferment by other avenues.


THE ITALIAN.
95
He had been some years confessor to
the Marchesa di Vivaldi, when the con-
duct of ber son awakened his hopes, by
showing him, that he might render him
self not only useful but necessary to
her, by his counsels. It was his custom
to study the characters of those around
him, with a view of adapting them to
his purposes, and, having ascertained
that of the Marchesa, these hopes were
encouraged. He perceived, that her
passions were strong, her judgment
weak; and he understood, that, if cir.
cumstances should ever enable him to
be serviceable in promoting the end, at
which any one of those passions might
aim, his fortune would be established.
At length, he so completely insinuated
himself into her confidence, and became
so necessary to her views, that he could
demand his own terms, and this he had
not failed to do, though with all the
affected delicacy and finesse, that his
situation seemed to require. An office
of high dignity in the church, which had
long vainly excited his ambition, was


96
IHE ITALIAN.
promised him by the Marchesa, who
had sufficient influence to obtain it;
her condition was that of his preserving
the honour of her family, as she deli-
cately termed it, which she was careful
to make him understand could be sea
cured only by the death of Ellena. He
acknowledged, with the Marchesa, that
the death of this fascinating young
woman was the only means of preserving
that honour, since, if she lived, they had
every evil to expect from the attach-
ment and character of Vivaldi, who
would discover and extricate her from
any place of confinement, however ob-
scure or difficult of access, to which she
might be conveyed. How long and
how arduously the confessor had aimed
to oblige 'the Marchesa, has already ap-
peared. The last scene was now arrived,
and he was on the eve of committing
that atrocious act, which was to secure
the pride of her house, and to satisfy at
once his ambition and his desire of ven-
geance; when an emotion, new and sur-
prising to him, had arrested his arm,


THE ITALIAN.
97
·
and compelled his resolution to falter.
But this emotion was transient, it disap-
peared almost with the object that had
awakened it; and now, in the silence
and retirement of his chamber, he had
leisure to re-collect his thoughts, to re-
view his schemes, to reanimate his reso-
lution, and to wonder again at the pity,
which had almost won him from his pur-
pose. The ruling passion of his nature,
once more resumed its authority, and
he determined to earn the honour, which
the Marchesa had in store for him.
After some cool, and more of tumul-
tuous, consideration, he resolved that
Ellena should be assassinated that night,
while she slept, and afterwards conveyed
through a passage of the house commu-
nicating with the sea, into which the
body might be thrown and buried, with
her sad story, beneath the waves. For
his own sake, he would have avoided
the danger of shedding blood, had this
appeared easy; but he had too much
reason to know she had suspicions of
poison, to trust to a second attempt by
VOL. III.


98
THE ITALIAN.
such means; and again his indignation
rose against himself, since by yielding
to a momentary compassion, he had lost
the opportunity afforded him of throw-
ing her unresistingly into the surge.
Spalatro, as has already been hinted,
was a former confident of the confessor,
who knew, too truly, from experience,
that he could be trusted, and had, there-
fore, engaged him to assist on this occa-
sion. To the hands of this man he con-
signed the fate of the unhappy. Ellena,
himself recoiling from the horrible act he
had willed; and intending by such a
step to involve Spalatro, more deeply in
the guilt, and thus more effectually to
secure his secret.
The night was far advanced before
Schedoni's final resolution was taken,
when he summoned Spalatro to his.
chamber to instruct him in his office.
He bolted the door, by which the man
had entered, forgetting that themselves
were the only persons in the house, ex-
cept the poor Ellena, who, unsuspicious
of what was conspiring, and her spirits


THE ITALIAN,
99
worn out by the late scene, was sleeping
peacefully on the mattress above. Sche-
doni moved softly from the door he had
secured, and, beckoning Spalatro to ap-
proach, spoke in a low voice, as if he
feared to be overheard. Have you per-
ceived any sound from her chamber
lately? said he, Does she sleep, think
you?
No one has moved there for this hour
past, at least, replied Spalatro, I have
been watching in the corridor, till you
called, and should have heard if she
had stirred, the old floor shakes so with
every step.
Then hear me, Spalatro, said the
confessor. I have tried, and found thee
faithful, or I should not trust thee in a
business of confidence like this. Recol-
lect all I said to thee in the morning,
and be resolute and dexterous as I have
ever found thee.
Spalatro listened in gloomy attention,
and the monk proceeded, It is late ; go
therefore to her chamber; be certain
F 2


100
THE ITALIAN.
that she sleeps. Take this, he added,
and this, giving him a dagger and a
large cloak-You know how you are to
use them.
He paused, and fixed his penetrating
eyes on Spalatro, who held up the dag-
ger in silence, examined the blade, and
continued to gaze upon it, with a vacant
stare, as if he was unconscious of what
he did.
You know your business, repeated
Schedoni, authoritatively; dispatch !
time wears, and I must set off early.
The man made no reply.
The morning dawns already, said the
confessor, still more urgently : Do you
falter? do you tremble? Do I not know
you ?
Spalatro put up the poignard in his
bosom without speaking, threw the cloak
over his arm, and moved with a loitering
step towards the door.
Dispatch! repeated the confessor;
why do you linger?
I cannot say I like this business,


THE ITALIAN.
101
signor, said Spalatro, surlily.. I know
not why I should always do the most,
and be paid the least.
Sordid villain ! exclaimed Schedoni,
you are not satisfied then ?
No more a villain than yourself, signor,
retorted the man, throwing down the
cloak, I only do your business; and 'tis
you that are sordid, for you would take
all the reward, and I would only have
a poor man have his dues. Do the work
yourself, or give me the greater profit.
Peace! said Schedoni, dare no more
to insult me with the mention of reward.
Do you imagine I have sold myself!
'Tis my will that she dies; this is suffi-
cient; and for you the price you have
asked has been granted.
It is too little, replied Spalatro, and
besides, I do not like the work. What
harm has she done me?
Since when is it, that you have taken
upon you to moralize? said the con-
fessor, and how long are these cowardly
scruples to last? This is not the first time
you have been employed; what harm


102
THE ITALIAN.
had others done you! You forget that I
know you, you forget the past.
No, signor, I remember it too well, I
wish I could forget; I remember it too
well, I have never been at peace since.
The bloody hand is always before me!
and often of a night, when the sea roars,
and storms shake the house, they have
come, all gashed as I left them, and
stood before my bed! I have got up,
and run out upon the shore for safety.
Peace! repeated the confessor, Where
is this frenzy of fear to end? To what
are these visions, painted in blood, to
lead? I thought I was talking with a man,
but find I am speaking only to a baby,
possessed with his nurse's dreams!
Yet I understand you, you shall be
satisfied.
Schedoni, however, had for once mis-
understood this man, when he could
not believe it possible that he was really
averse to execute what he had under-
taken. Whether the innocence and
beauty of Ellena had softened his heart,
or that his conscience did torture him
n


THE ITALIAN
103
for his past deeds, he persisted in refu-
sing to murder her. His conscience,
or his pity, was of a very peculiar kind,
however; for, though he refused to ex.
ecute the deed himself, he consented to
wait at the foot of a back staircase, that
communicated with Ellena's chamber,
while Schedoni accomplished it, and
afterward to assist in carrying the body
to the shore. This is a compromise be-
tween conscience and guilt, worthy of
a demon, muttered Schedoni, who ap-
peared to be insensible that he had made
the same compromise with himself not
an hour before ; and whose extreme
reluctance at this moment, to perpetrate
with his own hand, what he had wil..
lingly designed for another, ought to
have reminded him of that compromise.
Spalatro, released from the immediate
office of an executioner, endured silently
the abusive, yet half stifled, indignation
of the confessor, who also bade him re-
member, that, though he now shrunk
from the most active part of this tran-
saction, he had not always been re-


104
THE ITALIAN.
strained, in offices of the same nature,
by equal compunction; and that not
only his means of subsistence, but his
very life itself, were at his mercy. Spa-
latro readily acknowledged that it was
so; and Schedoni knew, too well, the
truth of what he had urged, to be
restrained from his purpose, by any ap-
prehension of the consequence of a dis-
covery from this ruffian.
Give me the dagger, then, said the
confessor, after a long pause, take up
the cloak, and follow to the staircase.
Let me see, whether your valour will
carry you thus far...
Spalatro resigned the stiletto, and
threw the cloak again over his arm. The
confessor stepped to the door, and, try-
ing to open it, It is fastened ! said he
in alarm, some person has got into the
house,- it is fastened !
That well may be, signor, replied
Spalatro, calmly, for I saw you bolt it
yourself, after I came into the room.
True, said Schedoni, recovering him-
self; that is true,


THE ITALIAN.
105
He opened it, and proceeded along
the silent passages, towards the private
staircase, often pausing to listen, and
then stepping more lightly ;-the terrific
Schedoni, in this moment of meditative
guilt, feared even the feeble Ellena. At
the foot of the staircase, he again stopped
to listen. Do you hear any thing? said
he in a whisper. :
I hear only the sea, replied the man.
Hush! it is something more! said
Schedoni, that is the murmur of voices!
They were silent. After a pause of
some length, It is, perhaps, the voice of
the spectres I told you of, signor, said
Spalatro, with a sneêr. Give me the
dagger, said Schedoni.
Spalatro, instead of obeying, now
grasped the arm of the confessor, who,
looking at him for an explanation of this
extraordinary action, was still more sur-
prised to observe the paleness and hor-
ror of his countenance. His starting
eyes seemed to follow some object along
the passage, and Schedoni, who began
to partake of his feelings, looked forward
F 5


106
THE ITALIAN.
:
to discover what occasioned this dismay,
but could not perceive any thing that
justified it. What is it you fear ? said
he at length.
Spalatro's eyes were still moving in
horror, Do you see nothing? said he,
pointing! Schedoni looked again, but
did not distinguish any object in the
remote gloom of the passage, whither
Spalatro's sight was now fixed.
Come, come, said he, ashamed of his
own weakness, this is not a moment for
such fancies, Awake from this idle
dream.
Spalatro withdrew his eyes, but they
retained all their wildness. It was no
dream, said he, in the voice of a man
who is exhausted by pain, and begins to
breathe somewhat more freely again. I
saw it as plainly as I now see you.
Dotard ! what did you see? inquired
the confessor.
It came before my eyes in a moment,
and shewed itself distinctly and out-
spread.
What shewed itself? repeated Sche-
doni,
OW


THE ITALIAN.
107
'
And then it beckoned-yes, it beckon-
ed me, with that blood-stained finger!
and glided away down the passage, still
beckoning-till it was lost in the dark-
ness.
This is very frenzy! said Schedoni,
excessively agitated. Arouse yourself,
and be a man!
Frenzy! would it were, signor. I
saw that dreadful hand-I see it now
it is there again !-there! :
Schedoni, shocked, embarrassed, and
once more infected with the strange
emotions of Spalatro, looked forward
expecting to discover some terrific ob-
ject, but still nothing was visible to
hịm, and he soon recovered himself suf-
ficiently to endeavour to appease the
fancy of this conscience-struck ruffian.
But Spalatro was insensible to all he
could urge, and the confessor, fearing
that his voice, though weak and stifled,
would awaken Ellena, tried to withdraw
him from the spot, to the apartment
they had quitted.
The wealth of San Loretto should not


108
THE ITALIAN.
.
make me go that way, signor, replied
he, shuddering—that was the way it
beckoned, it vanished that way!
Every emotion now yielded with
Schedoni to that of apprehension, lest
Ellena, being awakened, should make
his task more horrid by a struggle, and
his embarrassment increased at each
instant, for neither command, menace,
nor entreaty could prevail with Spalatro
to retire, till the monk luckily remem-
bered a door, which opened beyond the
staircase, and would conduct them by
another way to the opposite side of the
house. The man consented so to depart
when Schedoni unlocking a suit of
rooms, of which he had always kept the
keys, they passed in silence through an
extent of desolate chambers, till they
reached the one which they had lately
left.
Here, relieved from apprehension re-
specting Ellena, the confessor expos-
tulated more freely with Spalatro, but
neither argument, nor menace, could
prevail, and the man persisted in re-


THE ITALIAN.
109
fusing to return to the staircase, though
protesting, at the same time, that he
would not remain alone in any part of
the house ; till the wine, with which
the confessor abundantly supplied him,
began to overcome the terrors of his
imagination. At length, his courage
was so much re-animated, that he con-
sented to resume his station, and await
at the foot of the stairs the accomplish-
ment of Schedoni's dreadful errand, with
which agreement they returned thither
by the way they had lately passed.
The wine, with which Schedoni also
had found it necessary to strengthen his
own resolution, did not secure him from
severe emotion, when he found himself
again near Ellena ; but he made a stre-
nuous effort for self-subjection, as he
demanded the dagger of Spalatro.
You have it already, signor, replied
the man.
True, said the monk; ascend softly,
or our steps may awaken her.
You said I was to wait at the foot of
the stairs, signor, while you —- .


110
THE ITÀLIAN.
True, true, true! muttered the con-
fessor, and had begun to ascend, when
his attendant desired him to stop. You
are going in darkness, signor, you have
forgotten the lamp. I have another
here.
Schedoni took it angrily, without
speaking, and was again ascending,
when he hesitated, and once more
paused. The glare will disturb her,
thought he, it is better to go in dark-
ness.-Yet-- He considered, that
he could not strike with certainty with-
out light to direct his hand, and he kept
the lamp, but returned once more to
charge Spalatro not to stir from the foot
of the stairs till he called, and to ascend
to the chamber upon the first signal.
I will obey, signor, if you, on your
part, will promise not to give the signal
till all is over.
I do promise, replied Schedoni. No
more!
Again he ascended, nor stopped till
he reached Ellena's door, where he
listened for a sound; but all was as


THE ITALIAN.
11)
silent as if death already reigned in the
chamber. This door was, from long
disuse, difficult to be opened ; formerly
it would have yielded without sound,
but now Schedoni was fearful of noise
from every effort he made to move it.
After some difficulty, however, it gave
way, and he perceived, by the stillness
within the apartment, that he had not
disturbed Ellena. He shaded the lamp
with the door for a moment, while he
threw an inquiring glance forward, and
when he did venture farther, held part
of his dark drapery before the light, to
prevent the rays from spreading through
the room.
As he approached the bed, her gentle
breathings informed him that she still
slept, and the next moment he was at
her side. She lay in deep and peaceful
slumber, and seemed to have thrown
herself upon the mattress, after having
been wearied by her griefs ; for, though
sleep pressed heavily on her eyes, their
lids were yet wet with tears.
While Schedoni gazed for a moment


112
THE ITALIAN.
upon her innocent countenance, a faint
smile stole over it. He stepped back.
She smiles in her murderer's face! said
he, shuddering; I must be speedy.
He searched for the dagger, and it
was some time before his trembling
hand could disengage it from the folds
of his garment; but, having done so, he
again drew near, and prepared to strike.
Her dress perplexed him ; it would in-
terrupt the blow, and he stooped to
examine whether he could turn her robe
aside, without waking her. As the
light passed over her face, he perceived
that the smile had vanished—the visions
of her sleep were changed, for tears
stole from beneath her eyelids, and her
features suffered a slight convulsion.
She spoke! Schedoni, apprehending
that the light had disturbed her, sud-
denly drew back, and, again irresolute,
shaded the lamp, and concealed himself
behind the curtain, while he listened.
But her words were inward and indis-
tinct, and convinced him that she still
slumbered.


THE ITALIAN.
113
His agitation and repugnance to strike
increased with every moment of delay,
and, as often as he prepared to plunge
the poniard in her bosom, a shuddering
horror restrained him. Astonished at
his own feelings, and indignant at what
he termed å dastardly weakness, he
found it necessary to argue with him-
self, and his rapid thoughts said, Do I
not feel the necessity of this act! Does
not what is dearer to me than existence
does not my consequence depend on
the execution of it? Is she not also
.beloved by the young Vivaldi ?--have I
already forgotten the church of the
Spirito Santo ? . This consideration re-
animated him, vengeance nerved his
arm, and, drawing aside the lawn from
her bosom, he once more raised it to
strike; when, after gazing for an instant,
some new cause of horror seemed to
seize all his frame, and he stood for.
some moments aghast and motionless
like a statue. His respiration was short
and laborious, chilly drops stood on his
forehead, and all his faculties of mind


114
THE ITALIAN.
seemed suspended. When he recovered,
he stooped to examine again the minia-
ture, which had occasioned this revo-
lution, and which had lain concealed
beneath the lawn that he withdrew.
The terrible certainty was almost con-
firmed, and forgetting, in his impatience
to know the truth, the imprudence of
suddenly discovering himself to Ellena
at this hour of the night, and with a
dagger at his feet, he called loudly,
Awake! awake! Say, what is your
name? Speak! speak quickly!
Ellena, aroused by a man's voice,
started from her mattress, when, per-
ceiving Schedoni, and by the pale glare
of the lamp, his haggard countenance,
she shrieked, and sunk back on the pil-
low. She had not fainted, and, be-
ļieving that he came to murder her, she
now exerted herself to plead for mercy,
The energy of her feelings enabled her
to rise and throw herself at his feet, Be
merciful, O father! be merciful ! said
she, in a trembling voice.
Father! interrupted Schedoni, with
nov


THE ITALIAN.
115
n
earnestness; and then, seeming to re-
strain himself, he added, with unaffected
surprise, Why are you thus terrified ?
for he had lost in new interests and emo.
tions, all consciousness of evil intention,
and of the singularity of his situation,
What do you fear ? he repeated.
Have pity, holy father! exclaimed El-
lena, in agony. .
Why do you not say whose portrait
that is ? demanded he, forgetting that he
had not asked the question before.
Whose portrait ? repeated the con-
fessor in a loud voice.
Whose portrait! said Ellena, with
extreme surprise.
Aye, how came you by it? Be quick-
whose resemblance is it?
Why should you wish to know? said
Ellena.
Answer my question, repeated Sche-
doni, with increasing sternness.
I cannot part with it, holy father,
replied Ellena, pressing it to her bosom,
you do not wish me to part with it.
Is it impossible to make you answer


116
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my question! said he, in extreme per-
turbation, and turning away from her;
has fear utterly confounded you! Then,
again stepping towards her, and seizing
her wrist, he repeated the demand in a
tone of desperation.
Alas! he is dead ! or I should not now
want a protector, replied Ellena, shrink-
ing from his grasp, and weeping.
You trifle, said Schedoni, with a ter-
rible look, I once more demand an
answer—whose picture ?-
Ellena lifted it, gazed upon it for a
moment, and then pressing it to her lips,
said, This was my father.
Your father ! he repeated in an inward
voice, your father! and shuddering,
turned away.
: Ellena looked at him with surprise,
I never knew a father's care, she said,
nor till lately did I perceive the want of
it. ---But now-
His name? interrupted the confessor.
But now, continued Ellena—if you
are not as a father to me-to whom can
I look for protection.


THE ITALIAN.
117
His name, repeated Schedoni, with
sterner emphasis.
It is sacred, replied Ellena, for he was
unfortunate!
His name ? demanded the confessor,
furiously.
I have promised to conceal it, father.
On your life, I charge you tell it; re-
member, on your life!
Ellena trembled, was silent, and with
supplicating looks implored him to de-
sist from inquiry, but he urged the ques-
tion more irresistibly. His name then,
said she, was Marinella.
Schedoni groaned and turned away,
but in a few seconds, struggling to com-
mand the agitation that shattered his
whole frame, he returned to Ellena, and
raised her from her knees, on which she
had thrown herself to implore mercy.
The place of his residence ? said the
monk.
It was far from hence, she replied ;
but he demanded an unequivocal answer,
and she reluctantly gave one.
Schedoni turned away as before,


118
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vas
groaned heavily, and paced the chamber
without speaking ; while Ellena, in her
turn, inquired the motive of his questions
and the occasion of his agitation. But
he seemed not to notice anything she
said, and, wholly given up to his feelings,
was inflexibly silent, while he stalked,
with measured steps, along the room,
and his face, half hid by his cowl, was
bent towards the ground.
Ellena's terror began to yield to asto-
nishment, and this emotion increased,
when, Schedoni approaching her, she
perceived tears swell in his eyes, which
were fixed on her's, and his countenance
soften from the wild disorder that had
marked it. Still he could not speak,
At length he yielded to the fulness of
his heart, and Schedoni, the stern Sche-
doni, wept and sighed! He seated him-
self on the mattress beside Ellena, took
her hand, which she affrighted attempted
to withdraw, and when he could com-
mand his voice, said, Unhappy child!
behold your more unhappy father! As
he concluded, his voice was overcome


THE ITALIAN,''
119
by groans, and he drew the cowl entirely
over his face.
My father ! exclaimed the astonished
and doubting Ellena-My father! and
fixed her eyes upon him. He gave no
reply, but when, a moment after, he
lifted his head, Why do you reproach
me with those looks! said the conscious
Schedoni...
Reproach you !-reproach my father!
repeated Ellena, in accents softening
into tenderness, Why should I reproach
my father?
Why! exclaimed Schedoni, starting
from his seat, Great God!
As he moved, he stumbled over the
dagger at his foot; at that moment it
might be said to strike into his heart.
He pushed it hastily, from sight. Ellena
had not observed it; but she observed
his labouring breast, his distracted looks
and quick steps, as he walked to and
fro in the chamber; and she asked, with
the most soothing accents of compassion,
and looks of anxious gentleness, what
made him so unhappy, and tried to


120
THE ITALIAN.
assuage his sufferings. They seemed
to increase with every wish she ex-
pressed to dispel them; at one moment
he would pause to gaze upon her, and
in the next would quit her with a fren-
zied start.
Why do you look so piteously upon
me, father ? Ellena said, Why are you
so unhappy? Tell me, that I may
comfort you.
This appeal renewed all the violence
of remorse and grief, and he pressed her
to his bosom, and wetted her cheek with
his tears, Ellena wept to see him weep,
till her doubts began to take alarm.
Whatever might be the proofs, that had
convinced Schedoni of the relationship
between them, he had not explained
these to her, and, however strong was
the eloquence of nature, which she wit-
nessed, it was not sufficient to justify
an entire confidence in the assertion he
had made, or to allow her to permit his
caresses without trembling. She shrunk,
and endeavoured to disengage herself;
when, immediately understanding her,


THE ITALIAN.
121
he said, Can you doubt the cause of
these emotions ? these signs of paternal
affection?
Have I not reason to doubt, replied
Ellena, timidly, since I never witnessed
them before ?
He withdrew his arms, and fixing his
eyes earnestly on her's, regarded her
for some moments in expressive silence.
Poor innocent! said he, at length, you
know not how much your words convey!
-It is too true, you never have known
a father's tenderness till now!
His countenance darkened, while he
spoke, and he rose again from his seat.
Ellena, meanwhile, astonished, terrified,
and oppressed by a variety of emotions,
had no power to demand his reasons for
the belief, that so much agitated him, or
any explanation of his conduct; but she
appealed to the portrait, and endea-
voured by tracing some resemblance
between it and Schedoni, to decide her
doubts, The countenance of each was
as different in character as in years.
The miniature displayed a young man
VOL. III.


122
THE ITALIAN.
rather handsome, of a gay and smiling
countenance; yet the smile expressed
triumph, rather than sweetness, and his
whole airand features were distinguished
by a consciousness of superiority, that
rose even to haughtiness.
Schedoni, on the contrary, advanced
in years, exhibited a severe physiog- .
nomy, furrowed by thought, no less than
by time, and darkened by the habitual
indulgence of morose passions. He
looked as if he had never smiled since
the portrait was drawn; and it seemed
as if the painter, prophetic of Schedoni's
future disposition, had arrested and em-
bodied that smile, to prove hereafter
that cheerfulness had once played upon
his featurés.
Though the expression was so different
between the countenance, which Sche-
doni formerly owned, and that he now
wore, the same character of haughty
pride was visible in both; and Ellena
did trace a resemblance in the bold out-
line of the features, but not sufficient to
convince her, without farther evidence,


THE ITALIAN.
123
that each belonged to the same person,
and that the confessor had ever been the
young cavalier in the portrait. In the
first tumult of her thoughts, she had not
had leisure to dwell upon the singularity
of Schedoni's visiting her at this deep
hour of the night, or to urge any ques-
tions, except vague ones, concerning the
truth of her relationship to him. But
now, that her mind was somewhat recol-
lected, and that his looks were less ter-
riffic, she ventured to ask a fuller expla-
nation of these circumstances, and his
reasons for the late extraordinary asser-
tion. It is past midnight, father, said
Ellena, you may judge then how anxious
I am to learn, what motive led you to
my chamber at this lonely hour ?.
Schedoni made no reply.
Did you come to warn me of danger ?
she continued, had you discovered the
cruel designs of Spalatro ? Ah! when I
supplicated for your compassion on the
shore this evening, you little thought
what perils surrounded me! or you
would-
G 2


124
THE ITALIAN.
You say true! interrupted he, in a
hurried manner, but name the subject
no more. Why will you persist in re-
turning to it.
His words surprised Ellena, who had
not even alluded to the subject till now;
- but the returning wildness of his coun-
tenance, made her fearful of dwelling
upon the topic, even so far as to point
out his error.
Another deep pause succeeded, during
which Schedoni continued to pace the
room, sometimes stopping for an instant
to fix his eyes on Ellena, and regarding
her with an earnestness that seemed to
partake of frenzy, and then gloomily
withdrawing his regards, and sighing
heavily, as he turned away to a distant
part of the room. She, meanwhile,
agitated with astonishment at his con-
duct, as well as at her own circumstances,
and with the fear of offending him by
further questions, endeavoured to sum-
mon courage to solicit the explanation
which was so important to her tran-
quillity. At length she asked, how she


THE ITALIAN
125
might venture to believe a circumstance
so surprising, as that, of which he had
just assured her, and to remind him,
that he had not yet disclosed his reason
for admitting the belief.
The confessor's feelings were eloquent
in reply! and, when at length they were
sufficiently subdued, to permit him to
talk coherently, he mentioned some cir-
cumstances, concerning Ellena's family,
that proved him at least to have been
intimately acquainted with it; and
others, which she believed were known
only to Bianchi and herself, that removed
every doubt of his identity.
This, however, was a period of his
life too big with remorse, horror, and
the first pangs of parental affection, to
allow him to converse long; deep soli-
tude was necessary for his soul. He
wished to plunge, where no eye might
restrain his emotions, or observe the
overflowing anguish of his heart. Having
obtained sufficient proof to convince him,
that Ellena was indeed his child, and


126
THE ITALIAN.
assured her, that she should be removed
from this house on the following day,
and be restored to her home, he abruptly
left the chamber.
As he descended the staircase, Spa-
latro stepped forward to meet him, with
the cloak, which had been designed to
wrap the mangled form of Ellena, when
it should be carried to the shore. Is it
done ? said the ruffian, in a stifled
voice, I am ready; and he spread forth
the cloak, and began to ascend.
Hold ! villain, hold ! said Schedoni,
lifting up his head for the first time,
Dare to enter that chamber, and your
life shall answer for it.
What! exclaimed the man, shrinking
back astonished-will not her's satisfy
you !
He trembled for the consequence of
what he had said, when he observed the
changing countenance of the confessor.
But Schedoni spoke not; the tumult in
his breast was too great for utterance,
and he pressed hastily forward. Spalatro


THE ITALIAN.
127
followed. Be pleased to tell me what
I am to do, said he, again holding forth
the cloak.
Avaunt! exclaimed the other, turning
fiercely upon him ; leave me.
How ! said the man, whose spirit was
now aroused, has your courage failed too,
signor? If so, I will prove myself no
dastard, though you called me one ; I'll
do the business myself.
Villain! fiend! cried Schedoni, seizing
the ruffian by the throat, with a grasp
that seemed intended to annihilate him;
when, recollecting that the fellow was
only willing to obey the very instruc-
tions he had himself but lately delivered
to him, other emotions succeeded to that
of rage; he slowly liberated him, and in
accents broken, and softening from
sternness, bade him retire to rest. To-
morrow, he added, I will speak further
with you. As for this night I have
changed my purpose. Begone!
Spalatro was about to express the in-
dignation, which astonishment and fear
had hitherto overcome, but his employer


128
THE ITALIAN.
repeated his command in a voice of
thunder, and closed the door of his
apartment with violence, as he shut out
a man, whose presence was become
hateful to him. He felt relieved by his
absence, and began to breathe more
freely, till, remembering that this accom-
plice had just boasted that he was no
dastard, he dreaded lest, by way of pro-
ving the assertion, he should attempt to
commit the crime, from which he had
lately shrunk. Terrified at the possi-
bility, and even apprehending that it
might already have become a reality, he
rushed from the room, and found Spa-
latro in the passage leading to the pri-
vate staircase; but, whatever might have
been his purpose, the situation and looks
of the latter were sufficiently alarming.
At the approach of Schedoni, he turned
his sullen and malignant countenance
towards him, without answering the.
call, or the demand as to his business
there ; and with slow steps obeyed the .
order of his master, that he should with-
draw to his room. Thither Schedoni


THE ITALIAN.
129
followed, and, having locked him in it
for the night, he repaired to the apart-
ment of Ellena, which he secured from
the possibility of intrusion. He then
returned to his own, not to sleep, but to
abandon himself to the agonies of re-
morse and horror; and he yet shuddered
like a man, who has just recoiled from
the brink of a precipice, but who still
measures the gulf with his eye.
G
5


CHAPTER V.
But their way
Lios through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forloro and wandering passenger.
MILTON.
VI
ELLEN A, when Schedoni had left her,
recollected all the particulars, which he
had thought proper to reveal concerning
her family, and, comparing them with
such circumstances as the late Bianchi
had related on the same subject, she
perceived nothing that was contradictory
between the two accounts. But she
knew not even vet enough of her own
story, to understand why Bianchi had
been silent as to some particulars, which
had just been disclosed. From Bianchi
she had always understood, that her
mother had married a nobleman of the
duchy of Milan, and of the house of
Marinella ; that the marriage had been
unfortunate ; and that she herself, even
before the death of the countess, had


THE ITALIAN.
121
been committed to the care of Bianchi,
the only sister of that lady. Of this
event, or of her mother, Ellena had no
remembrance ; for the kindness of Bi-
anchi had obliterated from her mind the ,
loss and the griefs of her early infancy;
and she recollected only the accident,
which had discovered to her, in Bianchi's
cabinet, after the death of the latter, the
miniature and the name of her father.
When she had inquired the reason of
this injunction, Bianchi replied, that the
degraded fortune of her house rendered
privacy desirable; and answered her
further questions concerning her father,
by relating that, he had died while she
was an infant. The picture, which El-
lena had discovered, Bianchi had found
among the trinkets of the departed
countess, and designed to present it at
some future period to Ellena, when her
discretion might be trusted with a
knowledge of her family. This was the
whole of what Signora Bianchi had
judged it necessary to explain, though
in her last hours it appeared that she


132
THE ITALIAN.
wished to reveal more; but it was then
too late.
Though Ellena perceived, that many
circumstances of the relations given by
Schedoni and by Signora Bianchi co-
incided, and that none were contradic-
tory except that of his death, she could
not yet subdue her amazement at this
discovery, or even the doubts, which
occasionally recurred to her as to its
truth. Schedoni, on the contrary, had
not even appeared surprised, when she
assured him, that she always understood
her father had been dead many years;
though, when she asked if her mother
too was living, both his distress and his
assurances confirmed the relation made
by Bianchi.
When Ellena's mind became more
tranquil, she noticed again the singula-
rity of Schedoni's visit to her apartment
at so sacred an hour; and ber thoughts
glanced back involuntary to the scene
of the preceding evening on the sea-
shore, and the image of her father ap:
peared in each, in the terrific character


THE ITALIAN.
133
of an agent of the Marchesa di Vivaldi.
The suspicions, however, which she had
formerly admitted, respecting his de-
signs, were now impatiently rejected,
for she was less anxious to discover
truth, than to release herself from hor-
rible suppositions ; and she willingly
believed that Schedoni, having misun-
derstood her character, had only de-
signed to assist in removing her beyond
the reach of Vivaldi. The ingenuity of
hope suggested also, that, having just
heard from her conductors, or from Spa-
latro, some circumstances of her story,
he had been led to a suspicion of the
relationship between them, and that in
the first impatience of parental anxiety,
he had disregarded the hour, and come,
though at midnight, to her apartment to
ascertain the truth.
While she soothed herself with this
explanation, of a circumstance, which
had occasioned her considerable sur-
prise, she perceived on the floor the
point of a dagger peeping from beneath
the curtains! Emotions almost too


134
THE ITALIAN,
horrible to be sustained, followed this
discovery; she took the instrument, and
gazed upon it aghast and trembling, for
a suspicion of the real motive of Sche.
doni's visit glanced upon her mind. But
it was only for a moment; such a sup-
position was too terrible to be willingly
endured ; she again believed that Spa-
latro alone had meditated her destruc-
tion, and she thanked the confessor as
her deliverer, instead of shrinking from
him as an assassin. She now under-
stood, that Schedoni, having discovered
the ruffian's design, had rushed into the
chamber to save a stranger from his
murderous poniard, and had uncon-
sciously rescued his own daughter, when
the portrait at her bosom informed him
of the truth. With this conviction El-
lena's eyes overflowed with gratitude,
and her heart was hushed to peace.
Schedoni, meanwhile, shut up in his
chamber, was agitated by feelings of a
very opposite nature. When their first
excess was exhausted, and his mind was
calm enough to reflect, the images, that
el
,


THE ITALIAN.
135
appeared on it, struck him with solemn
wonder. In pursuing Ellena at the
criminal instigation of the Marchesa di
Vivaldi, it appeared that he had been
persecuting his own child; and, in thus
consenting to conspire against the inno-
cent, he had in the event been only
punishing the guilty, and preparing
mortification for himself on the exact
subject, to which he had sacrificed his
conscience. Every step that he had
taken with a view of gratifying his am-
bition was retrograde, and, while he
had been wickedly intent to serve the
Marchesa and himself, by preventing
the marriage of Vivaldi and Ellena, he
had been laboriously counteracting his
own fortune. An alliance with the
illustrious house of Vivaldi was above
his loftiest hope of advancement, and
this event he had himself nearly pre-
vented by the very means, which had
been adopted, at the expense of every
virtuous consideration, to obtain an
inferior promotion. Thus by a singular


136
THE ITALIAN.
retribution, his own crimes had recoiled
upon himself.
Schedoni perceived the many obsta-
cles, which lay between him and his
newly awakened hopes, and that much
was to be overcome, before those nup-
tials could be publicly solemnized,
which he was now still more anxious to
promote, than he had lately been to
prevent. The approbation of the Mar.
chesa was, at least desirable, for she
had much at her disposal, and, without
it, though his daughter might be the
wife of Vivaldi, he himself would be no
otherwise benefited at present than by
the honour of the connexion. He had
some peculiar reasons for believing, that
her consent might be obtained, and,
though there was hazard in delaying
the nuptials till such an experiment had
been made, he resolved to encounter it,
rather than forbear to solicit her con-
currence. But, if the Marchesa should
prove inexorable, he determined to
bestow the hand of Ellena, without her


THE ITALIAN.
137
we
knowledge, and, in doing so, he well
knew that he incurred little danger from
her resentment, since he had secrets in
his possession, the consciousness of
which must awe her into a speedy neu-
trality. The consent of the Marchese,
as he despaired of obtaining it, he did
not mean to solicit, and the influence of
the Marchesa was such, that Schedoni
did not regard that as essential.
The first steps, however, to be taken,
were those, that might release Vivaldi
from the Inquisition, the tremendous
prison, into which Schedoni himself,
little foreseeing that he should so soon
wish for his liberation, had caused him
to be thrown. He had always under-
stood, indeed, that, if the informer for-
bore to appear against the accused in
this court, the latter would of course be
liberated; and he also believed that
Vivaldi's freedom could be obtained,
whenever he should think proper to ap-
ply to a person at Naples, whom he
knew to be connected with the holy
office of Rome. How much the con-


138
THE ITALIAN.
fessor had suffered his wishes to deceive
him, may appear hereafter. His motives,
for having thus confined Vivaldi, were
partly those of self-defence. He dreaded
the discovery and the vengeance, which
might follow the loss of Ellena, should
Vivaldi be at liberty immediately to
pursue his inquiries. But he believed,
that all trace of her must be lost, after a
few weeks had elapsed, and that Vivaldi's
sufferings from confinement in the In-
quisition would have given interests to
his mind, which must weaken the one
he felt for Ellena. Yet, though in this
instance self defence had been a prin-
cipal motive with Schedoni, a desire of
revenging the insult he had received in
the church of the Spirito Santo, and all
the consequent mortifications he expe-
rienced, had been a second ; and, such
was the blackness of his hatred and the
avarice of his revenge, that he had not
considered the suffering, which the loss
of Ellena would occasion Vivaldi, as
sufficient retaliation.
In adopting a mode of punishment so


THE ITALIAN.
139
extraordinary as that of imprisonment
in the Inquisition, it appears, therefore,
that Schedoni was influenced, partly by
the difficulty of otherwise confining Vi.
valdi, during the period for which con-
finement was absolutely necessary to the
success of his own schemes, and partly
by a desire of inflicting the tortures of
terror. He had also been encouraged
by his discovery of this opportunity for
conferring new obligations on the Mar-
chesa. The very conduct that must
have appeared to the first glance of an
honest mind fatal to his interests, he
thought might be rendered beneficial to
them, and that his dexterity could so
command the business, as that the Mar-
chesa should eventually thank him as
the deliverer of her son, instead of dis-
covering and execrating him as his ac-
cuser; a scheme favoured by the unjust
and cruel rule enacted by the tribunal
he approached, which permitted anony-
mous informers.
To procure the arrestation of Vivaldi,
it had been only necessary to send a


140
THE ITALIAN.
written accusation, without a name to
the holy office, with a mention of the
place, where the accused person might
be seized; but the suffering in conse-
quence of this did not always proceed:
further than the question, since, if the
informer failed to discover himself to
the inquisitors, the prisoner, after many
examinations, was released, unless he
happened unwarily to criminate him-
self. Schedoni, as he did not intend to
prosecute, believed, therefore, that Vi-
valdi would of course be discharged
after a certain period, and supposing it
also utterly impossible that he could
ever discover his accuser, the confessor
determined to appear anxious and active
in effecting his release. This character
of a deliverer, he knew he should be the
better enabled to support by means of a
person officially connected with the
holy office, who had already unconsci-
ously assisted his views. In the apart-
ment of this man, Schedoni had acci-
dentally seen a formula of arrestation
against a person suspected of heresy,


THE ITALIAN.
141
the view of which had not only sug-
gested to him the plan he had since
adopted, but had in some degree assisted
him to carry it into effect. He had
seen the scroll only for a short time, but
his observations were so minute, and
his memory so clear, that he was able
to copy it with at least sufficient exact-
ness to impose upon the Benedictine
priest, who had, perhaps, seldom, or
never, seen a real instrument of this
kind. Schedoni had employed this ar-
tifice for the purpose of immediately se-
curing Vivaldi, apprehending that, while
the inquisitors were slowly deliberating
upon his arrest, he might quit Celano,
and elude discovery. If the deception
succeeded, it would enable him also to
seize Ellena, and to mislead Vivaldi
respecting her destination. The charge
of having carried off a nun might appear
to be corroborated by many circum-
stances, and Schedoni would probably
have made these the subject of real de-
nunciation, had he not foreseen the
danger and the trouble, in which it


142
THE ITALIAN.
might implicate himself; and that, as
the charge could not be substantiated,
Ellena would finally escape. As far as
his plan now went, it had been success-
ful; some of the bravos, whom he hired
to personate officials, had conveyed
Vivaldi to the town, where the real offi.
cers of the Inquisition were appointed
to receive him; while the others carried
Ellena to the shore of the Adriatic.
Schedoni had much applauded his own
ingenuity, in thus contriving, by the
matter of the forged accusation, to throw
an impenetrable veil over 'the fate of
Ellena, and to secure himself from the
suspicions, or vengeance, of Vivaldi,
who, it appeared, would always believe
that she had died, or was still confined
in the unsearchable prisons of the In-
quisition..
Thus he had betrayed himself in en-
deavouring to betray Vivaldi, whose
release, however, he yet supposed could
be easily obtained; but how much his
policy had, in this instance, outrun his
sagacity, now remained to be proved.


THE ITALIAN.
143
The subject of Schedoni's immediate
perplexity was the difficulty of conveying
Ellena back to Naples, since, not chu-
sing to appear at present in the character
of her father, he could not decorously
accompany her thither himself, nor could
he prudently intrust her to the conduct
of any person, whom he knew in this
neighbourhood. It was, however, ne-
cessary to form a speedy determination,
for he could neither endure to pass ano-
ther day in a scene, which must conti-
nually impress him with the horrors of
the preceding night, nor that Ellena
should remain in it; and the morning
light already gleamed upon his case-
ments.
After some further deliberation, he
resolved to be himself her conductor, as
far at least as through the forests of the
Garganus, and at the first town, where
conveniences could be procured, to throw
aside his monk's habit, and, assuming
the dress of a layman, accompany her
in this disguise towards Naples, till he
should either discover some secure means


, THE ITALIAN.
145
which he had last passed through these
same passages and staircase, appealed
so powerfully to his feelings, that he
was unable to proceed, and he turned
back to his own apartment to recover
some command over himself. A few
moments restored to him his usual ad-
dress, though not his tranquillity, and
he again approached the chamber; it
was now, however, by way of the cor-
ridor. As he unbarred the door, his hand
trembled; but, when he entered the
room, his countenance and manner had'
resumed their usual solemnity, and his '
voice only would have betrayed to an
attentive observer the agitation of his
mind.
Ellena was considerably affected on
seeing him again, and he examined with
a jealous eye the emotions he witnessed.
The smile, with which she met him was
tender, but he perceived it pass away
from her features, like the aerial colouring
that illumines a mountain's brow; and
the gloom of doubt and apprehension
again overspread them. As he advanced,
VOL. III. . . 1


146
THE ITALIAN.
he held forth his hand for her's, when,
suddenly perceiving the dagger he had
left in the chamber, he involuntarily
withdrew his proffered courtesy, and
his countenance changed. Ellena, whose
eyes followed his to the object that at-
tracted them, pointed to the instrument,
took it up, and approaching him, said,
This dagger I found last night in my
chamber ! O my father!
That dagger! said Schedoni, with
affected surprise.
Examine it, continued Ellena, while
she held it up. Do you know to whom
it belongs, and who brought it hither ?
What is it you mean? asked Schedoni,
betrayed by his feelings.
Do you know, too, for what purpose
it was brought ? said Ellena mournfully.
The confessor made no reply, but
irresolutely attempted to seize the in-
strument.
O yes, I perceive you know too well,
continued Ellena; here, my father, while
I slept-
Give me the dagger, interrupted Sche-
doni, in a frightful voice.


THE ITALIAN.
147
Yes, my father, I will give it as an
offering of my gratitude, replied Ellena;
but, as she raised her eyes, filled with
tears, his look and fixed attitude terri-
fied her, and she added with a still more
persuasive tenderness : Will you not
accept the offering of your child, for
having preserved her from the poniard
of an assassin.
Schedoni's looks became yet darker;
he took the dagger in silence, and threw
it with violence to the furthest end of
the chamber, while his eyes remained
fixed on her's. The force of the action
alarmed her: Yes, it is in vain that you
would conceal the truth, she added,
weeping unrestrainedly; your goodness
cannot avail; I know the whole.-
The last words aroused Schedoni
again from his trance, his features be-
came convulsed, and his look furious.
What do you know ? he demanded in a
subdued voice, that seemed ready to
burst in thunder.
All that I owe you, replied Ellena,
- H 2


148
THE ITALIAN.
that last night, while I slept upon this
mattress, unsuspicious of what was de- '
signed against me, an assassin entered
the chamber with that instrument in
his hand, and
A stifled groan from Schedoni checked
Ellena; she observed his rolling eyes,
and trembled ; till, believing that his
agitation was occasioned by indignation
against the assassin, she resumed, Why
should you think it necessary to conceal
the danger, which has threatened me,
since it is to you that I owe my deli-
verance from it? O! my father, do
not deny me the pleasure of shedding
these tears of gratitude, do not refuse
the thanks, which are due to you!
While I slept upon that couch, while a
ruffian stole upon my slumber-it was
you, yes! Can I ever forget, that it
was my father, who saved me from his
poniard !
Schedoni's passions were changed,
but they were not less violent; he
could scarcely controul them, while he


THE ITALIAN.
..
149
said in a tremulous tone-It is enough,
say no more; and he raised Ellena, but
lurned away without embracing her.
His strong emotion, as he paced in
silence the furthest end of the apart-
ment, excited her surprise, but she then
attributed it to a remembrance of the
perilous moment, from which he had
rescued her.
Schedoni, meanwhile, to whom her
thanks were daggers, was trying to
subdue the feelings of remorse, that
tore his heart; and was so enveloped in
a world of his own, as to be for some
time unconscious of all around him. He
continued to stalk in gloomy silence
along the chamber, till the voice of
Ellena, entreating him rather to rejoice,
that he had been permitted to save her,
than so deeply to consider dangers,
which were past, again touched the
chord that vibrated to his conscience
and recalled him to a sense of his situ-
ation. He then bade her prepare for
immediate departure, and abruptly
quitted the room.


150
THE ITALIAN.
IT
Vainly hoping, that, in Aying from
the scene of his meditated crime, he
should leave with it the acuteness of
remembrance and the agonizing stings
of remorse, he was now more anxious
than ever to leave this place. Yet he
should still be accompanied by Ellena,
and her innocent looks, her affectionate
thanks, inflicted an anguish, which was
scarcely endurable. Sometimes, think-
ing that her hatred, or what to him
would be still severer, her contempt,
must be more tolerable than this grati-
tude, he almost resolved to undeceive
her, respecting his conduct, but as con-
stantly and impatiently repelled the
thought with horror, and finally deter-
mined to suffer her to account for his
late extraordinary visit in the way she
had chosen,
Spalatro, at length, returned from the
hamlet with horses, but without having
procured a guide to conduct the tra-
vellers through a tract of the long de-
volving forests of the Garganus, which
it was necessary for them to pass. No,
ecessar


THE ITALIAN.'
151
person had been willing to undertake so
arduous a task; and Spalatro, who was
well acquainted with all the labyrinths
of the way, now offered his services.
Schedoni, though he could scarcely
endure the presence of this man, had no
alternative but to accept him, since he
had dismissed the guide, who had con-
ducted him hither. Of personal violence
Schedoni had no apprehension, though
he too well understood the villainy of
his proposed companion ; for he consi-
dered, that he himself should be well
armed, and he determined to ascertain
that Spalatro was without weapons ; he
knew also, that in case of a contest, his
own superior stature would easily ena-
ble him to overcome such an antagonist.
Every thing being now ready for
departure, Ellena was summoned, and
the confessor led her to his own apart-
ment, where a slight breakfast was pre-
pared.
Her spirits being revived by the speed
of this departure, she would again have
expressed her thanks, but he peremp-
,


152
THE ITALIAN.
torily interrupted her, and forbade any
further mention of gratitude.
On entering the court, where the
horses were in waiting, and perceiving
Spalatro, Ellena shrunk and put her
arm within Schedoni's for protection.
What recollections does the presence
of that man revive ! said she, I can
scarcely venture to believe myself safe,
even with you, when he is here.
Schedoni made no reply, till the re-
mark was repeated : You have nothing
to fear from him, muttered the con-
fessor, while he hastened her forward,
and we have no time to lose in vague
apprehension.
How! exclaimed Ellena; is not be
the assassin from whom you saved me!
I cannot doubt, that you know him to
be such, though you would spare me
the pain of believing so.
Well, well, be it so, replied the con-
fessor ; Spalatro, lead the horses this
way.
The party were soon mounted, when,
quitting this eventful mansion and the


THE ITALIAN,
153
ve
shore of the Adriatic, as Ellena hoped
for ever, they entered upon the gloomy
wilderness of the Garganus. She often
turned her eyes back upon the house,
with emotions of inexpressible awe, as-
tonishment and thankfulness, and gazed,
while a glimpse of its turretted walls
could be caught beyond the dark bran-
ches, which, closing over it, at length
shut it from her view. The joy of this
departure, however, was considerably
abated by the presence of Spalatro, and
her fearful countenance inquired of
Schedoni the meaning of his being suf-
fered to accompany them. The con-
fessor was reluctant to speak concerning
a man, of whose very existence he would
willingly have ceased to think. Ellena
guided her horse still closer to Sche-
doni's, but, forbearing to urge the in-
quiry, otherwise than by looks, she
received no reply, and she endeavoured
to quiet her apprehensions, by consi-
dering, that he would not have permitted
this man to be their guide, unless he
kad believed he might be trusted. This
H 5


154
THE ITALIAN.
consideration, though it relieved her
fears, increased her perplexity, respect-
ing the late designs of Spalatro, and her
surprise that Schędoni, if he had really
understood them to be evil, should en-
dure his presence. Every time she stole
a glance at the dark countenance of this
man, rendered still darker by the shade
of the trees, she thought.“ assassin” was
written in each line of it, and could
scarcely doubt, that he, and not the
people, who had conducted her to the
mansion, had dropped the dagger in her
chamber, Whenever she looked round
through the deep glades, and on the
forest mountains, that on every side
closed the scene, and seemed to exclude
all cheerful haunt of man, and then re-
garded her companions, her heart sunk,
notwithstanding the reasons she had for
believing herself in the protection of a
father. Nay, the very looks of Sche-
doni himself, more than once reminded
her of his appearance on the sea-shore,
renewed the impressions of alarm and
even of dismay, which she had there


THE' ITALIAN
155
experienced. At such moments it was
scarcely possible for her to consider him
as her parent, and, in spite of every late
appearance, strange and unaccountable
doubts began to gather on her mind.
Schedoni, meanwhile, lost in thought,
broke not, by a single word, the deep
silence of the solitudes, through which
they passed. : Spalatro was equally
mute, and equally engaged by his reflec-
tions on the sudden change in Schedoni's
purpose, and by wonder as to the mo-
tive, which could have induced him to
lead Ellena in safety, from the very spot,
whither she was brought by his express
command to be destroyed. He, how-
ever, was not so wholly occupied, as to
be unmindful of his situation, or un.
watchful of an opportunity of serving
his own interests, and retaliating upon
Schedoni for the treatment he had re-
ceived on the preceding night.
Among the various subjects, that dis-
tracted the confessor, the difficulty of
disposing of Ellena, without betraying
at Naples that she was his relative, was


156
THE ITALIAN.
not the least distressing. Whatever
might be the reason, which could justify
such feelings, his fears of a premature
discovery of the circumstance to the
sociсty, with whom he lived, were so
strong, as often to produce the most
violent effect upon his countenance, and
it was, perhaps, when he was occi
by this subject, that its terrific expres-
sion revived with Ellena the late scene
upon the shore. His embarrassment
was not less, as to the excuse to be
offered the Marchesa, for having failed
to fulfil his engagement, and respecting
the means, by which he might interest
her in favour of Ellena, and even dispose
ber to approve the marriage, before she
should be informed of the family of this
unfortunate young woman. Perceiving
all the necessity for ascertaining the
probabilities of such consent, before he
ventured to make an avowal of her origin,
he determined not to reveal himself, till
he should be perfectly sure, that the
discovery would be acceptable to the
Marchesa. In the mean time as it would


THE ITALIAN.
157
be necessary to say something of Ellena's
birth, he meant to declare, that he had
discovered it to be noble, and her family
worthy, in every respect, of a connection
with that of the Vivaldi.
An interview with the Marchesa was
almost equally wished for and dreaded
by the confessor. He shuddered at the
expectation of meeting a woman, who
had instigated him to the murder of his
own child, which, though he had been
happily prevented from committing it,
was an act that would still be wished
for by the Marchesa. How could he
endure her reproaches, when she should
discover that he had failed to accomplish
her will ! How conceal the indignation
of a father, and dissimulate all a father's
various feelings, when, in reply to such
reproaches, he must form excuses and
act humility, from which his whole soul
would revolt! Never could his arts of
dissimulation have been so severely
tried, not even in the late scenes with
Ellena, never have returned upon him-
self in punishment so severe, as in that,


158
THE ITALIAN.
which awaited him with the Marchesa.
And from its approach the cool and po-
litic : Schedoni-often shrunk in such
horror, that he almost determined to
avoid it at any hazard, and secretly to
unite Vivaldi and Ellena; without even
soliciting the consent of the Marchesa.
A desire, however, of the immediate
preferment, so necessary to his pride,
constantly checked this scheme, and
finally made him willing to subject every
honest feeling, and submit to any mean-
ness, however vicious, rather than forego
the favourite object of his erroneous
ambition. - Never, perhaps, was the
paradoxical union of pride and abject-
ness more strongly exhibited than on
this occasion,
While thus the travellers silently pro-
ceeded, Ellena's thoughts often turned
to Vivaldi, and she considered, with
trembling anxiety, the effect, which the
late discovery was likely to have upon
their future lives. It appeared to her,
that Schedoni must approve of a con-
pection thus flattering to the pride of a


THE ITALIAN
159
father, though he would probably refuse
his consent to a private marriage. And,
when she further considered the revo-
lution, which a knowledge of her family
might occasion towards herself in the
minds of the Vivaldi, her prospects
seemed to brighten, and her cares began
to dissipate. Judging, that Schedoni
must be acquainted with the present
situation of Vivaldi, she was continually
on the point of mentioning him, but was
as constantly restrained by timidity,
though, had' she suspected him to be an
inhabitant of the Inquisition, her scruples
would have vanished, before an irresis-
tible interest. As it was, believing that
he, like herself, had been imposed upon
by the Marchesa's agents, in the disguise
of officials, she concluded, as has before
appeared, that he now suffered a tem
porary imprisonment by order of his
mother, at one of the family, villas.
When, however, Schedoni, awakening
from his reverie, abruptly mentioned
Vivaldi, her spirits fluttered with impa-


160
THE ITALIAN.
tience to learn his exact situation, and
she inquired respecting it.
I am no stranger to your attachment,
said Schedoni, evading the question,
but I wish to be informed of some cir-
cumstances relative to its commence-
ment.
Ellena, confused, and not knowing
what to reply, was for a moment silent,
and then repeated her inquiry...
Where did you first meet ? said the
confessor, still disregarding her question.
Ellena related, that she had first seen
Vivaldi, when attending her aunt from
the church of San Lorenzo. For the
present she was spared the embarrass-
ment of further explanation by Spalatro,
who, riding up to Schedoni, informed
him they were approaching the town of
Zanti. On looking forward, Ellena
perceived houses peeping from among
the forest trees, at a short distance, and
presently heard the cheerful bark of a
dog, that sure herald and faithful servant
of man!
en


THE ITALIAN.
161
. Soon after the travellers entered
Zanti, a small town surrounded by the
forest, where, however, the poverty of
the inhabitants seemed to forbid a longer
stay than was absolutely necessary for
repose and a slight refreshment. Spa-
latro led the way to a cabin, in which
the few persons, that journied this road,
were usually entertained. The appear-
ance of the people, who owned it, was
as wild as their country, and the interior
of the dwelling was so dirty and com-
fortless, that; Schedoni preferring to
take his repast in the open air, a table
was spread under the luxuriant shade of
the forest trees, at a little distance.
Here, when the host had withdrawn,
and Spalatro had been dispatched to
examine the post-horses, and to procure
a lay-habit for the confessor, the latter,
once more alone with Ellena, began to
experience again somewhat of the em-
barrassments of conscience; and Ellena,
whenever her eyes glanced upon him,
suffered a solemnity of fear, that rose
almost to terror. He, at length, ter-


162
THE ITALIAN.
minated this emphatic silence, by re-
newing his mention of Vivaldi, and his
command that Ellena should relate the
history of their affection. Not daring
to refuse, she obeyed, but with as much
brevity as possible, and Schedoni did
not interrupt her by a single observa-
tion, However elligible their nuptials
now appeared to him, he forbore to give
any hint of approbation, till he should
have extricated the object of her regards
from his perilous situation. But, with
Ellena, this very silence implied the
opinion it was meant to conceal, and,
encouraged by the hope it imparted,
she ventured once more to ask, by whose
order Vivaldi had been arrested; whi-
ther he had been conveyed, and the
circumstances of his present situation.
Too politic to intrust her with a
knowledge of his actual condition, the
confessor spared her the anguish of
learning, that he was a prisoner in the
Inquisition. He affected ignorance of
the late transaction at Celano, but ven-
tured to believe, that both Vivaldi and


THE ITALIAN.
163
herself had been arrested by order of
the Marchesa, who, he conjectured, had
thrown him into temporary confinement,
a measure which she, no doubt, had
meant to enforce also towards Ellena.
And you my father, observed Ellena,
what brought you to my prison,-you
who was not informed of the Marchesa's
designs ? What accident conducted you
to that remote solitude, just at the mo-
ment when you could save your child !
Informed of the Marchesa's designs !
said Schedoni, with embarrassment and
displeasure; Have you ever imagined
that I could be accessary--that I could
consent to assist, I mean could consent
to be a confidant of such atrocious-
Schedoni, bewildered, confounded, and
half betrayed, checked himself.
Yet you have said, the Marchesa
meant only to confine me! observed
Ellena; was that design so atrocious ?
Alas, my father! I know too well that
her plan was more atrocious, and since
you had too much reason to know this,


164
THE ITALIAN.
why do you say that imprisonment only
was intended for me! But your soli-
citude for my tranquillity leads you
to
What means, interrupted the suspi-
cious Schedoni, can I particularly
have of understanding the Marchesa's
schemes ? I repeat, that I am not her
confidant; how then is it to be suppos-
ed I should know that they extended
further than to imprisonment ?
· Did you not save me from the arm of
the assassin ! said Ellena tenderly ; did
you not wrench the very dagger from
his grasp!
I had forgotten, I had forgotten, said
the confessor, yet more embarrassed.
Yes, good minds are ever thus apt to
forget the benefits they confer, replied
Ellena. But you shall find, my father,
that a grateful heart is equally tenacious
to remember them ; it is the indelible
register of every act, that is dismissed
from the memory of the benefactor. .
Mention no more of benefits, said


THE ITALIAN.
165
Schedoni, impatiently; let silence on
this subject henceforth indicate your
wish to oblige me.
He rose, and joined the host, who was
at the door of his cabin. Schedoni
wished to dismiss Spalatro as soon as
possible, and he inquired for a guide to
conduct him through that part of the
forest, which remained to be traversed.
In this poor town, a person willing to
undertake that office was easily to be
found, but the host went in quest of a
neighbour, whom he had recommended.
Meanwhile Spalatro returned, with-
out having succeeded in his commission.
Not any lay-habit could be procured,
upon so short a notice, that suited Sche-
doni. He was obliged, therefore, to
continue his journey to the next town
at least, in his own dress, but the ne..
cessity was nat very serious to him,
since it was improbable, that he should
be known in this obscure region.
Presently the host appeared with his
neighbour, when Schedoni, having re-
ceived satisfactory answers to his ques-


166
THE ITALIAN.
tions, engaged him for the remainder of
the forest-road, and dismissed Spalatro.
The ruffian departed with sullen reluc.
tance, and evident ill-will, circum-
stances, which the confessor scarcely
noticed, while occupied by the satisfac-
tion of escaping from the presence of
the atrocious partner of his conscience.
But Ellena, as he passed her, observed
the malignant disappointment of his
look, and it served only to heighten the
thankfulness his departure occasioned
her.
It was afternoon before the travellers
proceeded. Schedoni had calculated,
that they could easily reach the town,
at which they designed to pass the
night, before the close of evening, and
he had been in no haste to depart, during
the heat of the day. Their track now
lay through a country less savage, though
scarcely less wild than that they had
passed in the morning. It emerged
from the interior towards the border of
the forest ; they were no longer inclosed
by impending mountains; the with-


THE ITALIAN.
167
drawing shades were no longer impene-
trable to the eye, but now and then
opened to gleams of sunshine landscape
and purple distances; and, in the imme-
diate scene, many a green glade spread
its bosom to the sun. The grandeur of
the trees, however, did not decline; the
plane, the oak, and the chesnut still
threw a pomp of foliage round these
smiling spots, and seemed to consecrate
the mountain streams, that descended
beneath their solemn shade.
To the harrassed spirits of Ellena the
changing scenery was: refreshing, and
she frequently yielded her cares to the
influence of majestic nature. Over the
gloom of Schedoni, no scenery had, at
any moment, power; the shape and
paint of external imagery gave neither
impression, nor colour to his fancy. He
contemned the sweet illusions, to which
other spirits are liable, and which often
confer a delight more exquisite, and not
less innocent, than any which delibe-
rating reason can bestow. .
The same thoughtful silence, that had


168
THE ITALIAN.
wrapt him at the beginning of the jour-
ney, he still preserved, except when oc-
casionally he asked a question of the
guide, concerning the way, and received
answers too loquacious for his humour.
This loquacity, however, was not easily
repressed, and the peasant had already
begun to relate some terrible stories of
murder, committed in these forests upon
people, who had been hardy enough to
venture into them without a guide, be-
fore the again abstracted Schedoni even
noticed that he spoke. Though Ellena
did not give much credit to these narra-
tives, they had some effect upon her
fears, when soon after she entered the
deep shades of a part of the forest, that
lay along a narrow defile, whence every
glimpse of cheerful landscape was again
excluded by precipices, which towered
on either side. The stillness was not
less effectual than the gloom, for no
sounds were heard, except such as seem-
ed to characterize solitude, and impress
its awful power more deeply on the
heart,--the hollow dashing of torrents


THE ITALIAN.
: 169
descending distantly, and the deep sigh-
ings of the wind, as it passed among
trees, which threw their broad arms over
the cliffs and crowned the highest sum-
mits. Onward, through the narrowing
windings of the defile, no living object
appeared ; but, as Ellena looked fear-
fully back, she thought she distinguished
a human figure advancing beneath the
dusky umbrage, that closed the view.
She communicated her suspicion to
Schedoni, though not her fears, and
they stopped for a moment, to observe
further. The object advanced slowly,
and they perceived the stature of a man,
who, having continued to approach, sud-
denly paused, and then glided away
behind the foliage, that crossed the
perspective, but not before Ellena fan-
cied she discriminated the figure of
Spalatro. None but a purpose the most
desperate, she believed, could have urged
him to follow into this pass, instead of
returning, as he had pretended, to his
home. Yet it appeared improbable,
that he alone should be willing to attack
vol. III. . I


170
THE ITALIAN.
two armed persons, for both Schedoni
and the guide had weapons of defence.
This consideration afforded her only a
momentary respite from apprehension,
since it was possible that, he might not
be alone, though only one person had
yet been seen among the shrouding
branches of the woods. Did you not
think he resembled Spalatro? said El-
lena to the confessor; was he not of the
same stature and air ? You are well
armed, or I should fear for you, as well
as for myself.
I did not observe a resemblance, re.
plied Schedoni, throwing a glance back,
but whoever he is, you have nothing to
apprehend from him, for he has disap-
peared.
Yes, signor, so much the worse, ob-
served the guide, so much the worse if
he means us any harm, for he can steal
along the rocks behind these thickets,
and strike out upon us before we are
aware of him. Or, if he knows the
path, that runs among those, old oaks
yonder, on the left, where the ground


THE ITALIAN..
171
rises, he has us sure at the turning of
the next cliff.
Speak lower, said Schedoni, unless
you mean, that he should benefit by
your instructions.
Though the confessor said this, with-
out any suspicion of evil intention from
the guide, the man immediately began
to justify himself, and added, I'll give
him a hint of what he may expect, how-
ever, if he attacks us. As he spoke, he
fired his trombone in the air, when every
rock reverberated the sound, and the
faint and fainter thunder retired in mur-
murs through all the windings of the
defile. The eagerness with which the
guide had justified himself, produced an
effect upon Schedoni contrary to what
he designed ; and the confessor, as he
watched him suspiciously, observed, that
after he had fired, he did not load his
piece again. Since you have given the
enemy sufficient intimation where to find
us, said Schedoni, you will do well to
prepare for his reception ; load again,
I 2


172
THE ITALIAN.
se
friend. I have arms too, and they are
ready.
While the man sullenly obeyed, El-
lena, again alarmed, looked back in
search of the stranger, but not any per-
son appeared beneath the gloom, and
no footstep broke upon the stillness.
When, however, she suddenly heard a
rustling noise, she looked to the bor-
dering thickets, almost expecting to see
Spalatro break from among them, before
she perceived that it was only the.
sounding pinions of birds, which, startled
by the report of the trombone from their
high nests in the cliffs, winged their way
from danger.
The suspicions of the confessor had,
probably been slight, for they were
transient; and when Ellena next ad-
dressed him, he had again retired within
himself. He was ruminating upon an
excuse to be offered the Marchesa,
which might be sufficient both to assuage
her disappointment, and baffle her cu-
riosity, and he could not at present fa-


THE ITALIAN,
173
bricate one, that might sooth her resent-
ment, without risk of betraying his
secret.
. .
Twilight had added its gloom to that
of the rocks, before the travellers distin-
guished the town, at which they meant
to pass the night. It terminated the
defile, and its grey houses could scarcely
be discerned from the precipice, upon
which they hung, or from the trees that
embosomed them. A rapid stream rol-
led below, and over it a bridge conducted
the wanderers to the little inn, at which
they were to take up their abode. Here,
quietly lodged, Ellena dismissed all
present apprehension of Spalatro, but
she still believed she had seen him, and
her suspicions, as to the motive of his
extraordinary journey, were not ap-
peased.
As this was a town of ampler accom-
modation than the one they had left,
Schedoni easily procured a lay-habit,
that would disguise him for the remainder
of the journey; and Ellena was permitted
to lay aside the nun's veil, for one of a


174 THE ITALIAN.
more general fashion; but, in dismissing
it, she did not forget, that it had been
the veil of Olivia, and she preserved it
as a sacred relique of her favorite re-
cluse.
The distance between this town and
Naples was still that of several days'
journey, according to the usual mode of
travelling ; but the most dangerous part
of the way was now overcome, the road
having emerged from the forests ; and,
when Schedoni, on the following morn-
ing, was departing, he would have dis-
charged the guide, had not the host
assured him, he would find one still
necessary in the open, but wild country,
through which he must pass, Schedoni's
distrust of this guide had never been
very serious, and, as the result of the
preceding evening proved favorable, he
had restored him so entirely to his con-
fidence, as willingly to engage him for
the present day. In this confidence,
however, Ellena did not perfectly coin-
cide; she had observed the man while
he loaded the trombone, on Schędoni's


THE ITALIAN.
175
order, and his evident reluctance had
almost persuaded her, that he was in
league with some person who designed
to attack them; a conjecture, perhaps,
the more readily admitted, while her
mind was suffering from the impression
of having seen Spalatro. She now ven-
tured to hint her distrust to the confessor,
who paid little attention to it, and re-
minded her that sufficient proof of the
man's honesty had appeared, in their
having been permitted to pass in safety
a defile so convenient for the purpose of
rapine as that of yesterday. To a reply
apparently so reasonable Ellena could
oppose nothing, had she even dared to
press the topic ; and she recommenced
the journey with gayer hopes.


CHAPTER VI,
Mark where yon ruin frowns upon the steep,
The giant-spectre of departed power!
Within those shadowy walls and silent chambers
Have stalked the crimes of days long past.
On this day, Schedoni was more com-
municative than on the preceding one.
While they rode apart from the guide,
he conversed with Ellena on various
topics relative to herself, but without
once alluding to Vivaldi; and even con-
descended to mention his design of dis-
posing of her in a convent at some
distance from Naples, till it should be
convenient for him to acknowledge her
for his daughter. But the difficulty of
finding a suitable situation embarrassed
him, and he was disconcerted by the
awkwardness of introducing her himself
to strangers, whose curiosity would be
heightened by a sense of their interest.
These circumstances induced him the


THE ITALIAN.
177
more easily to attend to the distress
of Ellena, on her learning that she was
again to be placed at a distance from her
home and among strangers, and the more
willingly to listen to the account she
gave of the convent of Santa Maria
della Pieta, and to her request of re-
turning thither. But, in whatever de-
gree he might be inclined to approve
he listened without consenting, and El-
lena had only the consolation of per-
ceiving, that he was not absolutely
determined to adopt his first plan.
Her thoughts were too deeply engaged
upon her future prospects to permit lei-
sure for present fears, or probably she
would have suffered some return of those
of yesterday, in traversing the lonely
plains and rude vallies, through which
the road lay. Schedoni was thankful
to the landlord, who had advised him
to keep the guide, the road being fre-
quently obscured amongst the wild
heaths, that stretched around, and the
eye often sweeping over long tracts of
country, without perceiving a village,
15


178
THE ITALIAN.
or any human dwelling. During the
whole morning, they had not met one
traveller, and they continued to proceed
beneath the heat of noon, because Sche- '
doni had been unable to discover even
a cottage, in which shelter and repose
might be obtained.
It was late in the day when the guide
pointed out the grey walls of an edifice,
which crowned the acclivity they were
approaching. But this was so shrouded
among woods, that no feature of it could
be distinctly seen, and it did but slightly
awaken their hope of approaching a
convent, which might receive them with
hospitality.
The high banks, overshadowed with
thickets, between which the road as-
cended, soon excluded even a glimpse
of the walls; but, as the travellers turned
the next projection, they perceived a
person on the summit of the road,
crossing as if towards some place of
residence, and they concluded, that the
edifice they had seen was behind the
trees, among which he had disappeared.


THE ITALIAN.
179
A few moments brought them to the
spot, where, retired at a short distance
among the woods that browed the hill,
they discovered the extensive remains
of what seemed to have been a villa,
which, from the air of desolation it éx-
hibited, Schedoni would have judged
to be wholly deserted, had he not al-
ready seen a person enter. Wearied
· and exhausted, he determined to ascer-'
tain whether any refreshment could be
procured from the inhabitants within,
and the party alighted before the portal
of a deep and broad avenue of arched
stone, which seemed to have been the
grand approach to the villa. The en-
trance was obstructed by fallen frag-
ments of columns and by the underwood,
that had taken root amongst them. The
travellers, however, easily overcame
these interruptions ; but, as the avenue
was of considerable extent, and as its
only light proceeded from the portal,
except what a few narrow loops in the
walls admitted, they soon found them-
selves involved in an obscurity, that


180
THE ITALIAN.
rendered the way difficult, and Schedoni
endeavoured to make himself heard by
the person he had seen. The effort was
unsuccessful, but, as they proceeded, a
bend in the passage shewed a distant
glimmering of light, which served to
guide them to the opposite entrance,
where an arch opened immediately into
a court of the villa. Schedoni paused
here in disappointment, for every object
seemed to bear evidence of abandon-
ment and desolation; and he looked,
almost hopelessly, round the light co-
lonnade, which ran along three sides of
the court, and to the trees that waved
over the fourth, in search of the person,
who had been seen from the road. No
human figure stole upon the vacancy;
yet the apt fears of Ellena almost ima-
gined the form of Spalatro gliding behind
the columns, and she started as the air
shook over the wild plants that wreathed
them, before she discovered that it was
not the sound of steps. At the extra-
vagance of her suspicions, however, and
the weakness of her terrors, she blushed,


THE ITALIAN
181
and endeavoured to resist that propen-
sity to fear, which the long pressure
upon her nerves had occasioned in her
mind.
Schedoni, meanwhile, stood in the
court, like the evil spirit of the place,
examining its desolation and endeavour-
ing to ascertain, whether any person
lurked in the interior of the building.
Several door-ways in the colonnade ap-
peared to lead to chambers of the villa;
and, after a short hesitation, Schedoni,
having determined to pursue his inquiry,
entered one of them, and passed through
a marble hall to a suit of rooms, whose
condition told how long it was since
they had been inhabited. The roofs
had entirely vanished, and even portions
of the walls had fallen and lay in masses
amongst the woods without.
Perceiving, that it was as useless as
difficult to proceed, the confessor re-
turned to the court, where the shade of
the palmetos, at least, offered an hos-
pitable shelter to the wearied travellers.
They reposed themselves beneath the


182
THE ITALIAN.
branches, on some fragments of a mar-
ble fountain, whence the court opened
to the extensive landscape, now mel-
lowed by the evening beams, and par-
took of the remains of a repast, which
had been deposited in the wallet of the
guide.
This place appears to have suffered
from an earthquake, rather than from
time, said Schedoni, for the walls,
though shattered, do not seem to have
decayed, and much that has been strong
lies in ruin, while what is comparatively
slight remains uninjured ; these are cer-
tainly symptoms of partial shocks of
the earth. Do you know any thing of
the history of this place, friend ?
Yes, signor, replied the guide,
Relate it, then.
I shall never forget the earthquake
that destroyed it, signor; for it was felt
all through the Garganus. I was then
about sixteen, and I remember it was
near an hour before midnight that the
great shock was felt. The weather had
been almost stifling for several days,


THE ITALIAN.
'183
scarcely a breath of air had stirred, and
slight tremblings of the ground were
noticed by many people. I had been
out all day, cutting wood in the forest
with my father, and tired enough we
were, when
This is the history of yourself, said
Schedoni, interrupting him : Who did
this place belong to?
Did any person suffer here ? said
Ellena,
The Barone di Cambrusca lived here,
replied the guide.
Hah! the Barone, repeated Schedoni,
and sunk into one of his customary fits
of abstraction.
He was a signor little loved in the
country, continued the guide, and some
people said it was a judgment upon
him for
Was it not rather a judgment upon
the country, interrupted the confessor,
lifting up his head, and then sinking
again into silence.
I know not for that, signor, but he had


184
THE ITALIAN.
committed crimes enough to make one's
hair stand on end. It was here that he-
Fools are always wondering at the
actions of those above them, said Sche-
doni, testily: Where is the Baróne now?
I cannot tell, signor, but most likely
where he deserves to be, for he has
never been heard of since the night of
the earthquake, and it is believed he
was buried under the ruins,
Did any other person suffer ? repeated
Ellena.
You shall hear, signora, replied the
peasant; I know something about the
matter, because a cousin of our's lived
in the family at the time, and my father
has often told me all about it, as well as
of the late lord's goings on. It was near
midnight when the great shock came,
and the family, thinking of nothing at
all, had supped, and been asleep some
time. Now it happened, that the Ba-
róne's chamber was in a tower of the
old building, at which people often won-
dered, because, said they, why should


THE ITALIAN.
185
he chuse to sleep in the old part, when
there are so many fine rooms in the new
villa ; but so it was,
Come, dispatch your meal, said Sche-
doni, awaking from his deep musing,
the sun is setting, and we have yet far
to go.
I will finish the meal and the story
together, signor, with your leave, replied
the guide. Schedoni did not notice
what he said, and, as the man was not
forbidden, he proceeded with his re-
lation.
Now it happened, that the Baróne's
chamber was in that old tower,-if you
will look this way, signora, you may
see what is left of it.
Ellena turned her attention to where
the guide pointed, and perceived the
shattered remains of a tower rising be-
yond the arch, through which she had
entered the court.
You see that corner of a windowcase,
left in the highest part of the wall, sig- .
nora, continued the guide, just by that
tuft of ash, that grows out of the stone,


186
THE ITALIAN.
I observe, said Ellena.
Well, that was one of the windows of
the very chamber, signora, and you see
scarcely anything else is left of it. Yes,
there is the doorcase, too, but the door
itself is gone; that little staircase, which
you see beyond it, led up to another
story, which nobody now would guess
had ever been; for 'roof, and flooring,
and all are fallen. I wonder how that
little staircase in the corner happened
to hold so fast!
Have you almost done ? inquired
Schedoni, who had not apparently at-
tended to any thing the man said, and
now alluded to the refreshment he was
taking.
Yes, signor, I have not a great deal
more to tell, or to eat either, for that
matter, replied the guide; but you shall
hear. Well, yonder was the very cham-
ber, signora ; at that doorcase, which is
still in the wall, the Baróne came in;
ah! he little thought, I warrant, that he
should never more go out at it! How
long he had been in the room, I do not


THE ITALIAN.
187
know, nor whether he was asleep, or
awake, for there is nobody that can tell;
but when the great shock came, it split
the old tower at once, before any other
part of the buildings. You see that
heap of ruins, yonder, on the ground,
signora ; there lie the remains of the
chamber; the Baróne, they say, was
buried under them.
Ellena shuddered, while she gazed
upon this destructive mass. A groan
from Schedoni startled her, and she
turned towards him, but, as he appeared
shrouded in meditation, she again di.
rected her attention to this awful me-
morial. As her eye passed upon the
neighbouring arch, she was struck with
the grandeur of its proportions and with
its singular appearance, now that the
evening rays glanced upon the over-
hanging shrubs, and darted a line of
partial light athwart the avenue beyond.
But, what was her emotion, when she
perceived a person gliding away in the
perspective of the avenue, and, as he
crossed where the gleam fell, distin-


188
THE ITALIAN.
guished the figure and countenance of
Spalatro! She had scarcely power.
faintly to exclaim, Steps go there !
before he had disappeared ; and, when
Schedoni looked round, the vacuity and
silence of solitude every where pre-
vailed.
Ellena now did not scruple positively
to affirm that she had seen Spalatro,
and Schedoni, fully sensible that, if her
imagination had not deluded her, the
purpose of his thus tracing their route
must be malignant, immediately rose,
and, followed by the peasant, passed
into the avenue to ascertain the truth,
leaving Ellena alone in the court. He
had scarcely disappeared before the
danger of his adventuring into that ob-
scure passage, where an assassin might
strike unseen, forcibly occurred to El.
lena, and she loudly conjured him to
return. She listened for his voice, but
heard only his retreating steps; when,
too anxious to remain where she was,
she hastened to the entrance of the
avenue. But all was now hushed; nei,


THE ITALIAN.
189
ther voice, nor steps were distinguished.
Awed by the gloom of the place, she
feared to venture further, yet almost
equally dreaded to remain alone in any
part of the ruin, while a man so despe-
rate as Spalatro was hovering about it.
As she yet listened at the entrance of
the avenue, à faint cry, which seemed
to issue from the interior of the villa,
reached her. The first dreadful sur.
mise, that struck Ellena, was, that they
were murdering her father, who had
probably been decoyed, by another
passage, back into some chamber of the
ruin; when, instantly forgetting every
fear for herself, she hastened towards
the spot, whence she judged the sound
to have issued. She entered the hall,
which Schedoni had noticed, and passed
on through a suit of apartments beyond.
Every thing here, however, was silent,
and the place apparently deserted. The
suit terminated in a passage, that seem-
ed to lead to a distant part of the villa,
and Ellena, after a momentary hesita-
tion, determined to follow it.


190,
THE ITALIAN.
She made her way with difficulty
between the half demolished walls, and
was obliged to attend so much to her
steps, that she scarcely noticed whither
she was going, till, the deepening shade
of the place, recalling her attention, she
perceived herself among the ruins of the
tower, whose history had been related
by the guide; and, on looking up, ob.
served she was at the foot of the stair-
case, which still wound up the wall,
that had led to the chamber of the
Baróne.
At a moment less anxious, the cir-
cumstance would have affected her ;
but now, she could only repeat her calls
upon the name of Schedoni, and listen
for some signal that he was near. Still
receiving no answer, nor hearing any
further sound of distress, she began to
hope, that her fears had deceived her,
and, having ascertained that the passage
terminated here, she quitted the spot.
On regaining the first chamber, Ellena
rested for a moment to recover breath;
and while she leaned upon what had once


THE ITALIAN.
191
been a window, opening to the court,
she heard a distant report of fire arms.
*The sound swelled, and seemed to re-
volve along the avenue, through which
Schedoni had disappeared. --Supposing
that the combatants were engaged at
the farthest entrance, Ellena was pre-
paring to go thither, when a sudden
step moved near her, and, on turning,
she discovered, with a degree of horror
that almost deprived her of recollection,
Spalatro himself stealing along the very
chamber, in which she was.
That part of the room, which she
stood in, fell into a kind of recess; and
whether it were this circumstance, that
prevented him from immediately per-
ceiving her, or that, his chief purpose
being directed against another object,
he did not chuse to pause here, he pas-
sed on with skulking steps ; and, before
Ellena had determined whither to go,
she observed him cross the court before
her, and enter the avenue. As he had
passed, he looked up at the window :


THE ITALIAN.
193
probably awaited her in the avenue,
and almost sinking beneath the expec-
tation of it..
All was now hushed ; she listened for
Schedoni's voice, and even for a foot-
step-in vain. To endure this state of
uncertainty much longer was scarcely
possible, and Ellena was endeavouring
to collect fortitude to meet a knowledge,
of the worst, when suddenly a feeble,
groaning was again heard. It seemed
near, and to be approaching still nearer.
At that moment, Ellena, on looking
towards the avenue, perceived a figure
covered with blood, pass into the court.
A film, which drew over her eyes, pre-
vented her noticing farther. She tot-
tered a few paces back, and caught at
the fragment of a pillar, by which she
supported herself. The weakness was
transient; immediate assistance appear-
ed necessary to the wounded person,
and, pity soon predominated over hor-
ror, she recalled her spirits, and hastened
to the court.
When, on reaching it, she looked
VOL. III.
•
к


194
THE ITALIAN..
round in search of Schedoni, he was no
where to be seen; the court was again
solitary and silent, till she awakened all
its echoes with the name of Father.
While she repeated her calls, she hastily
examined the colonnade, the separated
chamber, which opened immediately
from it, and the shadowy ground be-
neath the palmetos, but without discos
vering any person.
As she turned towards the avenue,
however, a track of blood on the ground,
told her too certainly where the wounded
person had passed. It guided her to
the entrance of a narrow passage, that
seemingly led to the foot of the tower;
but here she hesitated, fearing to trust
the obscurity beyond. For the first
time, Ellena conjectured, that not Sche:
doni, but Spalatro might be the person
she had seen, and that, though he was
wounded, vengeance might give him
strength to strike his stiletto at the heart
of whomsoever approached him, while
the duskiness of the place would favour
the deed.


THE ITALIAN.
195
She was yet at the entrance of the
passage, fearful to enter and reluctant
to leave it, listening for a sound, and
still hearing at intervals, swelling though
feeble groans; when quick steps were
suddenly heard advancing up the grand
avenue, and presently her own name
was repeated loudly in the voice of
Schedoni. His manner was hurried as
he advanced to meet her, and he threw
an eager glancé round the court. We
must be gone, said he, in a low tone,
and taking her arm within his. Have
you seen any one pass ?
I have seen a wounded man enter the
court, replied Ellena, and feared he was
yourself.
Where !—Which way did he go? in-
quired Schedoni, eagerly, while his
eyes glowed, and his countenance be-
came fell.
Ellena, instantly comprehending his
motive for the question, would not ack-
nowledge that she knew whither Spalatro
had withdrawn; and, reminding him of
K 2


196
THIE ITALIAN.
the danger of their situation, she en-
treated that they might quit the villa
immediately..
The sun is already set, she added. I
tremble at what may be the perils of
this place at such an obscure hour, and
even at what may be those of our road
at a later!
You are sure he was wounded ? said
the confessor.
Too. sure, replied Ellena, faintly.
Too sure, sternly exclaimed Schedoni.
· Let us depart, my father; O let us
go this instant! repeated Ellena
What is the meaning of all this? asked
Schedoni, with anger. You cannot,
surely, have the weakness to pity this
fellow !
It is terrible to see any one suffer,
said Ellena. Do not, by remaining
here, leave me a possibility of grieving
for you. What anguish it would occa-
sion you, to see me bleed ; judge, then,
what must be mine, if you are wounded
by the dagger of an assassin,


THE ITALIAN.
197
Schedoni stifled the groan, which
swelled from his heart, and abruptly
turned away. . . . . . . .
You trifle with me, he said, in the
next moment: you do not know that
the villain is wounded. I fired at him,
it is true, at the instant I saw him enter
the avenue, but he has escaped me.
What reason have you for your suppo-
sition ?
Ellena was going to point to the track
of blood on the ground, at a little distance,
but checked herself; considering that
this might guide him on to Spalatro,
and again she entreated they might
depart, adding, O! spare yourself, and
him!
· What! spare an assassin! said Sche-
doni, impatiently.
An assassin! He has, then, attempted
your life ! exclaimed Ellena.
Why, no, not absolutely that, said
Schedoni, recollecting himself, but-
what does the fellow do here? Let me
pass, I will find him.
Ellena still hung upon his garment,


198
THE ITALIAN.
while, with persuasive tenderness, she
endeavoured to awaken his humanity.
O ! if you had ever known what it was
to expect instant death, she continued,
you would pity this man now, as he,
perhaps, has sometimes pitied others!
I have known such suffering, my father,
and can, therefore, feel even for him.'
Do you know for whom you are plead-
ing? said the distracted Schedoni, while
every word she had uttered seemed to
have penetrated his heart. The surprise,
which this question awakened in Ellena's
countenance, recalled him to a consci-
ousness of his imprudence ; he recol.
lected that Ellena did not certainly
know the office, with which Spalatro
had been commissioned against her; and,
when he considered that this very Spa-
latro, whom Ellena had with such sim-
plicity supposed to have, at some time,
spared a life through pity, had in truth
spared her own, and, yet more, had
been eventually a mean of preventing
him from destroying his own child, the
confessor turned in horror from his de-


THE ITALIAN. .
199
sign ; all his passions changed, and he
abruptly quitted the court, nor paused,
till he reached the farthest extremity of
the avenue, where the guide was in wai-
ting with the horses,
A recollection of the conduct of Spa-
latro respecting Ellena, had thus induced
Schedoni to spare him; but this was
all; it did not prevail with him to inquire
into the condition of this man, or to mi-
tigate his punishment; and, without
remorse, he now left him to his fate.
With Ellena it was otherwise; though
she was ignorant of the obligation she
owed him, she could not know, that any
human being was left under such cir-
cumstances of suffering and solitude,
without experiencing very painful emo-
tion; but, considering how expeditiously
Spalatro had been able to remove him-
self, she endeavoured to hope, that his
wound was not mortal.
: The travellers, mounting their horses
in silence, left the ruin, and were for
some time too much engaged by the
impression of the late occurrences, to


200
THE ITALIAN.
converse together. When, at length,
Ellena inquired the particulars of what
had passed in the avenue, she understood,
that Schedoni, on pursuing Spalatro,
had seen him there only for a moment.
Spalatro had escaped by some way
unknown to the confessor, and had re-
gained the interior of the ruin, while his
pursuers were yet following the avenue.
The cry, which Ellena had imagined to
proceed from the interior, was uttered,
as it now appeared, by the guide, who,
in his haste, had fallen over 'some frag-
ments of the wall, that lay scattered in
the avenue; the first report of arms had
been from the trombone, which Schedoni
had discharged on reaching the portal ;
and the last, when he fired a pistol,
on perceiving Spalatro passing froin the
court.
We have had trouble enough in run-
ning after this fellow, said the guide,
and could not catch him at last. It is
strange that, if he came to look for us,
he should run away so when he had
found us! I do not think he meant us


THE ITALIAN.
201
any harm, after all, else he might have
done it easily enough in that dark pas-
sage ; instead whereof, he only took to
his heels!
Silence! said Schedoni, fewer words,
friend..
Well, signor, he's peppered now,
however; so we need not be afraid ;
his wings are clipped for one while, so
he cannot overtake us. We need not
be in such a hurry, signor, we shall get
to the inn in good time, yet. It is upon
a mountain yonder, whose top you may
see upon that red streak in the west.
He cannot come after us; I myself saw
his arm was wounded.
Did you so ? said Schedoni, sharply;
and pray where was you when you saw
so much? It was more than I saw,
I was close at your heels, signor,
when you fired the pistol.
I do not remember to have heard you
there, observed the confessor: and why
did you not come forward, instead of
retreating? And where, also, did you
hide yourself, while I was searching for
K 5


202
.
i
THE ITALIAN.
the fellow, instead of assisting me in the
pursuit ?
The guide gave no answer, and El-
lena, who had been attentively observ-
ing him during the whole of this con-
versation, perceived that he was now
considerably embarrassed ; so that her
former suspicions as to his integrity,
began to revive, notwithstanding the
several circumstances, which had oc-
curred to render them improbable,
There was, however, at present, no
opportunity for farther observation,
Schedoni having, contrary to the advice
of the guide, immediately quickened his
pace, and the horses continuing on the
full gallop, till a steep ascent compelled
them to relax their speed.
Contrary to his usual habit, Schedoni
now, while they slowly ascended, ap-
peared desirous of conversing with this
man, and asked him several questions
relative to the villa they had left; and,
whether it were that he really felt an
interest on the subject, or that he wished
to discover if the man had deceived him


THE ITALIAN.
203
in the circumstances he had already
narrated, from which he might form a
judgment as to his general character,
he pressed his inquiries with a patient
minuteness, that somewhat surprised
Ellena. During this conversation, the
deep twilight would no longer permit
her to notice the countenances of either
Schedoni, or the guide, but she gave
much attention to the changing tones of
their voices, as different circumstances
and emotions seemed to affect them.
It is to be observed, that, during the
whole of this discourse, the guide rode
at the side of Schedoni.
While the confessor appeared to be
musing upon something, which the
peasant had related respecting the Ba-
róne di Cambrusca, Ellena inquired as
to the fate of the other inhabitants of
the villa.
The falling of the old tower was
enough for them, replied the guide ;
the crash waked them all directly, and
they had time to get out of the new
buildings before the second and third


204
THE ITALIAN.
shocks laid them also in ruins. They
ran out into the woods for safety, and
found it too, for they happened to take
a different road from the earthquake.
Not a soul suffered, except the Barone,
and he deserved it well enough.. 0! I
could tell such things that I have heard
of him !a
What became of the rest of the fa-
mily? interrupted Schedoni.
Why, signor, they were scattered here
and there, and every where; and they
none of them ever returned to the old
spot. No! no ! they had suffered enough
there already, and might have suffered
to this day, if the earthquake bad not
happened. ::
· If it had not happened ? repeated
Ellena.
Ay, signora, for that put an end to
the Baróne. If those walls could but
speak, they could tell strange things, for
they have looked upon sad doings; and
that chamber, which I shewed you,
signora, nobody ever went into it but
himself, except the servant, to keep it


THE ITALIAN.
205
in order, and that he would scarcely
suffer, and always staid in the room the
while.
He had probably treasure secreted
there, said Ellena.
No, signora, no treasure! He had
always a lamp burning there; and
sometimes in the night he has been
heard-Once, indeed, his valet hap-
pened to-
Come on, said Schedoni, interrupting
him, keep pace with me. What idle
dream are you relating now?
It is about the Baróne di Cambrusca,
signor, him that you was asking me so
much about just now. I was saying
what strange ways he had, and how
that, on one stormy night in December,
as my cousin Francisco told my father,
who told me, and he lived in the family
at the time it happened
What happened? said Schedoni,
hastily.
What I am going to tell, signor. My
cousin lived there at the time ; so, how-
ever strange it may seem, you may de-


206
THE ITALIAN.
pend upon it, it is all true. My father
knows I would not believe it myself,
till
· Enough of this, said Schedoni; no
more. What family had this Baróne
had he a wife at the time of this de-
structive shock ?
Yes, truly, signor, he had, as I was
going to tell, if you would but conde-
scend to have patience.
The Baróne had more need of that,
friend ; I have no wife. The Baróne's
wife had most need of it, signor, as you
shall hear. A good soul, they say, was
the Baronessa! but luckily she died
many years before. He had a daugh-
ter, also, and, young as she was, she
had lived too long, but for the earth-
quake, which set her free.
How far is it to the inn? said the
confessor, roughly,
When we get to the top of this hill,
signor, you will see it on the next, if
any light is stirring, for there will only
be the hollow between us. But do not
be alarmed, signor, the fellow we left


THE ITALIAN.
207
cannot overtake us. Do you know
much about him, signor ?
Schedoni inquired whether the trom-
bone was charged; and, discovering
that it was not, ordered the man to load
immediately.
Why, signor, if you knew as much of
him as I do, you could not be more
afraid ! said the peasant, while he
stopped to obey the order.,
I understood that he was a stranger
to you! observed the confessor, with
surprise.
Why, signor, he is, and he is not; !
know more about him than he thinks
for.
You seem to know a vast deal too
much of other persons' affairs, said
Schedoni, in a tone, that was meant to
silence him.
Why, that is just what he would say,
signor ; but bad deeds will out, whe-
ther people like them to be known or
not. This man comes to our town
sometimes to market, and nobody knew
where he came from for a long while ;
as


208
THE ITALIAN.
so they set themselves to work and
found it out at last.
We shall never reach the summit of
the hill, said Schedoni, testily.
And they found out too, a great many
strange things about him, continued the
guide.
Ellena, who had attended to this dis-
course, with a degree of curiosity that
was painful, now listened impatiently
for what might be farther mentioned
concerning Spalatro, but without daring
to invite, by a single question, any dis-
covery on a subject, which appeared to
be so intimately connected with Sche-
doni.
It was many years ago, rejoined the
guide, that this man came to live in that
strange house on the sea shore. It had
been shut up ever since--
What are you talking of now? inter-
rupted the confessor.
Why, signor, you never will let me
tell you. You always snap me up so
short at the beginning, and then ask-
what am I talking about! I was going


· THE ITALIAN.
209
to begin the story, and it is a pretty long
one. But first of all, signor, whom do
you suppose this man belonged to ?
And what do you think the people de-
termined to do, when the report was first
set a going? only they could not be sure
it was true, and any body would be
unwilling enough to believe such a
shocking-
I have no curiosity on the subject,
replied the confessor, sternly interrupting
him ; and desire to hear no more con-
cerning it.
I meant no harm, signor, said the
man; I did not know it concerned you.
And who says that it does concern
me ? ..... lic. . sich
Nobody, signor, only you seemed to
be in a bit of a passion, and so I
thought -But I meant no harm, sig-
nor, only, as he happened to be your
guide part of the way, I guessed you
might like to know something of him.
All that I desire to know of my guide
is, that he does his duty, replied Sche-


210
THE ITALIAN.
doni; that he conducts me safely, and
understands when to be silent.
To this the man replied nothing, but
slackened his pace, and slunk behind
his reprover.
The travellers reaching, soon after,
the summit of this long hill, looked out
for the inn, of which they had been
told; but darkness now confounded
every object, and no domestic light,
twinkling, however distantly, through
the gloom, gave signal of security and
comfort. They descended dejectedly
into the hollow of the mountains, and
found themselves once more immerged
in woods. Schedoni again called the
peasant to his side, and bade him keep
abreast of him, but he did not discourse;
and Ellena was too thoughtful to at-
tempt conversation. The hints, which
the guide had thrown out respecting
Spalatro, had increased her curiosity on
that subject; but the conduct of Sche-
doni, his impatience, his embarrasment
and the decisive manner, in which he


THE ITALIAN.
211
had put an end to the talk of the guide,
excited a degree of surprise that bordered
on astonishment. As she had, however,
no clue to lead her conjectures to any
point, she was utterly bewildered in
surmise, understanding only, that Sche-
doni had been much more deeply con-
nected with Spalatro than she had
hitherto believed.
The travellers having descended into
the hollow, and commenced the ascent
of the opposite height, without disco-
vering any symptom of a neighbouring
town, began again to fear, that their
conductor had deceived them. It was
now so dark, that the road, though the
soil was a lime stone, could scarcely be
discerned, the woods on either side
forming a “close dungeon of innumerous
boughs,” that totally excluded the twi-
light of the stars..
While the confessor was questioning
the man, with some severity, a faint
shouting was heard from a distance, and
he stopped the horses to listen from what
quarter it came.


212
THE ITALIAX.
n
· That comes the way we are going,
signor, said the guide.
· Hark! exclaimed Schedoni, those are
strains of revelry !
A confused sound of voices, laughter,
and musical instruments, was heard,
and, as the air blew stronger, tamborines
and flutes were distinguished.
Oh! Oh! we are near the end of our
journey! said the peasant; all this comes
from the town we are going to. But
what makes them all so merry, I wonder!
Ellena, revived by this intelligence,
followed with alacrity the sudden speed
of the confessor; and, presently reaching
a point of the mountain, where the
woods opened, a cluster of lights on ano-
thér summit, a little higher, more cer-
tainly announced the town.
They soon after arrived at the ruinous
gates, which had formerly led to a place
of some strength, and passed at once
from darkness and desolated walls, into
a market place, blazing with light, and
resounding with the multitude. Booths,
fantastically hung with lamps and filled


-THE ITALIAN.
213
with merchandise of every kind, disposed
in the gayest order, were spread on all
şides, and peasants in their holiday
clothes and parties of masks crowded
every avenue. Here was a band of mu-
sicians, and there a group of dancers;
on one spot the outré humour of a zani
provoked the pever failing laugh of an
Italian rabble, in another the improvi-
șatore, by the pathos of his story and
the persuasive sensibility of his strains,
was holding the attention of his auditors,
as in the bands of magic. Farther on
was a stage raised for a display of fire-
works, and near this a theatre, where a
mimic opera, the “ shadow of a shade,”.
was then exhibited, whence the roar of
laughter, excited by the principal buffo
within, mingled with the heterogeneous
voices of the venders of ice, maccaroni,
sherbet, and diavoloni, without.
The confessor looked upon this scene
with disappointment and ill-humour,
and bade the guide go before him and
shew the way to the best inn : an office,
which the latter undertook with great


214
THE ITALIAN.
glee, though he made his way with
difficulty. To think I should not know
it was the time of the fair, said he,
though, to say truth, I never was at it
but once in my life, so it is not so sur-
prising, signor.
Make way through the crowd, said
Schedoni.
After jogging on so long in the dark,
signor, with nothing at all to be seen,
continued the man, without attending
to the direction, then to come, all of a
sudden, to such a place as this, why it is
like coming out of purgatory into para-
dise! Well! signor, you have forgotten
all your quàndaries now; you think nós
thing now about that old runious place,
where we had such a race after the man,
that would not murder us; but that shot
I fired did his business.
You fired! said Schedoni, aroused by
the assertion.
Yes, signor, as I was looking over
your shoulder; I should have thought
you must have heard it!
I should have thought so, too, friendi


THE ITALIAN.
215
Ay, signor, this fine place has put all
that out of your head, I warrant, as well
as what I said about that same fellow;
but, indeed, signor, I did not know he
was related to you, when I talked so of
him. But, perhaps, for all that, you
may not know the piece of his story I
was going to tell you, when you cut me
off so short, though you are better ac-
quainted with one another than I guessed
for, so, when I come in from the fair,
signor, if you please, I will tell it you;
and it is a pretty long history, for I
happen to know the whole of it; though,
where you cut me short, when you was
in one of those quandaries, was only just
at the beginning, but no matter for that,
I can begin it again, for
What is all this? said Schedoni, aga in
recalled from one of the thoughtful
moods in which he had so habitually
indulged, that even the bustle around
him had failed to interrupt the course of
his mind. He now bade the peasant be
silent; but the man was too happy to
be tractable, and proceeded to express


216
THE ITALIAN.
all he felt, as they advanced slowly
through the crowd. Every object here
was to him new and delightful; and,
nothing doubting, that it must be equally
so to every other person, he was con-
tinually pointing out to the proud and
gloomy confessor the trivial subjects of
his own admiration. See! signor, there
is Punchinello, see! how he eats the
hot maccaroni! And look there, signor !
there is a juggler! O! good signor, stop
one minute, to look at his tricks, See!.
he has turned a monk into a devil al-
ready, in the twinkling of an eye.
Silence! and proceed, said Schedoni.
That is what I say, signor :-silence!
for the people make such a noise, that I
cannot hear a word you speak--Silence,
there!
Considering that you could not hear,
you have answered wonderfully to the
purpose, said Ellena.
Ah! signora ! is not this better than
those dark woods and hills ? But what
have we here? Look, signor, here is a
fine sight!


THE ITALIAN
217
The crowd, assembled round a stage,
on which some persons grotesquely
dressed, were performing, now inter-
rupting all further progress, the tra-
vellers were compelled to stop at the
foot of the platform. The people above
were acting what seemed to have been
intended for a tragedy, but what their
strange gestures, uncouth recitation and
incongruous countenances had trans-
formed into a comedy.'
Schedoni, thus obliged to pause, with-
drew his attention from the scene; El-
lena consented to endure it, and the
peasant, with gaping mouth and staring
eyes, stood like a statue, yet not knowing
whether he ought to laugh, or cry, till,
suddenly turning round to the confessor,
whose horse was of necessity close to
his, he seized his arm, and, pointing to
the stage, called out, Look, signor, see!
signor, what a scoundrel! what a villain!
See! he has murdered his own daughter.
. At these terrible words, the indigna.
tion of Schedoni was overcome by other
emotions ; he turned his eyes upon the
VOL. III.


218
THE ITALIAN
stage, and perceived, that the actors
were performing the story of Virginia.
It was at the moment, when she was
dying in the arms of her father, who
was holding up the poniard, with which
he had stabbed her. The feelings of
Schedoni, at this instant, inflicted a
punishment almost worthy of the crime
he had meditated.
Ellena, struck with the action, and
with the contrast, which it seemed to
offer to what she had believed to have
been the late conduct of Schedoni to-
wards herself, looked at him, with must
expressive tenderness, and, as his glance
met 'her's, she perceived, with surprise,
the changing emotions of his soul and
the inexplicable character of his coun-
tenance. Stung to the heart, the con-
fessor ifuriously spurred' his horse ithat
he might escape from the scene, but
the poor animal was too spiritless and
jaded, to force its 'way through the
crowd; and the peasant, vexed at being
hurried from a place where, almost for
the first time in his life, he was suffering


THE ITALIAN.
219
under the strange delights of artificial
grief, and half angry, to observe an ani-
mal, of which he had the care, ill treated,
loudly remonstrated, and seized the bri-
dle of Schedoni, who, still more incensed,
was applying the whip to the shoulders
of the guide, when the crowd suddenly
fell back and opened a way, through
which the travellers passed, and arrived,
with little further interruption, at the
door of the inn.
Schedoni was not in a humour that
rendered him fit to encounter difficulties,
and still less the vulgar squabbles of a
place already crowded with guests; yet
it was not without much opposition that
he at length obtained a lodging for the
night. The peasant was not less anxious
for the accommodation of his horses; and,
when Ellena heard him declare, that the
animal, which the confessor had so cruelly
spurred, should have a double feed, and
a bed of straw as high as his head, if he
himself went without one, she gave him,
unnoticed by Schedoni, the only ducat
she 'had left.


CHAPTER VII., ...
But if you be afraid to hear the worst,
Then let the worst, unheard, fall on your head.
SHAKESPEARS.
SCHEDONI passed the night without
sleep. The incident of the preceding
evening had not only renewed the ago-
nies of remorse, but excited those of
pride and apprehension. There was
something in the conduct of the peasant
towards him, which he could not clearly
understand, though his suspicions were
sufficient to throw his mind into a state.
of the utmost perturbation. Under an
air of extreme simplicity, this man had
talked of Spalatro, had discovered that
he was acquainted with much of his
history, and had hinted that he knew
by whom he had been employed; yet
at the same time appeared unconscious,
that Schedoni's was the master hand,
which had directed the principal acti-,


THE ITALIAN.
221
ons of the ruffian. At other times, his
behaviour had seemed to contradict the
supposition of his ignorance on this
point; from some circumstances he had
mentioned, it appeared impossible but
that he must have known who Schedoni
i really was, and even his own conduct
had occasionally seemed to acknowledge
this, particularly when, being interrupt-
ed in his history of Spalatro, he at-
tempted an apology, by saying, he did
not know it concerned Schedoni; nor
could the conscious Schedoni believe
that the very pointed manner, in which
the peasant had addressed him at the
representation of Virginia, was merely
accidental. He wished to dismiss the
man immediately, but it was first ne-
cessary to ascertain what he knew con-
cerning himself, and then to decide on
the measures to be taken. It was,
however, a difficult matter to obtain
this information, without manifesting an
anxiety, which might betray him, if the
guide had, at present, only a general
suspicion of the truth; and no less diffi-


222
THE ITALIAN.
-
W
cult to determine how to proceed to-
wards him, if it should be evident that
his suspicions rested on Spalatro. To
take him forward to Naples was to
bring an informer to his home ; to suffer
him to return with his discovery, now
that he probably knew the place of
Schedoni's residence, was little less
hazardous. His death only could se-
cure the secret.
After a night passed in the tumult of
such considerations, the confessor sum-
moned the peasant to his chamber, and,
with some short preface, told him he
had no further occasion for his services,
adding, carelessly, that he advised him
to be on his guard as he re-passed the
villa, lest Spalatro, who might yet lurk
there, should revenge upon him the
injury he had received. According to
your account of him he is a very dan-
gerous fellow, said Schedoni; but your
information is, perhaps, erroneous.
The guide began, testily, to justify
himself for his assertions, and the con-
fessor then endeavoured to draw from


THE ITALIAN.
223
him what he knew on the subject. But,
whether the man was piqued by the
treatment he had lately received, or had
other reasons for reserve, he did not, at
first, appear so willing to communicate
as formerly.
.
What you hinted of this man, said
Schedoni, has, in some degree, excited
my curiosity : I have now a few mo-
ments of leisure, and you may relate, if
you will, something of the wonderful
history you talked of.
It is a long story, signor, and you
would be tired before I got to the end
of it, replied the peasant; and, craving
your pardon, signor, I don't much like
being snapped up so !
Where did this man live ?, said the
confessor. You mentioned something of
a house at the sea side. ..
Ay, signor, there is a strange history
belonging to that house, too; but this
man, as I was saying, came there all of
a sudden, nobody knew how! and the
place had been shut up ever since the
Marchese .


224
THE ITALIAN.
The Marchese! said Schedoni coldly.
What Marchese, friend !-Why, I mean
the Barone di Cambrusca, signor, to be
sure, as I was going to have told you, of
my own accord, if you would only have
let me. Shut up ever since the Barónem
I left off there, I think.
I understood that the Baróne was
dead ! observed the confessor.
Yes, signor, replied the peasant,
fixing his eyes on Schedoni; but what
has his death to do with what I
was telling? This happened before he
died.
Schedoni, somewhat disconcerted by
this unexpected remark, forgot to resent
the familiarity of it. This man, then,
this Spalatro, was connected with the
Baróne di Cambrusca ?
It was pretty well guessed so, signor,
How! no more than guessed ?
No, signor, and that was more than
enough for the Baróne's liking, I warrant.
He took too much care for any thing
certain to appear against him, and he
was wise so to do, for if it had it would


THE ITALIAN.
225
have been worse for him. But I was
going to tell you the story, signor.
- What reasons were there for believing
this was an agent of the Barone di Cam-
brusca, friend?
I thought you wished to hear the
story, signor.
In good time; but first what were
your reasons ?
: One of them is enough, signor, and if
you would only have let me gone straight
on with the story, you would have found
it out by this time, signor.
Schedoni frowned, but did not other-
wise reprove the impertinence of the
speech.
It was reason enough, signor, to my
mind, continued the peasant, that it was
such a crime as nobody but the Barone
di Cambrusca could have committed ;
there was nobody wicked enough, in
our parts, to have done it but he. Why
is not this reason enough, signor ? What
makes you look at me so? Why the
Baróne himself could hardly have looked
worse, if I had told him as much!
Į 5


226
THE ITALIAN.
Be less prolix, said the confessor, in
a restrained voice.
Well then, signor, to begin at the be-
ginning. It is a good many years ago
that Marco came first to our town.
Now the story goes, that one stormy
night-
You may spare yourself the trouble of
relating the story, said Schedoni, ab-
ruptly ; Did you ever see the Barone
you was speaking of, friend?
Why did you bid me tell it, signor,
since you know it already! I have been
here all this while, just a going to begin
it, and all for nothing !
It is very surprising, resumed the
artful Schedoni, without having noticed
what had been said, that if this Spa-
latro was known to be the villain you
say he is, not any step should have been
taken to bring him to justice! how hap-
pened that? But, perhaps, all this
story was nothing more than a report.
Why, signor, it was every body's
business, and nobody's, 'as one may
say; then, besides, nobody could prove


THE ITALIAN.
227
what they had heard, and, though every
body believed the story just the same
as if they had seen the whole, yet that,
they said, would not do in law, but they
should be made to prove it. Now, it
is not one time in ten that any thing
can be proved, signor, as you well
know, yet we none of us believe it the
less for that!
So, then, you would have had this
man punished for a murder, which, pro-
bably, he never committed ! said the
confessor.
A murder! repeated the peasant,
Schedoni was silent, but, in the next
instant, said, Did you not say it was a
murder?
I have not told you so, signor !
What was the crime, then? resumed
Schedoni, after another momentary
pause, you said it was atrocious, and
what more sợ than-murder. His lip
quivered as he pronounced the last
word.
The peasant made no reply, but re-
mained with his eyes fixed upon the


228
THE ITALIAN.
confessor, and, at length, repeated, Did
I say it was murder, signor ?
If it was not that, say what it was,
demanded the confessor, haughtily; but
let it be in two words,
As if a story could be told in two
words, signor !
Well, well, be brief.
How can I, signor, when the story is
so long!
I will waste no more time, said Sche-
doni, going
Well, signor, I will do my best to
make it short. It was one stormy night
in December, that Marco Torma had
been out fishing. Mareo, signor, was
an old man that lived in our town wheñ
I was a boy; I can but just remember
him, but my father knew him well, and
loved old Marco, and used often to
say-
To the story! said Schedoni.
Why I am telling it, signor, as fast as
I can. This old Marco did not live in
our town, at the time it happened, but
in some place, I have forgot the name


.:
229
THE ITALIAN.
of it, near the sea shore. What can
the name be! it is something like
; Well, what happened to this old
dotard ?
You are out there, signor, he was no
old dotard ; but you shall hear. At
that time, signor, Marco lived in this
place that I have forgot the name of,
and was a fisherman, but better times
turned up afterwards, but that is neither
here nor there. Old Marco had been
out fishing, it was a stormy night, and
he was glad enough to get on shore, I
warrant. It was quite dark, as dark,
signor, I suppose, as it was last night,
and he was making the best of his way,
signor, with some fish along the shore,
but it being so dark, he lost it notwith-
standing. The rain beat, and the wind
blew, and he wandered about a long
while, and could see no light, nor hear
any thing, but the surge, near him,
· which sometimes seemed as if it was
coming to wash him away. He got as
far off it as he could, but he knew there
were high rocks over the beach, and he
We


230
THE ITALÍAN.
was afraid he should run his head against
them, if he went too far, I suppose.
However, at last, he went up close to
them, and as he got a little shelter, he re-
solved to try no further for the present.
I tell it you, signor, just as my father
told it me, and he had it from the old
man himself.
You need not be so particular, replied
- the confessor, speak to the point.
Well, signor, as old Marco lay snug
under the rocks, he thought he heard
somebody coming, and he lifted up his
head, I warrant, poor old soul! as if he
could have seen who it was ; however,
he could hear, though it was so dark,
and he heard the steps coming on; but
he said nothing yet, meaning to let them
come close up to him before he disco-
vered himself. Presently he sees a
little moving light, and it comes nearer
and nearer, till it was just opposite to
him, and then he saw the shadow of a
man on the ground, and then spied the
man himself, with a dark lanthorn,
passing along the beach,


THE ITALIAN.
231
Well, well, to the purpose, said
Schedoni,
Old Marco, signor, my father says,
was never stout-hearted, and he took it
into his head this might be a robber,
because he bad the lanthorn, though,
for that matter, he would have been
glad enough of a lanthorn himself, and
so he lay quiet. But, presently he was
in a rare fright, for the man stopped to
rest the load he had upon his back, on
a piece of rock near him, and old Marco
saw him throw off a heavy sack, and
heard him breath hard, as if he was
hugely tired. I tell it, signor, just as
my father does. : . .
What was in the sack? said Schedoni,
coolly.
All in good time, signor; perhaps old
Marco never found out; but you shall
hear. He was afraid, when he saw the
sack, to stir a limb, for he thought it
held booty. But, presently, the man,
without saying a word, heaved it on his
shoulders again, and staggered away


232
THE ITALIAN
with it along the beach, and Marco saw
no more of him.
Well! what has he to do with your
story, then ? said the confessor; Was
this Spalatro?..
.. All in good time, signor; you put me
out. When the storm was down a little,
Marco crept out, and, thinking there
must be a village, or a hamlet, or a cot-
tage, at no great distance, since this
man had passed, he thought he would
try a little further. He had better have
staid where he was, for he wandered
about a long while, and could see no-
thing, and what was worse, the storm
came on louder than before, and he had
no rocks to shelter him now. While he
was in this quandary, he sees a light at
à distance, and it came into his head
this might be the lanthorn again, but he
determined to go on notwithstanding,
for, if it was, he could stop short, and,
- if it was not, he should get shelter, per-
haps ; so on he went, and I suppose I
should have done the same, signor.


THE ITALIAN.
233
Well ! this history never will have an
end ! said Schedoni.
Well! signor, he had not gone far
when he found out that it was no lan-
thorn, but a light at a window. When
he came up to the house he knocked
softly at the door, but nobody came. "
• What house ? inquired the confessor,
sharply.
The rain beat hard, signor, and I war.
rant poor old Marco waited a long time
before he knocked again, for he was
main patient, signor.
I have need of his patience ! said
Schedoni.
. . When he knocked again, signor, the
door gave way a little, and he found it
was open, and so, as nobody came, he
thought fit to walk in of his own accord.
The dotard ! what business had he to
be so curious ? exclaimed Schedoni.
Curious ! signor, he only sought shel-
ter! He stumbled about in the dark, for
a good while, and could find nobody,
nor make nobody hear, but, at last, he
came to a room where there was some


234
THE ITALIAN.
fire not quite out, upon the hearth, and
he went up to it, to warm himself, till
somebody should come.
What! was there nobody in the house?
said the confessor.
You shall hear, signor. He had not
been there, he said, no, he was sure, not
above two minutes, when he heard a
strange sort of a noise in the very room
where he was, but the fire gave such a
poor light, he could not see whether any
body was there.
What was the noise ?
· You put me out, signor. He said he
did not much like it, but what could he
do! So he stirred up the fire, and tried
to make it blaze a little, but it was as
dusky as ever; he could see nothing.
Presently, however, be heard somebody
coming, and saw a light, and then a
man coming towards the room where he
was, so he went up to him to ask
shelter. ,
Who was this man ? said Schedoni,
Ask shelter. He says the man, when
he came to the door of the room, turned


THE ITALIAN.
235
as white as a sheet, as well he might, to
see a stranger, to find a stranger there,
at that time of the night. I suppose I
should have done the same myself. The
man did not seem very willing to let
him stay, but asked what he did there,
and such like ; but the storm was very
loud, and so Marco did not let a little
matter daunt him, and, when he shewed
the man what fine fish he had in his
basket, and said he was welcome to it,
he seemed more willing.
Incredible ! exclaimed Schedoni, the
blockhead!
He had wit enough for that matter,
signor; Marco says he appeared to be
main hungry
Is that any proof of his wit, said the
confessor, peevishly.
You never will let me finish, signor;
main hungry; for he put more wood on
the fire directly, to dress some of the
fish. While he was doing this, Marco
says his heart somehow misgave him,
that this was the man he saw on the
beach, and he looked at him pretty


236
THE ITALIAN.
hard, till the other asked him crossly,
what he stared at him so for ; but Marco
took care not to tell. While he was
busy making ready the fish, however,
Marco had an opportunity of eyeing
him the more, and every time the man
looked round the room, which happened
to be pretty often, he had a notion it
was the same..
Well, and if it was the same; said
Schedoni. -
But when Marco happened to spy the
sack, lying in a corner, he had no doubt
about the matter. He says his heart
then misgave him sadly, and he wished
himself safe out of the house, and deter-
mined in his own mind, to get away as
soon as he could, without letting the
man suspect what he thought of him.
He now guessed, too, what made the
man look round the room so often, and,
though Marco thought before it was to
find out if he had brought any body with
hiin, he now believed it was to see
whether his treasure was safe. i
Ay, like enough, observed Schedoni.


THE ITALIAN,
237
Well, old Marco sat not much at his -
ease, while the fish was preparing, and
thought it was." out of the fryingpan
into the fire” with him ; but what could
he.do?
Why get up and walk away, to be
sure, said the confessor, as I shall do, if
your story last much longer. ;
You shall hear signor ; he would have
done so, if he had thought this man,
would have let him, but-
Well, this man was Spalatro, I sup-
pose, said Schedoni impatiently, and
this was the house on the shore you
formerly mentioned.
How well you have guessed it, signor!
though, to say truth, I have been ex-
pecting you to find it out for this half
hour.
Schedoni did not like the significant
look, which the peasant assumed while
he said this, but he bade himn pro-
ceed.
At first, signor, Spalatro hardly spoke
a word, but he came to by degrees, and


238
THE ITALIAN,
by the time the fish was nearly ready,
hê was talkative enough.
Here the confessor rose, with some :
emotion, and paced the room.
Poor old Marco, signor, began to
think better of him, and when he heard
the rain at the casements, he was loth
to think of stirring. Presently Spalatro
went out of the room for a plate to eat
the fish on.-
Out of the room ? said Schedoni, and
checked his steps.
Yes, signor, but he took care to carry
the light with him. However, Marco,
who had a deal of curiosity to-
Yes, he appears to have had a great
deal, indeed! said the confessor, and
turning away, renewed his pace.
Nay, signor, I am not come to that
yet, he has shewn none yet; a great
deal of curiosity to know what was in
the sack, before he consented to let
himself stay much longer, thought this
a good opportunity for looking, and, as
the fire was now pretty bright, he de-


THE ITALIAN.
239
· termined to see. He went up to the
sack, therefore, signor, and tried to lift
it, but it was too heavy for him though
it did not seem full.
Schedoni again checked his steps and
stood fixed before the peasant.
He raised it, however, a little, signor,
but it fell from his hands, and with such
a heavy weight upon the floor, that he
was sure it held no common booty.
Just then, he says, he thought he heard
Spalatro coming, and the sound of the
sack was enough to have frightened
him, and so Marco quitted it; but he
was mistaken, and he went to it again.
But you don't seem to hear me, signor,
for you look as you do when you are in
those quandaries, so busy a thinking,
and I-
Proceed, said Schedoni, sternly, and
renewed his steps, I hear you.
Went to it again,-resumed the pea-
sant, cautiously taking up the story at
the last words he had dropped. He
untied the string, signor, that held the
sack, and opened the-cloth a little way,


240
THE ITALIAN.
but think, signor, what he must have
thought, when he felt-cold flesh! O,
signor ! and when he saw by the light
of the fire, the face of a corpse within!
O, signor!-
The peasant, with the eagerness, with
which he related this circumstance, had
followed Schedoni to the other end of
the chamber, and he now took hold of
his garment, as if to secure his attention
to the remainder of the story. The
confessor, however, continued his steps,
and the peasant kept pace with him,
still loosely holding his garment.
Marco, he resumed, was so terrified,
as my father says, that he hardly knew
where he was, and I warrant, if one
could have seen him, he looked as white,
signor, as you do now.
The confessor abruptly withdrew his
garment from the peasant's grasp, and
said, in an inward voice, If I am shocked
at the mere mention of such a spectacle,
no wonder he was, who beheld it! After
the pause of a moment, he added,
But what followed ?


THE ITALIAN.
241
Marco says he had no power to tie
up the cloth again, signor, and when he
came to his thoughts, his only fear was,
lest Spalatro should return, though he
had hardly been gone a minute, before
he could get out of the house, for he
cared nothing about the storm now.
And sure enough he heard him coming,
but he managed to get out of the room,
into a passage another way from that
Spalatro was in. And luckily, too, it
was the same passage he had come in
by, and it led him out of the house. He
made no more ado, but ran straight off,
without stopping to chuse which way,
and many perils and dangers he got
into among the woods, that night, and
How happened it, that this Spalatro
was not taken up, after this discovery ?
said Schedoni. What was the conse-
quence of it ?
Why, signor, old Marco had like to
have caught his death that night; what
with the wet, and what with the fright,
he was laid up with a fever, and was light
headed, and raved of such strange
VOL. 111.
M


242
THE ITALIAN.
things, that people would not believe
any thing he said when he came to his
senses.
Ay, said Schedoni, the narrative re-
sembles a delirious dream, more than a
reality; I perfectly accord with them
in their opinion of this feverish old man.
But you shall hear, signor'; after a
while they began to think better of it,
and there was some stir made about it,
but.what could poor folks do, for nothing
could be proved! The house wassearched,
but the man was gone, and nothing could
be found ! From that time the place was
shut up; till many years after, this
Spalatro appeared, and old Marco. then
said he was pretty sure he was the man,
but he could not swear it, and so nothing
could be done.
Then it appears, after all, that you
are not certain that this long history
belongs to this Spalatro ! said the con-
fessor ; nay, not even that the history
itself is any thing more than the vision
of a distempered brain!
I do not know, signor, wliat you may


THE ITALIAN.
243
call certain ; but I know what we all
believe. But the strangest part of the
story is to come yet, and that which
nobody would believe, hardly, if
I have heard enough, said Schedoni,
I will hear no more !
Well, but signor, I have not told you
half yet; and I am sure when I heard
it myself, it so terrified me,
I have listened too long to this idle
history, said the confessor, there seems
to be' no rational foundation for it.
Here is what I owe you; you may
depart.
Well, signor, 'tis plain you know the
rest already, or you never would go
without it. But you don't know, per-
haps, signor, what an unaccountable
I am sure it made my hair stand on end
to hear of it, what an unaccountable
I will hear no more of this absurdity,
interrupted Schedoni, with sternness. I
reproach myself for having listened so
long to such a gossip's tale, and have
no further curiosity concerning it. You
M 2


244
THE ITALIAN.
may withdraw; and bid the host at-
tend me.
· Well, signor, if you are so easily sa-
tisfied, replied the peasant, with disap-
pointment, there is no more to be said,
but
You may stay, however, while I cau-
tion you, said Schedoni, how you pass
the villa, where this Spalatro may yet
linger; for, though I can only smile at
the story you have related
Related, signor ! 'why I have not told
it half; and if you would only please to
be patient-
Though I can only smile at that sim-
ple narrative,-repeated Schedoni in a
louder tone.
Nay, signor, for that matter, you can
frown at it too, as I can testify, muttered
the guide.
Listen to me! said the confessor, in a
yet more insisting voice. I say, though
I give no credit to your curious history,
I think this same Spalatro appears to
be a desperate fellow, and, therefore, I
would have you be on your guard. If


THE ITALIAN.
245
you see him, you may depend upon it,
that he will attempt your life in revenge
of the injury I have done him. I give
you, therefore, in addition to your trom-
bone, this stiletto to defend you.
Schedoni, while he spoke, took an
instrument from his bosom, but it was
not the one he usually wore, or, at least,
that he was seen to wear. He delivered
it to the peasant, who received it with
a kind of stupid surprise, and then gave
him some directions, as to the way in
which it should be managed.
Why, signor, said the man, who had
listened with much attention, I am kindly
obliged to you for thinking about me,
but is there any thing in this stiletto
different from others, that it is to be
used so?
Schedoni looked gravely at the pea-
sant for an instant, and then replied,
Certainly not, friend, I would only
instruct you to use it to the best advan-
tage ;-~farewell!
Thank you kindly, signor, but I


246
THE ITALIAN.
think I have no need of it, my trombone
is enough for me. ,
This will defend you more adroitly,
replied Schedoni, refusing to take back
the stiletto, and, moreover, while you
were loading the trombone, your ad-
versary might use his poniard to advan-
tage. Keep it, therefore, friend; it
will protect you better than a dozen
trombones. Put it up.
Perhaps it was Schedoni's particular
look, more than his argument, that con-
vinced the guide of the value of his gift;
he received it submissively, though with
a stare of stupid surprise ; probably it
had been better, if it had been suspi-
cious surprise. He thanked Schedoni
again, and was leaving the room, when
the confessor called out, Send the land-
lord to me immediately, I shall-set off
for Rome without delay!
Yes, signor, replied the peasant, you
are at the right place, the road parts
here; but I thought you was going for
Naples !


THE ITALIAN.
247
For Rome, said Schedoni.
For Rome, signor ! Well, I hope you
will get safe, signor, with all my heart !
said the guide, and quitted the chamber.
While this dialogue had been passing
between Schedoni and the peasant, El-
lena, in solitude, was considering on the
means of prevailing with the confessor
to allow her to return either to Altieri,
or to the neighbouring convent of Our
Lady of Pity, instead of placing her at
a distance from Naples, till he should
think proper to acknowledge her. The
plan, which he had mentioned, seemed
to her long harassed mind to exile her
for ever from happiness, and all that
was dear to her affections, it appeared
like a second banishment to San Stefano,
and every abbess, except that of the
Santa della Piela, came to her imagi-
nation in the portraiture of an inexorable
jailor. While this subject engaged her,
she was summoned to attend Schedoni,
whom she found impatient to enter the
earriage, which at this town they had
been able to procure. Ellena, on looking


248
THE ITALIAN.
out for the guide, was informed that he
had already set off for his home, a cir-
cumstance, for the suddenness of which
she knew not how to account.
The travellers immediately proceeded
on their journey; Schedoni, reflecting
on the late conversation, said little, and
Ellena read not in his countenance any
thing that might encourage her to intro-
duce the subject of her own intended
solicitation. Thus separately occupied,
they advanced, during some hours, on
the road to Naples, for thither Schedoni
had designed to go, notwithstanding his
late assertion to the guide, whom it ap-
pears, for whatever reason, he was
anxious to deceive, as to the place of
his actual residence.
They stopped to dine at a town of
some consideration, and, when Ellena
heard the confessor inquire concerning
the numerous convents it contained, she
perceived that it was necessary for her
no longer to defer her petition. She
therefore represented immediately what
must be the forlornness of her state, and
ес


THE ITALIAN.
249
the anxiety of her mind, if she were
placed at a distance from the scenes and
the people, which affection and early
habit seemed to have consecrated; espe-
cially at this time, when her spirits had
scarcely recovered from the severe pres-
sure of long suffering, and when to sooth
and renovate them, not only quiet, but
the consciousness of security were ne-
cessary; a consciousness which it was
impossible, and especially so after her
late experience, that she could acquire
among strangers, till they should cease
to be such.
To these pleadings Schedoni thought-
fully attended, but the darkness of his
aspeot did not indicate that his com-
passion was touched ; and Ellena pro-
ceeded to represent, secondly, that
which, had she been more artful, or less
disdainful of cunning, she would have
urged the first. As it was, she had
begun with the mention of circumstances,
which, though the least likely to prevail
with Schedoni, she felt to be most im-
portant to herself; and she concluded
.
M5


250
THE ITALIAN.
WI
with representing that, which was most
interesting to him. Ellena suggested,
that her residence in the neighbourhood
of Altieri might be so managed, as that
his secret would be as effectually pre-
served, as if she were at an hundred
miles from Naples.
It may appear extraordinary, that a
man of Schedoni’s habitual coolness,
and exact calculation, should have suf-
fered fear on this occasion, to obscure
his perceptions; and this instance
strongly proved the magnitude of the
cause, which could produce so powerful
an effect. While he now listened to
Ellena, he began to perceive circum-
stances, that had eluded his own obser-
vation; and he, at length, acknowledged,
that it might be safer to permit her to
return to the Villa Altieri, and that she
from hence should go, as she had for.
merly intended, to the Santa della
Pieta, than to place her in any convent,
however remote, where it would be
necessary for himself to introduce her.
His only remaining objection to the


THE ITALIAN.
251
neighbourhood of Naples now rested on
the chance it would offer the Marchesa
di Vivaldi of discovering Ellena's abode,
before he should judge it convenient, to
disclose to her his family; and his
knowledge of the Marchesa, justified his
most horrible suspicion as to the conse-,
quence of such a premature discovery.
Something, however, it appeared,
must be risked in any situation he
might chuse for Ellena; and her rési-
dence at the Santa della Pieta, a large
convent, well secured, and where, as
she had been known to them from her
infancy, the abbess and the sisters might
be supposed to be not indifferent con-
cerning her welfare, seemed to promise
security against any actual violence
from the malice of the Marchesa;
against her artful duplicity every place
would be almost equally insufficient.
Here, as Ellena would appear in the
character she had always been known
in, no curiosity could be excited, or
suspicion awakened, as to her family;
and here, therefore, Schedoni's secret


252
THE ITALIAN.
would more probably be preserved, than
elsewhere. As this was, after all, the
predominant subject of his anxiety, to
which, however unnatural it may seem,
even the safety of Ellena was secondary,
he finally determined, that she should
return to the Santa della Pieta ; and
she thanked him almost with tears, for
a consent which she received as a ge-
nerous indulgence, but which was in
reality little more than an effect of self-
ish apprehension.
The remainder of the journey, which
was of some days, passed without any
remarkable occurrence : Schedoni, with
only short intervals, was still enveloped
in gloom and silence; and Ellena, with
thoughts engaged by the one subject of
her interest, the present situation and
circumstances of Vivaldi, willingly sub-
mitted to this prolonged stillness.
As, at length, she drew near Naples,
her emotions became inore various and
powerful; and, when she distinguished
the top of Vesuvius peering over every
intervening summit, she wept as her


THE ITALIAN.
253
imagination charactered all the well-
known country it overlooked. But
when, having reached an eminence,
that scenery was exhibited to her
senses, when the bay of Naples, stretch-
ing into remotest distance, was spread
out before her; when every mountain
of that magnificent horizon, which en-
closed her native landscape, that country
which she believed Vivaldi to. inhabit,
stood unfolded, how affecting, how over-
whelming were her sensations! Every
object seemed to speak of her home, of
Vivaldi and of happiness, that was
passed ! and so exquisitely did regret
mingle with hope, the tender grief of
remembrance with the interest of ex-
pectation, that it were difficult to say
which prevailed.
Her expressive countenance disclosed
to the confessor the course of her
thoughts and of her feelings, which,
while he contemned, he believed he
perfectly comprehended, but of which,
having never in any degree experienced
them, he really understood nothing,


THE ITALIAN.
255
waited till a servant should open the
gate, remembered how often she had
thus waited, when there was a beloved
friend within, to welcome her with
smiles, which were now gone for ever,
Beatrice, the old housekeeper, at length,
however, appeared, and received her
with an affection as sincere, if not as
strong, as that of the relative, for whom
she mourned.
Here Schedoni alighted, and, having
dismissed the carriage, entered the
house, for the purpose of relinquishing
also his disguise, and resuming his
monk's babit. Before he departed,
Ellena ventured to mention Vivaldi and
to express her wish to hear of his exact
situation ; but, though Schedoni was
too well enabled to inform her of it, the
policy which had hitherto kept him
silent on this subject still influenced
him; and he replied only, that, if he
should happen to learn the circum-
stances of his condition, she should not
remain ignorant of them.
urance revived Ellena, for


256
THE ITALIAN.
two reasons; it afforded her a hope of
relief from her present uncertainty, and
it also seemed to express an approbation
of the object of her affection, such as
the confessor had never yet disclosed.
Schedoni added, that he should see her
no more, till he thought proper to ac-
knowledge her for his daughter ; but
that, if circumstances made it necessary,
he should, in the mean time, write to
her; and he now gave her a direction,
by which to address him under a fic-
titious name, and at a place remote
from his convent. Ellena, though as-
sured of the necessity for this conduct,
could not yield to such disguise, without
an aversion, that was strongly expressed
in her manner, but of which Schedoni
took no notice. He bade her, as she
valued her existence, watchfully to pre-
serve the secret of her birth; and to
waste not a single day at Villa Altieri,
but to retire to the Santa della Pieta;
and these injunctions were delivered in
a manner so solemn and energetic, as
not only deeply to impress upon her


THE ITALIAN.
257
mind the necessity of fulfilling them,
but to excite some degree of amaze-
ment.
After a short and general direction,
respecting her further conduct, Schedoni
bade her farewell, and, privately quit-
ting the villa in his ecclesiastical dress,
repaired to the Dominican convent,
which he entered as a brother returned
from a distant pilgrimage. He was re-
ceived as usual by the society, and
found himself, once more, the austere
father Schedoni.
The cause of his first anxiety was the
necessity for justifying himself to the
Marchesa di Vivaldi, for ascertaining
how much he might venture to reveal of
the truth, and for estimating what
would be her decision, were she in-
formed of the whole. His second step
would be to obtain the release of Vi-
valdi; and, as his conduct in this in-
stance would be regulated, in a great
degree, by the result of his conference
with the Marchesa, it would be only
the second. However painful it must


258
THE ITALIAN.
.
be to Schedoni to meet her, now that
he had discovered the depth of the
guilt, in which she would have involved
him, he determined to seek this eventful
conference on the following morning,
and he passed this night partly in uneasy
expectation of the approaching day,
but chiefly in inventing circumstances
and arranging arguments, that might
bear him triumphantly towards the ac-
complishment of his grand design.


CHAPTER VIII.
Bencath the silent gloom of solitude
Tho' peace can sit and smile, tho' meck content
Can keep the cheerful tenor of her soul,
Ev’n in the loneliest shades, yet let pot wrath
Approach, let black revenge keep far aloof,
Or soon they flame to madness. ..
ELFRIDA.
SCHEDONI, on his way to the Vivaldi
palace, again reviewed and arranged
every argument, or rather specious cir-
cumstance, which might induce the
Marchesa's consent to the nuptials be
so much desired. His family was noble,
though no longer wealthy, and he be-
lieved that as the seeming want of de-
scent had hitherto been the chief objec-
tion to Ellena, the Marchésa might be
prevailed with to overlook the wreck of
his fortune.
At the palace he was told, that the
Marchesa was at one of her villas on
the bay; and he was too anxious not
to follow her thither immediately. This
IM


260
THE ITALIAN.
delightful residence was situated on an
airy promontory, that overhung the
water, and was nearly embosomed
among the woods, that spread far along
the heights and descended, with great
pomp of foliage and colouring, to the
very margin of the waves. It seemed
scarcely possible, that misery could
inhabit so enchanting an abode ; yet
the Marchesa was wretched amidst all
these luxuries of nature and art, which
would have perfected the happiness of
an innocent mind. Her heart was pos-
sessed by evil passions, and all her
- perceptions were distorted and disco-
loured by them, which, like a dark ma-
gician, had power to change the fairest
scenes into those of gloom and de-
solation.
Theservants had orders to admit father
Schedoni at all times, and he was shewn
into a saloon in which the Marchesa was
alone. Every object in this apartment
announced taste and even magnificence.
The hangings were of purple and gold;
the vaulted ceiling was designed by one


THE ITALIAN.
261
of the first painters of the Venetian
school; the marble statues, that adorned
the recesses, were not less exquisite,
and the whole symmetry and archi-
tecture, airy, yet rich, gay, yet chas-
tened, resembled the palace of a fairy
and seemed to possess almost equal fas-
cinations. The lattices were thrown
open' to admit the prospect as well as
the air loaded with fragrance from an
orangery, that spread before them.
Lofty palms and plantains threw their
green and refreshing tint over the win-
dows, and on the lawn, that sloped to
the edge of the precipice, a shadowy
perspective, beyond which appeared the
ample waters of the gulf, where the
light sails of feluccas, and the spreading
canvass of larger vessels, glided upon
the scene and passed away, as in a ca-
mera obscura. Vesuvius and the city
of Naples were seen on the coast beyond,
with many a bay and lofty cape of that
long tract of bold and gaily coloured
scenery, which extends toward Cape
Campanella, crowned by fading ranges
me


262
THE ITALIAN
of mountains, lighted up with all the
magic of Italian sunshine. The Mar-
chesa reclined on a sofa before an open
lattice; her eyes were fixed upon the
prospect without, but her attention was
wholly occupied by the visions, that
evil passions painted to her imagination.
On her still beautiful features was the
languor of discontent and indisposition;
and, though her manners, like her dress,
displayed the elegant negligence of the
graces, they concealed the movements
of a careful and even a tortured heart.
On perceiving Schedoni, a faint smile
lightened upon her countenance, and she
held forth her hand to him ; at the touch
of which he shuddered.
My good father, I rejoice to see you,
said the Marchesa ; I have felt the want
of your conversation much, and at this
moment of indisposition especially.
She waved the attendant to withdraw;
while Schedoni, stalking to a window,
could with difficulty conceal the pertur-
bation, with which he now, for the first
time, consciously beheld the willing


THE ITALIAN.
263
destroyer of his child. Some farther
compliment from the Marchesa recalled
him; he soon recovered all his address,
and approaching her, said,
Daughter! you always send me away
a worse Dominician than I come ; I ap-:
proach you with humility, but depart
elated with pride, and am obliged to
suffer much from self infliction before I
can descend to my proper level.
After some other flatteries had been
exchangedj a silence of several moments
followed, during which neither of the
parties seemed to have sufficient courage
to introduce the subjects, that engaged
their thoughts, subjects upon which
their interests were now so directly and
unexpectedly opposite. Had Schedoni
been less occupied by his own feelings,
he might have perceived the extreme
agitation of the Marchesa, the tremor of
her nerves, the faint flush, that crossed
her cheek, the wanness, that succeeded;
the languid movement of her eyes and
the laborious sighs that interrupted her
breathing, while she wished, yet dared


264
THE ITALIAN.
not ask, whether Ellena was no more,
and averted her regards from him, whom
she almost believed to be a murderer. .
Schedoni, not less affected, though
apparently tranquil, as sedulously avoid-
ed the face of the Marchesa, whom he
considered with a degree of contempt
almost equal to his indignation ; his
feelings had reversed, for the present,
all his opinions on the subject of their
former arguments, and had taught him,
for once, to think justly. Every moment
of silence now increased his embarrass-
ment and his reluctance even to name
Ellena. He feared to tell that she
lived, yet despised himself for suffering
such fear, and shuddered at a recol-
lection of the conduct, which had made
any assurance concerning her life ne-
cessary. The insinuations, that he had
discovered her family to be such as
would not degrade that of the Mar-
chesa, he knew not how to introduce,
with such delicacy of gradation as might
win upon the jealousy of her pride, and
sooth her disappointment; and he was


THE ITALIAN.
265
still meditating how he might lead to
this subject, when the Marchesa herself
broke the silence.
Father, she said, with a sigh, I always
look to you for consolation, and am
seldom disappointed. You are too well
acquainted with the anxiety, which has
long oppressed me; may I understand
that the cause of it is removed? She
paused, and then added, May I hope
that my son will no longer be led from
the observance of his duty ? '
Schedoni, with his eyes fixed on the
ground, remained silent, but at length
said, The chief occasion of your anxiety
is certainly removed ;-—and he was again
silent.
· How ! exclaimed the Marchesa, with
the quicksightedness of suspicion, while
all her dissimulation yielded to the
urgency of her fear, Have you failed ?
Is she not dead ?
In the earnestness of the question,
she fixed her eyes on Schedoni's face,
and, perceiving there symptoms of extra-
ordinary emotion, added, Relieve me
VOL. III.


266
THE ITALIAN.
from my apprehensions, good father, I
entreat; tell me that you have suc-
ceeded, and that she has paid the debt
of justice.
Schedoni raised his eyes to the Mar-
chesa, but instantly averted them; indig-
nation had lifted them, and disgust and
stifled horror turned them away. Though
very little of these feelings appeared, the
Marchesa perceived such expression as
she had never been accustomed to ob-
serve in his countenance; and, her sur-
prise and impatience increasing, she once
more repeated the question, and with a
yet more decisive air than before.
· I have not failed in the grand object,
replied Schedoni : your son is no longer
in danger of forming a disgraceful al-
liance.
In what, then, have you failed ? asked
the Marchesa; for I perceive that you
have not been completely successful.
I ought not to say that I have failed
in any respect, replied Schedoni with
emotion, since the honour of your house
is preserved and a life is spared.


THE ITALIAN
267
His voice faltered as he pronounced the
last words, and he seemed to experience
again the horror of that moment, when,
with an uplifted poniard in his grasp, he
had discovered Ellena for his daughter.
Spared! repeated the Marchesa,
doubtingly; explain yourself, good fa-
ther!
She lives, replied Schedoni; but you
have nothing, therefore, to apprehend.
The Marchesa, surprised no less by
the tone, in which he spoke, than shocked
at the purport of his words, changed
countenance, while she said, impa-
tiently—You speak in enigmas, father.
Lady! I speak plain truth-she lives.
I understand that sufficiently, said
the Marchesa; but when you tell me,
I have nothing to apprehend
· I tell you truth, also, rejoined the
confessor; and the benevolence of your
nature may be permitted to rejoice, for
justice no longer has forbidden the ex-
ercise of mercy.
This is all very well in its place, said
the Marchesa, betrayed by the vexation
N
2


268
THE ITALIAN.
she suffered ; such sentiments and such
compliments are like gala suits, to be
put on in fine weather. My day is -
cloudy; let me have a little plain strong
sense; inform me of the circumstances,
which have occasioned this change in
the course of your observations, and,
good father! be brief.
Schedoni then unfolded, with his usual
art, such circumstances relative to the
family of Ellena as he hoped would
soften the aversion of the Marchesa to
the connexion, and incline her, in consi-
deration of her son's happiness, finally
to approve it; with which disclosure he
mingled a plausible relation of the way
in which the discovery had been made.
The Marchesa's patience would
scarcely await the conclusion of his
narrative, nor her disappointment sub-
mit to the curb of discretion. When,
at length, he had finished his history,
Is it possible, said she, with fretful dis-
pleasure, that you have suffered yourself
to be deceived by the plausibility of a
girl, who might have been expected to


THE ITALIAN.
269
utter any falsehood, which should appear
likely to protect her! Has a man of
your discernment given faith to the idle
and improbable tale! Say, rather, father,
that your resolution failed in the critical
moment, and that you are now anxious
to form excuses to yourself for a conduct
so pusillanimous.
I am not apt to give an easy faith to
appearances, replied Schedoni, gravely,
and still less, to shrink from the per-
formance of any act, which I judge to
be necessary and just. To the last in-
timation I make no reply; it does not
become my character to vindicate my-
self from a suspicion of falsehood.
The Marchesa, perceiving that her
passion had betrayed her into impru-
dence, condescended to apologize for
that, which she termed an effect of her
extreme anxiety, as to what might
follow from an act of such indiscreet
indulgence; and Schedoni as willingly
accepted the apology, each believing
the assistance of the other necessary to
success,


270
THE ITALIAN.
Schedoni then informed her, that he
had better authority for what he had
advanced than the assertion of Ellena;
and he mentioned some circumstances,
which proved him to be more anxious
for the reputation than for the truth of
his word. Believing that his origin was
entirely unknown to the Marchesa, he
ventured to disclose some particulars of
Ellena's family, without apprehending,
that this could lead to a suspicion of his
own.
The Marchesa, though neither ap-
peased nor convinced, commanded her
feelings so far as to appear tranquil,
while the confessor represented, with
the most delicate address, the unhap-
piness of her son and the satisfaction
which must finally result to herself from
an acquiescence with his choice, since
the object of it was known to be worthy
of his alliance. He added, that, while
he had believed the contrary, he had
proved himself as strenuous to prevent,
as he was now sincere in approving
their marriage; and concluded with


THE ITALIAN.
271
gently blaming her for suffering pre-
judice and some remains of resentment
to obscure her excellent understanding.
Trusting to the natural clearness of
your perceptions, he added, I doubt not
that when you have maturely considered
the subject, every objection will yield
to a consideration of your son's hap-
piness.
The earnestness, with which Schedoni
pleaded for Vivaldi, excited some sur-
prise; but the Marchesa, without con-
descending to reply either to his argu-
ment, or remonstrance, inquired whether
Ellena had a suspicion of the design,
with which she had been carried into the
forests of the Garganus, or concerning
the identity of her persecutor. Sche-
doni, immediately perceiving to what
these questions tended, replied with the
facility, with which he usually accom-
modated his conscience to his interest,
that Ellena was totally ignorant, as to
who were her immediate persecutors,
and equally unsuspicious of any other


272
THE ITALIAN.
evil having been intended her, than that
of a temporary confinement.
The last assertion was admitted by
the Marchesa to be probable, till the
boldness of the first made her doubt the
truth of each, and occasioned her new
surprise and conjecture as to the motive,
which could induce Schedoni to venture
these untruths. She then inquired where
Ellena was now disposed of, but he had
too much prudence to disclose the place
of her retreat, however plausible might
be the air, with which the inquiry was
urged ; and he endeavoured to call off
her attention to Vivaldi. The confessor
did not, however, venture, at present,
to give a hint, as to the pretended disco-
very of his situation in the Inquisition,
but reserved to a more favourable oppor-
tunity such mention, together with the
zealous offer of his services to extricate
the prisoner. The Marcheşa, believing
that her son was still engaged in pursuit
of Ellena, made many inquiries con-
cerning him, but without expressing any


THE ITALIAN.
273
solicitude for his welfare ; resentment
appearing to be the only emotion she
retained towards him. While Schedoni
replied with circumspection to her
questions, he urged inquiries of his own,
as to the manner, in which the Marchesa
endured the long absence of Vivaldi;
thus endeavouring to ascertain how far
he might hereafter venture to appear
in any efforts for liberating him, and
how shape his conduct respecting Ellena.
It seemed that the Marchese was not
indifferent as to his son's absence; and,
though he had at first believed the
search for Ellena to have occasioned it,
other apprehensions now disturbed him
and taught him the feelings of a father.
His numerous avocations and interests,
however, seemed to prevent such anxiety
from preying upon his mind, and having
dismissed persons in search of Vivaldi,
he passed his time in the usual routine
of company and the court, Of the actual
situation of his son it was evident, that
neither he, nor the Marchesa, had the
least apprehension, and this was a cir-
N 5


274
THE ITALIAN.
cumstance, which the confessor was
very careful to ascertain.
Before he took leave, he ventured to
renew the mention of Vivaldi's attach-
ment, and gently to plead for him. The
Marchesa, however, seemed inattentive
to what he represented, till, at length,
awaking from her reverie, she said-
Father, you have judged ill- , and,
before she concluded the sentence, she
relapsed again into thoughtful silence.
Believing that he anticipated her mean-
ing, Schedoni began to repeat his own
justification respecting his conduct to-
wards Ellena.
You have judged erroneously, father,
resumed the Marchesa, with the same
considering air, in placing the girl in
such a situation ; my son cannot fail to
discover her there.
Or wherever she may be; replied the
confessor, believing that he understood
the Marchesa's aim ; it may not be
possible to conceal her long from his
search.
The neighbourhood of Naples ought


THE ITALIAN.
275
at least to have been avoided, observed
the Marchesa.
Schedoni was silent, and she added,
So near, also, to his own residence !
How far is the Santa della Pieta from
the Vivaldi palace ?
Though Schedoni had thought that
the Marchesa, while displaying a pre-
tended knowledge of Ellena's retreat,
was only endeavouring to obtain a real
one, this mention of the place of her
actual residence shocked him; but he
replied almost immediately, I am ignorant
of the distance, for, till now, I was unac-
quainted that there is a convent of the
name you mention. It appears, however,
that this Santa della Pieta is the place,
of all other, which ought to have been
avoided. How could you suspect me,
lady, of imprudence thus extravagant?
While Schedoni spoke, the Marchesa
regarded him attentively, and then re-
plied, I may be allowed, good father, to
suspect your prudence in this instance,
since you have just given me so unequi.
vocal a proof of it in another,


276
THE ITALIAN.
She would then have changed the
subject, but Schedoni, believing this
inclination to be the consequence of her
having assured herself, that she had
actually discovered Ellena's asylum, and
too reasonably suspecting the dreadful
use she designed to make of the disco-
very, endeavoured to unsettle her opinion,
and mislead her as to the place of El-
lena's abode. Hé not only contradicted
the fact of her present residence at the
Santa della Pieta, but, without scruple,
made a positive assertion, that she was
at a distance from Naples, naming, at
the same time, a fictitious place, whose
obscurity, he added, would be the best
protection from the pursuit of Vivaldi.
Very true, father, observed the Mar-
chesa ; I believe that my son will not
readily discover the girl in the place
you have named.
Whether the Marchesa believed Sche-
doni's assertion, or not, she expressed
no farther curiosity on the subject, and
appeared considerably more tranquil
than before. She now chatted with


THE ITALIAN.
277
ease on general topics, while the con-
fessor dared no more to urge the subject
of his secret wishes; and, having sup-
ported, for some time, a conversation
most uncongenial with his temper, he
took his leave and returned to Naples.
On the way thither, he reviewed, with
exactness, the late behaviour of the
Marchesa, and the result of this exami-
nation was a resolution-never to renew
the subject of their conversation, but to
solemnize, without her consent, the
nuptials of Vivaldi and Ellena.
The Marchesa, meanwhile, on the
departure of Schedoni, remained in the
attitude, in which he had left her, and
absorbed by the interest, which his visit
excited. The sudden change in his
conduct no less astonished and perplex-
ed, than disappointed her. She could
not explain it by the supposition of any
principle, or motive. Sometimes it oc-
curred to her that Vivaldi had bribed
him with rich promises, to promote the
marriage which he had contributed to
thwart; but when she considered the


278
THE ITALIAN.
high expectations she had herself en-
couraged him to cherish, the improba-
bility of the conjecture was apparent.
That Schedoni, from whatever cause,
was no longer to be trusted in this bu-
siness, was sufficiently clear, but she
endeavoured to console herself with a
hope that a more confidential person
might yet be discovered. A part of
Schedoni's resolution she also adopted,
which was, never again to introduce the
subject of their late conversation. But,
while she should silently pursue her
own plans, she determined to conduct
herself towards Schedoni in every other
respect, as usual, not suffering him to
suspect, that she had withdrawn her
confidence, but inducing him to believe,
that she had relinquished all farther
design against Ellena.


CHAPTER IX.
-
We
Would learn the private virtues; how to glide
Through shades and plains, along the smoothest stream
Of rural life; or, snatch'd away by hope,
Through the dim spaces of futurity,
With earnest eye anticipate those scenes
of happiness and wonder, where the mind,
In endless growth and infinite ascent,
Rises from state to state, and world to world.
THOMSON.
ELLENA, obedient to the command of
Schedoni, withdrew from her home on
the day that followed her arrival there,
to the Santa della Pieta. . The supe-
riour, who had known her from her
infancy, and, from the acquaintance
which such long observation afforded,
had both esteemed and loved her, re-
ceived Ellena with a degree of satisfac-
tion proportionate to the concern she
had suffered, when informed of her dis-
astrous removal from the Villa Altieri.
Among the quiet groves of this con-
vent, however, Ellena vainly endea-
voured to moderate her solicitude re-


280
THE ITALIAN.
10CIE
specting the situation of Vivaldi; for,
now that she had a respite from imme-
diate calamity, she thought with more
intense anxiety as to what might be his
sufferings, and her fears and impatience
increased, as each day disappointed her
expectation of intelligence from Sche-
doni.
If the soothings of sympathy and the
delicate arts of benevolence could have
restored the serenity of her mind, El-
lena would now have been peaceful ;
for all these were offered her by the
abbess and the sisters of the Santa della
Pieta. They were not acquainted with
the cause of her sorrow, but they per-
ceived that she was unhappy, and wish-
ed her to be otherwise. The society of
Our Lady of Pity was such as a convent
does not often shroud ; to the wisdom
and virtue of the superiour the sister-
hood was principally indebted for the
harmony and happiness, which distin-
guished them. This lady was a shining
example to governesses of religious
houses, and a striking instance of the


THE ITALIAN.
281
influence, which a virtuous mind may
acquire over others, as well as of the
extensive good that it may thus diffuse.
She was dignified, without haughtiness,
religious without bigotry, and mild,
though decisive and firm. She pos-
sessed penetration to discover what was
just, resolution to adhere to it and tem-
per to practise it with gentleness and
grace; so that even correction from her
assumed the winning air of courtesy ;
the person, whom she admonished, wept
in sorrow for the offence, instead of
being secretly irritated by the reproof,
and loved her as a mother, rather than
feared her as a judge. Whatever might
be her failings, they were effectually
concealed by the general benevolence
of her heart and the harmony of her
mind; a harmony, not the effect of
torpid feelings, but the accomplishment
of correct and vigilant judgment. Her
religion was neither gloomy, nor bigot-
ted; it was the sentiment of a grateful
heart offering itself up to a Deity, who
delights in the happiness of his crea-


282
THE ITALIAN.
.
tures; and she conformed to the cus-
toms of the Roman church, without
supposing a faith in all of them to be
necessary to salvation. This opinion,
however, she was obliged to conceal,
lest her very virtue should draw upon
her the punishment of a crime, from
some fierce ecclesiastics, who contra-
dicted in their practice the very essential
principles, which the christianity they
professed would have taught them.
In her lectures to the nuns she seldom
touched upon points of faith, but ex-
plained and enforced the moral duties,
particularly such as were most practi-
cable in the society, to which she be-
longed; such as tended to soften and
harmonize the affections, to impart that
repose of mind, which persuades to the
practice of sisterly kindness, universal
charity, and the most pure and elevated
devotion. When she spoke of religion,
it appeared so interesting, so beautiful,
that her attentive auditors revered and
loved it as a friend, a refiner of the
heart, a sublime consoler; and expe-


THE ITALIAN:
283
rienced somewhat of the meek and holy
ardour, which may belong to angelic
natures,
The society appeared like a large
family, of which the lady abbess was
the mother, rather than an assemblage
of strangers; and particularly when ga-
thered around her, they listened to the
evening sermon, which she delivered
with such affectionate interest, such
persuasive eloquence, and sometimes
with such pathetic energy, as few hearts
could resist.
She encouraged in her convent every
innocent and liberal pursuit, which might
sweeten the austerities of confinement,
and which were generally rendered in-
strumental to charity. The Daughters
of Pity particularly excelled in music;
not in those difficulties of the art, which
display florid graces, and intricate exe-
cution, but in such eloquence of sound
as steals upon the heart and awakens its
sweetest and best affections. It was
probably the well regulated sensibility
of their own minds, that enabled these


- 284
THE ITALIAN.
sisters to diffuse through their strains a
character of such finely-tempered taste,
as drew crowds of visitors, on every
festival, to the church of the Santa della
Pieta.
The local circumstances of this con-
vent were scarcely less agreeable than
the harmony of its society was inte-
resting. Its extensive domains included
olive grounds, vineyards, and some corn
land; a considerable tract was devoted
to the pleasures of the garden, whose
groves supplied walnuts, almonds, oran-
ges, and citrons, in abundance, and
almost every kind of fruit and flower,
which this luxurious climate nurtured.
These gardens hung upon the slope of a
hill, about a mile within the shore, and
afforded extensive views of the country
round Naples and of the gulf. But from
the terraces, which extended along a
semicircular range of rocks, that rose
over the convent, and formed a part of
the domain, the prospects were infinitely
finer. They extended on the south to
the isle of Capræa, where the gulf ex-


286
THE ITALIAN.
blue waters of the bay. Beyond the
hills of Naples, the whole horizon to the
north and east was bounded by the
mountains of the Appenine, an amphi-
theatre proportioned to the grandeur
of the plain, which the gulf spread out
below.
These terraces, shaded with acacias
and plane trees, were the favourite
haunt of Ellena. Between the opening
branches, she looked down upon Villa
Altieri, which brought to her remem-
brance the affectionate Bianchi, with all
the sportive years of her childhood ;
and where some of her happiest hours
had been passed in the society of Vivaldi.
Along the windings of the coast, too,
she could distinguish many places ren-
dered sacred by affection, to which she
had made excursions with her lamented
relative and Vivaldi; and, though sadness
mingled with the recollections a view of
them restored, they were precious to
her heart. Here, alone and unobserved,
she frequently yielded to the melancholy,
which she endeavoured to suppress in


THE ITALIAN.
287
society! and at other times tried to de-
ceive, with books and the pencil, the
lingering moments of uncertainty, con-
cerning the state of Vivaldi ; for day
after day still elapsed without bringing
any intelligence from Schedoni. When-
ever the late scenes, connected with the
discovery of her family, recurred to El-
lena, she was struck with almost as much
amazement as if she was gazing upon a
vision, instead of recalling realities.
Contrasted with the sober truth of her
present life, the past appeared like ro-
mance; and there were moments when
she shrunk from the relationship of
Schedoni with unconquerable affright.
The first emotions his appearance had
excited were so opposite to those of
filial tenderness, that she perceived it
was now nearly impossible to love and
revere him as her father, and she endea-
voured, by dwelling upon all the obli-
gations, which she believed he had lately
conferred upon her, to repay him in
gratitude, what was withheld in affection.
In such melancholy considerations,


288
THE ITALIAN.
she often lingered under the shade of
the acacias, till the sun had sunk bé.
hind the far distant promontory of Mi-
seno, and the last bell of vespers sum-
moned her to the convent below.
Among the nuns, Ellena had many
favourites, but not one that she admired
and loved equally with Olivia of San
Stefano, the remembrance of whom was
always accompanied with a fear lest she
should have suffered from her generous
compassion, and a wish that she had
taken up her abode with the happy
society of the Daughters of Pity, instead
of being subjected to the tyranny of the
abbess of San Stefano. To Ellena, the
magnificent scenes of the Santa della
Pieta seemed to open a secure, and,
perhaps, a last asylum ; for, in her
present circumstances, she could not
avoid perceiving how menacing and va-
rious were the objections to her mar-
riage with Vivaldi, even should Schedoni
prove propitious to it. The character
of the Marchesa di Vivaldi, such as it
stood unfolded by the late occurrences,


THE ITALIAN.
289
struck her with dismay, for her designs
appeared sufficiently atrocious, whether
they had extended to the utmost limit
of Ellena's suspicions, or had stopped
where the affected charity of Schedoni
had pointed out. In either case, the
pertinacity of her aversion, and the vin-
dictive violence of her nature, were
obvious.
In this view of her character, however,
it was not the inconvenience threatened
to those who might become connected
with her, that principally affected El-
lena, but the circumstance of such a
woman being the mother of 'Vivaldi;
and, to alleviate so afflicting a conside-
ration, she endeavoured to believe all
the palliating suggestions of Schedoni,
respecting the Marchesa's late inten-
tions. But if Ellena was grieved, on
discovering crime in the character of
Vivaldi's parent, what would have been
her sufferings, had she suspected the
nature of Schedoni ?-what, if she had
been told that he was the adviser of the
Marchesa's plans ?-if she had known
VOL. III.


290
THE ITALIAN.
that he had been the partner of her
intentional guilt? From such suffering
she was yet spared, as well as from that,
which a knowledge of Vivaldi's present
situation and of the result of Schedoni's
efforts to procure a release from the
perils, among which he had precipitated
him, would have inflicted. Had she
known this, it is probable that in the
first despondency of her mind, she would
have relinquished what is called the
world, and sought a lasting asylum with
the society of the holy sisters. Even as
it was, she sometimes endeavoured to
look with resignation upon the events,
which might render such a step desir-
able; but it was an effort, that seldom
soothed her even with a temporary
self delusion, Should the veil, however,
prove her final refuge, it would be by
her own choice; for the lady abbess of
the Santa della Pieta employed no art
to win a recluse, nor suffered the nuns
to seduce votaries to the order.


CHAPTER X.
Sullen and sad to fancy's frighted eye
Did shapes of dun and murky hue advance,
In train tumultuous, all of gesture strange,
And passing horrible,
CARACTACUS.
While the late events had been pass-
ing in the Garganus, and at Naples,
· Vivaldi and his servant Paulo remained
imprisoned in distinct chambers of the
Inquisition. They were again separately
interrogated. From the servant no in-
formation could be obtained; he asserted
only his master's innocence, without
once remembering to mention his own ;
clamoured, with more justness than pru-
dence, against the persons who had
occasioned his arrest; seriously endea-
vouring to convince the inquisitors, that
he himself had no other motive in having
demanded to be brought to these prisons
than that he might comfort his master,
he gravely remonstrated on the injustice
of separating them, adding, that he was
02


292
THE ITALIAN.
sure when they knew the rights of the
matter, they would order him to be car-
ried to the prison of Signor Vivaldi.
I do assure your Serenissimo Illustris-
simo, continued Paulo, addressing the
chief inquisitor with profound gravity,
that this is the last place I should have
thought of coming to, on any other ac-
count; and if you will only condescend
to ask your officials, who took my mas-,
ter up, they will tell you as good. They
knew well enough all along, what I
came here for, and if they had known it
would be all in vain, it would have been
but civil of them to have told me, as
much, and not have brought me ; for
this is the last place in the world I
would have come to, otherwise, of my
own accord.
Paulo was permitted to harangue in
his own way, because his examiners
hoped that his prolixity would be a
means of betraying circumstances con-
nected with his master. By this view,
however, they were misled, for Paulo,
with all his simplicity of heart, was both


THE ITALIAN.
293
vigilant and shrewd in Vivaldi's interest.
But, when he perceived them really
convinced, that his sole motive for vi-
siting the Inquisition was that he might
console his master, yet still persisting
in the resolution of separately confining
him, his indignation knew no bounds.
He despised alike their reprehension,
their thundering menaces, and their
more artful exhibitions ; told them of
all they had to expect both here and
hereafter, for their cruelty to his dear
master, and said they might do what
they would with him; he defied them
to make him more miserable than he
was.
It was not without difficulty that he
was removed from the chamber; where
he left his examiners in a state of asto-
nishment at his rashness and indignation
of his honesty, such as they had, pro-
bably, never experienced before. '.
When Vivaldi was again called up to
the table of the Holy Office, he under-
went a longer examination than on a
former occasion. Several inquisitors


294
THE ITALIAN.
attended, and every art was employed
to induce him to confess crimes, of which
he was suspected, and to draw from him
a discovery of others, which might have
eluded even suspicion. Still the exa-
miners cautiously avoided informing him
of the subject of the accusation, on which
he had been arrested, and it was, there-
fore, only on the former assurances of
the Benedictine, and the officials in the
chapel of San Sebastian, that Vivaldi
understood he was accused of having
carried off a nun. His answers on the
present occasion were concise and firm,
and his whole deportment undaunted.
He felt less apprehension for himself,
than indignation of the general injustice
and cruelty, which the tribunal was
permitted to exercise upon others; and
this virtuous indignation gave a loftiness,
a calm heroic grandeur to his mind,
which never, for a moment, forsook him,
except when he conjectured what might
be the sufferings of Ellena. Then, his
fortitude and magnanimity failed, and
his tortured spirit rose almost to frenzy,


THE ITALIAN.
295
On this, his second examination, he
was urged by the same dark questions,
and replied to them with the same open
sincerity, as during the first. Yet the
simplicity and energy of truth failed to
impress conviction on minds, which, no
longer possessing the virtue themselves,
were not competent to understand the
symptoms of it in others. Vivaldi was
again threatened with the torture, and
again dismissed to his prison.
On the way to this dreadful abode, a
person passed him in one of the avenues,
of whose air and figure he thought he
had some recollection; and, as the
stranger stalked away, he suddenly
knew him to be the prophetic monk,
who had haunted him among the ruins
of Paluzzi. In the first moment of sur-
prise, Vivaldi lost his presence of mind
so far, that he made no attempt to inter-
rupt him. In the next instant, however,
he paused and looked back, with an
intention of speaking ; but this myste-
rious person was already at the extre-
mity of the avenue. Vivaldi called, and


296
THE ITALIAN.
besought him to stop. Without either
speaking, or turning his head, however,
he immediately disappeared beyond a
door that opened at his approach. Vi-
valdi, on attempting to take the way of
the monk, was withheld by his guards,
and, when he inquired who was the
stranger he had seen, the officials
asked, in their turn, what stranger he
alluded to.
He who has just passed us, replied
Vivaldi.
The officials seemed surprised : Your
spirits are disordered, signor, observed
one of them; I saw no person pass! .
He passed so closely, said Vivaldi,
that it was hardly possible you could
avoid seeing him!..
I did not even hear a footstep! added
the man.
· I do not recollect that I did, answered
Vivaldi, but I saw his figure as plainly
as I now see yours; his black gar-
ments almost touched me! Was he an
inquisitor ?
The official appeared astonished; and,


THE ITALIAN.
297
whether his surprise were real, or affected
for the purpose of concealing his know-
ledge of the person alluded to, his ema
barrassment and awe seemed natural.
Vivaldi observed, with almost equal cu-
riosity an 1 surprise, the fear, which his
face expressed; but perceived also, that
it would avail nothing to repeat his
questions.
As they proceeded along the avenue,
a kind of half stifled groan was sometimes
audible from a distance. Whence come
those sounds ? said Vivaldi, they strike
to my heart!
They should do so, replied the guard,
Whence come they? repeated Vivaldi,
more impatiently, and shuddering,
From the place of torture, said the
official.
O God ! O God! exclaimed Vivaldi,
with a deep groan.
He passed with hasty steps the door
of that terrible chamber, and the guard
did not attempt to stop him. The offi.
cials had brought him, in obedience to
5


298
THE ITALIAN.
.
the customary orders they had received,
within hearing of those doleful sounds,
for the purpose of impressing upon his
mind the horrors of the punishment,
with which he was threatened, and of
inducing him to confess without in-
curring them.
On the same evening, Vivaldi was
visited, in his prison, by a man whom
he had never consciously seen before.
He appeared to be between forty and
fifty ; was of a grave and observant phy-
siognomy, and of manners, which,
though somewhat austere, were not
alarming. The account he gave of him-
self and of his motive for this visit was
curious. He said, that he also was a
prisoner in the Inquisition, but, as the
ground of accusation against him was
light, he had been favored so far as to
be allowed some degree of liberty within
certain bounds; that, having heard of
Vivaldi's situation, he had asked and
obtained leave to converse with him,
which he had done in compassion, and


THE ITALIAN.
299
with a desire of assuaging his sufferings,
so far as an expression of sympathy
and commiseration might relieve them.
While he spoke, Vivaldi regarded him
with deep attention, and the improba-
bility that these pretensions should be
true, did not escape him ; but the sus-
picion which they occasioned, he pru-
dently concealed. The stranger con-
versed on various subjects. Vivaldi's
answers were cautious and concise ; but
not even long pauses of silence wearied
the compassionate patience of his visitor,
Among other topics he, at length, intro-
duced that of religion.
I have, myself, been accused of he-
resy, said he, and know how to pity
others in the same situation.
It is of heresy, then, that I am accused!
interrupted Vivaldi, of heresy !
It availed me nothing that I asserted
my innocence, continued the stranger,
without noticing Vivaldi's exclamation,
I was condemned to the torture. My
sufferings were too terrible to be en-
dured ! I confessed my offence


300
THE ITALIAN.
Pardon me, interrupted Vivaldi, but
allow me to observe, that since your
sufferings were so severe, your's, against
whom the ground of accusation was
light, what may be the punishment of
those, whose offences are more serious ?
The stranger was somewhat embar-
rassed. My offence was slight, he con-
tinued, without giving a full answer.
Is it possible, said Vivaldi, again in-
terrupting him ; that heresy can be
considered as a slight offence before the
tribunal of the Inquisition ?
· It was only of a slight degree of he-
resy, replied the visitor, reddening with
displeasure, that I was suspected, and
Does then the Inquisition allow of
degrees in heresy ? said Vivaldi.
I confessed my offence, added the
stranger with a louder emphasis, and
the consequence of this confession was
a remission of punishment. After a tri-
fling penance I shall be dismissed, and
probably, in a few days, leave the pri-
son. Before I left it, I was desirous of


THE ITALIAN.
301
те
administering some degree of consola-
tion to a fellow sufferer; if you have
any friends, whom you wish to inform
of your situation, do not fear to confide
their names and your message to me. -
The latter part of the speech was de-
livered in a low voice, as if the stranger
feared to be overheard. Vivaldi re-
mained silent, while he examined, with
closer attention, the countenance of his
visitor. It was of the utmost importance
to him, that his family should be made
acquainted with his situation; yet he
knew not exactly how to interpret, or
to confide in this offer. Vivaldi had
heard that informers sometimes visited
the prisoners, and under the affectation
of kindness and sympathy, drew from
them a confession of opinions, which
were afterwards urged against them ;
and obtained discoveries relative to their
connexions and friends, who were, by
these insiduous means, frequently in-
volved in their destruction. Vivaldi,
conscious of his own innocence, had, on


302
THE ITALIAN.
his first examination, acquainted the
inquisitor with the names and residence
of his family; he had, therefore, nothing
new to apprehend from revealing them
to this stranger; but he perceived, that,
if it should be known he had attempted
to convey a message, however concise
and harmless, the discovery would irri-
tate the jealous inquisitors against him,
and might be urged as a new presump-
tion of his guilt. These considerations,
together with the distrust, which the
inconsistency of his visitor's assertions
and the occasional embarrassment of
his manner, had awakened, determined
Vivaldi to resist the temptation now of-
fered to him; and the stranger, having
received his thanks, reluctantly with-
drew, observing, however, that, should
any unforeseen circumstance detain him
in the Inquisition longer than he had
reason to expect, he should beg leave to
pay him another visit. In reply to this,
Vivaldi only bowed, but he remarked,
that the stranger's countenance changed,


THE ITALIAN.
303
and that some dark brooding appeared
to cloud his mind, as he quitted the
chamber.
Several days elapsed, during which
Vivaldi heard no more of his new ac-
quaintance. He was then summoned
to another examination, from which he
was dismissed as before; and some
weeks of solitude and of heavy uncer.
tainty succeeded, after which he was a
fourth time called up to the table of the
holy office. It was then surrounded by
inquisitors, and a more than usual solem-
nity appeared in the proceedings.
As proofs of Vivaldi's innocence had
not been obtained, the suspicions of his
examiners, of course, were not removed;
and, as he persisted in denying the
truth of the charge, which he understood
would be exhibited against him, and
refused to make any confession of crimes,
it was ordered that he should, within
three hours, be put to the question. Till
then, Vivaldi was once more dismissed
to his prison chamber. His resolution
remained unshaken, but he could not


THE ITALIAN.
305
speaking, they advanced, and throwing
over him a singular kind of mantle, led
him from the chamber.
Along the galleries and other avenues,
through which they passed, not any
person was seen, and, by the profound
stillness that reigned, it seemed as if
death had already anticipated his work
in these regions of horror, and had con-
demned, alike the, tortured and the
torturer,
They descended to the large hall,
where Vivaldi had waited on the night
of his entrance, and thence through an
avenue, and down a long flight of steps,
that led to subterranean chambers. His
conductors did not utter a syllable, du-
ring the whole progress; Vivaldi knew
too well, that questions would only
subject him to greater severity, and he
asked none i
The doors through which they passed,
regularly opened at the touch of an iron
rod, carried by one of the officials, and
without the appearance of any person.
The other man bore a torch, and the


306
THE ITALIAN.
passages were so dimly lighted, that the
way could scarcely have been found
without one. They crossed what seemed
to be a burial vault, but the extent and
obscurity of the place did not allow it
to be ascertained ; and, having reached
an iron door, they stopped. One of the
officials struck upon it three times with
the rod, but it did not open as the others
had done. While they waited, Vivaldi
thought he heard, from within, low
intermitting sounds, as of persons in
their last extremity, but, though within,
they appeared to come from a distance.
His whole heart was chilled, not with
fear, for at that moment he did not re-
member himself, but with horror.
Having waited a considerable time,
during which the official did not repeat
the signal, the door was partly opened
by a person, whom Vivaldi could not
distinguish in the gloom beyond, and
with whom one of his conductors com-
municated by signs; after which the
door was closed.
Several minutes had elapsed, when


THE ITALIAN.
307
tones of deep voices aroused the atten-
tion of Vivaldi. They were loud and
hoarse, and spoke in a language un-
known to him. At the sounds, the offi-
cial immediately extinguished his torch. °
The voices drew nearer, and, the door
again unfolding, two figures stood be-
fore Vivaldi, which, shewn by a glim-
mering light within, struck him with
astonishment and dismay. They were
cloathed, like his conductors, in black,
but in a different fashion, for their ha-
bits were made close to the shape.
Their faces were entirely concealed,
beneath a very peculiar kind of cowl,
which descended from the head to the
feet; and their eyes only were visible
through small openings contrived for
the sight. It occurred to Vivaldi that
these men were torturers; their appear-
ance was worthy of demons. Probably
they were thus habited, that the persons
whom they afflicted might not know
them; or, perhaps it was only for the
purpose of striking terror upon the
minds of the accused, and thus com-
Ons


310
THE ITALIAN,
there, and he was now slowly obeying,
when, on a second summons, his con-
ductors seized his arms, and hurried him
forward.
In a remote part of this extensive
chamber, he perceived three persons
seated under a black canopy, on chairs
raised several steps from the floor, and
who appeared to preside there in the
office of either judges, or examiners, or
directors of the punishments. Below,
at a table, sat a secretary, over whom
was suspended the only lamp, that
could enable him to commit to paper
what should occur during the examina-
tion. Vivaldi now understood, that the
three persons, who composed the tri-
bunal, where the vicar-general, or grand
inquisitor, the advocate of the exche-
quer, and an ordinary inquisitor, who
was seated between the other two, and
who appeared more eagerly to engage
in the duties of his cruel office. A por:
tentou's obscurity enveloped alike their
persons and their proceedings.
At some distance from the tribunal


THE ITALIAN.
311
stood a large iron frame, which Vivaldi
conjectured to be the rack, and near
it another, resembling, in shape, a coffin,
but, happily, he could not distinguish
through the remote obscurity, any per- ,
son undergoing actual suffering. In
the vaults beyond, however, the diabo-
lical decrees of the inquisitors seemed
to be fulfilling; for, whenever a distant
door opened for a moment, sounds of
lamentation issued forth, and men,
whom he judged to be familiars, habited
like those, who stood beside him, were
seen passing to and fro within.
Vivaldi almost believed himself in the
infernal regions; the dismal aspect of
this place, the horrible preparation for
punishment, and, above all, the dispo-
sition and appearance of the persons,
that were ready to inflict it, confirmed
the resemblance. That any human
being should willingly afflict a fellow
being, who had never injured, or even
offended him; that, unswayed by pas-
sion, he should deliberately become the
means of torturing him, appeared to


312
THE ITALIAN.
Vivaldi nearly incredible! But, when
he looked at the three persons who
composed the tribunal, and considered,
that they had not only voluntarily un-
dertaken the cruel office they fulfilled,
but had probably long regarded it as
the summit of their ambition, his asto-
nishment and indignation were un-
bounded.
The grand inquisitor, having again
called on Vivaldi by name, admonished
him to confess the truth, and avoid the
suffering, that awaited him.',
As Vivaldi had on former examina-
tions, spoken the truth, which was not
believed, he had no chance of escaping
present suffering, but by asserting false-
hood : in doing so, to avoid such mon-
strous injustice and cruelty, he might,
perhaps, have been justified, had it been
certain that such assertion could affect
himself alone, but since he knew that
the consequence must extend to others,
and, above all, believed that Ellena di
Rosalba must be involved in it, he did
not hesitate for an instant to dare what-


THE ITALIAN.
313
ever torture his firmness might provoke.
But even if morality could have forgiven
falsehood in such extraordinary circum-
stances as these, policy, after all, would
have forbidden it, since a discovery of
the artifice would probably have led
to the final destruction of the accused
person.
Of Ellena's situation he would now
have asked, however desperate the
question; would again have asserted her
innocence, and supplicated for com-
passion, even to inquisitors, had he not
perceived that, in doing so, he should
only furnish them with a more exquisite
mean of torturing him than any other
they could apply; for if, when all the
terrors of his soul concerning her were
understood, they should threaten to in-
crease her sufferings, as the punishment
of what was termed his obstinacy, they
would, indeed, become the masters of
his integrity, as well as of his person. :
The tribunal again and repeatedly
urged Vivaldi to confess himself guilty;
and the inquisitor, at length, concluded
VOL. III.
P


THE ITALIAN.
317
Vivaldi was silent: he began to per-
ceive the real nature of the charge,
which was to be urged against him,
and that it was too plausible to permit
his escape from the punishment, which
is adjudged for heresy. Questions so
direct and minute had never been put
to him here on his former examinations;
they had been reserved for a moment
when it was believed he could not evade
them; and the real charge had been
concealed from him, that he might not
be prepared to elude it. .
Answer! repeated the inquisitor. Did
you ever insult a minister of the Catho-
lic faith, in the church of the Spirito
Santo, at Naples? .
Did you not insult him while he was
performing an act of holy penance ? said
another voice.
Vivaldi started, for he instantly re-
collected the well known tones of the
monk of Paluzzi. Who asks the ques--
tion? demanded Vivaldi.
It is you who are to answer here,


318
THE ITALIAN.
resumed the inquisitor. Answer to
what I have required.
I have offended a minister of the
church, replied Vivaldi, but never could
intentionally insult our holy religion.
You are not acquainted fathers, with
the injuries that provoked
Enough! interrupted the inquisitor ;
speak to the question. Did you not,
by insult and menace, force a pious
brother to leave unperformed the act of
penance in which he had engaged him-
self? Did you not compel him to quit
the church and Ay for refuge to his
convent
No, replied Vivaldi. Tis true he left
the church, and that in consequence of
my conduct there, but the consequence
was not necessary; if he had only re-
plied to my inquiry, or promised to
restore her, of whom he had treache-
rously robbed me, he might have re-
mained quietly in the church till this
moment, had that depended upon my
forbearance,


320 THE ITALIAN.
Naples, said Vivaldi, with a heavy sigh,
I first beheld Ellena di Rosalba.
Was she then professed ? asked the
vicar-general.
She never accepted the veil, replied
Vivaldi, nor ever intended to do so.
Where did she reside at that period ?
She lived with a relative at Villa
Altieri, and would yet reside there, had
not the machinations of a monk occa-
sioned her to be torn from her home,
and confined in a convent, from which
I had just assisted to release her, when
she was again seized, and upon a charge
most false and cruel. – 0 reverend
fathers! I conjure, I supplicate —
Vivaldi restrained himself, for he was
going to have betrayed, to the mercy of
inquisitors all the feelings of his heart.
The name of the monk ?, said the
stranger, earnestly.
If I mistake not, replied Vivaldi, you
are already acquainted with it. The
monk is called father Schedoni. He is
of the Dominican convent of the Spirito


324
THE ITALIAN.
and the chamber appeared more gloomily
terrific than before. .
The familiars conducted him to the
spot at which they had received him;
whence the officers who had led him
thither guarded him to his prison.
There, stretched upon his bed of straw,
in solitude and in darkness, he had
leisure to reflect upon what had passed,
and to recollect with minute exactness
every former circumstance connected
with the stranger. By comparing those
with the present, he endeavoured to
draw a more certain conclusion, as to
the identity of this person and his mo-
tives for the very extraordinary conduct
he had pursued. The first appearance
of this stranger, among the ruins of
Paluzzi, when he had said that Vivaldi's
steps were watched, and had cautioned
him against returning to Villa Altieri,
was recalled to his mind, Vivaldi re-
considered, also, his second appearance
on the same spot, and his second warn-
ing; the circumstances, which had at-
tended his own adventures within the


THE ITALIAN.
325
fortress; the monk's prediction of Bi-
anchi’s death, and his evil tidings re-
specting Ellena, at the very hour when
she had been seized and carried from
her home. The longer he considered
these several instances, as they were
now connected in his mind, with the
certainty of Schedoni’s 'evil disposition
towards him, the more he was inclined
to believs, notwithstanding the voice of
seeming truth, which had just affirmed
the contrary, that the unknown person
was Schedoni himself, and that he had
been employed by the Marchesa to pre-
vent Vivaldi's visits to Villa Altieri.
Being thus an agent in the events, of
which he had warned Vivaldi, he was
too well enabled to predict them. Vi-
valdi paused upon the remembrance of
Signora Bianchi's death; he considered
the extraordinary and dubious circum-
stanoes, that had attended it, and shud
dered, as a new conjecture crossed his
mind.-The thought was too dreadful
to be permitted, and he dismissed it
instantly.
.


326
THE ITALIAN.
Of the conversation, however, which
he had afterwards held with the confessor
in the Marchesa's cabinet, he recollected
many particulars, that served to renew
his, doubts as to the identity of the
stranger; the behaviour of Schedoni
when he was obliquely challenged for
the monk of Paluzzi, still appeared that
of a man unconscious of disguise ; and
above all, Vivaldi was struck with the
seeming candour of his having poiated
out a circumstance, which removed the
probability that the stranger was a bro-
ther of the Santa della Pianto.
Some particulars, also, of the stran-
ger's conduct did not agree with what
might have been expected from Sche-
doni, even though the confessor had
really been Vivaldi's enemy; a circum-
stance, which the latter was no longer
permitted to doubt. Nor did those par-
ticular circumstances accord, as he was
inclined to believe, with the manner of
a being of this world; and, when Vivaldi
considered the suddenness and mystery,
with which the stranger had always ap-


THE ITALIAN.
327
peared and retired, he felt disposed to
adopt again one of his earliest con-
jectures, which undoubtedly the horrors
of his present abode disposed his imagi-
nation to admit, as those of his former
situation in the vaults of Paluzzi, together
with a youthful glow of curiosity con-
cerning the marvellous, had before con-
tributed to impress them upon his mind.
: He concluded his present reflections
as he had began them-in doubt and
perplexity ; but at length found a re-
spite from thought and from suffering
in sleep.
Midnight had been passed in the
vaults of the Inquisition; but it was
probably not yet two o'clock, when he
was imperfectly awakened by a sound,
which he fancied proceeded from within
his chamber. He raised himself to dis-
cover what had occasioned the noise ; it
was, however, impossible to discern any
object, for all was dark, but he listened
for a return of the sound. The wind
only, was heard moaning among the
inner buildings of the prison, and Vivaldi


328
THE ITALIAN.
concluded, that his dream had mocked
him with a mimic voice.
Satisfied with this conclusion, he.
again laid his head on his pillow of
straw, and soon sunk into a slumber.
The subject of his waking thoughts still
haunted his imagination, and the stranger
whose voice he had this night recognised
as that of the monk of Paluzzi, appeared
before him. Vivaldi, on perceiving the
figure of this unknown, felt, perhaps,
nearly the same degrees of awe, curi-
osity, and impatience, that he would
have suffered, had he beheld the sub-
stance of this shadow. The monk, whose
face was still shrouded, he thought ad-
vanced, till, having come within a few
paces of Vivaldi, he paused, and lifting
the awful cowl that had hitherto con-
cealed him, disclosed--not the counte-
nance of Schedoni, but one, which Vi-
valdi did not recollect ever having seen
before! It was not less interesting to
curiosity, than striking to the feelings.
Vivaldi, at the first glance shrunk back;
something of that strange and inde-


THE ITALIAN.
329
scribable air, which we attach to the
idea of a supernatural being, prevailed
over the features ; and the intense and
fiery eyes resembled those of an evil
spirit, rather than of a human character.
He drew a poniard from beneath a fold
of his garment, and as he displayed it,
pointed with a stern frown to the spots,
which discoloured the blade ; Vivaldi
perceived they were of blood! He
turned away his eyes in horror, and,
when he again looked round in his
dream, the figure was gone.
A groan awakened him, but what
were his feelings, when, on loooking up,
he perceived the same figure standing
before him! It was not, however, im-
mediately that he could convince him-
self the appearance was more than the
phantom of a dream, strongly impressed
upon an alarmed fancy. The voice of
the monk, for his face was as usual con-
cealed, recalled Vivaldi from his error;
but his emotion cannot easily be con-
ceived, when the stranger, slowly lifting
that mysterious cowl, discovered to him
we


THE ITALIAN,
331
I have known him about a year, as
my mother's confessor, replied Vivaldi.
I first saw him in a corridor of the Vi-
valdi palace; it was evening, and he
was returning from the Marchesa's
closet.
Are you certain as to this ? said the
monk, with peculiar emphasis. It is of
consequence that you should be so.
I am certain, repeated Vivaldi.
It is strange, observed the monk, after
a pause, that a circumstance, which
must have appeared trivial to you at
the moment, should have left so strong
a mark on your memory! In two years
we have time to forget many things !
He sighed as he spoke.
I remember the circumstance, said
Vivaldi, because I was struck with his
appearance; the evening was far ad-
vanced-it was dusk, and he came upon
me suddenly. His voice startled me;
as he passed he said to himself-It is
for vespers. At the same time I heard
the bell of the Spirito Santo.


332
THE ITALIAN.
Do you know who he is ? said the
stranger, solemnly.
I know only what he appears to be,
replied Vivaldi.
Did you never hear any report of his
past life?
Never, answered Vivaldi.
Never any thing extraordinary con-
cerning him, added the monk.
Vivaldi paused a moment! for he now
recollected the obscure and imperfect
story, which Paulo had related while
they were confined in the dungeon of
Paluzzi, respecting a confession made
in the church of the Black Penitents;
but he could not presume to affirm, that
it concerned Schedoni. He remem-
bered also the monk's garments, stained
with blood, which he had discovered in
the vaults of that fort. The conduct of
the mysterious being, who now stood
before him, with many other particulars
of his own adventures there, passed like
a vision over his memory. . His mind
resembled the glass of a magician, on


THE ITALIAN.
333
which the apparitions of long buried
events arise, and as they fleet away,
point portentously to shapes half hid in
the duskiness of futurity. An unusual
dread seized upon him ; and a super-
stition, such as he had never before
admitted in an equal degree, usurped
his judgment. He looked up to the
shadowy countenance of the stranger;
and almost believed he beheld an inha-
bitant of the world of spirits.
The monk spoke again, repeating in
a severer tone, Did you never hear any
thing extraordinary concerning father
Schedoni?
Is it reasonable, said Vivaldi, re-
collecting his courage, that I should
answer the questions; the minute ques-
tions, of a person, who refuses to tell
me even his name !
My name is passed away-it is no
more remembered, replied the stranger,
turning from Vivaldi, --I leave you to
your fate.
What fate? asked Vivaldi; and what
is the purpose of this visit? I conjure


THE ITALIAN.
335
doni had been guilty of some great
crimes, which he endeavours to erase
from his conscience by the severity of
penance.
Never! said Vivaldi.
Did you never hear that he had a
wife-a brother?
Never!
Nor the means he used-no hint ofam
murder, of
The stranger paused, as if he wished
Vivaldi to fill up his meaning, Vivaldi
was silent and aghast.
You know, nothing, then, of Sche-
doni, resumed the monk, after a deep
pause nothing of his past life?
Nothing, except what I have men-
tioned, replied Vivaldi.
Then listen to what I shall unfold !
continued the monk, with solemnity.
To-morrow night you will be again car-
ried to the place of torture ; you will
be taken to a chamber beyond that in
which you were this night. You will
there witness many extraordinary things,


336
THE ITALIAN.
of which you have not now any suspi-
cion. Be, not dismayed; I shall be
there, though, perhaps, not visible.
Not visible ! exclaimed Vivaldi.
Interrupt me not, but listen.-When
you are asked of father Schedoni, say-
that he has lived for fifteen years in the
disguise of a monk, a member of the
Dominicans of the Spirito Santo, at
Naples. When you are asked who he
is, reply - Ferando Count di Bruno.
You will be asked the motive for such
disguise. In reply to this, refer them
to the Black Penitents of the Santa
Maria del Pianto, near that city; bid
the inquisitors summon before their tri-
bunal one father Ansaldo di Rovalli, the
grand penitentiary of the society, and
command him to divulge the crimes con-
fessed to him in the year 1752, on the
evening of the 24th of April, which was
then the vigil of Santo Marco, in a con-
fessional of the Santa del Pianto. .
It is probable he may have forgotten
such confession, at this distance of time,
observed Vivaldi.


338
THE ITALIAN.
where innocence is no protection from
ignominy, and where suspicion alone
may inflict death.
You doubt, then, the truth of what I
assert ? said the monk, in a haughty
tone.
Can I believe that, of which I have
no proof? replied Vivaldi. ..
· Yes, there are cases, which do not
admit of proof; under your peculiar
circumstances, this is one of them; you
can act only upon assertion. I attest,
continued the monk, raising his hollow
voice to a tone of singular solemnity;
I attest the powers, which are beyond
this earth, to witness to the truth of
what I have delivered!
As the stranger uttered this adjurą-
tion, Vivaldi observed, with emotion,
the extraordinary expression of his
eyes; Vivaldi's presence of mind, how-
ever, did not forsake him, and, in the
next moment, he said, But who is he
that thus attests? It is upon the asser-
tion of a stranger that I am to rely, in
defect of proof!" It is a stranger, who


340
THE ITALIAN.
ans
a stranger to you, called upon to do
that, which you could perform yourself?
Ask no further, said the monk, but
answer, whether you will deliver the
summons ?
The charges, which must follow, re-
plied Vivaldi, appear to be of a nature
too solemn to justify my, promoting
them. I resign the task to you.
When I summon, said the stranger,
you shall obey!.
Vivaldi, again awed by his manner,
again justified his refusal, and concluded
with repeating his surprise, that he
should be required to assist in this my-
sterious affair. Since I neither know
you, father, he added, nor the peniten-
tiary Ansaldo, whom you bid me ad-
monish to appear.
You shall know me hereafter, said
the stranger, frowningly; and he drew
from beneath his garment a dagger!
Vivaldi remembered his dream.
Mark those spots, said the monk.
Vivaldi looked, and beheld blood !
This blood, added the stranger, point-
ing to the blade, would have saved


THE ITALIAN.
341
your's! Here is some print of truth!
To-morrow night you will meet me in
the chambers of death!
As he spoke, he turned away; and,
before Vivaldi had recovered from his
consternation, the light disappeared.
Vivaldi knew, that the stranger had
quitted the prison, only by the silence
which prevailed there.
He remained sunk in thought, till, at
the dawn of day, the man,' on watch,
unfastened the door of his cell, and
brought, as usual, a jug of water, and
some bread. Vivaldi inquired the name
of the stranger, who had visited him in
the night. The sentinel looked sur-
prised, and Vivaldi repeated the ques-
tion, before he could obtain an answer.
Į have been on guard since the first
hour, said the man, and no person, in
that time, has passed through this door,
Vivaldi regarded the sentinel with
attention, while he made this assertion,
and did not perceive in his manner any
consciousness of falsehood; yet he knew
not how to believe what he had affirmed,


THE ITALIAN.
345
San Dominico forbid !
Vivaldi, surprised at this exclamation,
inquired the reason for it.
I know him not, repied the sentinel,
changing countenance, and he abruptly
left the prison. Whatever consideration
might occasion this sudden departure,
his assertion, that he had been for three
years a guard of the Inquisition could
scarcely be credited, since he had held
so long a dialogue with a prisoner, and
was, apparently, insensible of the danger
he incurred by so doing.
END OF THE THIRD VOLUME,
VOL. III.
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