"^c:<^ 
 
 ^..^«i.<p 
 
 S^^fe 
 
 ■i '^^ 
 
 ^i&C'^ 
 
 ..<; ;ac S^ _,<. 

 
 
 ll4i 
 
 jg.XicX-^^^-'^-^^ 

 
 ;
 
 LAVINIA. 
 
 THE AUTHOK OF "DOCTOR ANTONIO." 
 
 COPYRIGHT EDITION. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUME S. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LEIPZIG 
 BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ 
 
 1861. 
 
 r 
 
 The Right of Translation is reserved. 

 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF VOLUME I. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER I. The Studio 1 
 
 — II. Par Nobile Fratrum 9 
 
 — III. Anticipated by the Header 17 
 
 — IV. Paolo's English Friend 32 
 
 — V. The Note 40 
 
 — VI. The Visit 50 
 
 — VII. The Eternal Pro and Con 62 
 
 — VIII. Miss Lavinia's Diary 68 
 
 — IX. Paolo lands in Terra Incognita .... 75 
 
 — X. Miss Lavinia's Diary 92 
 
 — XI. Horoscope and Pyrrliic Dance lOG 
 
 — XII. Paolo feels uncharitable 119 
 
 — Xin. Nettle and Dock 131 
 
 — XIV. Amphitryon 151 
 
 — XV. Miss Lavinia's Diary ]C8 
 
 — XVI. Lugete Veneres 181 
 
 — XVII. Miss Lavinia's Diary 197 
 
 — XVIII. Optimism and Pessimism 213 
 
 — XIX. Miss Lavinia in Deshabille 225 
 
 — XX. Paolo sees a Ghost 241 
 
 — XXI. Thornton tells a Tale 251 
 
 — XXII. Miss Lavinia's Di;u'y 259
 
 VI COXTEKTS OF VOLUME I. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER XXni. A Stormy Truce 271 
 
 — XXrV. "What there is in a Roll of Parchment . . 280 
 
 — XXV. A Crash 290 
 
 — XXVI. On the Rack 305 
 
 — XXVir. A Ball at the Hotel de Ville .... 317 
 
 — XXVIII. The good Samaritans 326
 
 L A V I N I A. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Studio. 
 
 In a painter s studio, in Via Frattina, Rome, a young 
 man was sitting- astride a chair, his elbows resting uj)ou 
 its back, his chin on his crossed hands, his eyes riveted 
 to a canvas on an easel opjjosite to him. It was a large 
 canvas, containing no less than six full-length figures in 
 the foreground (the background was scarcely chalked 
 out), four of them nearly finished. The chief one of 
 this group was a warrior in the garb of ancient Gaul, 
 dismounting from a fiery steed, and in the act of 
 throwing his sword into the one of two scales, already 
 containing iron weights, the other being full of gold. 
 
 The young painter gazed at this group with anything 
 but complacency. Indeed, his strikingly handsome fea- 
 tures wore such a vivid expression of disappointment 
 and annoyance, as to be painful to behold. 
 
 Presently, after a knock which was either unheard 
 or unheeded, the door of the studio opened, and ad- 
 mitted a tall, commanding, and we scarcely dare add, 
 middle-aged gentleman. He might be fifty, he might 
 be thirty years of age. His sliortcut, almost white hair 
 and beard, went as far to support the first hypothesis, 
 as the second was rendered plausible by the still youth- 
 
 Lavinia, I. 1
 
 Ji LAVINIA. 
 
 ful cliaracter of his face — a fine, handsome, pensive 
 face, colourless as though the battle of life had left no 
 drop of blood in the veins of the owner. That he had 
 fought, was evidenced by two deep channels, worn by- 
 care at each corner of the mouth. He was plainly and 
 soberly dressed, and with a greater regard to personal 
 ease and comfort than to fashion, as might be inferred 
 from the ample folds of his dark trousers and a flowing 
 upper garment, half-coat half-cloak. Round his throat 
 was a bit of black silk, worn cravat-wise, but so narrow 
 that it was scarcely visible under the turned-down collar 
 of a shirt exquisitely fine and white. 
 
 It was not easy to determine at once to what country 
 he belonged. So far as his style of dress, his pale 
 countenance, and his unshaven beard (scanty, it must 
 be owned) were concerned, he might have been taken 
 for one born on the Continent; but there was .in his 
 carriage, in his bearing, in the whole habit of his body, 
 an individuality, a touch of raciness and originality, sui 
 generis, which rarely falls to the lot of Continental 
 people. The soundest conjecture seemed to be that he 
 was a native of Great Britain, who had lived long 
 abroad. At least, the way he held out his hand, and 
 the hearty squeeze he gave to that of the young painter, 
 were unmistakeably English. Had they invented nothing 
 but this "shaking hands," the English would still be a 
 great people. 
 
 "Good morning, Paolo; been hard at work, eh? 
 that's a good boy. I guessed as much from not seeing 
 you last evening. Now then, let's see. Heyday! three 
 new figures almost done in a sitting!" and the visitor 
 fumbled in his waistcoat pocket for the least showy of 
 eye-glasses.
 
 THE STUDIO. 6 
 
 "It is not worth looking at," said Paolo, dejectedly. 
 "I had it all here last night," and he struck his fore- 
 head with his fist; "I laid me down in my kennel in 
 the belief that I should do wonders to-day. Got up 
 early; worked away; and all to no purpose. I have it 
 all here," with another knock on his forehead, "but I 
 cannot bring it forth." 
 
 "Nonsense," said the tall gentleman, who by this 
 time had fixed his eye-glass, and was examining by 
 its help the canvas on the easel; "your front group 
 is done in gallant style; let me tell you it is very 
 good." 
 
 "I expected you to say something of the sort. You 
 perceive that I am discouraged, and you want to com- 
 fort me. But in your heart of hearts you know that 
 what I have done is neither more nor less than a 
 failure." 
 
 "As true as my name is Mortimer, I know no such 
 thing. When I say that it is very good, I mean what 
 I say." 
 
 "In that case," interrupted Paolo, snappishly, 
 "you are less of an artist than I gave you credit 
 for." 
 
 "Be it so," said with a quiet smile the other, who 
 had announced his name to be Mortimer; "but let mo 
 finish what I was going to say; and that was, I under- 
 stand perfectly well you are not and cannot be satisfied 
 with your performance. Mediocrity often is; it is one 
 of the privileges of genius never to be so." 
 
 "That is a privilege," said Paolo, "supposing I 
 were a genius, I could renounce without breaking my 
 heart. Rather call it a doom than a privilege." 
 
 "Call it what you like," was Mortimer's answer; 
 
 1*
 
 4 LAVINIA. 
 
 "you can no more renounce it than any otlier part of 
 what constitutes yourself. Privilege or doom, it has its 
 high jDui'pose. Suppress in fact, this stimulus to an in- 
 definite improvement, this everlasting yearning after 
 something better still than what has been achieved, be 
 it ever so good — this unceasing call for new efforts 
 and exertions — and you suppress the root and foun- 
 dation of all human excellence. Can you conceive a 
 man born of woman, sitting before his work, and saying, 
 God-like, 'It is very good'?" 
 
 "Certainly not," said Paolo; "you can't think me 
 such a fool as to expect from man what is alone the 
 attribute of God — perfection. "What I deplore and 
 find fault with, is my utter inability to reproduce that 
 ideal, imperfect though it may be, which is so clearly 
 present to my mind's eye." 
 
 "As if the very nature of things did not account for 
 this discrepancy between your conception and its embodi- 
 ment," observed Mortimer. "Where is the wonder if 
 your ideal, a pure s]oeculation of the mind, gets some- 
 what dimmed in the process it must needs j)ass through, 
 to become a sensible reality? Where's the wonder, if the 
 spiritual, in assuming the material garb, loses some- 
 thing of its effulgence? I have heard you allow this a 
 score of times." 
 
 "I daresay you have, I daresay you are right, and 
 I daresay I am wrong," retiuned Paolo, in a tone of 
 increased desolation. "The result is there, and it proves 
 that I have not the stuif in me of a good painter. I wish 
 I were a drawing master, still hiring out my pencil at 
 two paoli an hour. I had none of these mental battles 
 then. I am sick of them. I was happy, but ever since 
 you inoculated me with ambition, ever since you took
 
 THE STUDIO. O 
 
 it into your head to turn me into an Listorical painter, 
 I have not had an hour's rest." 
 
 The two deep furrows about the Englishman's mouth 
 quivered, while the tone of his _voice, hitherto gentle 
 and affectionate, sharpened with a slight bitterness, as 
 he said, "Pray curse me at once then." 
 
 "I!" exclaimed Paolo, like one startled out of a 
 dream. 
 
 "Yes," pursued the Englishman; "cufse me as the 
 cause of all your distress. But for me, would you not 
 be happy? I am accustomed to such repayment. Go 
 on, cur — " 
 
 Paolo sprang towards his friend, clasped both his 
 hands within his own, and looking into Mortimer's eyes 
 with his friendly ones, exclaimed, "Curse you! Are you 
 mad, Mortimer? Curse you, my friend, my second father ! 
 How can you say such horrible words? Don't mind my 
 stupid ways, don't think me ungrateful — you must not! 
 I would do anything to please you. Try me. Say the 
 word, and I will fling myself headforemost into the 
 street. Just try me!" And there Paolo stood, ashy pale, 
 with trembling hands, and eyes full of tears — a very 
 picture of passionate grief. 
 
 ^Mortimer's flash of anger or sudden shock of pain, 
 or the combination of the two, at the reproachful regrets 
 of his friend, Avas happily not so intense as to require 
 for its cure that rather heroic and eccentric sedative, — 
 a somersault from a third story into Via Frattina — 
 proposed by the offender. He contented himself with 
 saying good-htimouredly: "Ah well! always in extremes. 
 However, it will be so, I suppose, to the end of the 
 chapter. So, now, cheer up, and let me hear what it 
 is that you find fault Avith in this groixp."
 
 b LAVINIA. 
 
 "By and by I will tell you," said Paolo, who found 
 it difficult to master his emotion at once. "Always in 
 extremes — yes, you are right; I am ashamed of my- 
 self. If you would only fret, and fume, and storm a 
 little for company's sake, it would be a consolation. But 
 no; you take things so coolly, nothing can stir you out 
 of your provoking British phlegm." 
 
 "British phlegm, indeed!" repeated the Englishman, 
 with a laugh. "How many times have I not told you 
 that our British phlegm is an article, just like many 
 others labelled English, of piu-ely Continental fabrica- 
 tion! I wish you could just have a peep of our House 
 of Commons sometimes, of our railway stations always, 
 or of our crowds, to form an idea of what our phlegm 
 is like. Why, my dear sir, we are lucifer matches, 
 — cannot be touched without bm'sting into a blaze. A 
 new singer, a pah-iot, Tom Thumb, the hipjjopotamus, 
 spirit-rai:)ping, movement cure — why, everybody and 
 everything sets us on fire. Ah ! ah ! phlegmatic indeed ! 
 We are the rashest, the most excitable, blundering, 
 enthusiastic set of animals under the sun,; burning Etnas 
 under a coat of ice: with us life is a race, a storm: 
 pleasure, business, virtue, vice, we overdo eveiy thing. 
 Statesmen, students, authors, artists, work at high 
 pressure and die of overtasked brains. Drunkenness 
 itself changes nature and name with us, and becomes 
 delii'ium." 
 
 Paolo lacked both the data upon which to dispute 
 or confirm the accuracy of Mortimer's statements, and 
 tlie disposition to do either, even had he possessed the 
 data; for, if it was one of the Englishman s crotchets to 
 express opinions about his country and countrymen 
 sometimes little complimentary, more often oddly at
 
 THE STUDIO. / 
 
 variauce witli all current notions, — it was anotlier of 
 his crotchets also, to allow nobody to echo or contradict 
 him on such reserved topics; just like a fond mother, 
 who scolds a naughty darling, and shrinks equally from 
 being opposed or agreed with. 
 
 "Now come," resumed this crusty Mortimer after 
 a pause, during which he had closely surveyed Paolo's 
 picture, "what objection have you to your Brennus? 
 He looks to me a very fine fellow." 
 
 "You will think me hypercritical," answered Paolo, 
 "if I say that his action to my eyes does not appear 
 characteristic enough of tlie deed he is doing." 
 
 "In other words," retorted the other, "you quarrel 
 with him for not articulating distinctly the celebrated 
 Vce victis! You could put a slip of paper in his mouth 
 with the words on it, as many of the old painters did. 
 Jesting apart, let me tell you, my dear friend, that 
 Art has limits of its own, beyond which there is only 
 chaos and confusion. When a painter has brought out, 
 clearly and powerfully, the passions characteristic of 
 the deed the hero is about — savage scorn and 
 covetousness in the present case — the intent and 
 purpose of Art is satisfied. We may dismiss Bren- 
 nus, and pass on to Sulpitius. What is wrong with 
 him?" 
 
 Paolo hesitated for an instant, then said, — 
 
 "Sulpitius looks stiff, he wants naturalness and sim- 
 phcity." 
 
 "There is some truth in what you say," remarked 
 the Englishman, after a little consideration. "It is the 
 strait waistcoat of allegory, into which a misplaced 
 patriotism has forced your subject, which gives to Sul- 
 pitius and Co. — not to Brennus, though there genius
 
 b - LAVINIA. 
 
 has got the upper haud of conventionality — which 
 gives to your personages, I say, that somewhat con- 
 strained air, and to the ensemble that something at 
 variance with the notions the real action represented 
 would naturally suggest to our mind. Simplicity in 
 execution presupposes simplicity in the conception; and 
 yours is one of composite order, if ever there was one 
 — men, in fact, and passions two thousand years old, 
 and men and passions of to-day, in juxtaposition. You 
 know that I objected from the first to this unnatural 
 combination of two such discordant epochs and ele- 
 ments. Had you had the courage to wipe out of yoiu' 
 canvas the modern element, Avhich mars the ancient, 
 there is no saying what might have been you success. 
 Even as it is, take my word for it, it is a good picture, 
 and Brennus a fine fellow." 
 
 Paolo at first remained silent, as though weighing 
 Mortimer's arguments, then said, — 
 
 "I have witnessed an act of great injustice; I pos- 
 sess neither the club of Hercules with which to slay 
 lions or hydras, nor the sinews of Samson to pull 
 down the pillars of the temple. I have but my palette 
 and brush: I use the only weapons I possess to brand 
 a great injustice. Ought that to be imputed to me as 
 a fault?" 
 
 "God forbid that I should do so," returned Mor- 
 timer. "I respect the feeling which guided your pen- 
 cil; what I question is the expediency of indulging 
 that feeling with no likely prospect of furthering art, 
 or your fame." 
 
 Paolo made no ansAver; he arranged his palette, 
 and set himself diligently to work. Mortimer watched 
 in silence the progress of his friend's brush.
 
 PAR NOEILE FRATRUSI. » 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Par Nobile Fratrum. 
 
 Paolo was tlie son of Orazio Manciui, a country 
 gentleman. 
 
 The road between Viterbo and Montefiascone, runs 
 tbrougli a desolate volcanic region, frequently inter- 
 sected by ravines and gorg-es. In one of these gorges, 
 more dreary, if possible, than the others, lies hidden a 
 grim and miserable-looking village, called from a 
 number of small waterfalls in its vicinity, "Cascatelle." 
 In this secluded spot, the birthplace of tlie Mancini, 
 Paolo's father had inherited a large massive mansion, 
 and a tract of laud more than sufficient to maintain a 
 numerous family in affluence, had the produce of it 
 been in any way proportionate to its extent. But the 
 soil was volcanic and refractory to cultivation, so that 
 Orazio's considerable estate yielded him just enough, 
 with strict economy, to make the two ends meet. 
 
 Orazio Mancini, a man of simple and frugal habits, 
 had also an active and adventurous disposition. While 
 studying medicine at liome , he had busied himself 
 much with geology and mineralogy, and from the con- 
 figuration and composition of the moimtainous district 
 around Cascatelle, it seemed to him that he had every 
 right to augur the existence of beds of coal. A good 
 deal of his time was accordingly spent in exploring the 
 country thereabouts, with the view of Avrenching forth 
 the secret of its hidden treasure. 
 
 The only path from Cascatelle to the heights, the 
 usual field of Orazio's investigations, lay by the llocca, 
 a huge mound of unpicturesque ruins, commanding the
 
 10 LAVINIA. 
 
 road at a liimdred paces from the village, and once 
 tlie seigniorial residence of the Eodipani. Of noble 
 birth , high pretensions, and small fortune, the Rodipani 
 had from time immemorial resided at Rome, where they 
 had won for themselves the well-merited praise of being 
 the most indefatigable and successful place-hunters and 
 sponges on the public ever known. 
 
 Faithful to family tradition, the last marquis and 
 his younger brother had thrown themselves on the 
 State, the former as one of the Pope's Guardia Nobile, 
 the latter as assistaut-segreto to one of the prelate 
 auditors of the sacred Roman Rota. Activity, per- 
 severance, ductility, parsimony, spirit of intrigue, power 
 of dissimulation — in none of the qualities necessary 
 in an aspiring priest was Assistant Rodipani wanting, 
 and accordingly he increased in dignity and wealth; 
 while his elder brother, the unambitious, hot-headed, 
 warm-hearted Guardia Nobile, who would have his 
 joke, though at the exjiense of his Holiness himself, 
 got more reprimands and an-ests than promotion, and 
 was at last cashiered for insubordination. 
 
 Though wanting in judgment, the marquis was by 
 no means deficient in feeling, and, like most hasty- 
 tempered persons, once the first heat was over, could 
 listen to reason when kindly and gently administered. 
 But kindness and gentleness were not, at least as far 
 as his brother was concerned, among the Christian vir- 
 tues of the late assistant-segreto , now Canon Rodipani. 
 From earliest boyhood the harshness of manners and 
 assumption of superiority in his brother, had irritated 
 the marquis, and the ill-will then engendered between 
 them had grown with their growth, strengthened with 
 their strength. People indeed used to say of the
 
 PAR NOBILE FRATRUM. 11 
 
 younger Eodipani, that lie visited on Lis elder brother 
 the sin of being the first-born. Be this as it may, high 
 was the wrath of the canon, and highly intemperate 
 the words in which he expressed it, at the news of 
 what he styled the disgrace of the family. The ex- 
 Cluardia Nobile snapped his fingers at "the family," 
 declared with an oath that he would not be, bullied by 
 the tonsure, and went his way. 
 
 For more than a twelvemonth the brothers were as 
 good as dead to each other. At the expiration of that 
 period, the marquis received a request for an interview 
 from the canon, who, stiff, cold, and formal as a judge, 
 stated how — not at all from any personal regard, but 
 from respect for the name they both bore — he had 
 sought and found a means of raising the marquis fronx 
 the abyss of self-degradation into which he had plunged. 
 This means was, of course, a good marriage; Avhicli 
 meant fifty years ago, as it does now-a-days, a rich 
 marriage. Fancy the pleasure of the listener at a com- 
 munication so kindly based, and so sentimentally worded. 
 "lie saw in it," answered the marquis through his 
 clenched teeth, "a new proof of that brotherly solicitude 
 to which he had already been so indebted. Though 
 he regretted that he could not fully gratify this fraternal 
 interest, still he rejoiced that the disappointment would 
 be qualified. He, by a strange sympathy, had also 
 thought of marriage as a means of salvation, and he 
 was now actually on the eve of entering the holy state 
 of matrimony." 
 
 "Doubtless," observed the canon, with a sneer, 
 "the bride elect was worthy of the preference given 
 her by such a connoisseur. Might he inquire the
 
 12 LAVIXIA. 
 
 name of tlie fortunate mortal wlio was to be liis sister- 
 in-law?" 
 
 The rej^lj was, that his reverence miglit become 
 acquainted with it, if he chose, next Sunday at the 
 parish church of Santa Sabina, where the banns were 
 to be published. 
 
 The banns were published, and the name of the 
 futiu-e marchioness, the daughter of a small tradesman, 
 was divulged from the pulpit to the gossij) of all Kome. 
 In spite of the canon's opposition, the marriage took 
 place, and in spite of the sneering prognostications of 
 the gossips, a fortunate one it proved. The marquis 
 had secured what he very greatly needed — a guide; 
 and he who had revolted under the sway of an im- 
 perious master, now willingly submitted to the gentle 
 guidance of a sensible and affectionate wife. 
 
 Years passed, and things went on smoothly and 
 pleasantly with oiu* couple. Not that the husband had 
 grown steady; he was one destined to a perpetual 
 childhood; but the wife was steady enough for two; 
 and whenever he stumbled, which was the rule and not 
 the exception, there was one by his side with a firm 
 hand to hold him up. Alas! that a day should come 
 when that strong, faithful hand was stiff and cold, and 
 could help him no more. Such a day came after eleven 
 years of wedlock. 
 
 The grief of the bereaved husband had all the 
 violence of a tornado. If his constitution did not break 
 altogether, or his reason give way under the shock, as 
 feared at first, he certainly came out of it a much older 
 and weaker-miuded man. Lonely and dispirited, he 
 turned for cheering and consolation to certain quartars,
 
 PAR NOBILE FRATRUM. 13 
 
 wliere he was sure to find misery and self-abasement 
 — to old associates and old liaunts — to tlie bottle 
 and tlie gaming-table. There Avas no lack of rogues 
 and cheats of both sexes to encourage him in his 
 career of extravagance, and to make merry at his ex- 
 pense; no lack of usurers to supply funds for his 
 follies. So that he could raise money, he never cared 
 at what sacrifice. The upshot of all this was what it 
 naturally would be. The Marquis Rodipani awoke 
 one morning a ruined man. His vineyard at Ferentino, 
 his cascina near Ferrao, the very house he lived in; in 
 short, the only possessions he had worth the taking, 
 were in the hands of his creditors. They left him only 
 that which they had neither the power nor the inclina- 
 tion to take — his entailed property at Cascatelle, 
 consisting of a mansion in ruins, and a tract of unpro- 
 fitable land, mortgaged for double its value, and the 
 rent of which Avas equal to zero. 
 
 Thus driven to the wall, the marquis had not a 
 moment's hesitation in applying for help — so dead 
 Avas he by this time to all sense of shame and self- 
 respect — to that brother from whom he had lived 
 estranged for the last sixteen years. He Avrote to him 
 accorduigly, and received a reply, such as the jne- 
 cedents of Canon, now Bishop in partibus, Rodipani, 
 Avould warrant one to expect. It ran thus: "Your 
 avowal that you arc a beggar does not surprise me. 
 I never expected you to end otherwise. My only 
 Avonder is, that you have taken so long to arrive at 
 such a conclusion. Deliver Rome and mo instantly 
 from the disgrace of your presence , and retire to Cas- 
 catelle. On your complying Avith this condition, and
 
 14 LATDvIA. 
 
 to preserve tlie name you bear from farther degi'ada- 
 tion, I will then settle on you a small annuity." 
 
 The marquis, in a foaming rage, despatched forth- 
 with a counter-demand, couched thus: "I reject with 
 scorn yoiu' ultimatum, and give you mine. If within 
 three days from this date I have not your bond for a 
 monthly payment of sixty scudi, secured to me for life, 
 I will bring down the name of Rodipani so low, as to 
 make it indeed an opprobrium to all who bear it. I 
 take G — to witness that I will.'' 
 
 There beino: no bond forthcoming within the time 
 specified, the marquis set about fulfilling his threat. 
 That remainder of decorum, which well-born and well- 
 bred debauchees never entirely renounce, even in their 
 days of most unbridled licence, he now utterly dis- 
 regarded. He fi-equented the haunts of the lowest 
 rabble, selecting as his companions the vilest of the 
 refuse of Rome. Pipe in mouth, and in rags, he would 
 parade the Corse, or pace the Pincio, arm in arm with 
 recognized blacklegs, or the most abandoned of the 
 other sex. Xor was his rage after self-degradation 
 satisfied by such daily exhibitions. People got ac- 
 customed to them, and they missed their effect. He 
 must and would finish off with a coztp d'eclat. What 
 do you think he did? He volunteered his sei-vices to 
 the manager of the Tordinona theatre, and actually 
 appeared on the stage as one of the choreographic 
 corps in the ballet. The scandal was as immense as 
 he could have desired; all Rome flocked to see the 
 debut of Marquis Rodipani. An order from the minister 
 of police, sued for and easily obtained by Bishop Rodi- 
 pani, put an end to the disgi-aceful display. The new
 
 PAR NOEILE FRATRUM. 15 
 
 debutant was enjoined to leave Eome within eight and 
 forty hours, and proceed to Cascatelle. Promises, 
 entreaties, expostulations were of no avail; willingly or 
 unwillingly, go he must. 
 
 Let man do what he will to deface himself, yet the 
 hand of Him in whose image he is made will be 
 traceable in some "corner or other of his being. Such 
 was the case with that lump of cynicism and selfish- 
 ness which went under the name of Marquis Rodipani. 
 Even he had his badge of our divine origin, his 
 redeeming point, in the tender passionate love he bore 
 to his darling daughter. Bianca was the eldest and the 
 only surviving of his three children. Only a few months 
 previous to, and as if in prescience of her approaching 
 end, the fond mother had insisted on sending her little 
 girl to the convent of Santa Cliiara, there to receive 
 her education. The child had been an inmate of that 
 house for six years, and never once, during these six 
 years — no, not even at the culminating point of his 
 follies and extravagance — had her father failed to go 
 and see her on any of the weekly parlour days, 
 ministering to her little wants and comforts, telling her 
 how fondly he loved her, and of the saint she had in 
 heaven in her blessed mother. 
 
 In her seclusion, Bianca knew nothing of her father 
 but what he chose to show of himself, and that was well 
 calculated to endear him to her. His care, then, well 
 requited at all times, was never more so than now, 
 when he came to confide to her the bad tidings, with 
 an accompaniment of sobs and sighs, that she would 
 see him no more, that he had come to bid her farewell. 
 The poor young thing was quite upset by such news. 
 Why must he go away? and if he really must, why
 
 16 LAVINIA. 
 
 could she not go witli him? The selfish man caught 
 eagerly at this notion; in fact, what was there to pre- 
 vent her? she was his own child after all. His con- 
 science, however, bade him hint at the dreariness of 
 Cascatelle — such a dull place for a girl of fourteen! 
 "It could scarcely be duller than the convent," said 
 Bianca; and then, what did she care for the place, so 
 long as she was with him ? In short, father and daughter 
 being of one mind, they at once sought an interview 
 with the mother abbess. To the reverend lady Marquis 
 Rodipani detailed his plan of residing for the future in 
 the country, adding that his daughter being willing to 
 accompany him, he had come to claim her. Bianca 
 simply and firmly declared her determination to be her 
 father's companion. 
 
 The mother abbess naturally started many objec- 
 tions. Bianca had not yet finished her education, Bianca 
 was too young to decide for herself; at all events, the 
 abbess could not permit her to go, without first con- 
 sulting the proper authorities. The marquis wished to 
 know what authority the lady placed above that of a 
 father in this case. The abbess replied by obscure 
 hints about fathers who had by their conduct forfeited 
 their authority. At this, Marquis Rodipani lost patience, 
 and went straight to the minister of police. "I am 
 ready to leave Rome," said the marquis, "but I must 
 first have my daughter." The high functionary dis- 
 claimed all intention of interfering with paternal rights, 
 beyond ascertaining what were the real wishes of the 
 young lady, and that should be done through the inter- 
 vention of a most unexceptionable person. 
 
 The unexceptionable medium proved to be Bishop 
 Rodipani, who no sooner was acquainted with the matter,
 
 ANTICIPATED BY THE READER. 17 
 
 than lie went in great haste to the convent. Skilful 
 cross-questionings, adroit cajoleries, obscure warnings, 
 overt menaces, all that the combined diplomacy of an 
 abbess and a bishop could contrive, and bring to bear 
 on a child of fourteen to frighten or persuade, that 
 child stood for hours, without faltering, without for a 
 moment swerving from her determination. "I go of 
 my- own free will," she said; "he is my father." A 
 simple statement, which has its weight in the mouth of 
 a man's child. The bishop in partibiis and the mother 
 abbess felt this, and yielded. The marquis carried off 
 his Bianca in triumph. Thus they came and settled 
 themselves at Cascatelle — not in the ruined mansion, 
 a habitation fit only for bats and owls, but in the little 
 homestead close by. There they lived on a small 
 allowance doled out to them by the bishop; Bianca, 
 the clever child housekeeper, maintaining by her activity 
 and energy an element of order and comfort round 
 them; the old dotard, her father, cursing in petto his 
 brother, and wasting his time in devising idle plans for 
 annoying that brother. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Anticipated by the Reader. 
 
 The marquis and his daughter had been living at 
 tlie farm for nearly five years, when Orazio Mancini, 
 on his father's death, had to give up his studies at 
 Eome, and come and settle at Cascatelle. Xow, on his 
 excursions, whether in going to or returning from the 
 heights, Orazio had no choice but to pass by the humble 
 dwelling of the Kodipani; and as the old marquis — 
 
 Luviitia. 1. 2
 
 18 LAVINIA. 
 
 (for, tliougli scarcely fifty at that time, lie was so bent 
 and so wLite-bairecl that lie looked seventy) — well, as 
 the old marquis used to sit for hours together on a 
 wooden bench by the door, sunning himself, it was next 
 to impossible that Orazio could pass unobseiTed. 
 Naturally, the usual courteous salutations were ex- 
 changed, and more than once had the "Good morning, 
 marquis," from the young man, in response to the 
 "Good day, doctor," from the marquis, elicited from 
 the latter something like "Confound the marquisate," 
 or "It is tin I want, not titles;" that is, the irate old 
 nobleman used Italian phrases equivalent to these 
 English ones. The words were muttered, not openly 
 articulated, lest she should overhear him. 
 
 In the course of time the passing greetings length- 
 ened into short conversations. Orazio, as being the 
 only inhabitant of Cascatelle who took the official Ga- 
 zette of Rome , would stoj) a few minutes to give the 
 news. The marquis would now and then ask, in a 
 confidential whisper, if there were no casualties among 
 the higher clergy; no apoplexies from the heat of the 
 weather; no spirited carriage-horses running away, and 
 dashing out the holy brains of some bishop in pnrtibus. 
 Again, there was a change. From conversing while 
 standing, the doctor (so called by com-tesy) was invited 
 to converse seated; and, to make a long story short, 
 by the end of the year of his first settling at Cascatelle, 
 Orazio had become a daily visitor at the farm of "La 
 Rocca," Biauca's friend, and Marquis Eodipani's phy- 
 sician, first adviser, and confidant. 
 
 Bianca was , by this time , a beautiful girl of twenty, 
 sensible, calm, uncommonly serious for her age. She 
 had that sort of spiritual beauty vrliicli does not lie on
 
 ANTICIPATED BY THE READER. 19 
 
 the surface, but shines forth from within, the emanation 
 of a pure, loftj soul. Her tall, slender figiu'e, jet-black 
 hair, large jet-black eyes, and alabaster complexion, 
 gave her an unearthly look — the look, Orazio could 
 not help thinking, of an early Christian virgin-martyr. 
 The villagers likened her to the Madonna, and stood 
 hat in hand as she passed. There was something holy 
 and purifying in her mere presence, which acted mys- 
 teriously on all who saw her, and the soft spell of" 
 which her father, half in his dotage as he was , felt and. 
 submitted to. The marquis had become quite another 
 man. In his daughter's company he behaved as de- 
 corously as the most respectable father of a family 
 could have done; not for the world would he have 
 uttered before Bianca, we do not say one of his old 
 oaths and curses, but not even a word louder than the 
 other. He must make very sure that she was absent 
 on some errand; he must actually go to the road, and 
 see the flutter of her white dress far o&, before he 
 would hazard one of his former wicked winks at Orazio, 
 meant to express — -"Wliata monstrous line girl, eh?" 
 and add with a sigh, "What a pity you are a gentle- 
 man!" 
 
 "What do you mean?" asked astonished young 
 Mancini. 
 
 "I mean that were you a rag-gatherer you might 
 liave her. Don't you Understand? Why, it would 
 make the old rogue m part /bus burst with rage." 
 
 It was a fixed idea with the half-witted gentleman 
 that his daughter must make a low marriage, in order 
 to spite his brother. Little confidences of this kind had 
 occurred more than once between the marquis and Ora- 
 zio, and more than once had Orazio said to himself, 
 
 2*
 
 20 LATIXIA. 
 
 ■\vitli a sigli, "TThat a pity it is that slie is nobly 
 born!" 
 
 To be born a noble was in Orazio's eyes an original 
 sin, which nothing could wash away. This prejudice, 
 imbibed in earliest childhood — a prejudice so intense 
 as to amount to positive hatred — was common to most 
 of the early Italian patriots and sympathizers with the 
 French Revolution of 1789, of whom Orazio's father 
 was one. Xor is it difficult to account for, and even to 
 some extent to justify, this feeling of animosity towards 
 the aristocracy. They had brought it upon themselves, 
 less by abuse of power than by want of self-respect. 
 The eighteenth century, especially towards its close, 
 was no golden age of Arcadian innocence; rather the 
 reverse. Xor for Italy alone: there much laxity of 
 morals and licentiousness prevailed, the monopoly of 
 no class, it is but fair to add-, the evil ate more or less 
 into the social body, yet it is not to be denied that 
 scepticism and gross sensuality had chiefly originated, 
 and blazed forth most conspicuously, in those upper 
 classes, in whom the vulgar always seek a pattern, and 
 whose example exerts a too decisive influence on the 
 general standard of morality. Hence the fiery anathe- 
 mas of Alfieri, and the witty sneers of Goldoni and 
 Parini; hence then* denunciation of the Patriciate to the 
 indignation and contempt of all those who had yet 
 some moral sense left. The inglorious fall of the last 
 two governing aristocracies in the Peninsula, those of 
 Genoa and Venice, which followed shortly afterwards, 
 goes far indeed to give the measure of their decay, and 
 of what remained of their hold and prestige upon the 
 governed. 
 
 Tilings, it is true, had slowly but steadily mended
 
 ANTICIPATED BY THE HEADER. 21 
 
 in this as in other respects, since that time. A healthier 
 tone of morals had spread through all grades , many of 
 the nobility had shaken off their sluggishness, and had 
 awakened to high and nohle aspirations and purposes. 
 The very generation to which Orazio belonged had 
 seen many of the Neapolitan and Piedmontcse aristo- 
 cracy join the national ranks in 1820 and 1821; had 
 seen the representatives of the noblest Lombard fami- 
 lies, for no other fault than that of loving their country, 
 buried alive in that hell of man's invention, the Spiel- 
 berg. A reaction in favour of the privileged classes 
 had already taken place in the public mind; but such 
 is the force of first impressions, and a deeply -rooted 
 habit of thought, that even many of the witnesses of 
 these changes for the better chose not to see them, and 
 remained uninfluenced by them, hugging as fast and 
 fondly as before their old rancour. Orazio was one of 
 this number, and this explains why he said to himself 
 with a sigh, "What a pity it is that she is nobly 
 born!" 
 
 There was no lack, however, of extenuating circum- 
 stances in this case. Bianca had neither the pride, nor 
 the self-conceit, nor the habits of self-indulgence — in 
 one word, none of the sins — of the caste in Avhich it 
 had pleased Providence that she should be born. The 
 name she bore, owing to her father's conduct, was no 
 crown of glory for her. All her great relations and 
 connections had silently renounced her. Uer prospects 
 were of the humblest, nay, of the saddest; she lived 
 on alms, one might say; and if those alms were with- 
 drawn, destitution stared her in the face. In the event 
 of her father's death, the only hope left to her was, 
 that her uncle the bishop , might find a husband for her.
 
 22 LAVINIA. 
 
 And what sort of a husband God only knew. Portion- 
 less girls are generally at a discount. And Orazio's 
 blood boiled at the thought of so much virtue and 
 beauty thrown away upon some old titled libertine. 
 These and similar considerations derived additional 
 strength from two facts, the first no doubt, already 
 anticipated by the reader, that Orazio was fathoms 
 deep in love Avith Bianca; the second, that he had 
 reason to believe — wo word it as modestly as we can 
 — that the young lady was not wholly indifferent to 
 him. 
 
 Thus, one morning, when Bianca happened not to 
 be at home, Orazio suddenly said to the marquis, "Do 
 you know, neighbour, that I am no longer a gentle- 
 man?" 
 
 "No longer a gentleman!" repeated the surprised 
 marquis. 
 
 "No," resumed Orazio, "I am about to turn rag- 
 merchant; and I ho]De that, as such, you will accept me 
 for your son-in-law." 
 
 "With all my heart," said the marquis, in high 
 glee; "that is, if my daugliter consents." 
 
 "Of course," replied .Orazio, "yoiu" consent counts 
 for nothing Avithout that of your daughter." 
 
 "How the old rogue in violet stockings will fume 
 and fret!" exclaimed the marquis, rubbing his hands, 
 "Rag-merchant — the very thing — capital. What j)ut 
 such a notion into your head?" 
 
 "Why," returned Orazio, "I have decided at last 
 to establish a paper-mill here. Pa^^er is made of rags; 
 I must therefore buy rags; so, you see, I am perforce 
 a rair-merchant."
 
 ANTICIPATED BY THE READER, 23 
 
 "Very good," said the marquis; "but what do you 
 mean to do with your coal mines?" 
 
 "To leave them where they are; the working them 
 would be too expensive for a man with so little capital 
 as I have." 
 
 "And the alabaster quarry you discovered a short 
 time ago?" 
 
 "It is too far off, and there is no road to the hills; 
 but I have plenty of water at my door for my milh 
 So it will cost next to nothing." 
 
 Six months after this conversation, Bianca was mar- 
 ried to Orazio, and installed in her new home — no 
 other than the paper-mill, into which Orazio's house 
 had been transformed. The marquis accompanied his 
 daughter, and to him the best room was allotted. The 
 marriage took place in the quietest manner possible; 
 no fuss of any sort, no invitations, no httres dc piire 
 jHirt — at least, only one. At Bianca's suggestion, 
 and unknown to her fcXther, Orazio wrote a decent letter 
 to Bishop Rodipani, to inform him of the marriage. 
 Bishop Rodipani sent back in return four pages of 
 choice invectives and maledictions against the good-for- 
 nothing wretch who had taken advantage of an old 
 man's imbecility, and a stupid girl's inexperience, to 
 intrude himself, a plebeian, on the noble family of the 
 'Rodipani. Orazio handed this effusion, without a word, 
 to Bianca, who read it, and, without a word, threw it 
 into a pond close by, where a heap of rags were under- 
 going maceration. All this occurred in the early sum- 
 mer of 1829, and in the spring of 1830 Bianca pre- 
 sented her husband with a beautiful boy, named Paolo, 
 after his grandfather the marquis. 
 
 By that time, the paper-mill was in full operation.
 
 24 LAVINIA. 
 
 Upliill work it had beeu, for tlie manager knew little 
 of the practical part of the business, and the workmen 
 nothing at all, and were consequently in need both of 
 teaching and training. But with a colleague like Bianca, 
 Avhat difficulties may not a man overcome, what weak- 
 ness of head or hand not conquer! She possessed that 
 sort of intuition, which not only discovers what is 
 amiss, but also divines the remedy; she had that sort 
 of self-reliance which commands the confidence of all 
 arouud. Her quiet activity made itself felt everywhere; 
 nothing was too low or too high for her. She found 
 time and inclination, as well to see the rags weighed, 
 to pay the hands their wages, to cast up the accounts, 
 and yet to attend to the sublime duties of maternity, 
 and to administer help and consolation wherever help 
 and consolation were needed. Bianca had inherited the 
 heroic soul of her blessed mother, the poor tradesman's 
 daughter. 
 
 No wonder, then, that, as years went on, everything 
 in the little household went on improving with them. 
 The business became prosperous, the marquis fat and 
 youthful-looking, the young Paolo tall, handsome, and 
 clever — the lump of perfection, of course, Avhich all 
 children are in their parent's eyes. His ^father would 
 say that a more decided turn for drawing than his 
 Paolo evinced, he never had met with, and he resolved 
 to fan the flame of genius accordingly. In truth, even 
 less partial observers than a father and mother gener- 
 ally are, might have been struck Avith wonder at the 
 precociously thoughtful countenance and earnest gaze 
 of the four-year-old boy, as he sat poring over a book 
 of pictures, or tried to copy one of the objects of his 
 admiration. At this a^e it was that Paolo had his fii'st
 
 ANTICIPATED BY THE READER. 25 
 
 great sorrow, when lie was told that never again would 
 he see the one-week-old sister, who had already won 
 his little heart, because she had gone away to be an 
 angel in heaven. Happiness, you see, was not unalloyed 
 at the paper-mill, and its inmates had their hours of 
 trial. There came another cruel day two years after, 
 when the marcpis, struck by one of those thunderlike 
 fits he had so often wished to his brother, was carried 
 to his grave. Bianca bore the shock bravely. Affliction 
 falls comparatively light on those united in love-, it 
 weighs terribly on those who are left to mourn alone. 
 
 In the spring of 1837, there broke out at Viterbo 
 one of those attempts at insurrection, the periodical 
 recurrence of which, ill-concocted and unsuccessful as 
 they may be, is not less ^ proof of suffering next to 
 unbearable in the social body from which they spring; 
 because it is not to be believed that men of llesh and 
 blood, if only tolerably at ease, will rush into the 
 street, and cry down the powers that be, for the mere 
 pleasure of receiving a musket-ball or a sabre cut, or, 
 even worse still, of being sent to rot in a jirison. 
 
 This movement at Viterbo, insignificant at it was, 
 proved the foundation stone of Mousignor Antonelli's 
 fortune, insomuch as it afforded the young and ambi- 
 tious prelate, then delegate in that town, a golden 
 opportunity of displaying for the first time, and attract- 
 ing notice by, those talents for repression and compres- 
 sion, which have made him since so conspicuous a 
 personage. 
 
 As ill-luck would have it, Orazio happened to be 
 at Viterbo on business at the moment of the out- break. 
 He left as soon as he could — the gates had been 
 kept shut for twenty -four hours — and hastened to
 
 26 LAYINIA. 
 
 Cascatelle. The news of tlie rising at Viterbo, magni- 
 fied by distance and uncertainty, had preceded him, 
 and he found the peaceful village in a state of fermen- 
 tation. The young men of the place — for the most 
 part, the hands employed at the papermill — were 
 already arming themselves, as best they could, with the 
 intention of proceeding to Viterbo. 
 
 Orazio arrived in time to check their ardour. He 
 had to harangue them in the market-place, and not 
 without difficulty did he succeed in bringing them to 
 their sober senses, and restoring tranc[uillity. Within 
 the same week, a party of gendarmes rode up to the 
 paper-mill, handcuffed Orazio, and conveyed him to the 
 prison of Montefiascone. Bianca, without hesitation, 
 followed him thither; but orders were soon sent, in 
 jnn'suance of which the prisoner was transferred to the 
 Castle of Sant' Angelo, at Rome. Bianca returned to 
 Cascatelle, to arrange the affairs of the mill; she omitted 
 no precaution; left the minutest instructions and direc- 
 tions with the foreman, and then started for Rome, 
 taking with her little Paolo. Orazio was now a State 
 prisoner, accused of having harangued tTie populace in 
 a public place, with intent to excite the inhabitants of 
 Cascatelle to open rebellion. 
 
 A trial of a new kind was in store for Bianca at 
 Rome. The poor lady was expecting an addition to 
 her family; the fatigue of the hurried journey, and 
 anxiety of mind, brought on a disappointing illness. 
 The first fortnight of her stay in Rome she had to 
 spend in bed; — fifteen days, fifteen ages at that mo- 
 ment. A letter to Bishop Rodipaui, a letter written in 
 the midst of agony of body and mind, received no 
 answer. As soon as she could crawl, and in defiance
 
 ANTICIPATED BY THE READEK. 27 
 
 of the strict orders of lier doctor, agaia and again did 
 she seek admission to the bislioji's presence; she knew 
 no one else in the vast city: Monsignor was not at 
 home; Monsignor was engaged; could not see her; 
 would not see her. She was not to be rebuffed; it 
 was for her husband's sake. For many successive days, 
 passers-by noticed a lady, as white as death, standing 
 by the gate, or sitting for hours on the doorsteps of 
 the Eodipani palace. One day, at last, she caught 
 sight of his reverence, as he was stepping into his car- 
 riage, and addressed him. He did not so much as turn 
 his head her way, but ordered the coachman to go on. 
 Bianca sprung to the head of the horses, and stood 
 there motionless, looking him stedfastly in the face all 
 the while: there was no defiance in her look, only an 
 unconquerable determination. Monsignor, not moved, 
 but awed by those two large eyes riveted on him — 
 living eyes terrible to behold in tliat death-like coun- 
 tenance — monsignor condescended to listen to her — 
 condescended to reply that, supposing he had been in- 
 clined, which he was not, he had no power in this 
 matter concerning her husband. The carriage then 
 proceeded on its way. Bianca fell on the pavement 
 like one dead; no wonder, in her Aveak state. A com- 
 passionate tradesman close by lifted her up, and carried 
 her into his shop. He and his family were very kind 
 to her, asking how they could assist her: but when 
 they heard her story, they shook their heads, and said, 
 "Poor, woman! had your husband committed murder, 
 there would be hope for him still; but a political of- 
 fender! — " Their looks clearly intimated that her 
 case was hopeless. 
 
 Yet she must act, must exert herself as though it
 
 28 LAVI^'IA. 
 
 were not hopeless. All lier efforts to obtain tlie favour 
 of an audience witli liis Holiness were baffled. Even 
 Biauca's determination failed to carry ber tbrougb the 
 triple entrencbmeut , drawn by bigb and low functio- 
 naries, to guard the tbrone from intrusion. She peti- 
 tioned — in vain. Letters and petitions fell short of their 
 mark. She did force her way to some of the cardinals, 
 and other influential personages; was rebuked by some, 
 imheeded by most, pitied only by a few. Meanwhile, 
 her bodily strength was fast failing. Her prematui-e 
 going out had entailed upon her fatal consequences, one 
 of which was that she could scarcely walk. Trouble 
 followed on the heels of trouble. Bad news came from 
 the paper-mill; remittances were rare and scarce, po- 
 verty encompassed her. Still, the heroic spirit within 
 upheld the frail and perishing body; so long as hus- 
 band and son needed her, she could not, would not 
 yield. AVhat was to become of them, if she too deser- 
 ted them? 
 
 So much constancy and self-sacrifice deserved a 
 reward, and they found it. Bianca had been dragging 
 her misery from door to door for eighteen months, when 
 God, in His mercy, raised her up a protector and friend, 
 in a priest according to the spirit of the Gospel — 
 poor, humble, without interest, v\'ithout connections, 
 rich only in good-will and charity. He met her by 
 chance in one of the antechambers of the powerful, 
 where poor Bianca passed almost the whole of her 
 time. He courted her confidence, listened to her tale, 
 and comforted her by weeping with her. The holy 
 man wrote down an abstract of her sad case, and han- 
 ded it, accompanied by a strong recommendation from 
 himself, to his single friend in high places, a prelate
 
 ANTICIPATED BY THE RRADER. 29 
 
 and one of the judges of the Sacra Consnlta. The 
 tribunal of the Sacra Consulta has among its many- 
 attributions, that of the direction of the prisons. The 
 judge, thus appealed to, instituted an inquiry into this 
 prisoner's case, and the name of Orazio ]\[ancini rang 
 through the offices of this court. This species of no- 
 toriety was his salvation. Poor Orazio had been for- 
 gotten! Once recalled to mind, he was traced from 
 prison to prison, and at last found. The charges 
 against him were serious enough, but none proved; his 
 name had not even once appeared in any of the depo- 
 sitions or examinations of the accused of Viterbo. A 
 few months more, and Orazio was set free — unacquit- 
 ted, but released on the ground of want of proofs! 
 
 A sadder joy was never seen: the meeting of hus- 
 band and wife was like the meeting of two ghosts; 
 they read in each other's looks tliat they met for a 
 moment only, to separate for ever here below. Bianca 
 felt an irresistible craving for rest; slie faded faster 
 every day, until her noble soul departed in peace. Her 
 last words to Orazio were to ask forgiveness for desert- 
 ing him; but it was the will of God. She bid him 
 live for their Paolo. 
 
 Surely grief does not kill, or Orazio would not 
 have survived her. Such is the misery of the flesh, 
 that, heartbroken as he was, he lived — lived long 
 enough to see his son one of the most promising pupils 
 of the Academy of San Luca, win the Clementine prize, 
 and be crowned at the Capitol; and also to see his 
 little patrimony at Cascatelle pass into the hands of 
 strangers. Such was the result of his eight years' 
 struggle to retrieve his fallen fortunes. He died in 
 1817, one more of the thousand unknown victims of
 
 30 LAVINIA. 
 
 that great iucubus — despotism; leaving Paolo, a lad 
 of seventeen, alone and all but penniless. 
 
 Paolo had been trained in too good a school to 
 despond. He had nothing but his pencil and palette, 
 and by them he determined to procure his daily bread. 
 Plenty of his schoolfellows and friends as poor as him- 
 self, had no other income but what was thus gained. 
 He would do like them. Life is easy to those who 
 are contented with a crust and their independence. So 
 he bought some scores of plain cards, and was in the 
 act of writing on tliem, in his best hand , "Paolo Man- 
 ciui, pupil of the Academy of San Luca, gives lessons 
 in drawing, water-colours, and in oil-painting," when 
 he was inteiTupted by an unknown visitor — a lean, 
 yellow ecclesiastic, who announced himself as coming 
 from Bishop Eodipani. 
 
 Paolo's blood tingled at the mention of that unwel- 
 come name, and his first movement was to dismiss the 
 messenger most unceremoniously; upon second thoughts, 
 however, a kind of ironical cm-iosity seized upon him 
 to hear what the new infamy might be which he 
 scented in the air, and he listened. 
 
 The bishop's emissary went on to say, with great 
 unction, that of all the virtues which adorued his re- 
 verence, the love of his kindred — " 
 
 "Pray," interrupted Paolo, "reserve your panegyric 
 of monsignor until he is dead, and come at once to the 
 point." 
 
 "The message of which I am the bearer," said the 
 black robe, "is one of the utmost consequence to you. 
 His reverence is full of the most cordial feelings, I ought 
 to say paternal feelings, towards you; for no father can
 
 ANTICIPATED BY THE KEADER. 31 
 
 be more anxious about bis son's welfare tbau is mon- 
 signor about yours." 
 
 "Very kind of monsignor, to be sure," observed 
 Paolo. "And what may be the price of all tbis good- 
 will?" 
 
 "Oh, tbe price, sir!" in a feigned tone of astonisb- 
 raent. 
 
 "Yes, tbe price; or, if you prefer it, wbat is tbe 
 condition — for of course there is one — with which 
 I am to buy monsignor's good graces?" 
 
 "His reverence naturally expects that in return you 
 will comply with a request of his." 
 
 "And that is — ?" asked Paolo. 
 
 "A very simple thing — a mere matter of form. 
 Monsignor would wish you to assume your mother's 
 name, and — " 
 
 "And?" urged Paolo. 
 
 "And drop that of yoiu- fatlicr." 
 
 "Never," said Paolo, rising. "Tell monsignor that 
 I worship my mother's memory as that of a saint, and 
 that if it were customary, I should be proud to bear her 
 name. But tell him also that I bold my father's me- 
 mory equally sacred, and that never, for any earthly 
 consideration, will I part with the name ho made so 
 honourable." 
 
 "Surely," said the messenger, bewildered, "I have 
 not been explicit enougli, or you have not understood 
 me?" 
 
 "How not?" said Paolo. 
 
 "Consider a little, sir; do not be too basty. It is 
 monsignor's fortune — bis whole fortune — a large 
 fortune, sir, which you sacrifice to a mere scruple." 
 
 "Scruple!"' repeated Paolo, with a contemptuous
 
 32 LAVINIA. 
 
 smile. "Well then, learn this, you a man in years, 
 from one still a youtt, that there are scruples, which, in 
 some men's consciences, outweigh all the gold of Cali- 
 fornia and Australia put together." 
 
 The gentleman in the cassock raised both his hands 
 to his liead, as if such a heresy was beyond the endur- 
 ance of his ears, and took his departure. Our youth 
 sat down again, and recommenced writing his cards. 
 As soon as they were finished, he took some to the 
 shops most patronized by foreigners, and gave the rest 
 to his comrades and brother artists to distribute when- 
 ever an ojiportunity should offer. A series of adver- 
 tisements in the columns of a paper styled L'Artista^ 
 also apprised the respectable public that Paolo Mancini, 
 di-a wing-master, was at their orders. By these means 
 the yoiing man picked up some stray lessons, just suf- 
 ficient to keep him from actual starvation. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Paolo's English Friend. 
 
 About this time there arrived at Eome an English 
 gentleman of the name of j\Iortimer Thornton, He had 
 come to Rome, as he Avould have gone anywhere else, 
 merely for a change; just as one sick from fever turns 
 and turns on his couch, id est, less from hope of being 
 more at ease in his new posture, than from impatience 
 at being uncomfortable in the old one. Mr. Thornton 
 had Avandered over half the world, without finding rest 
 or relief anywhere. His evil was one of those mentioned 
 by the poet, that get into the saddle with the rider. 
 
 Mr. Thornton was a discontented man. We beg
 
 PAOLO'S ENGLISH FRIEND. 33 
 
 the reader's pardon for introducing to his notice a char- 
 acter so generally, and so justly unjiopular; it being, 
 in fact, more pleasant to look at the bright than at the 
 gloomy side of life. But this variety, however rare, 
 exists, and must have its reason for existing. Discon- 
 tent is not so gay a feather in itself, that any of us 
 would stick it in our caps for the mere pleasure of 
 wearing it. Our estimate of most things depends much 
 on accident and first impressions. A glorious sunshine, 
 or a pouring rain, an obliging or ill-tempered landlord, 
 will create in the mind a prejudice for or against the 
 town visited for the first time — a prejudice which no- 
 thing afterwards can cancel. The same may be said of 
 life. Enter it, for instance, a sickly, puny child, with 
 no one to love or cherish you, and ten to one that your 
 isolation, and the inferiority which delicate health en- 
 tails on a weakly boy, among a set of boisterous, ro- 
 bust co-mates, will colour your view of life in yellow. 
 Grow up to twenty amid the cares and Avorries of a 
 law-suit, which, if unsuccessful, may leave you a beggar, 
 and though you Avin at last, it is not very likely that, 
 were you called on to depict humanity, you would do 
 so in rosy hues. And if the unfaithful guardian, who 
 would have despoiled you, chances to be a vessel of 
 cant and humbug, much petted and made of, and testi- 
 monialized in certain circles, the odds are that you may 
 contract a strong dislike to cant and humbug, and that 
 those two poAvers will rcA^enge your want of fealty by 
 painting you as black as ink, as a radical, socialist, 
 atheist, and Avhat not: all which will not tend to SAveeten 
 your blood. Well, such was Thornton's story, to which, 
 if you add a last chapter, disappointment in love, the 
 reader Avill not wonder at meeting him at Rome, 
 
 Luviiiiii. I. 3
 
 34 LAVIXIA. 
 
 as sad, as weary, as discontented as when he first set 
 out on liis travels, two years before. 
 
 Mortimer Thornton had much natural taste for the 
 fine arts, and, though an indifferent jDainter himself, was 
 a good judge and a connoisseur in painting and sculp- 
 ture. In one of his lounges through the Vatican, he 
 saw a youth copying, in reduced proportions, the Ma- 
 donna di Foligno of Raphael. Thornton was struck by 
 the fine intellectual physiognomy of the young painter, 
 and still more so by his pei'formance. He stojDped and 
 spoke some words of praise, which proved he was him- 
 self one of the craft. The youth said little in return, 
 but that little revealed the true artist. Thornton, be- 
 fore he walked on, offered him his own card, and begged 
 to know, if he might do so without indiscretion, the 
 name of a student of such promise. Paolo, for it was 
 he, gave the Englishman one of the cards, on which he 
 had so carefully written "Paolo Mancini gives les- 
 sons," &c. 
 
 "You give lessons!" exclaimed Mortimer, surprised. 
 
 "Indeed I do," answered Paolo, with a frank smile; 
 "that is, when I am lucky enough to get any." 
 
 The other immediately said, he should like to take 
 some. Paolo wished for nothing better. Thus it was 
 the two became acquainted. 
 
 Thornton took a great liking to Paolo. He believed 
 him to have a rare talent; in every stroke of his pencil 
 he beheld that individual character, which bears witness 
 to the possession of original powers. Such correctness 
 and chasteuess of outline, such delicacy and energy of 
 colouring! "Surely," Thornton Avould say, as, arm in 
 arm, they visited different galleries, "surely you ought
 
 PAOLO'S ENGLISH FRIEND. 35 
 
 not to waste your time in giving lessons. I protest you 
 have the stuff in you of a great painter." 
 
 "Have I?" questioned Paolo, with a doubting shake 
 of the head. "Perhaps I may have sometimes deluded 
 myself with such vain thoughts; but what good will 
 thinking about it do? Non omnibus omnia, you know. 
 Never mind." Paolo had no ambition in him. As the 
 master and pupil got better acquainted, the latter grew 
 more communicative, and would let the man be seen as 
 well as the artist, and each day Thornton took a live- 
 lier interest in both. 
 
 Paolo was really a fine young fellow, just of the 
 sort to suit a man in Mortimer's mood. Full to over- 
 flowing of enthusiasm for his art, for his Rome, for all 
 that was good and beautiful-, a little inclined to me- 
 lancholy, as are those Italian natures worth anything; 
 intolerant of conventionalities as a savage, extreme in 
 his loves as in his hates, open-hearted, devoted, inde- 
 pendent; — such was Paolo Mancini at seventeen. 
 
 "I shall not leave Kome," thought Mortimer to him- 
 self," "until I have awakened this young man to a 
 sense of his own powers, and put him in the way of 
 making himself famous." And Mr. Thornton debated 
 with himself what might be the best means of attaining 
 this end without wounding his yoimg friend's succep- 
 tibility. Mortimer was so in love, and pretended to bo 
 yet more so than he was, with Paolo's copy of the 
 Madonna- di Foligno, that he must have a copy for 
 himself. Paolo undertook the commission willingly, 
 but would hear of no payment. ]\tr. Thornton remon- 
 strated with him on the subject. "If I take your time, 
 and consequently prevent the possibility of yor earning 
 your daily bread by giving lessons, it is but just and 
 
 3*
 
 36 LAVESIA. 
 
 fair that I should compensate joii; otherwise how are 
 you to live?" The argument was stringent, and even 
 Paolo felt it to be so. A price was, therefore, agreed 
 upon between them, which, though ti-ifling, was riches 
 to Paolo, compared with the produce of his lessons. To 
 work, then, immediately he went. 
 
 Paolo was not only without ambition, but he was 
 also indolent; that is, he had fits of feverish activity, 
 with long intervals of unconquerable sluggishness. 
 Mortimer gently chided him for this, setting forth the 
 advantage of moderate but steady work — nulla dies 
 sine linea. Paolo winced at first, but tried to correct 
 himself in deference to his friend, whose ascendancy 
 over him increased witli every day; and so far dis- 
 ciplined himself, as to give this good friend satisfaction. 
 
 Thus weeks and months passed, and Mortimer 
 Thornton was still at Eome, and had no thought of 
 departing. That restlessness, that yearning for change, 
 which had been the bane of his life for these last two 
 years, had left him. The stagnant waters of kindred 
 sympathy were again stirring within him; his long- 
 unemployed capital of benevolence had found a safe 
 investment; he had somebody to care for now, and a 
 good object to achieve. 
 
 In his daily intercourse with the young Eoman, 
 Mortimer naturally fell in now and then with one or 
 other of a little knot of friends and fellow artists, who 
 rallied round Paolo, and acknowledged him as their 
 best gifted, and their leader; hearty good companions 
 with the wildest theories about Art, poor as rats, un- 
 complaining, heedless of the morrow, and ever ready to 
 pawn their cloaks — those who had them — to assist 
 each other. These youths had realized, under the most
 
 PAOLO'S ENGLISH FRIEND. 37 
 
 despotic of governments , a republic of their own , with 
 community of all their earthly goods, and they lived, 
 to every practical end and purpose, freer than many 
 who, born free, put round their necks, of their own ac- 
 cord, conventional tethers and logs of many a sort. 
 Their manners were not refined, it is true, but frank 
 and truthful; their jests sometimes rather broad, but 
 witty and original, their linen was somewhat doubtful 
 — alas! with the greatest desire, it is not given to 
 everybody to put on a clean shirt every day — but 
 their hearts were clean, and that was some compen- 
 sation. 
 
 With such fine children of nature, a man of 
 Thornton's tone of mind was sure to have much fellow 
 feeling. His lungs dilated in this primitive atmosphere, 
 as do the lungs of one who passes from a boudoir hot 
 with musk and patchouli, into the open air of a March 
 morning, sharp but bracing. To some of these young 
 people, who had most influence with Paolo, Thornton 
 opened his mind, pointing out the mistake it was, that 
 one with Paolo's powers should waste so much pre- 
 cious time in giving lessons; and he thus very soon 
 secured willing accomplices in his kind plots against 
 the youth in question. Among them, Paolo was per- 
 suaded to establish himself in a studio, and to devote 
 himself entirely to the production of a historical picture, 
 the subject of which his imagination had for some time 
 been fluttering about, and caressing. The picture — 
 Beatrice Cenci before her judges — was finished in 
 time to be admitted to the new exhibition, just opened 
 in Piazza del Popolo. It excited some notice, and was 
 sold at a fair price to Giuditta Taddei, the highly 
 respected and respectable retired singer, who employed
 
 38 LAVIKIA. 
 
 a portion of an lionourably acquired fortune in en- 
 coui'ag-ing young artists. Signora Giuditta recommended 
 Paolo to another pati'on of art, Prince Torlonia, who 
 asked the young man to furnish him with the design of 
 a fresco, which was to adorn the ceiling of one of the 
 halls of Palazzo Bracciano. Paolo not only gave the 
 design for the ceiling, but, with a view to complete the 
 subject, added a few episodes, intended for the walls. 
 The sketch so pleased the prince , that he charged 
 Paolo with the execution of it; but the political com- 
 motions of 1848, and the events of which Rome was 
 the theatre in that and the ensuing year, necessarily 
 adjourned its being carried into eflfect. 
 
 Now it was, and especially towards the latter part 
 of the struggle, when a French army was besieging 
 Pome, and "deeds, not words" was the order of the 
 day, — now it was that Paolo and his little baud of 
 young patriots proved what fine fellows they were, 
 and that Thornton's sympathy for them warmed into 
 reverence and admiration. He saw them unhesitatingly 
 exchange brushes and pencils for muskets and swords; 
 he saw them unhesitatingly march wherever danger 
 called them; he saw them unflinching, bandying jokes 
 amid the rattle of musketry, and the roar of artillery, 
 he saw them forced back from the outer walls, keep 
 their post night and day at the barricades within the 
 city, prepared, if so ordered, to defend the gi'ound inch 
 by inch. Thornton saw all this, because he was one 
 of them. Hard work it was, and well done. When at 
 last all was over, and they counted their numbers, out 
 of their gallant band of twenty-three, nine were wounded, 
 three would be absent for ever. 
 
 Paolo returned to his atelier, and then and there
 
 Paolo's English friend. 39 
 
 conceived, and sketcTied nh irato the political com- 
 position at whicli Ave found him at work — Brennus at 
 Eome. But scarcely had he chalked out his subject, 
 when he was forced to leave it to fulfil his engage- 
 ment to Prince Torlonia, 
 
 Thornton, on his side, acting upon the adage, "Stay- 
 where you are well," made up his mind to settle at 
 Rome. Strong affections, the means of being useful, 
 a love of Art, freedom from the scotches and fetters 
 • which mar the action of morbidly independent and 
 retiring natures, — such were his inducements to this 
 step. lie took a floor in Via Babuino, near Paolo's 
 studio , fitted up two of the rooms , to which there was 
 a separate entrance for Paolo, and said, giving him the 
 key, "From henceforth you are my tenant, I want 
 somebody to help me to pay the rent of my lodging," 
 and named a fabulously small amount of scudi as 
 Paolo's yearly share of the expense. Paolo, whose 
 Lares were all in his painting-room, had at first some 
 scruples about transporting them to so aristocratic a 
 mansion and neighbourhood, but ended by yielding the 
 point gratefully and gracefully. And thus it -"'as the 
 Englishman and the Koman came to live together, 
 much in the relationship of father and son, or, as the 
 young scamps of their coterie would say, of Mentor and 
 Telemachus. 
 
 Paolo's fresco in the Palace Bracciano, extolled to 
 the sky by the many, pitilessly disparaged by the few 
 • — just the very medium for insuring success — won 
 for him golden opinions. Two otlier large pictures, 
 which followed in succession, added to his reputation, 
 and at the time we met him in 1853, Paolo Mancini 
 was acknowledged to be the most promising among the
 
 40 LAVINIA. 
 
 rising painters of Ecme, and was already in a fair vay 
 to fame and fortune. 
 
 In spite of his success, however, Paolo thought very 
 modestly of himself — nay, was subject to fits of un- 
 reasonable discouragement, almost of despair, such as 
 the one we have witnessed. This despondency especially 
 overshadowed him immediately after he had put the 
 finishing stroke to a picture. The execution, Vould he 
 say, always fell so short of his conception; and more 
 than once would he have thrown aside palette and. 
 brush, had it not been for Thornton, who cheered, 
 chided, reasoned, raged, just as a father might do with 
 a promising sou, or Minerva with Telemachus; and, 
 somehow or other, Paolo generally ended by allowing 
 Mentor was always in the right. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Note. 
 
 During the time it has taken us to introduce Paolo 
 and his English friend to the reader, the formers pic- 
 ture, or newly-finished group of figures, has been dis- 
 cussed, criticized, and, on the whole, pronounced the 
 very best thing he has done by an Areopagus of half- 
 a-dozen of his intimates, who drop in regularly every 
 morning to his atelier. Paolo lends a willing ear to 
 the strictures, but is naturally shy of praise; so he stops 
 the conversation whenever it takes too eulogistic a turn, 
 and says, "Now let us talk of something else. What's 
 the news?" 
 
 "The general of the Franciscans has died of an 
 indigestion."'
 
 THE NOTE. 41 
 
 "We are going to liave a new saint." 
 
 "A great storm is brewing at the Vatican," burst 
 out three voices at once. 
 
 "Ih! ih! one at a time, uno alia volta, iino alia 
 voUa, per cavita," sang a little blond, who owed to his 
 somewhat feminine features, and to his being both a 
 landscape and portrait painter and a poet, the nickname 
 of Salvator Eosa. "Who is to be the new saint, and 
 what has he done?" 
 
 "What has he done? I like the question," said 
 he, who had given the news. "Benedetto Labre is to 
 be canonized for having done nothing. He has been 
 all bis life a professional beggar out of Christian 
 humility." 
 
 "A curious encouragement to self-exertion," ob- 
 served Thornton. 
 
 "And what is the cause of this new storm at the 
 Vatican?" asked another. 
 
 "Piedmont," replied Malva (mallow), so yclept from 
 being a Piedmontese sympathize!-, which was reckoned 
 a great weakness — "infidel Piedmont, which threatens 
 to suppress its convents." 
 
 "I wish it would suppress itself first," cried a fiat- 
 nosed sculptor, who, by reason of his nose and liis pro- 
 fession, was never called otherwise than Buonarotti. 
 " Piedmont is the bane of Italy." 
 
 "Fanaticism is the bane of common sense," retorted 
 Malva. "In what manner, pray, is Piedmont the bane 
 of Italy?" 
 
 "In the manner of a dam, which constrains great 
 waters," replied Buonarotti. "But for Piedmont, and 
 its sham liberties, Italy by this time would be a great 
 and happy republic."
 
 42 LAVINIA. 
 
 "Sliam liberties!" replied Malva; "I like the notion 
 vastly! A free press, sham! freedom of debate, sham! 
 freedom of trade, freedom of conscience, Protestant 
 temples, Jews members of Parliament, sbam! If these 
 are sham liberties , I should like to know what the real 
 ones are. What do you say, Mentor?" 
 
 "I say that you are perfectly right," answered 
 Thornton; "but, nevertheless, I call you and Buona- 
 rotti to order. We have made it a rule that politics 
 should be a forbidden theme here, and we mustn't in- 
 fringe the regulation. Harmony and goodwill are only 
 to be had at this price." 
 
 "A Daniel! a Daniel! — you are right!" was the 
 unanimous exclamation. 
 
 "Bravo hen, bravo ben, cost si fa," hummed Sal- 
 vator, who had taken off his black velvet coat, and 
 was busy mending it. 
 
 "Was tailoring among the accomplishments of your 
 namesake?" asked some one of Salvator. 
 
 "Indeed, I make no doubt it was," returned he. 
 "At all times povera e nuda ando Filosofi,a. The age 
 never knows its great men; witness Homer, Dante, 
 Galileo, and company. When I am dead, I am sure I 
 shall have a monument raised to me, but — ma sara 
 tardi allor." 
 
 Paolo put down his brush, and watched Salvator's 
 occupation with an affectionate and melancholy look, 
 then exclaimed, "How now, Salvator? no wild land- 
 scape to dejiict for a lover of the picturesque? no 
 features of some contemporary celebrity to hand down 
 to jDosterity for the modest sum of ten scudi?" 
 
 "None just now," said Rosa. "I have cut the pa- 
 lette, and taken to the lyre. I am writing a libretto."
 
 THE NOTE. 
 
 43 
 
 And he sang, "Ptr comporre un dramma serio^ quattro 
 mesi ho consumati, trcnta scudi ho guadagnati ; dite voi 
 come si faV^ 
 
 "By the by, what is to be the new opera next 
 carnival?" asked one who had not yet spoken. 
 
 "Two of Verdi's, II Trovatore and La Tmviata^'" 
 said j\[alva. 
 
 "Hang Verdi I" cried Buonarotti. 
 
 "Verdi for ever!" cried Salvator. 
 
 "Verdi is a humbug!" roared the former. 
 
 "Lictors," shouted the latter, standing up, and ma- 
 jestically waving the coat in his hand towards the door, 
 "take hold of the blasphemer, and hurl him down the 
 Tarpeian rock!" 
 
 '''' Senatus popuhisque Romamis!''^ yelled Buonarotti, 
 getting upon a chair, and gesticulating theatrically: "I 
 denounce tliis corrupter of public morals , this wor- 
 shipper of false gods, to the Gemonies — " 
 
 "Verdi is a genius." 
 
 "Verdi is a fo — o — o — ol." 
 
 The door opened as the two were bellowing, and 
 pointing towards it, and on the threshold appeared a 
 young man in spectacles, who drew up the collar of 
 his coat over his ears, covered his face with his hat, 
 as if for protection, and otherwise made a comical show 
 of being greatly afraid. 
 
 " Monsieur Dugenre ! Monsieur Dugenre ! " exclaimed 
 several voices. 
 
 Dugenre was the no7n de guerre of the new comer, 
 a painter de genre^ in fact, and of some merit^ into- 
 lerant of anything but genre, worshipping genre, swear- 
 ing by genre. Pelissier — such was his real name — 
 had, till lately, been a pensioner of the French school
 
 44 LAVIXTA. 
 
 of paiutiug at Rome. A realist in Art, a lover of pa- 
 radox , a professed sceptic and epicurean , he was 
 withal an excellent fellow at bottom, or he would not 
 have remained on such friendly terms with these his 
 Eoman fellow-students and rivals, at a moment when 
 his country and countrymen were rather at a discount 
 with them. 
 
 "Are the barbarians at the gate of the Capitol?" 
 asked he, advancing cautiously. 
 
 "Xever mind where they are," said Paolo. "Wel- 
 come, Monsieur Dugenre; how fares the Real to-day?" 
 
 "Very well; many thanks. And the Ideal, is it 
 flourishing, young Telemachus?" 
 
 "Briskly as ever," answered Paolo. 
 
 "Suppose you decide for yourself," interrupted Sal- 
 vator Rosa, pointing to Brennus and Co. 
 
 The Frenchman put his eye-glass over his spec- 
 tacles, examined the picture long and earnestly, then 
 said, — 
 
 "Beautiful, only too beautiful." 
 
 "How do you mean?" asked Paolo. 
 
 "I mean that it is too beautiful not to be unreal. 
 Your figures are not to be found in natm'e, they are 
 ideals. It positively makes my heart ache to see one 
 who can design and colour as you do on the wrong 
 track. We have outlived the Ideal." 
 
 "I would burn my brushes if I thought so," said 
 Paolo, warmly. 
 
 "Do so at once, then," said Dugenre, "or use them 
 to better purpose. You worship a fallen god. The 
 Ideal has had its day, when men had faith and leisure: 
 they have neither now-a-days ; they have interests, 
 that's all. The Real is the monarch of our age — the
 
 THE NOTE. 45 
 
 age of steam, of electric telegraphs , and Californias. 
 Out of realism, and its expression, the school o^ gevrc, 
 there is no salvation for a painter. "With your ideal 
 you rub the hair of the present time the wrong way." 
 
 "I do, and pride myself in doing so, if the present 
 time be such as you depict it," said Paolo. "Art is in 
 its essence divine, and inventions and discoveries and 
 photographs cannot alter its essence. If the alpha and 
 the omega of Art were simply the reproduction of Avhat 
 you call the Eeal, why should God have put within 
 us that incessant yeai-ning after the Ideal, which makes 
 our torment at once and our delight?" 
 
 "Enthusiast that you are!" cried Dugenre. "You 
 satisfy yourself with words, and are set on fire by 
 words. What is the Ideal, after all?" 
 
 "The Ideal is that divine halo with which the 
 Creator has encircled the world of reality," answered 
 Paolo. "So much the worse for those who do not 
 see it." 
 
 "Bravo!" was shouted in chorus. 
 
 "A misty definition of a very misty thing," per- 
 sisted the Frenchman. "It comes from Germany." 
 
 "Quite wrong; a countryman of your own wi-ote 
 that," was Mancini's reply. 
 
 "Let who will say so, I confess I don't see this 
 divine halo anywliere." 
 
 "The more is the pity," retorted Paolo, quickly. 
 "Is the sun less dazzling for not being seen by the 
 blind?" 
 
 "Come, come," said Dugenre, good-naturedly, 
 "don't get angry, hot-headed Telemachus. I would 
 rather renounce realism, and become a vaporous idea- 
 list, than give you oflFence."
 
 46 LAVINIA. 
 
 "JSTor do you, my dear friend," exclaimed Paolo, 
 rising, and taking Dugenre by the hand; "it is my 
 nature to speak hotly, but I am not angry in the 
 least." 
 
 "Well, to prove it, you must come to-morrow and 
 breakfast with me. I have a bit of genre of my own, 
 and a case of claret, of both of which I want your 
 opinion. May I rely on your giving me the light of 
 your countenance, sage Mentor? Very well, come, 
 every one of you, including Buonarotti's brother, whom 
 I don't see." 
 
 "He is in the country," replied Buonarotti, "cooing 
 like a dove, over head and ears in love." 
 
 "Is he?" said Paolo. "Then I congratulate and 
 envy him. I Avish I were in love myself; I am con- 
 vinced that love makes a man." 
 
 "Or mars him," parenthesized Thornton. 
 
 "Neither the one nor the other, if one is wise," re- 
 marked Dugenre. "Women are neither the angels 
 ]\Iaucini takes for granted they are, nor yet the devils 
 Thornton declares them to be." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake," called out Thornton, "do 
 not attribute to me such sheer nonsense. What I said, 
 and what I maintain, is, that women are frivolous, and 
 out of mere frivolity, without meaning it, may oc- 
 casionally break a heart or two." 
 , "Ungrateful that you are," was the Frenchman's 
 repartee, "to find fault with the very instrument of 
 your happiness: but for frivolity, that blessed key to 
 their heart, how they would drive oui* poor, heavy, 
 selfish, prosy selves!" 
 
 "Is a key worth while using which remains at the 
 disposal of the first passer-by who may chose to get in
 
 THE NOTE. AT 
 
 and turn you out?" asked Thornton, witli a double 
 dye of bitterness. 
 
 "What does it matter?" rejoined the realist. "It is 
 one of the chances of war. If turned out here, I go 
 elsewhere, that's all." 
 
 "Then love," said Paolo, "is with you but another 
 name- for pleasure." 
 
 " Tu Vas dlt,^'' cried Dugenre, with a laugh. "I con- 
 sider this earth to be a garden, of which women are 
 the animated flowers. Do we break our hearts if a rose 
 is out of our reach, or if that we have picked withers 
 in our button-hole? Not in the least; we j^ass to the 
 next, or replace the withered with a fresh one. At all 
 events, such is my philosophy." 
 
 "The philosophy of the harem," sneered Salvator. 
 
 "You are a pagan, Dugenre," burst forth Paolo, 
 rising, and turning towards the Frenchman. "When 
 you drag woman from her high pedestal, as the help- 
 mate, the companion, the better half of man, to reduce 
 her to the meagre proportions of a plaything, of a kind 
 of tableau vivant, do ydu know what you do? You 
 abolish at a stroke one of the noblest conquests of 
 Christianity. By substituting pleasure for love, you 
 suppress the soul, you deify matter, you dry up the 
 living source of all that is noble, elevating, heroic in 
 human nature-, you make man — " 
 
 At this climax of his rhapsody, young Mancini was 
 interrupted by a universal shout of homeric laughter, 
 in which, a moment after, the excited orator himself 
 joined most heartily. The cause of the general merri- 
 ment was a stout negro, in an exaggerated suit of 
 livery, who had suddenly appeared on the threshold 
 of the room, and was now standing there, carrying a
 
 48 LAVINIA. 
 
 note in his hand. His black features exhibited a ludi- 
 crous mixture of embarrassment and resentment. 
 
 A rolling fire of jokes folloAved the laughter. 
 
 "A messenger from the queen of Sheba." 
 
 "The Emperor Soulouque in person." 
 
 "An aggravated rainbow on a sky of ink." 
 
 "Is the Carnival begun, that monkeys go about in 
 masquerade?" 
 
 "Oh! Albion, this is one of thy tricks." 
 
 "That is what it is," said Thornton, laughing; "we 
 delight in such exhibitions, we take price in them, we 
 parade them. Urhi et Orhi, we grave British." 
 
 Meanwhile, Salvator strode up to the man in the 
 rainbow, and looking him gravely in the face, without 
 a question, took the note from his hand, and came back 
 to Paolo, singing: Sol due rhjlie di biglietto; un higUetto'f 
 eccolo qua. 
 
 "Thornton, do me the favour to see what it is," 
 said Paolo, whose hands were encumbered. "As the 
 sable caryatides does not move, I suppose there is an 
 answer." Thornton broke the seal, and read aloud, for 
 the note was in Italian. "Miss Lavinia Jones presents 
 her compliments to Mr. Paolo Mancini, and being anxious 
 to secure some lessons from so excellent a master, begs 
 to know what days and hours would best suit his con- 
 venience. The favour of an answer by the bearer is 
 requested. Palazzo Morlacchi, Via del Corso." 
 
 "C"<?5f un pe^i foi't,'''' laughed Dugenre. 
 
 "An antediluvian notion," said Salvator. 
 
 "Miss Lavinia has dropped from the moon," remarked 
 Malva. 
 
 "How many mis-spellings?" asked Buonarotti.
 
 THE NOTE. 49 
 
 "Not one, I believe," replied Thornton. "The note 
 is correctly, and I must say, beautifully written." 
 
 "Let me see," said Paolo. "Oh, charming — 
 what a terse, elegant handwriting! a beautiful creature 
 she must be, that possesses such a hand — perhaps my 
 Ideal." 
 
 "Paolo, you must send an answer," said Thornton. 
 
 "I haven't got a sheet of decent writing-paper." 
 
 "Never mind, here Avrite in pencil on the blank 
 page of the lady's own note," said Mortimer, tearing 
 it oflf as he spoke. 
 
 "That will do," said Paolo; and placing it on an 
 easel, he wrote, — "Mr. Paolo Mancini presents his 
 compliments to Miss Lavinia Jones , and begs to inform 
 her, that having ceased to give lessons for the last six 
 years, he must decline the — " 
 
 "Must respectfully decline," corrected theEnglishman. 
 
 "Must respectfully decline the honour," wound up 
 Paolo, "of teaching her. I am sorry to say I have 
 neither envelopes nor sealing-wax, not even a wafer." 
 
 "Fold it up three corner-wise," advised Thornton, 
 " and address it. You have kept the man waiting too long." 
 
 The note being at last folded, not without trouble, 
 and addressed, Salvator once more went up to the 
 messenger, put it into his hand Avith the same gravity 
 and taciturnity with which he had divested him of 
 Miss Lavinia's, and then pointed with his finger down 
 the stair. 
 
 Paolo being warned by his stomach that is was past 
 his time for breakfast, laid aside his working blouse, 
 repaired behind a screen to wash his hands and face, 
 put on his gray wide-awake, and they all adjourned to 
 a neighbouring cafe. 
 Lavinia. I. 4
 
 50 LAVIXIA. 
 
 CHAP TEE VI. 
 
 The Visit. 
 
 After breakfast, according to liis wont, Mancini 
 returned to his atelier. During the hour or so lie had 
 been absent, his picture had haunted him incessantly; 
 he had seen with his mind's eye many improvements 
 and additions, which he was impatient to seize and fix 
 on his canvas. True genius is always thus in constant 
 ebullition, never at rest. Creation in Art is a feverish 
 process, without solution of continuity, — a ceaseless 
 hand-to-hand struggle of the spirit against rebellious 
 matter, wherein the victory is at the cost of throes of 
 heart, soul, and brain. The beautiful, like the oracles 
 of old, gives neither response nor insight into its arcana, 
 save to the Pythoness writhing in a sacred frenzy on 
 the divine tripod. 
 
 The afternoon was Paolo's time of privacy. By a 
 tacit agreement between him and his friends, his studio 
 was tabooed, except on pressing business, from one till 
 five o'clock. Mortimer alone was an exception to this 
 rule. It was then that Paolo, secured against interrup- 
 tion, gave free scope to his fancy; it was then he would 
 sketch his subjects, design groups, erase, begin anew, 
 just as the tide of inspiration prompted. For the nonce, 
 he was giviug some finishing touches to his Brennus, 
 and the other foregi'ound figures. A rap at the door of 
 the studio. — 
 
 "Come in," cried Paolo, taking it for gi-anted that 
 it must be Thornton. The clink of spurs on the floor 
 — Thornton both rode and wore spiirs — confirmed 
 him in his belief.
 
 THE VISIT. 51 
 
 "Well, Mortimer?" lie exclaimed, painting on. 
 
 "But it is not Mortimer," cried a merry and sweet 
 young voice close by his side. 
 
 As if he had received an electric shock, the artist 
 started up, let fall his palette, and, turning round, found 
 himself confronting a tall young lady in a riding-habit, 
 and a middle-sized elderly gentleman in black. Poor 
 shy Paolo stood transfixed, without a word to say, with- 
 out even sufficient presence of mind to offer seats. All 
 he did was to colour prodigiously, and feel the drops 
 of perspiration rise on his brow. 
 
 "Excuse our intrusion," began the lady in Italian; 
 but as her eyes fell on the group, at which Paolo had 
 been at work, she stopped, clapped her hands, and burst 
 ou.t enthusiastically: "Oh, how beautiful! — this is ex- 
 quisite! — look, imcle, look!" 
 
 The uncle looked through his eye-glass, and 
 echoed, — 
 
 "Beautiful; yes, indeed; very beautiful!" 
 
 "Isn't it? it is a gem, a masterpiece. What lovely 
 colouring! I don't pretend to be a judge, but it seems 
 to me quite like a Domenichino." 
 
 "Oh! madam," protested Paolo, who, owing to 
 this diversion, had had time to recover from his stupor. 
 
 "Indeed, I mean what I say," persisted the lady; 
 "I am sure there is the same breadth, the same grand 
 style — " 
 
 "Pray don't make me blush, — you compare a 
 pigmy to a giant," said Paolo, offering a chair to each 
 of his visitors. 
 
 "Oh! thank you," said the lady, declining the chair; 
 " wo are not going to stay, we must not rob you of time 
 that you employ so well." 
 
 4*
 
 52 LAVINIA. 
 
 "May I at least have |tlie liouour of kuowiug — ?" 
 
 "Who "we are? Why, do you not guess? — ho"n" 
 curious!" and her merry laugh showed Paolo a double 
 range of pearly teeth; "do you not guess that it is Mr. 
 Jones and his niece, Miss Lavinia Jones?" 
 
 "Indeed! the -m-iter of the note I received this 
 morning!" exclaimed Paolo, his face once more in a 
 blaze. "I really did not take you for English, but for 
 a countjywomau of my own. You speak Italian so 
 well." 
 
 "Xow, that is downright flattery; you know how to 
 pay compliments." 
 
 "I do not," said Paolo; "I never flatter, never pay 
 compliments." 
 
 "Not the very least little bit?" she persisted, in a 
 pretty, coaxing voice. 
 
 "Xever; not the least little bit," said Paolo, gravely 
 repeating Miss Laviuia's own words. 
 
 "Then you are not like other men." 
 
 "How not so? — at least, I am like most of those 
 I know." 
 
 Her eyes dived into his with a fixed look of curiously 
 mingled surprise aud incredulity. Perhaps so much 
 simplicity in a man of Paolo's size struck her as not 
 being natm-al; or, perhaps, she wondered what sort 
 of primitive society he had fallen into. Paolo, who 
 by this time had recovered his self-possession, stood her 
 searching gaze bravely, nay, retiu-ned the fii-e. 
 
 "So you did not guess who we Avere?" resumed the 
 girl, after a pause; "and, as for the reason of our visit, 
 I daresay you guess that as little — " 
 
 Paolo guessed it, but he did not choose to say he 
 did. The prospect of being obliged to refuse anything
 
 THE "\^SIT. 53 
 
 to SO charming a suitor was too disagreeable not to be 
 avoided as long as possible. 
 
 "Well, to tell you the truth, I came to urge in 
 person my written and refused petition of this morning. 
 Now, pray, do not answer me yet, or I shall lose 
 all the little stock of courage left me. The sight of 
 that beautiful picture has already taken it almost all 
 away. I feel how ridiculous it is to ask the person 
 who can do such wonders, to stoop to give a girl like 
 me lessons." 
 
 *'0h, it is not that — " began Paolo. 
 
 "Not yet, not yet," interrupted Miss Laviuia, Avith 
 a wave of her hand, and a bend of the neck sideways, 
 that might have put a swan to the blush. "I Avaut first 
 to explain and apologize. I assure you, I had not the 
 smallest idea, when I wrote, that you were such a great 
 painter. Your address was given to me before Ave left 
 London, by a friend of mine, Lady Augusta Barr — 
 perhaps you may remember her — you gave her lessons 
 in 1848. It was only this morning, after receiving your 
 note, that I found out, by inquiring at the English shop 
 of engravings in tlie Corso, that Signer Paolo Mancini 
 was the name of a celebrated artist." 
 
 "Indeed, Madam!" 
 
 "Yes, of a celebrated artist. This is my explana- 
 tion — noAv for my apology. You Avill think, knowing 
 what she knows, Avhy did she not desist from plaguing 
 me? I am but a woman, and Avomen are ahvays 
 allured by difficulties. It took me nearly a fortnight 
 to hunt out your address; not one of those stupid cice- 
 roni, Avlio pretend to know everytliing, could liud you 
 out. I suppose they never fancied, that the drawing 
 master I sent them in search of, could be one and the
 
 54 LAVINIA. 
 
 same as their great painter. Now, that I have found 
 you at last, it would be very hard — wouldn't it? — 
 to lose you directly. We hold to what has cost us 
 troitble, ■ — and then I am a silly, wilful thing, and you 
 must forgive me." 
 
 There was an irresistible fascination in Lavinia's 
 look, in her gestures, in the varying undulations of her 
 rich soft voice, in the graceful harmony of all her being 
 as she spoke. Our solitary young painter had never 
 sat at such a feast. The spell, so new to him, acting 
 on his brain, produced a gentle intoxication: who knows 
 how long he might have remained silent, had not the 
 young lady added with a quiet smile, and sitting down 
 at last, — "Now, you may speak." 
 
 It was not an easy thing, considering what he had 
 to say. He summoned all his courage, and stammered 
 out, — 
 
 "It is I who ought to apologize. I wish you could 
 know ^vhat it costs me to refuse — but really as to 
 giving lessons, it is quite impossible." 
 
 The young- lady frowned and bit her lips. 
 
 "Do not be afraid that I shall take up too much 
 of your time. I will be the most discreet of pujiils, 
 grateful even for a short half-hour." 
 
 "It is not the time I grudge. Though busy enough," 
 said Mancini, "I could afford an hour or so. But, — 
 hear how I am situated: since I left off giving lessons, 
 I have had plenty of applications, it seemed as if done 
 on purpose. For, when, God knows, I wanted pupils 
 badly enough, very few were to be had; but the mo- 
 ment I declined any, they flocked to me. Well, as I 
 said , I have had plenty of applications , many of them 
 backed by strong recommendations from friends of mine. 
 
 I
 
 THE VISIT. 55 
 
 and to avoid offeuding' some, I gave up all. Now you 
 see tliat I could not make an exception in your favour, 
 without behaving ill to others, and that I am sure you 
 could not desire." 
 
 "Quite right, we will not have you do anything 
 wroug," said Miss Lavinia; "I withdraw my original 
 petition, and present another. Come and give me ad- 
 vice and direction now and then, will you?" 
 
 There was distilled into that "will you?" the very 
 quintessence of all womanly grace and witchery. Paolo 
 was very nearly conquered, but his conscience pro- 
 tested: 
 
 "You change the word," said he, smiling; "but you 
 retain the substance." 
 
 "I will make my request still more modest," per- 
 severed Miss Jones. "Only allow me to show you my 
 poor attempts — the nicest delicacy could not be hurt 
 by your coming to our house." 
 
 These words "our house" evoked in Paolo's mind 
 a whole phantasmagoria of powdered footmen, of fathers 
 in white cravats, sliowy mothers in flounces, such as he 
 had seen and suffered from, when giving lessons to 
 Lady Augusta, and his courage revived. 
 
 "My habits are so retired — " he began. 
 
 Miss Lavinia did iiot allow him to go on. 
 
 "We are very quiet people," she said, "and surely 
 you are not going to refuse a lady when she merely 
 invites you to come and see her as a friend." 
 
 It was the covp-de-grace. 
 
 "Such a title offers too strong a temptation to be 
 withstood," said Paolo, "I am at your disposal." 
 
 "That is really kind of you," exclaimed the girl,
 
 56 LAVINIA. 
 
 coloui-ing witli pleasure. "Uncle, uncle — Signor 
 Manciui consents to call and look over my daubs." 
 
 This was said in English, and with great anima- 
 tion. L'ncle, who during this long dialogue had been 
 taking an inventory of all the moveables in the studio, 
 did not seem electrified by the intelligence, but contented 
 himself with replying, — 
 
 "Does he? I am glad to hear it; he is very polite, 
 I am sure. Xow, shall we go?" 
 
 "When will you come?" asked Lavinia of Paolo; 
 "will it be to-morrow at two o'clock?" 
 
 "To-morrow I am engaged." 
 
 "Then the day after?" 
 
 "With pleasui-e." 
 
 "Thank you, thank you," reiterated the young lady, 
 cordially holding out her hand. Paolo shook it Avith 
 English fervour. 
 
 "You have been wasting time and words," said ]\Ir. 
 Jones, to his niece, when they got downstairs. 
 
 "How to you mean icastingP' asked his niece. "I 
 have secured a great artist as my drawing-master, and 
 is that worth nothing?" 
 
 "You might have accomplished your purpose more 
 easily and qvdckly, had you begun by the right end," 
 said uncle. 
 
 "And pray what was the right end?" 
 
 "To have said simply and plainly, 'Name your own 
 terms, sir; money is of no consideration to us.'" 
 
 "Oh! fie, uncle. You believe that money can do 
 everything, and there's your mistake. You give me 
 credit for some peneti-ation, don't you? Then take my 
 word for it, gold is not the lure that will catch this 
 Sisrnor Paolo."
 
 THE VISIT. 57 
 
 "Pooli! pooli! pooh!" was tlie uncle's rcyoinder, as 
 lie piit ber on her horse, "nonsense and romance, mcu 
 are all alike." 
 
 Mr. Mark Jones was a matter-of-fact man, on whom 
 romance had certainly no hold, however nonsense may 
 have had. He believed in gold, worshipped gold, re- 
 verenced the possessors of gold; himself above all, 
 Jones, the great gatherer of gold. Mr. Jones was the 
 author of his own fortunes; his debut in life having 
 been of the humblest. As a lad of sixteen he had left 
 his native village, and gone to London with but five 
 shillings in his pocket. By dint of hard work, sharp- 
 ness, self-denial, and no over-scrupulousness, young 
 Jones managed, in the course of a dozen years, to 
 swell his five shillings into a couple of thousand pounds. 
 It was not a fortune, to be sure, but enough to form 
 the foundation of one; the young man Avas ambitious. 
 He was still looking about for a good start, when 
 chance, or his lucky star, brought him, in the course 
 of business, in contact with Mrs. Jarmau, a buxom, 
 good-natured, newly-made widow, the OAvner and ma- 
 nager of a fashionable Italian warehouse in one of the 
 most fashionable quarters of the metropolis. Even now, 
 at eight- and-forty, and in spite of a rather excessive 
 development of the jaws, Mr. Jones was still a hand- 
 some man in his way. At eight-and-twenty he was 
 superb; jetty hair, and whiskers to match, bright eyes, 
 complexion ruddy and clear, and a leg! his leg was a 
 matter of notoriety wherever he went. Mrs. Jarmau 
 was not insensible to all these perfections. Mr. Jones 
 was not blind, and, in short, at the end of her mourn- 
 ing, Mrs. Jarman bestowed on him the golden key of 
 her heart and strong box , and the name of Jones
 
 58 LAVIMA. 
 
 figured in letters of gold by the side of that of Jar- 
 man. 
 
 The aspiring bridegroom infused new life into his 
 bride's business. By an adroit system of bribes to the 
 cooks of clubs and aristocratic families, he doubled the 
 custom of the house in no time. Sauces, pickles, and 
 truffles, were not sent out faster than silver and and gold 
 flowed in. A few years more and Mr. Jones saw him- 
 self the possessor of a large capital, and at once he 
 extended his sphere of action. The moment could not 
 have been more propitious for an ambitious speculator. 
 It was in 1845 — G — that period when the whole 
 nation was turned into gamblers — Mr. Jones launched 
 out with the boldest, into railroad speculations, and 
 realized immense profits; that is, he gambled and won. 
 As he grew rich, so he grew ostentatious: the Italian 
 warehouse, with Jarman and Jones, in letters of gold, 
 became an eyesore to him, and he disposed of it very 
 advantageously. The sum of money thus obtained was 
 soon doubled and trebled. Whatever he undertook, let 
 it be ever so rash, was sure to prosper. There are 
 men whom fortune literally pelts with her favours, and 
 Mr. Jones was one of them. 
 
 The world, which believes in nothing but success, 
 applauds those who rise, and hisses those who fall, 
 little knowing, or, indeed, caring to know, how often 
 the capricious goddess lavishes her smiles on medio- 
 crity, idleness, or worse, while she frowns on honest 
 toil and industry, and even takes pleasure in frusti-ating 
 the most energetic and well-directed efforts. Mr. Jones 
 was an instance in jtoint; the more he succeeded, the 
 more he was pronounced Avortliy of succeeding. His 
 enterprise, his activity, his skilful combinations, found
 
 THE VISIT, 59 
 
 hosts of admirers and panegyrists. A few years more, 
 and behold Mr. Jones chairman of a railway, founder 
 and chief shareholder of a bank, a man enormously 
 rich, a man whose name was of importance on 
 'Change. 
 
 Successful as he was, Mr. Jones had his private 
 vexations. The first was that he had no children, nor 
 hope of any, considering the age of his wife, full ten 
 years older than himself. He had endeavoured to 
 supply this want, by in a manner adopting his niece 
 Lavinia. He had given her the best education that 
 money could procure — he had come to love her as 
 much as was in his nature to love — he was very proud 
 of her, and it was generally supposed she would inherit 
 his hundreds of thousands. Still Lavinia was, after all, 
 only a pls-afler; and a son and heir of his own (con- 
 tinued to be the unattainable object of Mr. Jones' sighs. 
 Two other crumpled leaves in his bed of roses, were 
 the humility of his beginnings in life, and his name. 
 He was ashamed of both, and would fain have erased 
 them, if he could, not only from the memory of others, 
 but his own. His name especially was a perpetual 
 blister to him. He fancied that ridicule attached itself 
 to the innocent monosyllable — he wovild far rather 
 have been called Nebuchadnezzar, than Jones. He 
 loathed it, could not bear the sound of it, could not see 
 it in print without a shudder. The Times and Punch 
 were his everlasting bugbears. Did not they clothe 
 their impersonations of all that was stupid and laugh- 
 able in mankind, with the name of Jones? Could he 
 have had his way, the managers of those papers would 
 have fared but ill.
 
 60 LAVINIA. 
 
 Since we are on tlie chapter of Mr. Jones' foibles, 
 let us have our laugli out. Mr. Jones had met at the 
 fable-cthote of Hartraann's Hotel at Florence , where lie 
 and his family were for the time being located , a young 
 Italian, announcing himself as a Roman. This gentle- 
 man being able, as he modestly expressed it, "to mur- 
 der English a little," a sort of intimacy sprang up 
 between him and Mr. Jones, whose own talents as a 
 linguist were of the smallest. Cavaliere Martucci — 
 such was the title and name of this Italian — had, 
 however, something more magnetic for Mr. Jones than 
 even the knowledge of Mr. Jones's native tongue. The 
 magnet was the small gold cross which Cavaliere Mar- 
 tucci wore at his button-hole, and which he explained 
 to be the insignia of the Roman order of St. Sylvester, 
 a commandership of which conferred the title of Count 
 Palatine. 
 
 "Difficult to obtain?" asked Mr, Jones, one day. 
 
 "Not so," was the answer; "any one of a good 
 family might obtain it, that is, backed by interest of 
 the right kind." 
 
 This information was not lost upon one who would 
 willingly have given an eye for a title. 
 
 "And," pursued Mr. Jones, "could a Protestant be- 
 long to this order of St. Sylvester?" 
 
 "Certainly," answered the Cavaliere; "it was a most 
 enlightened, tolerant order. Did his English friend con- 
 template an application in that direction?" 
 
 The English friend laughed one of his loudest 
 laughs, as he said, — 
 
 "Why not? were it only for the fun of a Protestant 
 wearing the Pope's colours."
 
 THE VISIT. 61 
 
 Of this argument, the Cavalicre only seemed to 
 comprehend that it was an affirmative, for he gravely 
 rejoined, — 
 
 "That he should be too happy to gratify his ex- 
 cellent friend's desire, and should certainly succeed by 
 inti-oducing Mr. Jones to a friend, a personage Avho 
 could and would do anything for him (the Cavaliere). 
 Perhaps Mr. Jones might already know, at least he 
 must have heard of the family of Fortiguerra, one of 
 the most ancient families of Italy. His friend was Count 
 Mendez Fortiguerra, a nobleman most influential at the 
 Court of his Holiness. Count Mendez," continued the 
 Cavaliere, "being now actually at his estates at Al- 
 bano, Mr. Jones's introduction to him must necessarily 
 be delayed, until they should all meet at Rome, where 
 he believed he was right in supposing Mr. Jones and 
 his amiable ladies were to spend the winter." 
 
 Nothing more was said between Mr. Jones and tlie 
 Cavaliere on this point, but both felt there was a tacit 
 agreement between them. 
 
 "How wide those chaps on 'Change Avill open their 
 eyes," thought the former, "if one of these days I ap- 
 pear among them a Count Palatine!"
 
 62 LAVINIA. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The Eternal Pro and Con. 
 
 Miss Lavinl\'s visit had left Paolo in that state of 
 bodily and mental titillation, which follows a plea- 
 surable shock. He sat himself down on the chair she 
 had occupied, shut his eyes like one who, dazzled by 
 the sun, continues to see its reflection on the retina, 
 and then, little by little, he fell into a reverie. 
 
 Thornton found him in the same position an hour 
 after. 
 
 "Lazy?" said Thornton. 
 
 "Do you call a man lazy who does not work 
 manually? If so, I think that Columbus and Xewton 
 must have been very lazy fellows. I am making a 
 poem." 
 
 "And the hero is?" 
 
 "My hero is a heroine — Miss Lavinia Jones." 
 
 "What riddle is this?" asked Thornton. 
 
 "A riddle to you, profane, whose obtuse senses do 
 not perceive the ambrosial fragrance she has left behind 
 her. The queen, the faiiy, the goddess, whom mortals 
 call Lavinia, has been here, hallowing the very chair I 
 am sitting on." 
 
 "Miss Jones has been here!" exclaimed Thornton. 
 "And what for?" 
 
 "For what do queens visit their subjects?" rejoined 
 Paolo. "To order and be obeyed. For what do god- 
 desses reveal themselves to mortals? Why, to be wor- 
 shipped. She is both queen and deity, my dear friend. 
 I^ature gave her a crown of beauty; her gait reveals 
 the goddess — incessn patuit dea.''''
 
 THE ETERNAL PKO AND CON. 63 
 
 "If you would drop all these hyperboles, and con- 
 descend to make yourself intelligible — " remarked the 
 Englishman. 
 
 "You tax me with hyperbole, as a blind man might 
 one who sees, for descanting on the glories of the sun. 
 Had you seen her, had you heard the music of her 
 voice, had you felt the electric shock the touch of her 
 hand gave, you would understand me, and share my 
 worship." 
 
 "Faugh!" said Thornton. " Glory is the only woman 
 worth courting and worshipping." 
 
 "Say rather that glory is only worth courting and 
 worshipping — only likely to be attained for the sake 
 of a woman. If you search deeply, my dear friend, 
 you will discover that in all great achievements woman 
 has been the inspiration." 
 
 Thornton answered gravely: 
 
 "If you Avere to put in the one scale all the achieved 
 greatness inspired by woman, and in the other all the 
 greatness prevented or nipped in the bud by her, you 
 would sec to which side the balance inclined. Let us 
 speak seriously. Paolo, do yon mean to pretend that 
 you are in love with this Miss Lavinia Jones?" 
 
 "As much as may be at first sight," said Paolo, 
 smiling. "If it is a rose, it will bloom with time, as 
 the saying is with us Italians. I wish you would not 
 look so alarmed." 
 
 "I wish you would not take love for a plaything; 
 it is like playing with poison." 
 
 "Ih! ih!" cried Paolo, laughing. 
 
 "Yes," continued Thornton, "I would rather see 
 you witli a fit of ague than in love. Ague at the worst 
 might kill your body, while love — "
 
 64 LATDCIA.. 
 
 "Wliile love?" inteiTOgated Mancini. 
 
 "While love leaves youi* soul a cripple for life," 
 wound up Thornton. "But you have not answered my 
 question. What was the lady's object in coming here 
 after your note of refusal?" 
 
 Paolo related to his friend all the particulars of the 
 conversation he had had with Miss Lavinia, and the 
 promise she had in some sort wrenched from him. 
 Thornton looked mightily displeased at this upshot. 
 Waste of precious time, neglect of his profession, the 
 ill-will of those to whom Paolo had declined to give 
 lessons, these were the inevitable consequences, setting- 
 aside the possibility of more bitter ones, which, accord- 
 ing to Thornton, were to be the result of Paolo's ac- 
 qmeseence. 
 
 "Upon my honour," observed the young man, se- 
 dately, "I do not deserve to be scolded. Short of being 
 immannerly, nay, downright rude, I could not decline 
 a request couched in such flattering terms. I could not 
 have done so had Miss Lavinia been as plain as she 
 was handsome." 
 
 "If that's the case, if you had no alternative, then 
 the conclusion I come to is, that Miss Lavinia out- 
 stepped the limits of propriety-." 
 
 "Pray," entreated Paolo, "do not judge her so 
 harshly; she does not deserve it. For nearly a fort- 
 night she has been searching all Eome for me, you see; 
 she had set her heart on having her fi-iend's di-awing- 
 master as hers also. All she said was kindly meant; 
 and were I stiU a poor teacher, 'how thankful I should 
 be! The alteration in my circumstances is no reason 
 why I should not feel kindness."
 
 THE ETERNAL PRO AND CON. 65 
 
 Thornton did not answer. After musing awliile, he 
 said: 
 
 "You are a good fellow, Paolo, much better than 
 I am. Did I not know how extreme you are — " 
 
 "Like an Englishman," murmured Paolo, slyly. 
 
 "Yes, minus the organ of caution. Well, did I not 
 know how extreme you are, I would not fret and 
 plague you as I do." 
 
 "Come, come," said Paolo, with a look at Thorn- 
 ton full of affection, "don't be uneasy on my account. 
 I am twenty-four, and neither a child to be dazzled by 
 a brilliant meteor, nor yet a lucifer match to blaze up 
 at the sight of every pretty woman I meet. Besides, 
 you ought to set down something to the enthusiasm of 
 an artist, brought face to face Avith an exquisite type 
 of beauty. You will admire her as much as I do when 
 you see her. Soft blue eyes, and raven black hair — 
 a pearly complexion, with those tender blue shades 
 about the temples and throat so dear to painters — the 
 brow of a Juno , large eyelids with long lashes — such 
 combination of majesty and grace is a godsend to a 
 devotee of the beautiful. What would I not give to be 
 allowed to take her picture! I am sure I could make a 
 chef cTmivre of it, I am sure I could." 
 
 "Stick to your Brennus, and leave portraits alone, 
 that's my advice to you," said Thornton. "Courting 
 danger is the trade of a fool. Oh! that I could give 
 you a little of my experience ! " 
 
 "A sad present that would be," remarked the Roman. 
 "As far as I see, experience is but another word for 
 mistrust of our fellow-creatures." 
 
 "Too true," said Thornton, with a sigh; "but what 
 if safety is only at that cost?" 
 
 Lavinia, I. 5
 
 66 LAVINIA. 
 
 "Is love, then, a pit of perdition?" 
 
 "To sucli as you it is certain disappointment," pro- 
 nounced Thornton. "The same heau ideal you seek in 
 art, you -will seek in woman, and not find it. The all- 
 absorbing exclusive love you dream of, is not a flower 
 of this earth. The moment you believe yourself en- 
 throned in a woman's heart, the moment you imagine 
 yourself all the world to her, as she is to you — there 
 comes between you the fluttering of a brilliant butterfly, 
 the music of a polka, or a glance from some demigod 
 with a star on his breast, anything, in short, that hap- 
 pens to excite her fancy or tickle her vanity; and you 
 are thrown into the shade from which, when you emerge 
 into light again, not the less welcome for having been 
 abolished for awhile, you learn that far from being her 
 life, you are merely an accident in her life, and that 
 your empire is shared by her poodle and her milliner." 
 
 "That there are such women as you describe, I 
 have no more doubt, than that they are the exception 
 and not the rule." 
 
 "In that you are mistaken — those you call the 
 exception, are, on the contrary the rule, from which I 
 don't deny there may be some few rare exceptions. 
 Novelty and glitter are irresistible attractions to the fair 
 sex. Noise and flutter are such accomplishments as 
 they cannot withstand, says Addison, not I. It is a 
 matter of organization. There is a predominant element 
 in them, call it mobility, plasticity, impressibility, ex- 
 citability, what you like; for my part, I call it frivolity 
 — which is utterly incompatible with anything deep- 
 rooted and settled." 
 
 "Are we men so exempt from frivolity or incon- 
 stancy, as to feel ourselves entitled to throw stones into
 
 THE ETERNAL PRO AND CON. 67 
 
 our neighbour's garden on either score?" asked Paolo. 
 "I know in what women do far outstrip us — I know 
 one excellence at least, in which women leave us far 
 behind — I mean in that heroism, which recoils from 
 no toil, no sacrifice, to relieve those who suffer — the 
 heroism you so much admired in our women tending 
 the sick and wounded in 1849." 
 
 "Granted," said Thornton; "unhappily, the world, 
 as it is, affords but small scope for the exercise of the 
 chivalrous, compared with the uulimited one it offers 
 to that of the frivolous element; the result being, that 
 women enlist their chivalry into the service of their 
 frivolity. Their life is a perpetual sacrifice to a most 
 exacting goddess — Fashion. For her they freeze in 
 winter, and burn in summer; for her they carry a bulk 
 of clothes that a porter would decline, and pinch and 
 martyrize themselves at all seasons." 
 
 "There is truth in what you allege," quoth Paolo; 
 "but whose is the fault? The fault is ours. If, instead 
 of crying, 'Bravo!' and clapping our hands at such 
 unnatural exhibitions, we hissed and turned from them 
 in disgust, do you not think there would soon be an 
 end of them?" 
 
 "Probably," said Thornton; "and the moral is that 
 there is not a pin to choose between the one sex and 
 the other." 
 
 Upon which consoling conclusion, our two friends 
 separated. 
 
 5*
 
 68 LAVINIA. 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 Miss Lavinia's Diary. 
 
 "Rome, Piazza di Spagna, 
 Hotel de la Ville de Londres. 
 
 "My dear Lady Augusta, 
 
 "I HOPE my hurried scrawl from Leghorn has 
 reached you. It was to announce our sudden flight 
 from Florence. I cannot call it by any other name. 
 It had been settled, you know, that we Avere not to go 
 to Eome before the end of October. Very well! we 
 lived in that belief up to last Monday, but we had 
 reckoned without Lord Berriton, 'Lord Berriton?' you 
 repeat: 'a tall fat man, with an odious brogue! "What 
 could he have to do with your plans?' 
 
 "That is just what I am going to explain: On 
 Monday evening we were eating ices at the Cascine, 
 when a voice exclaimed, 'Old Jones of Piccadilly, I 
 declare!' and up came the speaker to Mr. Jones — I 
 shall never call him uncle again. I never saw un — , 
 Mr. Jones, I mean, so taken aback, then so obsequious; 
 he could not stand upright before this old acquaintance 
 of his. A truant boy could not have looked more 
 crestfallen in the presence of his schoolmaster. The 
 nobleman, with his impertinent, patronizing airs, was 
 to the full as meanly odious as Mr. Jones; but he did 
 not belong to me, so I did not care. His lordship 
 seemed inclined to commence a conversation with me, 
 but I did not choose it, under the rude stares the two 
 ladies with him, hon*ibly vulgar they looked, were 
 giving both aunt and me — just as if we were two 
 strange, newly-imported animals. Ah, well, Jones,'
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 69 
 
 bawled my lord, 'I liave taken apartments here in 
 Florence for six mouths. I hope to see 70U again,' 
 with a glance at me. Mr. Jones, to my surprise, an- 
 swered that his lordship was very good, but that we 
 were going on to Eome directly, 
 
 "During the whole of our drive back to Florence, 
 Mr. Jones never opened his lips, but when we reached 
 the hotel, he said curtly, 'Have your trunks packed at 
 once, ladies, we are off in the morning for Eome.' I 
 thought at first it was a bad joke. I needn't tell you 
 that I protested energetically. I said it was downright 
 madness to brave tlie Campagna under a scorching 
 August sun. Strong healthy people scarcely would at- 
 tempt such a journey, it would be the death of aunt. 
 It was like talking to a lamp-post. 'If you choose to 
 stay you are welcome to do so-, I am off to-morrow 
 morning for Leghorn,' and with this ultimatum he went 
 to his own room. I w^as for staying, but aunt, as 
 usual, was for yielding. So to Leghorn we went, got 
 on board the Sully steamer, and by break of the next 
 day landed at Civita Vecchia. Thank God, we had 
 plenty of rain on the road to Rome; and here we are. 
 Now, what do you think of tyranny like this? 
 * * * * * 
 
 "A melancholy but a wonderful city — well named 
 the Eternal. It looks as if built by giants to last an 
 eternity. How little one feels oneself amid this antique 
 grandeur! It gives me a feeling something like that I 
 had when I saw the Jungfrau for the first time. I have 
 spent these two last days tearing through Kome, some- 
 times with aunt, oftencr with Grace, my maid. I Avon't 
 have anything to do Avith Mr. Jones — lucky for him 
 that aunt is pretfy well. To-morrow we are to go and
 
 70 LAVINIA. 
 
 see an apartment in tlie Corso, ajDproved by Mr. Jones, 
 not tlie more likely to please rae; it must be something 
 wonderful indeed, if I don't find fault witb it. My 
 dear, the swaiTn of monks and priests is incredible; I 
 saw a beautiful Capuchin this morning. I mean to 
 make a picture of him from memory. I have sent a 
 valet de place to Via dei Macelli in quest of your old 
 drawing-master, whom I mean to give me lessons. 
 
 Ji! ^s * ^5 * 
 
 "Really, the apartment is unobjectionable, so it is 
 taken for three months. We are to remove there to- 
 morrow. It is beautifully situated in the Corso, plenty 
 of light and air and space. Old-fashioned heavy 
 furniture which I rather like. Via dei Macelli does 
 not know Siguor Mauciui any more. The valet de 
 place promises to unearth him though, if he be still of 
 this world. Yesterday and to day a good round of 
 sight-seeing. Grand, grand, grand — to-moiTOw is to 
 be a shopping day, piano and harp to hire, brjishes 
 and colours and canvas to buy, a circulating library to 
 search out, — the evenings are dull enough. 
 
 "Corso, Palazzo Morlacclii. 
 
 "My diary bids fair to be of a happy, neutral tint. 
 Les jours se sidvciit ct ... se ressanhloit. No: not the 
 days, but the evenings. Sight-seeing agreeably enough 
 occupies the one, for my enthusiasm for this wonderful 
 city continues unabated — it withstands even the pro- 
 fessional twang of the ciceroncs; but the evenings, my 
 deal- Augusta, the evenings are eternities — heavy, 
 heavy, heavy. You will understand the how and the 
 wherefore when I add — and we spend them almost
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 71 
 
 all en famille. Rome swarms with people of all nations, 
 with English of course, but we have made no ac- 
 quaintances with any of them, and to the few Roman 
 families who see company, we have no introductions. 
 The only one of the aborigines with whom I have had 
 the power of exchanging a word besides the horrid 
 cicerones, is the old gentleman, from Avhom we have 
 hired the first floor of this palace — at an enormous 
 price, so uncle says. Our banker Prince Torlonia — 
 how odd that a banker should be a prince, and a prince 
 go on with banking — is just now in mourning, and 
 sees nobody. Uncle is expecting Chevalier Martucci, 
 that man we got acquainted with in Florence — I told 
 you about him in one of my last letters. He is to in- 
 troduce us to a Roman count, who is to be our god- 
 father, and answer for us in the best set in Rome. En 
 attendant, we spend the evenings at home, aunt yawning 
 over her crochet, uncle worshipping The Times and his 
 brandy-and- water; and I — going from the piano to 
 the harp, like une iluie en jieine. This life of unnatural 
 seclusion irritates ray nerves, and spoils my beauty. I 
 am not joking; it really does, I feel I am getting old, 
 iigly, and disagreeable. How can a woman go on 
 looking handsome, if there is no one to admire her? 
 For a wonder, last evening we went to a concert at 
 the Mctastasio. I rather enjoyed the music, but the 
 liall itself is unbearable, so stupidly arranged, so ill- 
 lighted. Fancy being shut up in a dark box, where 
 nobody can see you! What a difference from her 
 Majesty's in London, or from the Italian Opera in Paris! 
 It is worth dressing well and looking well to go to 
 those parterres of living flowers. By-the-by, I cannot 
 find your drawing-master, he has left his old lodging.
 
 12 
 
 LAVIXIA. 
 
 and is gone no one knows "wliere. It is very pro- 
 voking, for even if I did not do mucli in tlie painting 
 line, it would Lave been one way of practising my 
 Italian. Everything goes wrong witli me just now. I 
 have promised a fabulous reward to the valets de place 
 if they unearth Signor Mancini for me: I hate to be 
 beat in anything. However, it is t^n, and I am going 
 to bed. Isn't it ridiculous? I shall not send this 
 scrawl for a day or two, in the hope of something 
 coming to pass, that will let me end with a flourish. 
 
 * * 5? * ^ 
 
 "Caught him, and carried him by storm! I may 
 say with Caesar — veni^ vidi. vici. I am quite charmed 
 with my success, but is it such a long story, and I am 
 so pressed for time, that I shall never be able to make 
 you understand what a battle I have won. I only had 
 his address this morning, and directly I got it, I de- 
 spatched a most polite note — I have not said who the 
 he was, but of course you guess — Signor Mancini. 
 Drawing-master, indeed ! Bless your dear little heart, he 
 is one of the first painters in Eome; think of my telling 
 him he was another Domenichino. Upon my honour, 
 I meant it; I wish you could see the picture he is 
 painting now — it's a miracle, that's my belief. "Well, 
 I sent my note with compliments ct cetera^ and received 
 a laconic answer that Signor Paolo Mancini had left 
 off giving lessons, and consequently would not give any 
 to Miss Lavinia Jones. I was very angry with the sub- 
 stance, manner, and appearance of this missive. A few 
 words in pencil on the blank page, observe, of my own 
 note, — no envelope, no seal; a mere imceremonious 
 three-cornered note, was all the gentleman deigned to 
 send me. Ca;sar, looking twice as black as usual, gave
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 73 
 
 me a report of the way lie v/as received, that did not 
 tend to molhfy mj anger — anger is rather a strong 
 word — let us say my pique. He said that going into 
 the studio was like going into a den of thieves, such an 
 uproar of talking and laughing, he was sure they were 
 making fun of him. Honest Caisar is, to be sure, an 
 odd-looking mortal, yet one does not like to have one's 
 servants turned into ridicule. Ah! ah! Signer Paolo, 
 thought I to myself, is this the way you treat a lady's 
 message, and a lady's messenger? "We shall see who 
 will have the best of it; and a little plot budded in my 
 head. Don't be alarmed, I have not offended against 
 the rules of propriety. 
 
 "Uncle and I were just going out for a ride, to try 
 two new horses. Uncle is mix petits soins to make it 
 lip with me. We went down the Corso, and as we were 
 passing the English shop of engravings, the thought 
 crossed me to stop and make some inquiries about this 
 Signor Mancini. Could they tell me anything of a 
 master of that name? Signor Mancini!!! The three notes 
 of admiration stand for raised eyebrows, eyes wide 
 opened, and an enormous 'Anzi;' Signor Paolo Mancini 
 was one of the ornaments of Eome, a great painter, a 
 celebrated artist; as for his giving lessons, that, of 
 course, -svas out of the question. I suppose I ought to 
 have been satisfied, and modestly asked for some other 
 minor celebrity to be my instructor; but I seldom do 
 what I ought, and I like best what is difiicult to get; 
 so, during a two hours' ride, I matured my project. 
 Only let me see this painter, thinks I. ]\[y horse was 
 spirited, and it was as much as I could do to manage 
 him. The struggle heated and excited me. I felt in 
 one of my irresistible moods, as you call them, and re-
 
 74 liAVINIA. 
 
 solved to try my chance at once. I easily persuaded 
 uncle to accompany me to Via Frattina, where Siguor 
 Paolo has his studio. 
 
 "Fortunately he was alone; and so engrossed with 
 his painting that he never heard us go into the room, 
 or took us for somebody else. The sound of my voice 
 made him start as if it had been the last trumpet; up 
 lie jumped, turned round, and, instead of the spare little 
 lad you had described to me, I found myself confronted 
 by a tall commanding figure, with one of those large 
 archangel's heads, that one sees so constantly in the 
 Sistine Chapel. We tall women feel quite at ease be- 
 fore diminutive specimens of mankind, upon whom we 
 can look down. But here the parts were reversed; it 
 was I who had to look up, and my antagonist, who 
 looked down on me from his altitude of six feet. Under 
 these circumstances ^ my presence of mind forsook me 
 for one moment; in the next I made a diversion by an 
 exclamation about the picture on his easel. The only 
 part finished was a group of four figures; such figures 
 — quite splendid. I was enthusiastic in my praise; 
 real, unfeigned enthusiasm, remember, though all the 
 while I was studying the painter as well. I saw his 
 colour come and go like a girl's, with pleasure and em- 
 barrassment. His hands trembled a little. It is a pity 
 I have no time to recount all my skilful evolutions; 
 suffice it to say I acted upon the principle that one must 
 ask a great deal in order to obtain a little. The de- 
 fence of the enemy, I must own, was long and ob- 
 stinate. I had to sing tunes in every key, a7nas di bra- 
 vura^ adagios, caniahiles, before finding the right one; 
 it was a rallmtando smorzato in A minor, that won the 
 day for me. By the terms of the capitulation, my Do-
 
 PAOLO LANDS IN TERRA INCOGNITA. 75 
 
 menicbino condescends to call on us as a friend, and 
 see my daubs; wbicb means, translated into good En- 
 lisb, tbat before a week is over, he will be the most 
 assiduous and devoted of living drawing-masters, or my 
 name is not Lavinia. You see that, at any rate, my 
 vengeance is not so terrible. Modesty apart, more than 
 one of my acquaintance would envy him his post; 
 wouldn't they? 
 
 "Ever yours in haste, 
 
 " Lavinia. 
 
 "P. S. — I forgot to tell you that he took me for 
 a countiywoman of his own on the strength of my Ita- 
 lian. His is music spoken, real Ij'mgun Toscana in 
 hocca Romana. Adieu in haste. I am in better spirits 
 already." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Paolo lands in Terra Incognita. 
 
 On the day appointed for his first visit to Miss La- 
 vinia, Paolo, about two o'clock in the afternoon, left his 
 studio, and sauntered along the Corso, in the direction 
 of Palazzo Morlacchi. His step was slow, perhaps re- 
 luctant, as the step of a shy man always is, when going 
 for the first time to meet strangers. If we are to speak 
 candidly, Paolo Avould have given something at this mo- 
 ment, even the pleasure of seeing beautiful Miss La- 
 vinia again, to have escaped the consequences of his 
 promise. He would have been thankful for a respite: 
 who knows but that she may be out, thought he, and 
 at the thought he felt relieved.
 
 76 liAVINIA. 
 
 Paolo was sliy, not timid; the one does not imply 
 tlie other, and, though often united, the two things are 
 as often separated. He would, for instance, have gone 
 to the Vatican, and told his Holiness a piece of his 
 mind, franklv and fearlessly; but not the less would he 
 have felt awkward and embarrassed at walking through 
 the halls, among the guards and domestics. Timidity 
 may be conti-olled by reason, or conquered by force of 
 habit, as we see daily exemplified in young soldiers. 
 Not so shyness. Reason and habit have no more hold 
 on this infinnity than they have upon the hunch on your 
 back or the wart on your cheek. It is a kind of con- 
 stitutional disease, a sort of tic-douloureux sui generis, for 
 which there is no cure possible. All that one can do is 
 to check, by strength of will, its outward manifestation: 
 an effort often mistaken for pride. The Marquis De 
 Custine, in his work on "Eussia," avers that the Em- 
 peror Nicholas was very shy. This statement, if cor- 
 rect, would go far to prove the truth of our distinction 
 between timidity and shyness, as well as the peculiar 
 natui-e and incurability of this last malady; for if ever 
 there was a man far from timid, and necessarily familiar 
 with public pomps and shows, a man feeling himself 
 above criticism, in short, one with less reason for being 
 shy, that man was the Emperor Nicholas. 
 
 The porter said that the English family were out. 
 Here was a relief and a respite for Paolo, not unmingled 
 with a shade of disappointment though. \\e are such 
 contradictory creatm-es, that we scarcely ever know what 
 we really wish for or what we do not. Is there, said 
 Paolo to himself, to be no end to this annoyance? 
 Heaven knows how much time I am to waste in dancing 
 attendance upon this lady; heaven knows how long I
 
 PAOLO LANDS IN TERRA INCOGNITA. 77 
 
 am to Lave this sword of Damocles hanging over me. 
 I was wrong to accept this invitation. Mortimer was 
 right 5 he ahvays is. 
 
 As he turned out of the gate, muttering this incon- 
 gruous soliloquy, he saw out of the corner of his eye 
 a carriage full of people, and one of whom was Miss 
 Laviuia, coming in his direction. The ,prospect of 
 having to salaam in the open street, amid a croAvd of 
 her acquaintances, almost gave him a vertigo, and he 
 hastened, as if for life, in the opposite direction. But 
 to no avail. Miss Lavinia's eyes were apparently as 
 sharp as his own. He was speedily overtaken by a 
 quick step, and the black silhouette of panting Cse^ar 
 displayed itself over his shoulder. "Miss at home, sir; 
 please, miss at home." Tiiere was nothing for it, but 
 to turn round and face the enemy. 
 
 The course of shy people never does run smooth. 
 The simplest act on their part, the leaving a card with 
 a porter, or the getting into a vettura for Albano, is 
 sure to be complicated by some aggravating circum- 
 stance. An introduction to these people in the privacy 
 of a drawing-room would have been as roses compared 
 to the thorns with which this public exhibition was 
 fraught. These and such like confused reflections were 
 put an end to by the silvery voice of Miss Lavinia, 
 saying, "Oh! Signor Paolo, there's no use running 
 aAvay; you are fairly our prisoner," and out came the 
 lily hand to meet and shake his own. "Mrs. Jones, 
 my aunt, who is quite impatient to make your acquain- 
 tance, and is half jealous at my being beforehand with 
 her." Mrs. Jones, a short, plump, handsome blonde, 
 with a most agreeable face, said something gracious in 
 broken French, and also shook Paolo heartily by the
 
 78 LAVINIA. 
 
 hand. "The rest of the introductions," added Miss 
 Jones, "we may as well reserve for upstairs." 
 
 A gentleman, who had been one of the occupants 
 of the Jones's carriage, had offered his arm to Mrs. 
 Jones, Mr. Jones had already a lady under his con- 
 voy, so that Paolo and Lavinia were left standing 
 together. 
 
 "Shall I be your guide, Signer Paolo?" asked she 
 good-humouredly. 
 
 The young painter had not the courage to take the 
 hint, and offer her his arm in imitation of the other 
 gentlemen. So they marched up the stairs singly, and 
 entered the saloon. Here Miss Lavinia introduced 
 Paolo to the rest of the company. 
 
 "Mr. Piper, Mrs. Piper, Signer Paolo Manciui:" 
 adding in a lower voice, "one of the first painters in 
 Eome."^ 
 
 Mr. Piper was very happy, Mrs. Piper was very 
 fortunate. "Mrs. Piper is a caj)ital Italian scholar, 
 Signer Paolo," went on Lavinia. 
 
 "Uncle, here is signer Paolo, who has been good 
 enough to remember his promise." 
 
 Mr. Jones had gone to the mantelpiece to exa- 
 mine the letters and papers lying on it, and this ad- 
 dress was a reminder that he had not yet welcomed 
 Paolo. 
 
 "Much obliged to him, I am siu'e," said Mr. Jones, 
 shaking hands with the visitor. 
 
 Paolo still off his balance, and trying to recover 
 himself, was not so self-engrossed, but that he was 
 sensible of Lavinia's considerate care to make his re- 
 ception pleasant, and able to admire her perfect ease 
 and grace in doing the honours of the house.
 
 PAOLO LANDS IN TERRA INCOGNITA. 79 
 
 A general move among the company, the purport 
 of which he was unable to fathom, threw him into 
 fresh perplexity. He rose, however, because he saw 
 everyone do so. 
 
 "We are going to luncheon," explained Miss La- 
 vinia. 
 
 Paolo smiled vacantly, as though highly pleased 
 with the announcement, but froze inwardly at the 
 j)rospect of locomotion. He saw Mr. Piper offer his 
 arm to Miss Laviuia, and he surmised that it might 
 be his duty to offer his to his nearest neighbour, who 
 happened to be Mrs. Jones; but he couhl not bring him- 
 self to do so. Such physical impossibilities do exist 
 for a shy man; Lavinia came to the rescue. 
 
 "You had better take my aunt," she said to Mr. 
 Piper, "she does not speak Italian." 
 
 Paolo could have kissed the hem of her dress. Tlie 
 next moment, scarcely knowing how it had been mana- 
 ged, he found himself seated at table between Miss 
 Lavinia and Mrs. Piper. 
 
 Mr. Piper and his wife had much to say about the 
 detestable accommodation on the road. Mr. Jones 
 echoed their lamentations. Mrs. Jones put in a Avord 
 or two in extenuation, while Miss Lavinia seized tlie 
 opportunity so say to Paolo, under cover of their 
 voices, — 
 
 "I was so afraid of missing you, that I had inten- 
 ded not to stir from home all day, but I was obliged 
 to go and help these newly arrived friends of ours to 
 take an apartment." 
 
 Paolo mentally called himself all sorts of names 
 for the grumblings and innuendoes he had given vent 
 to, on finding the family were out.
 
 80 LAVINIA, 
 
 "Who told you to open that window, sir?" roared 
 Mr. Jones to a servant he caught in flagranti ^c. 
 
 "I did, my dear," said Mrs. Jones, submissively; 
 "it is so close here I can scarcely breathe." 
 
 "You might have had the goodness to observe," 
 rejoined the husband, in a bitter sweet tone, "that I 
 am sitting between the door and window, exactly in 
 the draught." 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Shut that window, Cfesar," 
 said Mrs. Jones. 
 
 She suffered from asthma, and never could have 
 enough of fresh air, while Mr. Jones was in a per- 
 spiration from morning till night, and above all things 
 feared a draught of air: hence two irreconcilable ten- 
 dencies, which gave rise to ludicrous, and now and 
 then, to painful scenes. 
 
 "I think I can manage to divide the difference," 
 said Lavinia, smiling. 
 
 She went to another window, a long French win- 
 dow, opened the side that could not affect her uncle, 
 and so gave satisfaction to both parties. 
 
 "Have you made much progress witli your pic- 
 ture?" said she to Paolo on resuming her seat, 
 
 "Not much," replied Paolo. "I have scarcely 
 touched it." 
 
 "We must take you to see it, Mrs. Piper," con- 
 tinued Lavinia, "that is, if Signer Paolo is good 
 enough to allow us." 
 
 "By all means; my only regret is that there is so 
 little worth seeing," returned Paolo. 
 
 "What is the subject, may I ask?" said Mrs. 
 Piper. 
 
 "Brennus at the gates of Eome," answered Paolo. 
 
 I
 
 PAOLO LANDS IN TERRA INCOGNITA. 81 
 
 "Do you devote yourself entirely to classical sub- 
 jects?" simpered Mrs. Piper. 
 
 "Being a painter, where can I find better ones?" 
 asked Paolo. "Great deeds, the noblest types of 
 beauty, and picturesque costumes are three great desi- 
 derata, and I think you will allow that they are to be 
 met with in greater plenty and perfection in what you 
 term classical subjects than in any other." 
 
 "I agree with you," rejoined Mrs. Piper, "in so far 
 as form and colour are concerned." 
 
 "Two rather important items in painting, I should 
 say," remarked Paolo, smiling. 
 
 "Certainly; but the soul, sir, the soul," emphasized 
 Mrs. Piper, with demure enthusiasm-, "the halo of 
 Christianity is still more important to me, and this is 
 noAvhere to be found but in modern and contempora- 
 neous events." 
 
 Paolo did not quite understand the lady's meaning, 
 so he said, — 
 
 "It may be so; after all, I have no objection to 
 modern subjects." 
 
 "If so, I have a beautiful one to propose to you. 
 The Mndiais — there's a subject for a painter!" 
 
 "The Madiais!" echoed Paolo, rather startled. "I 
 do not perceive — " 
 
 "Ah, sir! you would feel at once all that there is 
 in such a subject, had you seen them as I did." 
 
 "Have you really seen them?" asked aunt and 
 niece together.- 
 
 "Yes, I saw them at Florence, not a fortnight ago," 
 replied Mrs. Piper, laconically. 
 
 "And so did I," broke in Mr. Piper, who had not 
 spoken till now. 
 
 Lavinia, I. 6
 
 82 LAVIXIA. 
 
 The Madiais "vrere Mrs. Pipers specialty, her chn-al 
 cle batnilJe. All topics served Mrs. Piper as channels 
 of ti-ansition to the Madiais. She went on to give 
 an account of the Florentine martyrs, as she styled 
 them, and of their sufferings "which, commonplace as it 
 was, and wanting in positive information, would have 
 led any one to believe by implication, from the reticen- 
 ces of the speaker, and from her high- wrought tone, 
 that the unfortunate couple had been put to the rack 
 and broken on the wheel in her very presence. "They 
 bear it so gently, hum, hum I so meekly, so full of 
 faith; hum, hum I like true Christians, hum, hum!" 
 wound up the orator. These hums, hums! were gur- 
 gling sounds between a moan and a sob, which were 
 meant to express feelings at a high pressure. 
 
 The effect was tremendous. Mrs. Jones had tears 
 in her eyes, Lavinia cried out it was a shame; even 
 Mr. Jones looked indignant. Paolo alone sat cold and 
 silent. Mrs, Piper's display of sensibility, her sim- 
 pering, her cooing, jarred with his simple notions of 
 what was trae and natiu-al, and grated upon his nerves. 
 Above all things, Paolo hated affectation. He knew, 
 too, of incidents of almost daily occun-ence allowed to 
 pass unheeded and unpitied, to which this affair of the 
 Madiais, sad and odious as it was, was a mere nothing. 
 
 "Well, Signor Paolo," recommenced Mrs. Piper 
 after a pause, "does my subject take your fancy?" 
 
 "I am afraid," said Paolo, "we painters are apt 
 only to adopt subjects of our own choosing." 
 
 "Perhaps Signor Mancini took no interest in the 
 Madiais," insinuated the lady. 
 
 Of course he did, but honest Paolo added, "He
 
 PAOLO LANDS IN TERRA INCOGNITA. Oo 
 
 feared over zealous sympathizers miglit spoil a good 
 cause." 
 
 Mrs. Piper pursed up lier lips, Lavinia coloured, 
 and by way of clianging the conversation, asked Paolo 
 to give lier an idea of what Garibaldi was like. Paolo 
 not only described the appearance of the gallant gene- 
 ral, but spoke warmly of his amiable temper, and gen- 
 tlemanly manners in private life. 
 
 To talk of Garibaldi led of itself to talk of the de- 
 fence of Kome. Paolo discussed the subject with modest 
 pride , never hinting that he had himself taken his 
 share of the perils. 
 
 "The llomans," he said, in ansAver to the praise 
 bestowed on their gallantry, "had only done their 
 duty, and would never fail to do it, whenever an op- 
 portimity offered. Had not one of their own poets 
 sung, that it was sweet and honourable to die for one's 
 country?" 
 
 Mr. Piper, who followed Paolo's Italian with difii- 
 culty, caught at this quotation made in Latin, to say 
 to his vis-ft-vis, Mr. Jones, in an explanatory tone: 
 
 "Eeally, we must allow that these Romans did 
 show a good deal of pluck." 
 
 "Romans?" repeated Mr. Jones, shrugging his 
 shoulders; "the half of them were foreigners." 
 
 Paolo was fxmiliar enougli with the English lan- 
 guage, perfectly to seize the taunt in these words, even 
 without the elucidating shrug of the speaker's shoulders. 
 He coloured, and, addressing himself to Miss Lavinia, 
 said with a certain animation: 
 
 "Suppose London were threatened by an enemy, 
 and that people from your several counties Hocked
 
 84 LAVINIA. 
 
 tliitlier to its defence, -svould you say that London Lad 
 been defended by foreigners?" 
 
 "Certainly not," answered Miss Laviuia ; "tbe 
 people in tbe counties are as mucb English as tbe in- 
 habitants of London." 
 
 "The same thing holds good -nith us," continued 
 Paolo; "whether we are born in Milan, Turin, Naples, 
 or Eome, little matters; we are all of the same race, 
 blood, and language; all Italians. Why then does 
 Mr. Jones say that most of the defenders of Rome were 
 foreigners ? " 
 
 "It is a mistake of his," saidLavinia; "our notions 
 about Italy are rather misty, I must own." 
 
 "I wish I could speak English as well as,I can un- 
 derstand it," observed Paolo, "that I might rectify Mr. 
 Jones's misconception on the subject." 
 
 An awkward silence ensued. The mention of Mr. 
 Jones's name, which recurred in Paolo's speech, the some- 
 what resentful tones of his voice, and the glances now 
 and then darted by the speaker in tbe direction of Mr. 
 Jones, made this latter aware that he had done or said 
 something open to criticism, which tbe former took the 
 liberty of actually criticizing. Now Mr. Jones, like 
 many other people, did not like criticism applied to 
 himself; and especially from an obscure painter, who 
 but yesterday was giving lessons, and had for the first 
 time been allowed the honour of a seat at his table. 
 Tbe consequence was that Mr. Jones looked mightily 
 displeased, and wrote Paolo down in his black book. 
 
 Thus Paolo, in the first half hour of his debut in 
 the English family, had succeeded in securing two ad- 
 versaries, Mrs. Piper and Mr. Jones. "Honesty is the 
 best policy," is a golden saying, which answers per-
 
 PAOLO LANDS LM TERRA IN'COGNITA. 85 
 
 fectly well in so far as a clear conscience is concerned, 
 and the satisfaction Avliicli is derived from that; but 
 embark on it on your voyage of circumnavigation round 
 the world, and for all practical purposes, see what a 
 leaky craft it will prove. 
 
 At all events, Paolo had secured a friend in Mrs. 
 Jones: there she sat opposite to him, as round, as 
 plump, as innocent-looking as a quail, shooting fat and 
 benevolence from every pore. There Avas something 
 encouraging in her eye, which had been scarcely di- 
 verted from the young painter during luncheon time, 
 something motherly in her smile. This decided sym- 
 pathy had a special cause, independent of her good 
 and gentle nature. Mrs. Jones had discovered at a 
 glance that Paolo Avas very shy, and that he suffered 
 from his shyness; and being herself a victim to this in- 
 definable infirmity, she had felt for him the more keenly, 
 because she felt for herself at the same time: Non ignara 
 mail, misevis succurrcre disco. Ever since she had been 
 forced to abdicate her throne at the pickle-shop, and 
 been launched into the great world, Mrs. Jones had 
 never enjoyed a moment's peace. She felt displaced 
 in her new region, her grandeur an embarrassment, the 
 perpetual representation she Avas doomed to, a bore, 
 her life a continual effort and restraint. Her feelings 
 tOAvards her husband w'-ere of mixed and contradictory 
 character; he was to her a genius, the ideal of per- 
 fection, worthy of Avorship, and at the same time a 
 scarecrow, in Avhose presence she was for ever in a 
 tremble lest she should blunder. The constant strain 
 on her mind, and the abandonment of her healthy and 
 busy habits of yore, had told sorely on her constitu- 
 tion, and had made her delicate. She s-reAv fatter and
 
 86 LAVINIA. 
 
 more sluggisli every day, and subject to alarming fits 
 of asthma and suffocation. The great joy and jDride 
 and comfort of her life was her husband's niece, who. 
 was really devotedly attached to her aunt. 
 
 The luncheon at last came to an end, and the com- 
 pany rose from table. Miss Lavinia apologized to the 
 Pipers for leaving them, but she had something she 
 wished to show Signor Mancini, and she could not 
 venture to waste his precious time. Paolo followed her 
 through a suite of rooms to a very spacious one, in 
 which was a smartly dressed young lady, sitting by 
 one of the windows, embroidering. Taking this person 
 for one of the family, Paolo Avas going to make a low 
 bow, when he was prevented in time by Miss Lavinia 
 saying carelessly, — 
 
 "It is only my maid." 
 
 He noticed a harj), an open piano, with miisic on 
 the desk, and heaps of music on a stand by its side, 
 and a well-tilled bookshelf. 
 
 "Tliis is my study and library," said Miss Lavinia; 
 "and this," going towards the second window, "is my 
 atelier — rather a circumscribed one, but in proportion 
 to the abilities of the student." 
 
 What she called her atelier, comprised the embra- 
 sure of the window, which was very deep, and perhaps 
 the fourth part of the room, from which it was jjarti- 
 tioned by a screen. There was plenty of space in it 
 for a sofa, several chairs, a small table, and an easel. 
 
 "If I am to augur of the ability of the painter by 
 the size of the ateUer," said Paolo, "it cannot be so 
 little." 
 
 "Now, I appeal to your indulgence," said Miss 
 Lavinia, drawing back the curtain, which concealed
 
 PAOLO LANDS W TERRA INCOGNITA. 87 
 
 tbe canvas on the easel, and blushing celestial rosy 
 red. The picture represented an old Capuchin friar, 
 size of life. 
 
 "Ah! you paint in oils," said he; "it is hard work, 
 but the most satisfactory in the end." After a moment's 
 pause, he added, — "You have had no model, I per- 
 ceive, and as yet you cannot do without. You had 
 better hire one, there are plenty to be had — at rather 
 a high price, to be sure, for they are very exacting 
 with foreigners; but I dare say you will not mind a 
 scudo or two." 
 
 "Oh! no," replied Lavinia, with a slightly roguish 
 smile, "my difficulty has not been the money. I had 
 nobody but cicerones to apply to, and I was afraid to 
 trust to their recommendations." 
 
 "I will send you a model, if you like," said Paolo; 
 "a handsome old man Avitli a beautiful beard, just what 
 you require for your Capuchin," 
 
 "Pray do," said Lavinia. 
 
 Paolo found little to praise, and much so find fault 
 with in Lavinia's picture. The design was tolerably 
 good, but the colouring bad — the drajjcry quite a 
 failure. She used too many colours; blue, yellow, with 
 some white and red, were quite enough for beginners. 
 There was also great stiffness in the lines, as if the 
 hand did not work freely. Would she take a brush, 
 and let him see her manner of using it? Miss Lavinia 
 put on her blouse, and began to paint. 
 
 "Ah!" says Paolo, "I see what it is: you grasp 
 your brush too tightly." 
 
 She tried to hold it less firmly, but only succeeded 
 in letting it drop.
 
 88 LAVINIA. 
 
 "I will sliow you," said he; "give me your brusli, 
 if you please." 
 
 "Are you not afraid of getting some of the paint 
 on your coat?" 
 
 "No; not with merely a few strokes," he replied. 
 
 "Why shouldn't you put on my blouse?" asked the 
 young lady. 
 
 "Why not, indeed?" said the young man, and the 
 transfer was effected, not without some little laughter 
 from both parties. Paolo, long after he had shown her 
 how she ought to hold her brush, went on as if in 
 sport, touching the picture first here, then there, until 
 the old monk looked quite another creature. 
 
 Mrs. Jones coming in, and finding him thus oc- 
 cupied, sat herself down quietly on the sofa, and gazed 
 complacently at hira. 
 
 "Isn't she very clever?" asked she, of Paolo, after 
 a while, drawing her niece towards her, and giving 
 her fair cheek a kiss. 
 
 "Oh! aunt," j)rotested Lavinia, returning the kiss. 
 
 "And as good as clever, I can assure you, Mr. 
 Paolo." 
 
 "Indeed, I do not doubt it," said Paolo, rather 
 fervently, taking off the blouse, and sitting down at 
 the little table. The two women holding each other 
 by the hand, formed a graceful group; the contrast of 
 the two heads could not be greater, or more piquant: 
 raven-haired the one, full of character, decision and 
 passion; all soft fading hues the other, breathing soft- 
 ness, sweetness and melancholy. A sun rising on a 
 fiery July morning, a sun setting on a calm October 
 evening.
 
 PAOLO LANDS IN TERRA INCOGNITA. 89 
 
 Paolo, continuing tlie conversation, took up a pencil, 
 a sheet of paper was lying temptingly under his hand •, 
 in a quarter of an hour he had made a sketch of the 
 two ladies, and showed it to Mrs. Jones. No wonder 
 she was in raptures with it, for it was a little master- 
 piece. She begged him to put his name to it, which 
 he did, with a protestation against its being Avorth 
 keeping. 
 
 Lavinia let Paolo look over her sketch book, showed 
 him twenty volumes of French, Italian and German, 
 which she said slie was then reading, and on Paolo's 
 expressing some wonder at her undertaking so much at 
 once, she affirmed that she found time for all she wanted 
 to do. What an active mind! thought Paolo, and thus 
 they chatted on. Paolo was not a little astonished that 
 he should feel himself, as it were, quite at home. 
 
 "Do you play the harp?" asked he. "I saw oue 
 as I came into the room." 
 
 "I like it as an accompaniment for the voice," said 
 Lavinia: "shall I sing you something?" 
 
 "It would be a great favour," said Paolo. 
 
 She sat down to the harp, and jJi'eluded on it. She 
 was beautiful thus, her attitude bringing out in relief the 
 chaste outlines of her figure. Paolo could hot help 
 saying, — 
 
 "You make me think of Corinne." 
 
 "Do I?" answered Lavinia, blushing, though well 
 accustomed to compliments. "What shall I sing?" 
 
 "Anything; only I pray you, let it be simple and 
 melancholy." 
 
 Lavinia thought a little, then sang, — "She's far 
 from the land where her young lover sleeps," one of 
 the sweetest of the Irish melodies. Paolo drank in
 
 90 LAVINIA, 
 
 eagerly every note of tliat superb voice. The win- 
 ning simplicity, and touching melancholy of the 
 air, went straight to his heai't, and sent tears to his 
 eyes. 
 
 "You remind me now of Frezzolini, when, as 
 Desdemona, she sings the song of the willow," he said, 
 after a silence more eloc|uent than words. 
 
 Lavinia held up her finger threateningly, — 
 
 "Flatterer!" 
 
 "Did I not tell you," said Paolo, "that I never pay 
 compliments?" 
 
 He rose to take leave. 
 
 "When will you come again?" inquired Lavinia. 
 
 Paolo hesitated. 
 
 "You promised to find me a model, you know," she 
 went on. 
 
 "I shall not forget," he answered. 
 
 "Then you will come again not later than the day 
 after to-morrow." 
 
 What could Paolo do but agree? Aunt and niece 
 went with him through a private passage communicating 
 with the hall. 
 
 "When you are so kind as to pay us a visit," said 
 considerate IVIrs. Jones, "should you prefer avoiding the 
 round by the drawing-room, the servants shall have 
 orders to show you in this way." 
 
 "Thank you," said Paolo, greatly relieved at the 
 prospect of coming and going without meeting Mr. Jones. 
 "Thank you very much." 
 
 " "What a charming, clever creature he is!" exclaimed 
 kind-hearted Mrs. Jones, as soon as Paolo was out of 
 hearing. 
 
 "Yes," echoed Lavinia, "a charming — enfant terrible! 
 
 I
 
 PAOLO LANDS IN TERRA INCOGNITA. 91 
 
 I only wisli lie would not wear sucli clod-hopper's 
 shoes." 
 
 "You ungrateful, silly thing, to be thinking of his 
 shoes!" said the aunt, laughing. 
 
 Paolo meanwhile, as light as a feather, was hasten- 
 ing in search of the model. 
 
 "If it were not for that grim Mr. Jones, and those 
 horrid footmen of his, it would be a treat to spend an 
 hour or so every day with those two women," thought 
 Paolo to himself "Both simple, unaffected, and con- 
 siderate, the girl so energetic, so gifted, and so beautiful 
 into the bargain. Intercourse with such as they are, 
 could not fail to do me good both as a man and an 
 artist. The mere presence of women has in it a gentle, 
 refining influence nothing else can replace." 
 
 Paolo felt so calm, so serenely cheerful, that he could 
 not help laughing inwardly at Mortimer's sombre prog- 
 nostications. What a thousand pities that such a noble, 
 excellent nature as his friend's should be disfigured by 
 the false notions he entertained about women! Surely, 
 if he were acquainted with this aunt and niece, he 
 would be speedily reconciled to the fair sex. Paolo 
 must manage to make them accjuainted with one 
 another.
 
 92 LAVI^IA. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Miss Lavinia's Diary. 
 
 "Dear Lady Augusta, 
 
 "I TOLD you in my last, tLat before a week was 
 over, my Domenichino would be the most assiduous and 
 devoted of drawing-masters. Well! it will be just a 
 week to-morrow since lie first called, and I have already 
 had three lessons. So, you see, I have redeemed my 
 pledge. It is true, that to achieve this victory, I had 
 to make an enormous outlay of amiability, which, after 
 all, did not require much effort; indeed, I believe, it 
 came quite naturally. He is so thankful, so — , what 
 shall I call it? — that it is a pleasure to oneself to 
 please him. I like him very much, aunt doats on him, 
 and he on her. It is surprising how they have taken 
 to one another, and with such scanty means of com- 
 munication too, for her French is very limited, and so 
 is Signer Paolo's. Uncle is not over-fond of him, of 
 course; Paolo wounded him in some way, as he did 
 Mrs. Piper, who lunched here the same day that he did. 
 He is a sort of enfant terrible^ v/ho speaks out what he 
 has in his heart, not much used to society, I should 
 imagine. At times as bashful as a girl, at others as 
 bold as Hotspur. He never pays comj^liments, not even 
 to me. The way he treated my Capuchin friar was too 
 cavalier by half; it was dreadfully discouraging, I told 
 him so yesterday. We have become great friends now, 
 so I do not mind telling him what I think. He laughed, 
 and said, 'I was harsh, was I? It was all for your good, 
 and because I perceived that you had some talent. 
 ^Nothing sjDoils promising beginners like praise, nothing
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 93 
 
 spurs them on so much as a proper degree of severity. 
 I have been told that Kossini, whenever he is applied 
 to for his advice by a hopeless singer, always dismisses 
 him or her with unbounded praise, while he finds plenty 
 of faults with one who is full of promise. The method 
 has its advantages.' Now, isn't that an original Avay 
 of giving encouragement? Originality is an item, it must 
 be allowed, of which there is no lack in Signer Paolo; 
 whatever he does or says, has a peculiar flavour of its 
 own. And as to being clever, no one in their senses 
 can deny his being wonderfully so. You have no idea 
 what he can produce with only a few strokes. I wish 
 you could see my Capuchin since he touched him uj). 
 It was really a lucky star, which guided me to such a 
 delightful man; he amuses, interests, and puzzles me to 
 a degree. If he would come sometimes of an evening, 
 I should not much mind having no parties. 
 
 ^ '•^ ^' '.':* :i; 
 
 "He spent last evening with us, and a most plea- 
 sant evening it was. Do you think it was an easy 
 favour to obtain? Not at all. Aunt and I had to pro- 
 mise that there should be nobody but ourselves. The 
 gentleman never goes into society; detests formal parties. 
 I told you he was a perfect savage , but a very amiable, 
 agreeable one, worth a dozen of civilized mankind. 
 I made all sorts of discoveries about him. Indeed, the 
 more I see of him, the more he realizes all my fancies 
 about these Italians; those men, you know, of whom 
 we read that they could do everything, artists, poets, 
 warriors, statesmen — Leonardo, Michel Angelo, Sal- 
 vator Rosa, Benvenuto Cellini, and the like. Well, 
 this Paolo Mancini is a^ good a poet as a painter, and 
 improvises poetry quite easily. lie says that he has a
 
 94 LAVESIA. 
 
 friend, wlio never speaks but in verse, and that impro- 
 vising is quite common among Italians. I gave him 
 some rliymes, and he actually extemporized a sonnet on 
 mv portrait. By-the-bv, I must give you his. Half a 
 head taller than I am, a poAverful-lookiug, fine figure, 
 a profusion of black curling hair, dark olive complexion, 
 a delicate mouth, and beautiful teeth; hazel eyes with 
 yellow strokes, now soft and sweet, like a wild deer's, 
 now sparkling and ten-ible, as one fancies a bandit's. 
 You ought to see them when he speaks of the Austrians-, 
 they grow black then. He gave us several anecdotes 
 of the last war, and a full description of the defence 
 of Villa Spada on the 30th June, 1849, which made 
 one's flesh creep. The loss of the Romans at that place 
 was dreadful, many of their best ofiicers there met the 
 death of the brave. The emotion of Paolo on speaking 
 of these fine fellows was infectious; so much so, that 
 aunt, who understands Italian but imperfectly, was 
 actually sobbing, and I was scarcely less moved. His 
 pantomime is as eloquent as his speech. Fortunately, 
 uncle was not at home. Signer Paolo's account was so 
 very circumstantial, that it came into my head he must 
 have been at Axilla Spada himself, and I asked him. 
 He got as red as fire, and acknowledged the fact. 
 'And but for my cm-iosity,' said I, 'you would not 
 have told us?' 'Of what use mentioning it?' he 
 replied, 
 
 " There's a piece of modesty for you. I am certain 
 he did wonders. By a skilful cross-examination, I 
 came to the knowledge that he was one of a band of 
 young artists, who, i't seems, vohintered to serve imder 
 Manara. Some of them were* mere hoys, Paolo was 
 not eiehteen. He talked a great deal of an Enelish-
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 95 
 
 man, a gi-eat friend of his, who made the campaign 
 with them. Paolo spoke with enthusiasm of this Eng- 
 lishman; he says that he is the noblest and most gener- 
 ous fellow on earth, and that he OAves all that he is to 
 him. I made him promise to bring this excellent friend 
 to us. I long to know him. I begin to feel an interest 
 in these political subjects I did not think myself capable 
 of. I always hated politics in England. But there is 
 a something romantic here in Italy, a perfume of old 
 chivalrous times, that awakens my sympathy. Signor 
 Paolo is to accomj^any us to-morrow on a sight-seeing 
 expedition. 
 
 "P. S. I have found out a delightful milliner, she 
 is far superior to Alexandrine for bonnets. Adieu! 
 
 "P. S. (the last.) I forgot to tell you that Signor 
 Paolo declared that my way of dressing my hair — 
 diadem fashion, you know — is quite artistic, and that 
 he is astonished and charmed at my being called La- 
 vinia. Apropos of this name he added something — 
 I did not make it out very well — about Lavinia, the 
 wife of iEneas-, and the Komans, the Transteverini 
 especially, boasting of being savgiie Trojano, the con- 
 sequence being that I was somewhat of a country-woman 
 of his. 
 
 * * * :i: ■:: 
 
 "I thought I had known a great deal of Rome, but 
 I was mistaken. One must see Kome with a guide like 
 this young man to form any real idea of it. He knows 
 it by heart. Listening to him, old scenes revive as if 
 they were of to-day. I am in a fit of ancient Rome 
 fever. I long to do something like the Clelias, Camil- 
 las, or Cornelias. How amazed you would be if, one 
 of these days, I was to tiu'n out a heroine! Sometimes
 
 96 LATIXIA. 
 
 I fancy — no-w don't laugli — I have "n^ithin me tlie 
 stuff, of wlaich heroines are made. A little more and I 
 shall wear a tunic, and a peplus. The Forum, the Ca- 
 pitol, the Mount Aventiue, the Coliseum! what gi-and 
 names, what grand associations! That awful tragedy 
 of Virginia, I saw enacted over again before my eyes: 
 — the monster Appius on his tribunal ; the sweet victim ; 
 old Yirginius, all dusty with his march from Mount 
 Algido; Icilius, the affianced lover, boiling over with 
 passion, striving to aroiise the crowd; the citizens within 
 the Forum, touched, yet inert; — I saw them all 
 breathe, speak, act, move like creatures of flesh and 
 blood at the bidding of this young magician. I stood 
 in the very place where Virginia fell, ti-anspierced by a 
 father's hand. The butcher's stall, from wliich Virgi- 
 nius snatched the cruel knife, was at the south-west 
 corner of the Forum, near the three columns which 
 beautify the ruins. From thence we Avent to the place of 
 the Capitol, where Tiberius Gracchus was slain. Signor 
 Paolo is a fei-vent admirer of the Gracchi, and a thorougli 
 hater of the patricians, their destroyers. The Gracchi, 
 according to him, never dreamed of a new division of 
 property; all they advocated was, a less iniquitous par- 
 tition of the public lands, usurped by the patricians in 
 defiance of the law. The Gracchi were the first to pro- 
 claim the existence of other rights than those of the 
 Roman city — to have what Signor Mancini calls the 
 Italian sentiment, as opposed to mere municipal feeling; 
 and this was an unpardonable crime in the eyes of the 
 nobles. 'Italy to the rescue,' Avas the dying cry of Ti- 
 berius Gracchus. His brother Cains died for the same 
 cause on Mount Aventine. Whatever we may think of 
 their motives, no one can help being struck by three
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 97 
 
 sucli lieroic beiugs as tliese brothers, and tbeir motber 
 Cornelia. Tbe Campagna, seen at this season, is splendid ; 
 notbiiig richer than its warm yellow tints. It has all 
 the grandeur of the desert, but relieved of its uniformity 
 by a series of endless undulations. We had to cross it 
 on our way to the meadows of Quintius, where once 
 was the farm of Cincinnatus. This was the spot Avhere 
 the envoys of the Senate found him guiding the plough, 
 and, after he had put on his toga, saluted him as Dicta- 
 tor. The very simplicity of the scene invests it with a 
 grandeur that no pageantry could give. I made this • 
 remark to Signer Paolo, and that it struck me as a 
 beautiful subject for a picture: he agreed with me, and 
 said he would at least attempt it. I was so pleased-, I 
 feel very proud to think that a new masterpiece of his 
 will be owing to my suggestion. Aunt was too tired to 
 walk, and remained in the carriage while we examined 
 the place. lie is just the proper height for me — half 
 a head taller than I am — and his step suits mine ex- 
 actly. I am not reduced either to run by his side, or to 
 stalk like a grenadier. Then his arm is so different to 
 lean upon from uncle's thick one. These trifles are no 
 trifles in a long -walk. I never walked so far before 
 without being tired. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 "I forgot to tell you of our stumbling on such a 
 beautiful group of piSerari as we Avere driving through 
 Campo Vaccine. There Avere three of them — • an old 
 man, a young one and a boy — all with the finest 
 heads and most picturesque rags conceivable. The boy, 
 especially, was a treasure-trove, such long curly hair 
 and spiirkling black eyes; he looked like an untamed 
 colt. I observed what charming models they would 
 
 Lavinla. I. 7
 
 98 LAVIXIA. 
 
 make, and Signor Paolo immediately alighted, and, 
 after speaking to them, brought me -word that they 
 would call the next day, and sit for me, at a certain 
 price per hour. Xow these are the sort of considerate 
 attentions that please me; he really does seek to make 
 time pass usefully. Another little adventure — but not 
 of quite so agreeable a character. I must premise, that 
 when we went out this afternoon, there was a carriage 
 and four standing at a door a few yai"ds from ours. 
 The horses were foiu- splendid animals, sixteen hands 
 high at least, English thoroughbreds. You know that 
 I pique myself on being a good judge of horses, and I 
 warmly expressed my admiration of these beautiful 
 creatures. Their harness, I saw, came from England, 
 and that made me say, I supposed it was an English- 
 man's equipage. Signor Paolo said, Xo; it was that 
 of Prince Eocca-Ginestra. 'A fine name, and a finer 
 title,' observed I. 'If I were a man I should like to 
 be a prince, shouldn't you?' It would seem Dome- 
 nichino did not relish this remark; at least, I guessed 
 as much from a shade of irony conveyed by the tone 
 of his reply: 'Why, I do not know indeed; a title is 
 only a label on a vase; all depends on what is within: 
 at all events, I would not be the Prince of Rocca- 
 Ginestra.' 'Why not?' asked I. 'Because he is — ' 
 Signor Paolo hesitated, as if in search of a proper ex- 
 pression, then wound up with 'because he is the last 
 man I would like to resemble.' Xo more was said on 
 the subject. "Well, two or three hours after, as we were 
 driving home through the Corso, what should we meet 
 but this very same carriage and four. The person on 
 the box, who was driving — evidently a gentleman — 
 stared fijsedly at us — I ought to say at me — as the
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 99 
 
 carriages were crossing each otlier; then, as we drove 
 past, he stood up and never ceased looking at us so 
 long as we remained in sight. I saw a flash of anger 
 in Signor Paolo's eyes as he turned round with some 
 impatience, muttering something to himself — I thought, 
 but I could not be sure, that it was the word 'Sfacciato.' 
 'What are you looking at?' asked I, in some uneasi- 
 ness. 'I am showing my admiration of a jMCce of 
 princely insolence,' retorted he, bitterly. Now, the fact 
 is, that if not absolutely insolent, the prince's persistence 
 in staring at ?<5, was, to say the least, highly unbecoming ; 
 but, seeing Signor Paolo's exasperation, with a view to 
 soften it, I chose to overlook, or rather pretend not to 
 have perceived, any cause of offence in the prince's be- 
 haviour. 'So much the better,' said he, drily; 'you are 
 the best judge, after all, since it was you, not me, that 
 he looked at' And ho remained sullen and silent. He 
 accompanied us to the door of our apartment, but de- 
 clined aunt's invitation to come in, and left us Avith a 
 cloud on his brow. How touchy he must be to take 
 up siich a mere trifle in that way! Really, the 68*001 
 was out of proportion to the cause. I fear my Dome- 
 nichino has by far too violent a temper. I could not 
 help thinking of this silly affair all the evening. 
 
 * * * :{: :;: 
 
 "I had a new illustration last night of Signor Pao- 
 lo's impetuosity, though, I must own, I ftiirly brought 
 it upon myself by my rashness. Uncle was dining at 
 the Pipers', and we went to see the Coliseum by moon- 
 light. I waive all description, as the solemn grandeur 
 of the scene admits of none; or, if you must have one, 
 I refer you to the best I know of — Byi-on's canto 
 fourth of Cliilde Harold. We went round the arcades
 
 100 LAVINIA. 
 
 of tlie gieat oval, previous to climbing- to tlie upper 
 part. Signor Paolo was evoking the past with liis 
 usual eloquence, and filling the gloomy solitude with 
 the din and strife of life; — men reared to die hand- 
 somely, gracefully, in cadence, in fact, making an art 
 of death; vestals looking on Avith the gaze of connois- 
 seurs, and not lifting uj) their thumbs for those who had 
 fallen ungracefully; the sword plunging; thousands ap- 
 plauding. Horrible ! The way he pictured all this told 
 so powerfully on my nerves, that a sudden noise, and 
 rush past us, threw me off my guard. I started up, 
 and was so foolish as to utter a cry. As you may Avell 
 imagine, it was but a dog or cat whose slumbers we 
 had troubled. Aunt came up with Cajsar in some 
 alarm, and I laughed at my fright, but I was not the 
 less ashamed of having made myself such a goose, 
 especially in the presence of a gentleman. Aunt did 
 not feel inclined to climb up to the upper part of the 
 building, and said she would wait for us below; so we 
 went, Signor Paolo and I, in search of an opening. I 
 was the first to see one, and made for it. 'Not that 
 way,' cried out Signor Paolo; 'it is unsafe; there is 
 written on that pole, you see, a warning to visitors, of 
 its being dangerous.' I was glad of the opportunity of 
 showing my comjianion that I was not one of the women 
 suited to a milk-sop, and answered, laughing, 'When 
 our Serpentine is frozen over, there are plenty of poles 
 with warnings where the ice is wea,k, but the notice 
 has no other effect than that of attracting crowds of 
 skaters to those very spots. English men, and women 
 too, coiu't danger, you know;' and then up I went as 
 fast as I could. He rushed after me as quick as light- 
 ning, and caught me so roughly by the arm that he
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 101 
 
 liurt me, 'You are hurting me,' I exclaimed. 'Come 
 down then at once, or I shall lift you down,' was the 
 laconic answer. The iron grasp left me no alternative, 
 and so down I came, but highly provoked. 'You might 
 have been a little less violent, sir,' I said. 'Trample 
 me under your feet, if you like; but, for God's sake, 
 do not give me such another friglit,' and he gasped for 
 breath. I looked up at him; he was the colour of 
 ashes, and shaking from head to foot. I was disarmed. 
 'Indeed, I will not,' said I; 'I did not mean to jjaiu 
 you.' 'Pain me?' he echoed. 'If anything were to 
 happen to you, only think!' then he stopped. There 
 was not much in the words; but the look and the ac- 
 cent — really, I dare not fathom the depth of what they 
 implied. I pleaded fatigue, and put off the ascent to 
 another time, and hastened to rejoin my aunt. I am 
 full of misgivings; that look and that accent — oh, 
 dear! Do what I will to get rid of them, I cannot; 
 they haunt me. 
 
 •.J: H: * * * 
 
 "It was all a fancy; a trick played on my nerves 
 by that awful Coliseum. Signor Paolo has called here 
 each of tlie three List days, and stayed for hours, and 
 nothing disagreeable has happened. I don't believe 
 there was a shadow of a foundation for my stupid 
 alarm. How foolish and how unjust I have been! 
 That's the worst of being a beauty, one is always too 
 much on the alert. Paolo is as natural, as much at his 
 ease, as enfant fcvrihie as ever, so far as my painting is 
 concerned. Certainly, he does not spoil me about that; 
 delicate shades of expression are not his forte. What 
 he considers bad, he calls bad as a matter of course. 
 However, he has been of the greatest use to jue with
 
 102 LAVI^^A. 
 
 tliese pifferari; but for laim I never could liave managed 
 them, especially tliat wild, lovely lu'cliin, restless as 
 quicksilver. As it is, I have succeeded in chalking out 
 my gi-oup; a tolerably good one, he says. I would not 
 be helped. If he has a will of his own, so have I. 
 Yesterday he brought his English friend with him, Mr. 
 Mortimer Thornton, a very gentlemanly person, but 
 cold and diy like a black frost. He reminds one of 
 the statue of the Commendatore in Don Giovanni. I 
 don't like him; uncle does. After Mr. Thornton's de- 
 parture, he came to my atelier — uncle, — I mean, 
 and was very civil to Domenichino. From this, I con- 
 jecture that Mr. Thornton had been speaking in the 
 young painter's praise. Uncle said to Signor Paolo 
 that he must paint my portrait. Signor Paolo coloured 
 as usual, and expressed his willingness, but said the 
 light was not good enough here, and that he should 
 have to beg me to go to his atelier. Uncle asked if I 
 should have any objection. Of course, I had none-, so 
 it is settled that on the day after to-moiTOw I am to sit 
 for my poitrait. Signor Paolo is confident of its tm-ning 
 out a great success; he said as much when uncle had 
 left the room. I feel quite elated, and a little nervous 
 also at the prospect. I delay sending this to tell you 
 of my first sitting. 
 
 5? * ^- * SS 
 
 "It proved a solemn fiasco; in fact, I did not sit at 
 
 all, owing to , what do you think? — to a whim, 
 
 my dear, of my Signor Domenichino. I had no sooner 
 taken off my cloak, than he gi-ew scarlet, and I saw 
 by his face that something was amiss. He cannot dis- 
 semble. His countenance is a miiTor in which all that 
 passes within him is reflected. He regretted, he said,
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 103 
 
 tliat we had not agreed beforeliand on the sort of cos- 
 tume I was to be painted in. The style of dress I had 
 chosen was too showy for a portrait, at least, for such 
 a one as he had imagined. I shall leave you to judge 
 whether he, was right or not. I had on an evening 
 dress of white satin, trimmed all round with quillings 
 of tulle de soie^ headed with tiny roses. Then he found 
 fault with my coiffure^ it was too elaborate. Nonsense! 
 A cachepeu/ne of small roses, half hidden under a bow 
 of tulle, with long barbes falling over my shoulders; do 
 you call that elaborate? Could there be anything more 
 simple? He was not done yet with his grievances; the 
 skirt of the dress was denounced as too ample, creating 
 a want of harmony, a dissonance in the e/isemble, — his 
 very words. You may well imagine, dear Augusta, that 
 I did not look particularly well pleased with all this 
 criticism. 'Statuary, that is, nature,' he continued, 'is 
 the unerring test of the beauty of human form; and 
 whatever goes against this test, is imgraceful. Be you 
 yourself the judge,' said he, gallantly; and he imme- 
 diately made a little sketch, and handing it to me, 
 added, 'That is, I assure you, the precise outline of 
 your figure, and I am sure you have too much good 
 taste to wish to be so portrayed.' So far, I must con- 
 fess, that if the drawing he made was not a caricature, 
 my appearance was anything but artistic. I had a 
 frightful resemblance to one of the figures in the Cou- 
 rier des Dames. I do not, however, mean to say, that 
 I had in the least trespassed the limits set by fashion; 
 but what looks well enough in the drawing-room, may 
 be objectionable in a picture. I felt rather abashed, 
 and must have looked so, as he continued with more
 
 104 LAVINIA. 
 
 gentleness, 'Perhaps my notions about simplicity may 
 seem exaggerated, but you will kindly make a sacrifice 
 to my idiosyncracy.' I answered that I would willingly 
 conform to bis wishes, but that I owed it to myself to 
 say, that I did not consider tbat there was any exagge- 
 ration in my dress, that is, taking into account vrhat 
 was the fashion; and tbat ninety-nine women out of a 
 bundred would wear, when in full dress, a mucb wider 
 skirt than the one I bad on. 'I believe so,' said Signor 
 Paolo •, ' but tbat is not a reason , it is only a proof that 
 bad taste is prevalent. Majorities are not blindly to be 
 trusted.' The sentiment, and, still more, the cutting 
 tone in whicb it was uttered, iiritated me, and I asked, 
 ratber sharply, 'Are minorities, then?' 'Perbajis,' said 
 be, gravely, 'if you question history, it will answer you 
 tbat all gi-eat men and women were in the minority.' 
 'As I am not a great woman, nor have any ambition 
 of becoming one,' said I, 'allow me to side with the 
 greater number.' 'As you please,' was the dry answer. 
 We parted coldly. Signer Paolo is to paint me as be 
 first saw me, in my riding habit, and no coiffure, but 
 my bair dressed as I usually wear it, in braids, and a 
 wide plait diadem-like. Aunt says she never saw bim 
 so ill at ease, so constrained in bis manner; that he 
 must have bad something on his mind. Certainly, be 
 was unlike himself, and did not ajipear to advantage. 
 Painters and poets are proverbial for their whims, you 
 know, and he is both one and tbe other. Adieu, with 
 my love. 
 
 •J^ -jf. •.?. -Jt. :? 
 
 "Just anotber line to tell you that I have bad a 
 splendid sitting of tn-o hours and a half, including re-
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 105 
 
 spites, cliatting', langliing, singing, and what not. How 
 droll he can be when he chooses! I thought that if 
 tliere was a fault in him, it was gravity, but he is not 
 grave at all. To see him mimic the fantoccini an na- 
 tin'cl, to hear him repeat the witty puns of Pasquin 
 and Marforio, and lisp like Tartaglia, is a treat worth 
 any comedy. Aunt was black in the face, and I laughed 
 till I cried, though, heaven knows, I had put on a 
 mask sullen enough when I first sat down. He had 
 perceived it, as he confessed afterwards, and was de- 
 termined to put me in a right frame of mind to be 
 j)ainted; and he succeeded, for it is impossible to bo 
 angry with this extraordinary wild Roman. My picture 
 is coming on beautifully; I think he was right, after 
 all; there will be much more character in it than if I 
 had been dressed in my white satin. One of his ideas 
 is, that there must be a constant talk kept up between 
 him and his sitter; it is the only means, he avers, to 
 catch the easy, natural expression of a countenance; 
 and most portraits look constrained and stiff from the 
 want of this desideratum. Mine, certainly, will not sin 
 in this particular; — how we rattled on about art, 
 nature, literature, music; how Avonderfully our tastes 
 agree ! 
 
 "Lavinia."
 
 106 LAVINIA. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 Horoscope and Pyrrhic Dance. 
 
 Paolo, on Lis side, was so mucli satisfied with the 
 result of the conversatiou just alluded to in Miss Lavinia's 
 diaiy, he had had such a dip as he conceived it, into 
 Lavinia's innermost soul, and found it in such perfect 
 unison with his own, that he felt quite proof against all 
 Thornton's ominous prognostications; and half a smile 
 played on his lips at the elongated face and the gravity 
 of his English friend, when he came, a few days after- 
 wards, to report on what he was pleased to call his 
 reconnoitrings. 
 
 When first apprised by Paolo of the wish expressed 
 by Mrs. Jones and her niece to make his acquaintance, 
 and of a half-promise to that effect given by the young 
 painter, Thornton had winced considerably, protesting 
 that he had not settled at Rome for the purpose of 
 meeting his own country people. On second thoughts, 
 however, he had changed his mind, called of his owii 
 accord at Palazzo Morlacchi, and freely discussed Mr. 
 and Mrs. Jones with Paolo afterwards. But as to La- 
 vinia, short of expressing a general wish that she might 
 resemble her aunt, he had declined giving his impres- 
 sion, until he should have seen more of her, and made 
 assurance doubly sure. This he had now done, and 
 the horoscope he drew of Miss Jones was gloomy 
 enough. A bewitching creature, he owned, but shallow, 
 and worldly; belonging, he regretted to say, to one of 
 the worst varieties of the species Fine Lady — "the 
 aspiring."
 
 HOROSCOPE AND PYRRHIC DANCE. 107 
 
 " That is classifying with a vengeance," said Paolo, 
 quietly; "now for a little definition, if you please." 
 
 "It is a structure so -complicated, so full of hooks 
 and crooks, the product of" a state of things, of a con- 
 course of circumstances so peculiar, and so far away 
 even from your most distant conception, that it is as 
 difficult for me to define as for you to realize it. An 
 aspiring fine lady is a bad copy, with all the defects 
 and none of the good points of a but indifferent original 
 
 — a being conventional from top to toe, one who 
 feeds on shams, hunts shadows, and is impervious to 
 realities." 
 
 "The picture is rich in colour and flowing in cir- 
 cmnstance," replied the Koman; "but I humbly confess 
 to a want of penetration in perceiving in what it ap- 
 plies to the young lady in question, unless the widest 
 sympathies with all that is simple, good, and beautiful, 
 be but conventionalism — unless an exalted sense of 
 nature, poetry, and art lay one open to the charge of 
 feeding on shams, and hunting after shadows." 
 
 "Ah! you are already under the spell," sighed 
 Thornton. 
 
 "If you have decided that it is so, then let it be so 
 
 — what is the use of further argument?" said Paolo, 
 in a tone of resignation. 
 
 "A childish whim about painting, which will last 
 just so long as it has the attraction of novelty, and the 
 little romance in which it originated, you exalt into a 
 passion for art — a few fine phrases on jioetry and 
 nature, you receive as an irrefragable test of feeling 
 and simplicity of taste — fashionable dilettantism you 
 construe into a right earnest vocation. It is mistaking 
 a lamp for the sun, my dear friend; therein lies your
 
 108 LAVINIA. 
 
 deception. Those are poor votaries of the true, the 
 simple, the beautiful, I can tell you, whose whole heart 
 is set upon the world and its baubles. Would you 
 elicit genuine sparks of fire from her eyes and soul? 
 Discuss with her the fashionable news, as I did; the 
 marriages in high life, the dejeuner dansaiit at the 
 marchioness's, the duchess's carpet dance." 
 
 "It is otit at last," exclaimed Paolo, vehemently. 
 "Miss Jones, very likely, lays more stress than either 
 you or I do, on accidents of birth and station — ■ she 
 has been brought up in that creed; and upon what is, 
 after all, a harmless bent of her mind, you rest her 
 indictment and condemnation." 
 
 "Your harmless bent of the mind, I bog you to 
 believe, may be frfiught with practical inconveniences 
 of a very serious character. Rank fever is a most 
 dangerous distemper. Marry a duchess or a factory 
 girl, above or beneath the infection, that's my advice." 
 
 "Mortimer," said the painter, half teased, half dis- 
 posed to laugh, "I'll marry nobody; I am in love with 
 nobody — there!" 
 
 "Give me a proof that you are not," continued 
 Mortimer. "Come with me to Paris." 
 
 "To Paris?" exclaimed Paolo, reddening. "ShoAv 
 me good reason for doing so, and I will go. Have 
 you any pressing business there, which cannot brook 
 delay?" and Paolo looked full into his friend's eyes. 
 
 "You know I have not. Suppose it is one of my 
 whims. Very well: accept and humour it." 
 
 "I would at once, but that it interferes with the 
 commonest decorums of life, and with — my self- 
 respect." 
 
 "How do you mean?" asked Mortimer.
 
 HOKOSCOPE AND rVRRHIC DANCE. 109 
 
 "I mean that I liave pledged myself to assist and 
 direct this young lady in her study of painting; and 
 that, short of behaving like a boor, I cannot, without 
 a strong motive, withdraw from my engagement — I 
 mean, that I have accepted a commission pressed upon 
 me by Mr. Jones himself, to jj^^iiit his niece's portrait." 
 
 "A rare piece of madness that," interrupted Mor- 
 timer; "but leave it all to me, I'll take whatever odium 
 may accrue upon myself." 
 
 "But you cannot take upon yourself the ridicule I 
 should incur in my own eyes. There is something 
 degrading in the notion of running away like a child 
 or a fool; running away from what, I should like to 
 know?" 
 
 "He asks from what!" burst out Mortimer, with 
 an appealing look to the ceiling, "From what? why 
 from certain mischief. There is no ridicule in a man's 
 seeking safety in flight from agencies beyond his in- 
 dividual control." 
 
 "Such as floods, earthquakes, and Miss Lavinias," 
 said Paolo, jestingly. 
 
 "You could as soon withstand a flood or an earth- 
 quake as the fascination of that young lady: it is fated, 
 1 tell you, that if you go on seeing her', you will go 
 crazy about her in no time. Now put this fact in 
 juxta-position with this other one, that your nature and 
 Miss Lavinia's are antagonistic in every respect; you 
 need not shake your head, they are exactly the two 
 poles; and you will see what will come of it." 
 
 "I will tell you what will come of it," replied 
 Paolo, "if you kindly abate a little of that extreme 
 fascination and of that extreme antagonism, a pleasant 
 intercourse and a disinterested friendship."
 
 110 LAVINIA. 
 
 "Was tLere ever such a delusion as this?" ex- 
 claimed Mortimer. " Friendship! she is of the clay- 
 whereof men make idols , not friends. A perfect siren 
 from top to toe; see her at her hai'p, and try not to 
 fall at her feet; hear her sing, and do not worship her! 
 There is a seductive charm in inhaling the same air 
 she breathes." 
 
 "Eh! eh!" laughed Paolo; "how your subject 
 Avarms you! I begin to suspect you feel the spell 
 yourself" 
 
 "Fiddlestick!" ejaculated Mortimer, rising. 
 
 "And that you want to get me out of your way," 
 continued the young man. 
 
 Vexed as he was, Thornton could not help smiling 
 at this preposterous charge, and at the roguish solemnity 
 with which it was made. As smiles, however, tallied 
 ill with his present Mentorlike mood, he went to the 
 window as if to look out at the weather, and said 
 gravely : 
 
 "The subject is too serious a one to admit of 
 jesting; reconsider my proposal, and be wise for this 
 once. Adieu." 
 
 Paolo did not reconsider a proposal, which seemed 
 to him too absurd to deserve even a moment's dis- 
 cussion, and brought instead all his powers of self- 
 investigation to bear upon the question of whether he 
 really was guilty of being in love, or even in a fair 
 way of becoming so. Thornton's persistence on this 
 point had ended by creating some little alarm in the 
 young man's mind. A man in love, reasoned Paolo, or 
 one nearly so, must feel differently from a man who is 
 not so. Xow, go through what self-examination he 
 would, he perceived no sensible change in himself from
 
 HOROSCOPE AND PYRRniC DANCE. Ill 
 
 what he was seventeen days back, when this Miss La- 
 vinia was for him a nonentity. lie was haunted by 
 none of the phenomena which attend the SAveet torment 
 of love, of which he had read in the poets; he had no 
 restlessness, no desire of solitude, no sickening alterna- 
 tions of hope and despair, of elation and depression, no 
 irresistible craving, to consign any name to the echoes 
 of mountains and valleys; of all such notorious accom- 
 paniments of the tender passion he Avas as yet inno- 
 cent. He felt as self composed and companionable as 
 usual, was not the least disposed to sigh or to shed 
 tears; nor was he aware of any the slightest alteration 
 in his perception of things. That lie greatly admired 
 Miss Lavinia he freely admitted; but Mortimer admired 
 her also, and Mortimer laughed at the idea of being in 
 love with her. That he had great pleasure in her 
 company Avas true, but not beyond Avliat Avas reasonable, 
 not more, jn'obably, than he should have in the com- 
 pany of any other lovely and accomplished person. 
 Just now, for instance, he had not seen her for two 
 whole days, and yet time had not hung heavy on his 
 hands: no doubt, he Avpuld be glad to see her again; 
 nevertheless, he was not ready to tear his hair oiit of 
 impatience. He had done for her, he owned, AAdiat he 
 would not have done for anyone else, undertaken her 
 portrait, and undertaken it Avith enthusiasm; but then 
 he had never before met with so beautiful a model, 
 and he was not an artist for nothing. Admiration and 
 sympathy were not love. 
 
 Thus far the account Avas smooth; still there re- 
 mained an obscure item to clear iiji, a something that 
 did not fit quite exactly into the mould of sympathy 
 and admiration he had so nicely arranged — we mean
 
 112 LAVINIA. 
 
 the sudden panic lie Lad taken about Miss Jones at 
 the Coliseum, and the irresistible impulse under which 
 he had acted at the time. Surely, what he had felt 
 just at that instant, was most strange, mysterious, and 
 quite new to liim. More than once had he seen some 
 of his best friends in jeopardy, and felt for them acutely; 
 yet never had his wliole being been shaken from its 
 foundations, never had such a fit of frenzy seized upon 
 him, as on that evening at the Coliseum. Still, there 
 was a perfectly natural way of explaining even this, 
 in the vagueness of the danger itself, and the circum- 
 stance of the person in pei'il being a woman. Might 
 it not also have been the sense of his own responsibility, 
 the aunt having confided her niece to his care, Avhich, 
 suddenly striking him, had entirely upset him? Imagine, 
 in fact, the hoiTor of his situation, if any mischief had 
 occurred, and he had had to go and announce a cata- 
 sti'ophe to Mrs. Jones, what would Mi*. Jones 
 
 Here a whiff of the war-song in Xorma, Guerra, 
 gucvra, &c. given forth close at hand, at the highest 
 pitch of a well-known tenor's voice, broke the trains of 
 Paolo's speculations, and made him clap his hands, and 
 say aloud: "Here is the very man I want; if Salvator 
 Rosa, who has been in love these four years, does not 
 know everything about love, nobody does;" and he 
 went immediately to open the door, a happy thought, 
 as it proved, for the new-comer was so encumbered, that 
 he could never have opened it for himself. 
 
 Salvator had a guitar slung round his neck, some 
 wearing apparel on his shoulders, a big bundle on each 
 arm, a round hat on the top of his velvet cap, a couple 
 of palettes in his left hand, a quantity of brushes and 
 pencils in his right, and a huge German pipe in his
 
 HOROSCOPE AND PYRTIIIIC DAKCE. 113 
 
 mouth. In this old clotliesman's accoutrement, he sprang 
 into the middle of the room, and threw himself into a 
 warlike attitude, waving his brushes over his head. 
 
 "In the name of reason, what is the matter witli 
 you?" asked Paolo. For all answer to this question 
 Salvator shouted forth anew, Guerra, giierra, ni07'te, ster- 
 minio^ &c., leaped forwards, then backwards, parried a 
 blow from the left, dealt a tremendous thrust to the 
 right, and iinallj fell into a war-dance with a vigour 
 that sent most of his encumbrances flying about the 
 room, yet with a gravity which Paolo's roars of laughter 
 did not in the least disturb. Nor did a single muscle 
 iu his face relax, until he dropped into a chair, wiped 
 the sweat off his brow, and said with a hearty laugh, 
 "I hope you approve of my Pyrrhic dance." 
 
 "It has singularly cannibal looking features to be 
 the classic offspring of antique Hellas." 
 
 "I have introduced a few variations," panted forth 
 Salvator, "with a view to adapt it to modern times and 
 tastes. It is symbolical of art, outraged in my j)erson, 
 consigning to the avenging deities Barbarism personi- 
 fied by landlords." 
 
 "You talk in riddles," said Paolo. 
 
 "To explain," resumed Salvator, "you see in me a 
 victim, wi hinocoiie vittima^ he sang forth-, a victim of a 
 landlord's — what shall I call it? I wish to be par- 
 liamentary — of a landlord's indelicacy. You see in 
 me the pearl of tenants, as far as good- will goes, turned 
 out like a dog from his stately suite of — a single 
 room, under the most aggravating circumstances. Al 
 sol paisai'vi, o cielo, insieme avvampo e rjrlo. But what 
 could I expect of an Ostrogoth, who wears a pigtail, 
 and is tetragonal enough to the fascination of the fine 
 
 Ltiviiiia, I. O
 
 114 * LAVINIA. 
 
 arts, to prefer a paltry sum of four scudi, three paoli, 
 and two bajocchi, to the honour of having His features 
 transmitted to remotest ages by the pencil of Salvator 
 Rosa the Second.^' 
 
 "Mighty short-sighted of him," observed Paolo; "yet 
 as the landlord bargained for money, it is but fair that 
 he should have the choice." 
 
 "So far granted," said Salvator; "whatever may be 
 my particular reasons for preferring to pay in kind to 
 paying in cash, I fully admit his claim to the latter 
 mode. It is to the Goth-like manner of enforcing this 
 claim, that I object. Now, I make you the judge be- 
 tween us." The little man rose, went up the room with 
 the approved stage stride, seemed to listen, looked to 
 the right and left, as tenors are apt to do, who are 
 about to put the public in the confidence of some mighty 
 secret, then stepped forwards again, took Paolo, by the 
 wrist, and gave forth close to his ear a most tremendous 
 ''Ascoltar' 
 
 "This morning about nine, I went as usual to fetch 
 wherewithal to restore my exhausted frame, a penny 
 roll, and a dozen or so of roasted chesnuts; — allow 
 me to add a cheap, savoury, nutritious breakfast, and one 
 I highly recommend. My purchase had not consumed 
 many minutes. Well, back in the innocence of my 
 soul, senz^ alciin sosjwtio, — back I climb to my garret, 
 when lo! — qiial si mostro spettacolo — a//' atterrito 
 st/uardo — everything I possess, scattered about the 
 landing-place, my guitar, my palettes, my precious ma- 
 nuscripts rolling in the dust. I put my key in the lock 
 in vain, the lock had been changed. Was this a shabby 
 trick, or was it not, I ask you?" 
 
 "Most shabby indeed," emphasized Paolo.
 
 HOROSCOPE AND PYRRniC DANCE. 115 
 
 "What could I do, but gather my baggage together, 
 and go? But the difficulty was Avliithcr to go. Pre- 
 sently, I remembered you, and your double wigwam, 
 and sang to myself, — lo so chi la s^onorn piira ospitalita, 
 and here I am, to beg a few niglits' lodging, till I can 
 decide whether to hire a villa in the suburbs, or a pa- 
 lace in Piazza di Spagna." 
 
 "You are welcome to my former kennel, such as it 
 is," said Paolo, pointing to a recess concealed by a 
 screen; "but I warn you it is not very desirable; think 
 once again if you had not better make it up with your 
 landlord." 
 
 "Never!" interrupted Salvator; "such an act would 
 be nothing else than an encouragement to all unfeeling- 
 ness and shabbinnss, it would be inconsistent with my 
 principles. Pay him I shall and will as soon as I have 
 the paltry coin; but let him tremble in the meantime 
 for it — that shall be his punishment. As to you, 
 most noble friend, your sheltering walls shall have as 
 little of my company as possible — just from ten in the 
 evening to seven in the morning." 
 
 "Very good," said Paolo; "but 1 do not see, why 
 being my guest at night shoidd deprive me of your 
 visits during the day. Jlake yourself at home; only 
 mark, that canvas which is there, turned with its face 
 against the wall, is tabooed, and so is smoking for a 
 little while." 
 
 "A word to the wise," replied Salvator; "discretion 
 is my motto." 
 
 "And now that these preliminaries are settled," said 
 Paolo, "tell me how is Clclia. J have not seen her 
 this age." 
 
 8*
 
 116 LAVIXIA, 
 
 "As far as Bealth and spirits go, Clelia is quite well 
 tliank you." 
 
 "Has she any work to do?" asked Paolo. 
 
 "Just euough to keejD body and soul together," was 
 the answer, "the demand for cameos is far from brisk 
 just now." 
 
 "No near prospect of bringing your long engage- 
 ment to a happy close?" inquired Paolo. 
 
 "No more than we had when we pledged our faith 
 to one another — four years ago nest Christmas. Po- 
 verty still puts in her veto, but still we are happy. We 
 live on in hope and love." 
 
 "By-the-by," went on Paolo, with a shade of em- 
 barrassment in his manner, "I wish you would give me 
 a description of your sensations at the time you were 
 falling in love." 
 
 "Halloa! Telemachus, my fine fellow," shouted the 
 little paiuter, with an eager glance at his friend, "are 
 you going to enter the great brotherhood, eh? The 
 sooner the better, I can tell you." 
 
 "No such thing, I assure you — not I indeed," re- 
 plied Paolo, with a slight blush; "when that happens, 
 I will tell you faithfully." 
 
 "Well then, let me think how it was I felt, when 
 I was falling in love," said Salvator, with a reflective 
 air; "upon my word, as far as I remember, nothing 
 particular. It didn't come bit by bit, that I am aware 
 of — I believe it came all at once. The iustaut I felt 
 something, it was done and over." 
 
 "But Avhile it was going on — let it have been for 
 ever so short a time, it is contrary to nature that you 
 should not have had any forewarning, that it was an
 
 HOROSCOPE AND rYRRHIC DANCE. 117 
 
 incipient j^assion. Were you mucli struck by her beauty 
 at first?" 
 
 "Not mucli, not more than I should be by any 
 pretty face I met in the street. It is true that I was 
 ill at the time: I first saw her in the hospital. You 
 know I was laid up for two months there, by a bad 
 fever caught by sleeping on the wet ground out of 
 Porta San Pancrazio: a long time it seems now since 
 that 1849. She was one of the voluntary nurses who 
 attended the sick in that hospital, and she used to come 
 and pet and cheer and comfort me, which made me feel 
 very grateful and very happy." 
 
 "Had you no occasional fit of restlessness, de- 
 spondency, sleeplessness, no loathing of your food?" 
 
 "As long as the fever was on me I had; but as 
 soon as I got rid of it, I slept very well, ate Avith relish, 
 and was altogether very comfortable." 
 
 "Did you fret when she was after her usual time?" 
 
 "She never was late, so I had no occasion to fret, 
 nor had I strength to do so either; a bahe three weeks 
 old could not be more weak and helpless than I was." 
 
 "Very strange," said Paolo, pondering, "and 
 never — " 
 
 "Stop a bit," inteiTupted Salvator, "here is a symp- 
 tom for you. A fortnight previous to my leaving, a 
 young officer was brought in, badly wounded — a Tus- 
 can — poor soul! he died shortly afterwards, I must 
 first tell you he was uncommonly handsome, rich curly 
 hair, deep-set brown eyes, a perfect Ivaf.ielesque head. 
 I have a sketch of him somewhere that I will show you 
 when I can find it. Very well, his bed was opposite
 
 118 - LAVINIA. 
 
 to mine, and wlienever Clelia was by Lis bedside, I felt 
 most uncharitably towards that noble young man." 
 
 "It was jealousy," pronounced Paolo. 
 
 "I suppose it was; but it did not enlighten me a 
 bit as to the state of my heart." 
 
 "And when was it," asked Paolo, "that you dis- 
 covered its real condition?" 
 
 "On the very day I left the hospital. I had such 
 a pang in parting from her, it was like parting from my 
 very soul. I reeled about like one who had lost his 
 centre of gravity, I was positively miserable. I felt no 
 interest in any earthly thing, no, not even in the Li- 
 bretto. Then it was, that I did begin to feel restless, 
 that a frantic yearning after her seized on me. At the 
 end of the second day, I could stand it no longer. I 
 went back to the hospital, saw her for half a minute, 
 and said to her, 'Will you be the wife of a little mon- 
 key, who has nothing to offer but his great love for 
 you?' She blushed, and laughed outright, and said she 
 mitst have a fortnight to think about it. The answer 
 came at last, and on that very day we were affianced, 
 and since have lived on hope and love, and indeed very 
 little else-," and the narrator wound up with, '"'' Delia 
 terra in cui viviamo — Ci facclamo un del cTamor. 
 
 Little wiser by this confession, nay, rather more 
 puzzled than he was before he received it, Paolo wen- 
 ded his way towards Palazzo Morlacchi, Avith an unusu- 
 ally thoughtful countenance.
 
 PAOLO FEJ3LS UNCHARITABLE. 119 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Paolo feels Uncharitable. 
 
 Passing tlirougli the reserved passage to Miss Jones's 
 studio, Paolo found nobody tliere but Laviuia's maid. 
 She was waiting for liim with a message from the 
 ladies, to say that they had visitors in the drawing- 
 room, and particularly requested him to join them 
 there. Paolo would fain have made his escape, but 
 as usual his shyness came in his way, and even while 
 still debating with himself how he could decently beat 
 a retreat, the doors of the drawing-room had closed 
 upon him, and he was undergoing an introduction to 
 Count Mendez Fortiguerra and Cavaliere Martucci. 
 
 This Cavaliere Martucci, the reader may recollect, 
 had met the Jones's at Florence, had promised to find 
 them out at Home, and to make them acquainted with 
 a friend of his, a Roman noble. Both of them hand- 
 some men in their own styles, the appearance of count 
 and chevalier offered a most striking contrast. 
 
 The count was nothing by half; very dark, very 
 tall, powerfully built, and with a loud deep bass voice ; 
 his features, though good and regular, were too strongly 
 marked to be agreeable, his big aquiline nose in par- 
 ticular, and his well-cut, but salient li|)S, the beau ideal 
 of animalism. A blue tint about his mouth and on 
 his closely -shaven chin, bore witness to a beard as 
 thick and deep-set as a hog's bristles. His manner and 
 address were those of a man of the world, easy and 
 dignified-, rather too dignified, for now and then they 
 forced on one the recollection of the padre nohde of 
 the stage. When at rest, which was but seldom the
 
 120 LAVINIA. ' 
 
 case, tlie count had a way of burying liis chin in an 
 uncommonly high and stiff cravat, which attitude, com- 
 bined with a forehead naturally broad and lofty, and 
 rendered still more so by the complete absence of hair, 
 gave him an air of depth and wisdom that might have 
 suited the most profound diplomatist. Although he 
 had reached full threescore years, he looked scarcely 
 fifty. He was in deep mourning. 
 
 Not quite five feet high, but remarkably well-shaped 
 and well-proportioned, Cavaliere Martucci was the 
 prettiest little blondin that one ever set eyes upon. 
 Despite the soft golden down on his upper lip, elabo- 
 rately twisted en croc, he might at first sight have been 
 mistaken for a woman in disguise, so unquestionably 
 feminine were the small plump hand, the diminutive 
 foot, cherry lip, rosy cheek, pink eai", the skilfully- 
 parted golden hair, and the silvery thread of voice; the 
 little gold circlets he wore as earrings, tended still 
 more to increase the illusion. His dress in excellent 
 taste, was as trim and precise as if he had been brought 
 hither in a bandbox, and turned out of it in the ante- 
 chamber. His turned-down shirt-collar fell over a fancy 
 satin necktie, his wristbands fastened by coral buttons, 
 closed round his wrists, as symmetrically as if they 
 had been painted; nor were any of the innumerable, 
 almost imperceptible plaits of his shirt-front in the 
 least ruffled. A very microscopic star attached to a 
 very microscopic chain, hung from one of the button- 
 holes of his coat. 
 
 The conversation, or rather conversations — for 
 Count Fortiguerra's was in English, and particularly 
 addressed to Mrs. Jones, while Cavaliere Martucci's, 
 being Italian, was for Miss Lavinia's especial benefit
 
 PAOLO FEELS UNCHARITABLE. 121 
 
 — the conversations, we say, for a moment interrupted 
 by Paolo's entrance and introduction to the strangers, 
 ■were speedily resumed. The count went on descan- 
 ting on the virtues, attainments, and sans facon of his 
 Majesty Lewis, late kiug of Bavaria, then a resident 
 in liome, and, as it would seem, one of the count's par- 
 ticular friends. The chevalier, on his side, was de- 
 scribing with rapture to Miss Jones a new song by 
 Patito, the famous composer of ballads, and eagerly 
 expressing his astonishment, that a young lady possessed 
 of such musical talent as Miss Lavinia, should be 
 so far behind the rest of the fashionable world as not 
 to have heard of La Lagrbna di un Angelo. Why, it 
 was quite the rage among amateurs. 
 
 Paolo who knew nothing of H. M. Lewis, nor yet 
 of the romance in vogue, took no share in either of 
 the dialogues, beyond a brief answer to any of the 
 direct questions, occasionally put to him by Miss La- 
 vinia, with the evident intention of making him a 
 party to what was going on. Besides that he was na- 
 turally but little communicative in the presence of 
 strangers, these two, and more especially the lesser of 
 the two, raised his bile — and why so? It is self-evi- 
 dent that they both stood in his way; but it was the 
 small chevalier that engrossed Miss Lavinia, and thus 
 more directly interfered with Paolo's own time — a time, he 
 began to think, which might be better employed than 
 in listening to nonsense. Because after all, he was not 
 there for his own pleasin-e, he was there to criticize 
 Miss Jones's drawing, to give her advice, — in short, 
 call it by what name he would, the fact was patent to 
 himself; he was there to give her a lesson. Nor was 
 it just to lay all the blame on the visitors, jMiss Lavi-
 
 122 LAYINIA. 
 
 nia iierself was in fault. What, in the name of wonder, 
 could keep her rooted there? Had she never deserted 
 company in the drawiug-room to attend to her paint- 
 ing? She showed, he was sorry to feel, but little con- 
 sideration in detaining him thus. 
 
 Making these ungracious reflections', our young sa- 
 vage mechanically took up a pamphlet lying on the 
 table within his reach. It proved to be a number of 
 an illustrated English serial — Paolo turned over the 
 pages, examining the engravings; ]\Iiss Lavinia pre- 
 sently, perhaps to make him feel the impropriety 
 of thus isolating himself, pointedly addi-essed him, 
 saying,— 
 
 "You seem mightily interested in your book. Sig- 
 ner Paolo." 
 
 "Eather diverted than interested," was Paolo's 
 reply; "such a droll picture as I have chanced on," 
 and he handed the open book to the young lady. The 
 illustration represented a number of young ladies 
 kneeling before a huge coronet. First, as Lavinia cast 
 her eyes on it, she blushed, and then burst into a merry 
 peal of laughter, that sent a thrill of delight through 
 Paolo's Avhole being. He said with a smile, — 
 
 "I see, at all events, you do not belong to that 
 pious sisterhood."' 
 
 "I should like to know Avho does," returned Lavi- 
 nia; "I beg you will not imagine that my countiy- 
 women are so silly as that. It is a cai'icature, the 
 splenetic production of a misanthrope, that's all." 
 
 "0 Thornton, Thornton, why are you not here?" 
 thought the young man; and addressing Lavinia, "Of 
 course, I look at it as an exaggeration; I do not sup- 
 pose any rational being worships such baubles," and
 
 PAOLO FEELS UNCHARITABLE. 123 
 
 Lis eyes, perhaps intentionally, rested upon the che- 
 valier's little star. 
 
 Did the chevalier notice that glance, or did he not? 
 Would he resent it, or receive it in a Christian spirit? 
 These questions must remain unanswered, for just then 
 in bustled Mr. Jones, and the salamalecs began. The 
 chevalier, as in duty bound, introduced the Roman to the 
 Englishman, the Englishman to the Roman, His noble 
 friend Count Mendez Fortiguerra — his distinguished 
 friend, Mr. Jones. The two great powers, I'urse and Pe- 
 digree, bowed, then shook hands, declaring their mutual 
 satisfaction at being thus made acquainted. Purse's satis- 
 faction was alloyed by the mortification he felt, at having 
 kept Pedigree waiting. Pedigree, feeling that noblesse 
 oMif/e, protested with a bow to the ladies that time in 
 such delightful company fled too fast to be perceived. 
 
 Whoever may have accused Mr. Jones of having 
 something morose and forbidding about hira, bore false 
 witness. Just look at him now, and say if man ever 
 possessed a smoother brow, a sweeter smile, a greater 
 amenity of manner. Mark the softness of his voice as 
 he expresses the hope that the count is fairly settled 
 for the winter in Rome, and that he will often honour 
 him and Mrs. Jones with his company. 
 
 A cloud of sadness overshadows the count's lofty 
 forehead, as he murmurs a regret about a late painful 
 loss — a family affliction (with a plaintive look at his 
 mourning costume) which at present debars him from 
 either going to or receiving company at his own house. 
 
 Mr. Jones's jaws droop with potent sympathy, and 
 the sunshine of eye and mouth subsides into a placid 
 melancholy. 
 
 "Such is life," observes he, with a sigh; perhaps
 
 124 LAvmiA. 
 
 by a natural filiation of ideas , the mention of sorrow 
 suggests to the Englishman's mind the expediency of 
 a dose of comfort, and count and cavaliere are invited 
 to pass into an adjoining room, Avhere they will find 
 some refreshment. 
 
 Count Fortiguerra, who is perhaps a teetotaller, 
 will with pleasure accept a little sugar and water, and 
 the trio make their exit with all due ceremony, 
 
 Paolo , who for the last ten minutes , has been 
 opening his eyes wider and Avider, Avho has been asking 
 himself, whether or not he was witnessing the per- 
 formance of a comedy, now draws a long breath of re- 
 lief. So, to say the truth, does Mrs. Jones — so does 
 Miss Lavinia. But the burden of the day is not yet 
 over. Mr. and Mrs. Piper are announced, and in steps 
 Mrs. Piper in a state of great excitement. Miss Jones 
 now tries to make her escape by j^leading an engage- 
 ment, but the lady will not listen to any such excuse; 
 she wants Miss Jones; she declares she has designs on 
 Miss Jones, she must have Miss Jones all to herself. 
 Perhaps ]\Irg. Piper insists the more, because she no- 
 tices Paolo's look of vexation. There is nothing for it 
 but to yield. Paolo rises and takes his leave — Lavinia, 
 making many apologies, accompanies him to the door 
 ,of the room, and lets fall in his ear a gracious promise, 
 to sit for her portrait on the morrow at twelve o'clock. 
 With this bit of comfort to feed on, Paolo departs. 
 
 He knew not where to go, he knew not Avhat to do 
 with himself For the first time in his life, his studio 
 had no attractions for him, nor had he any inclination 
 for Thornton's company, hitherto his harbour of refuge 
 in troubled weather. There was only one person for 
 whose conversation he just then felt any desire, and
 
 PAOLO FEELS UNCHARITABLE. 
 
 125 
 
 that was Lis houseless friend, Salvator; but how to 
 track him? it was like looking for a bird in a wood. 
 
 He walked straight on in the direction of the Pincio, 
 musing the while, "Where the deuce could that thea- 
 trical-looking count, and that ridiculous manikin of a 
 cavaliere come from? Why ridiculous? because he was 
 so small and feminine-looking? Was not Salvator but 
 little if any taller, and with an ajipearance equally 
 feminine? yet had he not inspired a beautiful and sen- 
 sible girl with a devoted love? True it was, that Sal- 
 vator had sterling qualities , and a heart of gold. For 
 anything that Paolo knew to the contrary, the chevalier 
 might be as "well gifted. Miss Jones certainly seemed 
 anything but displeased Avith the proprietor of the little 
 star. Women do not see with men's eyes. Well, 
 whether a hero or a pickpocket, what business was it 
 of Paolo's? — his business, since he had been stupid 
 enough to let himself be so entangled, was to direct tlie 
 young lady's artistic studies, and not to take upon him- 
 self the duties of a commissary of police, apropos of 
 any man, preposterous or not, who might make her 
 acquaintance." 
 
 And forthwith he dismissed this subject from his 
 meditations, and began to think of something else; but 
 just as any road will lead to liome, according to the 
 proverb, so did thought upon any object, however dis- 
 tant, infallibly bring him back to the point from which 
 he had started. 
 
 One thing he could not forgive Miss Lavinia, and 
 that was the sort of mystery she had made about this 
 man. It was clear that she had known him for some 
 time, and yet she had never mentioned even his name 
 to Paolo, never so much as alluded to any such ac-
 
 126 LAVINIA. 
 
 quaintance. It Avould have been so natural, knowing 
 so very few Italians as she did, that she should have 
 spoken of this one, said that she expected his arrival. 
 She had judged otherwise; perhaps she had her own 
 reasons for making a secret of it. Once more, whether 
 she had or not, what Avas it to him? The best thing- 
 he could do Avas to enjoy his walk: a beautiful place 
 this Pincio, and such a lovely day! 
 
 But the wisest resolutions were not able to struggle 
 against the new bent of his mind, and in another mo- 
 ment he had relapsed into his former mood of conjec- 
 tures. "What could be the link between Mr. Jones 
 and these tAvo Italians? for, that theirs was" not a mere 
 visit of compliment, but had a sjjecific purpose which 
 concerned Mr. Jones, AA^as self-evident; otherwise, how 
 account for their waiting for him in so determined a 
 manner, quite beyond the limits of any usual visit? The 
 very eagerness with which Mr. Jones had manoeuvred 
 to take them aAvay to another room, left no doubt in 
 Paolo's mind that the move was to sccin'e a private 
 conA^ersation. It was as clear as that blue sky over 
 him, that the three gentlemen had some interest in 
 common, which required privacy, and that he had been 
 in their way. In the name of wonder, what grand 
 state affair could it be?" 
 
 At this point a sudden light illumined the mind of 
 our yoimg dreamer, and caused him to quicken his 
 steps, like one who all at once discoA'ers himself to be 
 treading on mined ground. The mystery was solved, 
 the manikin was a lover, the Padre Nobile, an uncle 
 come to back his nephew's suit, the subject to be dis- 
 cussed, a projiosal of marriage, of course, no sooner 
 made than accepted. The riddle Avould have been no
 
 PAOLO FEFXS UNCirARITABLE. 127 
 
 riclcllc to any one with a grain of common sense, and 
 here he had been for hours tasking his brain to find 
 out, what a chihl commonly gifted wouhl have guessed 
 at the first glance. Fool that he was! ha! ha! 
 
 And the poor big boy went on walking until dusk, 
 and with only a short halt at Lepri's for a morsel, even 
 till long after dusk, nicely smoothing and arranging, 
 and turning into mathematical evidence, the wildest 
 dreams of his fancy, on the whole not without a kind 
 of savage pleasure; and lashing himself into a most in- 
 tolerant mood towards coiuits and chevaliers — then 
 asking , with a dawn of incipient consciousness of 
 playing the hypocrite with himself, what business was 
 it of his, whether Miss Jones married or not? What 
 would he not have given to have overheard the dia- 
 logue, which was being carried on during his feat of 
 pedestrianism , and to listen to which, the process not 
 oeing over delicate, it is our painful duty to request 
 the reader. 
 
 In a back parlour of a low tavern in Transtevcre, 
 Count Fortiguerra and his dimimitive Achates were dis- 
 cussing, not precisely some nice point of heraldry, left 
 perhaps obscure by DTIosier and Co., but a huge fiask 
 of Montepulciano ; the count with lustrous eyes and 
 flushed cheeks, no longer in state costume and stiff 
 cravat, but quite in a srms faroji attire and mood in 
 keeping with the place and his jn-esent convivial oc- 
 cupation. The chevalier was still smartly dressed, but 
 his late display of fine linen and golden star eclipsed 
 for the nonce by the intervening folds of a loose over- 
 coat buttoned up to the chin. 
 
 "I will tell you what your Englishman is," said 
 the count, lighting his short blackened bnde gucuh at
 
 128 LAVINIA. 
 
 the oil lamp on the table. "Oli, my poor quotations 
 
 of Horace ! projiceve margaritas he is a thorough 
 
 grocer." 
 
 "Suppose he is," remonstrated the chevalier, deli- 
 cately rolling a cigarette between his natty thumb and 
 forefinger, "suppose he is, reason the more for handl- 
 ing him gently. Here is a man "svho is mad for a 
 ribbon, a star, for anything that can give him any kind, 
 of title whatever. "What is the rational course to pur- 
 sue? To present the affair as feasible certainly, but 
 nevertheless not without its difficulties, its divinities to 
 jn-opitiate by proper sacrifices ; between friends , to 
 squeeze as much oil out of this English whale as one 
 can. Instead of this, what do you do? You perplex 
 and alarm him with a railway speculation, outlay of 
 millions, years of waiting." 
 
 "At the end of which I attach a splendid bait," in- 
 terruj)ted the count, "the title of prince, bestowed by 
 a grateful gracious pope on the enterprising contractor. 
 You have still much of the greenness of sj)ring about 
 you, my dear little friend. My schemes, I perceive, 
 have too much of maturity in them for your youthful 
 vision. Learn this, in the first place, that to tempt an 
 Englishman, who has been in business, there's no lure 
 so gi-eat as a speculation in railways, no title, no 
 ribbon, none, though it were as broad and as long as 
 the iron road itself. Learn, secondly, that if I could 
 get the name of this Mr, Jones, the chairman and con- 
 tractor for the what's its name railroad in England, to 
 figure at the top of a prospectus of a railroad, were it 
 to the moon itself, my fortune and your fortune would 
 be made. How could I guess, that this man was to be 
 unlike all other John Bulls, without love of enterprise,
 
 PAOLO FEELS UNCHARITABLE. 129 
 
 heavy with objections, full of caution, wanting proper 
 securities, and so forth — devil take him! As if my 
 word was not the best of securities, the word of a 
 Fortiguerra!!!" emphasized the speaker, thumping his 
 breast. "Do you know who the Fortiguerras are, my 
 fine fellow" — (the fine fellow addressed was the flask) — 
 "the oldest family in Italy, nay, in Europe, allied to 
 the Gonzagas of Mantua, related to the lioyal House 
 of Braganza " 
 
 "You forget the Grand Mogul," added the chevalier 
 gravely. 
 
 "Excellent! capital!" cried the count, falling back 
 in his chair in a paroxysm of laughter, combined with 
 a fit of coughing, owing to a volume of tobacco smoke 
 inadvertently swallowed. "Here is an artist! I take 
 myself in real earnest. I imbue myself so entirely with 
 the personage I am to represent, that I positively forget 
 my own individuality. When I die, an event the longer 
 delayed the better, I shall be able to exclaim like 
 Nero, '0 Rome, what an actor thou losest!'" 
 
 "Some truth in what you say," observed the che- 
 valier, daintily knocking off the ashes of his cigarette; 
 "only now and then you overdo your part." 
 
 "Not a bit," protested the count; "I proportion the 
 shades of my colouring to my audience. But what were 
 we talking of? Ah! you were criticizing this railway 
 scheme. Granted it is a failure, nevertheless it will 
 give us some of the advantages of a victory. Through 
 it I have gained two important points. I have posed 
 myself before this man, and taken his measure, height, 
 depth, breadth — I know him inside and out." 
 
 "Well, if you have got his size and weight, don't 
 beat about the bush, but go straight to the point. Fix 
 
 Laviniii. L 9
 
 130 LAVINIA. 
 
 a sum, the Iiigliest you prudently can, to serve as tlie 
 golden open sesame of the bureaux, there is always 
 some deaf, blind, halt official to be made to see, heai*, 
 and move, — and as soon as you have the money, let 
 the fool have his hobby-horse. To fabricate a document 
 with all the proper state seals and signatures is mere 
 child's play for you." 
 
 "So it is, but it won't do with Mi-. Jones. He is 
 far too sharp, and we shall never see the colour of his 
 money, short of satisfying him as to the how, the why, 
 and the by whom — quilnis auxiliis, cur, quomodo, 
 qnando. Circimistantial evidence will not do with him. 
 Talent and industry can do much, but not supply reality. 
 I flatter myself that I could personate Cardinal Antouelli 
 — his Holiness — anybody. I once acted a bishop in 
 Mexico, a country without its fellow for that sort of 
 thing; and I did it so well, that I actually took myself 
 in, as well as other people. But the local colouring is 
 not at my command here. I cannot borrow the palace 
 of Monte Cavallo, nor ask for the loan of the Vatican, 
 nor get possession of the Dateria. Can I?" 
 
 "Not so easy in fact," replied the chevalier, in a 
 dandified voice, "but methinks you exaggerate your 
 difficulties. Sui'ely, it has been said by some wise 
 lips, that when a man is in earnest pursuit of a thing, 
 he will swallow even a camel if it stood obstinately in 
 his way." 
 
 "Ah! my dear fellow, rules have exceptions. You 
 have no idea how without poetical imagination these 
 islanders may be; how matter of fact they can be. 
 Trust to my penetration, this Englishman will give us 
 a deal of ti-ouble. Even if he be ever caught at all, 
 which I doubt, it must be with some other kind of
 
 PAOLO FEELS UNCHARITABLE. 131 
 
 chaff. We miglit try him in the artistic line, with 
 objects of virtu, antiques and pictures. He knows 
 nothing about them, nor does he care a straw for Art; 
 but he might be got at through the ladies. The young 
 one, a splendid creature by the way, has a smack of a 
 painter about her, and seems as inflammable as a 
 lucifer match. A well-concocted tale of a reduced 
 nobleman obliged to part, but anxious to do so un- 
 observed, with the remnant of a once princely gallery 
 — a few Lionellos, and Lorenzo di Credi ; none of your 
 Raphaels, or Correggios; they are too hackneyed. Such 
 a story, I say, would take her fancy." 
 
 "It might," said the chevalier, "were it not for that 
 young Mancini (and I am told that he is clever), who, 
 being, as you saw, on the best terms with the whole 
 tribe of them, is certain to be consulted, and as certain 
 to make our mine explode." 
 
 "I will undertake to make sure of the young fellow," 
 asserted the count, potentially. 
 
 "More easily said than done," retorted the chevalier. 
 "He looks very high and mighty, and puts on the airs 
 of a Puritan. There's some story current about him, 
 in which Bishop Eodipani figures. The particulars I 
 don't exactly recollect-, but I remember enough to assm-e 
 you, that they give little reason to hope." 
 
 "To be sure," exclaimed the couut; "didn't some 
 one point him out to me as the bishop's nephew? who 
 told me, I wonder? It must have been that rascal of 
 a reverend brother of mine. I will ask him for parti- 
 culars. Whoever he be, leave the young painter to 
 me; I go bail for him. Nothing so easily tamed as 
 your independent genius: two or three swings of the 
 incensory under his nose, sufficient to inflate his nostrils 
 
 9*
 
 132 LAVINIA. 
 
 witli tlie smoke of the gums and spices of flattery, and 
 an order for pictures, such is my recipe. I will give 
 him a commission, if needs be, of the value of ten 
 thousand scudi." 
 
 "Which will not drain your purse dry," laughed 
 the chevalier, "any more than the two hundred thou- 
 sand scudi you volunteered this morning to invest in 
 shares of the new railway." 
 
 "A capital proposal that, was it not?" said the 
 count, laying his forefinger under his left eye, and in- 
 vesting his face in the most blackguard look imaginable. 
 
 "Now, you are beginning to make faces," remon- 
 strated the chevalier; "pray recollect yourself." 
 
 "Well, well, you are right; let us always look the 
 dignity of our parts. What was I saying? ah! about 
 the two hundred thousand scudi. The proverb runs — 
 Strike hard, if you want to stiike home. A few bold 
 strokes of that kind constitute what I call a large style. 
 Mine is Michael Augelo's manner." 
 
 "I wish you could have seen yourself at the mo- 
 ment: you were really superb; you looked as much in 
 earnest as if you had had the Avhole amount in your 
 pocket." 
 
 "I was not sure that it was not there. That is the 
 secret of my superiority. Be strongly impressed your- 
 self, if you would strongly impress others. Si vis me 
 flere, dolendum est pi'imum ipsi tibi, as my favourite 
 beautifully expresses it. Are you going abeady?" 
 
 "I must," said the chevalier, looking for his hat; 
 "it is past nine, the rehearsal of the ballet at the 
 Apollo Avill soon be over, and Araina would scratch 
 my eyes out, if I was not there when she leaves the 
 theatre."
 
 PAOLO FEELS UNCHAEITABLE. 133 
 
 "All! tlie little figurante!" said the count, witli a 
 grimace, the racy roguishness of wbicli no words can 
 render. 
 
 "There you are again with your grimaces! you are 
 really incorrigible;" and the chevalier looked as he felt, 
 sullen and reproachful. 
 
 "Now, don't be sulky; the idea of the little 
 figurante threw me oflP my guard. youth! silly 
 youth! to run after such vanes as women, when such 
 staunch friends as Montepulciano aud Orvieto coax you 
 to stay. Take another glass." 
 
 "Not a drop more," said the chevalier; "I have 
 had enough. It is a mystery how you manage to go 
 on swallowing flask after flask, and that, too, after 
 having emptied one of Mr. Jones's decanters of sherry." 
 
 "That is it; you have hit on cause and effect," 
 replied the count. "I correct the acidity of that vio- 
 lent adulterated stuff the Englishman gave us, with this 
 gentle, cooling, genuine produce of the Tuscan hills." 
 
 Upon this, the two worthy associates separated. 
 Just at the identical moment, Paolo was knocking at 
 the door of his own studio in Via Frattina. 
 
 "Are you here, Salvator?" 
 
 "Yes, I am in bed; come in!" 
 
 "Don't budge, I am only come to say that I feel 
 dreadfully uncharitable towards some one." 
 
 "That is it," returned the voice from within; 
 "hurrah! then you are jealous." 
 
 "I am afraid I am; not a very amusing trade, 
 though." 
 
 "It will give a relish to your feelings afterwards. 
 The sooner the better, as I told you." 
 
 "If they arc roses, they will blossom in good time.
 
 134 LAVINIA. 
 
 Do not go out to-moiTOw morning before I come. 
 Good-night, Salvator." 
 
 "Good-niglit, Telemaclius, and pleasant dreams." 
 Paolo went liis way home, and Salvator turned him- 
 self in his bed, humming — 
 
 "Son geloso del zefiro amante, 
 Che ti scherza col crine e col velo, 
 Fin del sol che ti mira dal cielo , 
 Fin deH'onde che spccchio ti fa." 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Nettle and Dock. 
 
 Greatly relieved by the avowal he had made to 
 himself, and the confession to his friend, Paolo slept 
 soundly, and awoke next morning in good spirits. His 
 first thonglit on opening his eyes, was, "So then, I am 
 in love." Well, he could not help rejoicing at the 
 question being at last solved and settled in that way. 
 
 It Avas but the realization of what he had been so 
 long yearning after; and if a man had ever reason to 
 be happy and proud of being in love, certainly he was 
 that man, considering tlie object — for, thank God, it 
 was at no common shrine he had been led to v.'orship 
 for the first, and as he felt assured for the last, time 
 in his life. If he had the stuff of a man in him, as he 
 hoped he had, she was exactly the woman to bring it 
 to light. So beautiful, so lofty minded, so overflowing 
 with healthy, noble aspirations! Where the deuce lad 
 Thornton's penetration gone, that he should misjudge 
 her as he did? The day would come when his friend 
 would render her more justice. Paolo felt confident of 
 this. She was to be his Laura, his Beatrice, his Muse, 
 his —
 
 NETTLE AND DOCK. 135 
 
 Here the image of the chevalier intruded disagree- 
 ably on Paolo's mind, and brought his soliloquy to a 
 full stop. But he was not in a temper to be long dis- 
 turbed by hindrance in any shape. Well, let the 
 chevalier do his best; he, on his side, Avould do his 
 best also. Of course, he could not expect to secure 
 such a prize, without meeting with competition. Who 
 could see and not love her? Even Thornton had ac- 
 knowledged the charm there was about her. All that 
 Paolo desired or wanted, was a word — no, only a 
 look — of encouragement , and he would fight all the 
 world to win her. 
 
 After all, he had been, perhaps, too hasty in at- 
 tributing to the visit of the two strangers the motive 
 he had done; pcrliaps before many hours had elapsed 
 he would be ready to laugh at his own wild supposi- 
 tions. Most likely, either Mrs. Jones or her niece, 
 during the morning's sitting, would refer to the subject 
 of these new acquaintances, and thus enlighten him. 
 If there were no mention of them, it would indeed be 
 a bad sign. However, let the worst come to the worst, 
 he was ready for any rival. 
 
 Ai:id such speculations, Paolo arrived at his studio 
 in Via Trattina. Faithful to his word, Salvator was 
 waiting for his friend, munching his dry roll and roasted 
 chesnuts, and reflecting on the number of sparrows, 
 daily pensioners, fed by crumbs scattered from his garret 
 windows, doomed this morning to disappointment and 
 hunger. 
 
 "And our iincharitable feelings?" asked Salvator, 
 by way of greeting. "As strong as ever, I hope." 
 
 "Not so intense as last night," said Paolo.
 
 136 LAVINIA. 
 
 "Tliey will intensify by and by, no fear. larbas 
 has been here." 
 
 "Who is larbas?" 
 
 "Emperor Soulouque, our black friend; he has 
 brought a note for you. I anticipate a crisis."' 
 
 Paolo snatched the note, broke the seal, and read: — 
 
 "Thursday evening. 
 
 "Mrs. Piper has taken us by stoiTQ. Nothing will 
 satisfy her but our going to Frascati. We are all to 
 start to-morrow at daybreak; we shall be away only 
 three days — one to go, one to remain, and one to 
 return. I am sadly disappointed to miss my sitting. 
 On Monday monaing we count on seeing you. I mean, 
 be sui-e to call. 
 
 "Tom-s in haste, 
 
 "L. J." 
 
 "Gone!" exclaimed Paolo, dejectedly. 
 
 "Gone?" echoed Salvator, starting to his feet in 
 great alann. 
 
 "Yes, to Frascati for three days," added Mancini. 
 
 "Bless me! how you do frighten one, I declare! 
 Son rimasto senza fiato. Non ho sangue nelW vene. 
 I thought she was for ever gone. Three days is the 
 veiy thing, neither too much nor too little, just the 
 proper degree of stimulant to bring the precious germ 
 to maturity." 
 
 "No need for stimulants, I am afraid," said Paolo; 
 "methinks the germ is lipe abeady."' 
 
 "Is it?" retorted Salvator; "ah! what did I tell 
 you? the moment you perceive it the business is done. 
 Never mind this absence ; it is all for your good, though
 
 NETTLE AND DOCK. 137 
 
 not very pleasant; for what does the libretto say? — 
 Da quel di che lei perduta^ Dispcrato in hando andai, &c. 
 You will feel the happier when she returns. It is like 
 leaving one's bed of a winter's night; you enjoy its 
 comfort more keenly afterwards. In the meantime, you 
 can think of her, and speak of her to me. There's a 
 comfort for you." 
 
 Truly Paolo had not a pleasant time of it. All 
 his buoyancy, in so far as Miss Jones was concerned, 
 was gone, and every one of his doubts and misgivings 
 returned. Despite of all that he could say to himself, 
 or that Salvator could say to him, he was haunted by 
 the idea that that hideous chevalier was one of Mrs. 
 Piper's party. "We all start to-morrow;" that "we 
 all" was by far too elastic a formula. It would have 
 been far more simple and natural to state, "the Pipers, 
 aunt, uncle, and I," if there were no one besides. Ten 
 to one but the count and chevalier had dropped in 
 while that busybody, Mrs. Piper, was planning the trip, 
 and, discovering that they were Italians, no doubt she 
 had asked them for directions and advice, and all that 
 sort of nonsense. Then Mr. Jones, fancying himself 
 very clever, would request tlie padve Hobile and his 
 small satellite to give his party the benefit of their 
 company, and local knowledge. Oh! yes, Paolo could 
 guess it all. There were spare scats for them, of 
 course, in one of the carriages, for two carriages there 
 must have been. The Joneses, Pipers, and a servant, 
 made six; well, one carriage Avould not hold six, and 
 with luggage too, — it was quite out of the question; 
 they must have had another abominably convenient 
 vehicle of some kind or other. 
 
 That was the gloomy side of the note, but it had a
 
 138 LAVINIA. 
 
 bright one also, and on tliis Paolo embroidered also 
 very freely. Miss Laviuia did not seem to expect much 
 pleasure from the excursion — "she was sadly dis- 
 apjiointed to miss her sitting," sweet soul! There was 
 honey in the assurance, "we shall be away only three 
 days;" these words clearly implied that she would 
 have been sorry had the absence been prolonged. 
 Then the "be sure to call on Monday" indicated some 
 impatience to see him again. Really the note was 
 most friendly. 
 
 Little or nothing was changed in Paolo's external 
 habits of life. He felt Thornton's searching glance 
 was on him, and was on his guard accordingly. For 
 nothing in the world would he have let his friend 
 guess at a result, which Paolo candidly acknowledged 
 to himself was but the confirmation of that friend's 
 anticipations, and at the same time the broadest con- 
 tradiction of his own. He accordingly stuck to his 
 atelier and his work as usual , even cracked jokes with 
 his comrades whenever an occasion presented itself, 
 but — his thoughts were elsewhere. The only altera- 
 tion in his habits he ventured on, was the taking a 
 solitary walk of an evening towards Porta S. Giovanni, 
 the way to Frascati. 
 
 The three days dragged on, and Monday came, but, 
 alas! bringing back no Lavinia. Mrs. Piper had pre- 
 vailed on her, explained Mrs. Jones, to stay a few 
 days longer. There were some interesting places yet 
 to be seen, and then the beautiful weather was in itself 
 a temptation to remain in the country. Paolo, with a 
 very lengthened face, agreed to all this, adding that 
 Miss Jones Avas quite right to profit by this oppor-
 
 NETTLK AND DOCK. 139 
 
 tunity to make excursions, especially in such agreeable 
 company. 
 
 Mrs. Jones did not tliink her niece particularly 
 liked either Mr. or Mrs. Piper's company, at least, she 
 knew that Lavinia and Mrs. Piper disagreed on many 
 points. Paolo's mortification at Miss Jones's prolonged 
 absence was greatly soothed by the certainty, that there 
 were no counts or chevaliers of the party. Luckily in 
 this world the dock grows near the nettle. Mrs. Jones 
 had unawares extracted the sting from his thoughts. 
 That was a relief indeed, but it did not prevent his 
 annotating bitterly on his own annotations of the young- 
 lady's note. He was glad to see that her disappoint- 
 ment as to her sitting had not preyed much upon her. 
 She knew how to reconcile herself to circumstances. 
 Impatient to return? why should she be so? for his 
 sake, perhaps? a droll enough notion. What did she 
 care for him? Lontano darjli occhi, lontnno dal more — " 
 Out of sight, out of mind: proverbs are the condensed 
 wisdom of humanity. 
 
 Upon this understanding with himself, Paolo, with 
 great consistency, resumed his pilgrimages to Porta 
 San Giovanni, accompanied by Salvator, who by-the-by 
 sang to him arguments of comfort to all tunes, and out 
 of all imaginable operas. He recommenced counting 
 the days; dear me, how many more! one, two, three, 
 four, five, six — at last, on the seventh, there she was 
 queen-like, full of health, of spirits, of enthusiasm about 
 the Belvedere, Tusculum, Villa Kuflinella, (irotta Fer- 
 rata, the frescoes of Domenichino, and everything else 
 she had seen. 
 
 Certainly, there was no trace left about her of time 
 having hung heavy on her hands; but l*aolo had no
 
 140 LAVIXL\. 
 
 heart to find fault, so cordially did she hold out her 
 hand to him, "with such frank sincerity did she declare 
 how sadly she had missed Lim when looking at the 
 splendid frescoes of Grotta Ferrata, adding, in a tone 
 "which he could not disbeheve, that she was so glad to 
 be back again, and to be able to resume her sittings; 
 would the next day suit him? She was very impatient 
 to see him at work again. Paolo was by this time 
 swimming in a sea of bliss. 
 
 Miss Jones sat for her likeness the next day, and 
 the one following that, for many hours. Paolo was in 
 a splendid vein; the portrait improved wonderfully. 
 The young lady gave him in detail the impressions of 
 the scenery and the works of Art she had seen, and 
 Paolo ceased to wonder that, with such eyes and such 
 a soul as hers, to appreciate the beautiful in all its 
 forms, she should not have found the time long at 
 Frascati. As the course of conversation would have it, 
 Lavinia mentioned the count and the chevalier; this 
 latter with an adorable indiflPerence, which went straight 
 to Paolo's heart. Xever had she been more communi- 
 cative, more expansive, more confidential. 'Mis. Jones's 
 manner, always kindly and affectionate towards the 
 young painter, had in it now a touch of motherly tender- 
 ness. It seemed as if this short separation had inau- 
 gurated a new and more intimate phase of friendship 
 between them. It could scarcely fail that all the gentle 
 and delicate parts of Paolo's character should be brought 
 into play by such genial and exciting influences. 
 
 When she was taking leave of him at the end of 
 the second sitting, 'Mis. Jones told Paolo that they 
 reckoned on having the pleasure of his company at 
 dinner on the followin": Saturday. He was to receive
 
 NETTLE AND DOCK. 141 
 
 a more ceremonious invitation, but slie warned him be- 
 forehand that he was not to refuse. Paolo's first move- 
 ment was certainly to decline this invitation; but, on 
 Miss Jones adding that it really was a cViner smis faqon^ 
 only a few friends, and that she would allow of no ex- 
 cuse, what could Paolo do but bow his head in sub- 
 mission? Had she ordered him to go and take Castle 
 Sant' Angelo single-handed, he would have gone and 
 tried ! 
 
 Lest we should unwillingly lead our readers into 
 error, we must advert to a circumstance which had its 
 share in the redoubled show of friendliness evinced by 
 the ladies towards the young artist; not that we mean 
 to deny that meeting again, even after so short an 
 absence, an agreeable and obliging acquaintance, was 
 not for something in Miss Lavinia's warm and kind 
 manner towards Paolo : we mean only to say that there 
 was more than one cause for the effect. The fact is 
 that Paolo had been the subject of a rather disagreeable 
 domestic scene, which had made him an object of more 
 interest than ever to aunt and niece, as will always be 
 the case with considerate and chivalrous natures, who 
 see a friend underrated, and unjustly dealt with. 
 
 Having now secured a Avell- organized jjerso?incIy 
 Mr, Jones determined in his wisdom to shine forth on 
 the world of Pome, in the character of an Amphitryon. 
 To achieve this solemn purpose, he drew up a list of 
 his most distinguished acquaintances, and handed it to 
 Mrs. Jones, with the intimation that cards of invitations 
 to dinner were to be sent out for the earliest day pos- 
 sible. The count and chevalier, as due to their rank, 
 figured at the top of this list, which comprised, besides, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Piper, Mr. Thornton, the Honourable
 
 142 LAVINIA. 
 
 Captain and J\Iis. Paddock and tlieir son, but lately 
 introduced by the Pipers to the Joneses. 
 
 "You Lave forgotten Signor Mancini," observed Mrs. 
 Jones, innocently. 
 
 "Who? the drawing -master?" restorted the hus- 
 band; "I am not going to invite him with people like 
 these." 
 
 Honest Lavinia, who was close by, arranging some 
 flowers in a vase, coloured wp and said drily, "I have 
 told you more than once already that Signor Mancini 
 is not a drawing-master. He is a gentleman and a ce- 
 lebrated artist, who is good enough to give me the be- 
 nefit of his advice out of mere kindness. He is as 
 much a gentleman as any of the persons you wish 
 to ask." 
 
 "If he is a gentleman," resumed Mr. Jones, "he 
 has not the manners of one; at least, if you will 
 allow me to know what a gentleman is. At all events, 
 I suppose I am master here, and may choose my own 
 guests." 
 
 "No doubt of it," replied Miss Lavinia, standing 
 very erect; "you may have the enviable power in 
 this instance to inflict an undeserved slight on a person 
 who has shown us all great kindness and courtesy, but 
 do no expect to have me as an accomplice in Avhat I 
 deem wrong. I shall stay in my room on the day of 
 your party, if Mr. Mancini is not invited," and Miss 
 Jones left the room abruptly, with a significant toss of 
 the head. 
 
 This scene had occurred after breakfast on the 
 morning following Lavinia's return, and consequently 
 an hour or so before the first of the two sittings last 
 mentioned. Both aunt and niece "vvere still under the
 
 NETTLE AND DOCK. 143 
 
 influence of its j)ainful impression, wlien they reached 
 Paolo's atelier, and their extra graciousness to him pro- 
 ceeded from an instinctive wish to make him amends 
 for the discourtesy of which he had been the uncon- 
 scious object, by showing how much they regarded 
 him. 
 
 Nothing came of Mr. Jones's Avrath. Blustering 
 and trenchant as he was, he was no match for his niece, 
 whose spirit and determination always cowed him. 
 Among the cards of invitation, ■which lay on the table 
 next morning, ready to be sent out, there was one whose 
 blank was filled with the name of Signor Mancini. 
 Thereupon, a silent reconciliation took place between 
 uncle and niece; and it was after this happy treaty of 
 peace, that Mrs. Jones warned Paolo he was to be asked to 
 the dinner-party. 
 
 Paolo's heart sank when, in the afternoon of the 
 second day's sitting, black C;esar brought to his lodgings 
 in the Via Babuino, a big despatch with a seal the size 
 of a crown piece, which contained the promised card of 
 invitation, with a N. B., requesting the favour of an 
 answer. All this fuss (we beg pardon for the expres- 
 sion, which is not ours, but the young lioman's, a 
 thorough stranger to the genteel ways of society) made 
 him- augur ill of the sans faqon of this family dinner, 
 and Thornton, who came in with a similar huge en- 
 velope in his hand, at once confirmed his sinister fore- 
 bodings, saying, — 
 
 "A state aifair, it Avould seem, to judge from the 
 proportions of this its avant courier. Do you intend 
 to go?" 
 
 "I must," said Paolo; "I promised the ladies tliat 
 I would. Don't you mean to accept?"
 
 144 LAVINIA. 
 
 "Not I, indeed," returned Thornton ; "I did not 
 settle in Eome to be bothered with English dinner- 
 parties. I wish you joy of it." 
 
 Paolo held his tongue, and the subject dropped for 
 the present. After dinner he penned two lines of ac- 
 ceptance to leave at the Palazzo Morlacchi during his 
 walk, and went out. "Who should he meet on the 
 threshold of the street door, rushing in like a mad bull, 
 but Salvator, in the highest state of elation? The san- 
 guine little painter had joyful tidings, which he longed 
 to communicate, which he now did with sundry snatches 
 of song, as the two friends, arm-in-arm, were proceeding 
 down the Corso. 
 
 The glad tidings principally concerned Salvator's 
 betrothed, Clelia. A few days back, she had been ob- 
 liged to go a good distance beyond Porta del Popolo, 
 to return some guipixre she had had to mend. Clelia 
 Avas very clever with her needle, could embroider, or 
 restore the most delicate embroidery, a great resource 
 to her, when her cameo-work slackened. The way was 
 long, and the sun hot, so she sat herself down by the 
 side of the road to rest. A lady on horseback, attended 
 by a groom, came up at full gallop; and from the red 
 jacket she wore, Clelia instantly identified her as a 
 foreign marchioness, for whom this singular costume had 
 won the nickname of the Cardinalessa. She was called 
 besides, from being so constantly seen driving and riding, 
 Pentesilea. Clelia accordingly looked at her with no 
 small curiosity. The lady reined in her horse, and 
 brought him up close to where Clelia was sitting. 
 
 "Are you ill?" asked the lady. 
 
 "No, madam, I thank you," replied Clelia, rising, 
 "I am only resting myself."
 
 NETTLE AND DOCK. 145 
 
 "Sit down again," desired the lady; "are you un- 
 happy?" 
 
 "Not in the least, madam, I am obliged to you," 
 smilingly replied Clelia, who had remained standing. 
 
 "Did not you hear me tell you to sit down?" cried 
 the lady, with a sudden burst of passion. Cleha com- 
 plied. "Do you live by your work?" continued the 
 stranger, in her former manner. Clelia answered in the 
 affirmative. * 
 
 "And what kind of work is it?" 
 
 "Cutting cameos; but when I have none to cut, I 
 mend lace and embroider on muslin." 
 ' "Have you plenty of Avork just now?" 
 
 "Not much," hesitated Clelia. 
 
 "Well, then, come to Villa Torralba to-morrow 
 at twelve, and you will find plenty of work there. Ask 
 for the Marchioness Delfuego y Arcos, — don't forget 
 the name." 
 
 With this, the marchioness wheeled her horse round, 
 and had set off in a gallop, when she suddenly pulled 
 him up again. Clelia was full of admiration at the in- 
 telligence, almost divination, the fine animal showed in 
 accommodating himself to the caprice of his mistress. 
 "To .make sure of getting access to me," called out the 
 marchioness, "send this to me by one of my servants," 
 and away she was like the wind. 
 
 Clelia rose to pick up the something the foreign 
 lady had thrown at her. It was a ring with a large 
 ruby surrounded by brilliants and evidently of great 
 value. Clelia could scarcely believe her own eyes. 
 "One of the fairies of the tale, who drop pearls and 
 diamonds as they go," thought she. Her wisest plan 
 was to take care of the precious deposit, so she slipped 
 
 Luvinia. 1. 10
 
 14G LAVINIA. 
 
 it on one of licr fingers, and clencLing ter liand to 
 make svn-e of its not falling off, pursued lier way. Not 
 a Avink of sleep had she that night, so keenly did she 
 feel the weight of the trust reposed in her. 
 
 She went next morning to Villa Torralba, but found 
 it no easy matter to penetrate to the presence of the 
 marchioness. Not that there was any lack of male and 
 female servants to do her errand, there were plenty of 
 them about the groimds, on the staircase, in the lofty 
 entrance hall; but all and each seemed quite regardless 
 of what was passing around them; they had enough to 
 do to mind their own business, and their biisiness appa- 
 rently was to do nothing. At last Clelia succeeded in 
 catching hold of an elderly woman, on whom the sight 
 of the talisman presented by the Roman girl produced 
 some effect, and by whose means, after a little delay, 
 she was introduced to the fairy, 
 
 Clelia was shown into a large room, where there 
 were three large marble baths built into the wall. Two 
 female attendants were busily engaged, one in washing, 
 the other in drying and combing a multitude of lapdogs 
 of all sizes, breeds, and colours, the majority of which 
 were waiting for their turn of the tub with exemplary 
 composure. 
 
 The. Marchioness Delfuego y Arcos, in a morning 
 nefjlige^ extending even to her hair, hastily tucked 
 behind her ears, and rather dishevelled, lay coiled like 
 a snake, on a crimson velvet sofa, from which she could 
 command a view of the ablutions going on, though more 
 particularly engaged just then in addressing a beautiful 
 spaniel, who, resting his forepaws on the edge of the 
 lady's couch, was drinking out of the cup of rare China 
 she was holdinfr for him.
 
 NETTLE AND DOCK. 147 
 
 On entering the room, Clelia canglit the marchio- 
 ness's eye and curtseyed, but, receiving- no sign of re- 
 cognition, she remained standing at the door, waiting 
 tlic lady's pleasure, thinking the while what a beautiful 
 composition for a cameo there was in the pose, graceful 
 in its indolence, of the exquisite little form, Avith its 
 small hand, and tiny feet, playing at ease in the red 
 and gold slippers, and the rich drapery formed by the 
 ample cashmere dressing-gown floating round it. 
 
 The marchioness appeared to see nothing but the 
 spaniel she was petting. 
 
 "Drink, Manuelito — my love, it will do you good; 
 my poor Manuelito is quite feverish-, Manuelito must 
 get well, or he cannot have his bath," and the little 
 animal, by way of answer, sniffed and wheezed, scraping 
 and scratching to get up on the velvet sofa. 
 
 "What is your name?" inquired the lady, abruptly 
 turning to Clelia. 
 
 "Clelia, madam." 
 
 "Beautiful, I like it. There is a great deal in a 
 name , though people say not. Now guess mine. 
 It is the same as that of one of your Koman he- 
 roines." 
 
 "Is it Cornelia?" asked Clelia. The other shook 
 her head. "Virginia?" 
 
 "Yes, Virginia — how clever of you!" cried the 
 marchioness in delight; "don't touch Manuelito, he will 
 bite you." 
 
 "I am not afraid of him," replied Clelia. "Manue- 
 lito is not so savage as that, see," and she patted and 
 stroked the spaniel, who, after swallowing his medicine, 
 had gone sniffing about the stranger in a very friendly 
 spirit. 
 
 10*
 
 148 LAYIXIA. 
 
 " Wondei-ful ! " exclaimed the fairy; "Manuelito al- 
 •vrays flies at everybody but me. You must possess a 
 cbarm. There are negToes at tlie Havana wbo are 
 charmers." 
 
 "If I have any gift of that kind, I have never found 
 it out before," said Clelia. 
 
 As if fatigiied -n-ith the exertion she had made , the 
 noble Creole closed her eyes, then suddenly, as if re- 
 collecting something, opened them again: "Why did 
 you bring me back my ring?" 
 
 "Why?" repeated Cielia; "because it was yours." 
 
 "Have you any idea of its value?" asked the lady. 
 
 "I think I have; most of our cameo-dealers are also 
 dealers in precious stones, and in this way I have 
 learned something of their worth.'' 
 
 "Well, what do you value it at?" 
 
 "About three hundred or four- hundred scudi." 
 
 "Do you consider four hundred scudi a large sum?" 
 
 "Quite a fortune," was the reply. 
 
 "And you were not tempted to keep the ring?" 
 
 "Tempted? how do you mean? since it was not my 
 own," said Clelia. 
 
 "You are an extraordinary girl," said the marchio- 
 ness; "I liked you the very first moment I saw you, 
 and I gave you the ring to try you," and she laughed 
 merrily. 
 
 She seemed, to enjoy the fun of her scheme of 
 temptation, and that in so childi.'^h a manner that Cle- 
 lia never even thought of taking oflFence, but contented 
 herself with asking, — 
 
 "And now that you have tried me?" 
 
 "Xow, I mean to make you my friend," was the 
 prompt answer.
 
 NETTLE AND DOCK. 149 
 
 "You are very kind to tliink of sucli a thing," said 
 modest, prudent Clelia; "but our stations in life are so 
 different." 
 
 "Never mind that," interrupted the marchioness, 
 "you will see: at all events, you must stay with me." 
 
 "I shall be very glad to do so, if I can be of any 
 use to you, that is to say, if you give me some work, 
 some occupation." 
 
 "I like your way of talking — you can come and 
 talk to me, when I wish it," said the lady. 
 
 "That would be a very agreeable office," answered 
 the Eoman girl-, "but if I am to eat your bread, I must 
 do something more substantial to earn it than talk. 
 Have you no lace to repair, no linen to put in order, 
 iron, or something of that sort?" 
 
 The lady desired one of the attendants to call Pe- 
 pita. Pepita, who was a considerable time in making 
 her appearance — the watchword in the Marchioness 
 Delfuego y Arcos' household being, to take things easy 
 — Pepita was a fat, elderly mulatto woman, with a 
 peculiar big yellow turban on her head, and a rather 
 prepossessing countenance. After a short consultation 
 in Spanish with her mistress, yellow turban conducted 
 Clelia to a small light closet not far from the bath- 
 room, where Clelia saw mountains of linen of every 
 variety, and all of which she was at liberty to look 
 over and sort; in short, do with as she chose. These 
 were the instructions vouchsafed to her by Pepita. 
 
 And thus Clelia was installed at Villa Torralba, 
 where she spent her days, sewing, mending, cutting 
 out, ironing, &c., to her heart's content, save when 
 summoned to her mistress's presence, or when that 
 lady, which was oftener the case, came and sat in the
 
 150 LAVIXIA. 
 
 closet to enjoj a chat. By express agreement, Clelia 
 "went Lome in the evenings. 
 
 A more kind, more generous, more eccentidc patro- 
 ness than the marchioness, it ■would have been difficult 
 to find. She would cany chocolate and cakes to Clelia, 
 make her constant presents, talk to her of her own 
 sorrows — that is, about Manu elite's ailments — show 
 herself to her in her diamonds and evening dresses, and 
 now and then startle the girl with such questions as 
 these, — 
 
 "Have you a lover?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Clelia, blushing, "if by lover you 
 mean a man to whom I am engaged to be married, as 
 soon as we can afford it." 
 
 "Is he handsome, black-eyed, black-haired?" 
 
 "No, indeed," said Clelia, smiling; "he is little, 
 light-haired, and has grey eyes." 
 
 "You cannot love him then?" 
 
 "Indeed but I do," affirmed the girl; "I love him 
 as he is." 
 
 "Is he rich?" inquired the marchioness. 
 
 "As poor as a rat, and I love him the more for 
 that." 
 
 "You are the oddest girl I ever saw," quoth the 
 lady, "to love a man because of his poverty." 
 
 "Poverty has its charms for the poor," answered 
 Clelia; "it tells us of toil, self-denial, and suffering, 
 and out of such things, springs sympathy." 
 
 The marchioness mused a little. 
 
 "What is your lover?" 
 
 "He is a landscape painter," said Clelia. 
 
 "Do you think he could paint scenes for a theatre?"
 
 AMPHITRYON. 151 
 
 "That he could, and beautifully too," replied tlie 
 Roman girl; "he is very clever." 
 
 "Well, then, I think I shall be able to employ him, 
 I am going to have a jorivate theatre here, and I shall 
 want some one to paint the scenery. You must bring 
 him here some day — I shall tell you when." 
 
 Such was the substance of Salvator's communication 
 to Paolo; such the foundation, on which the lively ima- 
 gination of the little fellow had already raised the edi- 
 fice of Clelia's fortune and his own. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Amphitryon. 
 
 Taking into consideration that Mr. Jones was a 
 stranger, and a rather formal one, it occurred to Paolo 
 that he ought to accommodate himself to the humour 
 of his host, and for once depart from the habitual sim- 
 plicity of his costume. With this view he purchased a 
 black satin neck-tie, and a pair of gloves of a hazel-nut 
 colour; waiting with trepidation the moment for the dis- 
 play of his finery, and not Avithout a lurking hope that 
 something might yet come in the way of the proposed 
 dinner. But the days passed quietly, and Saturday 
 arrived without bringing him any counter-orders, and 
 there was nothing for it but to dress and go. 
 
 The flutter of spirits he had felt on the morning of 
 his first visit to Palazzo Morlacchi was a trifle com- 
 pared to that he experienced on the present occasion. 
 lie was afraid of being too smart, of being too plain, 
 of being too early, of being too late; in short, he was 
 so miserable in his state of suspense, that it proved
 
 152 LAVINIA. 
 
 quite a relief to plunge head-foremost into the thick of 
 reality, by knocking at the door. The look of the un- 
 known footman, who instantly answered the knock, Avas 
 not encouraging; for it seemed to say that he needed 
 not to have been so much on the alert for such a guest. 
 A question then arose in Paolo's mind as to whether he 
 ought to leave his hat in the ante-room, or carry it with 
 him to the drawing-room. He remembered having heard 
 the point discussed, but how it was settled he had not 
 the least recollection. There was little time now for 
 debating the p?'o and con, and he followed the footman, 
 Avith his hat in his hand. To such as Paolo, a hat is 
 a precious support in company, it is more than a stand- 
 ing point, it is a countenancer, almost a friend. 
 
 Paolo had that gift of quick-sightedness, which takes 
 in at a glance the details as Avell as the whole of a 
 tableau vivant; a most fatal gift to shy people, inasmuch 
 as it makes them nervous in proportion to the clearness 
 of their percejjtion of the host of difficulties they have 
 to steer clear of; whereas your man who can scarcely 
 see beyond the tip of his nose, walks past friends and 
 foes unawares, accosts three wrong ladies before reach- 
 ing the lady of the house, and inti'udes himself on her 
 notice just when he ought to abide his time ; and all 
 this with an imperturbable self-satisfaction, due to his 
 utter unconsciousness of the blunders he commits, and 
 of the effect they produce on others. 
 
 There were only gentlemen in the room, six in 
 number, comprising ]\Ir. Jones , all in full array of white 
 neck-cloths and gloves to match. This Paolo saw with 
 perfect equanimity; it was just what he had anticipated; 
 but his blood gave a turn, when he discovered that he 
 was the only one Avho had a hat in his hand. "Was he
 
 AMPHITRYON. 153 
 
 to drop it there on the spot, or watch for a more fa- 
 vourable opportunity of ridding himself of the incum- 
 brance? Better go up at once to the master of the 
 house, and make his salaam. Not so easy. There 
 were breakers ahead. Mr. Jones was leaning against 
 the mantel-piece, his back to the door; and so engrossed 
 by a paper he was holding towards an unknown gentle- 
 man on the other side of the fire-place, that to all ap- 
 pearance he had not heard Signor Mancini announced. 
 
 To force himself, so to say, upon the notice of his 
 host, while evidently engaged in some deeply interesting 
 subject — Paolo was far too discreet for that. The 
 only course he could devise under the circumstances 
 seemed that of moving up in Mr. Jones's direction, and 
 awaiting his leisure. Just as Paolo was approaching 
 him, Mr. Jones happened to turn round, saw the new 
 comer, waved his hand to him by way of salutation, 
 and resumed his former position and occupation. Paolo 
 was sadly put out by this manoeuvre; for, suddenly 
 checked in his progress, and brought to a halt midway 
 between the door and the fire-place, he felt extremely 
 awkward, and at a loss what to do next. 
 
 A friend in need is a friend indeed, and such in 
 this critical emergency did Count Portiguerra prove to 
 Paolo. The count bore down upon the young painter 
 with all the majesty of a threedecker under a press of 
 canvas, viz. with extended arms. Paolo felt thankful 
 at heart for this timely succour, and received the count's 
 gracious advances more warmly than he might other- 
 wise have done. Count Foi-tiguerra professed to be 
 most desirous of cultivating the acquaintance of a dis- 
 tinguished artist, an honour to his country. Only the 
 day before his illustrious friend, Prince Torlonia, had
 
 154 LAYIXIA. 
 
 escorted liim over his palace, and pointed out for his 
 admiration Signor Manciui's beautiful fresco, a master- 
 piece in his opinion, and the count pleaded guilty to 
 the weakness of believing himself to be a little of a 
 connoisseur. He possessed a small gallery of his own, 
 and should be proud and happy if Signor Mancini had 
 time and good-will enough to humour a desire the 
 count had, to add to his modest collection a production 
 of Signor jSIancini's brush. 
 
 The count was a loud talker at all times, and on 
 this occasion he had his own reasons for wishing to be 
 heard; well, the count's move, and rather obtrusive no- 
 tice of Paolo, worked a greatchange in the young painter's 
 position. Just as droplets on a pane of glass will con- 
 verge towards a bigger drop, so had the chevalier, Mr. 
 Piper, and the youthful Mr. Paddock, one after another, 
 converged towards the point where the count and his 
 protege stood conspicuous, and formed a circle round 
 them. They were in time to hear Paolo state his re- 
 gret, that for the present he was so busy as to be un- 
 able to meet as he could wish the count's kind proposal. 
 Even Mr. Jones and his companion, the Honourable 
 Captain Paddock, doffed their dignity, and approached 
 the other gentlemen. 
 
 Such was the postiu'e of affairs, when the ladies 
 came into the room, and rejoiced indeed was Lavinia, 
 whose heart had been full of misgivings on a certain 
 point, to perceive that her particular friend was receiv- 
 ing all proper attention. Xor could he fancy himself 
 overlooked even in the bustle that ensued; he met, from 
 both aunt and niece, with as cordial a welcome as he 
 could wish! What, then, made him redden and look so 
 out of countenance? The truth is, Miss Lavinia wore
 
 AMPHITEYON. 155 
 
 tliat identical dress lie liad so strougly objected to on 
 tLe first day of her sitting to liim; and wliat, then, it' 
 she did? I fancy I hear the reader grumble forth she 
 was one of a dinner party, and not going to have her 
 portrait taken ; what business was it of Paolo's how she 
 dressed? 
 
 The reader is perfectly right, but is entreated to 
 consider that the relater of a story is no more responsible 
 for the whims of his dramatis pcrsoiuu, than a photo- 
 grapher for the snub nose or squinting eyes of one of 
 his sitters. The storyteller's duty is to record the im- 
 pressions received by his personages, so as to allow of 
 their characters being fully appreciated, but not to ac- 
 count for, nor yet to justify, their fancies. It is in order 
 to serve the above purpose that we mention distinctly 
 that the impression made on the Italian by Miss Jones's 
 attire Avas anything but agreeable. 
 
 "Dinner is on the table." The official announce- 
 ment sets the company all on their legs. Mr. Jones 
 frowns significantly at Mrs. Jones, who looks hopelessly 
 towards Lavinia. Paolo admires the dexterous ease 
 and grace Avith which the young lady, by a few smiles 
 and nods, assorts the couples, and regulates the order 
 of march. The double doors, flung wide open, discover 
 to the dazzled eye a vista of footmen, lights, flowers, 
 glass, and mountains of silver. 
 
 Who first set foot in this land of promise? tell us, 
 heavenly muse. Who but the count? A tout seii/nciii\ 
 tout honneur. The illustrious representative of one of 
 the oldest families of Italy knows nothing of English 
 customs, defies English customs, and assorts his right 
 to precedence, by leading in Mrs. Jones with that digni- 
 fied ease and grace of manners, which art can partly
 
 156 LAVEs'IA. 
 
 imitate, but -wliicli natixre exclusively gives as a right to 
 the highborn. The Honourable 'Mis. Paddock, on the 
 arm of the master of the house , smiles significantly at 
 the solecism in manners committed by the Roman, in 
 making ]Mrs. Jones precede her guests. Minor guns 
 follow, the Honourable Captain with Mrs. Piper, the 
 chevalier and Miss Lavinia. The very small fiy are 
 left to take care of themselves. 
 
 Paolo avails himself of a favourable opportunity to 
 drop his hat on a chair, and, directed by a graceful 
 wave of Miss Lavinia's hand, quietly sits himself down 
 between ^Ir. Piper and the youngster Paddock; just the 
 seat he would have chosen for himself, though the po- 
 sition did not appear without some danger from his 
 young neighbour, the ends of whose spotless cravat 
 stick out so portentously, and Avithal look so stiff and 
 sharp, as really to justify some alarm. But he is out 
 of sight of ]\Irs. Piper, who is on the same side as him- 
 self, and though Miss La\inia sits opposite, between 
 the count and chevalier, it is in a place sufficiently out 
 of his straight visual ray, to justify his seldom meeting 
 her eye without any show of affected avoidance. Un- 
 grateful wretch that be is! how little he surmises that 
 he owes his present comfortable situation to the pro- 
 vident care of his fair pupil, who had been expressly 
 forbidden to have a mere painter at her side, when 
 there were counts, honourables, and chevaliers to be 
 had. How many such delicate, exclusively feminine at- 
 tentions are often thus lost upon men's gross percep- 
 tions! 
 
 Dull work at first, but it will become more lively 
 by and by. Madeira circulates. Mr. Jones particularly 
 requests the count's opinion of his Madeira. The noble
 
 AMPHITRYON. 157 
 
 friend sips, and smacks liis lips; sips again — must 
 have another glass ; buries his chin in his cravat for ten 
 seconds, amid a general silence, then delivers a solemn 
 fiat, that it is the very emperor of Madeiras. A little 
 hubbub ensues; Captain Paddock gives in his most en- 
 thusiastic assent, Mrs. Paddock, on Mr. Jones press- 
 ing her to taste it, submits, but will not say a word. 
 (Always a Mordecai at our gate.) Count Fortiguerra 
 pompously relates what capital Madeira — indeed, half 
 a centuiy old — he had drunk at the table of his 
 august connection, Don Pedro, the then Emperor of 
 Brazil — it must have been as far back as 182G or 
 1827 — at Rio Janeiro. The Fortiguerras, he loudly 
 whispers to Miss Jones, are allied by the female side 
 to the house of Braganza. It was the best Madeira he 
 had drunk in his life, but it did not come up to this; 
 no, it did not come up to this. 
 
 This puts Captain Paddock on his mettle: he re- 
 collects an entertainment given by the Due d'Aiimale 
 
 — was it the Due dAumale or the Prince de Joinville? 
 
 — it was in the roadstead of St. Jean d'UUoa. — The 
 Captain must wait for a more propitious moment to 
 finish his story. Mr. Jones cuts him short, by calling 
 from one end of the table to the other, to say hoAv, 
 when, and owing to what lucky chain of circumstances, 
 he had been able to secure three pipes of this precious 
 wine from the cellar of li.E.H. the Duke of — , on the 
 sad occasion of that exalted person's demise. Mr. Jones 
 is extremely particular about his wine, he owns — 
 price with him is a secondary consideration. A crust 
 of bread, but a glass of good wine, is his motto. They 
 are going to taste his Chateau Margot — his champagne 
 
 — he is not partial to French growths, indeed to no-
 
 158 LAVIXIA, 
 
 thing Freucli. THear, liear.) Give Him old honest port 
 and slieny, that's the drink for a man who is a man. 
 He flatters himself he has as good of either as any one 
 can boast of — he can answer for his wine; as for 
 eatables, his friends must be indulgent. We are at 
 Rome, you know. 
 
 Acting upon the impression that Roman meat is not 
 meat, but a spurious imitation of the genuine English 
 aiticle, Mr. Jones apologizes for every succeeding dish 
 in quite a touching way. Paolo feels full of retrospec- 
 tive pity for Lucullus and Vitellius, and such arrant 
 bunglers in gastronomy who could live and die too, 
 under the delusion that they had enjoyed tolerable sup- 
 pers in Rome. 
 
 The recollection of his London purveyors depresses 
 Mr. Jones — he calls for champagne. The liqxiid gold 
 mantles and sparkles; vrhat melancholy association can 
 withstand that celestial potion? The machine is now 
 fairly set a-going — no lack of the necessary fluid to 
 keep it at full speed. The three big guns recommence 
 firing "with renewed vigour: the Honourable Captain is 
 bombarding St. Jean dUlloa again; tbe count is scour- 
 ing the Pampas among the Gauchos, throwing the lasso, 
 hobnobbing with the Dictator Rosas and Mauuelita, not 
 forgetting the narrow escape he had of marrying that 
 amiable lady. Mr. Jones is initiating Mrs. Paddock (a 
 Russian by birth and in feeling) into the glories of the 
 British constitution, and the part assigned in it to the 
 aristocracy, which he incidentally and rather indignantly 
 defends from the charge of exclusivism, showing, in 
 point of fact, and with many illustrations to boot, that 
 it is ever eager to open its ranks to, and assimilate to 
 itself, the best men in the country, in-espectivc of their
 
 AMPHITRYON. 159 
 
 Starting point. Mr. Jones underlines the words by the 
 marked emphasis he lays on them. That emphasis 
 says, "Who knows but I may be one of them some 
 day!" 
 
 What can be the mighty intelligence, that the che- 
 valier is imparting in the meantime to Miss Lavinia in 
 so subdued a tone, and to confirm which he appeals to 
 the count? The count leaves the Holy Conclave, 
 where he had just arrived, and into which he was in- 
 troducing his listeners, to its fate; drops his deep bass 
 into a stage whisper; and, after giving Miss Lavinia the 
 desired explanations, adds a gentle hint, the purport of 
 which must be that the matter ought to be kept as pri- 
 vate as possible — otherwise, why .should she say 
 audibly enough for Paolo to catch her words, "that it 
 would be quite safe with Signer Mancini''? 
 
 "No doubt," assents the count; whereupon the 
 sweetest voice in creation informs Paolo sotto voce that 
 "only think, a Lorenzo di Credi, two Lionello Spadas, 
 and three Canaletti, are to be had for a trifling sum." 
 Paolo feels grateful for this attempt of his fair pupil, 
 not the first by several, to make him a party to the 
 conversation; he has already noticed and admired her 
 heroic efforts to divert from her aunt, and draw upon 
 herself, the flow of Captain I'addock's confidences, who, 
 twice baffled of his St. Jean dljlloa anecdote , in utter 
 despair of obtaining a general hearing, has chosen Mrs. 
 Jones as the recipient of all the particulars of the case. 
 But Paolo, in spite of all his wish to be agreeable, 
 cannot think one way and speak another; and as he 
 thinks or rather knows by experience that similar bar- 
 gains are usually traps for foreigners, he says so. An 
 unacquiescing little shake of the head from Lavinia, a
 
 160 LAVINIA. 
 
 spiteful glance from tLe chevalier — the count is too 
 far away, at San Francisco, to hear Paolo's remark — 
 is all he gets for his sincerity. Served him right. What 
 necessity is there for always telling the truth? Nothing 
 more nncourteous than the truth. Why the deuce cannot 
 he agree with everybody, and let things go smoothly 
 and pleasantly? Speech was granted to man as a 
 means of being agreeable; therefore, truth is best at 
 the bottom of her well. 
 
 Is the European horizon likely to continue cloud- 
 less, or are there any incipient signs of an impending- 
 storm? In plainer terms, is peace likely to continue 
 or not? At the wisdom stage of convivial excitement, 
 into which Mr. Jones has entered with the third course, 
 these momentous questions invite his particular atten- 
 tion. He sees, he regrets to say, dark clouds gathering 
 in the West. Things and names are revived some- 
 where, offensive to English feelings and notions; things 
 and names which England neither can, nor must, nor 
 will tolerate much longer. Sad as a prospect of war 
 may a2ipear, especially to men of capital, Great Britain 
 has duties, imperative duties, and the sooner France 
 gets a licking the better. 
 
 Royal Navy differs toto coAo from the views deve- 
 loped by Exchange. England has nothing to fear from 
 the West, but everything to fear from the North. Have 
 an eye to Herat, says the captain; there lies the vul- 
 nerable spot of Great Britain's armour. Herat is the 
 key to India; we must have a care that Eussia does 
 not put it in her pocket. 
 
 Mr. Jones pooh-poohs the notion, . Herat is safe 
 enough. India! no fear there; no, no, the danger is 
 not from the North. Must he back his opinion? Well,
 
 AMPHITRYON. 161 
 
 not tliree montlis ago, at tlie lord mayor's dinner, a 
 personage — he need not mention names — took liim 
 aside, and said to him confidentially, "Mr. Jones, men 
 on 'Change ought to be warned in time: I see great 
 chances of war; France must be humbled." Such were 
 the very words of Lord Ballersdon. The Honourable 
 Captain receives this statement with Homeric hilarity. 
 Lord Ballersdon is a fool; he is in the pay of Ixussia, 
 everybody knows. Ask Mr. Urksome. Must the captain 
 say from whom he has positive, undoubted information 
 of Russia's designs on Lidia? If he must give an au- 
 thority, he could give the Emperor Nicholas himself. 
 Yes, Nicholas said to him, not six months ago, at 
 Moscow, "Captain Paddock, had I twenty men like 
 you , India would be mine in less than a twelvemonth." 
 Clear enough, thinks Royal Navy; therefore he says, 
 "Have an eye to Herat, beware of the North, bridle 
 the North." 
 
 This salutary warning is roared to such a pitch, 
 that it reaches the ear of the Russian lady of the 
 Honourable Captain, who, more frankly than civilly, 
 begs the West and her honoured lord and master to let 
 the North alone, or the North may give them both a 
 bear's hug. The captain, as red as a turkey-cock, has 
 a retort cooled on his lips by the handing round of 
 ices. With the dessert, Mrs. Piper introduces the Ma- 
 diais; the moment is ill chosen, — nobody recollects 
 or cares about the Madiais ; the subject drops , and there 
 is a sudden cessation of noise. Exhausted Mrs. Jones 
 gives an appealing glance to Mrs. Paddock, and lets it 
 seek the faces of the otlier ladies. A slight pixsh back 
 of Mrs. Paddock's chair, Mr. Jones, with the greatest 
 alacrity, rises and opens the door; the ladies sweep 
 
 Lavinia. I. 11
 
 162 LAVINIA. 
 
 tlirougli. Paolo would fain follow them, but he guesses 
 that he must not, as he observes that none of the other 
 gentlemen do so , and that Amphitryon gravely re- 
 sumes his seat. 
 
 The scene becomes more jovial. Mr. Jones, Captain 
 Paddock, and the count hurl at each other big names, 
 and momentous state secrets, as if for a wager. Paolo 
 is wearied to death, and his head aches with the Babel- 
 like confusion of tongues. Cheer up, young artist, there 
 is a Maecenas for you present. The count is in a pa- 
 tronizing mood, aud Paolo Manciui is about to have 
 the benefit of it. Pedigree declares that it is a dis- 
 grace to Rome that an artist of such transcendent merit 
 as Signor Mancini should remain in the shade. Genius 
 needs encouragement, and his young friend shall have 
 such, if Count Fortiguerra has still any influence or 
 interest. Paolo's name shall be mentioned in the proper 
 quarters — the count will take care of that. His Holi- 
 ness is a most discriminating judge and patron of Art; 
 so is his Majesty the ex-King of Bavaria, Count For- 
 tiguerra has his entrees with both — and — with humi- 
 lity he owns — they are so good as to consider his 
 poor opinion worth having. His young friend may 
 hope everything. 
 
 These and such like expressions are accompanied 
 by winks, nods, and significant knittings of the brow, 
 that savour more of the Robert Macaire than of the 
 atavis edite regibiis. Paolo is perplexed; what does the 
 man mean by all his nonsense and extraordinary gri- 
 maces? Is Padre Nobile making fan of him, or is he 
 trying to take him in? Alas! Padre Nobile takes in 
 nobody but himself The fact is that the good Avine 
 has overheated the count's brain, and he is fast losing
 
 AMPHITRYON. 163 
 
 sight of tliat nice boundary, wbicli separates acting 
 from caricature. That is why he overdoes both his pa- 
 tronizing and his familiarity. The chevalier nudges 
 him, treads on his toes, suggests that it is high time to 
 join the ladies. The count demurs, but at last makes 
 a motion to that effect; another bumper, and the gentle- 
 men adjourn to the drawing-room. 
 
 The ladies had been left too long alone, not to be 
 a little out of sorts. Still, to all appearance, too much 
 engrossed by the momentous topics of India and war 
 to do much towards enlivening the social circle, Captain 
 Paddock and Mr. Jones fell quickly into the back- 
 ground, and sought some comfortable sofa, or chair, 
 there to ponder or to doze. The count himself, though 
 brisk and talkative at most times, had just now curious 
 intermittent fits of dimness, just like a revolving light, 
 or, if you like it better, hke a lamp that is going out. 
 Even the chevalier seemed under the weight of a slight 
 preoccupation, and either, while turning over the leaves 
 of the music for Miss Lavinia, or singing a duet with 
 her, kept one eye constantly on his noble associate. 
 All these little circumstances combined to throw a damp 
 on the evening, and to bring it to a close. Mrs. Pad- 
 dock was the iirst to give the signal of retreat, and a 
 general break up immediately followed. The count 
 begged to be allowed to inquire if his carriage had ar- 
 rived, and was then reminded by the chevalier that he 
 had given orders that is was not to come. Mrs. .Tones 
 offered her carriage to the count; but he would not 
 hear of the horses being put to at that hour of the 
 night. He preferred a walk on the strength of the 
 adage that post ccenam deambulahis; in fact, the dinner 
 had lengthened out to such an hour, it might be reason- 
 
 11*
 
 164 LAVINIA. 
 
 ably considered as a supper. Anotlier minute, and 
 they were all gone; Paolo the last, but not the least 
 relieved. 
 
 Count and chevalier, arm-in-arm, plodded heavily 
 along; the shark and the pilot-fish. The one M^as in 
 the meekest, the other in the most peevish of humours. 
 
 "Now, don't be stupid," expostulated the count; 
 "what harm have I done?" 
 
 For all answer to this question, the little man shook 
 off the hold of the big one, who, suddenly deprived of 
 a friendly support, tottered away, exhibiting a strong- 
 aversion to the straight line. 
 
 "You see what you have done! put yourself in such 
 a beastly state of intoxication as not to be able to walk 
 steadily." 
 
 "Come, come," said the count, good-humouredly, 
 placing his arm again within that of the chevalier; "the 
 foundations are rather shaky, but this," with a tap on 
 his forehead, "is fresh and clear. Spiritus promi^tus est; 
 try me on any abstruse topic, metaphysical or mathe- 
 matical, and you'll see." 
 
 "There's no trusting you," went on the chevalier; 
 "really you are worse than a baby; the moment you 
 see the bottle, farewell all earthly considerations — 
 confound the wine!" 
 
 "Be quiet, or there is an end of our friendship, now 
 and for ever," said the count, in great earnest, and 
 stopping short. "Perfection is not to be found in hu- 
 man nature, you know, I have got my foible, the 
 foible of Horace, of Cato, of Luther, of all great men. 
 Rogues of my calibre, let me tell you, would be too 
 dangerous if they had not their weakness. You have 
 no idea of the expenditure of nervous fluid, the in-
 
 AMPHITEYOX. 165 
 
 venting and combining and relating those stories of 
 mine, entailed upon me. It is most exhausting. Man 
 is like a lamp, my dear boy, if you don't feed it, it 
 goes out." 
 
 "And so it does if you replenish it too much." 
 
 "I positively deny your accusation; I always keep 
 Avithin decent limits. Mr. Jones and that captain Avere 
 both much ahead of me, that they were." 
 
 "They can be so without danger," retorted the 
 chevalier; "they have no part to perform like you." 
 
 "Sensibly observed," quoth the count, "though God 
 alone knows whether they have or not. There are 
 more actors in this world than you wot of. In fact, 
 every one is, more or less. But never mind that, let 
 us come to the point, I have a capital scheme in my 
 head." 
 
 "Very well, we will let it rest till to-morrow," said 
 the chevalier, carelessly. 
 
 "Not at all," insisted the count. "I hold to proving 
 to you this very instant, that I am sober, and that you 
 are an ungrateful little mummy. Yes, sir, while you 
 are accusing and reviling me, I am racking my brains 
 how to make your fortune." 
 
 " You are very good , and the foundation of which 
 is to be — ?" asked the chevalier. 
 
 *'Miss Lavinia Jones, sir. She seems mightily plea- 
 sed with you. Strike the iron while it is hot, and 
 possess yourself of her hand and her money. There's 
 my plan." 
 
 "And it speaks highly for your penetration," 
 sneered the chevalier. "Why, a man must be as blind 
 as a bat, not to see there is a flirtation going on be-
 
 166 LAVIXIA. 
 
 tween Miss Jones and Mancini; but you have only eyes 
 for the bottle." 
 
 "Do you really mean it?" gasped the count, a 
 little abashed. "Well, never mind; 'Faint heart never 
 won fair lady.' Enter the lists all the same, and ,ten 
 to one you come off the winner. Nothing young dam- 
 sels dote upon half so much as little manikins they can 
 carry in their pockets. I have seen many for the sake 
 of siich pigmies jilt Antinoiis-like figures such as Man- 
 cini and me. Women are so queer!" 
 
 "Queer indeed! However, let who will tiy the ex- 
 periment in the present case, I certainly will not. It 
 Avould break Amina's heart, and not for twenty Miss 
 Lavinias would I cost her a tear. One may live by 
 his wits, and still have feelings." 
 
 "Ha! feelings!" laughed the count; "you won't go 
 far with that stumbing-block in your path. But so it 
 is, as I said before: nobody is perfect; we all have our 
 infirmity; yours is feelings — mine, the bottle. A 
 great pity, though, such a plot as I had made. I am 
 no novice in this sort of affairs. Did I ever tell you, 
 how I got an heiress for a professional flute-player?" 
 
 "Scores of times," said the chevalier; "I know the 
 story by heart." 
 
 "So much the better; you'll be able all the better 
 to correct me if I blunder, and judge if I am sober. 
 If I omit any the least circumstance, I'll allow you to 
 be in the right. Well: it was at Naj^les, now thirty 
 years ago. My flute-player, a poor, but sturdy fel- 
 low, was hard at work making love to this German 
 young lady, a perfect scarecrow, but immensely rich; 
 the lady still demurred. What was to be done? I ar- 
 ranged a duel. We went to the Cascine; not to the
 
 AMPHITRYON. 167 
 
 Cascine, we were at Naples — I am a little excited, 
 but I know what I am saying. Well, we went to 
 Posilipo: two shots were exchanged; no bullets, of 
 course, and at the second shot my man fell down 
 dead!" 
 
 "And married afterwards?" laughed the chevalier. 
 
 "Not a doubt, for he turned out to be only badly 
 wounded. All Florence swallowed the canard — all 
 Naples, I mean; I am a little forgetful. The Dulcinea 
 taken in as well as the rest. Her interest was excited. 
 'Poor young man!' she sighed. 'About to die, and 
 Heaven knows for what trifling cause.' 'It M'as no 
 trifling cause, rjnadiges Fmidcin,' said I, 'which made 
 me face death.' " 
 
 "Hallo!" cried the chevalier, "so you were the 
 flute-jjlayer." 
 
 "It was the flute -player, as I said. Now, don't 
 bewilder me. So I said: 'My friend went out to make 
 a boor pay dear for slandering a young lady.' 'What 
 young lady?' asked the Fraiilein. 'Cannot you guess?' 
 says I. Whiff; my German took fire like a lucifer- 
 match. In due time the invalid made his appearance 
 before her, his right arm in a sling. That was the 
 finishing stroke. An arm in a sling for our sake, is 
 irresistible. There was elopement , reconciliation , jtistcv 
 nuptice, blessings, rejoicings." 
 
 "Everything but the money-bags," interrupted the 
 chevalier; "the heiress turned out no heiress, and all the 
 flute-player got for his trouble Avas the scarecrow. 
 That's the wind-up of the story, if I recollect right." 
 
 "So it is, so it is," roared the count. "Ha! ha! 
 not a single Zwanziger — ha! ha! how I enjoyed the 
 joke! What a memory he has, the sly little monkey.
 
 168 LAVIXIA. 
 
 But for Iiis damuecl feelings, there is tlie making of a 
 man in him, — that there is; but his feelings are in 
 the way; and so is the bottle, and so is that stingy- 
 English grocer. I floored him though, and the other 
 too. Bless me! what can be his name? my throat is 
 dry as bricks, that it is — " 
 
 The count was so far gone by this time, that the 
 clievalier could no longer manage him by himself, and 
 had to ask a belated passenger for assistance — no 
 sooner asked than given — to convey him home. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Miss Lavinia's Diary. 
 
 "Dear Lady ArcrsxA; 
 
 "Men are very ungracious, ungrateful animals. 
 Show yourself particularly kind to any one of them, 
 and see what you will get for your pains. This is said 
 Avith due reverence, apropos of my Signer Domenichino. 
 The day before yesterday we had a small dinner-party, 
 and you would scarcely believe the trouble I took to 
 have him invited. Uncle declared he would on no ac- 
 count have the clrmcing-master^ as he insists on calling 
 him, though he knows, as well as I. do, that Signor 
 Paolo is no more a drawing-master than I am; he does 
 so merely to vex me. Well, uncle and I had neaily 
 a quarrel about the dinner; he really made me indig- 
 nant. I exhausted all my ejfcts de front a la Bachel, and 
 at last burned my vessels. If Signor Paolo was not to 
 be of the party, no more would I — and of course I 
 carried the day. And what were the thanks I received 
 for all my efforts and good-will, from the hands of this
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 169 
 
 precious Domcnichiuo? a cold, distant maimer, eitlier 
 no answer at all, or a snappish one. However, he was 
 no M'orse than the rest of the gentlemen, Count Forti- 
 guerra excepted. I never saw such tiresome specimens 
 of the stronger sex in my life. Mr. Jones was in one 
 of his worst moods — boisterous, bombastic, boastful, 
 and ended by — you can guess what? So did Captain 
 Paddock. Do you know anything of the Paddocks of 
 Paddock in Yorkshire? A good family, the Pipers say, 
 but very poor; the captain is poor in spirit also. I 
 am not sure that my favourite count himself was not a 
 little too exhilarated, but he managed very well, and 
 was not stupid like the other two. Though he has a 
 little of the hon vivant about him, he is always the no- 
 bleman; besides, he is full of information of all kinds, 
 animated with such ready wit, and not without a touch 
 of real fun, always kept within bounds, though, by 
 good taste. There is, in all that he says and does, 
 that mixture of ease and dignity, in short that myste- 
 rious something, that you only find among the high- 
 born. After all, he is not j)crfcct; he is rather noisy, 
 and talks ioo loud for my taste; but that's one of my 
 prejudicire. I hate loud speaking, and Italian habits 
 andnRffiys differ from ours. At all events I prefer his 
 truinD£t to the chevalier's cooing whisper. 'That inii- 
 iiJI^Hnal dose' of a man was my neighbour, you must 
 Wfow. He always speaks to one as if he was making 
 love. I hope Signor Mancini did not imagine that 
 anything of that sort was going on between the chevalier 
 and me. More than once I had a misgiving of this 
 kind, and as one does not like to be placed in a ridi- 
 culous light, I repeated aloud what the little man had 
 said, and tried to make the conversation less of u tetc-
 
 170 LAVINIA. 
 
 n-tete\ but all in vain. It does not much matter what 
 Domenichino or any one of these j^eople thinks of me, 
 but one thing I shall take care of in future, and that 
 is not to be in such a hurry to be lavish of my sym- 
 pathies. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "I may be as sympathizing as ever. I was in a 
 fit of misanthropic humour when I wrote the above. I 
 leave it as it is, as a punishment for having penned 
 such contemptible nonsense. My accusation of ingra- 
 titude against Signer Paolo is absurd and odious — 
 how could he ever dream that Mr. Jones objected to 
 his company, or that he owed his invitation entirely to 
 me? As for his moodiness, that is perfectly explained, 
 and I think perfectly justified, by the circumstances. 
 Considering the friendly footing we had been on for 
 nearly two months (you know he was our only visitor), 
 and the habits of intimacy that had grown up between 
 us, Signor Paolo might think he had more right than 
 any of the others to expect to take me in to dinner, 
 and if he felt hurt or disappointed, it shows that it 
 was not a matter of indifference to him. If there is 
 anybody to blame in this matter, it is I myself, for 
 having yielded to uncle's arrangement that I was to 
 have the chevalier, and desert my old friend. I am 
 sure I was well punished by having to listen to all 
 the weak nonsense the little puppy inflicted on vat. 
 As to rank or riches, the chevalier may be, doubtless 
 is, Paolo's superior; but there is more wit and origina- 
 lity in Signor Paolo's little finger, than in twenty such 
 chevaliers. Now, I have eased my conscience by clear- 
 ing Domenichino of the false charge I had iDrought 
 against him, I have another and more serious cause for
 
 MISS layinia's diary. 171 
 
 uneasiness — one wLicli preys on my good aunt's 
 mind, and hurts Ler health. We can blind ourselves 
 no longer to the fact, that uncle is fast taking to drink- 
 ing. When we dine alone, and spend the evening at 
 home, which, indeed, is generally the case, he gulps 
 down tumbler after tumbler of brandy-and- water, till 
 he gets excited, then drowsy, when we have company 
 at home, or dine abroad, he gets regularly tipsy. The 
 other evening he was disgracefully so. Aunt and I 
 are quite at a loss what to do; he is so touchy and ir- 
 ritable we are afraid to say a word. 
 
 Iji tjl 'p It" i> 
 
 "As I was to sit to-day for my pictiue, of course 
 we had an influx of visitors. I put it down as a general 
 rule, that whenever one wishes particularly to do some 
 particular thing, somebody comes in your way. First 
 the Pipers, then the Paddocks; it really seemed done 
 on purpose. I was the more disposed to regret this 
 contretemps^ that I am rather inclined to like ]\[rs. Pad- 
 dock; she is an odd enough specimen of womanhood, 
 very masculine, looking much like aKussiau grenadier; 
 but she is straightforward , frank-spoken , and ever ready 
 to do battle against everything and everybody that dis- 
 pleases her. But I could not like her at that exact 
 moment. Well, it was past two when at last we could 
 get out, aunt and I, for a drive; as for the sitting, I 
 had given it up hours before. We drove first to Via 
 Frattina, to explain to Signer Paolo why we had not 
 gone to him. He said it was very lucky, as the count 
 had been just calling on him, or, to use Signer Paolo's 
 expression, had forced his way into his studio, by 
 making such a tremendous noise at the door, as to ex- 
 cite alarm in the whole house. You are to understand
 
 172 LAVINIA. 
 
 that v.'lieuever Domenicliino expects us, lie bolts the 
 door of the atelier, and answers neither knock nor ring, 
 but ours. Seeing him Avith his hat on, and evidently 
 going out, aunt offered him a seat in the carriage, 
 which was graciously accepted, and we had a beautiful 
 drive to Villa Borghese. 
 
 "Domenichino was in a charming humour, and chirped 
 on as merrily as the birds on the trees. The moment 
 seemed a favourable one for me to risk a hint or two 
 about a point, which you will consider what it really 
 is, a very trifle, and yet, as you will see by and by, 
 it has a relative importance. I must premise that Signor 
 Manciui's dress at our dinner, without being quite shock- 
 ing, was not what it ought to have been. Not a ti'ace 
 of a shirt-collar! he cannot bear them, he once told me 
 they worry him so; black cravat-, and then the gloves! 
 light certainly, but brown; and eveiy other man with 
 straw coloured of course; to finish off, high thick shoes 
 of leather, actual walking shoes. 
 
 "Now, though I might wish that he would conform 
 more to general usages, still I cannot say that, with 
 the exception of those horrid shoes, w^hich spoil a well- 
 shaped foot, I have any particular objection to either 
 the brown gloves or the absence of the collar, generally 
 ugly enough, Heaven knows. But not so Mr. Jones; 
 and what specially affronted him was the chocolate 
 coverinfrs of Domenichino's hands. 'What does the 
 fellow mean by daring to come here with brown gloves?' 
 cried uncle, rising up from his doze, and adding other 
 amenities that I need not repeat. It is true that uncle 
 was more than half tipsy when he said this, and has 
 not alluded to the subject since; nevertheless, I thought 
 it would be a good thing to put Signor Paolo on his
 
 MISS lavlnia's diary. 173 
 
 guard as to wliat lie ought to wear at parties, and thus 
 prevent any such disagreeables for the future. 
 
 "With a view to this end, I asked him, not Avithout 
 a little circumlocution — very unnecessary, for he is as 
 innocent and unsuspecting as a babe — Avell, I asked 
 him where he bought his gloves? Anywhere, he pur- 
 chased so few that he had no particular shop. I re- 
 commended him an excellent one, 'Especially,' said I, 
 'for gloves for parties,' adding cunningly, 'I mean for 
 straw-coloured gloves.' He never went to parties, he 
 said, and never wore any except black gloves. 
 
 "'But you came to our party, and more still, you 
 wore brown and not black gloves." 
 
 "'True,' said he, laughing, 'I made an exception 
 for you.' 
 
 '"It was very amiable on your part,' said I. 'Can- 
 not you go a little further, and have gloves like every- 
 body else?' 
 
 "'If I may speak my mind,' he replied, 'I must 
 confess that I object to them on principle.' 
 
 "'Oh! oh! oh les j))'iiu'ipes voiit-ils se nichcv!' 
 laughed I. 
 
 " 'Laugh, but listen to my reasoning,' answered he, 
 smiling. 'Gloves, as I take it, are worn for the sake 
 of neatness — to keep the hands clean, I mean. So 
 far the custom is rational, and I accept it. Xow black 
 gloves, or, if you object to that tint as fraught with 
 lugubrious associations, gloves of any other colour as 
 well as black and straw, answer i)erf'ectly the purpose 
 of cleanliness. From the moment you order me to wear 
 any colour on the plea of show, or elegance, or fashion, 
 you cease to be natural; and I have a right to tell you 
 that I am not a man of show, or elegance, or fashion
 
 174 LAVINIA. 
 
 — that I do not care for sucli things. I object to your 
 particular colour.' 
 
 " 'You waste a great deal of ingenuity,' said I, 'on 
 Avhat is not worth the outlay. It were, methinks, far 
 simpler to accept established customs, and to conform 
 to them.' He held up his finger in a playful threat, 
 and answered, 'Beware of what you say; the maxim 
 you lay down has a more extended meaning than you 
 wot of. In fact, it does nothing less than enthrone 
 routine and abolish progress-, for all progress, take it 
 as you like, is but a deviation from established custom. 
 According to what you have said, Galileo was wrong, 
 and the Inquisition right.' 
 
 "Somehow or other men always get the better of a 
 woman in argument. They have more sophistry at 
 their command than we have. A ready answer failed 
 me at the moment, but I was far from being either 
 pleased or convinced. Not that he was wanting in 
 politeness; on the contrary, I willingly allow, that he 
 carried on the controversy with perfect good-humour, 
 nay, gracefully, but I cannot forgive him for laying 
 such stress upon trifles. Then again, I do not approve 
 of his unsociableness; as though it was a mark of great 
 superiority not to go to parties! How can a young 
 man in his profession ever expect to get on, unless he 
 makes himself known? and how can he manage that, 
 if he does not go into the world? I must absolutely set 
 to work and cure him of this morbid mood. Don't mis- 
 understand the interest I take in this matter. I interfere 
 less for the sake of the artist than for that of art. Be- 
 lieve me. Signer Mancini is destined by nature to be- 
 come a great painter, and I should for ever reproach 
 myself, were I not to do all in my power to prevent
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 175 
 
 his hiding his genius under a bushel. One of these 
 days, unless I am more mistaken than I ever was in 
 my life, he will take a very high standing among his 
 contemporaries. 
 
 "Another thing I cannot pardon Domenichino, is 
 his prejudice against the count. It is both unjust and 
 impolitic. The count is a friend not to be despised: he 
 knows the Pope, the King of Bavaria, and all the 
 nobility; he is very rich, a connoisseur in painting, and 
 very well inclined towards Signer Paolo. But no! 
 Signer Paolo speaks lightly of him, treats liim with tlie 
 utmost indifference, and protests that he will have none 
 of his patronage. Do you know what came into my 
 mind? That Signer Paolo dislikes the count for being 
 a count. Signer Paolo is a red-hot radical. Mr. Cobden 
 is milk-and-water in compai-ison. Never was such dis- 
 dain as Domenichino's for rank and titles. I remember 
 very well the disparaging way in Avhich he once spoke 
 to me of a certain foreign prince — not foreign, he is 
 a Neapolitan, I believe; at all events, Italian — the 
 prince of that English equipage I wrote to you about. 
 I hope, at all events, my Orson was not rude to the 
 count this morning; if he was, he shall have a nice 
 scolding the first time I see liim. The count and che- 
 valier take tea Avith us this evening, and I shall hear 
 Avhat jmssed this morning in the atelier. 
 
 * * * •.!•. i:- 
 
 "There is no end to the surprises this man gives 
 one. Can you believe that he painted a fresco in Pa- 
 lazzo Torlonia, the fresco, in fact, that is the corner- 
 stone of his reputation — the count calls it a peifcct 
 gem — and that he has never said a word about it? 
 However, this is not my great piece of news ; my dear,
 
 176 LAYINIA. 
 
 I rniglit give you leave to guess a thousand times, and 
 you would be just as far off from the truth as ever. 
 Now own you would never imagine that Signor Dome- 
 nichino might ride in his own carriage, if he chose. 
 But the fact is so. It is quite a romance. I had the 
 whole story from Count Fortiguerra. Paolo is the only 
 near relative , as it seems — a great-nephew, if I don't 
 blunder — of a high dignitary of the Church — the 
 count did not tell me the name; but this great-uncle is 
 either a cardinal, or a bishop going to be a cardinal, 
 a very old, very rich, and very influential man. Well, 
 this bishop, or cardinal, for some reason or other, was 
 on bad terms Avith the family of Signor Mancini — 
 with his father, I believe. It seems that, at the demise 
 of this gentleman, the cardinal made overtures of friend- 
 ship to Signor Paolo, even went so far as to offer to 
 name him as heir to all his j^roperty, on certain con- 
 ditions, quite honourable conditions; and that this hot- 
 headed youth, this testa viaita^ as the count calls Signor 
 Mancini — he was but a lad at the time — declined 
 the proj)Osal. Testa mat fa as much as you like; we 
 need not be very much afraid of meeting many such. 
 A man must have a deal of the hero in him, who can 
 thus spurn a fortune, and prefer to toil for his daily 
 bread. For my part, I must say, that however foolish 
 the motives which prompted the act may have been, 
 the act in itself is noble and grand. 
 
 "My first thought and question after heai-ing this 
 tale, was Avhether there were no means of bringing 
 about a reconciliation between uncle and nephew. The 
 count says, j)erhaps there may be — he will endeavour 
 to make himself more master of the case. He foresees 
 difficulties in a certain quarter, which, however, he
 
 MISS LAVINIA's DIARV. 177 
 
 thinks, might be surmounted. He is personally acquainted 
 with the great man in fjuestion, though not on intimate 
 terras. Count Fortiguerra hopes to give us more de- 
 finite information to-morrow, Avhen he takes us to Palazzo 
 Torlonia to see Signer Paolo's fresco. Aunt is really- 
 more enthusiastic than even I am about our painter. 
 How happy I should be, if, through our instrumen- 
 tality, this interesting young man could be restored to 
 that station of life to which he was born! Good-by 
 until to-morrow. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 "I shall not attempt to describe the fresco — you 
 would think I was exaggerating, if I were to tell you 
 the impression it has made on me. I will only say 
 this, that the figures of Diana and Endymion are in 
 the style of the best ancient masters. The foreshorten- 
 ing is really astonishing. The count said, the artist 
 seems to have hunted for some of the most difficult 
 problems of art, for the pleasure of showing how easily 
 he could solve them. And please to mark that this 
 noble production is the work of a young man of two- 
 and-twenty. Now, I shall not tease you with any 
 more of my raptures. Pictures are never valued from 
 descrijition. 
 
 "The count brought us excellent news. A little 
 good-will and a little money will easily remove, at 
 least as far as he can see, the obstacles in the way of 
 a speedy and entire reconciliation between the belli- 
 gerents. The count advises, first, that Signer Paolo 
 should make some small advance, say, write a fcAv lines 
 to a friend, expressive of his respect for his illustrious 
 relation — in short, do something that might efface old 
 unpleasant impressions, and show his good-will; sc- 
 
 Luviiiiit. I. 12
 
 178 LAVINIA. 
 
 condly, tliat some small sum should be given to pro- 
 pitiate a certain confidential servant, whose influence is 
 paramount with this clerical dignitary. It seems that 
 all the princes of the Church, even the Pope sometimes, 
 have a confidential follower, to whose advice they 
 listen and attend in most matters. The count mentioned 
 a certain bai-ber, called "Gaetanino," who was all- 
 powerful during the reign of one of the Popes, I forget 
 which. However, whether this be true or not, our 
 dignitary has a favourite domestic, and this favourite 
 can and must be bribed. 
 
 "The count professed that he liked plain dealings, 
 and that he always called things by their right names; 
 he said it was for us to consider, whether there were 
 not cases, in which the giving of a bribe was justi- 
 fiable, and to decide whether this of Signer Paolo's 
 was not one. As for himself, he avowed he had no 
 scruples about the matter, always keeping in view the 
 righteous and lawful end to be gained. 
 
 "Aunt and I hesitated a little, but we soon came 
 to the conclusion that there could be no harm, where a 
 man of the count's years and high position saw none. 
 The count added that, but for his wish not to take a 
 step in this aff'air without our full concuiTcnce and ap- 
 proval, he would not have mentioned this paltry matter 
 of money, which, of cotu'se, was exclusively his busi- 
 ness. This arrangement we strenuously opposed; and 
 after a long and hard contest, we only carried oiu* 
 point by protesting that we, and not the count, were 
 Signer Mancini's intimate friends. We were so afraid 
 of the count's playing us some generous trick, that we 
 insisted on his accompanying us home, and actually 
 pocketing the money at once, which he reluctantly did.
 
 MISS LAVrs'IA'S DIARY. 179 
 
 He would only take a hundred scudi to begin wltli — 
 if more were required, he promised to inform us. You 
 cannot think with what pleasure aunt gave the sum. 
 It will be in the hands for which it is destined, by to- 
 morrow morning ; and the count also volunteered — he 
 is the most obliging of mortals — to sound Signer 
 Paolo, with reference to the little show of good-will 
 that would be necessary on his part. Everything is 
 lost, thought I, if the count venture into those unknown 
 regions; so I hastened to say, that he had already 
 trouble enough on his hands, and that I would take 
 this part of the negotiation on myself. Plenty of 
 thorns and briars I shall have to force my way through, 
 but I shall win the day. 
 
 "The count's behaviour throughout this affair has 
 been admirable-, he has proved himself a man of wise 
 counsels, and of exalted feelings. A father could not 
 have shown more ardour in the cause of a son, than he 
 has done in that of Signor Paolo, though God knows, 
 he has had small encouragement to be kind; for 
 Domenichino is a very icicle to him. But there will 
 and must come a thaw towards this good-natured man. 
 ***** 
 
 "Domenichino did not call yesterday, as I anti- 
 cipated he would, so I sent him a note early this morn- 
 ing, and I am expecting him every moment. I begin 
 to realize some of the difficulties of my undertaking. I 
 am full of trepidations and misgivings, instead of the 
 hopes and confidence of yesterday. That affair of the 
 bribe troubles me; the more I think of it, the less can 
 I reconcile myself to it. I see now, that what is wrong 
 in itself, cannot change its nature, and become right, 
 because the end proposed is good. My heart flutters 
 
 12*
 
 180 LAVINIA. 
 
 as if I bad committed some bad action. Tbe life of 
 comjiarative seclusion I lead, is neither advantageous 
 for body nor mind. This young man's fate is be- 
 coming a sort of monomania with me. I can think of 
 nobody and nothing else; I long to be done with him 
 and this wild scheme. Why does it happen that Count 
 Fortiguerra is in mourning, and that none of these 
 princes or marqiiises open their salons? In little more 
 than two months we shall have the Carnival. I really 
 shall be so glad to have parties, balls, anything that 
 will drive this painter and his affairs out of my head. 
 I want to plunge head foremost into an ocean of gaiety, 
 and be my former self again, admired, courted, floating 
 in the dance, mixing in crowds, a belle among belles. 
 Hark! I hear his step! what a goose I am to tremble so! 
 ***** 
 
 "Oh! my dear friend, what have I done? Have 
 I positively and irretrievably engaged myself to this 
 young Italian? Have I been delirious? Am I awake, 
 or am I dreaming? How came this about? It is 
 more than I can explain in my present disordered state. 
 I feel feverish. As soon as I can think clearly, I will 
 try to tell you all I knoAv about this matter. Pity me, 
 for I am indeed unhappy — no, not unhappy — but 
 utterly bewildered. 
 
 "Lavinia."
 
 LUGETE VENERES. 181 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Lugeto Veneres. 
 
 It is quite against the grain, tlxat, just at its acme 
 of interest, we break oflP Miss Laviniu's diary, and thus 
 keep the reader on the rack — for we modestly take 
 it for granted, that we have worked him or her up to 
 a pitch of frantic curiosity to know the issue of our 
 heroine's adventure. But we have at this minute a 
 pressing call on all our sympathies, and one which 
 admits of no dallying with it. Let any one possessed 
 of feeling be the judge. 
 
 Confusion, diftnay, consternation, reign supreme at 
 Villa Torralba. Manuelito — Lwjete Vencrc& Cupldl- 
 ncsque — Manuelito is no more! My lady has been 
 up all night; so has Pepita, so has CIclia, so has the 
 entire household — one and all, comforting and mi- 
 nistering to the interesting invalid. Nothing has availed. 
 Mors cequo pulsat pedc, ^e. At a quarter to six in the 
 morning, Manuelito breathed his last sigh in the arms 
 of his inconsolable mistress. 
 
 But who is Manuelito? some reader with a short 
 memory will perhaps ask. Manuelito is — or rather, 
 alas! ivas — the paragon of spaniels — the marchio- 
 ness's favourite dog, the dear pet that was ailing on the 
 day of CleHa's first introduction to the villa — ]\Iauuelito ! 
 the delight of mankind, the j)ride of dogkind! Lugete 
 Veneres. 
 
 My lady is distraught Avith grief. IMy lady is heart- 
 broken. My lady is in fits; gentle violence has to be 
 used to prevent her from leaving her couch and rushing 
 into the adjoining room, where the deceased is lying in
 
 182 LAYINIA. 
 
 state. Let lier see him once more, embrace him once 
 morel "No, no, it would kill you, seuora," weeps the 
 faithful Pepita. "It would kill you," repeat all the 
 attendants in chorus. It is a scene to break even a 
 heart of stone in twain. Eau de Cologne, eau de Me- 
 lisse, sal volatile, elixirs, balsamic vinegars, wines, 
 liqueurs, soups, chocolate, are employed, but without 
 success. My lady grows worse and worse. Messengers 
 by this time are galloping on the road to Rome, in 
 search of members of the faculty of medicine. 
 
 "Oh! be composed, seuora," entreats yellow-turbaned 
 Pepita, deluged in tears; "collect youi-self, for his sake. 
 Think how wretched poor Manuelito would be, if he 
 could see you in this state, — oh, f!ear!" The hint 
 was suggestive; who can tell, if Manuelito be not watch- 
 ing her from some canine Elysium! A new spirit 
 breathes in her; she rises; her women, in alarm, crowd 
 round her. Xo cause for uneasiness; her ladyship will 
 be composed — is composed. "Your arm, Pepita; 
 your arm, Clelia." My lady descends to the pleasure 
 grounds of the villa, in search of a proper resting-place 
 for the remains of her darling. The garden unluckily 
 teems with recollections of the dear defunct. Not here 
 — nor there — nor yet farther off, — ah! here, under 
 the shadow of the lime-trees. Physician after physician 
 amve in due order, and find their expected patient 
 skipping along from garden alley to garden alley, 
 smoking a cigarito. They shrug their shoulders, pocket 
 their fees, and depart. 
 
 Nor shall Manuelito be bmied like a — my lady 
 was going to say, like a dog, but refrained in time. 
 Due honours shall be paid to his memory. All Ma- 
 nuelito's canine acq^uaintances shall attend his funeral.
 
 LUGETE VENERES. 183 
 
 Quick — send hither my lady's secretary. Letters 
 announcing the melancholy event are forthwith to be 
 written to my lady's friends, with a request to those 
 wlo have dogs to send them to Villa Torralba on the 
 morrow at twelve o'clock, to join the funeral cortege of 
 the deceased Manuelito. A monument shall be erected 
 over his grave with his beloved image at the top 
 thereof Haste for a modeller to model the dear form; 
 a sculptor to consign its beauties to marble; a painter 
 to picture his likeness in glowing colours. 
 
 No — no! let no one stir, — it is not fit that such 
 delicate commissions be intrusted to mercenary hands. 
 The marchioness decides that it is an act of duty on 
 her part, to go on these errands herself Bring round 
 the phaeton with the piebald ponies. Away she drives, 
 swift as lightning. 
 
 It was far in the afternoon when the fair charioteer 
 reappeared at the villa. She returned accompanied by 
 a painter, a sculptor, and a modeller. A heap of black 
 ci'ape helped to load the light carriage. A score of 
 guests invited to dinner were waiting her ladyship's 
 arrival. Who in such an emergency could think of 
 dinner guests? Everybody had forgotten them, ex- 
 cepting, fortunately for them, the cook. My lady 
 apologizes gracefully enough, and with streaming eyes 
 recounts her misfortune, becomes excited with her own 
 words, and, forgetting the cause in her excitement, ends 
 by being the life of her party. 
 
 On the following morning, an impressive and touch- 
 ing ceremony saddened the precincts of Villa Torralba. 
 Fifty-seven dogs, exclusive of those of the marchioness, 
 seventeen in number — in all, seventy-four dogs of all 
 sizes, breeds, and colours, all enveloped in black crape,
 
 184 LAVIXIA. 
 
 and attended by the whole household, dressed in full 
 mourning — accompanied the body of Manuelito to hi? 
 last kennel. Pepita, and Hieronimo, the old Mayoi- 
 domo, acted as chief mourners in the absence of her 
 ladyship; who intended to have headed the procession 
 herself, nay, was actually on the road to do so, but — 
 fainted away in the attempt. Human fortitude has its 
 limits. Pepita and Hieronimo with their own hands 
 laid all that remained of Manuelito in the carefully 
 prepared grave; on the dead spaniel they placed his 
 red velvet collar, his gilded muzzle, the silver dish 
 with his name engraved on it, out of which he had 
 eaten so many dainty meals, his napkin, his — but let 
 us draw a veil over this part of the scene. Why dwell 
 on such disti'essing particulars? 
 
 The demeanour of the canine brotherhood was all 
 that the bereaved lady could have desired — a just 
 measure of feeling repressed by decorum. The most 
 deeply affected were naturally Mauuelito's messmates: 
 so much so that at the moment when the earth was 
 being thrown into the grave, they became nearly un- 
 manageable — struggling to escape so sad a sight. 
 But they had yet one more mark of respect to show; 
 it was written down in the programme, and no eye 
 but was moist when Manuelito's comrades were induced 
 to give a threefold bark — a last farewell, and all was 
 over. 
 
 No, all was not over; the dog guests had to par- 
 take of a splendid repast, expressly prepared for them. 
 After so much emotion, they must stand in need of 
 refreshment. The marchioness presided with her usual 
 grace at this funeral feast, with what heart may be 
 easier imagined than described. Another half- hour,
 
 LUGETE VENERES. 185 
 
 and Villa Torralba had resumed its usual cvciy-day 
 appearance. Sic tninsit gloria mundi. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon, the noble Creole, 
 who had made it a point of honour not to stir from 
 home on such a day, finding lier seclusion probably 
 rather wearisome, went to the laundry to irululge in 
 a chat with Clelia, a circumstance, by the by, which 
 had happened but rarely of late. 
 
 The marchioness had so far recovered from the 
 shock of her spaniel's death, or else mastered her grief 
 so well, as not to make any even the slightest mention 
 or allusion to her sad bereavement; on the contrary, 
 she touched on none but light and genial topics, dAvell- 
 ing much upon the accomplishments of the Prince of 
 llocca Ginestra, one of her guests on the evening before. 
 What a fine horseman he was! what a capital whip! 
 and, oh, what a magnificent tenor voice he had! Did 
 Clelia know the Prince of Kocca Ginestra? Clelia had 
 no acquaintance with princes, but she knew the prince 
 by sight. 
 
 Says my lady, "If he could only be prevailed on 
 to join her amateur opera company, what an accession 
 of talent he would bring to it! A host in himself! By 
 the by, the theatre is nearly finished; where is the 
 scene-painter Clelia had recommended and begged her 
 to employ?" Clelia answered for his appearance on 
 the morrow, if such should be her ladyship's pleasure. 
 Clelia had not dared to broach the subject during the 
 late circumstances at the villa. 
 
 "What cannot be cured must be endured, my good 
 girl," observes my lady, philosoi)hically, shaking her 
 pretty head to signify the shaking off the weight of 
 her grief. "Bring your painter with you to-morrow
 
 186 LAvrsiA. 
 
 morning; I am curious to see tliis sweetheart of 
 yours." 
 
 "My betrothed! your ladyship means," said Clelia, 
 •with a blush. 
 
 "Dear me, child, how you blush!" laughed the 
 marchioness; "betrothed, or sweetheart, where is the 
 difference?" 
 
 The result of this conversation was, that by nine 
 o'clock of the next day, Clelia and Salvator were 
 briskly trotting out of the Porta del Popolo, on their 
 way to Villa Torralba; Clelia giving Salvator a detailed 
 account of all the particulars above related, as a key 
 to his new patroness's character; Salvator listening in 
 mute amazement, save now and then for an irresistible 
 burst of laughter, or some irresistibly appropriate quo- 
 tation from one of his dear librettos. The day was 
 lovely, the air bracing; not a tree but birds twittered 
 on it, not a patch of grass but swarmed with blackbirds. 
 The lovers had not met for a week, and were now 
 going on an errand full of happy promise for them. 
 What wonder if they were in high spirits, or that the 
 narrative, instead of flowing on steadily, proceeded by 
 fits and starts! Their rather quick pace, and the 
 exertion of speaking at the same time, had heightened 
 Clelia's colom-. The most skilful hair-dresser or lady's- 
 maid could not have arranged her rich dark cm'ls, and 
 the black veil thrown over her head, to greater ad- 
 vantage than the morning breeze had done; in short, 
 she looked so pretty in her neat though very faded 
 cotton gown and worn-out mantle, that Salvator was 
 quite excusable, if in his admiration of the speaker he 
 occasionally lost the thread of her story, and had to 
 pray of her to begin afresh.
 
 LUGETE VENERES. 187 
 
 The little rricin himself, in his big white cravat, 
 enormous shirt-collar, and complete black suit (Paolo's 
 best) dangling over his heels, worn or rather carried 
 with a mixture of natural comicality and assumed gra- 
 vity, looked so pre-eminently ludicrous, that Clelia 
 could not help now and then interrupting herself to 
 say, with a ringing laugh, — 
 
 "Oh! my poor Salvator, what a figure you have 
 made of yourself! " 
 
 At which Salvator would stop short, take all the 
 survey he could of his person, and answer gravely, — 
 
 "The tails of my coat are rather too long, are 
 they? Better sin by excess than by deficiency, Clelia, 
 eh? Altogether I am sure that I look respectable, 
 parliamentary. You'll sec I shall make an impression 
 on my lady, I shall." 
 
 A very ridiculous impression, Clelia fears. 
 
 "Would that it might be so," says Salvator, "for 
 then my success will be assured. He who amuses is 
 always welcome, don't you see?" 
 
 Clelia's account of the seuora being at last finished, 
 the little painter gave his opinion as to the case; it 
 was clear, exactly such a one as the libretto described 
 in pointed language: Che sia forse ossessa o mattn: ]\fi 
 da molto a sospettar. In other words, that the Sefiora 
 Marchesa was cracked. Clelia did not agree with him; 
 the marchioness was in her right senses, and good 
 enough too, but she had whims and fancies, like all 
 great folks, who had plenty of money, and too much 
 leisure. Clelia had had some experience of such people 
 while she was with Bianchini, the celebrated cameoist. 
 As soon as they had chosen one cameo, they thought 
 they preferred another, and when the other was sent,
 
 188 LAVKU. 
 
 their rage for cameos was over, and tliey "wanted some- 
 thing: else. 
 
 "As far as I can judge," wound up Clelia, in her 
 wisdom, "it is the difficulty of getting at a certain 
 object, Avhich whets our desii'e for its possession; and 
 when it also demands any exertion of our own for its 
 attainment, then its value and our pleasure are en- 
 hanced when we get it at last. But those who have 
 only to wish in order to have, experience no satisfac- 
 tion in winning that, to reach which they have not had 
 to use spur or whip; consequently, they care for no- 
 thing in particular, and theu-s are only whims, not 
 wishes.'' 
 
 "Just so,'' assented Salvator. "For instance — 
 but first permit me to tell you that your mantle is 
 changing its colour, turning from black to red — " 
 
 "It is not,'' protested Clelia. 
 "And," went on Salvator, "for the last six months 
 has been growing thinner and thinner ; and just for the 
 last six months I have had the wish in my heart to 
 give you a new one." 
 
 "There is nothing the matter with it," put in Clelia; 
 "nothing that I could not set to rights, if I had a little 
 time to myself."' 
 
 "My opinion is diametrically opposed to yours," 
 calmly announced the little man. "A new one you 
 shall have; but now let me go on, will you? I was 
 then going to say that, for instance, the amount of 
 pleasui-e I have had and have, in hoarding my paoli 
 one by one, towards the purchase of this cloak, or 
 whatever you call it, and in figm-iug to myself your 
 pretty look on receiving it, is quite incredible, I assure 
 you. Xow, if I had at all times twenty, or even ten, scudi
 
 LUGETE VENERES. 189 
 
 at my command, all the pleasure I have had in trying 
 to save up two scudi for you would have been lost, 
 would it not?" 
 
 "And what you are pleased to talk of as my pretty 
 look on receiving it, wouldn't have been so pretty 
 as it will be — but, no, you want the money your- 
 self, for really you are out at elbows, my poor Sal- 
 vator." 
 
 "Not so bad, not so bad, my dear; my black 
 velvet suit only needs a little tailoring to be as good 
 as new." 
 
 "And your linen is in such a lamentabla state; you 
 have scarcely enough for a change; and your stockings 
 — dreadful!" 
 
 "As to stockings, I contemplate a radical reform 
 in that respect. I consider stockings rather as an article 
 of luxury than — . Bless me! two blackbirds, I de- 
 clare." Salvator could not see a blackbird without being 
 frightfully excited. 
 
 "Pity you haven't a grain of salt in your pocket," 
 laughed Clelia. 
 
 "Pro/j pudor!" remonstrated Salvator. "What was 
 I about to say? something beautiful and highly philo- 
 sophical, I know." 
 
 "About stockings, or blackbirds?" suggested the 
 girl. 
 
 "About saucy lasses, for whom notliing is sacred, 
 not even white cravats, and parliamentary array — 
 kuckerikoo!" 
 
 "Don't be foolish, and make haste." 
 
 "More easily said than done," remarked Salvator, 
 piteously; "how can J make haste with this confounded 
 appendage I have to drag after me?" Paolo's trous^'rs
 
 190 LAVINIA. 
 
 had. been tucked up in a hurry to fit Salvator's little 
 limbs, and now the fastening of the left leg had given 
 way, and a good twelve inches was revelling in the 
 dust under his foot, and trijijjiug him up at every 
 step. 
 
 "Holy patience!" pouted Clelia, "how awkward 
 these men are!" and kneeling down on one knee, she 
 managed to turn up the obnoxious surplus of cloth, and 
 to fasten it inside with pins. 
 
 "You are the handiest, nicest, kindest, most blessed 
 little wife, that ever fell to the lot of a harum-scarum 
 monkey. I must give you a kiss for your pains." 
 
 "Be quiet," cried Clelia; "don't you see that there 
 are people at the gate?" 
 
 "I see two horses, which are not likely to tell tales," 
 said Salvator. 
 
 "And a man close to them, j)erhaps my lady's 
 groom. Make haste; if my lady goes out without 
 seeing you, God knows when you will have another 
 chance." 
 
 Had not the fear of missing my lady interfered with 
 Clelia's usual clear sight, she might have discovered at 
 a glance, as she passed through the gate, that the j^er- 
 son in charge of the horses was not one belonging to 
 the marchioness's establishment, and that on both horses 
 were men's saddles. As to Salvator, he was a poor 
 observer at all times, and a poorer one than ever at 
 this moment, when he conceived his fortune was at 
 stake. 
 
 Clelia left him at the foot of the marble stairs, 
 while she hastened in search of her mistress. The 
 seilora Avas noAvhere to be found in the house. Pepita 
 had not seen her for the last hour. Clelia, in a great
 
 LUGETE VENERES. ~ 191 
 
 flutter of spirits, rushed down by a back stair, going 
 straight to Manuelito's tomb. But no marchioness was 
 there. Clelia made the tour of the grounds, and was 
 going to give up the chase in despair, when she be- 
 thought herself of the shooting gallery, where the mar- 
 chioness often amused herself with practising at a mark. 
 Clelia made for the shooting gallery. It was built 
 along the wall, at the bottom of the garden behind the 
 house. 
 
 The door was ajar; Clelia peeped in, saw her lady- 
 ship talking with a strange gentleman, and drew back 
 hastily. A lioness surprised in her den could not have 
 looked fiercer than did the marqjiioness, when she rushed 
 after Clelia. 
 
 "What impertinence is this?" she asked, in a voice 
 of thunder, her eyes emitting sparks of fire. "How 
 dare you intrude on me?" 
 
 Poor Clelia was more dead than alive: she humbly 
 begged pardon; she had come to say, that the scene- 
 painter was Avaiting- her ladyship's commands. 
 
 "Confound you, and your scene-painter," stormed 
 my lady; "begone botli of you; I don't want him, or 
 anybody — begone." 
 
 The girl had not waited for the second "begone" 
 to take flight. 
 
 Salvator's face lengthened considerably on hearing 
 of the untoward change of mind, which had knocked 
 down the edifice of his future grandeur. He expressed 
 his firm conviction notwithstanding, that if my lady had 
 seen him, he would have made an impression which 
 would have given another turn to the matter. As it 
 was, hoAvever, he OAvned that he could devise nothing 
 better to do than to take himself away, and since
 
 192 LAVINIA. 
 
 Signora Pentesilea tacT not done things hj half, but 
 had hiduded Clelia in his disgrace, or him in hers, as 
 the case might be, had not Clelia better depart with 
 him, and they might look at blackbirds at their leisure? 
 What did she think? 
 
 Clelia's first impulse was to go, but she resisted 
 it, and, upon second thoughts, determined to remain. 
 The seiaora was quick and fanciful, but she was also 
 kindly, and there were great chances of her repenting 
 of her passion, or, more likely still, forgetting it alto- 
 gether, and requiring Clelia's services again as if no- 
 thing had happened. Salvator, therefore, had to make 
 his exit alone, which he did, humming sotto voce an 
 operatic air, most apropriate to the circumstances, to the 
 effect that — 
 
 " II Pascia poter di Bacco, 
 Colle code dcntro il sacco, 
 E strappandosi i mustacchi, 
 Alza i tacclii e sene va." 
 
 Clelia, on her part, glided away quietly to the 
 room where she usually sat, and began to work as well 
 as the state of her trembling fingers would permit. 
 
 Certainly not more than hcilf an hour had elapsed, 
 before she received a hasty summons to the presence 
 of the marchioness. Clelia was not slow to obey, fol- 
 lowing Pepita who had brought her the message. She 
 was. led to the spot, where lay Manuelito's mortal 
 remains. There, seated on a bench, under a lime-tree, 
 Clelia found her mistress. The lady, looking rather 
 confused, it must be owned, asked — , 
 
 ""Well, where is the scene-painter?" 
 
 Clelia, surprised at this unexpected question, answered 
 timidly that the scene painter was gone.
 
 LUGETE VENERES. 193 
 
 "Gone!" exclaimed my lady, starting up and stamp- 
 ing her foot. "Is every one here gone crazy, or is 
 there a conspiracy to make me so? I ask for a scene- 
 painter — he comes — I am ready to receive him, 
 and then I am told he is gone. Ah! everything goes 
 wrong since I lost my Manuelito," and she burst into a 
 passionate fit of tears. 
 
 "Don't, pray don't, seuora," entreated Clelia, dis- 
 tressed. "I'll go, and bring the painter back this mi- 
 nute," and she was hurrying away. 
 
 "Where, in the name of wonder, is the girl going?" 
 cried the lady. "Cannot you understand that you will 
 never overtake him if you go ou foot? Pepita, have a 
 carriage ready this very instant, and go with the girl. 
 Make haste!" 
 
 The carriage was soon ready, and Clelia and Pepita 
 started in pursuit of Salvator. They found him at no 
 great distance from the villa, sq^uattcd on a stone, and 
 watching with intense interest the gambols of some 
 blackbirds, on a patch of grass bordering the road. 
 To explain the nature of their errand, to take him into 
 the carriage, and bring him back in triumph to the 
 villa, was the affair but of a few minutes. Salvator 
 evinced no greater surprise at this new turn of the 
 wheel of his fortunes, than that conveyed by his giving 
 forth with the greatest zest the two hackneyed lines 
 from the Barbiere: — 
 
 "Donne, Donne etcrni Dei, 
 Clii v'arriva a indovinar?" 
 
 Clelia's prophecy was realized in full. The im- 
 pression produced by her little friend ou the senora was 
 one of unbounded hilarity. Do what she would to 
 
 Luvinia. I. 13
 
 194 LAVINIA. 
 
 control herself, the struggle "was vain; she succumbed 
 to fit after fit of hearty laughter. Salvator stood the 
 ordeal beautifully; he did not so much as wink, but 
 seemed quite absorbed in an artistic survey of the 
 grounds. At last, her paroxysms having abated, the 
 marchioness was able to speak. 
 
 "I understand that you are a scene-painter," she 
 began. 
 
 "I beg your ladyship's pardon, I am a landscape 
 painter, in the style of Salvator Rosa, but I do paint 
 scenes occasionally." 
 
 "In what theatre have you been employed in that 
 capacity?" 
 
 "In none," said Salvator, "but I have painted 
 scenery for private theatricals." 
 
 "That alters the case," quoth my lady. "I want 
 a first-rate scene-painter — some one who knows all 
 about it." 
 
 "I do know all about it," asserted Salvator. 
 
 "But how can I be sure that you do?" 
 
 "Try me," was the laconic reply. 
 
 "Well, I will: it is now eleven o'clock; I give you 
 till six to produce a specimen of your skill." 
 
 "I ask no more," said Salvator, "that is, if all re- 
 quisite materials are ready." 
 
 "Xothing is ready," replied the noble creole. "Take 
 the carriage, go to town, and get all you require." 
 
 "A canvas of the proper size," objected Salvator, 
 "requires time to be prepared and stretched." 
 
 "Ah! but time is the only thing I cannot afford. 
 Can you paint only on canvas?" 
 
 "I can paint on anything^'''' emphasized Salvator. 
 
 "A whitewashed wall?" interrogated she.
 
 LUGETK VENERES. 195 
 
 "Perfectly," he answered. 
 
 "Then follow me," and she led the way to the 
 shooting gallery, in which that part of the wall behind 
 the target had been recently whitewashed. Pointing to 
 the space, the marchioness said, "There, then, is your 
 canvas; make haste, and remember that you are to 
 paint so as to produce a good effect from a distance, 
 but from near it must look all blotches and patches." 
 
 Salvator muttered something irreverent about carry- 
 ing bats to Athens , and bowed himself out of his pa- 
 troness's presence. We need not follow him to Rome, 
 nor yet back to the shooting-gallery, though we may 
 imagine him there Avith towels pinned all over him to 
 protect Paolo's black suit, painting with a will, and 
 singing scraps from manifold librettos. To make a 
 long story short, we will only say that before the 
 appointed hour, Salvator had achieved a page of tropi- 
 cal vegetation — mark this stroke of policy, if you 
 please — as was sure to find its way to the heart of 
 any native of the torrid zone. Palm and banana trees 
 in the foreground, the rains of a temple half clicked by 
 enormous cactuses in the middle, and on the horizon a 
 perfect torrisco , or jungle of cedars , — these were the 
 main features of this remarkable composition; to deepen 
 the local colouring, the painter had generously sprinkled 
 about red Howers of the size of melons, and a moderate 
 allowance of monkeys and variegated parrots. 
 
 And did not her ladyship clap her hands, and 
 scream with delight, at this delineation of the dear 
 familiar trees, and monkeys, and parrots, and summon 
 the whole household to come and admire it? And did 
 not her ladyship next groAV frightfully agitated at the 
 recollection of her country, aud be on the very point 
 
 13*
 
 196 LAYINIA. 
 
 of crying her beaixtiful eyes out, only catcliing slglit iu 
 time of Salvator swaddled in towels, almost die of 
 laughing instead? And when on close inspection, her 
 ideal of horrible patches and blotches was discovered 
 in plenty, what transports could exceed my lady's trans- 
 ports? Was there ever a painter to equal hev little 
 painter? 
 
 And on dinner being announced , who but the small 
 man must sit opposite to the great lady, with his be- 
 trothed by his side, and be feasted with choicest dain- 
 ties and choicest wines, — just as if his next task were 
 to get a fit of tipsiness, or of apoplexy? 
 
 Salvator ate and drank like one who had break- 
 fasted on a halfpenny roll at eight in the morning, and 
 cracked jokes and quoted from the libretto with the 
 hearty zest of one whose natural flow of spirits, ready 
 at all times, is quickened by success, and the prospect 
 of a fortune. The marchioness protested over and over 
 again that a more amusing fellow did not exist in 
 creation. 
 
 Clelia spoke little; jjrobably she was not the least 
 happy of the three. And so , it was settled , inter po- 
 ctda, that on the morrow the newly appointed scene- 
 painter in ordinary to her ladyship should enter on his 
 functions. On their road to their respective homes, 
 Salvator rather triumphantly asked Clelia, — 
 
 "Now, was I right or not when I told you, that I 
 needed only to be seen to make a favourable impres- 
 sion on the seuora?"
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Miss Lavinia's Diarj'. 
 
 "Dear Lady Augusta, 
 
 "I BEGIN to feel composed enougli to give you 
 a tolerably intelligiLle account of wliat has passed. 
 Twenty four hours of reflection, united to aunt's kindly 
 advice and tenderness, have calmed the hrst tumixlt of 
 my feelings. I now clearly see my position, and 
 lionestly accept it; and to be quite frank with you, 
 I am reconciled to it. In my eagerness to please, in 
 ray zeal to serve, I authorized hopes, which I have not 
 the heart to disappoint. At all events, I did not do so 
 when I ought; indeed, a concourse of strange circum- 
 stances had thrown me so com2)letely oft' my guard, 
 that when those hopes clothed themselves with words 
 and asserted their existence, all my presence of mind 
 deserted me; I could find nothing to say but what 
 passion might fairly construe into acquiescence. Do 
 not judge me harshly — do not call me silly — he 
 had shown himself so noble! he was so tender, so re- 
 spectful! and so utterly wretched! he — but I promised 
 you a clear explanation, and I am giving you instead 
 enigmas. Have patience with me; my mind is still so 
 ill at rest, that I cannot help my thoughts running off 
 into all sorts of speculations. 
 
 " The conclusion of my last letter to you — I don't 
 mean the hasty postscript, but what went before, though 
 I cannot recall the exact phrase — must have shown 
 you the state I was in, when Signor Paolo was an- 
 nounced. I really was, without exaggeration, half dis- 
 tracted. Reflecting since on my agitation, so dispro-
 
 198 LAYIXIA. 
 
 portioned to the cause, so little natural also in one of 
 my buoyant spii'its, I cannot help imagining that a 
 mysterious presentiment of some impending decisive 
 event must have oppressed me. Probably he saw at 
 the first glance that I was disturbed, for he asked at 
 once if I were ill, or if anything had happened to dis- 
 tress me. In my perplexity I caught at this opening to 
 say, 'Yes, that something was distressing me, and a 
 something connected with him.' He looked startled 
 and uneasy at this announcement, and said hastily, 
 'He hoped I was not going away.' His voice quite 
 faltered. I answered, 'Oh no, not yet.' You cannot 
 think what a brightness spread over his face, 'and how 
 his eyes sparkled! 'You gave me a terrible fright,' he 
 said , adding that now, any other communication I might 
 have to make, however unpleasant, he should be able 
 to bear. 
 
 "'To prevent your fancy taking a wi'ong flight a 
 second time,' said I, 'perha^is I had better make no 
 more preambles, but tell you that I have a request to 
 make to you, a favour to ask.' 
 
 '"A request, a favour of me!' he exclaimed. 'And 
 pray, is it a fear of my refusal that disturbs you?' 
 These last words were said ■^^•ith a beautiful smile of 
 kind meaning. 
 
 "'Exactly so!' I answered, quickly; 'I am ex- 
 ceedingly set upon your granting me this favour, and 
 I am not at all sure that you will.' 
 
 "'Try me, at all events,' he said, with another 
 smile. 
 
 '"You know, don't you,' I went on, concealing my 
 increasing anxiety under an appearance of playfulness, 
 'that women are born busybodies, and cannot resist the
 
 MISS lavinia's diaky. 199 
 
 temptation of being diplomatists in a small way?' His 
 eyes were fixed earnestly on me, as if to divine my 
 words before they were spoken. 'Well, I Avant to be 
 a peacemaker. A little bird has whispered to me, that 
 there exists something like a feud between you and a 
 
 venerable, kind relation of yours, who ' I dared 
 
 go no further, stopped by the change of expression in 
 my listener's countenance: it was literally fearful; his 
 brows lowered — his lips and nostrils qixivered with 
 scorn and hatred. 
 
 "'You allude to Monsignor Rodipani — to that gem 
 of a bishop as well as an uncle.' 
 
 "He spoke in such a bitter tone that I only bowed 
 assent. 
 
 "'May I ask, signorina, who revealed to you this 
 relationship?' 
 
 "I did not feel sure that I was justified in saying 
 who, so I kept silent. 
 
 " 'The count, no doubt,' he went on; 'it is like one 
 of his tricks. What right has that buffoon to interfere 
 with my private affairs?' 
 
 "This contemptuous way of speaking of an estimable 
 nobleman roused my indignation, and restored all my 
 courage. 
 
 "'I beg, Signor Paolo, you will speak in my pre- 
 sence with more respect of a gentleman for whom I 
 have a real esteem. Pray, understand that the only 
 person who has ventured to interfere with your affairs 
 is — myself. So pour out the vials of your wrath upon 
 me — exclusively upon me — as the offence, if offence 
 there be, is exclusively mine.' 
 
 "He replied in a very subdued tone, 
 
 "'Pardon my warmth; it was not, could not be, in-
 
 200 LAVIKIA. 
 
 tended for you. Your motives, I kuo-\v, cannot but 'be 
 the purest, the noblest. Will you let me hear what it 
 is you wish me to do?" 
 
 "This was spoken so calmly, and so gently, that a 
 ray of hope came and cheered me into believing that I 
 might yet be the conqueror in this sh-uggle. I said ac- 
 cordingly, — 
 
 '"Though your manner is not very encom-agiug, it 
 shall not prevent my attempting to perform what I 
 consider to be a duty. You will listen to me, will you 
 not?' 
 
 "As he did not speak, I continued: 
 
 "'I can perceive that you have, or that you fancy 
 you have, legitimate causes of complaint against this 
 connection of yours. I will even allow that you have 
 right on your side. But is not forgiveness of injuries 
 the sublimest prerogative of a noble soul? The bishop 
 is old, infirm, most likely repentant — perhaps, he often 
 gloomily meditates on death, which cannot be far dis- 
 tant for him, and, so meditating, wishes to be reconciled 
 to his only near relation, before going to render his last 
 account. Could you, would you refuse him this con- 
 solation, before he dies?' 
 
 '"If he is in pressing need of this great consola- 
 tion,' said Signor Paolo, drily, 'let him ask me for it, 
 and I will then consider what it becomes me to do.' 
 
 "I answered: 'Your words are both haughty, and, 
 I regi'et to say, unfeeling. A man of monsignor's age 
 and station in life may reasonably object to making ad- 
 vances, when he is uncertain in what spirit they may 
 be received. Eemove that uncertainty. Send him a 
 line — just one line, breathing duty and submission.'
 
 MISS lavinia's diary, 201 
 
 "At tliis word, Signor Paolo grew black in the face, 
 and througli his clenched teeth, exclaimed, — 
 
 "'Never, never! an act of submission from me! 
 Not to secure eternal life! All licll would laugh and 
 paradise weep if I did so. Is the tortured to beg for- 
 giveness of the torturer, the victim on the scaffold of 
 the executioner? That man was the torturer and exe- 
 cutioner of my family. He cursed my parents on the 
 day they became man and wife, and ever after shrank 
 from them as though they had been impure criminals; 
 he allowed my father — my father, innocent of all of- 
 fence — to rot in a prison, while, had he only raised 
 his little finger, he could have had him righted; he al- 
 lowed my mother, his own niece, in whose veins ran 
 his own blood, to faint away on the steps of his palace 
 with the fatigue of long waiting; he allowed her to die 
 slowly of a broken heart; and when I was cast on the 
 world at seventeen, an orphan and a beggar, he did his 
 best to add degradation to my misery — yes, he pro- 
 posed an infamous bargain to me, that I should discard, 
 as an unsightly garb, my father's name — his un- 
 sullied name; I was to sell it to this judge in Israel for 
 thirty pieces of silver.' 
 
 "I don't know what impression they may prodiice 
 on you — paper is but a poor conductor of the elec- 
 tricity of passion; but the words, voice, and look made 
 me feel as I never felt before in my life. I was ready 
 to cry, and fall at his feet, and beg him to forgive me, 
 but I could not speak a single syllable for the lump in 
 my throat. Do you believe in magnetism — in that 
 mysterious power which puts your Avill at the mercy o£ 
 another's will? I begin to do so; he might liavc com- 
 manded me at that moment, and I should have submis-
 
 202 LAVINIA. 
 
 sively obeyed. So young! so heroic! I can't describe 
 to you bow be looked, standing there alone — one 
 against the world! Even I, striving to lay another 
 burden upon him! So preposterous of me to compare 
 him to any one-, and yet the only way I have of mak- 
 ing you comprehend at all what I mean, is to say he 
 was like Mario as Ravenswood, when he hurls at the 
 Ashtons that contemptuous curse, Vi disprezzo. Do you 
 remember how it always made us cry, and long that 
 we could have helped him, and given proper courage to 
 that poor little Lucy? Well, I felt a thousand thousand 
 times more, only I could not shed a tear, or show any 
 feeling — just as if I had been turned into Lot's wife, 
 
 "At last I stammered out some sort of apology. I 
 said how sorry I was for giving him pain, and that the 
 only excuse I could plead for my indiscretion was the 
 great interest I felt in him, my sole prompter. It went 
 to my heart to see how instantly this pacified him. His 
 face cleared, and he even smiled on me; it was like a 
 ray of sunshine putting out a fire, for every lurking 
 trace of anger disappeared. I had never heard him 
 speak with the voice with which he asked me, 'Do you 
 really take an interest in me?' 
 
 "'How can you doubt it?' said I, almost indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 "'In fact, how could I? Had you not felt for me, 
 would you ever have done me all the good you have?' 
 
 "'The credit you give me is so little deserved that 
 you mortify me. What have I ever done for you, who 
 tinily have done so much for me?' 
 
 "'I will tell you,' he said, gravely, 'you have sa- 
 tisfied the great desire of my nature — that craving af- 
 ter sympathy of the softest kind, and without which
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 203 
 
 man is, and must be, for ever incomplete; you have shed 
 around me all those refining and elevating influences, 
 of which God has given the secret and privilege to 
 women; you have made me a far better, far richer, far 
 happier being than I was when I first met you. Is that 
 nothing?' 
 
 '"Ah! don't say that, Signor Paolo. Good Avorks, 
 to be meritorious, ought to be consciously done, and I 
 am too honest to say I tried to confer any of these be- 
 nefits on you.' 
 
 "He said, 'I don't see the necessity of the intention; 
 the good produced is no less a good — the recipient is 
 no less benefited, though it may be done undesignedly. 
 What is it to me though the rose be unconscious of its 
 perfume, and the nightingale of the charm of its song, 
 and the sun of its beneficent action on men and things? 
 For me it is enough to know that the sun, and the 
 nightingale, and the rose do me good, to feel thankful 
 to them, and to bless them. Allow me on the same 
 ground to feel thankful to you and to bless you.' 
 
 "To be thanked and blessed in such a strain is a 
 trial of a new kind, I can tell you; up to that moment I 
 had no idea that praise and blessings might be more 
 difiicult to bear than abuse. Perhaps it was only the 
 effect of his voice. There were tones in it such as I 
 bad never heard in his or any other voice before — 
 tones that made my heart beat high and fast. So I 
 hastened to reply, 'If I am to accept your thanks for 
 the past, it is on the condition that you help me to de- 
 serve them for the future. Is there nothing I can do 
 for you ivitttnrjlyP 
 
 "'Ask, rather,' was his impetuous rejoinder, 'if there 
 be anything you could not do for me. Have you, then.
 
 204 LAVINIA. 
 
 no conception of your power over me? I am like soft 
 wax in your hands, ready to be moulded to any sliape 
 you please. There arc stirring within me strange 
 energies, either for good or evil-, bid them take a lofty 
 aim. I am, as it were, a child groping his way in the 
 dark — illumine my path, and make me good. I feel 
 as if I had something here and here,' pointing to his 
 forehead and his heart — 'something like a golden 
 thread worth discovering. Help me, and make me great. 
 Be my good genius; be my muse; be — ' 
 
 "He gasped for breath as he looked me full in the 
 face. 
 
 "'A poor muse, but a'willing one,' muttered I, scarce- 
 ly knowing what I said, I was so much moved; 'what 
 must I do to make you good and great?' 
 
 "He rose and cried, with outsti'etched hands, 'Bid 
 me be so through you and for you.' 
 
 "The burst of passion with which this was said left 
 no doubt as to its meaning. Those large eyes of his, 
 riveted on mine, were too full of eloquent comment on 
 what had fallen from his lips, to leave room for any 
 misunderstanding. The intensity of my embarrassment 
 amounted to positive agony. I could think of nothing 
 to say, and yet speak I must, or how would he construe 
 my silence? It generally happens, so at least I have 
 read somewhere, that a woman in such a dilemma is 
 sure to say or do the very thing that increases the dif- 
 ficulty of her position; just like a bird but partially 
 caught in a snare, which in its frightened eagerness to 
 disengage itself, only gets more and more entangled. 
 This was the case with me. What do you suppose 
 that I did but put on a lively air, cruelly belied by the 
 thumping of my heart, and say in a wouhl-be spirited
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 205 
 
 manner, 'Do you knoAv, Signor Paolo, this looks like 
 a declaration in due form?' 
 
 "'It is,' was tke quick answer. 
 
 "I cannot tell what change came over my coun- 
 tenance at these words. I suppose I must have looked 
 indignant, though I confess to my shame I did not feel 
 so. Perhaps my cheeks on fire — all my blood had 
 rushed to my head ■ — gave him the impression that he 
 had affronted me; for, joining his hands in supplication, 
 he said, hurriedly, 'Do not be offended. For God's 
 sake, do not mistake me. My heart was too full. I 
 must speak or die. It was in no spirit of presumption 
 that I said what I said; we feel our own worthlessness, 
 do we not? and yet we aspire to heaven. It is in such 
 a spirit I regard you. It is in all humility that I lift 
 up my hands and cry, "Unworthy as I am, let me try 
 and deserve you.'" 
 
 "Was there ever a lover's suit more gently or 
 modestly urged? I was fairly conquered, and I gave 
 him leave to try. In what words I do not know, but 
 I know that I did so. lie half shut his eyes, like one 
 dazzled, and put his hand on liis heart as if in pain. 
 'Then I am blessed indeed,' he murmured; 'it is almost 
 too great joy to bear; you are an angel; yours in life 
 and death.' 
 
 "Aunt, who, during the last ten minutes, had been 
 absent from the room, reappeared. Oh! had she come 
 only a few seconds sooner! She was so struck by his 
 extreme paleness, that she asked if he were ill. ' Yes, 
 ill with happiness,' he said; and so saying he knelt 
 down at her feet, laid one of her hands on his head, 
 then, drawing it down to his lips, kfssed it fervently,
 
 206 LAVXNIA. 
 
 and without another word dej)artecl. As for me, I fell 
 on aunt's neck, and sobbed aloud. 
 
 * * H5 * * 
 
 "I had so far succeeded in mastering my emotion 
 as to be able to speak, when the sound of uncle's voice 
 made me huny to my own room. It was then I ad- 
 ded that confused P. S. to my last letter, which must, 
 I am sure, have sorely perplexed you. 
 
 "Uncle detained my aunt till dinner time, and af- 
 terwards visitor succeeded visitor, as if on purpose to 
 vex me-, the chevalier, the count. Captain and Mrs. 
 Paddock, all came. We had tea, and plenty of talk, 
 Avith interminable lectures from Mr Jones on 'English 
 Eailroads' and the 'Bank of England.' Fancy with 
 what interest I must have listened. I could see that 
 aunt was half distracted with impatience. However, h 
 quelque chose malheur est hon. I made use of the op- 
 j^ortunity to beg the count not to trouble himself any 
 more about our little scheme, as I had found Signor 
 Paolo quite intractable on the subject. The count was 
 full of regrets, the more particularly as the hundred 
 scudi had been actually paid that very morning to the 
 person he had mentioned to us, and everything pro- 
 mised well. He proposed to return me the money, 
 and let the loss be his; of course, I would not hear of 
 any such thing. I am not sure that he will not carry 
 out the plan single-handed; he hinted as much. "Who 
 knows, after all, but that the old bishop will relent, 
 and himself make the first advance to Signor Paolo? 
 
 "At last, every one was gone, and I might say 
 good night and go too. Aunt soon came to my room, 
 and I made a full confession of what had passed be- 
 tween Signor Paolo and me. Her first feeling was
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 207 
 
 rather one of pleasure than of pain. She is so fond 
 of him, she said she was perfectly sure he would make 
 me happy. But when she came to think of Mr. Jones, 
 her heart misgave her, nor was mine better assured. 
 Signor Paolo was, there was no denying the fact, under 
 the present circumstances, about the last man Mr. Jones 
 would accept as a husband for me. And as to my 
 marrying without Mr. Jones's consent, that was an ab- 
 solute impossibility. 'You are entirely dependent on 
 your uncle, my poor child,' said my aunt; 'it is my 
 fault, all my fault. Had I only been a little prudent, 
 a little less credulous, I should have been able 
 to help'^you through this difficult pass. But, though 
 no longer young when I married a second time, I was 
 utterly without worldly experience, and knew no more 
 about marriage settlements than a child of six years 
 old. All that was mine is now your uncle's, and I 
 have not a penny I can call my own', and while she 
 was saying this, the poor soul wrung her hands, and 
 her eyes turned into fountains. It was now my turn 
 to give consolation, which I did as best I could, and 
 then once more we discussed Signor Paolo. Our long 
 and anxious consultation left me aware, that all I could 
 expect from my aunt, at least as long as this state of 
 bewilderment lasts, is the warmest sympathy, but not 
 the guidance I need. So I took the lead myself and 
 began, 'You can enlighten' me on one point, which 
 once clear to me, I shall see what my future conduct 
 ought to be. Do you think that what I said to Signor 
 Paolo — I mean that the sort of encouragement I gave 
 him — entitles him to consider me as — engaged to 
 him, and must have and has been so construed by 
 him?'
 
 208 LAVINIA. 
 
 "She reflected for a minute or so, tlien replied, 'If 
 I am to speak conscieutiouslj, I must say, yes. 
 
 "'Theu I know Avliat I have to do,' said I. *As 
 au honest girl, I must abide by the consequences of 
 my impmdence, put my trust in God and in the chap- 
 ter of accidents.' 
 
 "'Unless,' said aunt, and then hesitated. 'But no 
 — it would break his heart.' 
 
 "I entreated her to speak openly to me. 
 
 '" I Tvas going to say,' she went on, 'unless you 
 were to appeal to Signor Paolo, and — ' 
 
 '"And prevail on him to set me free — in fact, 
 deny my own words; is that what you mean, dear 
 aunt'?' She nodded assent. 
 
 "'Well, come what will of it,' I rejoined, 'I will 
 never do that. Rash I may have been, selfish and un- 
 feeling I won't be.' 
 
 "Aunt took me in her arms, and kissed and bles- 
 sed me fervently. 'God bless you, ray child! you are 
 a noble creature.' But I need not repeat what further 
 she said; you know how partial she is to me. So, you 
 see, it is all settled. I am engaged, and intend to let 
 things take their coui'se. 
 
 ".j: ^ 5? 5? 5? 
 
 "Am I really in love with this young man? indeed, 
 that is really more than I can say, I am sure; at any 
 rate, not in love as heroines of novels are. I think 
 him handsome, to begin with, and a genius in painting: 
 as to that I have not the least doubt. I admire his 
 many fine qualities, his' original turn of mind; above 
 all, his simple, generous heart. His conversation is
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 209 
 
 agreeable to me; his approbation flatters me; I like 'him 
 to be near me; in short, none of the young- men I have 
 met up to this day ever either struck my fancy or in- 
 terested me as much as he does. But is this real love? 
 Love! Can I lay my hand on my heart, and say ho- 
 nestly that my whole soul is wrapt up in him, as the 
 phrase goes — that he is the sunshine of my life — 
 that it would break my heart if I were separated from 
 him? To none of these and other fine things I have 
 read of in novels, can I plead guilty. Either I am not 
 born with such exalted feelings, or the romance writers 
 over-colour their pictures for the sake of effect. On the 
 contrary, far from thinking him the most perfect of 
 mortals, I am keenly alive to his short-comings, to his 
 prejudices — * I was almost going to say, to what is ri- 
 diculous in him; positively, some of his absurd notions 
 about dress, &c., deserve no other name than ridicu- 
 lous. Nay, if the truth must be told, there is even 
 fermenting within me at this very moment something 
 uncommonly like a leaven of irritation against him, for 
 the world of trouble he is bringing on me. I was so 
 happy, so without care, before I knew him. Ah! well, 
 I am nevertheless resolved to do my duty by him, so 
 long as he does his by me — I mean, continues niodest 
 and submissive. Woe to him if he — ! Much will 
 depend on his behaviour at our first meeting again. 
 . . . . In spite of my grand airs, I turn hot and 
 cold only to think of it. Alas! be a woman of the 
 world as much as you will, learn to sweep majestically 
 into crowded assemblies, and to stand the gaze of 
 hundreds of admirers, what does it avail? The moment 
 you meet a certain pair of predestined eyes, the Juno 
 vanishes, and there remains in her place an arrant cow- 
 
 Laviiiia. I. 14
 
 210 LAVINIA. 
 
 ard . However, I should not advise liim to put ou 
 conqueriug looks, or — 
 
 "Conquering looks! be is the meekest, the gentlest, 
 the discreetest of lovers. He has been here. Oh I could 
 you have seen his confusion! how white and red he 
 turned! how his voice shook! it was absolutely painful! 
 I had to encourage him. He has thought of another 
 subject for a picture, and sketched it in already: Bea- 
 trice (of course, Beatrice means Laviuia) revealing her- 
 self to Dante; the scene is in the thirtieth canto of the 
 Fai'f/atory. He was anxious to know if I approved of 
 the subject, and of the manner in which he thinks of 
 treating it. I agreed that the subject was a fine one, 
 and, of course, the sequel is a rendezvous. We are to 
 go and see the sketch to-morrow, and, at the same 
 time, I am to give him another sitting. Only two or 
 three more sittings, and my portrait will be finished. 
 Visitors came in and interrupted our conversation. I 
 am glad to say that the circle of our English acquain- 
 tance widens apace. I am often now straitened for time. 
 He quietly dropped into a corner, but though I did not 
 look his Avay, I still felt his eye was ever on me, and 
 — if ever eye exj^ressed adoration, his did. Dante 
 miist have looked thus, when he met the shade of his 
 Beatrice. I was quite touched. I do, indeed, think 
 
 that I love him. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "The Mancini are of a noble family. You will 
 find a number of them mentioned in Maunder's Biogra- 
 phical Dictionary. Cardinal Mazarin's nieces were all 
 Mancini, and all married very high. Three were du- 
 chesses, if I don't mistake, and the fourth a countess.
 
 MISS lavinia's diarv. 211 
 
 The name sounds well, ten thousand times better than 
 tliat dreadfully dubious monosyllable, Jones. On this 
 one subject I do aj^ree with uncle; he can neither hear 
 it sjioken nor see it in print, without a shuddering anti- 
 cipation of its being used as a target for ridicule. I 
 know very well that this is a mere vulgar prejudice, 
 for what can there be in a name, that it should make 
 or unmake a man's claim — I don't say to respectabi- 
 lity, but — to refinement and to move in a certain 
 rank? Well, though my reason tells me, that we really 
 lay too much stress on what lie calls 'accidents,' yet I 
 cannot help shrinking from Jones and liking Mancini. 
 Signora Paolo Mancini tout court may look rather mea- 
 gre, but it is at least euphonic. If he were to settle 
 in England — Signer Paolo I mean — I have not a 
 doubt in the world of his being knighted. Was Eubens 
 a knight or baronet? I forget. I hear you say, a knight 
 is a poor pittance — • poor indeed for one who till 
 lately never even thought of a husband under a mar- 
 quis. Ah! bygones must be bygones now. My lot is 
 cast in a humble sphere, and I must reconcile myself 
 to it. After all, there is a probability, or rather per- 
 haps a possibility, that his relation the old bishop may 
 leave him a fortune, and enable him to take the posi- 
 tion his birth entitles him to. Yet, Avhy should I want 
 a fortune left to him? His genius ensures his making 
 one; and even if poor, is not genius an excellent jiass- 
 port into the highest society? Who cares whether such 
 men as Sir E. L. or C. S. are rich or poor? They move 
 in the best circles — nay, are included among the 
 guests of royalty. No one but feels honoured by their 
 notice. 
 
 * * :t: * * 
 
 14*
 
 S12 
 
 LAVINIA. 
 
 "When we reached the studio this morning, we 
 found the gentleman in a towering passion, a propos 
 of some arrests that were made last night. You can't 
 imagine what violent language he used, abusing every- 
 thing and everybody. I can understand that his feel- 
 ings should be far from friendly towards the powers 
 whose troops occupy his country. Let us only con- 
 sider what we should feel if .we had a French or 
 Austrian garrison in London! I can understand also 
 that he should find fault with the government of the 
 Pope. It must be galling to have an old priest lording 
 it over one. But that he should attack the principle 
 of royalty itself — that he should denounce all the 
 European Governments as immoral, nay, unchristian, 
 all aristocracies as selfish and corrupt, all social dis- 
 tinctians as mere shams — that icas more than I could 
 bear, and I frankly told him so. 'Whatever you do,' 
 said I, 'don't attack my beloved aristocracy — Eng- 
 lish aristocracy I mean — that is, if you care that we 
 should remain good friends. My reverence for it is 
 unbounded.' 
 
 "He looked rather thrown back, but replied, 'I 
 wish they may deserve your reverence. At all events, 
 it is very stupid of me to dwell upon politics. I shall 
 do so no more ,' and he painted on for some time in ^ 
 silence. His fit of taciturnity did not last long, how- 
 ever, and presently he began talking as cheerfully and 
 pleasantly as usual. A great blessing, is it not, that 
 he should be so — docile is the word that falls from 
 my pen, only that is not a nice expression to apply to 
 one's future husband. I certainly am aware that I 
 have great influence over him, but I shall always use 
 it for his good. Sincerely speaking, I feel that I have
 
 OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM. 213 
 
 in fact to educate him. He is primitive, full of asperity, 
 uncivilized, but a diamond in its rough state; yes, but 
 a real diamond, which only wants polishing to send 
 forth brilliant rays far and wide. I mean that my hands 
 shall bestow this polish. A proud and noble task it 
 will be to refine and raise to its natural level this 
 rugged nature, and to have both the power and the 
 will to do so. Now for the climax. My sitting over, 
 I was about to rise, when he stopped me, and knelt 
 down to mark out with chalk the outlines of my foot 
 on the floor, 
 
 "'Why do you do that?" I asked, and he answered, 
 'That I may kiss the spot on which the sole of your 
 shoe has rested.' 
 
 "Own that it was delicate and poetical, and, of 
 course, I did not grudge or refuse him this jnnocont 
 gratification: what woman would refuse to give hap- 
 piness at so small a cost? Now roaring like a lion, 
 anon cooing like a dove, whatever his other deficiencies, 
 certainly my Domenichino does not sin by want of 
 originality." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Optimism and Pessimism. 
 
 Paolo would not have changed his lot for that of 
 the mightiest monarch on earth. No throne but seemed 
 low, no crown but seemed valueless, compared to that 
 throne and crown to whicli he aspired. There was but 
 one Lavinia in creation, and that one he might, nay he 
 would, one day call his own. What prospect in the 
 world so glorious as this! and that he, of all men,
 
 214 LAYINIA. 
 
 should be cLoscn for tLat triumpli — tbe tliouglit bad 
 sometbing maddeuing, mingled as it was witb retro- 
 spective terror unutterable, lest it sbould bave been 
 otherwise, and joy without end at the dear reality. 
 Paolo's happiness, in short, was so intense and com- 
 plete, that it seemed to him a foretaste of heaven. But 
 for a deep sense of kindly pity towards all of his sex 
 who had missed being tbe chosen of Laviuia — but 
 for an in-esistible yearning to poiu' into some friendly 
 bosom tbe exuberance of bis felicity ■ — Paolo would 
 have lost all consciousness of still belonging to this 
 mortal world, so high did his soul float on tbe wings 
 of enthusiasm, so luminous the atmosphere, so ineffable 
 tbe harmonies, so celestial the dews, in which it re- 
 velled. 
 
 Tbe friendly bosom, of course, could be no other 
 than that of Salvator, and be it was who had to bear 
 the bnint of this new psycbological phase of Paolo's 
 mind. As an enthusiast of the deepest hue , as Paolo's 
 ardent friend and admirer, as one over head and ears 
 in love himself, and who had, to the best of his power, 
 encouraged his friend to enlist in the amatory band, 
 Salvator was ready and qualified at all times to act tbe 
 part of sympathizing confidant to his brother painter; 
 but never more so than at this particular juncture, 
 when, owing to certain circumstances, his own mental 
 diapason had reached a pitch but little, if any, short of 
 that of his excited leader. 
 
 Salvator, in fact, had several legitimate causes for 
 elation. His fortunes, since we lost sight of him, had 
 thriven wonderfully. To his title and functions of 
 scene-painter in ordinary to the Marchioness Delfuego 
 y Arcos, had been added in rapid succession those of
 
 OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM. 215 
 
 poet, clesiguer of costumes, director of choruses, and 
 prompter. In short, the active little body had become 
 the Atlas of the theatrical department at Villa Torralba. 
 Nor was this shower of honours and appointments the 
 only mark of encouragement he had received at her 
 ladyship's hand. Other tokens of his noble employer's 
 favoui", far more substantial, and no less Avelcome, had 
 followed apace. Thanks to these, Salvator had been 
 able to get rid of his only crying debt, the one to his 
 late landlord, been able to buy the long-desired silk 
 mantelet for Clelia, the long wanted suit of black, and 
 three changes of linen for himself, and, last not least, 
 to hire a decent room in the vicinity of Paolo's studio, 
 and to pay a quarter's rent in advance. 
 
 When we add that, after all this outlay, the little 
 painter found himself undisputed master of one-and- 
 thirty scudi, actually jingling harmoniously in his pocket 
 — one-and-thirty scudi, with which he was at a loss 
 what to do — the reader will rightly understand the 
 revulsion of feeling attendant upon such an unpre- 
 cedented — we were almost going to say unnatural — 
 state of affairs. To give an idea of Salvator's elated 
 mood, it will suffice to say, he actually proposed point- 
 blank to Clelia, and with the utmost gravity, as they 
 were now out of the reach of poverty, to marry at once. 
 To one whose imagination could travel at such speed 
 on his own account, the aerial flights in which Paolo 
 was indulging seemed quite in the common course of 
 nature. Nay, occasionally, Salvator's Pegasus would 
 devour space and time, at a rate too precipitate even 
 for Paolo, and stoppages and rebukes would follow. 
 Thus, for instance, Salvator would hear of no term of 
 probation for Paolo — probation forsooth — when the
 
 216 LAVINIA. 
 
 yoimg lady was smitten to tlie very core of her Iieart, 
 and was probably on lier knees, trying to win a con- 
 sent from that old bear, her vmcle; al suo pie la sven- 
 iurat. 
 
 "Oh, Salvator!" remonstrated Paolo. 
 
 "Salvator, here; Salvator, there; I haven't been 
 making love for four years not to know something of 
 women's ways by this time," and allowing no oppor- 
 tunity for any more objections, off went the little man, 
 depicting Paolo as the happiest of husbands and mortals, 
 driving his carriage and four, and giving princely enter- 
 tainments to his friends in the splendid Villa Mancini 
 — that was to be. 
 
 "How you talk, Salvator! as if I cared for villas 
 and entertainments," protested sentimental Paolo. "No; 
 it is her heart that I want, and a quiet nook, where I 
 can hide my treasure from every eye but my own. I 
 shall be jealous, very jealous." 
 
 "Ah! indeed," quoth Salvator; "that alters the case. 
 Gia la fiera gelosia; versa tutto il suo vden. If you are 
 jealous, by all means have a quiet nook; only not too 
 far out of the way, or you know I could not visit you; 
 though, to be sure, I am in a fair way to having a gig 
 of my own. I don't suppose you mean to give me up, 
 or Clelia either, eh?" 
 
 Here there was an angry protest from Paolo against 
 so offensive an hypothesis, followed by a counter pro- 
 test from Salvator, that, as his practical view of things 
 was unpalatable, perhaps the best plan was for him to 
 hold his tongue, a resolution only formed to be broken, 
 succeeded, as it immediately was, by an ex-abrupto 
 motion from the little man of "Suppose we were to fix
 
 OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM. 217 
 
 on tlie same day for both our mamages? A capital 
 idea tliat, — what do you say, Paolo?" 
 
 With the exception of sundry of these little ebul- 
 litions, Salvator, as a rule, was content to take his cue 
 from Paolo, before bringing to bear on his friend's 
 effusions any of those choice scraps of his operatic re- 
 pertory which the analogy of sentiment or of situation 
 prompted. For instance, a fine tenor voice would oc- 
 casionally inform the public — at least, such part of 
 the public as chose to loiter over the Pincio after dusk 
 — that there existed in rerum natura a certain young 
 lady (name not given) — Bella siccome un angelo, whom 
 Heaven had created on purpose — 11 del V ha fatta 
 nascere — for a certain gentleman of the singer s ac- 
 quaintance, which gentleman having set it down as an 
 incontrovertible fact, that Quant i hcni ha terra e cieloy 
 V amor suo mi pub donar, gave fair warning to any one 
 disposed to question his assertion, that Suoni la tvomha, 
 intrepido; lo p)ugnero da forte^ and so on. 
 
 These points settled and resettled to their mutual 
 satisfaction, our two innamorati would leave the Pincio, 
 with perhaps a parting apostrophe to the moon, when 
 there was one, and repair to their separate homes with 
 heavy steps, but light hearts, to meet again on the 
 morrow at dusk, under the obelisk, to repeat much the 
 same things, and so on evening after evening. 
 
 If there ever was a sjnritual passion, it was this of 
 Paolo's, so exclusively and entirely did it feed on the 
 past and the future, so little did it demand from the 
 present. Lucky that it was so, for the present was 
 very parsimonious to the young dreamer. Never, at 
 any period of their acquaintance, had he seen so little 
 of Miss Lavinia (the lessons for some reason or other
 
 218 LAVINIA. 
 
 were stopped altogether), and that little always iu the 
 presence of strangers; never had she meted out to him 
 with so chary a hand those imponderable and invaluable 
 tokens for favour, which in the time gone by she had 
 showered on him. 
 
 Was Miss Jones's reserve a sacrifice on the altar of 
 prudence, or was it a part of her educational scheme 
 for Paolo, or the result of a vague notion of having 
 given so much already as to be fairly excused from 
 making any further outlay? Be this as it may, Paolo 
 was perfectly satisfied with the little he received. His 
 happiness was independent of outward circumstances; 
 his love, his faith in her and himself, his recollections 
 of what had been, his fond imaginings of what might 
 be, were all-sufficient for him. Truly, Paolo bore his 
 own paradise within him. 
 
 He was now determined to make a clean breast of 
 it to Thornton ; but Thornton seemed equally determined 
 to give his young friend no chance of doing so, at least 
 in the natural way which Paolo would have preferred. 
 Ever since the Roman had dined at the Palazzo Mor- 
 lacchi , no reference whatever to the English family had 
 passed Mortimer's lips. Until his confession were made, 
 each day that went by brought with it a fresh feeling 
 of remorse to Paolo; so one fine morning he took the 
 bull by the horns, and said, hurriedly, — 
 
 "You were right after all, Mortimer, — I am in 
 love with Miss Lavinia." 
 
 "No news to me," answered the Englishman, with 
 a start, however, which gave the lie direct to his words; 
 "thus far the first part of my jn-ophecy is fulfilled; now 
 for the second." 
 
 "And pray what is the second?" inquired Paolo.
 
 OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM. 219 
 
 "Waste of time and of powers iu pursuit of a 
 chimera , disappointment , misery , and gnashing of 
 teeth." 
 
 "]\[ight you not as well prophesy luno jjowers 
 created by love divine, some noble work the result, 
 her hand the prize and reward of success?" 
 
 "Ay, her hand to be sure," sneered Mortimer. 
 "Let us have it a match by all means. Were there 
 ever two lovers better assorted? youth, health, rich 
 blood, smooth skin, on both sides. Quick! send for a 
 priest, and let us have the conjnngo pronounced on 
 these two bodies. Never mind the souls — they may 
 match or not; who cares if they do not? Not you for 
 one. You would marry on such terms-, yes, you would 
 if you could — thank your stars that you cannot." 
 
 "I protest to God," cried Paolo, enthusiastically, 
 "that her beauty is her least attraction to me; it is her 
 soul, her divine soul, that I covet, and whicli I must 
 conquer or die." 
 
 "You have known this lady for two months, seen 
 her, I believe, at most perhaps thirty times; seen her 
 more or less in a pose, that is, in the natural attitude 
 of "a young person who wishes to attract. By what 
 mysterious process have you, on so short a trial, ac- 
 quired as thorough a knowledge of her soul as if you 
 had made it yourself? Either you labour under a de- 
 lusion, or you are gifted with miraculous penetration." 
 
 "Two predestined souls," answered Paolo, "need 
 but to come in contact for a second, in order to re- 
 cognize, and have a thorough revelation of, each other. 
 In fact, they are but the two halves of a whole tending 
 with irresistible force to reconstitute itself. Now you 
 may sneer at your case."
 
 220 LAVINIA, 
 
 "I will do better than tliat," said Mortimer. "Tliougli 
 you tempt me sorely, I shall leave you unchecked to 
 your Platonic theories. I will ask you only one sober 
 question — Are you prepared to thrust yourself on a 
 reluctant family?" 
 
 "I would rather die," said Paolo, sharply. "ISTo-, 
 my motto is, Chi non mi vitole, 7wn mi merita (who will 
 not have me, deserves me not)." 
 
 "Very well, that is all that is necessary, for then 
 you may renounce any more speculations as to what is 
 an impossibility for you. You might as well set about 
 wooing the moon, or one of the stars to come down 
 and marry you, as this yoiing lady. Can you bring 
 yourself to suppose that ]\Ir. Jones has raised this flower 
 with all the care and expense he has done, merely to 
 see it bloom on the bosom of a poor Roman painter?" 
 
 "I may make a great name?" suggested Paolo, 
 half proudly, half deprecatingly. 
 
 "My dear boy, were you Phidias, Ictinus, and 
 Apelles rolled into one, do you think Mr. Jones Avould 
 ever consider you his equal?" 
 
 "Xot his eqiial!" repeated Paolo , in a sort of shout, 
 and starting off his seat. 
 
 "Not his equal," quietly asserted Mortimer again. 
 "Man is never so well pleased as when he can draw a 
 line between himself and his fellow-man, and write 
 upon it, 'Xo trespassing allowed.' This drawing of 
 lines of demarcation is an art in which we Englishmen 
 excel; we practise it even against our own kin. As 
 far as foreigners are concerned, we place them exactly 
 where we place our own poor relations; not more illi- 
 beral in this, however, than your OAvn haughty an- 
 cestors of imperial Eome. Yes, we look down upon
 
 OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM. 221 
 
 tbem as we do upon 'debilitated cousins.' You sliake 
 your head, my wise friend; you think the picture over- 
 drawn. I would swear to its having been taken from 
 life, and a good likeness also. You may pound an 
 Englishman in a mortar; but you will never pound out 
 of him the concei); that he is made of finer clay than 
 other mortals. JMr. Jones was born and brought up in 
 this creed, and in this creed he will die. Add to pride 
 of race, pride of money, and look to your laurels — 
 chances I mean." 
 
 "I know you don't like to be contradicted on cer- 
 tain topics," said Paolo, "or I should have something 
 to say." 
 
 "Speak it out; never fear contradicting me. I court 
 contradiction for once." 
 
 "If so, what I had to say is this," resumed Paolo, 
 "that unfortunately for the success of your argument, 
 it proves too much, and to prove too much, you know, 
 is to prove nothing. Kace-proud and purse-proud as 
 Mr. Jones may be, he is far less exclusive than you 
 make him out. No one can treat the count and che- 
 valier more politely, and yet they are foreigners." 
 
 "But the count and chevalier, child that you are, 
 have handles to their names, and that makes up for 
 the original sin of their being foreigners. A title is a 
 talisman no true-born Briton resists. England is the 
 paradise of title-bearers. Titles govern us at home, re- 
 present us abroad, command our armies, manoiuvre our 
 fleets , and with some exceptions — all rules have some 
 — fill every ofiice of trust, honour, and emolument. 
 Titles make our laws, our fashions, our rain and sun- 
 shine. Our daily papers register the comings and goings, 
 feastings and fastings, of these celestial bodies; and a
 
 222 LAVINIA, 
 
 little of tliis prestige extends even to titled foreigners. 
 Such are not tlie rose certainly, but made in lier like- 
 ness. Now you Lave the secret of Mr. Jones's politeness 
 to counts and chevaliers. The day you are a marquis 
 — you need not redden as if I accused you of wishing 
 to be one — that day, if you were as stupid as an 
 owl, the uncle will be at your feet, and the niece — " 
 
 "Don't say so of her," interposed Paolo, with great 
 warmth; "she is far above such paltry feelings; I know 
 it, know it for a certainty;" and Paolo, with a flush 
 of infinite complacency, related the conversation that 
 had once passed between him and Miss Lavinia a propos 
 of a certain engraving representing a bevy of young 
 ladies adoring a coronet. 
 
 "All that sounds very sensible," rejoined Mortimer; 
 "biit let me remind you that theory and practice are 
 two things, not one. I have seen liberals of the sort 
 you decribe fall flat before a mere 'honourable.' How- 
 ever, our business lies not with the young lady now, 
 but with the well-to-do middle-aged uncle , and the 
 likelihood of your winning his good-will and money- 
 bags." 
 
 "Let us leave his money-bags out of the question; 
 I am not, thank God, driving a bargain. lie may keep 
 his money or throw it out of the window, for all I care. 
 I don't want it; I despise it," protested Paolo. 
 
 "Indeed! Suppose, for supposing sake, you win 
 the girl; you must have some of the money-bags also; 
 or, my dear fellow, on what do you intend her to live? 
 Beauties do eat, I assure you." 
 
 "I intend her to live on the fruit of my own labour," 
 said Paolo; "I have done pretty well these two_ last 
 years, and I have saved something."
 
 OPTIMISM AND PESSIMISM, 223 
 
 "Your poor earnings and savings would not pay 
 her dressmaker and milliner's quarter's bill. Consider 
 now, as you have not considered before, that your 
 goddess is accustomed to a certain style of living, 
 Avhicb — I really don't say so from the spirit of oppo- 
 sition — which costs rather more than young painters 
 can readily afford. Carriages and footmen, lady's- 
 maids, and that sort of thing; and other sorts of things, 
 that would be unintelligible to you at present, are not 
 to be had without well-filled money-bags." 
 
 "Well, then, they must be done without," quoth 
 Paolo. 
 
 "You cut the Gordian knot at your ease," retui'ned 
 Mortimer. "You, the native of a land where people 
 generally live for themselves, and not for their neigh- 
 bours; where, as Madame de Stael expresses it, 'the 
 empire of self-love is almost null in society,' and both 
 men and women of fortune speak as naturally of tra- 
 velling by the diligence as they would of their carriage 
 and four. But we are more civilized than that in our 
 happy island; we live for society, and society returns 
 the compliment; she metes out to us her consideration, 
 and assigns us our place in the scale, in exact propor- 
 tion with the external show Ave make, that is, of the 
 amount of money we represent. You have thriven, 
 therefore you deserved to thrive; such is the broad and 
 not unphilosophical principle on which, as of necessity, 
 society acts. She has no time to inquire into your 
 moral and intellectual worth; but she can see at once 
 your equipages; reckon the cost of your liveries, and 
 the number and quality of your guests. In a commu- 
 nity thus constituted, you understand the paramoinit 
 importance of the appendages of wealth; they are part
 
 224 LAVINIA. 
 
 and parcel of respectability, the status civilis, the toga 
 virilis. He or slie who loses them, loses caste. Brahmins 
 and Pariahs are not alone to be found in India, and 
 the said he or she sinks into the limbo of Xobodyism. 
 And such would be the sorry fate of Signora Lavinia 
 Mancini, were she deprived of any of the splendour of 
 Miss Jones. AYhat do you answer to this?" 
 
 "That you are describing an impossible social state, 
 one that could not hold together for a single week," 
 replied Paolo. "To begin with, who could marry in 
 such a world?" 
 
 "Few would, and few do. Marriage is too costly a 
 blessing to be indulged in without a tolerable income, 
 which, ti-anslated, means 1,000/. or 1,500/. a year. 
 Om* young people of the carriage and footman class 
 
 — a very large one in England — do not marry on 
 less." 
 
 "And what becomes of the majority, who have not 
 the indispensable 1,000/. or 1,500/. a year?" asked 
 Paolo. 
 
 "They remain bachelors, and seek for equivalents. 
 Society's legislation makes nobody better, wiser, or 
 happier." 
 
 Paolo, looking perplexed, sat thinking for awhile, 
 then said gravely, — 
 
 "Even if every syllable of what you have been 
 telling me were Gospel truths, I would not despair; 
 for the day she loves me — loves me, you understand 
 
 — she will be willing, nay happy, to shake herself 
 free from all these conventionalities, and to dare both 
 mud and rain, leaning on my arm." 
 
 "Of a certainty she will, if that day ever comes," 
 was Mortimer's answer; "but will it come? 'Don't
 
 MISS LAVINIA IN DESHABILLE. 225 
 
 flatter thyself with heing much loved by a woman who 
 loves herself,' says Pythagoras. Two great passions 
 cannot co-exist. Drunkards and gamblers care nothing 
 for love. With a worldly woman, love is quite a se- 
 condary affair — the j^rimary, is the world." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Miss Lavinia in Deshabille. 
 
 Meanwhile a certain seed sown by the count at 
 Mr. Jones's convivial board — we mean that gentle 
 hint for the private use of Miss Lavinia, about sundry 
 wonderful pictures to be had almost for the mere 
 trouble of the taking — well, that tiny seed, then, 
 duly tended and nurtured, had so far grown and j)ros- 
 pered as to give a fair promise of bearing fruit. 
 
 We have more pressing business on hand just now, 
 than to enter into any detail of the skilful tactics, by 
 which the two worthy ccnfederatcs pushed on their 
 new scheme. Besides, the process is as old as the 
 world. We have inherited, all and each of us, from 
 mother Eve a tender point, which puts us at the mercy 
 of the first comer, Avho chooses to tickle it. Now, the 
 count and the chevalier were first-rate hands at this 
 sort of game, and under their clever management, botli 
 uncle and niece's vanity was easily excited; this was 
 no sooner the case, than difficulties were made to arise, 
 and competition to start up. Prince So-and-So was on 
 the scent of the hidden treasures. Duke AVhat-is-his- 
 uame had dealers out in searcli, and some Cardinal or 
 other had received carte hlanche from his Holiness to 
 secure the "gems" for the Vatican gallery. To make 
 a long story short, after being well tantalized and 
 
 Lavinia. I. 15
 
 226 LAVINIA. 
 
 brought to tlie proper pitch, Mr. Jones and Miss Lavinia 
 felt like conquerors flushed with victory, when, late 
 one night, and under the personal superintendence of 
 the count himself, the "splendid remnants of a once 
 princely gallery" were carried up to Palazzo Morlacchi, 
 and deposited in Miss Lavinia's studio. There was as 
 much mystery and as many recommendations to secrecy 
 on this occasion, as if, instead of six small pictures, six 
 barrels of gunpowder had been sent, for the purpose of 
 blowing up Castle Sant' Angelo on the morrow. 
 
 The most immediate consequence of this eventful 
 deed was, that Paolo next morning, scarcely an hour 
 after his conversation with Mortimer, received a special 
 summons to the presence of his English goddess. The 
 taboo, which guarded from all eyes profane the six 
 master-pieces, was not to extend, the reader may re- 
 collect, to Paolo. An exception in his favour had been 
 asked by Miss Jones, and willingly conceded by the 
 count. The command was couched in a note from the 
 young Eoman's diva, consisting of one line and a half, 
 dear and precious at all times, doubly so now. The 
 pretty autographs of which she had been so lavish up 
 to the day of Paolo's passing the Eubicon, had stopped 
 altogether ever since, and the young Roman was lite- 
 rally athirst for the even, steady, elegant hand-writing, 
 every external perfection of which represented to his 
 eyes — of such stuff" are lovers made — a correspond- 
 ing perfection of the writer's inner soul. Needless to 
 say, he drank in eagerly each word of the blessed 
 missive, and hastened to obey the summons. 
 
 He was met in the hall by Miss Lavinia's maid, 
 evidently waiting for him, and ushered by her into the 
 sanctum sanctorum ^ the young lady's private library
 
 MISS LAVINIA IN DESHABILLE. 227 
 
 and study, wherein he had set no foot for — what 
 appeared to him ages. Paolo was asking himself, with 
 a heart that beat hard against his ribs, what could be 
 the meaning of this sudden shower of favours, when 
 an inner door was impetuously opened, andMissLavrnia 
 ran towards him, and with a little shout of triumph, 
 exclaimed, "We have got them at last; come and see." 
 With these words she led the way to that part of the 
 room enclosed by a screen, Avhich she held as pecu- 
 liarly her atelier, and, pointing to six pictures of dif- 
 ferent dimensions ranged against the wall, she added, 
 with great volubility, "Six jewels, are they not? we 
 had a narrow escape of losing them. I will tell you 
 all about it by-and-by; but there are people in the 
 drawing-room just now, so I can't stay even for your 
 congratulations — I leave you in good company," and 
 she was off like a dart. 
 
 Paolo was disappointed, to be desired to look at 
 pictures, when he had anticipated something, he 
 scarcely knew what, but something very different; and, 
 worse still, to be told to proceed to the inspection 
 without the balm of her presence. However, he had a 
 duty to discharge, and he set himself to it conscien- 
 tiously, though with a very sorry face. He examined 
 all and each of the pictures long and closely, took 
 them up one by one, carried them to the window, 
 carefully scanned the names or initials on them, scanned 
 their backs, wetted a corner of his handkerchief, and 
 rubbed some ajjparently suspicious points, and at last 
 returned them to their place, and sat down bofore them 
 with as disconsolate a countenance as that he wore 
 when we saw him for the first time seated in front of 
 his own Brennus and Co.
 
 228 LAVINIA. 
 
 Miss Lavinia surprised liira in this melancholy 
 contemplation. Her features, too, had undergone a 
 change in the interval of her absence-, a cloud had 
 been gathering on her brow, which the sight of the 
 young painter's elongated face was little calculated to 
 disperse, and the inflections of her voice had lost much 
 of the buoyancy they had revealed only a quarter of 
 an hour ago. "You don't seem to enjoy the company 
 of my favourites very much," said she, with the shadow 
 of a shade of ^iique. 
 
 "I am sorry, very sorry, not to be able to sym- 
 pathize more warmly with you," said Paolo, trying to 
 speak kindly and cheerfully. 
 
 "Perhaps," returned the lady, and the voice had 
 a deeper tinge of bitterness — "perhaps you consider 
 such masters as Del Credi and Spada as beneath your 
 admiration." 
 
 The Italian looked up at her in astonishment, and 
 replied, "Have I ever done or said anything which 
 could lay me open to the imputation of the monstrous 
 self-conceit your words seem to imply?" He paused, 
 as if expecting some answer, but as there came none, 
 he went on: "If I have, pray let me know when and 
 how, that I may make honourable amends. I have the 
 greatest respect for the names you have just mentioned, 
 and rank thciv productions very high," with a marked 
 emphasis on the word tlinr — "I mean those that are 
 really theirs." 
 
 "Do you mean to say that these pictures are not 
 genuine?" asked the lady, sharply. 
 
 "To the best of my knowledge they are not," was 
 the dry, decided answer. 
 
 Miss Lavinia started, and impatiently crushed a
 
 MISS LAVINIA IN DESHABILLE. 229 
 
 letter she was holding in her hand. This movement 
 did not escape the keen eyes of the young painter; he 
 added, with considerable warmth and earnestness, "I 
 need not repeat how I regret to say anything that 
 annoys or disappoints you; but am I wrong in be- 
 lieving that what you wanted in sending for me was 
 honest advice, and not flattery?" 
 
 "Oh! as for flattery, no one can accuse you of any 
 talent that way," retorted Miss Jones. Uttered in a 
 different tone, the words might have been a merely 
 playful repartee; as it was, they were weighty with 
 reproach. 
 
 "Is it a fault, then, to speak plain truth?" ex- 
 claimed Paolo; "must one guard against it as against 
 loaded pistols?" 
 
 "One ought, at all events, to guard against allow- 
 ing preconceived notions to warp one's judgment," said 
 Miss Jones, coldly. 
 
 "What preconceived notions could I have in this 
 matter?" asked Paolo, his face growing dark. 
 
 "The buying of these pictures was the count's pro- 
 posal; that was enough to prejudice you against them 
 from the first. Whatever the coimt does or advises is 
 wrong in your eyes, even what he does or advises for 
 your own good." 
 
 "Pray, not a word more on that subject," said Paolo, 
 making a great effort to control his feelings. 
 
 "Yes, whatever he does or advises is sure to meet 
 with strenuous opposition from you," persisted the young 
 lady. 
 
 "And with the most entire ajiprobation from you," 
 rejoined the young man. "Am I to shut my eyes, and 
 declare what is mediocre, beautiful — extol copies, as
 
 230 LAVINIA. 
 
 originals, and tliat, too, solely on the strength of a 
 count's recommendation? I defy any one not purblind," 
 continued Paolo, striding angrily towards the unlucky 
 pictures, and pointing to them in succession — "I defy 
 any one to say that that distorted arm could ever have 
 been designed by Lionello, or that the colouring of that 
 Madonna has the very least resemblance to Del Credits 
 colouring. As to those Canaletti, a pupil of six months' 
 standing at San Luca would at a glance pronounce them 
 spurious. I say again there never was a more bare- 
 faced attempt at imposition." 
 
 "Are you aware that in saying so you impeach the 
 character of a most respectable nobleman?" flashed out 
 Miss Lavinia. 
 
 Paolo heard in these words the confirmation of his 
 long-combated misgivings as to a certain foible of La- 
 vinia's for titles, a foible the young democrat abhorred 
 and recoiled from; hereupon, he entirely lost his tem- 
 per. "Eh! dear me!" broke forth the young savage, 
 in a passion; "to hear you, one would think this count 
 was the fourth person of the Holy Trinity. What do 
 you, what can you know, of this man and his respecta- 
 bility? No more than of the man in the moon. An 
 utter stranger introduced to you by another utter stranger, 
 casually met at a table dliote, that is all you have to 
 found your opinion upon; unless you take it for granted 
 that all sorts of goodness and worth are imphed by the 
 fact of being or styling oneself a count." 
 
 "Ah! indeed," said Miss Jones, with an adorably 
 saucy toss of her head: "Will you be so good as to 
 spare me a repetition of your tirades against all who 
 are noble by birth? I know everything you have to 
 say on that subject by heart."
 
 MISS LAVINIA IN DESHABILLE. 231 
 
 "If you know every thing by heart," began Paolo, 
 and the deep colour in bis cbeek and tbe sparkle in bis 
 eye gave warning of some tbundering retort; but at tins 
 critical moment tbe entrance of Miss Lavinia's maid 
 obliged him to choke back his angry words. Miss Jones 
 was wanted in the drawing-room. 
 
 "What a bore!" groaned Miss Lavinia. "Don't go 
 away till I come back-," and with this injunction she 
 once more left the Italian to his thoughts. 
 
 Paolo was wounded to the quick, less by the con- 
 tradiction he had met with than by the manrfer in which 
 it had been offered. Hitherto so gentle, and kind, and 
 forbearing, how was it that on a sudden Lavinia stood 
 before him, bitter, imperious, and harsh? For the first 
 time he perceived a tone in her voice, a look in her 
 eyes, an expression in her face, of which he could never 
 have surmised the possible existence under her former 
 tones and looks. 
 
 "How fiercely she stood up in defence of lier dear 
 humbug of a count!" thought he, striding up and down 
 the narrow limits of the young lady's studio. "Between 
 his opinion and mine, she did not hesitate for an in- 
 stant. Well, let lier trust in him, and believe in his 
 wonders. What was the use of sending for me, since 
 she had made up her mind already? To admire her 
 purchase, I suppose. I begin to suspect Thornton is 
 right after all. So long as you humour their whims, 
 these proud islanders welcome you; dare to differ from 
 them, and they throw you over without ceremony. I 
 wonder how long she means to leave me here keeping 
 guard on her treasures." Paolo took another turn, sat 
 down, got up again, lost patience at last; and by the 
 same way he had come in, made his exit.
 
 232' LAVINIA. 
 
 Before proceeding further, we have two points to 
 elucidate. The first is, that whatever might be Paolo's 
 objections to aristocracy as an institution (the reader 
 must not forget that he was a warm admirer of the 
 Gracchi), lie was too much a man of his time, and had 
 intimately associated with too many tine fellows bearing 
 handles to their names, to share in the prejudice of his 
 father and grandfather, against individual nobles. The 
 little respect he entertained for Count Fortiguerra rested 
 on quite other grounds than the fact of his being a 
 count. 
 
 The second point we wish to clear up is in justice 
 to Miss Lavinia. Let us then state at once that Paolo's 
 opposition about the pictures, for the possession of which 
 she had struggled with all the ardour and entireness of 
 her nature, would not have piit to flight her equanimity 
 as it had done, but that at the moment she had had 
 other and serious causes of vexation and provocation. 
 
 Miss Lavinia had got up that morning in the best 
 of humours, and when, at breakfast, her aunt handed 
 her a note containing an invitation to Prince Torlonia's 
 first ball on the following Saturday, the best of humours 
 had progressed into the highest spirits. In this happy 
 frame of mind she had written her line and a half to 
 Paolo, and given orders for his admission to her studio. 
 Her greeting, though hasty (Admiral Blackett and his 
 daughters were calling at the time, and she had to run 
 away to them), had been cordial and gracious. So far 
 all well; but in the short space of time between her 
 first and second appearance in the studio, tidings had 
 reached her, considerably ruffling the smooth surface of 
 her morning mood. Now for some explanation of the 
 occasion and nature of these tidings.
 
 MISS LAVINIA IN DESHABILLE. 233 
 
 Miss Lavinia, iu passing tLrougli Paris four months 
 previously, bad had some dresses made by that famous 
 French artist of European celebrity, IMadame Lamy 
 Housset, of the Rue de la Paix. It does an author's 
 heart good to pen such names. Let the iminitiated be 
 informed that out of the pale of Madame Lamy Housset 
 there is no possible salvation for an English lady. At 
 least Miss Jones and some others thought so, though 
 there was a lively opposition in favour of Madame Ze- 
 nobia — no. Palmyra — the association of ideas mis- 
 lead me — and the Palmyrites turned up their noses 
 very high at the Lamy Houssetites. This is a digression 
 made with the best intentions. Well, then. Miss Jones 
 was so enchanted with the dresses furnished by Madame 
 Lamy that she determined to order some more for the 
 winter season to be sent to Florence, Hotel llartmann, 
 where the Joneses intended to stay till the end of Oc- 
 tober at least, when, owing to an unaccountable whim 
 of Mr. Jones, the family left Florence so precipitately, 
 that theirs was more like a flight than a departure. 
 Miss Jones did not forget her dresses, but left the most 
 minute directions with M. and Madame ILartmann about 
 the expected box from Paris, desiring that it should be 
 immediately sent to her at Kome, addressed to the care 
 of the British Consul there. Full six weeks having 
 elapsed, and there being no box forthcoming, Lavinia 
 wrote to Madame Lamy Housset, to demand an ex- 
 planation of the delay. Madame Lamy Housset politely 
 answered by return of post, that, according to Miss 
 Jones's orders, the dresses had been duly forwarded to 
 Florence four weeks back, but all search there for Miss 
 Jones having proved fruitless, the box had been sent 
 back to Paris, and had just reached her (Madame L.
 
 234 LAVINIA. 
 
 H.). "Was Madame L. H. to send it to Eome or else- 
 where? 
 
 I leave it to the public to imagine what were, what 
 must have been, Miss Jones's feelings on reading this 
 letter — the identical one we saw her clench and crush, 
 while speaking to her lover. I am sure that all my 
 fair readers will say as I do — and I do say it in the 
 greatest earnest — that such a contre-temps was enough 
 to provoke a saint, and just on the eve, too, of a ball 
 at Torlonia's! It was while suffering under the first 
 smart of this horrible intelligence, that Lavinia returned 
 to Paolo, and, the magazine being full of powder, one 
 stray spark, and it exploded. 
 
 Here arises a question. Would the explosion have 
 taken place, had the untoward accident just related 
 been made known to Miss Jones a fortnight back — 
 that is, before Paolo made his declaration? All things 
 considered, we must decide in the negative. During 
 the period of what we may call Paolo's courtship , Miss 
 Lavinia had not been without her share of crosses — 
 who is? — and may have visited them, for aught we 
 know, on her maid, or milliner, or the black steed 
 which had the honour of carrying her, but they had 
 nevertheless never clouded her intercourse with Paolo. 
 To him, with one exception or two, and then in reta- 
 liation of real or imaginary offence given by him — to 
 him she had invariably shown the same smooth brow, 
 the same smiling face, the same amiable temper. 
 
 The fact is that, apart from the somewhat romantic 
 and exciting circumstances under which she had made 
 his acquaintance, and secured his services, apart even 
 from the dazzle of his talent, Lavinia's fancy had been 
 stirred into unusual animation by Paolo's odd ways of
 
 MISS LAVINIA IN DESHABILLE. 235 
 
 thinking and acting, by his touchy independence, by 
 his occasional impetuous outbursts (T enfant terrible. One 
 and all of these gave him the charm of a novelty and 
 rarity, and inspired lier with the wish to please him. 
 She had accordingly done what Thornton protested all 
 young people do, when they have this wish to please 
 one another — she had posed a little, that is, exhibited 
 to Paolo only the sunny side of her nature. 
 
 A practice which, far from condemning, we would 
 highly recommend, especially to married people, as 
 nothing is more meritorious and conducive to harmony 
 and happiness, than a constant habit of keeping one's 
 disagreeableness in a misty back-ground, and concen- 
 trating the light of one's agreeableness on those one 
 loves. How many households would be more peaceable 
 and comfortable than they are, had man and wife re- 
 tained their courtship attire, instead of showing them- 
 selves in the deshcibil/e of dressing-gown and slippers! 
 
 To return: Paolo's declaration, like a stone thrown 
 on the smooth surface of a lake, had somewhat altered 
 the limpidity of Miss Jones's disposition. Tlie conflict 
 of feelings which it had aroused, the magnanimous re- 
 solution it had in a measure forced upon her, worked 
 a material change in our heroine; for one thing, it set 
 Paolo before her in quite a new light. lie had too 
 little hold on her to be accepted witliout reservation, 
 too much to be discarded altogether. She looked down 
 on him from all the height of her sacrifice, esteeming 
 him immeasurably her debtor; the very task she had 
 assumed, of educating him up to her own level, added 
 not a little to the sense of her superiority, and to that 
 of his obligations. Then , the yoiuig man's ecstatic 
 contemplation of her, his discreet and submissive ways,
 
 236 LAVINIA. 
 
 SO different to wliat slie had auticipated under the cir- 
 cumstances, "svhile really touching her heart, nevertheless 
 inspired her with a boundless confidence in her own 
 2)ower over him. This perfect security, and the ne^v 
 point of view from which she saw Paolo, brought about 
 an unavoidable result. Whatever Paolo had won in 
 one respect he had certainly lost in another. 
 
 We don't in general care extremely about much 
 adorning of ourselves for people we have laid under 
 great obligations, and on whose dutiful observance we 
 can rely quand meme. ]\Iiss Lavinia relaxed insensibly 
 — without the least premeditation, of course — from 
 that constant watch over herself, which had rendered 
 her former intercourse with Paolo so even and agree- 
 able, until this fine day, happening to be "out of sorts," 
 she gave way under middling provocation, and showed 
 herself to be "out of sorts." 
 
 Great was Miss Lavinia's surprise, and even alarm, 
 when on her return presently to the atelier, making 
 sure of finding Paolo where she had left him, she dis- 
 covered the lair empty, and the wild cub gone; gone, 
 no doubt, in anger; gone, perhaps, not to come again. 
 It would only be what she deserved if he never did 
 come back. A revulsion of feeling occurred. How had 
 she dared to treat him so shamefully, after all the 
 gentleness and delicacy he had shown, after all the 
 obligations he had conferred on her! Was she not 
 aware of how sensitive he was, how keenly alive to any 
 slight from those he loved! 
 
 There is nothing like the fear of losing that, for 
 which, in truth, we care but moderately , for enhancing 
 its value and leading us to the retrospective discovery 
 of how fond we were of it, though without our know-
 
 MISS LAVINIA IN DESHABILLB. 237 
 
 ledge. Were it only a tame squirrel, the favourite of 
 an hour, the moment it yields to its instincts, and seeks 
 its former wild haunts, alas! alas! what a charming- 
 little creature it was! Avhat a pet! how we loved it! 
 And then the fuss we make, and the trouble we take 
 to restore the dear runaway to its cage. Alas! alas! 
 indeed. 
 
 There was a something considerably like this taking- 
 place in Miss Lavinia. The simple fact of Paolo's dis- 
 appearance at once brought out all his excellences in 
 strong relief, and threw his short-comings into the 
 shade. Shame, repentance, and a grain of remorse 
 dashed away all her late selfconceit, and notions of 
 superiority. To the security in which she had basked 
 of late, succeeded, as if by magic, the most poignant 
 disquietude, lest he should be lost to her for ever. 
 Acting upon the impulse given by the moment's feeling, 
 the passionate and wilful girl had no rest, imtil she was 
 seated in the carriage, her aunt by her side, and driving 
 to Via Frattina. 
 
 Paolo was sitting astride a chair with both his 
 elbows leaning on its highest rail, in the attitude we 
 have already twice seen him in; the one, probably, 
 into which he naturally fell when disturbed in his mind. 
 He was in his shirt-sleeves — he felt hot, poor fellow! 
 though a sharp wind was blowing — and seemed quite 
 absorbed in watching the blue curls of smoke issuing 
 from his mouth. A poor smoker at all times, Paolo 
 had not placed a cigar between his lips since the day 
 he had first called at Palazzo Morlacchi; and Lavinia 
 knew this circumstance. Altogether, he had, at this 
 present juncture, a devil-may-care appearance about 
 him, which had little promise of good in it. At sight
 
 238 > LAVINIA. 
 
 of his unexpected visitors, Paolo started up witli such 
 impetuosity that he knocked over his chair, let the cigar 
 drop to the ground, made a dash at his coat, and, as 
 red as a burning coal (we don't know whether more 
 from confusion, pleasure, or pain), muttered some hasty 
 words of apology. 
 
 "It is we who ought to aj^ologize," said Miss Jones; 
 "I am come to sue for peace." 
 
 "For peace!" repeated Paolo; "to sue for peace, 
 one must be first at war. I cannot conceive any 
 such state between us; at least, not war existing on 
 my side." 
 
 "Thank you," said Lavinia, "that sounds very 
 kind and generous, if sincere," and checking herself, 
 she added quickly, "and coming from you it must be 
 sincere. However, you shall not prevent my making 
 amends." He would have spoken, but she left him 
 no time. "Yes, yes; I have been very provoking, foolish, 
 opinionated, and rude." 
 
 "Oh! pray do not say another word," entreated 
 Paolo. 
 
 "Well; say then that you forgive me." 
 
 "Indeed, I do with all my heart." 
 
 "Without mental reservation?" urged Miss La- 
 vinia. 
 
 "Quite, quite, I assure you," eagerly affimied the 
 young man. 
 
 "No particle of resentment, not the tiniest, lurking 
 anywhere ? " 
 
 "Not the smallest atom," 
 
 "You are sure?" she went on insisting. 
 
 "Perfectly sure; I wish I knew how to convince 
 you."
 
 MLSS LAVINIA IN DESHABILLE. 239 
 
 "Grant me a favour, and then I shall feel sure." 
 
 "Name it," said Paolo. 
 
 "Ah! but promise first that you will grant it." 
 
 "I have an objection to promising first," returned 
 Paolo; "however, I will break through all rules this 
 once; tell me your wish and it shall be done." 
 
 "That is really kind," burst out Lavinia, in happy 
 triumph. "We are going to Torlonia's ball next Satur- 
 day, you can easily get a ticket, I know: come and 
 join us there, will you?" 
 
 "If you insist on it, yes," said Paolo, with a shade 
 of annoyance in tone and look; "but — " 
 
 "No 'buts,'" interrupted Lavinia; "I do insist, and 
 I do so wish it. I want you to do the honours of yoi:r 
 beautiful fresco." 
 
 "You know it already very well," said he. 
 
 "Never mind, I have never seen it with you, and 
 that is what I long for." 
 
 "I shall feel myself so out of place at a ball," he 
 j)leaded; "I have never been at one; it is a sort of 
 thing for which I have no fitness." 
 
 "HoAv do you know that, if you have never been 
 to one?" inquired the girl. 
 
 "Instinct often warns us of what will disagree with 
 us," replied Paolo. 
 
 "Do it, then, as a sacrifice for my sake; do it for 
 the pleasure your being there will give me." 
 
 Against a request like this, expressed in the tone 
 of voice in Avhich it was expressed, accompanied by the 
 look with wliich it Avas accompanied (one of Lavinia's 
 irrcsistihle looks), Paolo was without defence of any 
 kind, and surrendered at discretion. A defeat which 
 the conqueror immediately acknowledged and rcAvarded,
 
 240 LAVINIA. 
 
 by placing in the liand of tlae conquered the whitest, 
 smallest, and softest of hands conceivable. This done, 
 the visitors withdrew, the aunt rather at a loss to under- 
 stand what was the importance of the interview she had 
 witnessed, the niece in high glee at having killed two 
 birds with one stone — namely, restored the fugitive 
 squirrel to his cage, and improved the occasion for 
 teaching him a new trick or two. 
 
 Paolo, as in duty bound, spent the rest of the day 
 in calling himself a brute for his unmannerly flight from 
 the studio — in restoring to Miss Jones her former 
 character of angel — in lamenting his own fate in 
 having to go to a ball — and in thanking Heaven that 
 she would have him go. "For," argued Paolo, "if she 
 did not care for me, what would it matter to her whether 
 I was there or not?" 
 
 When, a day or two after, Paolo told Thornton that 
 he was going to Torlonia's ball — • he had secured a 
 ticket by that time — Thornton made no objection-, on 
 the contrary, approved of it. 
 
 "Since nothing can open your eyes but sad expe- 
 rience," said the misanthrope, "no better opportunity 
 than this for a beginning. A few hours spent with 
 Miss Jones at a ball will give you more insight into 
 her character than ten years of morning visits. There's 
 nothing like a ball for showing female character; it 
 draws the v/hole woman out. And then it is time you 
 should get acquainted with your rival." 
 
 "My rival?" exclaimed the young man. 
 
 "Yes; with that terrible rival, who is everywhere 
 and nowhere, who can goad you to madness, and yet 
 cannot be called to account — the world."
 
 PAOLO SEES A GHOST. 241 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Paolo sees a Ghost. 
 
 Paolo arrived early at tlie ball. Shy people, from 
 their invincible repugnance to making their entrance 
 under the fire of many eyes, are, as a rule, among the 
 earliest arrivals at all assemblies. No wonder, then, at 
 Paolo's being among Torlonia's first guests. He was 
 too much of an artist not to be pleasantly struck by 
 what was to him the novel and fairy-like coup-<Tto'd of 
 the long suite of reception rooms — by their noble 
 proportions, the richness and variety of their decora- 
 tions, the floods of light from chandeliers of exquisite 
 Venetian workmanship, the profusion of flowers and 
 shrubs on all sides, with fountains refreshing to every 
 sense, playing amid those mimic parto-vca and groves. 
 His soul, too, was stirred by the occasional strains of 
 inspiriting music, for the nonce a vain appeal to absent 
 dancers. These combined influences, one and all, made 
 his sensations for a time those of keen and unmixed 
 enjoyment. 
 
 This pleasant state, however, did not last long. 
 Unpalatable sights, such as are unavoidably met with 
 in a large assembly at Home, foreign uniforms, political 
 opponents, political turncoats, Brutuses of yesterday 
 turned into cardinal's courtiers of^to-day, depressed his 
 feelings, and roused his bile. "Well," thought he, to 
 comfort himself, as a rebellious sigh would have its 
 way, "I am not here for my own pleasure, but for 
 hers;" and having nothing better to do, he went and 
 made one of a large group of persons, standing in two 
 compact rows in Avhat he now perceived to be the 
 principal entrance hall. 
 
 Luvinia. L lo
 
 242 LAvmiA. 
 
 The fashionable crowd of which he formed one was 
 composed almost exclusively of young men, most of 
 them apparently foreigners to Italy; at least, not speak- 
 ing her language, but French or English. The young 
 Roman stood wondering what great personage was 
 creating this expectation, w^hen all conversation was 
 hushed, and a general stir took place. Those who were 
 before went further forward, those behind rose on the 
 tips of their toes, stretched out their necks, and the 
 short-sighted — astonishing the number of them — put 
 up their eye-glasses, and in stepped in succession, first 
 a stately lady with a lovely girl on each arm; then an 
 elderly, plump dame, and a withered old one, followed 
 by two more young fresh girls; the rear brought up by 
 a couple between two ages; and the whole of them, 
 young, middle-aged, and old, making a greater display 
 of natural charms than, according to Paolo's primitive 
 notions, was consistent with good taste. Now Paolo 
 understood what sort of attraction it was that kept that 
 double living wall at the entrance hall, when he heard 
 comments, bad enough when disparaging, worse still 
 when laudatory — comments which made him blush to 
 the roots of his hair for those poor unconscious ladies. 
 He hastened away, sat himself down in a comer, and 
 fell to musing. 
 
 Little by little the rooms began to fill — the double 
 h;iman stream that roamed to and fro in opposite du-ec- 
 tions grew thicker, and the renewed strains of the 
 orchestra, together with the measured beat of feet in 
 the distance, announced that the ball had begun in 
 earnest. Still Paolo sat musing. A slight tap of a 
 fan awoke him, so to say; he turned round, and 
 there before him was Miss Jones, more beautiful than
 
 . rAOLO SEES A GHOST. 243 
 
 ever he had seen her, bare-shouldered, bare-armed, 
 dazzling. 
 
 "Am I not very good to come and rouse you from 
 your brown study? what are you thinking of?" 
 
 " Of nothing that you will care to hear," said Paolo, 
 exchanging salutations with Mrs. Jones. 
 
 "But I do care," went on the radiant fairy; "I in- 
 sist on knowing." 
 
 "I was thinking," replied Paolo, "on the beautiful 
 moon, that is now shining without these walls." 
 
 "Were you? is there a moon to-night?" 
 
 "It was not probable you should notice it," ob- 
 served Paolo. 
 
 "I did not, that's the truth." 
 
 "Does the idea of a ball abolish the rest of crea- 
 tion?" asked Paolo. 
 
 "Now, don't be moody and disagreeable," said the 
 lady. 
 
 "Moody at a ball? who ever heard of such a 
 thing? I am not such a fool," replied Paolo; "no, in- 
 deed, I intend to put on my best smiles and go and 
 pay my homage to their eminences — I saw three 
 somewhere." 
 
 "Nonsense! come and join us soon," and the ob- 
 struction which had brought Miss Jones to a standstill 
 close to Paolo being removed, she disappeared with her 
 aunt into the next room. 
 
 Miss Jones had yielded to an impulse of good- 
 nature, in thus accosting young Manciui, for which, 
 of course, she was afterwards called to account by 
 Mr. Jones. It did her honour, though true it is, she 
 had had only to stretch out her beautiful arm to reach 
 him with her ffin — only to lean over the back of one
 
 244 LATTS'IA. 
 
 interveniug" cliair, to be able to converse with him. 
 She felt grateful for his being there, grateful for his 
 "wearing "straw-coloured"' gloves, and rather grateful 
 to him for his good looks. He, on his side, was far 
 from insensible to either her kindliness or her beauty, 
 and would assuredly have shown how warmly he felt 
 both, but for a certain crotchet of his, which, when- 
 ever called into action, sent gentler feelings to the 
 rightabout. 
 
 Miss Lavinia naturally wore a ball-dress, an ultra 
 ball-di-ess — eveiy one knows what that means — and 
 Paolo, we are ashamed of him, and for him, had a 
 special pet prejudice against low dresses, and plenty of 
 trash ready in support of this prejudice. Now, the 
 secret is revealed of all his shiftings and evasions, as 
 to painting the young lady in a certain gaib, and of 
 his strangely resei-ved manner towards her on the day 
 he was one of the Joneses' dinner-party. The reader 
 is entreated to bear in mind that we describe the feel- 
 ings of a young savage. Paolo was utterly ignorant of 
 the world and its ways; Paolo had never moved in 
 the so-called upper cu-cles; Paolo knew not that the 
 higher you go in the social scale, the gi-eater this sort 
 of exhibition. Covering their shoulders is all very 
 well for common people, for the wives and daughters 
 of mechanics. This ignorance, and a strong disposi- 
 tion to jealou?;y, are the only excuses which we ven- 
 tui-e to offer in extenuation of this preposterous notion 
 of his. 
 
 Paolo's mind was ti'oubled "like a fountain stirred, 
 and he himself saw not the bottom of it." He felt 
 sorely out of his place , and if Miss Jones had not ex- 
 pressed the deshe to be shown his fresco by himself,
 
 PAOLO SEES A GHOST. 245 
 
 ten to one but he avouIcI have gone home and to bed. 
 As it was, he wandered away in search of her, and at 
 last found the young lady in a room, metamorphosed 
 into a grove, and fancifully lighted by coloured lamps 
 hanging from the branches of the trees. There was a 
 crowd in this room, and it was suffocatingly hot. Miss 
 Jones was dancing a quadrille, and Paolo, obliged to 
 remain in the rear, saw only as much as the spectators 
 in front of him would allow. No doubt of Lavinia 
 being in her natural element — her happy smile, her 
 lustrous eyes, her beaming countenance, told a tale of 
 keen and intense enjoyment. Her partner, a thin, light- 
 haired young man, with an order on his breast, whether 
 still or in motion, never slackened in his talk, and was 
 most complacently listened to. Now and then some of 
 his remarks produced a fit of half-suppressed laughter, 
 as if she greatly enjoyed the joke, whatever it Avas. 
 Paolo did not relish it half as much. 
 
 The lady who was the partner of Miss Jones's 
 vis-a-vis, evidently divided with Lavinia the sceptre of 
 queen of the ball, and the admiration of the public. 
 But far from exciting any unkind feelings, this rivalry 
 seemed to create a friendship, and to draw the beauties 
 towards one another. AYhenever the figure of the dance 
 caused them to meet or join hands, there was no end 
 to wreathed smiles, and becks, and gracious whispers 
 — all of which was very pleasant to behold. 
 
 The appearance of this second lady was very re- 
 markable. The character of her beauty, for beauty she 
 had, was so strange and so dissimilar to that of the 
 European type, that it required a practised connoisseur's 
 eye to find it out, and even then some effort to ac- 
 knowledge it; but once allowed, it exercised over you
 
 246 LAYINIA. 
 
 •what was very like magnetic fascination. She was small 
 and plump, but most harmoniously proportioned, had 
 jetty black hair — uncommonly large and round-shaped, 
 jetty black eyes, with yellow streaks, and something of 
 the feline phosphorescence in them — a nose a very 
 little turned up, showing more of the rosy nostrils than 
 a fastidious observer might have desired — a wide, 
 well-shaped mouth, with an adorable dimple at each 
 of its corners, brought into play at every moment by 
 a winning smile, Avhich served to exhibit a wonderful 
 set of little teeth of dazzling whiteness. She wore a 
 yellow dress with bouquets of black tulle, studded with 
 emeralds, and in her raven hair, and on her violently 
 displayed bosom, hung strings of oriental pearls, ad- 
 mirably assorting with and relieving her swarthy greenish 
 complexion and the ink of her heavy tresses. Her style 
 of dancing was as characteristic as her appearance. It 
 had a lalsser aller, with occasional starts of passion, in 
 it, accompanied by poses of the head, wavings of the 
 neck and arms, and imdulations of the whole person, 
 that might be found fault with, and declared out of 
 place in a drawing-room; but which had all the soft- 
 ness, peculiarity, and attractiveness of the motions of a 
 kitten. As to her ankles and feet — and thanks to 
 the unfashionable shortness of her gown, every one 
 had the benefit of them — they were unanimously 
 pronounced unrivalled — the ankle and foot of a true 
 Andalusian. 
 
 The quadrille did come to an end at last, and then 
 Paolo made a desperate push to join Miss Jones; but 
 before he had elbowed half his way to her, there Avas 
 the yellow lady seated by her side, and' a thick wall 
 of gentlemen of all ages surrounding and conversing
 
 PAOLO SEES A GHOST, 247 
 
 with tlie two belles of the evening. Paolo, however, 
 struggled on, so as to be near enough to avail himself 
 of any opportunity that might offer, should Lavinia 
 really wish for his services as cicerone. He doubted 
 much that she remembered anything about his fresco. 
 He looked in vain for either Mr. or Mrs. Jones, and 
 then, naturally enough, his whole attention became 
 concentrated on the group, of which Lavinia and the 
 yellow lady were the admired centre. They held each 
 other's hands , and seemed on such friendly and in- 
 timate terms , that Paolo could not but take it for 
 granted that Pentesilea, or the cardinalessa — the yellow 
 lady was no other than the ]\Iarchioness Delfuego y 
 Arcos — Paolo had identified her at a glance — well, 
 Paolo could not but take it for granted, that she must 
 be an old acquaintance of Miss Jones ; and if so , why 
 had Miss Jones withheld the fact from him? The 
 marchioness was not the sort of woman with whom he 
 would have desired that his English pupil should form 
 an intimacy. Not that he gave more credence than 
 such reports usually deserve to the stories current about 
 her ladyship; but he objected to her eccentric ways, 
 and her habits of self-exhibition. He knew also, from 
 whatClelia andSalvator said, that, if kind and generous, 
 the marchioness was, beyond all allowable limits, wil- 
 ful, thoughtless, and childish. 
 
 While Paolo was lost in disagreeable speculations, 
 the music struck up again, couples took their places, 
 and the waltz began. This time Lavinia's partner was re- 
 markably tall, handsome, prepossessing in appearance, 
 and, as a dancer, quite a match for the young lady. 
 It was really a pleasure to watch the two elegant forms 
 flying rapidly round the room, with the ease and light-
 
 248 LAYKIA. 
 
 uess of tliistle-dowu driven by a gentle breeze — a plea- 
 sure, that is, to all but Paolo. To Mm, on tbe con- 
 trary, the sight was gall and "n'oimwood. Probably 
 many another in his situation, even though more scan- 
 tily gifted than our Eoman with originality, might ob- 
 ject to seeing the woman he loves twirling round a 
 room in the arms of a fine felloAv, her cheeks so close 
 to his cheeks that their breaths must mingle, a stray 
 curl of her hair perhaps brushing his lips, not to men- 
 tion other aggravating circumstances. But in this, as 
 in all other matters, tastes diiler, no doubt; and who 
 Avill venture on the experiment of accounting for tastes? 
 That of Paolo was, however, decidedly against this 
 kind of sport; and had he had within his reach the in- 
 ventor of the waltz, he would have made an example 
 of him, for the guidance of other inventors. As it was, 
 he had nothing for it but to fulminate curses — deep 
 not loud — against him, as he stood with eyes riveted 
 on the handsome j^air, iu mortal apprehension lest not 
 only faces but lips might touch. One must be in love 
 and jealous , to be piu'sued by any such ridiculous 
 fears. 
 
 After the climax of the waltz, which in sight and 
 sound resembles a humming-top, the music stopped, and 
 Lavinia's cavalier reconducted her to a seat, thanked 
 her, bowed low, and departed, and with him Paolo's 
 incubus. He made a desperate rush forward and reached 
 Miss Jones's side. 
 
 "Here you are at last," she said, panting for breath, 
 and passing her cobweb handkerchief fui'tively over her 
 face. "How very hot it is! shall I ever be cool again! 
 Oh, my poor gloves, they are not fit to be seen." 
 
 "You had better not dance any more," said Paolo,
 
 PAOLO SEES A GHOST. 249 
 
 innocently, "but amuse yourself with walking tLrougli 
 the rooms." 
 
 "Not dance any more!" exclaimed the beauty, 
 loudly, and with a superb toss of her head. "Look," 
 and she held up her tablets, "it is full-, I am engaged 
 for every dance." 
 
 Paolo involuntarily recoiled. The tones, gestures, 
 looks were those of a person drunk — drunk with ex- 
 citement. Her countenance reminded him of that of a 
 Bacchante he had copied over and over again while he 
 was at the drawing academy, and which had haunted 
 him day and night at the time. He listened, struck 
 dumb and torpid as one in a dream. The return of 
 the yellow lady, and other strangers, who clustered 
 round Miss Jones, roused him from his trance; he bowed 
 and retired. In doing so, he met Mr. and Mrs. Jones 
 coming in search of their niece. Mrs. Jones stopped 
 him, asking if he were ill, he looked so pale, 
 
 "Nothing but the heat," answered Paolo. 
 
 The lady complained of heat likewise, and they 
 parted. 
 
 "Poor fool that thou art!" thought Paolo to him- 
 self, as he elbowed his way out of the crowd, "she 
 thinks no more of thee or thy fresco than of tlie first 
 pair of shoes she ever wore. She thinks of dancing, 
 and she is right. For what do people come to a ball 
 if not for dancing? The greater ass to be here, I who 
 do not dance. If ever — " 
 
 The thread of his thoughts or resolves was here 
 violently snapped by a sharp touch on his shoulder. 
 He turned, and found himself face to face with the 
 so-styled Du Genre , his French friend and fellow 
 painter.
 
 250 LAVINIA. 
 
 "All, all! you are liumanizing yourself at last,'' 
 said the Frencliman. 
 
 "Am I?" asked Paolo: "my opinion is that I am 
 brutifying myself." 
 
 "Always caustic," observed Du Genre. "Eh bien! 
 how goes it with the ideal?" 
 
 "Stifled under these mountains of matter." 
 
 "Farceur! it is a charming fete: what dresses! what 
 women!" 
 
 "The dresses are faded, the women puppets, the 
 fete a bedlam. I protest that any one who is pleased 
 with what he sees here is either crazy, or a student of 
 the nude." 
 
 "Ha! ha!" laughed Du Genre, "I see now where 
 the shoe pinches, you puritan. You would have young 
 ladies with beautiful transparent skins put them under 
 lock and key." 
 
 "And where would be the harm, if they did?" re- 
 turned Paolo. "Ought a woman of flesh and blood to 
 be exhibited like a statue or a picture, that we may 
 admire the delicacy of that curve, or the fine ejffect of 
 that tint?" 
 
 "And the public, barbarian — the public — are 
 they not to be considered?" 
 
 "Ah! the public," sneered Paolo. "Yes, you are 
 right, — I forgot the claims of society. You have con- 
 verted me. Good night." And he hurried away, re- 
 peating to himself, "In fact, why should the public not 
 have their part? It is the public that awards the prizes, 
 therefore it is but just and fair the public should have 
 the means of judging. Fie on husbands and lovers. 
 AVhat right have they to confiscate the share of the 
 public? Down with all such monopoly; little fear of
 
 THORNTON TELLS A TALE. 251 
 
 it, after all. As far as I can see, love seems to be a 
 very accommodatiug affair. But mine is not. Mine is 
 the love of a miser. I must have my treasure all to 
 myself — clown to the uttermost farthing. I am jealous 
 of the very air surrounding her. Only to see her dance 
 ■with anotlaer made me suffer martyrdom. Why am I 
 thus? Why am I not like others? Am I wrong, or 
 mad, or what? At all events, I have had enough of 
 balls, and of yellow gloves, too," and so thinking, he 
 tore them off, and sent what was now very unlike a 
 pair of ball gloves, spinning along the marble hall. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Thornton tells a T.ile. 
 
 The clocks of the Eternal City were tolling twelve 
 as the heated young man issued into the street, and 
 the slow strokes fell on the still night like a solemn 
 warning. The moon was riding high in the unclouded 
 sky, the air was cool and pleasant to fevered brows, 
 the silence and solitude sweet to a swelling, over- 
 charged heart. As Paolo walked along, his excitement 
 insensibly subsided under the soothing influences of the 
 hour, and dwindled into a profound discouragement, 
 into one of those heavy, poignant, supreme depressions, 
 not unfrequently the lot of passionate natures , and 
 under the tyranny of which life seems an unbearable 
 burden. In this dejected humour, he reached Via Ba- 
 buino. A tall shadow M^as Siting to and fro before the 
 house in which Paolo lived. It was Thornton. 
 
 "I knew you would not be late," said the English- 
 man, "and so I have been on the look out for you. Is
 
 252 LAVINIA, 
 
 it the liglit of the moon which makes you look so pale, 
 or have you seen a ghost?" 
 
 "The one and the other," returned Paolo; "but 
 spare me just now." 
 
 "I am not the one to bruise the broken reed," 
 muttered Thornton. "Paolo, I may have used the goad 
 to make my friend tiu-n from a precipice; but once he 
 has taken the plunge, and lies wounded, I would handle 
 him as tenderly as a babe. All affliction is sacred to 
 me." Then Thornton added, in a lighter tone, "Come 
 now to my room, and let us have a chat and a glass 
 of punch." 
 
 "Thank you," said Paolo, "I am neither inclined 
 to talk nor drink. I will go to bed." 
 
 "To toss about, and fret, and bite your pillows to 
 stifle your groans. I have known such nights. No, 
 Paolo; come with me; we shall not talk. Come, my 
 son." 
 
 A father could not have said "my son" more ten- 
 derly. Every feature in the speaker's fine countenance 
 was expressive of gentle and considerate sympathy. 
 The young Roman, easily conquered, followed to his 
 friend's apartment , and once in the familiar room, 
 stretched himself out on a sofii, while Thornton, before 
 a table on which was the ready prepared punch, ap- 
 plied a lighted match to the spirits, and stood there 
 stirring and exciting the blue flames to greater and 
 more wizard activity. 
 
 "An image of that short fever yclej)t life," said 
 Thornton, gravfely, as the last forked, fiery tongue, 
 after much wavering, flickering, paling, at length 
 died out.
 
 THORNTON TELLS A TALE. 253 
 
 "It might be so full and liappy, though!" sighed 
 Paolo. 
 
 "Full, — yes, to a certain extent, if we were wise," 
 said the Englishman; "but happy, I much doubt. Hap- 
 piness is less an affair of circumstances than of tempera- 
 ment. Many are happy with the best reasons for being 
 quite the contrary, and vice versa. There are in the 
 world, luckily, but a very limited number to whom 
 nature has forgotten to give the buffers and soothers 
 with which the majority are provided to protect them 
 against too rough collisions. Hence the disagreeable 
 shocks this minority off ill-constituted mortals receive, 
 where the others receive none, or perhaps even agree- 
 able impressions. The former are like swimmers 
 against the current, or like guests at a banquet whose 
 stomachs are at fault with the viands before them. 
 Such are never satisfied with an approximation, but 
 like Balzac's Flemish alchymist, pursue that which they 
 can never reach — the absolute, in politics, in morals, 
 in art, in love, in everything. For such as these hap- 
 piness is out of the question; quiet and peace they 
 may enjoy, so long as they keep out of the paths of 
 the world. This is thy lot and mine, my poor friend." 
 
 "I revolt against it, then!" cried Paolo; "I scorn 
 your peace and quiet; I will and must be liappy. A 
 man worthy the name of a man ought not to mope and 
 despond when he can act. I know what hurt me, and 
 no later than to-day she shall hear it from me." 
 
 "Hear what, my poor boy? that her dancing with 
 another drives Paolo Mancini frantic, and that there- 
 fore she must give it up? Even if she would, she could 
 not. Her uncle and aunt, her friends, the world, would 
 misconstrue the renunciation. Hoar that her ball-dress
 
 254 LAVINIA. 
 
 is objectionable in your eyes? If she -would, sbe could 
 not alter the style of it. It is tlie costume de rigueur 
 on such occasions; or hear that you find ftiult with her 
 looking pleased and excited at the admiration she in- 
 spires? Don't find fault with her; find fault with human 
 nature, or rather with yourself. You cannot make her 
 responsible for your peculiar manner of seeing and 
 feeling." 
 
 "You lay your finger on each of my wounds," said 
 Paolo, in surprise; "yon read my heart as if it were 
 an open book." 
 
 "I once knew a young man who passed through 
 similar phases, and who described his sensation to me7' 
 explained Mortimer. "Youth, fortune, good looks, a 
 kindly disposition, great moderation of desires — he 
 had all, you would have said, which ought by right to 
 secui-e happiness. But he had none of those inestim- 
 able softeners which, as I said before, ward off through 
 life all violent concussions or falls. The world dis- 
 agreed with that youth, and he with the world. He 
 was wise enough to turn his back upon it, and seek 
 contentment in the solitude of a country life. Here he 
 had a dream. He dreamt of a girl as lovely as the 
 roses she tended in her gai-den, as true as the nature 
 which encircled her, as ignorant of the world and its 
 ways as if no such thing existed. Indeed, they did 
 not as yet exist for her. Here I am safe, thought the 
 imprudent, youthful sage; and he let his heart grow to 
 her, let every hope and wish coil round her. The 
 dream lasted for a twelvemonth. It vanished at a 
 county ball — her first ball." 
 
 Mortimer, half choked with emotion, swallowed his
 
 THORNTON TELLS A TALE. 255 
 
 glass of piincli almost at a gulp, and after a little he 
 went on, — 
 
 "He saw ber leaning on strangers' arms, compla- 
 cently listening to and smiling upon strangers, forget- 
 ful of everything, himself included, in the excitement 
 of the moment. A young officer, the son of a noble- 
 man, paid ber particular attention, and to see the de- 
 ference and eagerness with which she marked her sense 
 of the honour, one would have said she bad as much 
 faith in the saving grace of the peerage as in that of 
 the Bible. My friend felt as you felt not long ago. 
 That terrible rival, from which be had thought himself 
 secure with ber, the world, on a sudden stood between 
 him and her — uay, supplanted him. His whole 
 moral being was shaken to its foundations. She did not 
 notice his agitated looks; she bad no eyes but for the 
 admiration bestowed upon her. The young man thought 
 to himself as you did at the ball — said as you did 
 at the ball — said as you did just now, 'This shall 
 not be again; I will remonstrate with her.' But when 
 he tried to do this, she did not understand him, and 
 asked, 'What have I done?' This question closed his 
 mouth. In fact, what had she done but indulge in an 
 amusement pronounced innocent by society, and as 
 such entered into by most respectable ladies, both mar- 
 ried and unmarried. What bad she done, poor child, 
 but acknowledge and be flattered by the condescension 
 of one of those, the world, her world, recognizes as its 
 betters? What right had be to visit on her unofi'ending 
 head what, after all, was nothing but the sin of liis own 
 faulty organization? He felt ashamed of himself, and 
 held his peace."
 
 256 LAVINIA. 
 
 Thornton drained liis glass again, and then proceed- 
 ed with increased animation, — 
 
 "A ball, like a misfortune, never comes alone. 
 This one was to be followed by races, then dinners, 
 and the inevitable complement of races and dinners 
 — more dancing. Well, ray young fool was fool 
 enough to imagine that she might make him a sacrifice 
 of this new ball, and he wrote accordingly. The answer 
 was, that his request could not be complied with. She 
 Avas engaged to go, and what would the world say if 
 she did not? And go she did. He saw her go in with 
 his own eyes. It is but fair to say, that the young 
 lady was on a visit to an aunt, who doted on all kinds 
 of gay crowds, doted also on those ornaments of county- 
 town ball-rooms, officers — yes, the town had the 
 blessing of a garrison. The aunt hated a quiet evening 
 at home — she was bona for society, she said. We 
 fools call that species of woman worldly, but the wise, 
 whose company she so sedulously grappled at, spoke 
 of her as a pleasant, companionable woman. 
 
 "Well, was I to be laid on the rack again? Yes; 
 I — " continued Mortimer, as Paolo suddenly sat bolt 
 upright with amazement — "yes, it is the follies and 
 sins of my OAvn youth, that I am relating to you. Do 
 what I would, I could no longer endure the boiling- 
 hell of my own feelings. I could no more change her 
 nature than my own. I could spoil her life, as well as 
 mine-, that was all I could do. Better part. I wrote 
 her a letter, a long letter. Every syllable that I pen- 
 ned drew blood from my heart. What I said, I don't 
 know, not a word in wrath, many in love, and humi- 
 lity, and self accusation. I laid bare before her every
 
 THORNTON TELLS A TALE. 257 
 
 fold of my inner being, as fully and unreservedly as 
 if I had been before my God. I entreated, implored 
 her pardon, humbly and earnestly. This letter I sent 
 to her from London. Ten days after that, I was in 
 New York. I have never since set foot in England 
 again." 
 
 "It was an extreme resolution to come to," observ- 
 ed Paolo. "And she, what did she say or do?" 
 
 "Of that I am ignorant. From that time to this, 
 I have never heard of or from her. No one had my 
 address but my solicitors, and I left instructions with 
 them to communicate with me solely on business, and 
 to destroy any letters that might be sent to them for 
 me." 
 
 "That was hard — seems almost cruel. I am sure 
 she wrote, and hoped on for long; how do you know 
 but that your unrelenting silence broke her heart?" 
 
 "Don't say I broke her heart," burst forth Mor- 
 timer, with frightful vehemence; "don't say it, or you 
 will drive me mad. Say that I was right; that what 
 I did was best for her; that I could not have done 
 otherwise; or, better still, say that women never break 
 their hearts, so long as there exist such things as 
 fashions, lordlings, and balls." 
 
 Mortimer shook from head to foot as he spoke, and 
 his fine countenance grew haggard and livid. 
 
 Startled, nay, almost scared, by this passionate out- 
 burst of feeling, so unlike his friend's constant habit of 
 self-control, which amounted in general to passiveness, 
 Paolo remained silently watching Thornton, as he 
 walked the room backwards and forwards, quiet enough 
 now. The noble form grew gradually indistinct, until 
 it completely vanished from eyes closed in slumber. 
 
 Lavinia, I. 1«
 
 258 LAYINIA. 
 
 Paolo spent the best part of the following morning- 
 in meditating on the shape in which to clothe the stric- 
 tures he intended to offer to Miss Laviuia, ou the sub- 
 ject of balls, partners, &c. It was a difficult problem 
 he had set himself — to find words exempt at the 
 same time from vagueness, quite unmistakeable in mean- 
 ing, and yet measured in so nice a balance that they 
 could give no offence. But not for this was there any 
 wavering in his resolves; and had there been, Mor- 
 timer's strange revelations Avould have supplied an ad- 
 ditional spui". "God forbid," thought the young lover, 
 "that by any fault of omission on my side, things 
 should come to a like pass between her and me. I 
 owe it to her, not less than to myself, to be candid 
 and ojDen." We don't know if he solved the problem 
 to his satisfaction; certain it is, that his ability and 
 industry were defeated by an unforeseen circumstance. 
 
 Mrs. Jones, who had gone to the ball feeling far 
 from well, was suddenly taken ill on her return home. 
 Her attack of asthma was so unusually violent, that 
 every one near her apprehended immediate suffocation. 
 Physicians were called in one after the other, and all 
 the resources of science evoked, with, for a time, but 
 little result. Towards morning, however, she was 
 somewhat relieved, but, from the state of exhaustion, 
 still considered in danger. Paolo was told this from 
 the lips of Miss Lavinia herself, when he called at 
 Palazzo Morlacchi, and, oh! with what agony of look, 
 what wringing of hands, and floods of tears! How 
 could he have lectured her at such a moment? besides, 
 he had no time, for poor Lavinia was far too impa- 
 tient to return to the side of the sick bed, to linger one 
 unnecessary second with any one; and had she done
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 259 
 
 so, Paolo, to tell the truth, was far more likely to have 
 fallen at her feet in a transport of pity and admiration, 
 than to have sermonized her. The light in which he 
 now saw her, banished for the time all disagreeable 
 shades. A heart full of such an argosy of affection 
 was the best security against any momentary flights of 
 the head. An appeal to that heart was sure, at any 
 time, to elicit all the good in it. So reasoned Paolo. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Miss Lavinia's Diary. 
 
 "Dear Lady Augusta, 
 
 "Since my last, I have had a great terror, and a 
 great joy, and to whom but you, dearest of friends, 
 can I confide my joys and sorrows, with entire cer- 
 tainty of their being shared and sympathized with? 
 The night before last, on our return from a ball at 
 Torlonia's, aunt was taken ill, frightfully ill, threatened 
 with suffocation: actually black in the face, and with 
 scarcely any pulse. Oh! the horror of those hours! 
 How is it that one's heart does not break with such 
 suffering? Thank God — oh! thank God, I can now 
 speak of it as past. Since yesterday, the improvement 
 has been so rapid and steady, that the physicians them- 
 selves are surpi'iscd, and to morrow, if the weather be 
 fine, she is to be permitted to take a drive on the Pin- 
 cio. I feel so light-hearted, so happy, that I can scarce- 
 ly sit still to write. I feel a longing to get up, and 
 dance by myself. What a child I am, after all! 
 ,u_ "Now that the danger is over — yes, reg.lly over 
 — I can remember what went before, and which, even 
 
 17*
 
 260 LAVINIA. 
 
 while it was being played out, I was tbiuking I should 
 relate to you; it is so delightful to have some one that 
 likes to hear all one has to tell about oneself. Well, 
 but I am not going to write about the ball; no, you 
 have had a surfeit of such things; but, about — about 
 a charming conquest I have made. 'Oh! the fickle 
 monkey,' I hear you say, wearing your gravest look; 
 'a conquest after — ' Never fear; this victory will give 
 umbrage to no one, for my conquest is only a — woman. 
 But such a woman! dark as night, restless as quick- 
 silver, passionate, like the thorough Creole she is, fond 
 of riding, driving, shootiug, dancing, singing, and doing 
 each to perfection; and such an adorable way of dress- 
 ing into the bargain; in short, the very companion for 
 me. She introduced herself — I ought to say declared 
 her love at first sight, so warm and affectionate was the 
 language of her introduction. She jDronounced me a 
 nonsuch of beauty, begged my friendship, brought half 
 Home, I believe, to my shrine, would only dance in the 
 quadrille where I danced, and remained by my side till 
 the end of the ball; in a word, there could not be a 
 more ardent courtship from man to woman, than that of 
 this fascinating woman to me; and I, also, have taken 
 an immense fancy to hei\ I have told you everything 
 I kuow of my beauty, except her name. Here it is: 
 Juanita Florcz Virginia, Marchioness Delfuego y Arcos. 
 Hers is one of the oldest families in Cuba. Her hus- 
 band, moreover, is a Grandee of Old Spain, and am- 
 bassador somewhere, and his younger brother, Conde 
 de la Terra, chaperons her. She called on us the day 
 after the ball, as she had promised, but aunt Avas at the 
 worst, and I could only stay a few instants with her. 
 Uncle was at home, and Count Fortiguerra with him.
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 261 
 
 Mr. Jones, I could see, was not sorry, and, sooth to 
 say, no more was I, that the first person she met in our 
 house, should be a nobleman. If her servants came 
 once during that day to inquire for aunt, I am positive 
 they came twenty times. She called herself again 
 yesterday, and is to be here to-day. We are all to go 
 and spend a day at Villa Torralba, where she resides, 
 to get acquainted with one another, as the marchioness 
 says. The marchioness! she won't hear of my giving 
 her any title, but insists on my calling her Juanita. 
 She is all impatience to show me her villa, her grounds, 
 her horses, her theatre (it seems she has got one), and 
 to have me quite to herself, that is her own expression, 
 ***** 
 
 "Fully eleven days since I scribbled the above, and 
 I have not had one spare hour, not a spare minute, to 
 devote to my diary. No heroine of a fashionable novel 
 in the height of the season was ever more beleaguered 
 with engagements than I have been during these eleven 
 days. Life is a race, indeed, under the leadership of 
 this fiery creole. A whirlwind, a hurriance, are the 
 only appropriate similes for her activity of mind and 
 body. She can ride or drive for hours, pay a dozen 
 visits, entertain some thirty guests at dinner, and dance 
 till morning, without betraying the least fatigue, and 
 without any flagging of her spirits. Her nerves must 
 be what people call iron nerves. That she has an iron 
 wrist, I for one can vouch, as any one can who has 
 seen her driving her j)air of wonderful ponies — regular 
 little demons — or riding Achmet, her Arab, who is as 
 fiery and untameable as herself. We rush along at tlie 
 rate of a mail-train behind its time, and I own that I do 
 occasionally find it a little too much. Her love for me
 
 262 LAVINIA. 
 
 has become a sort of furore. Since I sang to her, 
 Grisi, Alboni, and Jenny Lind, my lovely Spaniard 
 says, are not worthy to unlatch my shoes. She will 
 grant me neither peace nor truce, she protests, until I 
 promise to sing in the opera which she means to give 
 at her theatre. I do not think I shall comply; the idea 
 of being on any stage and acting before an audience, 
 however private the one and select the other, has some- 
 thing in it very repugnant to my feelings, and you know 
 I am no prude. However we shall see. Seiiora Jua- 
 nita, moreover, declares she cannot live without me, 
 and it would seem so, for we are almost always together. 
 We have had a morning concert, and dined twice at 
 Yilla Torralba. Aunt is so nearly well that she came 
 to dinner, but drove home early in the evening. They 
 dined with us on Monday. They stands for the mar- 
 chioness and the Conde; and I leave it to your imagi- 
 nation to decide on what were the amount of Mr. Jones's 
 exertions to secure the finest of fine people to meet them. 
 Count Fortiguerra figured at the head of the list. By 
 the by, Juanita has taken a great fancy to him. On 
 Tuesday I went with her and uncle to Lady Hamilton's 
 tea, on Wednesday to Princess Sgrozanoff's soiree dan- 
 sante, on Thursday to Marchesa Saffioli's conversazione, 
 on Friday to an Accadeiaia dlmprovvisazionc , on Satur- 
 day to the ball at the French Embassy. I believe 
 every foreigner or native of any note have been intro- 
 duced to me. I am fast becoming the rage here, and 
 no wonder, when my Juanita, who evidently gives or 
 takes away one's right to be considered fashionable and 
 one of the lean monde, does nothing but rave of my per- 
 fections to every creature she sees.
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 263 
 
 "Another week gone — really, no time to breathe. 
 But I must tell you about our races, or rather my races. 
 You must know that from the first moment of our be- 
 coming acquainted, she thought of getting uji some races 
 in imitation of our English ones. She dotes on bull- 
 fights, and would have managed to have had one a 
 month ago, but, as she confided to me, the Pope dissuad- 
 ed her; so, as I said, as soon as she knew me, she 
 determined to have races a VAnglaise in my honour; and 
 they took place yesterday, and were the bonne bouchc 
 of all our gaieties. The place of rendezvous was the 
 tomb of Cecilia Metella, and two hundred persons con- 
 gregated there by special invitation; the number of 
 those present non-invited was legion. Almost all of us 
 were in red, we ladies in red jackets, and the men in 
 red coats. The marchioness generally rides and drives 
 in a red jacket, and I have had one made off her 
 pattern, and it suits me uncommonly well. We had 
 only gentlemen riders. There were twenty-one English, 
 a Russian or two, and one Roman — not a Roman, I 
 believe, but at all events an Italian — that very Prince 
 of Rocca-Ginestra, whose turn-out I so much admired 
 some time ago, and about whom Signor Mancini made 
 such a fuss. The whole thing went off capitally, and 
 but for the horses, poor specimens in general, one might 
 have imagined oneself on an English raceground. There 
 was the same eating, drinking, and flirting in the car- 
 riages, the same fire of small talk and wit, the same 
 mountebanks striving for money; everything but the 
 horses — oh, yes, and but the sky — was like a scene 
 in our dear country. The greater number of the in- 
 vited went afterwards to Villa Torralba, and then wc 
 danced, and supped, and danced again, till dawn of the
 
 2G4 LAVINIA. 
 
 next morning. It was hard work for the queen of tLe 
 fete, Lavinia Jones, for my royalty of an hour entailed 
 presentations and compliments without end — such 
 compliments! we English don't shine in that line: it 
 was enough to have worn out the strongest Samson in 
 jjetticoats. Among the most enthusiastic of my subjects 
 were uncle and Count Fortiguerra, both unmistakeably 
 tipsy. 
 
 ***** 
 
 "A disagreeable complication. I had written so far 
 yesterday, when my Spanish Will-o'-the-wisp came 
 playing round me, and whisked me away to Villa Tor- 
 ralba. I stipulated for a quiet day, and a comparatively 
 quiet day we had — a drive of two hours, and an 
 hour's practising in the shooting-gallery. Nota Bene — 
 I am fast becoming an excellent pistol-shot. The rest 
 of the day was spent indoors, most of it in the theatre. 
 A diminutive young man, all in black like a doctor or 
 clergyman, and a strikingly handsome girl, were super- 
 intending the rehearsal of the choruses. The girl, 
 called Clelia, and only a dressmaker, went through her 
 task with a calm dignity which might have suited an 
 empress; the small man in black, on the contrary, did 
 his part with a zest and a funny bonhomie, which sent 
 every one present, even the queenly girl herself, into 
 lits of laughter. lie is a scene-painter of tolerable re- 
 pute, and Clelia is his affianced bride. I have never 
 mentioned my rivals in the marchioness's love — her 
 dogs. She has some of every kind in the world, I be- 
 lieve, and attends to them just as if they were babies; 
 gets frightened at their least indisposition; in short, pets 
 them more than any reasonable woman would or should 
 do. One of these favourites was ailing, and so away
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 265 
 
 went the marcliioness every five minutes to visit the in- 
 teresting patient. I don't know what possessed me, but 
 during one of these absences, I asked the droll little 
 painter if he knew Signer Mancini. ^Altro! Signor 
 Mancini was like a brother to him,' was the answer, his 
 eyes and those of his handsome companion brightening 
 marvellously at the sound of the name; and hereupon 
 followed a glowing panegyric of Signor Paolo, as artist, 
 friend, and man. Clelia added her warm assent to every 
 word. Juanita, happening to return while the little man 
 was still declaiming on this subject, with her usual in- 
 quisitiveness insisted on being told how I came to know 
 Signor Paolo, what he was like, what was his profes- 
 sion, &c. &c. And I, yielding, I hope, less to the 
 promptings of amorn'-propre than to a wish to do Signor 
 Paolo a service by interesting a person of the marchio- 
 ness's rank and wealth in his behalf, told her how kindly 
 he had directed me in my painting, and also — here 
 is what I think was perhaps unwise — of the portrait 
 he had taken of me , and which was all but finished. 
 No sooner had I said this, than impetuous Juanita de- 
 clared she must and would see my picture at once, and 
 that she would have her own taken; and was for set- 
 ting off immediately to have her first sitting. You may 
 imagine my dismay, knowing Signor Mancini's ways so 
 well. It was all I could do to persuade her to delay 
 her visit to the studio in Via Frattina, by making her 
 remember the hour of the day, and how much too late 
 it would be by the time Ave reached Kome. So, at last, 
 she gave uj) the point, and the visit is to take place 
 to-day. 
 
 "The truth is, I wanted a little time to consider 
 whether I had not better write and prepare him for
 
 266 LAVIXIA. 
 
 this call, aud urge liim to comply with the mai'chioness's 
 request, or whether I would trust to the chapter of ac- 
 cidents. Upon reflection, I think this will be my best 
 course, Signor Paolo is very shy, and at this moment 
 I have more reliance on his shyness than on his good- 
 will. The great point is to get at him, and if he were 
 forewarned, he is just the man to shut himself up in 
 that atelier of his, aud be stone deaf to bell and knocker. 
 You wonder at my having any such anticipation, don't 
 you? Ah! but Signor Paolo is angry with me, and 
 not quite without cause. I will not pretend not to be 
 aware that I have treated him rather cavalierly; at 
 least, apparently so, during my last gaieties. He called 
 twice — once in the morning, just as I was going to 
 a concert at Villa Torralba, and again one evening, at 
 the very moment I was getting into the carnage to go 
 to a ball. Of coui-se, he looked disappointed and vexed. 
 The worst of the business is, that on both occasions, 
 wishing to console him, I made an appointment for a 
 sitting on the morrow, and I xcas very naughty — I 
 kept neither. He has never been near me since. The 
 last time I saw him was the day of the races ; it was in 
 the Corso, and I was in the marchioness's barouche, 
 dressed in my red jacket. I caught his eye, and felt 
 that I coloured; I am sui'e I don't know why, for, after 
 all, there is no sin in weai'ing scarlet — red shawls ai-e 
 common enough ; however, he looked as black as thunder 
 
 as he turned away. 
 
 ^ ^ '^ '^ ^ 
 
 "What an inexplicable riddle the human heart is! 
 we cannot even read and understand our own; for, do 
 we not often, under some of its momentary impulses, 
 feel, act, speak, in a way, which, had it been pro-
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 267 
 
 pliesied to us but an hour before, we should have 
 laughed at, and spurned the notion of with indignation? 
 I remember hearing an author of some fame one day 
 decline all compliments about his books, affirming that 
 not he, but a homuncuhis within him, had written them, 
 always without his knowledge, not unfrequently against 
 his will. I suppose I have some such sort of an imp, 
 a fceminula^ for whose sayings and doings I, the woman, 
 am not responsible. What is all this preamble to lead 
 to? you ask. To preparing you, my dear, for some- 
 thing very extraordinary. But I must begin at the 
 beginning. 
 
 We went yesterday, Juanita and I, as we had 
 agreed, to Signor Mancini's studio. lie was there, not, 
 as usual, painting, but writing. I have no words to 
 tell you how his altered appearance shocked me; ghastly 
 pale, with sunken cheeks, blood-shot eyes, he was the 
 mere shadow of his former self 'Would he be so 
 kind,' I asked, 'as to allow my friend, the Marchioness 
 Dclfuego y Arcos, to see my portrait?' and glancing 
 round, to see where it was, fancy my surprise at dis- 
 covering that all the easels were vacant, and what ap- 
 peared to be a roll of canvas in a corner of the room. 
 A flush spread over his face as he stammered out that 
 my portrait had met with an accident, had fallen, in 
 fact, and been so injured that he had sent it to have 
 the canvas repaired. I saw perfectly well that he was 
 telling a fib, but why? I observed aloud, while I 
 silently Avondered Avhat had really become of my pic- 
 ture, that I particularly regretted the circumstance, as 
 my friend, had she been satisfied with my likeness, as 
 I was certain she would have been, had determined to 
 ask him to take one of her, if his occupation — I was
 
 268 LAVINIA. 
 
 going- to add, would permit, but lie gave me no time, 
 saying hurriedly, that being on the eve of leaving Rome 
 for change of air, he could make no engagements of 
 any sort for the present. This was principally ad- 
 dressed to the marchioness, for he avoided looking at 
 me as much as he decently could. I here remarked, 
 that I hoped he was not going farther than Tivoli, or 
 Frascati. 'Exactly,' answered he; 'to Tivoli, or Fras- 
 cati, or — I have not made up my mind as to Avhere 
 yet' 'Not to be away long?' I hoped. 'Oh, no! not 
 long; for a little while.' Again I felt sure that he was 
 deceiving me, and a mortal uneasiness lest he should 
 be going aAvay for ever stole over me. All at once I 
 felt what it would be to me if I lost him. I had been 
 a wretched fool, a wicked fool. I had neglected him, 
 the best, the truest, the most devoted, because — I 
 can't write it, it is too mean. My whole soul was 
 clinging to him with the energy of despair, and yet, 
 there I must stand, and chatter words of course. I did 
 love him, yes, I did; and he was leaving me! I fol- 
 lowed the marchioness downstairs with some wild idea 
 of telling her everything and going back to him, I had 
 actually reached the carriage, but it would not do. I 
 told her I had dropped one of my bracelets, and, with- 
 out waiting for any answer, I rushed up the stairs again 
 into the studio. He had been pacing the room, and 
 had his back to the door as I lifted the latch. When 
 he saw me, he stood transfixed. I Avent up to him, and 
 said, — 
 
 '"I have but a minute; what have you done with 
 my picture?" 
 
 '"Tore it to pieces with my own hands.' 
 
 "'And where are you going?'
 
 MISS lavinia's diary. 269 
 
 '"To Paris.' 
 
 '"When do you start?' 
 
 "'This evening at eight o'clock.' 
 
 "'You shall not go.' 
 
 '"I shall, and will.' 
 
 "'If you are a man, you will not desert — those 
 who love you.' 
 
 '"Who loves me?' 
 
 "'I do; yes, with all my heart. Will you go or 
 stay?' 
 
 "He hesitated a second, then said, — 
 
 '"I stay.' 
 
 "I held out my hand; he fell at my feet, pressed it 
 to his heart — to his lips — and then I ran away. 
 
 "And now to explain my preamble, and I have 
 done. I suppose it to be in human nature, that the 
 value we set on anything increases with the chances 
 of its being lost, and diminishes with those of its being 
 restored to us. What is very certain is, that yesterday 
 I thought in the heat of pursuit no sacrifice too great 
 to save me from a threatened loss, and to-day — shall 
 I say it or not? — to-day, after four and twenty hours 
 of security, I look back upon the price I paid for my 
 230ssession, not exactly with regret, but with a wonder 
 that is very akin to regret. Who can fathom this 
 mystery for me? who explain this contradiction? Is it 
 but the momentary reaction which follows a fit of fever, 
 or am I influenced, unknown to myself, by the bitter 
 remarks of the marchioness, who took quite an aversion 
 to him? I know it is one of my faults to attach an 
 undue weight to the opinion of otliers. I must try and 
 correct myself of this; it will otherwise prove a bar to 
 any steadiness of purpose.
 
 270 LAVINIA. 
 
 "I have made another observation as to myself and 
 Signor Paolo, one which greatly puzzles me. His 
 power over me is great; too great when he is present, 
 too little when out of sight. I really believe he 
 magnetizes me. Laugh if you like, but I do think so, 
 I am full of other fancies and misgivings; he has lately 
 grown so unmanageable; it is true I have given him 
 cause of offence. I neglected, indeed, slighted him. I 
 will be on my good behaviour for the future. It is 
 j^artly his fault also. Why can't he go into society, 
 and dance, and do like the rest of the world? then we 
 should meet oftener, and he would be better satisfied, 
 and so should I. Ah, me! I feel thunder in the air; 
 the storm will burst when he hears that I am going to 
 be one of the performers in the marchioness's theatri- 
 cals, and, Avorse still, that I am to sing with his hete 
 noire, the Prince of Rocca Giuestra. The marchio- 
 ness, supported by uncle and even aunt, pressed me so 
 hard on that unlucky day of the races, that they 
 wrenched from me a promise — an unwilling promise, 
 I declare. To draw back now is perfectly out of the 
 question. What reason could I give, as I dare not 
 give the real ones? I must trust a good deal to lucky 
 chances, and a little to dissimulation. I begin to wish 
 I had never come to Rome; he is capable of killing 
 me, he is indeed. A famous clenoumcnt for a novel. 
 Few men in real life love enough for the attempt. You 
 will abuse me for being romantic, but there is something 
 flattering in being loved so ferociously."
 
 A STOEMY TRUCE. 271 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 A Stormy Truce. 
 
 The entente cordiale whicli followed the treaty of 
 peace concluded between Paolo and Miss Jones was, 
 as may be easily foreseen, but of short duration. As 
 but too often happens in treaties involving far greater 
 interests, and most carefully worded, each of our con- 
 tracting poAvers had a particular bond fide interpretation 
 of their tacit agreement, at perfect variance and clashing 
 with the interpretation of the other. Kare it is, indeed, 
 that, under such circumstances, what was to cement 
 peace should not beget war. At any rate, it was a 
 consequence Avhich did not fail on the present occasion. 
 Let us, for the sake of a clear understanding of the 
 casus belli, define, as concisely as possible, the two con- 
 flicting versions of the treaty, and the rival pretensions 
 to which it gave birth. 
 
 To make amends to Signor Paolo for her late neglect, 
 and to regulate her behaviour towards him for the future, 
 so as not to afford him a pretext for any complaint of 
 want of proper attention on her part; such and no other 
 was to be, would Miss Jones have explained, had she 
 been called on to do so, the practical and tangible re- 
 sult of her impetuous seeking after a reconciliation. 
 Therefore, as long as she allowed of his visits at her 
 own house, Avhich she conscientiously did on certain 
 fixed days and hours, and showed him a friendly and 
 smiling countenance, Lavinia believed herself, with the 
 best faith, to be Avithin the letter and spirit of her com- 
 pact. Of altering her general mode of life in what it 
 might displease him, she had never dreamed, and could
 
 272 LAVINIA. 
 
 not dream, ignorant as slie was as to how tliat fasMon 
 of life offended liim. 
 
 But far wider and more comprehensive was Signor 
 Paolo's view of their convention. His construction of it 
 was , that Miss Jones , b j suing for j)eace , had naturally 
 engaged herself to satisfy all the exigencies — reason- 
 able in his eyes — of an accepted suitor, and a non- 
 compliance with which had been the cause of the rup- 
 ture between them ; for, argued Paolo , if she loves me 
 — and love me she does, or she would certainly not 
 have said that she did — if she loves me, then it must 
 be a real j)leasure for her to humour me in notions, 
 which, after all, go far to prove the depth and exclu- 
 siveness of my love. My ways may seem peculiar to 
 her; but she knew them, and if, knowing them, she 
 nevertheless sought me, what could she mean but that 
 she takes me such as I am, good, bad, or indifferent? 
 
 As the reader sees, Paolo was a long way off from 
 his lyrical rhapsodies and ecstatic feelings of a few 
 weeks ago, when to kiss the spot hallowed by the soles 
 of her feet had sufficed to content him. He was less 
 discreet now, less trustful; but at that period she was 
 a goddess, at this, only a Avoman. How so? That 
 great Avizard, suffering, had brought about the transfor- 
 mation. Through sleepless nights Avith racking brain, 
 through mad longings for death, and curses on his 
 aching heart, a knoAvledge of reality had grown fast, 
 and enlightened even dreamy Paolo ; and he came forth 
 from the fiery ordeal with bruised body and soul, minus 
 the freshest leaf of his garland of illusions, plus a shred 
 from experience, that hypocrite AA^hose real name is 
 distrust. 
 
 The inteiTupted drawing lessons were then resumed
 
 A STORMY TEUCE. 273 
 
 twice a week, but tlie drawing-master had little joy of 
 them. Miss Jones, in the full conviction that she was 
 fulfilling every duty towards Paolo, pursued with a 
 light heart her course of gaiety; nay, as every day was 
 marked by a new acquaintance, she fluttered more wildly 
 from one dissipation to another. She was never even 
 conscious of the interruptions and curtailments of the 
 time destined for Paolo. Scarcely had he ever her un- 
 divided attention; it was either a visitor in the drawing- 
 room, whom she must run and see, or the dress-maker, 
 or the singing-master, or a note to answer. Ah! these 
 notes — these scented , varicoloured , fantastically folded 
 notes — how abhorrent they were to Paolo : they proved 
 the bane of his life. Innocent as most of them were of 
 any meaning — those which had some conveying no 
 more interesting intelligence than the address of a mil- 
 liner, the lines quoted at last night's ball from Tenny- 
 son, or the introducing a, sonata or song to the belle of 
 the moment; poetry and music alike fated to remain 
 unread, unplayed, unsung, from the want of time — 
 innocent, we say, as these notes were, they had each 
 and all a perfume of love about them which furiously 
 irritated the nerves of the young Roman. 
 
 Worse still when master and pupil had a quiet hour, 
 and Lavinia told how her time had been taken up in 
 the interval between one lesson and the other, and ex- 
 patiated on the topics filling her thoughts — the ball 
 that had been, and the one that was to be, at which 
 H. M. Lewis of Bavaria was expected to be present; 
 her dress, and the notice and admiration it excited; the 
 marked attention paid her by his Grace, or his Excel- 
 lency, and so on. She did not perceive, nor care to 
 perceive, what gall and worm-wood all this was to 
 
 Lavinia, I. 18
 
 274 LAVINIA. 
 
 Paolo. Once entered on tlie cliapter of gratified vanity, 
 the cleverest and kindest-lieai-ted of girls can provejier- 
 self blind and cruel. Xo wonder that to Paolo, one of 
 the uninitiated, such a life of self-exhibition as was here 
 detailed to him, such a reckless pursuit of excitement, 
 such utter dethronement of the spiritual part of om* 
 nature, should seem something empty, frivolous, ab- 
 surd-, more suited to a peacock, whose business is the 
 display of its tail, than to a rational, responsible crea- 
 ture, endowed with heart and mind, and an immortal 
 soul. 
 
 And Paolo said this one day, said it plainly and 
 bluntly. The young lady winced greatly, and accused 
 him of gnidgiug her the natm-al amusements of her age. 
 Not at all, affirmed the lover; he objected not to the 
 glass of wine, but the half-dozen bottles, which brought 
 forth drunkenness. "Was life a polka," he asked, "that 
 we should go through it dancing?" "TVas life a funeral," 
 retorted she, "that we ought to walk through it mourn- 
 
 "Far from it," was the reply, "but life has duties 
 the fulfilment of which involves responsibilities, and 
 ought therefore to be reflected on seriously." 
 
 "I should like to know what great good you are 
 doing with your gravity?" asked Miss Jones. 
 
 "Very little, truly, but at all events I labour, and 
 eara my daily bread, as a poor man ought to do, 
 striving to keep myself in the right frame of mind and 
 body for the day that will come, when I shall find 
 more genial and earnest employment in behalf of my 
 country." 
 
 After a moment's pause, Lavinia said, — 
 
 "Men have left us women nothing in the way of
 
 A STORMY TRUCE. 275 
 
 ■work but the honour of mending our liusband's and 
 children's stockings. When my time comes, I hope I 
 sliall perform that duty as well as my neighbours. In 
 the meanwhile I shall amuse myself, seeing that I com- 
 mit no crime in so doing. I have no genius for re- 
 forming the world ; I have no country to regenerate." 
 
 "Lucky that you have not," returned Paolo, bitter- 
 ly; "it is admirable in you to sneer at .the most sacred 
 feelings — feelings you ought to honour — you, born 
 in a free land." 
 
 Laviuia's heart smote her; she tried to apologize, 
 and burst into tears. Paolo could not bear to see her 
 cry, and in his turn implored forgiveness for his harsh- 
 ness. A few kind words on both sides once more 
 patched up a truce, which lasted as long as it could. 
 
 The Marchioness Delfuego y Arcos was the lovers' 
 next apple of discord. Paolo declared his disapproval 
 of Lavinia's intimacy with her ladyship in particularly 
 strong terms. Lavinia defended her friend with a warmth 
 worthy a better cause. 
 
 The marchioness objectionable? A person must be 
 difficult to satisfy indeed, who thought so. Nobody did. 
 Nobody took amiss the marquis's indefinite absence on 
 his foreign embassy, or the marked assiduities of this 
 or that nobleman. Nobody had ever thought twice 
 aboiit a report of a ghost — the ghost of jjoor ^[anue- 
 lito, said the servants at Villa Torralba — which had 
 haunted the gardens for some nights, and which some- 
 body, so it was said, had watched and caught, and dis- 
 covered to be a prince, who, in a state of somnambu- 
 lism , had mistaken the Villa Torralba for his palace in 
 Piazza What's-its-name. Nobody had ever thought of 
 impeaching the marchioness's reputation on such prc- 
 
 18 -5^
 
 276 LAVINIA. 
 
 posterous grounds. Had not the marchioness pedigree 
 and money enough to be above suspicion or objection? 
 Cardinals called at her house; the creiiie de la creme^ 
 both foreign and indigenous, flocked to her dinners and 
 parties; the most comme il faut persons declared them- 
 selves honoured by her notice. Truth to say, this took 
 place on the Continent, and morals are so loose on the 
 Continent, in Italy especially, and in Rome in a super- 
 lative degree. There is but one country in the world, 
 which shall not be named, where you may be as noble 
 as the Emperor of China, as rich as Croesus, as splendid 
 as Sardanapalus , but if you have a spot as large as a 
 pin, the shadow of a blemish on your propriety, nobody 
 will look your way, not even a dog will offer you its 
 paw. But at Rome! — 
 
 And yet Paolo objected to her. Lavinia asked in- 
 nocently what could Signer Paolo see to find fault with 
 in the marchioness, unless it was her title? She knew 
 he disliked titles. Paolo did not care whether the lady 
 had one or not; he objected to her eccentric and un- 
 feminine habits, to her driving and shooting, to her 
 manners, to her rage for exhibiting herself in every 
 haunt of dissipation. A woman who courted public 
 attention as the marchioness did, was no fit companion 
 for a young and modest girl. 
 
 Miss Jones treated these notions with the most su- 
 perb disdain. They were the notions of a savage, and 
 not those of a civilized being. If such ways were those 
 of civilized life, Paolo gloried in being a savage. 
 
 "Are Avomen born actresses," cried the irate young 
 man, "that they must be for ever parading on the boards 
 of a stage, a spectacle for any public?" 
 
 "Are women born nuns and Sisters of Charity,"
 
 A STORMY TRUCE. 277 
 
 cried Lavinia, "that they must cut their hali-, wear 
 sackcloth, and bury themselves alive?" 
 
 "It would fare better with many of them if they 
 did," quoth the Roman; "if they did no good, they 
 would do no harm, at least." 
 
 "That is a matter of opinion; for my part, I find 
 the world very well as it is, and I have no mind to 
 renounce it." 
 
 "You renounce me, then?" prompt as lightning was 
 the answer; "I must be your world or nothing." 
 
 "Poetical exaggeration," said Lavinia. 
 
 "Once you loved poetry; I had your own words for 
 it. Oh! how you have deceived me!" 
 
 "Deceived you!" exclaimed Lavinia, haughtily. 
 
 "Yes; deceived me," repeated Paolo, vehemently; 
 "was it not deceiving me, when you made yourself 
 appear what you were not? Have you forgotten the 
 long conversation we had together at your first sitting 
 for your portrait? We compared tastes for hours; and 
 yours suited mine, and mine yours. Simplicity, affec- 
 tion, refinement, nature, those were your idols. What 
 were jewels, operas, fashion, to a flower of the field, 
 the song of the nightingale, a walk in the soft moon- 
 light? I accepted every word that fell from your lips 
 as Gospel truth; laugh at me for a fool. You care for 
 flowers, or a man's honest heart! You care for nothing 
 but noise, glitter, show, and conventionalities." 
 
 As Paolo spoke, Laviuia's proud head drooped. 
 The conversation alluded to was as present to her mind 
 as if it had occurred only yesterday; all that she had 
 then said, carried away by strong sympathy, she had 
 said in perfect good faith, and really felt at the moment; 
 but every remembered word now fell on her conscience
 
 278 LAYLSIA. 
 
 witli the Tveiglit of a deserved reproach, for she vcould 
 not deny that the tenor of her present existence was 
 not easily to be reconciled with the inclinations and 
 sentiments she had professed on that occasion. 
 
 "Yes," pursued the young man, "you pursue the 
 shadow instead of the substance; to a little tinsel you 
 sacrifice a mine of gold. Here, within your reach, is 
 the strength which lays low mountains, the talisman 
 which renders invincible, the fountain which gives eternal 
 youth, and you throw them all from you. Blind that 
 you are," went on Paolo, with an irresistible burst of 
 passion, "you trample upon the heart which contains 
 all these ti-easures. Love, love divine, weighs less with 
 you than a few grains of the incense of flattery. May 
 the day never come when sickness and sorrow shall 
 open your eyes, but too late, to the emptiness of what 
 you hold to , to the value of what you let drop ! Health, 
 youth, riches, are but poor shields against misfortune, 
 believe me; at all ages, and in all stations of life, we 
 are vulnerable through those we love." 
 
 A strong conviction, unswervingly acted upon, and 
 especially if passionately expressed, will command the 
 respect even of those, who deem it illfounded or even 
 wrong — nay, it will do more — it will, at certain 
 moments, make its very opponents doubt the soundness 
 of their own arguments against it, the wisdom of their 
 own opposition, '^love than once had Lavinia, while 
 still under the spell of Paolo's thrilling accents, enter- 
 tained such doubts, such fears; half formed a resolution 
 to humour his whims; and, if not entirely to withdraw 
 from the gay world, at least to slacken the chains bind- 
 ing her to it. But these were mariner's vows. The 
 world is a tyrannical master, and admits of no half-
 
 A STORMY TRUCE. 279 
 
 service. It is like one of tliose irresistible machines, 
 in which if you get so much as a limb entangled, the 
 rest of your body is sure to follow, and be pounded to 
 atoms. 
 
 A young lady enrolled in the world's militia can 
 no more safely leave its ranks than a soldier his regi- 
 ment on the battle-field. Fancy the brilliant Miss Jones 
 expressing her unwillingness to go to the duchess's 
 party, or wishing to leave some embassy ball at mid- 
 night. Nonsense! she must not lose the position she 
 had gained; it would be stupid, or strange, or ridi- 
 culous. Who has not seen sober peojjle quarrelled with 
 for not drinking themselves drunk with a company 
 flushed with wine? Who has not heard young ladies' 
 beauty slandered because they wore high dresses? One 
 must be endowed with a singular power of isolation to 
 react against the intellectual atmosphere one breathes. 
 Miss Jones had not this power; how could she have 
 acquired it? So she rushed along with the current, 
 the more madly that she wanted to escape from her 
 own reflections. 
 
 Nor was Mancini himself free from occasional mis- 
 givings, that he was too absolute in his requirements, 
 too exacting a lover. He accordingly made many re- 
 solves to be for the future more gentle and conciliating; 
 but the passion of the moment whirled away his good 
 purposes like leaves on the wings of the wind. "She 
 is vulgar," would he say to himself in one of his stormy 
 moods, "dazzled by light, intoxicated by sound, happy 
 to display her beauty — to flutter about like a gaudy 
 butterfly, I might sooner extract honey from a stone, 
 than love from her heart." Then followed the reaction, 
 and an inner voice would make itself heard, replying,
 
 280 LAYIXIA. 
 
 "Well, suppose her to be all ttis, what right have I to 
 plague her life thus? She has been educated in this 
 way, and she cannot change. I must either take her 
 as she is, or leare her. To torment her as I do, is 
 i;ngenerous, nay cowardly. Better cut the Gordian 
 knot, and be done with it. Ill write her a letter and 
 go away - — to-morrow."' The letter was written, the 
 morrow came , and the day after to-mon*ow, and another 
 and yet another morrow were added, and he was still 
 iu Rome, the prey and sport of the most harrowing ir- 
 resolution. The effort he had once made he was now 
 incapable of renewing. Seven words had unnerved 
 him, "I love you with all my heart." They had traced 
 a magic cii'cle round him which, do what he would, he 
 could not overstep. Thornton had been a true prophet 
 when he had foretold this state of things — Thornton 
 who, seeing his prophecy fulfilled, far from triumphing 
 or deriding, was to Paolo the meekest, most indulgent, 
 and considerate of comforters and friends. 
 
 In this conflict of feeling Paolo wasted away, each 
 succeeding hour his heart quivered and shrank in La- 
 vinia's hold, as dees a bird in the unconsciously cruel 
 grasp of a child. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 "WTiat there is in a Roll of Parchment. 
 
 Paolo was preparing one day to go to IMiss Lavinia 
 when he was inteiTupted by Du Genre, dressed cap-a- 
 pie for travelling, coming in to bid him a hasty fare- 
 well. The French realist had been summoned to France 
 by the express desire of an old uncle of his residing in
 
 WHAT THERE IS IN A ROLL OF PARCHMENT. 281 
 
 Dauphin^, on whom the faculty of medicine had passed 
 sentence of death. 
 
 "The wish of a bachelor uncle, furnished with a 
 brace of thousand francs for every month in the year, 
 is sacred at all times," said the facetious Frenchman; 
 "though I must say it is scarcely delicate of the good 
 old gentleman to get worse just on the eve of Carnival, 
 and thus deprive a dutiful nephew of the honest recrea- 
 tions of the season he had been anticipating. ''Entre 
 la coupe et la levi-e,' as we say in France. I should 
 not have minded the call so much eight-and-forty hours 
 later. But, no. I must be at Civita Vecchia by day- 
 break, because the steamer piques itself on keeping its 
 time to a minute. AVe live in an absurd world; by 
 Jupiter! we do. We human beings are born and die 
 in and out of season, disregardful of all order and me- 
 thod; and yet the things we create for our use, Ave in- 
 sist on their being models of punctuality," 
 
 "Forty-eight hours of pleasure you can probably 
 redeem at some other period," said Paolo, by way of 
 comfort. 
 
 "Most illogically reasoned, my dear Telemachus: 
 no loss is ever redeemed; if you go without dinner to- 
 day, and eat two to-morrow, you have not made up 
 your loss of to-day. You forget that a couple of days' 
 respite would enable me to assist at Armida's debut, 
 and I regret sorely not to do so," 
 
 "What Armida? What debut?" asked the Komau. 
 
 "No use playing the Indian with me," retorted the 
 Frenchman; "you are too intimate in certain quarters 
 not to know all about it, you sly rogue." 
 
 "As true as I live, I have no idea as to whom you 
 are alluding," said Paolo, somewhat anxiously.
 
 282 LAVINIA. 
 
 "To put you on the right track, I will put a dot 
 on my I's," replied the realist, "In the first place, 
 then, Armida is the notn de guerre of a ravishing Ingle- 
 sina, of whom that lying jade, Rumour, says you know 
 more than most people.'' 
 
 Paolo frowned. 
 
 " Oblige me by giving no nicknames to a person, to 
 a lady, who honours me with her acquaintance." 
 
 "There, akeady in the saddle! as ticklish and 
 pugnacious as an American senator," said Du Geme. 
 "Pardon me, biit I only call the fair one what all Eome 
 calls her. I mean no disparagement, I assure you; 
 quite the contrary. Armida is a name rendered famous, 
 I have heard, by one of yom- own great poets. I never 
 read Tasso; in point of poetry, Beranger is my alpha 
 and omega." 
 
 "And this debut?" inquired Paolo. 
 
 "This de'biit is to take place on the day after to- 
 morrow, at the private theatre of the Marchioness Del- 
 fuego y Arcos. Every one with the smallest claim to 
 fashion is to be there. But come now, you know better 
 than I do." 
 
 "Go on, pray," said Paolo, briefly. 
 
 "With a little less brilliancy in his intonations than 
 usual, Du Genre continued, — 
 
 "The marchioness is Queen Elizabeth; Arm — the 
 Inglesina, I mean — Mary Stuart. Leicester's part is 
 entrusted to a tenor, an amateur, but who beats Mario, 
 I am told — the Prince of Eocca-Ginesti'a." 
 
 To judge from the dark crimson of Paolo's coun- 
 tenance, all the blood in his veins had rushed tumul- 
 tuously to his head; two seconds after, he was pale 
 as death. Likely enough, Du Gem-e drew his own
 
 WHAT TltERE IS IN A ROLL OF PARCHMENT. 283 
 
 inferences from signs that lie could not but remark; 
 but be kept bis tboixgbts to bimself, breaking a con- 
 scious silence, by saying, "Well, good-by, my dear 
 Telemacbus." — A sort of emotion, quite unanticipated, 
 troubled bis fluency. "If you come to Paris, I depend 
 on your seeking me out, for in tbat beavenly city I 
 sliall surely be. Life is possible uoAvbere but in Paris, 
 and, perbaps, *in Rome. Paris is tbe place for you; it 
 will cure you of your tragic views of life. You are 
 one of tbe best fellows I know. I never flatter, but on 
 
 certain matters Avell, I sball not enlarge on tbe 
 
 tbeme of your errors at present. Believe me, and you'll 
 be tbe bappier for it. Life is a farce; and, witb all 
 love and resjject, I say. Sans adieu T'' and tbe good- 
 natured, volatile fellow burried away, singing, as be 
 ran down tbe stairs, in a voice tbat bad a toucb of 
 patbos in it, " Tout n'est dans ce has monde qit'an jeu, 
 qiiun jeu." Tbe ecbo of tbe singer's voice bad scarcely 
 died away, wben Paolo rusbed fortb, on bis way to 
 Palazzo Morlaccbi. 
 
 Tbere is in tbe beart of even a worldly woman, 
 wbo loves, be it ever so little, a vein of gold, wbicb, 
 if properly tracked and delicately bandied, will yield 
 a crop past expectation; but, if rougbly dealt witb, 
 will be lost sigbt of amid tbe rubbisb in wbicb it is 
 imbedded. Could tbe incensed youtb liave read Miss 
 Jones's innermost tliougbts, at tbe moment be was 
 breatbing notbing but scorn and indignation against 
 ber, be would bave fallen at ber feet in adoration. 
 Lavinia bad never been so near taking a step in tbe 
 direction wisbed by Paolo as on tbis particular day; 
 it needed so little to bave fostered tbe intention into a 
 fact. Tbe idea of taking a prominent part in tbe pri-
 
 284 LAVINIA. 
 
 vate theatricals, was becoming more and more dis- 
 agreeable to her; bow to draw back from her promise, 
 was the subject that preoccupied her every thought. It 
 was not only that now, the first excitement of vanity 
 being calmed, she had the hearty repugnance of a 
 young and naturally modest woman to appear as a 
 debutante on a stage, called private by courtesy; but 
 that she was both frightened and annoyd'd at the ardour 
 shown by the prince-tenor's pantomime towards her, 
 ever since the dress rehearsals had commenced. Lei- 
 cester was privileged by duty of his part, to kneel 
 more than once to her, to take her hand, carry it to his 
 heart, in short, express by look and gesture the most 
 passionate love; and all that in duty he was bound to 
 do, he did with a spontaneity, a life-like reality, that 
 was the nee plus ultra of acting — if acting it was. 
 The poor pro tempore Queen of Scots was sadly puzzl- 
 ed and displeased, when certain apart e's not to be 
 found in the libretto, reached her ear, and of which 
 the earl-prince was lavish, "srhen the queen-marchioness 
 happened to be off the stage. Another source of un- 
 easiness to Lavinia was the sudden and entire change 
 which had come over the noble Creole, since the afore- 
 said final rehearsals had commenced. To her ladyship's 
 hitherto enthusiastic friendship for her English favou- 
 rite, had succeeded the most icy coldness — indeed, a 
 thorough estrangement was evidently imminent. 
 
 Miss Jones had more than once surprised flashes of 
 anger in the fine black eyes, and tones of bitterness in 
 the voice, of her dearest friend. Very vivid doubts 
 suddenly awoke in the English girl's mind that the 
 marchioness really was not the sort of woman she 
 ought to have associated with intimately ; nor the prince,
 
 WHAT THERE IS IN A ROLL OV PARCHMENT. 285 
 
 the man she ought to act and sing with; and a percep- 
 tion grew daily stronger upon her, that Paolo had been 
 right in his judgment of both. Accordingly, he had 
 perhaps never stood higher in Miss Lavinia's opinion, 
 than when, on this day, hearing that he was in the 
 atelier, she went thither with quick steps to meet him. 
 Lest the reader should have forgotten it, we may as 
 well here repeat, in a parenthesis, that the dialogue 
 between master and pupil was always carried on in 
 Italian, and consequently allowed the most perfect free- 
 dom of discussion; for the chaperones, Mrs. Jones, or 
 Miss Jones's maid, who were, one or the other, always 
 present at the interviews, were both triumphantly igno- 
 rant of any language but their own. 
 
 Lavinia's smile, as she approached him, was as 
 rich in promise as is a rainbow in a cloudy sky, had 
 Paolo been able rightly to interpret the sign; but at 
 sight of his angry face, the glorious light faded away 
 from her countenance. 
 
 "You grudge your oldest friend in Rome a share 
 in the benefit you are going to confer on the multi- 
 tude," began the Italian; "I mean," he added, seeing 
 perplexity in her blue eyes, "I mean the pleasure of 
 witnessing your triumphs as a singer and actress. The 
 whole city is astir with the news of your approaching 
 debut, and you have left my poor hermitself in igno- 
 rance of the event; not even offered me an invitation 
 — I should say, ticket of admission." 
 
 The tone of his voice made his words as ironical 
 as he wished; they pained her, and made her good 
 angel take flight. 
 
 "For a man of your high aspirations, and trans-
 
 286 LAVINIA. 
 
 cendental liabits," answered she, "I was certain tliat 
 sucli frivolous amusements could have no attraction." 
 
 "Frivolous!" be re-echoed. "You are very in- 
 dulgent in thus baptizing them frivolous. Would to 
 God they were only that! Call them rather — " 
 
 "Pray," interrupted Lavinia, "spare me any more 
 of your sermons. I am bound to render an account of 
 my actions to no one, but to those who stand to me in 
 the light of my parents." 
 
 "To no one else?" asked Paolo, with a look full 
 of meaning. 
 
 "To no one else." 
 
 She pronounced the words firmly. 
 
 "Are you quite sure," proceeded Paolo, shaking 
 from head to foot with repressed emotion, "are you 
 indeed sure you have given to no one else the right 
 of warning you?" 
 
 "If I ever gave such a right, I now withdraw it," 
 was the quick, decided answer. 
 
 "Be it so then," exclaimed the young man, his 
 wrath breaking bounds. "Be it so, and welcome — 
 yes, welcome to debase yourself by way of asserting 
 your independence — welcome to add to the indecorum 
 of exhibiting yourself as a public actress, the disgrace 
 of doing so in company with -a man, regarded by all 
 Eome with abhorrence and disgust." 
 
 "Your usual style of exaggeration," said she; "you 
 lend to all Rome your own individual feelings." 
 
 "How becoming the defence of Prince Eocca- 
 Ginestra sounds from your lips," sneered Paolo. "That 
 you may better vindicate that nobleman's traduced 
 character, allow me to relate to you one instance of 
 his prowess."
 
 WHAT THERE IS IN A ROLL OF PARCHMENT. 287 
 
 "Save yourself the trouble," returned Laviuia, "it 
 is quite unnecessary. I am already well aware of what 
 really constitutes the prince's crime in your eyes." 
 
 "May I ask what you have decided that to be?" 
 
 "The being a prince,'' she replied, "as it was the 
 count's being a count, as it is the marchioness's being 
 a marchioness." 
 
 "Doubtless," retorted Paolo, "I have blasphemed 
 your gods, and they must be revenged. What excuse 
 shall I make'? I, and such as I am, you know, are 
 uncivilized beings, and give ourselves the luxury of 
 despising what is desjoicable, in spite of escutcheon and 
 coronets." 
 
 In all hardly contested battles, be it between two 
 lovers, or be it between two armies, there comes a 
 climax of exasperation, at which the wish to conquer 
 becomes quite secondary to the wish of doing harm. 
 This moment had arrived for Miss Lavinia; she did not 
 believe a word of what she was going to say, but she 
 knew it would goad him, and she said it. 
 
 "May we not affect sometimes to despise what we 
 envy?" 
 
 "Envy?" repeated he; "envy — what?" 
 
 "The grapes of the fable," said Lavinia, "were 
 sour, because out of reach." 
 
 Paolo laughed outright, then said, — 
 
 "One instant, and I will show you the reverse of 
 the fable." 
 
 He was gone. 
 
 There lay in a corner of Paolo's studio a rusty 
 cylinder of tin, within which was enclosed a moth- 
 eaten scroll of parchment, containing the letters patent 
 of nobility of the first marquis, and count of the nioly
 
 288 LAVIXIA. 
 
 Roman Empire, in tlie family Rodipani. The title was 
 to descend to male lieirs lawfully begotten, and, in de- 
 fault of the same, to the heirs female, who were by a 
 special clause empowered to transmit it to their heirs 
 male or female. Paolo therefore, as the son and heir 
 of the late marquis's daughter, had an incontrovertible 
 right in force of this proviso, — and he knew that he 
 had, — to assume the title of marquis, had he so 
 chosen to do. This venerable parchment, rolled up in 
 a cylinder of tin, to preserve it from all casualties, had 
 been handed down from Rodipani to Rodipani, until, 
 in course of time, it descended to our acquaintance, the 
 old marquis. At his death, it passed, with a few other 
 relics, into the hands of his daughter Bianca, married 
 to Mancini, Paolo's father. At the demise of the latter, 
 Paolo found the cylinder in a chest of family papers, 
 and, loth to destroy anything that had belonged to either 
 parent, he had laid it in a corner of his atelier to bide 
 the ravages of time. 
 
 Well, Paolo — we crave the reader's indulgence 
 for him; what he did was very childlike, but he was 
 veiy young, and very much excited — well then, Paolo 
 went and fetched the rusty tin case, and in about as 
 many words as it has cost us lines, explained the na- 
 ture of its contents to Miss Lavinia, finishing off with 
 the flourish, that the grapes were within his reach, but 
 that he scorned them. Upon this, with a somewhat 
 melodramatic air — young folks are always so em- 
 phatic — he tore the innocent parchment in twain, and 
 cast the pieces at Miss Jones's feet. 
 
 I must be true that women have a weakness for 
 theatrical effects, or Lavinia would not have thought 
 Paolo as grand as we consider him petty. He, who
 
 WHAT THERE IS IN A ROLL OF PARCHMENT. 289 
 
 could be a marquis, and would not be a marquis, ap- 
 peared in her eyes a madman, but a sublime madman; 
 and sbe applied herself with heart and will to cure him 
 of such an aberration. She solemnly appealed to his 
 reason; but her arguments, so unanswerable to her 
 mind, broke into foam against what was a rock of prin- 
 ciple with him, viz., that merit and demerit were strictly 
 personal, and that the transmission of a badge of 
 honour or dishonour to such as had done nothing to 
 deserve the one or the other, was the acme of absurdity. 
 She then appealed to his heart, reproaching him with 
 little love for her, that he willingly cast aside the only 
 sure means of conquering the obstacles that stood be- 
 tween him and her; she even tried to make a bargain, 
 promising, if he would yield, to renounce now and for 
 ever the theatricals at Villa Torralba, the prince, the 
 marchioness and such like; but reproaches, entreaties, 
 promises smote in vain against a sentiment all power- 
 ful with Paolo — the sentiment of what he owed to 
 himself, to his country and party. Not for her, not for 
 the dominion of the world, would he desert the ranks 
 of the people and join those of the aristocracy. He 
 was too proud of his title of plebeian to exchange it 
 for that of marquis, and so on. Paolo was not the son 
 of his father for nothing. Lavinia did not, and could 
 not understand him, nor he her. The difference of 
 education, of the habits and feelings of a whole life, of 
 the social and political state of the respective countries 
 to which they belonged, raised between the two a sort 
 of mental Chinese wall, which time alone, and dearly 
 bought exjicrience, and, above all, a change in the 
 moral atmosphere, which both had hitherto exclusively 
 breathed might level. The upshot of the present inter- 
 
 Luvinia. I. 19
 
 290 LAVI3SIA. 
 
 view was, tliat they parted in anger, never, as far as 
 words went, to meet again. 
 
 Perhaps the chapter ought not to conclude without 
 meeting a question, probably asked by this time. Was 
 there any justifiable foundation for Paolo's attacks upon 
 the Prince of Eocca Ginestra? ¥7hat had the prince 
 done so dreadfully wrong? Here is a categoric answer. 
 The prince, under an assumed humble name and sta- 
 tion, had seduced a girl of the Transtevere, renowned 
 for her beauty, and refused to right her when her fault 
 could no longer be concealed. The young woman, in 
 despair, had thrown herself into the Tiber. The sad 
 catastrophe created a great sensation, which lasted just 
 the time great sensations last in large and busy cities. 
 The prince left Rome, and spent a couple of years in 
 travelling abroad, and, on his return, was an ornament, 
 as before, of the best society. The universal feelings 
 of abhorrence and disgust, about Avliich Paolo enlarged, 
 were, to say the truth, wholly confined to a few visio- 
 naries like himself, and to the Transteverini, who had 
 not forgotten what had happened to one of their body, 
 and who thenceforth bore a grudge to the prince, as 
 uncivilized people are wont to do in similar cases. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 A Crash. 
 
 It is the 28th of December, the day fixed for the 
 great operatic performance at Villa Torralba. The 
 evening is cold and rainy. Rain and cold are of little 
 matter to the rich, who have at their disposal downy- 
 cushioned, comfortable carriages, and plenty of furs and 
 cashmeres to shelter them from such nuisances. The
 
 A CRASH, 291 
 
 creme de la creme are on their way to the Marchioness 
 Delfuego j Arcos'. 
 
 In his room in the Via Bahuino sits Paolo , more 
 dead than alive. The die is cast, Paolo will be away 
 presently. His trunks are packed, and already on the 
 travelling carriage, which is standing at the street door. 
 Post horses are bespoken, and Thornton's Italian ser- 
 vant waits but a word from his master to go and fetch 
 them. Thornton himself, paler and thinner than ever, 
 the double scar round his mouth more marked than 
 usual, walks in and out of the room, seats himself for 
 an instant, rises the next; he is anxious and perplexed. 
 At last he ventures on saying, "Shall we send for the 
 horses, Paolo?" 
 
 "Not yet, not before Salvator comes; he is to be 
 here the moment the — the entertainment is over. 
 I cannot decently go after making him promise to 
 come." 
 
 Mortimer is silent: he goes away, returns, sits down, 
 gets up; at last, he sjoeaks again, 
 
 "What is the use of prolonging this agony? If any 
 good could arise from delay — but you know, she will 
 do as she said. Salvator told you this morning he had 
 heard of no change in her intention. Better go at 
 once, if you arc to go at all. Come, Paolo, be a 
 man." 
 
 "Ah! it is easy to say, be a man," Paolo says, with 
 a smile that brings tears to Thornton's eyes; "less easy 
 to be so, when all your blood gushes out through a 
 large gap in your heart." 
 
 Mortimer walks to the window, and by the light of 
 the street lamps studies tlic pouring rain. Thornton 
 feels the more keenly for Paolo, because he sees in him 
 
 19*
 
 292 LAVDsIA. 
 
 a living image of himself, as lie was years ago, only 
 he had had no friend by his side. 
 
 Paolo flings himself on the sofa, and buries his head 
 in the cushions. Paolo cannot believe that he is really 
 going from Rome, cannot believe that Lavinia will ever 
 consummate an act, Avhich he has told her is to separate 
 them for ever. His whole being clings desperately to 
 this woman, as a shipwrecked mai-iuer clings to the 
 plank which is his only chance of life. Paolo hopes 
 against hope, and finds legitimate reasons for hope in 
 all the possible, and next to impossible, contingencies 
 suggested by his fevered brain. She might have altered 
 her mind at the last minute; the performance might 
 have been put off on account of the weather (even a 
 respite would be a godsend to him); somebody might 
 be ill — not she, God forbid! but the marchioness, the 
 prince might have a cold; or the accursed theatre 
 might have caught fire; or an earth-quake shaken it 
 from its foundations as the cmtain rose. Why not? 
 such things had been; he recollected the £tory of an 
 unfortunate wretch, absolutely on his way to the 
 scaffold, whose life had been saved by such a cata- 
 strophe. 
 
 Hark! eight o'clock strikes, — the fatal hour. A 
 whistle, and there she is on the stage in all her beauty. 
 Hundreds of eyes are riveted on and devour the noblest 
 form that ever came from the hands of natiu-e. She 
 sings; every breath is held; you might hear the fall of 
 a pin. She sings as she alone can sing, as she sang 
 to him. She ceases, and long loud plaudits make the 
 walls tremble; bouquets fall in a shower at her feet; 
 fashionables of all ages, with curly locks or bald pates, 
 or hoary-haii-ed lords, dukes, princes, loll half out of
 
 A CRASH. 293 
 
 tlie boxes, languidly flapping tlieir white gloves to- 
 gether, striving who shall win a look or a smile from 
 her. She bows and smiles, and smiles and bows; 
 retires, and is forced to reappear, and encored sine fine. 
 There never was such a furore of admiration. Well 
 may she look as radiantly happy as she does; happy, 
 independently of him; happy without him; happy in 
 spite of him; happy, while his heart breaks. No, it 
 cannot! it shall not be. Here comes the avenger. A 
 young man, so pale and haggard, more like a phantom 
 than real flesh and blood, reels towards her. She 
 shrinks from him in terror; he follows, reaches her, and 
 stabs himself at her feet. There, it is her Avork. 
 
 While the young man's heated imagination was 
 running riot on such scenes, Mortimer watched the lajjse 
 of time. 
 
 "Ilalf-past nine, Paolo; had anything occurred to 
 put a stop to the performance, Salvator would have 
 been here long ago, Sliall I send for the horses?" 
 
 "Not yet; not till Salvator comes. Have patience 
 with me, I pray." 
 
 Another hour went by, a vigorous pull at the door 
 bell, and in rushed Salvator llosa, as thoroughly 
 drenched as if he had spent tlie last week at the bottom 
 of a well. Water dripped from his shapeless hat, from 
 the sleeves, from the flaps of his famous black coat, 
 water ran down from his brow, nose, ears, chin, hands. 
 His progress through the room was like that of a 
 watering-pot. A small lake formed on the spot where 
 he stood still. He would have served as a model for 
 a river god. 
 
 "Well?" exclaimed Paolo. 
 
 "Well?" exclaimed Thornton.
 
 294 LAYIXIA. 
 
 Salvator Lad ruu so fast tliat lie liad no breath left 
 to speak his tidiugs. He pointed to his tongue, which 
 clove to his palate, and by signs asked for drink. 
 Mortimer "went for some "wiue, and was in the act of 
 230iu"ing some into a glass, when the little man snatched 
 the bottle from his hand, and, putting it to his mouth, 
 half emptied it at a draught. Giving a long sigh of 
 relief, half- singing, half-speaking, he pronounced, — 
 
 ''''Fiasco solenne.''^ 
 
 "Poor fellow, say no more until you have changed 
 your clothes," said Thornton. 
 
 "Xo, no; first and foremost, my story," cried the 
 excited painter of scenes; "though I will pull off my 
 boots, if you have a pair of slippers to spare, it needn't 
 stop my tongue." Seated with his back to the fire, and 
 struggling violently with his wet boots, Salvator began, 
 "Well, there never was a more promising beginning — " 
 
 "What about Sliss Jones?" inteiTupted Paolo. 
 
 "Miss Jones is safe at home. Well," he continued, 
 allowing Thornton to take off his coat, and put a rail- 
 Avay wrapper round him. 
 
 "Did she, or did she not, appear on the stage?" 
 asked Paolo. 
 
 "Yes, she did, of course;" and Salvater, for the 
 third time, repeated his beginning "Well," when Paolo 
 a third time abruptly stopped him with, — 
 
 "What has happened to her?" 
 
 "My dear fellow," retui-ned the good-natured nar- 
 ratui-, "if you won't let me speak, you will never hear 
 Avhat has happened. Well," resumed he for the fourth 
 time, "as I said before, there never was a more pro- 
 mising beginning, nor a more sudden or melancholy 
 conclusion; though, I must say, I, for my part, have
 
 A CRASH. 295 
 
 not been without misgivings as to something of the sort. 
 11 sospetto in cor parlava; but I must not anticipate. 
 The first chorus was got through beautifully, and the 
 tenor's Ali! chi sa se in questo istante was charmingly 
 sung. Even a tyro, and the prince is far from that, 
 could not have helped producing an effect-, the words 
 are so pathetic. I wrote them myself really from in- 
 spiration; I did, I assure you. Well, to the point. 
 Next, you know, comes the contralto's rccita'.ivo obhli- 
 gato. Armid — , Miss Lavinia, I mean, gave it in 
 masterly style; it created a furore^ the very chairs 
 clapped. Upon my faith, Paolo, when a woman pos- 
 sesses a voice like that, it is a sin to smother it." 
 
 "If you would oblige me by leaving all comments 
 for another time, and give us facts now," was the 
 reply. 
 
 '"''Gelosia il sen mi lacera^" sang the incorrigible 
 little felloAY. 
 
 "Well, let us stick to facts. Miss Mary Stuart's re- 
 citative is followed by a cavatina commencing with a 
 lovely adagio, which progresses into an andantino vi- 
 vace, during which Prince of Rocca Ginestra — Lei- 
 cester, I mean — makes his appearance. Here is the 
 culminating point of the first act, the duetto between 
 the tenor and contralto. Let me explain the plot clearly. 
 The scene is in a forest. Leicester, who has accom- 
 panied Queen Elizabeth on a hunting expedition, gives 
 his royal mistress the slip, and comes to where Queen 
 Mary is in tears. Fcrchc piaufji? and all the rest. She 
 gives her motives for weeping: '■Sola son tradita op- 
 pressa — nan nn cor die a! viio risponda.' 'There is a 
 heart which answers thine,' says Leicester. 'Whose 
 heart?' asks she. 'Mine.' Upon Avhich he falls at her
 
 296 LAVKOA. 
 
 feet, and roars out a snblime lo t'amo. "With tliis tre- 
 mendous lo famo ends the andante vivace of the duetto 
 and siibito the sti-etta begins, in' ami dunquc? lo t'amo, 
 oh gioja! ta-ta-ta — re-re-re-ra. It is at this juncture — 
 after the stretta, mark, and not before — that Queen 
 Elizabeth ought to step forth and surprise Leicester at 
 the feet of Mary. Here is the moment to inform you 
 of certain susjticions of mine. A series of observations 
 which I had made, quite involuntary, on the marchioness 
 during the latter rehearsals, had given me some not 
 very vague apprehensions that this duetto "would bring 
 forth mischief I had seen her ladyship change colour 
 at certain ticklish passages; then she was so whimsical, 
 so peevish, cavilling constantly at the two singers, ridi- 
 culing Leicester's exaggerated acting, finding fault with 
 the English young lady's singing, even going so far 
 one day as to propose that the duetto should be left 
 out; — in short, her behaviour was so unaccountable, 
 that I could not get rid of the belief that the jealousy 
 of Queen Elizabeth would not be feigned. You know, 
 or perhaps you do not know, that it is believed the 
 marchioness — how shall I say it? it is hard to speak 
 against a person whose bread I eat — well, the rumour 
 is, that there is a flirtation between her and the prince. 
 It may be so, or it may not: rumour, generally speak- 
 ing, is a liar; but the upshot of the duetto was this. 
 Leicester, on his knees, had scarcely sung out his pas- 
 sionate lo {amo , when , lo and behold ! — my hair rises 
 on my head again at the mere recollection — out comes 
 the marchioness with the spring of a tigress, and sends 
 the luckless prince flat on his back. The orchesh-a, 
 busy with the stretta, losing their wits at the untimely 
 entry, hesitate, blunder, and stop; the audience, in
 
 A CRASH. 297 
 
 their ignorance, apj)laucl such natural acting. Some- 
 thing must be done. I leap out of my prompter's box, 
 run to the scenes on the left, and, jiiff-pafiF, let down 
 the curtain. Was it a time coming down, that weary 
 curtain! However, down it was at last, and then I 
 hurried to the field of battle. All tlie staff of the theatre 
 ■were already assembled there. The scene that was 
 enacting baffles description. The prince, with some of 
 the men of the chorus, were endeavouring to pacify, 
 and induce the enraged marchioness to leave the stage, 
 so that what she was saying might not be heard by 
 those in the boxes and the pit. But there she stood in 
 a paroxysm of j)assion, threatening with hands and looks 
 Miss Lavinia, and calling her bad names, luckily in 
 Spanish. Miss Lavinia, white as the whitest marble, 
 but composed and self-collected, stood erect like a true 
 queen, gazing scornfully at her antagonist, not speaking 
 a word, save when she said, on my approaching her, 
 'I deserve it all for having ever set my foot in this 
 house. I have not lacked for warnings. Tell this to 
 Signor Paolo.' Depend upon it, my friend, there is the 
 right stuff of a woman in that girl. Presently, the au- 
 dience began to show symptoms of impatience. A noise, 
 like that of the rising tide, diversified with a hiss or 
 two, were premonitory signs of a coming storm. I 
 shook myself up, and with a 'To the breach, friend 
 Salvator!' slipped from behind the curtain, and sum- 
 moning to my aid my best bow and most winning smile, 
 said, coram populo, 'The marchioness offers to this dis- 
 tinguished assembly her heartfelt regret and excuses; 
 she deputes rac, ladies and gentlemen, to assure you, 
 that no one here present can more sincerely deplore 
 than does her ladyship the unfortunate indisposition of
 
 298 LAVINIA. 
 
 one of tlie priiicipal performers, whicli puts an inevitable 
 stop to the opera for this evening.' For an impromptu 
 not so bad, was it? but, for pity's sake, something to 
 drink, or I shall never get to the end of my story. I 
 have not finished yet-, there is a tail to the comet." 
 
 Salvator drank, smacked his lips expressively, and 
 continued, "To make what followed clear to you, I 
 must use the past tense. Have patience a moment. For 
 days, you must understand, I had been urging on the 
 marchioness the propriety and prudence of admitting no 
 one behind the scenes, save those who had business 
 there. At last, and not without difficulty, I got her 
 persuaded to issue this prohibition; but at the same time 
 she insisted on an exception in favour of Count Forti- 
 guerra, a special favourite of hers. He would be so 
 useful, he Avas so clever and experienced, and all that. 
 He was useful, no gainsaying that, though his presence 
 v/as a perpetual eyesore to me. I distrusted him greatly •, 
 not in consequence of Paolo's surmises about him; no, 
 I had surer foundations to build on. One of our chorus 
 singers, an elderly man, a native of Ancona, had re- 
 cognized him as a fellow-citizen, and repeatedly warned 
 us that he was no count at all, but a noted swindler. 
 Be this true or not, the old Anconitan, Clelia and I, 
 agreed that we would keep a close watch on the soi- 
 disant count; for, besides all sorts of costly dresses and 
 valuable ornaments, there were the marchioness's dia- 
 monds to be specially looked after. They had been 
 arranged for the occasion as a diadem to be worn in 
 the last act, and their value, the marchioness said, was 
 immense. Clelia had chai-ge of this crown, and some 
 other jewels, kept in their cases, ready for use, in a 
 light closet adjoining the stage, and which served as
 
 A CRASH. 299 
 
 her ladyship's dressing-room. In the surprise and bustle 
 of the improvised scene of jealousy, the count and the 
 diamonds were forgotten by us all three. Now, to re- 
 turn. When, after performing another graceful salaam 
 to the public, I retired once more behind the curtain, 
 I was charmed to find actual hostilities had ceased. 
 My lady had allowed herself to be led to the very back 
 of the stage, and, though still looking fierce, looked 
 less intensely so than before. She had ceased venting 
 her fury in language, and maintained a sullen silence. 
 All this I saw at a glance, and also that Clelia was 
 absent. Instantly the diamonds recurred to me. She 
 is gone to look after them, thought I. Scarcely had 
 the thought been formed, when a wild cry issued from 
 the dressing-room. It was Clelia's voice. I made but 
 one bound from the spot where I stood, into the closet, 
 and there I saw — we all saw, for every one on the 
 stage folloMed at my heels — there we saw Clelia 
 wrestling with the count, and the jewel-cases scattered 
 on the ground. No need of words to explain what was 
 the matter. Surprised in the very act of possessing 
 himself of the jewels, the so-called count had let them 
 drop, and was struggling to make his escape, which 
 he might have easily done by a back stair, had Clelia's 
 grasp of him been less resolutely tenacious. In another 
 instant, I and some other men had hold of him. Well, 
 what do you think the impudent rascal did? I scarcely 
 believed my ears. As sure as I am here, he declared 
 that he had caught Clelia in the act of making off with 
 the diamonds, aud that we had come in time to help 
 him to secure her. But people can't help believing 
 their own eyes, and no one for a moment doubted who 
 was the thief. The prince called out for the gendarmes
 
 300 LAVTXIA. 
 
 — there were lialf-a-dozeii on duty at the villa — but 
 the marchioness , breaking her silence , and looking 
 rather pleased than not, forbade any stir to be made. 
 'Let the fellow go,' said she. 'I am not astonished at 
 his turning out a thief; he was introduced to me at that 
 fine lady's house,' pointing to ^liss Lavinia, who really 
 looked more dead than alive. I whispered to Clelia to 
 take the young English lady away to the laundiy, 
 while I, on my side, would tiy to find her uncle and 
 aunt I was fortunate enough to do so at once, and I 
 ordered their carriage to a back entrance. Poor Miss 
 Jones, how she clung to my Clelia I She put on one 
 of Clelia's dresses to go away in; and there's an end 
 of my story. I was told, as I made my way upstairs, 
 to call down iliss Lavinia, that my lady had laconi- 
 cally dismissed eveiy one about her, and retired to 
 her own apartment Cleha, who has been sleeping at 
 the villa for the last fortnight, chose to stay, saying 
 she would not leave her mistress in this moment of 
 trial: so nothing remained for me to do, but to come 
 hither as fast as I could — and here I am."' 
 
 Having concluded his nan*ative, Salvator allowed 
 himself to be persuaded to go and change his wet 
 clothes, an act of prudence performed with harlequin- 
 like celerity. Our tiio, being too excited to have any 
 chance of sleep, sat through the remainder of the night, 
 talking of, and annotating on the events just nan-ated. 
 Is it necessary to add, that the post hoi-ses were counter- 
 manded, and the travelling carriage ordered back to the 
 coach-house? Lavinia in tears, Lavinia repentant, La- 
 vinia unhappy, had a thousandfold stronger hold on 
 Paolo's heai-t than Lavinia the queen of beauty, Lavinia 
 triumphant and happy. To go to her, to throw himself
 
 A CRASH. 301 
 
 at lier feet, to seek pardon for liis rougbness, to com- 
 fort and console her, sucli were now the yearnings of 
 Paolo's whole soul. Thornton hazarded no remonstrance, 
 did not even evince any surprise at Paolo's change of 
 mind as to their intended departure. More than ever 
 convinced that no good could come of his friend's at- 
 tachment to Miss Jones, he felt that it was too deep- 
 rooted to leave any chance of its being combated with 
 success. Why then afflict one already so grievously 
 afflicted ? He could not harbour such a thought. There- 
 fore, neither approving, nor disapproving, he kept Paolo 
 faithful company down the dangerous slope he was 
 bent on treading, intent only on sparing, or at least 
 softening for him, the shocks and falls inevitable on 
 that slippery descent. 
 
 About dawn, Salvator's spirit refusing to support 
 his flesh any longer, he gave way, and stretching his 
 weary little body on a tolerably hard sofa, was soon 
 sound asleep. Salvator's lively tongue once at rest, 
 all conversation ceased; Paolo and Thornton sat on 
 awhile, each communing with his own thoughts, until 
 the bright sun shining into the room, warned them to 
 make ready for another day's burdens. 
 
 The friends had not long retired to their own rooms, 
 when a letter was brought to Paolo. It was from La- 
 vinia. She wrote: — 
 
 "If you are generous enough, and I am sure you 
 are, to wish to see once more one who has rendered 
 you evil for good, pray come here as soon as you can. 
 We leave this evening; I shall be at home all day. It 
 will be a great comfort to me, if he Avho has witnessed 
 my folly should also witness my repentance. 
 
 "L. J."
 
 302 LAVINIA. 
 
 What transports of joy and despair did these few 
 lines give rise to: joy at the entire recantation avowed 
 by them, despair at the intimation of approaching se- 
 paration. The resolution of the English family to quit 
 Kome, will surprise no one less than it did Paolo. He 
 had been sure of it. After what had passed, even a 
 man less sensitive to the world's ridicule than Mr. Jones, 
 might be reasonably apprehensive of, and shrink from 
 tlie award of public opinion. The one fact of having 
 patronized — worse, of having allowed himself to be 
 patronized by — an impostor and matriculated thief, 
 was sufficient to make the most self-conceited soul alive, 
 aware, that, for the present, Rome was no place for him 
 or bis family. 
 
 The abrupt and mysterious termination of the enter- 
 tainment at Villa Torralba, was, naturally enough, the 
 talk of all the city. The most absurd stories were 
 circulating, and, moreover, finding credence; for instance, 
 the marchioness in a fit of jealousy had stabbed the 
 Prince of Rocca Ginestra, whose life was despaired of; 
 a fabulous sum, and a fabulous amount of diamonds, 
 had been offered to, and accepted by the Government 
 as hush-money. Miss Jones had, in ber attempt to 
 save the prince, her betrothed, received a serious wound. 
 These were the prominent on dits of wide-mouthed 
 rumour, brouglit to Via Babuino by Salvator, who had 
 gone out early to collect the public gossip. 
 
 Paolo went to Palazzo j\Iorlacchi at as early an 
 bour as he decently could. The first part of the inter- 
 view was such as might be expected, under the circum- 
 stances, from two noble extreme naturos — a struggle 
 of generosity as to who should take the most blame, 
 and most exonerate the other. The second scene was
 
 A CRASH. 303 
 
 as intimate, explicit, and full of candour, as was to be 
 looked for from two young lovers, wlio, after much 
 discord, found out that they had but one mind, one 
 heart between them, and were on the point of parting. 
 Paolo had made more way in Lavinia's heart during 
 the last few hours, than dviring the previous four months 
 of their acquaintance. They solemnly pledged their 
 troth the one to the other, and interchanged love tokens 
 — Paolo giving to Lavinia a small gold ring, once his 
 mother's, and Lavinia, at his prayer, cutting off one of 
 her heavy ringlets for him. She also willingly pro- 
 mised to humour a whim of his, never to alter her 
 style of wearing her hair, but to wear it twisted into a 
 diadem round her head, as it was when he first saw 
 and loved her. 
 
 "When M'e next meet," said childlike Paolo, "the 
 mere sight of your hair arranged in the way I like so 
 much, will tell me that you have thought of me and 
 still love me." 
 
 And now it remained to be settled when and Avhcre 
 Paolo could join her. As neither aunt nor niece kneAV 
 anything of Mr. Jones's plans for the future, save that 
 Siena was to be their first halt, the fixing on a date 
 and place of meeting beforehand was a matter of utter 
 impossibility. All that Lavinia could do was to pro- 
 mise that whenever they should be certain of stopping 
 somewhere for any length of time, she would let Paolo 
 know, and send their address. Then ho would join 
 them, but not before a certain time had elapsed between 
 the day of his receiving her letter and that of his de- 
 j)arture. This condition greatly ruftled the impatient 
 young man, who, hoAvever, was made to understand 
 how Mr. Jones's suspicions could not fail to be aroused
 
 304 LAVINIA. 
 
 by the coincidence of Paolo's immediate arrival with 
 the fact of their having just settled. Lavinia named a 
 mouth, but, on Paolo's urgent entreaties, reduced it to 
 a fortnight. That fortnight aunt and niece would em- 
 ploy in trying to prepare Mr. Jones for Paolo's possible 
 reappearance, on the strength of a project they had 
 heard him mention, of visiting that particular town or 
 city. 
 
 The moment of separation was now at hand. Those 
 who have been in a similar predicament know what 
 such moments are like; words cannot describe it to 
 those who are ignorant of such bitter quarters of an 
 hour, when the liveliest faith, and the most vivid hopes, 
 grow dim. Clelia, luckily or unluckily, made her ap- 
 pearance at this critical moment. She had come, at 
 Lavinia's own pressing invitation, to be thanked for the 
 kindness shown in the emergency at Villa Torralba. 
 Paolo was thus forced to put a control on his emotions, 
 and Lavinia's farewell was more constrained than per- 
 haps it might otherwise have been. But there were no 
 reasons to prevent Paolo from showing his feelings 
 towards kind Mrs. Jones. He took an affectionate leave 
 of her, and a more formal one of Mr. Jones, and then, 
 with a full heart, went his way. 
 
 As the Jones's travelling carriage emerged from 
 Porta del Popolo at six o'clock that same evening, La- 
 vinia noticed a tall figure wrapped in a cloak by the 
 roadside, and saw, with a fluttering heart, a white hand- 
 kerchief waved towards her — the last salute of poor 
 bereaved Paolo.
 
 ON THE RACK. 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 On the Rack. 
 
 So long as the honey gathered at his last meeting 
 with Miss Jones remained fresh on Paolo's lips, life 
 went on with him better than he had hoped; but when 
 each succeeding day and week carried away a particle 
 of the sweet, and the bitter beneath made itself felt 
 anew; when, to be more clear, the recollections, the 
 images and feelings, connected with that blessed inter- 
 view, began to fade, and to be superseded by recollec- 
 tions, images, and feehngs of far older date, and far 
 less agreeable nature; a new hell commenced for our 
 poor friend. Wherever she went, the allurements of 
 the world were sure to pursue one of her beauty and 
 accomplishments; and could she, nay, would she, resist 
 them for his sake? Was there any good reason why 
 what had been, should not be again? Surely, she had 
 forgotten him by this time; and so on. Such were the 
 promptings of the tormentor within Paolo. Doubt, dis- 
 trust, and jealousy, "the jaundice of the soul," kept him 
 ever on the rack. Confidence in love is like the flower 
 of the aloes, it blossoms but once. 
 
 He ate not, slept not, spoke not, he wandered about 
 like a soul in pain. His sole solace, his sole diversion, 
 were long walks alone of a night, out by that Porta 
 del Popolo, where he had seen her for the last time. 
 Shut up in his atelier all day long, inaccessible to his 
 friends, even to Thornton and Salvator, unmindful of 
 colours and palette, he rolled unceasingly his Sisiphus 
 stone. The only human being he did not shrink from, 
 was Salvator's betrothed. Clelia had seen lier last, 
 
 Luvlnia. I. *U
 
 306 LAVINTA. 
 
 tLoiis'lit well of lier, and succeeded at intervals in inspir- 
 ing him with some of her own faith in her. But Cle- 
 lia's visits were rare as an angel's, and indeed so were 
 Salvator's attempts to see him. All his time, as well 
 as Clelia's, was taken up by the concerns at Villa Tor- 
 ralba, where opus fervebat now more than ever. Her 
 ladyship had quickly recovered the late shock to her 
 feelings, and had devoted all the resources of her active 
 mind, and full purse, to tilling up the important hiatus 
 left in her operatic company by Miss Jones's secession. 
 A professional prima donna had been engaged in Na- 
 ples, rehearsal followed rehearsal apace, and scarcely 
 two weeks after the date of the fiasco solenne^ Maria 
 Stuarda was performed to the accompaniment of the 
 imbounded applause, and enthusiastic admiration of the 
 same select audience, who, but a few days back, had 
 made it the butt of their ridicule, and freely slandered 
 in every one of their drawing-rooms the entertainer and 
 the entertainment. Xo people in the world like fine 
 people for their savoir vivve. 
 
 Seven weeks had gone by, and no letter from Miss 
 Jones. "What more conclusive jiroof could there be 
 that he was forgotten? Despair was gnawing at the 
 very core of Paolo's heart. Xow, what had really be- 
 come of the travellers? They only passed through Siena. 
 Siena was bitterly cold and windy at that moment, and 
 cold and wind peculiarly affected Mrs. Jones, grown 
 more delicate than ever. Genoa would have suited her 
 better, with its bright sun and balmy air, but it did 
 not boast of sutHcient English society for Mr. Jones, 
 who objected, besides, to the narrow streets, all up and 
 down, and, above all, to the Genoese cookery, which 
 he pronounced uneatable. So, after a sojourn there of
 
 ON THE RACK. 307 
 
 some days, away they went again; tins time to Nice. 
 No want of English there; plenty and to spare. Nice 
 found favour in Mr. Jones's eyes; it possessed also ca- 
 sinos and reading rooms. What he got to eat was far 
 from good, but endurable; enough to prevent any im- 
 mediate danger of starvation. The ladies liked the 
 genial climate, the verdant hills, the blue sky, and sea. In 
 this beatific condition of a family all of a mind, the Joneses 
 pitched their tents pro tcmpove in Nice. Pro tempore 
 mark, for Mr. Jones, repeatedly sounded as to the dura- 
 tion of their stay, with his constant diplomatic rejoinder 
 of, "we shall see," remained a perfect sphinx to aunt 
 and niece. They were thus afraid to venture a letter 
 to Paolo. 
 
 In the meanwhile, pleasant acquaintances blossomed 
 for the Joneses; they visited quantum suff., and par- 
 took in moderation of the amusements of the carnival. 
 One cannot shut oneself up, like an owl in an ivy bush, 
 while every other Christian mortal around one is gather- 
 ing together, and — dancing. From the time of their 
 leaving Home, up to their arrival at Nice, Lavinia had 
 lived like a nun; she had not yet overcome the shock 
 of the catastrophe at Villa Torralba, and, to do her 
 justice, had been quite under the dominion of the feel- 
 ings roused by her separation from Paolo. But now 
 she grew a little impatient at her own state of normal 
 despondency, and welcomed a little diversion. She had 
 no more hesitation in so doing, than an invalid to swal- 
 low a potion prescribed by the physician. So long as 
 she contracted no more intimacies, and did not make 
 herself in any way conspicuous, she thought to herself, 
 that she was committing no treason against Paolo, She 
 was sure he would not grudge her some relaxation. 
 
 20*
 
 308 LAVINIA. 
 
 This congenial regimen came to a sudden stop. 
 Small towns, where everybody meets and knows every- 
 body — an allusion, of course, applying solely to 
 strangers, the aborigines counting for nothing — small 
 towns have their inconveniences for those who, like 
 Mr. Jones, have precedents they would fain forget, and 
 have forgotten. The signal for the Joneses' retreat 
 from Nice was given by the arrival of an English fa- 
 mily, with whom they had been acquainted at Rome. 
 Paris is big enough to allow of a man, be he ever so 
 on the defensive, spending some time there without 
 much fear of disagreeable encounters. Our family, 
 therefore, proceeded to Paris, and were soon as com- 
 fortably established as money could make them. 
 
 Among the pleasant acquaintances made at Nice, 
 figured a certain Vicomte du Verlat, a well-bred, well- 
 informed, sober-looking, middle-aged man, who had 
 gone to Paris the week before Mr. Jones had felt him- 
 self compelled to decide on going thither also. But 
 before his departv;re, the vicomte had left his Paris ad- 
 dress with the Joneses, courteously soliciting the favour 
 of being made acquainted with their presence in the 
 French capital, whenever they might happen to be there. 
 The state of the political horizon just then, as every- 
 body may remember, clearly pointed to a close alliance 
 between the two nations, and this anticipation created 
 a reciprocal feeling of cordiality, which extended even 
 to individuals. No sooner in Paris, than Mr. Jones 
 left a card at the vicomte's hotel. The vicomte called 
 immediately, begging leave to introduce his mother — 
 wife he had none — and his sister, the generale. The 
 indroduction was mutually agreeable. Madame La 
 Vicomtesse was a lively old lady of seventy, as fond
 
 ON THE RACK. 309 
 
 of company, of dress, hot rooms, and late hours, as 
 any gay young woman of twenty. The generale, so 
 called from the rank of her husband, was one of the 
 mirrors of fashion. 
 
 The old vicomtesse invited her son's English friends 
 to a great dinner, and the gcuorale gave them a soiree 
 dansante. Lavinia produced a great sensation at both 
 — so pretty and so rich — and invitations fell in 
 showers on the English family, much of the same calibre, 
 and in the same way, dear reader, as is so graphically 
 described in Lady Morgan's late Autobiography. In a 
 wonderfully short time the Joneses Avere well launched 
 in the best Parisian society. 
 
 And was the promised letter still unwritten to Paolo ? 
 Indeed, yes. More than the half of February had pas- 
 sed in this agreeable atmosphere, and still Mr. Jones 
 continued impenetrable as to his intention of going or 
 staying. It would be doing Miss Jones an unpardonable 
 injustice to say that she was grown indifferent to the 
 performance of a solemn promise. Though gently 
 rocked into patience by the waves of admiration on 
 which she floated, Lavinia had not relapsed into the 
 Lavinia of Rome. Even in the midst of her triumphs 
 as a beauty, she did think of the absent one; did think 
 of him with a daily growing sense of uneasiness, lest 
 he should misconstrue her long silence. After all, why 
 should she not venture on writing? Even if they were 
 to quit Paris, their next move could not be but to 
 England, whither, at the worst, Mancini might easily 
 follow them. Mrs. Jones warmly seconded the plan. 
 Lavinia accordingly, on the 3rd of March, wrote and 
 posted a letter for Kome, about the contents of which, 
 all that it matters us to knows is, that she stated her
 
 310 LAVINIA, 
 
 reasons for not writing before, and gave lier present 
 address in Paris, 25, Boulevard des Capucines. This 
 note despatched, Mrs. and Miss Jones spent a good deal 
 of their spare time in calculating the probable epoch 
 of Signor Mancini's arrival, with a view principally so 
 to arrange matters as to have no peremptory engage- 
 ments on their hands. According to their reckoning, 
 Paolo, starting a fortnight after receipt of Miss Jones's 
 letter, as had been settled, could not be in Paris before 
 the end of March, at the soonest. They reckoned 
 without Paolo's impatience. 
 
 Lavinia's letter had on him the effect that the in- 
 troduction of air has on the half-dead bird shut up in 
 a pneumatic machine. It revived him. llis sombre 
 despondency gave place to a feverish animation, a fran- 
 tic longing to leave Rome at once. Those who know 
 by ex^jerience what it is to be sick with hope deferred ; 
 those, for instance, who, receiving news of the dan- 
 gerous illness of a far aAvay mother or wife, burn to 
 be on the road, yet for days have their movements 
 hampered by passports, and police visas, — those alone 
 can form an idea of the intensity of Paolo's impatience 
 and restlessness. Fifteen more days of hell, in sight 
 of paradise open and expecting you, are quite an eter- 
 nity. The slave of his own word, Paolo uttered no 
 complaint, but pined away in silence, consumed by a 
 low fever. No food, no rest by day or night. Thorn- 
 ton at last took fright at Paolo's ghastly paleness and 
 lustrous eyes, until his fears, overcoming his repugnance 
 to advise a step implying the breach of a jiromise — 
 he did give the advice. Whatever the cause, reasoned 
 Thornton, on which may be founded the desirableness 
 of a fortnight's delay between the date of the letter's
 
 ON THE RACK. 311 
 
 arrival aud that of Paolo's starting, this cause must 
 yield to a far more grave and pressing one: the proba- 
 bility of an illness or worse. Six days, more or less 
 (nine days of the fatal term had elapsed by this time), 
 cannot be of any material importance; some woman's 
 whim, I daresay: to Paolo it is an affair of life or 
 death. 
 
 Believing himself justified by such apprehensions, 
 Thornton then proposed to Paolo that they should begin 
 their journey at once, without further waiting, and 
 Paolo grasped at the proposal as eagerly as a prisoner 
 under sentence of death grasps at an offered respite. 
 Their passage from Civita Vecchia was quick and hor- 
 ribly boisterous. Paolo, Avho throughout had suffered 
 all the martyrdoms of sea-sickness, though scarcely 
 able to stand on landing, nevertheless obstinately re- 
 fused to take any rest, insisting on going on immediate- 
 ly to Lyons, a long and dreary journey before the 
 two great southern cities of France were connected by 
 a railroad. There he had to resign himself to a forced 
 halt of a couple of hours, and en route again by express 
 train to Paris, where they arrived at seven in the even- 
 ing. Theirs had not been travelling, it had been a 
 race. 
 
 Thornton, who had been often in Paris before, took 
 Paolo to a furnished house, which he had, on such oc- 
 casions, preferred to shoAvy, noisy hotels, aud where ho 
 had always found a quiet, neat, comfortable lodging, 
 with an obliging, well-bred landlady. This house stood 
 at the corner of the Rue St. Honore aud the Hue do 
 liohan; this last street destined soon to disappear in the 
 carrying out of the enlargement and embellishment of 
 the city of Paris, as connected with the completion of
 
 312 LAVLKIA. 
 
 the Louvre. Somethiog to Thornton's disappointment, 
 Madame Frau^oise, his model landlady, interspersed her 
 welcome with various explanatory notes, as to how she, 
 along with the other householders of the Rue de Eohau, 
 had, consoled by a handsome indemnity, been condemned 
 to expropriation-, already, indeed, part of her movables 
 had been transferred to another house; but there were 
 still some rooms untouched, and, if they would suit ce 
 bon Mr. Thornton, they should be at his disposal, until 
 Madame Francoise should be served with a definite no- 
 tice to evacuate the premises. While this negotiation 
 was pending, Paolo, far too impatient to wait for its 
 conclusion, was changing his dress in one of the still 
 furnished rooms. 
 
 It was past nine o'clock when Paolo, having finished 
 his hasty toilette, desired that a coach might be sent 
 for; he was too faint and giddy to walk. In vain did 
 Mortimer try to dissuade him from seeking the Joneses 
 at so late an hour; Paolo was not in a frame of mind 
 or body to listen to sober counsel. Like Manzoni's poor 
 Renzo after his libations at the Osteria of the Mezza 
 Luna, oui- young friend could do nothing by halves. 
 Paolo's excitement, for not being caused by wine, did 
 not the less make his blood boil in his veins. So 
 Thornton sent for a coach, and followed Paolo into it. 
 Paolo said he would rather pay his first visit alone. 
 
 'T don't mean to call this evening," said Mortimer; 
 "but as you are quite a stranger to Paris, I may as 
 well go with you to the Boulevard des Capucines. I 
 shall leave you at the door, if the family are at home. 
 At all events, have an address of om- lodging in your 
 pocket;" and he gave him one. 
 
 Paolo yielded the point, and away they di'ove.
 
 ON THE RACK. 313 
 
 Thei'e were more people in tlie streets , tban tlie in- 
 ducements of the hour well accounted for, considering 
 the overcast sky, and the biting cold. Men and women 
 in masquerade were sauntering hither and thither, wild 
 shouts and yells issuing from the various groups. Hunt- 
 ing horns at a corner of a street, lustily answered by 
 hunting horns from another corner, made the air ring 
 with fanfares, which fell on Paolo's ears like something 
 hellish. Strains of gay music borne on the wind, and 
 a shuffling and trampling of feet, testified to waltzes, 
 galopes, and whirling croAvds. They passed a fine 
 mansion, brilliantly illuminated Avith gas: mounted dra- 
 goons Avere stationed at the entrance, and regidated the 
 advancing procession of carriages. Paolo saw flowers, 
 and diamonds, and brilliant uniforms glittering in those 
 equipages. Floods of music came from within. "A Wal- 
 purgis night," thought bewildered Paolo; "nothing but 
 assembling, and feasting, and carousing all through the 
 world. I declare they are mad, unless I am mad my- 
 self; perhaps I am; my head, I feel it, is all in a con- 
 fusion. This Paris will bo the death of me." Paolo 
 was, indeed, disordered: half his thoughts he uncon- 
 sciously expressed aloud. 
 
 "The majority of men are everywhere like children, 
 who cannot bear to be left alone," observed Thornton, 
 in a grave voice; "nothing frightens the most of them 
 so much as a quiet tete-a-tete with themselves." 
 
 The sights and sounds grating so harshly on Paolo's 
 irritated nerves, and so unaccountable to a new comer, 
 would have been immediately understood by any one, 
 who knew anything of Paris and its habits. Our two 
 travellers had reached the gayest capital in the world 
 on the 23rd of March, which happened to be the day
 
 314 LAVINIA. 
 
 of mid-Lent, what the French call La mi-Carevie. A 
 race so mercurial, sociable, and greedy of excitement 
 as the French, and especially the Parisians, could never 
 go through the forty days of Lent Avithout getting the 
 jaundice. To avoid this danger, they cut it in half, 
 and the day which marks the division, i. e. the mi- 
 Caveme, they make one of general rejoicing and carous- 
 ing — in fact, a complete carnival compressed into the 
 space of four-and-twenty hours. Hence the masqueraders 
 and the fiddles, the hunting-horns and the big house 
 with its thousand lights — no other than the Ministerc 
 de la Marine, opening its salons to stars and gartern, 
 and even less distinguished mortals, among them some 
 of Paolo's acquaintances. Who was to dream of his 
 being in Paris on the 23rd, when his arrival at the end 
 of March was scarcely to be expected ? 
 
 And so it came to pass that he found the Jones 
 family ready for a ball in Paris, just as, some months 
 ago , he had found them ready for a ball in Rome. Miss 
 Jones, in full array, now as then — bouquet, cassolette, 
 fan, tablets, embroidered handkerchief — the coincidence 
 was little calculated to dissipate the gloom weighing on 
 her lover's spirits. One alteration, seen at a glance, 
 struck him most painfully. That rich and glossy hair 
 of hers, which, for his sake, she was to Avear diadem- 
 like, Avhich was to be, on their first meeting, a sort of 
 banner, as it were, of her unchanged feelings, was, 
 alas! gathered into two large rolls right and left of her 
 head, in obedience to the fashion of the moment. His 
 hopes sank, and so might his legs, but for a friendly 
 arm-chair close by, at which he caught for support. Miss 
 Jones felt the aAvkwardness of the situation the more, 
 as she could do nothing to improve it in the way of
 
 ON THE RACK. 315 
 
 tlie Avann welcome prompted by her heart, in the pre- 
 sence of her uncle, standing there with looks of miugled 
 suspicion and vexation. Mrs. Jones had entirely lost all 
 presence of mind. The scene, though short and mute, 
 did not lack meaning. 
 
 Miss Lavinia was the one to break the spell. She 
 said how glad she was, how glad they all were, to see 
 their kind lloman friend at Paris, and how she re- 
 gretted that for this evening they could not have the 
 pleasure of his society. 
 
 Paolo stammered out his regret for having intruded 
 at what he saw was an luiscasonable hour. 
 
 "When would he call again?" asked Lavinia. 
 
 "At midday oh the morrow," said Paolo. 
 
 Mrs. Jones here said some words in a low voice to 
 her niece, who replied, 
 
 "No, do not come to-morrow morning, we are en- 
 gaged in the morning; but," added she, "come to tea 
 at nine. It is so lucky we have no engagement for the 
 evening. You will come?" 
 
 lie said he would. 
 
 "Good-bye, and don't be later than nine," she added, 
 with a smile. 
 
 The interview was over; it had not lasted ten mi- 
 nutes. 
 
 Paolo would fain have walked home, to let the 
 bitter, icy night wind cool his hot, throbbing temples; 
 but he felt as if his legs were weak as water. lie 
 beckoned to a coach, and, as he threw himself into it, 
 called out "Via Babuino." The coachman declared he 
 knew of no such street. Something of remonstrance in 
 the man's voice forced Paolo to a mental effort, and 
 then he recollected careful Thornton having made him
 
 316 LAVINIA. 
 
 put into his waistcoat pocket a card on wliicli was 
 written his Paris address. 
 
 "^ la bonne hcxwe^'' says the driver, "Eue de 
 Eohan." 
 
 As he drove along, Paolo at moments was not sure 
 whether he was in Rome or in Paris — at moments the 
 very consciousness of his own identity forsook him. 
 
 "How are your friends?" inquired Thornton as soon 
 as he saw the young man. 
 
 "Quite well, very well indeed," said Paolo, taking 
 up a candle. 
 
 "You made but a short visit," insisted Mortimer. 
 
 "Very short. Good night," said Paolo. 
 
 "Won't you take a cup of tea before you go to 
 bed? it will refresh you." 
 
 "No, thank you, I feel perfectly well;" and this 
 time Thornton found no more questions to ask. 
 
 Paolo went to his bed, and made, it must be con- 
 fessed, so poor a night of it, that he might as well have 
 sat up, and unburdened his heart to his good friend. 
 Not that he was suffering acutely, either mentally or 
 physically, no, on the contrary, there was a kind of 
 damper on his outer and inner man, which deadened 
 all his sensations. What harassed him most was the 
 impossibility of sleeping, combined with the greatest 
 desire to do so. He stumbled incessantly against the 
 narrow bridge, which forms the boundary between vigil 
 and sleep. Whenever he neared the longed-for end, he 
 slipped, and startled by the shock, was wide awake 
 again from head to foot. Towards the morning he had 
 an hour or more of heavy slumber, haunted by painful 
 fantastic visions.
 
 A BALL AT THE HOTEL DE VILLE. 317 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 A Ball at the Hotel do Ville. 
 
 The reason why tlie ladies of the Boulevard des 
 Capucines had put off a second visit from Paolo for four 
 and twenty hours, was that they had been given tickets 
 to see the reception of a new Member of the Institute 5 
 and the ceremony was to take place exactly the morning 
 following the evening, when he had appeared in their 
 salon as uuexpectedly, and with as startling an effect, 
 as if he had been a bomb or a Bengal light. As a rule, 
 surprises are to be avoided — an agreeable surprise is 
 about as rare as a black swan. 
 
 To return to the Academy of France; the speech of 
 the newly elected member, a wit as sharp as a needle; 
 and the speech in response of the old member, who was 
 to receive the new one, a most eloc[ucnt atrabilarian : 
 were expected with an intense interest, and lively curio- 
 sity, nearly allied to that of amateurs of the prize ring. 
 Both men had been political notah'dites; both had been 
 the standard-bearers of opposed, now deposed dynasties; 
 therefore both were expected to hurl at each other's 
 head, and at the heads of their rival governments, and 
 at the head of the government which had ousted theirs, 
 a profusion of elegant, well-balanced contumely. Nor 
 was the general expectation disappointed, judging by 
 the frantic applause of the closely packed audience. To 
 our English family it was a bore from beginning to end. 
 Four long hours of even the choicest rhetoric are more 
 than sufficient for those most capable of appreciating it, 
 and the Joneses were certainly not among such: the
 
 318 LAVIXIA. 
 
 ladies o^iug to j)i"eoccupatioiis of their own, and the 
 gentleman from the sli^rht knowledge of the lang-uasre. 
 Fashion has its drawbacks 5 but the satisfaction of being 
 able to say, "I was at the Institute on the day of 
 Monsieur- So-and-so's public reception as an Academician, 
 is worth buying at the cost of some ennui. 
 
 The Yicomte du Yerlat, who had provided tickets 
 for the family with the sweat of his brow, was there as 
 a matter of course, aud joined his English acquaintances 
 as they were coming out. After a few minutes' talk with 
 Miss Lavinia, he said, as he was taking leave^that he 
 counted on the pleasure of meeting her again in the 
 evening. 
 
 "You mean at the Hotel de Yille," said Lavinia; 
 "but we have received uo tickets." 
 
 "Xo tickets?" exclaimed the vicomte. "Impossible! 
 I saw your names down on my sister's list; there must 
 be some mistake, which I will have set to rights." 
 
 "Pray don"t,"' was the young lady's hasty rejoinder; 
 "we are all tired with our constant dissipation; besides, 
 we expect company ourselves this evening. 
 
 "Nevertheless, I hope to meet you at the ball," 
 persisted the vicomte. "It would be a crime of lese- 
 nationality to miss a fete given expressly in honour of 
 the English, and at which your lord mayor is to be 
 present. Allow me to say au rcvoir;'''' and, raising his 
 hat, the polite Frenchman went his way. 
 
 The aunt and niece were rather provoked at the 
 vicomte's gallantry, which threatened to intei-fere with 
 their quiet tea at home, and agreed to aid each other 
 in resisting all attempts to induce them to go to the 
 Hotel de Yille. But there is a fate against lovers. 
 Eight in the evening was striking, and Mrs. and Miss
 
 A BALL AT THE HOTEL DE VILLE. 319 
 
 Jones were just leaving the dinner-table, when Madame 
 la Generale was announced. 
 
 "The pr^fet is a monster; he shall account to me 
 for his conduct. You must go with us; the General will 
 get admission for you. The Emperor is to be there at 
 half-past nine, so we must not be later than nine. I am 
 sorry, but I can allow you only three-quarters of an 
 hour to dress. I will wait here for you; you see I am 
 already dressed." The whole of this speech was run 
 off in a breath. 
 
 Lavinia, thanking Madame la Generale warmly, 
 begged to be excused ; Mrs. Jones alleged that they had 
 invited a gentleman to tea: the Generale would hear of 
 no objection, accept no excuse. Mr. Jones now inter- 
 fered by telling his wife, she was making much ado 
 about nothing. The drawing-master could come some 
 other evening, there was nothing to prevent their going. 
 There are moral as well as physical impossibilities. To 
 persist in declining an offer meant in kindness, when 
 you cannot give your reasons for doing so, is one of 
 the number. Mrs. Jones and Lavinia had to yield and 
 withdraw to dress, as did Mr. Jones. The Genc'rale 
 remained alone in the salon, turning over the leaves of 
 an illustrated work, but her eyes often consulting the 
 clock on the mantelpiece. 
 
 Lavinia did not take long to dress: for the first time 
 in her life, she cared little what she put on, or how she 
 looked. Her maid was in ecstacies of despair at her 
 young lady's hurry. The minutes thus saved from the 
 three-quarters of an hour allotted by the Generale, were 
 spent in writing a hurried note to Paolo: — 
 
 "We are going to the ball at the Hotel de Ville. 
 Do not, I entreat of you, be angry with me; it is not
 
 320 LAVINIA. 
 
 my fault; it is against mywill that I go. I am literally 
 dragged there. You can ask my aiint. Long ago, cards 
 of invitation were promised to us by a lady, who has 
 been kind and attentive to us, ever since we came to 
 Paris. Someho'tt' or other, the tickets never came; I 
 was very glad they did not. But this lady has come 
 herself; she is even now waiting for us in the drawing- 
 room, and insists on oui- going with her. Uncle has 
 also insisted that we should go. It was impossible to 
 say no. Indeed, it was! I will explain all the cir- 
 cumstances to you the first time I see you — and you 
 will be convinced that I could not help myself. Come 
 to morrow at twelve, pray, to tell me that you are not 
 augry with me. They are calling for me. Adieu. Don't 
 think ill of me. I must go. 
 
 "L. J." 
 
 Lavinia, leaving this note to her maid, with strict 
 injunctions to wait for Signor Manciui in the hall, and 
 to give it into his own hands, joined the party in the 
 drawing-room. Immediately afterwards they drove off 
 to the Hotel de Yille. 
 
 Paolo, under pretext of a bad headache, had re- 
 mained in his room the whole day; not reading, not 
 writing, but restlessly 2)acing its limits when alone, or 
 lying on the sofa when Thornton was there. Something 
 worse still than headache was the matter with him. He 
 felt ill, sick, and giddy, sometimes to a degree that 
 created a fear lest he should not be able to keep his 
 engagement for the evening. He was painfully haunted, 
 besides, by the idea that he should do or say some- 
 thing foolish if he did go, being well aware that occa- 
 sionally he lost all control over his thoughts, and, to a
 
 A BALL AT THE HOTKL DB VILLE. 321 
 
 certain extent, over his actions. Once lie found liimself 
 in the ante-room, without the slightest notion of what 
 had taken him there. At another time he fancied he 
 heard the bell ring, and his own name so distinctly 
 pronounced, that he went to ask whether a letter had 
 not been brought for him. Again he could have sworn 
 he heard Miss Jones's voice in the jiassage. 
 
 It was the consciousness of these repeated hallu- 
 cinations which made him anxious to avoid Thornton, 
 and keep silent in his presence as much as he could. 
 To satisfy his friend, he agreed to take some solid food, 
 and a tray was brought to his room; but the moment he 
 was alone, the meat Avas consigned to a closet. When 
 urged to go out, and take a look of the Boulevards or 
 Tuileries, he pleaded fatigue — a plausible enough 
 excuse to pass current with Thornton, who, with all 
 his penetration, did not unfortunately discern the effort 
 in Paolo to appear collected. It Avas this same want of 
 discernment which made Thornton, out of delicacy, not 
 again insist on accompanying the young man to the 
 Boulevard des Capucines. 
 
 Lavinia's maid, as she had been desired, was ready 
 in the hall when Paolo arrived. He took the note she 
 handed to him, and witliout opening it, he passed her, 
 walking mechanically towards the drawing-room. The 
 young woman followed, trying to make him understand 
 by signs that no one was at home, and pointing to the 
 letter he held in his hand. He tore it open, read the 
 first line, "We are going to the ball at the Hotel dc 
 Ville," paused a second, as if to take in the meaning, 
 violently crushed the paper, and, to the indescriba})le 
 terror of the poor lady's-maid, tore it with his tcetli. 
 
 Liivinia. 1. 21
 
 322 LAVINIA. 
 
 His look, his gesture was that of a maniac. Those few 
 Avoids had maddened him. 
 
 Down the stairs, uj) the street. The coach, which 
 had taken him to the Joneses was still at the door; the 
 coachman beckons to him. Paolo sees no one, forgets 
 that there are such things as carriages, forgets every- 
 thing, except that there is a Hotel de Ville, and that 
 she is at a ball there. 
 
 "The Hotel de Ville, if you please," he asks, and 
 on he rushes in the direction pointed out. He is neither 
 giddy nor faint now; he has the strength of a Samson. 
 A ncM^-born power swells his heart, hardens his muscles, 
 a power boundless for mischief. Oh! that this world 
 were built on pillars, that he might drag them down, 
 and bury all mankind under the ruins. 
 
 Out of a labyrinth of narrow and squalid streets, he 
 emerges at last into an ojjen square, and facing him he 
 beholds the stately pile, its noble front a blaze of light; 
 sentinels on foot and on horseback clearly enough mark 
 the entrance of the palace; carriages are thronging 
 thither, Paolo follows in the wake of the well-dressed 
 crowd, through a vast j^oi'tico, up a wide staircase, 
 through one of the large folding doors that give access 
 to the ball-rooms. Some one stops him here. "Your 
 ticket, sir." Paolo hurries on like one on an errand of 
 life and death. Several officials rush after him, overtake 
 him, bring him back, and force him out of the precincts, 
 tabooed to ticketless individuals. Resistance is vain, 
 they are too many for him — ten, a hundred to one. 
 He exjDOstulates, entreats, raves; five minutes, but five 
 minutes, just time enough to seek out one of the guests; 
 to whisper one word in that guest's ear. Compliance 
 with such a request is naturally out of all question, it
 
 A BiVLL AT TUB HOTEL DE VILLE. 323 
 
 would be positive disobedience of orders; no ticket, no 
 admittance. They remonstrate with him, humanely enough 
 at first, these, moustached figures, then begin to lose 
 patience. "Withdraw quietly, or we shall send you to 
 the guard-house." 
 
 At this threat, Paolo forgets that he is one against 
 a multitude, forgets time or place; all, save that he has 
 come to curse Lavinia, and that he will do it in spite 
 of man or devil. He throws himself furiously against 
 his opponents — poor delirious young man! in a se- 
 cond he is overpowered, and carried before the ofiicer 
 of the guard. Luckily for Paolo , he was a grey-haired 
 man, who had been on duty not only at many fetes, 
 but on many battle-fields. Life's combats and trials had 
 sobered this elderly man, subdued the arrogance of 
 brief martial authority. The appearance of Paolo re- 
 minded him of his own brave lad — just such another 
 in height and carriage — far away in Algeria. The 
 officer puts his arm Avithin Paolo's, and gently reasoning 
 with him , leads him down the stairs, out into the court- 
 yard, out into the open square, and bidding him go 
 home quietly, leaves him there. 
 
 Paolo leans against the barrier of iron rails sur- 
 rounding the huge mansion, and says to himself that 
 there must be more ways than one to get within its 
 walls. No sooner thought, than he sets ofi" on a search, 
 and, in fact, finds a back entrance. It is guarded by 
 soldiers, as in the front; never mind. With the ob- 
 stinacy of a fixed idea, he steals in, unchallenged, into 
 the interior. With a fluttering heart he springs up a 
 narrow staircase — his hope dies — a group of men 
 are on this landing-place, as they were on that of the 
 principal stair, and equally oppose his further progress. 
 
 21*
 
 324 LAVINIA. 
 
 Stopped, questioned, repulsed, lie offers his purse only 
 for one peep at the ball-room; it is indignantly refused, 
 and once more comes the threat of the guard-house. 
 Once more he finds himself forced back to the street, 
 conscious only that he is foiled. He wanders round 
 and round the building, but without aim or pm-pose. 
 Stumbling against a block of stone , he droj)s on it ex- 
 hausted. 
 
 He sat there, God knows how long, looking at the 
 gaily illuminated facade, listening to the music, his 
 eyes straining after the shadows thrown on the window- 
 blinds by the dancers. He listened, and looked in- 
 voluntarily, unconsciously, like one too heavy with 
 sleep or drink to understand what he sees or hears. 
 To the orgasm which had supported him hitherto, had 
 succeeded a complete prostration of mind and body. 
 His thoughts floated from object to object, indistinct, 
 incoherent, like the visions of fever. That he was ill, 
 and cold, and wi'etched past conception — that he was 
 probably dying, and that death would be welcome, was 
 his clearest impression; but of the why of all this 
 wretchedness, he had now not the slightest concep- 
 tion. 
 
 On a sudden he was startled by a vivid flash of 
 light in his eyes. A man was holding a lantern close 
 to his face, and a gruff voice was ordering him to rise, 
 and take himself away. He did try to get up, but he 
 was unable; two men put him on his feet, and he strove 
 to walk, but reeled like one drunk with liquor. It was 
 the night patrol who had roused him; they laughed, 
 calling to him that he had had enough. His mind's 
 compass was lost, and, like a wreck, he drifted right 
 or left at hap hazard. Shivering, and in pain, he put
 
 A BALL AT THE HOTEL DE VlfiLE. 325 
 
 up liis hand to liis head; his thick hair was like a mass 
 of wet, tangled sea-M'ced. It was only then he per- 
 ceived that rain was falling fast, that he had lost his 
 hat, and was literally wet to the skin. The clang of 
 a loud tolling close at hand startled hira with a sense 
 of terror; it was the hour of the night falling from the 
 belfry of Notre Dame. Paolo raised his eyes; above 
 him towered a dark mass, which, as he looked, seemed 
 to totter threateningly forwards. He rushed from under 
 the shadow on to a bridge, saw water flowing below, 
 and stopped to wonder and consider Avhether it could 
 be the Tiber. At the other end of the street, beyond 
 the bridge, a large red ball of fire attracted his atten- 
 tion; he felt fascinated by it, made straight towards it, 
 then — red lamp, and every other thing, even to the 
 last glimmering of consciousness, vanished. He lay 
 senseless on the pavement.
 
 326 LAYIXIA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXYIII. 
 
 The good Samaritaiii. 
 
 The glare wliich had attracted unlucky Paolo, pro- 
 ceeded from a large lamp of red glass, placed in front 
 of a very Ioav sliabby house of two stories, that is, of 
 a ground floor snrmouuted by a gaiTet, one of those 
 ugly inteiTuptions occurring in a long handsome line of 
 buildings, like a -warning to the passers-by of the ex- 
 istence of poverty and toil. The red lamp indeed de- 
 noted one of those humble establishments, so precious 
 to the less wealthy portion of the community, at which 
 omnibuses stop, to take up or put down passengers, 
 and where con-espondence tickets for all parts of Paris 
 may be had for thi'eepence, one of the great improve- 
 ments of civilization, economising the artisan's and work- 
 man's time and strength. 
 
 A little man in a lamentably conditioned dressing 
 gown, his little body half out of the gai-ret window, 
 immediately above the waiting room of the said bm-eau, 
 was in the act of extinguishing, by the aid of a short 
 stick, the red lamp beneath, when Paolo fell heavily 
 on the pavement. 
 
 "Bless my soul,'' exclaimed the little man, "some 
 one has dropped down close to oui- door.'' 
 
 "Drunk, I dare say," replied the voice of a woman, 
 coming apparently from some recess within the gaiTet 
 chamber. "Shut the window at once. Prosper, it is 
 desperately cold." 
 
 "Drunk or not drunk," observed good-naturedly the
 
 TlIK GOOD SAMARITANS. 327 
 
 said Prosper, as he obeyed the order to shut the win- 
 dow, "the wet pavement is no bed for one of God's 
 creatures in this bitter night; one wouhl not willingly 
 leave a dog there. I'll go and see." And quickly 
 descending what was more like a ladder than a stair- 
 case, he opened the door of the office, went where Paolo 
 was lying, and stooping to the level of the prostrate 
 figure's face, after a few seconds of examination, ex- 
 claimed, "He is not drunk, poor fellow, but ill; per- 
 haps he's subject to fits. Holla! Prudence, come, and 
 give me a hand." 
 
 This request was addressed to a female clothed in 
 a woollen pettisoat and jacket, who had followed on 
 Prosper's heels, as a good and curious wife should al- 
 ways do, and was standing shivering on the threshold 
 of her home. Prudence without hesitation stepped out, 
 and husband and wife struggled to lift Paolo's inanimate 
 form, a task, however, to which they were unequal. 
 "We might as well try to move the Colonne Vendome," 
 said the panting little Prosper; "he'd do for a cuirassier 
 of the guard, I must fetch Benoit." 
 
 Benoit was ProsjDcr's godfatlier and acknowledged 
 Mentor, a man who knew everything, could do every- 
 thing, and was always and inevitably right. He lived 
 at some baths near at hand, where he ruled supreme 
 over the vapour and douches department. Mr. Prosper 
 hobbled along a little way in a straight line, turned 
 into a narrow lane to the left, then into a narrow lane 
 to the right, stopped at a window with shutters, in the 
 centre of which was a loophole protected by an iron 
 grating. Here Mr. Prosper knocked a reveille with his 
 knuckles, calling loudly on Jienoit. 
 
 ^^rrcscnt^'" growled a husky voice within, followed
 
 328 LAYIXIA. 
 
 by a sliuffling of slippers, which seemed to indicate 
 that the owner of the husky voice was coming to an- 
 swer the summons; when, all of a sudden, the shuffling 
 ceased, and was succeeded by a brisk stamping of feet, 
 and angry bui'sts of '"One — two — three — floored 
 — quoiP' 
 
 "Come, come," urged Prosper, familiar with the 
 amiable weakness of Benoit, who was for ever at quarts 
 and tierce Avith an imaginary foe, "you can finish him 
 to-morrow; just now, we want you at the shop; make 
 haste, I can't wait for you;" and Pi'osper limped away, 
 but was overtaken almost immediately by Benoit. The 
 combined strength of the trio enabled them to half drag, 
 half carry Paolo into the waiting-room , and lay him on 
 the floor. Prudence fastened the outer do«r, and then 
 ran upstairs for a pillow. Benoit scrutinized the still 
 insensible form with an intensely wise and critical air, 
 and Prosper examined Benoit with the devoted look of 
 a dog at his master. 
 
 "It is a case of cholera," dogmatically pronounced 
 Benoit. 
 
 "Cholera!" exclaimed husband and wife, turning 
 the colour of ashes. 
 
 "Of cholera," repeated Benoit: "don't you see how 
 black he is becoming in the face? and how stiff and 
 cold his lower limbs are? The blood is frozen up to 
 the young fellow's waist, I tell you. As soon as his 
 heart freezes, there's an end of him." 
 
 "God have mercy on us all," said the woman; "we 
 can't keep him here, the children will catch it and die; 
 he must go to the hospital, do you hear, Prosper? It 
 is only a step; allons done." 
 
 "Ah, very well," said Benoit; "then the boy's
 
 TPIE GOOD SAMARITANS. 329 
 
 dead — dead, I say, twice over before you get liim 
 admitted. I know tlieir ways. Ten minutes of a va- 
 pour douche at my place, and lie is cured — cured I 
 say; but I have no fire, and no fire no vapour, and 
 there's an end of it." 
 
 "But, but, what then do you advise, parvaiii?" 
 asked Prosper, with an a])pealing look at Benoit. 
 
 "Advise, hein? — '^^'^ly, that we do our best, and 
 
 a la garde de Bku^' quoth Benoit. "You two 
 
 bring down a mattress, and put some sticks in the 
 stove, while I run to my place. AVe shall want plenty 
 of hot water presently." 
 
 The mattress was ready, and the wood was crackl- 
 ing in the wretched stove, when Benoit returned. He 
 had some difHculty this time in making good his 
 entrance, so enormously was his bulk increased by the 
 amount of blankets, which, to carry more conveniently, 
 he had wrapped round his person. Necessity in this 
 case had been the mother of invention, for, holding in 
 one hand a black bottle, in the other a big scrubbing- 
 brush, and in his mouth a short hride-gueule unlit 
 indeed, but out of which he sent puflPs of imaginary 
 smoke: how otherwise could he have brought the 
 blankets? 
 
 "There," said he, shaking off his cumbrous enve- 
 lope, and making a feint or two at the wall with the 
 scrubbing-brush, "we must make our invalid a bed fit 
 for a Christian to lie on;" and he began spreading the 
 blankets on the mattress. "Ha, ha, but not here, now 
 that I think of it, or we shall have to shift his quarters 
 in the morning — mon Dieu! what it is to have a head 
 on one's shoulders. Better take him into your salle-a- 
 mcuigci; out of the way of your customers."
 
 330 LAnxL\. 
 
 "Without waiting for auj assent, Benoit snatclied 
 up matti-ess and blankets, and fortbTvith carried tbem 
 into "wbat be bad dignified into a saUc-a-man<jer ^ but 
 "wbicb in fact was kitcben and ball for the family. 
 Tbe waiting-room, or "shop,"' as Benoit called it in- 
 variably, tbis kitcben, and two garret rooms, constituted 
 IMi-. Prosper's dwelling. 
 
 "Now, for tbe boy bimself," cried Benoit; "take 
 bis feet, jillcul; — no, no, madame, tbis is not woman's 
 work; my godson and I can manage it." But Prudence, 
 wbetber better acquainted witb ber busband's powers, 
 or from tbe indomitable cbarity of a woman's beart, 
 forgot ber fears of infection, and insisted on lending a 
 band to caiTy tbe "boy," and lay bim gently on tbe 
 mattress, first divesting bim of bis wet garments. Benoit, 
 in bis glory, tben administered a professional rubbing 
 tbat migbt bave forced beat into marble, after wbicb 
 be wrapped Paolo in all tbe blankets, placed bottles 
 full of bot water to bis feet and to bis back, and 
 poured down bis tbroat, spoonful by spoonful, a con- 
 siderable dose of bot cognac and water. Wben all tbis 
 bad been accomplisbed, Benoit went and sat down by 
 tbe stove, ligbted bis pipe, and now filling tbe room 
 witb real volumes of pungent vapour, gravely watcbed 
 for tbe effects of bis cmative method on bis patient. 
 
 Let us bave patience enough for Benoit's simple 
 story. Benoit was wbat is called an enfant de Paris. 
 He bad enlisted at tbe age of eighteen, and seen a 
 good deal of active service both in France and Algeria. 
 He had risen to tbe rank of sergeant, and tbe stripes 
 on his sleeve would bave been exchanged for tbe 
 golden ejiaulettes on the shoulder, bad Benoit not been 
 so illiterate. His skill as a swordsman had made him
 
 THE GOOD SAMARITANS. 331 
 
 respected aud feared throughout his military career, 
 and caused him to be appointed madre cVarmes to his 
 regiment, a fact which explains his fencing monomania. 
 At forty he had obtained his discharge, and settling in 
 Paris, he had ever since been a sort of jack-of-all- 
 trades. Prosper, his godson, had met the ex-sergeant 
 in a moment when the latter's fortunes were at a very 
 low ebb. The good-natured little fellow had assisted 
 his godfather as far as his means allowed, and by dint 
 of seeking and being in earnest, had succeeded in find- 
 ing the employment, tolerably lucrative, if not enviable, 
 which that worthy now fulfilled at a thermal establish- 
 ment close by; — we say not enviable^ because Benoit's 
 duties involved the necessity of living in a temperature 
 of between 110 degs. and 120 degs. Fahrenheit. 
 
 This timely service had strengthened the tics, 
 rather loose hitherto, between godfather and godson. 
 There was nothing that Benoit would not do for 
 Prosper, as there was nothing that Prosper would 
 not do for Benoit. Benoit was actuated by gratitude. 
 Prosper by admiration. Benoit had all the strong and 
 the weak points of a trooper; he was serviceable, 
 generous, warm-hearted, but hot-headed, touchy, des- 
 potic and intolerant; ready to share his last crust with 
 an old comrade, or to cut that comrade's throat on the 
 slightest provocation. In personal appearance, Benoit 
 was tall, lean, sinewy; time had thinned his flowing- 
 locks, but he balanced their loss by wearing enormous 
 grey moustaches, and a large tuft on his chin. Though 
 upwards of fifty, his strength and activity were prover- 
 bial in the neighbourhood; first baked by the sun 
 in Africa, and then boiled by the steam of the Paris 
 establishment of baths, in which he now lived, he had
 
 332 LAVINIA. 
 
 become equally impervious to cold and lieat. Tlie 
 prominent items of his costume in all seasons, consisted 
 of a j)air of slippers, a blouse, and a long apron. In 
 tlie same clothes in which he administered a douche at 
 the temperature of 40 degs. Eeaumur, he "would walk 
 out in the street when the thermometer was at 15 degs. 
 below zero. Such was the strange doctor assigned by 
 fate to Paolo. 
 
 ' At last, after more than an hoixr of perfect insensi- 
 bility, Paolo began to give some signs of returning 
 animation, first by a series of stifled moans, then by 
 repeated but weak efforts to rid himself of his load of 
 covering, and to change his position. Any one, except 
 a man so obstinate and self-conceited as Benoit, would 
 have understood these manifestations of discomfort; on 
 the contrary, the ex-sergeant welcomed every one of 
 these movements, by digging his elbow into poor little 
 Prosper's sides, chuckling with triumph, and exclaiming 
 now and then, "Do you see, the blood is thawing; well 
 done, 7non gargon, — a little faster if you can." As 
 if in obedience to this wish, "my boy's" pulse went at 
 a racing gallop, until Benoit would fain have slackened 
 the speed, had he known how. Paolo's feeble attempts 
 at motion soon changed into a constant jerk from right 
 to left, from left to right. The more the restless sufferer 
 strove to throw the blankets from him, the more stre- 
 nuously did Benoit insist on covering him. 
 
 By four in the morning Paolo had become almost 
 unmanageable, either sitting bolt upright, staring round 
 him with bloodshot eyes, or sjiringing off the mattress 
 in a way, which the united exertions of the three per- 
 sons present could scarcely control. "When things had 
 come to this pass, Prudence, notwithstanding her habi-
 
 THE GOOD SAMARITANS. 333 
 
 tual reverence for Benoit, proposed that one of tliem 
 should fetch Mr. Perrin. Prosper said "Ay," and Benoit 
 "No," grounding his opposition on his experience of 
 cholera, as great or greater than that of Mr. Perrin. 
 Mr. Perrin had never been out of Paris. What more 
 could Mr. Perrin do than he, Benoit, had done? But 
 Prudence was not to be pacified without Mr. Perrin, so 
 Benoit yielded with a significant shrug of the shoulders, 
 saying, "Let the woman have her way." Without 
 further remark, Prudence put on a faded tartan shawl 
 and went to seek Mr. Perrin. 
 
 Mr. Perrin was one of the resident physicians {internes) 
 of the Hotel Dieu, who visited much among the poor 
 in that neighbourhood, and was deservedly most po- 
 pular in the class, from which he had himself sprung. 
 The son of a postman, he was familiar with the hard- 
 ships, the wants, the peculiar language of what are 
 called the lower orders, and was ahvays ready at their 
 bidding. This good man had come out of Nature's 
 liand short, thin, sickly, sallow, and so shortsighted 
 that he could not see the top of his own nose without 
 spectacles. Early deprivations, and the daily sight of 
 human misery, had rendered him grey, grim, withered, 
 old before his time. 
 
 The Hotel Dieu was not more than one minute's 
 walk from Prosper's bureau, being in fact, exactly 
 opposite. As soon as he heard Prudence's story, Mr. 
 Perrin begged one of his colleagues to take his place 
 in case of need, put on his overcoat, and in less time 
 than it takes to say so, was standing by Paolo's sick 
 bed, watch in hand, his experienced fiuger interrogating 
 the rapid pulse, his look grave and inscrutable, like 
 that of Destiny itself.
 
 334 LAVINL\. 
 
 "He is half smothered," observed Mr. Perriu, 
 relieving the sick man of all hut one of the numerous 
 blankets. 
 
 "Is it — cholera?" asked Prudence. 
 
 "Cholera? nonsense," said the physician. "You 
 dream of nothing but cholera. I almost wish it was. 
 This is a case of cerebral congestion, brought on by- 
 God knows M'hat, heightened and helped by brandy, 
 and blankets, and hot bottles. I want a basin, and a 
 pair of scissors." 
 
 Even Benoit was cowed by the doctor's earnest 
 manner, and swallowed the protest which rose on his 
 lips against this fiat. 
 
 Mr. Perrin, with lancet in hand, said to Prudence, 
 who brought him the basin and scissors, — 
 
 "Xow, madame, take a basket and a tumbler with 
 you, if you please, and go to the surgery of the Hotel 
 Dieu, ask for a couple of dozen of leeches, and eight 
 kilos of ice. Say it is for Dr. Perrin; you needn't pay 
 — just now." 
 
 By the time that Prudence came back with the 
 leeches and the ice, the patient had been bled — a 
 difficult task it had been to keep him still for that 
 purpose, he raved so — and all his fine hair had also 
 been cut off. The doctor wrapped some of the ice in 
 a cloth, and applied it to Paolo's head, giving directions 
 at the same time that similar applications should be 
 unremittingly continued. 
 
 "As to the leeches," he went on, "if the gentleman 
 is not quieter in two hours, which is not very likely, 
 put a dozen behind each ear. You'll ^^ut them on at 
 seven," he added, consulting his watch. "I shall be
 
 THE GOOD SAMAKITANS. 335 
 
 here at eight, and, if it be possible, we will have him 
 removed to the hospital." 
 
 "With yom* leave, doctor," inquired Pnidence, "is 
 this cerebral combustion anything catching?" 
 
 "Not in the least," replied Mr. Perriu, with a smile; 
 "why do you ask?" 
 
 "Because," explained Prudence, with some embar- 
 rassment, "if there is no danger for the children, we 
 could nurse the poor fellow here very well." 
 
 "Thought and spoken like a good woman, and a 
 true woman," said the doctor, with another smile, wliich 
 made him look quite young and handsome; "but you 
 must consider, madame, that this young man's malady, 
 though not infectious, my have other serious conse- 
 quences for you: first, it may end fatally — " 
 
 "I am sure it will not," put in Prudence. 
 
 "And secondly," pursued the doctor, "sujiposing, as 
 you say, he recovers, his illness is certain to be long, 
 troublesome, and expensive." 
 
 "As to time, I have plenty of that to give," urged 
 Prudence; "as to money — " 
 
 "Well, we have not much to boast of in that way," 
 says Prosper, striking into the conversation, "but we 
 have a little credit, and — " 
 
 "And some friends," growled Bcnoit, significantly. 
 
 "We'll discuss tlie matter further by and by," said 
 Mr. Perrin. "In the meantime, don't forget to use the 
 ice freely, and, if he is not better, the leeches at seven, 
 twelve behind each ear: a hientot. By the by," said 
 the doctor, returning, "let me see the young man's 
 clothes." 
 
 They were produced by Prudence. The doctor in- 
 spected them, with a view to tlie identification of his
 
 33G LAVIXIA. 
 
 patient, but no clue of the sort came of the inspection ; 
 there was neither card-case nor pocket-book, nor letters, 
 nor purse, in the pockets — nothing- but a white hand- 
 kerchief marked P., and a pair of black gloves. The 
 only conclusion Mr. Perrin was able to draw from the 
 fineness of the linen, and the cut and stuff of the clothes, 
 was that this unexpected customer of his was what is 
 called a gentleman. 
 
 Paolo's restlessness, which had abated a little in 
 consequence of the bleeding, having reappeared long 
 before the hour of seven, Benoit, wlio was really a ca- 
 pital hand at dressing of wounds and all that sort of 
 thing, had recourse to the leeches, but with an air of 
 gloomy incredulity, meant to express "all time lost." 
 
 The cold gray March morning's light, which was 
 now beginning to peep into the salle-a-mangcr of the 
 omnibus establishment, gave the signal of retreat to the 
 ruler of the neighbouring vapour and douche depart- 
 ment. He went, uttering those peculiar ominous sounds 
 of the lips, with which people mark their apprehensions. 
 Prosper on his side, was taking down the shutters, and 
 preparing for an active day after an active night, when 
 in came Mr. Perrin again. He seemed rather satisfied 
 with the state of his patient, and said nothing more of 
 his removal. 
 
 The doctor called twice during the day, and again 
 in the evening, bleeding Paolo at his first and last visit. 
 Very grave and thoughtful Mr. Perrin looked. Pru- 
 dence never left the sick room, and Prosper spent there 
 all the shreds of time, and they were not many, which 
 the exigencies of his calling left at his disjiosal. If 
 Benoit rushed over once for news, he must have done 
 so at least fifty times. Though he was to relieve Pros-
 
 THE GOOD SAMARITANS. 337 
 
 per's watcli at tluee in the morning, behold liim in the 
 "shop" at near mirlnight, the hour M'hen he had a right 
 to consider himself released from the service of the 
 public. Gradually, as the day had waned, so had his 
 suspicious, dissatisfied mood insensibly merged into the 
 patronising, with a good dash of the maudlin, witness 
 the mysterious assumption of importance, Avith which 
 he drew Prosper into a corner, and dropped a dirty 
 paper ball containing three napoleons into his hand, 
 and the burst of sensibility, which caused him in so 
 doing to lay his head on Prosper's shoulder, and Avith 
 sobs to exclaim, — 
 
 "It will serve for his burial, poor boy, it will serve 
 for his burial," 
 
 Prosper silently pocketed the money, perceiving 
 from the combined flavour of tobacco, and petits verres, 
 exhaling from his worthy godfather's lips, that he had 
 reached that stage of concentrated self will, when a Avord 
 of contradiction would have driven the old soldier to 
 frenzy. 
 
 When her husband closed the bureau. Prudence went 
 to take some rest in her garret, and Prosper laid him- 
 self down on a paillasse at the foot of the sick man's 
 mattress. And now we may as well leave this scene of 
 suffering and benevolence for a Avhile, with the less fear 
 of any untoward accident occurring in our absence, tliat 
 Paolo is by far too interesting a personage in our story, 
 to be conveniently spared before the end. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Lavinia. I. 22
 
 PRINTING OFFICE OF THE PUBLISHER.
 
 LAVINIA. 
 
 THE AUTHOE OF "DOCTOR ANTONIO." 
 
 COPYRIGHT EDITION. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. 11. 
 
 LEIPZIG 
 BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ 
 
 1861. 
 
 The Right of Translulioii is reserved.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF VOLUME II. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER I. Search 1 
 
 — n. Paolo's Progress 13 
 
 — III. The Stern Soberer 24 
 
 — IV. Counter-search 31 
 
 — V. Himself again *1 
 
 — VI. The Alternative 52 
 
 — VII. Found and Lost again 65 
 
 — VIII. On the Left Bank of the Seine 72 
 
 IX. Surprise upon Surprise 85 
 
 — X. Self-Discipline 101 
 
 — XI. Hard Apprenticeship Ill 
 
 — Xn. On the Uight Bank of the Seine .... 124 
 
 — XIII. Despair 137 
 
 — XIV. A Bachelor's Supper, and what came of it . . 150 
 
 — XV. A Plank of Safety 1G5 
 
 — XVI. The Rose Unique 177 
 
 — XVII. Ovvlscombe and its Inmates 190 
 
 — XVIII. A new Link clinched by an old Name . . . 204 
 
 — XIX. The Discovery in Paris 220 
 
 — XX. The Result of the Discovery 237 
 
 — XXI. Awakening .246 
 
 — XXIL Tedium VitS! 265
 
 VI CONTENTS OF VOLUME U. 
 
 Page 
 
 CHAPTER XXrn. Leave-taking 278 
 
 — XXIV. Salvator wins the Day 291 
 
 — XXV. Beneficial Catastrophe 305 
 
 — XXVI. All's well that ends well 315 
 
 More Last Words 334
 
 L A V I N I A. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 Search. 
 
 We must now go back to tlie night of Paolo's se- 
 cond visit to tlie Joneses, When at half-past eleven he 
 had not returned, Thornton began to feel uneasy lest 
 his young friend should have lost his way in the huge 
 city. Nothing more natural than that Paolo, in the 
 state of pre- occupation in which he was, should have 
 forgotten the name of the street where he lodged, and, 
 supposing that he had not lost it, forgotten that he was 
 carrying his address written down on a card in his 
 waistcoat pocket. After all, he may be still with those 
 people, soliloquized Thornton; they keep late hoin-s, 
 and, in all probability, they had other visitors beside 
 Paolo. No doubt he is thei'e: however, the shortest 
 way to certainty is to go and see. 
 
 First informing Madame Fran^oise of his intention, 
 and begging her not to sit up for him herself, Thorn- 
 ton departed. One o'clock was striking as he stepped 
 out of a citadine at 25, Boulevard dcs Capucines; lie 
 rang the bell and made straight for the porter's lodge. 
 Monsieur the concierge was snoring in his bed, madame 
 his spouse taking a nap in a large arm-chair. 
 
 "Monsieur et Madame Jones, if you please?" 
 
 Lavinia. II. 1
 
 ^Z LAVINIA. 
 
 Madame la concierge was out of sorts, of course, as 
 all Parisian concierges are always, but more especially 
 after midnight, and knew of no sucli name as Jones. 
 
 "Pardon," said Mortimer, fumbling in bis pocket, 
 "I mean an English family." 
 
 "We have but one," grumbled the female cerberus; 
 "a pretty time to pay visits." 
 
 "Monsieur is too gracious," coo'd the worthy matron, 
 on receipt of a five-franc piece. "I am at monsieur's 
 service. If all the world were like monsieur! but they 
 are not reasonable, indeed they aren't." 
 
 "An English family consisting of three persons," 
 resumed Mortimer; "a tall gentleman upwards of 
 forty — " 
 
 "And a short elderly lady, as round as a ball," in- 
 terrupted the portress; — "Madame Jonasse — I know 
 them, I know them; second floor above the entresol. 
 Always late, just come in." 
 
 "Have they been out?" inquired Mortimer, breath- 
 less with surprise. 
 
 "It is their rule, monsieur; and a pretty fuss they 
 made both in going out and coming in, with this into 
 the bargain, that they brought the fat one home in a 
 swoon." 
 
 "A young gentleman must have called on them 
 about nine o'clock. Pray," continued Thornton, almost 
 beseechingly ■ — ■ "pray try and recollect whether it Avas 
 before or after they went out." 
 
 "Nobody came for the Jonasses this evening, ex- 
 cept a lady — Madame la Geuerale, — what's her 
 name? She came to fetch them apparently, for they all 
 set off together, I am positive I drew the cordon for
 
 SEARCH. o 
 
 no gentleman, young or old; perhaps Antoine did. I 
 say, Antoine, 7non ami — " 
 
 Mortimer begged the porter's lady not to trouble 
 her snoring husband, she had told him pretty nearly 
 all that he cared to know. His heart foreboded some 
 disaster, as he ran up the stairs to the second floor. 
 He forgot all the awkwardness of calling up a family 
 of strangers at that hour. He had scarcely touched the 
 bell before the door opened. 
 
 "Is that the doctor?" cried a voice from within; and 
 before Mortimer had taken two steps forward into the 
 anteroom, out rushed Miss Jones from a door opposite. 
 "Oh, Mr. Thornton," she exclaimed, "what of Signer 
 Paolo?" 
 
 "I came here to put the same question to you," 
 said Thornton. "He has not returned to the hotel." 
 
 "Not returned to the hotel? You don't know where 
 he is?" and Lavinia wrung her hands. 
 
 "I don't know where he is," said Thornton. "Have 
 you not seen him? Surely, you waited for him at 
 home." 
 
 "I didn't, I could not," replied the poor girl; "I 
 left a note to explain everything to him. My maid 
 says he read it, did not speak a word, but went away 
 in a sort of hurry, and looking angry." 
 
 Thornton, with a gesture of terror, exclaimed, — 
 
 "What folly, what cruelty! you don't know what 
 you have done." 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Thornton, don't speak to me in that way 
 just now; don't, for God's sake, upbraid me. It is all 
 come upon me at once. Aunt is so ill." 
 
 A violent pull at the bell interrupted the speakers. 
 
 1*
 
 4 LAVINIA. 
 
 This time it was the doctor in company with the man 
 who had gone in search of him. 
 
 "Don't go away till I come back," said Lavinia 
 to Thornton, as she showed the physician into Mrs. 
 Jones's room. 
 
 Thornton sat down to wait, trying hard to think 
 of some clue as to where Paolo could have gone. It 
 might be, that under the smart of bitter disappointment, 
 Paolo had Avalked straight before him, without thinking 
 of where he was going, seeking relief in movement; 
 and in that moment he most likely lay somewhere ex- 
 hausted; it might be that, in an access of despair — 
 Thornton shrunk from clearly articulating, even in 
 thought, the last hypothesis, which suggested itself to 
 him. Paolo's fate would depend on the degree of ex- 
 citement under which he might have been labouring, 
 and Thornton lacked the data on which to ground any 
 adequate estimate of his poor friend's previous state of 
 mind. Bitterly did he reproach himself for having 
 allowed the Italian, a stranger to Paris, and in such 
 peculiar circumstances, to go out alone at night. 
 
 Miss Jones returned to the anteroom more discom- 
 posed than when she had left it. The doctor had ti-ied 
 in vain to restore Mrs. Jones's consciousness; he was 
 now about to have recourse to bleeding her in the foot. 
 Lavinia had but a minute to spare. Mortimer made 
 the most of it, to put questions and elicit answers. 
 Thus he learned much that we already know, but to 
 him quite new; for instance, the contretemps which had 
 attended Paolo's first visit, and the shock he had then 
 received. Lavinia also told him, more at length, the 
 description her maid had given her of Paolo's manner 
 when the note was handed to him ; first, as if he did
 
 SEARCH. 5 
 
 not comprehend what he was to do with it, his mute 
 rage when he did read it, and the wild look in his 
 eyes, when he turned away into the street. All this 
 formed a chain of evidence so decisive in Thornton's 
 opinion, that he could not restrain the exclamation of, 
 "Then it's all over with him." 
 
 "Don't say so; don't say so, for pity's sake," im- 
 plored the distracted girl; "how can you be sure he is 
 not waiting at your hotel?" 
 
 Thornton took compassion on her, and feigned a 
 hope that he did not entertain, or, to speak more 
 to the point, believed he did not entertain. There 
 was no time for further discussion. Upon the under- 
 standing that any fresh information which might reach 
 either of them should be immediately communicated to 
 the other, they separated. 
 
 Thornton had the moral certainty that he should 
 not find Paolo Avaiting for him; he would not have 
 hesitated to have wagered his fortune, his life, that he 
 should not find him; and yet, when his anticipation 
 was realized, his heart sank within him, just the same 
 as if it had been full to the brim with the most sanguine 
 expectations. Having read in his troubled looks, that 
 he was uneasy at his young friend's protracted absence, 
 his landlady had sat up for him, in spite of his request 
 to the contrary. Thornton was too thankful now to 
 have some one to advise with, not to confess that he 
 had been on a fruitless errand, together with such cir- 
 cumstances of the case, as might justify his fears, with- 
 out, as he supposed, compromising any third person. 
 Madame Franc^-oise was not a woman for nothing; she 
 divined all that Thornton withheld, but with more than 
 usual discretion kept her discovery to herself, while she
 
 b LAVIXIA. 
 
 gave solid, good advice. Two o'clock in the morning 
 is not the hour best calculated to institute inquiries 
 about missing friends; however, madame recollected 
 having heard, that at the prefecture of police, there was 
 a bureau de permanence, that is, an office kept open all 
 night for the convenience of such persons as might 
 happen to require instantaneous help from the munici- 
 pal powers. Mortimer grasped eagerly at this infonna- 
 tion, and, accompanied by Madame Fran^oise, he set 
 out at once for the prefecture of police. 
 
 It was not without difficulty that they were ad- 
 mitted within its gloomy precincts, and even after that 
 was accomplished, it was only by dint of perseverance 
 in questioning every policeman on watch, that they at 
 last obtained the necessary directions how to reach the 
 office they were in search of. The prefecture of police, 
 be it observed, independently of the associations it 
 evokes, has, or rather had, a particular frown of its own, 
 which is anything but attractive, even in the glare of 
 day. By the lurid light of flickering gas-lamps, on a 
 stormy night in March, it was forcibly suggestive of 
 Limbos, and Dantesque bolgias, — an illustration of 
 darkness visible. Mortimer felt his blood grow chill in 
 his veins, as he bethought him that Paolo might have 
 been taken up as a vagabond, and might possibly be in 
 one of yonder cells with iron gratings. A low archway 
 was pointed out to Thornton and his companion, and 
 they were told that, passing through it, they would find 
 themselves opposite to a door, which door gave access 
 to the bureau de permanence. Follo-vving these directions, 
 they were speedily in a spacious room, so faintly illu- 
 minated, that the eye required some time to get ac- 
 customed to the semi-obscurity, in order to discern that
 
 SEARCH. T 
 
 the three or four heaps strewed over the floor were so 
 many human beings. Lying at full length on wooden 
 inclined planes, or lits de camp^ these human beings 
 were, in fact, sergetis de ville, one of whom asked the 
 intruders their business there, and on being told that 
 they desired to speak to the police inspector for the 
 night, once more asked if the case was one that pressed. 
 Mortimer having replied in the affirmative, the sergcnt 
 who had been spokesman, got up, knocked at a door, 
 went in, and returning almost instantly, bid the two 
 visitors enter. 
 
 A military-looking gentleman, whose rather dis- 
 ordered attire, and half awakened appearance, testified 
 to interrupted slumbers, was seated at a table, on which 
 stood conspicuous a capacious ledger. His features 
 would liave been commonplace, but for the eyes, which 
 were intensely quick and searching. He motioned his 
 visitors to seats, and listened to Thoi-nton's short state- 
 ment in unbroken silence, then said, — 
 
 "Have you any positive reason for believing that 
 the young man in question meditated self-destruction?" 
 
 Mortimer hesitated an instant, then replied, that 
 positive reason he had not, but that he knew the young 
 man to be capable at a given moment of taking any, 
 and extreme resolutions into the bargain. 
 
 "I don't ask of what he may be capable or not at 
 a given moment," observed the shai-p-eyed officer; "my 
 question is, has he been, to your knowledge, actually 
 contemplating suicide?" 
 
 Mortimer recoiled from entering on the multiplicity 
 of details, and the sort of dissection of Paolo's heart, 
 which alone could have given the police superintendent 
 a clue to the probable frame of the missing young
 
 8 LAVINIA. 
 
 man's mind on leaving the Boulevard des Capucines, 
 and replied, — 
 
 "I cannot take upon me to say tliat I believe he 
 had any such intention when he parted from me." 
 
 "Then," subjoined the night inspector, "I cannot 
 consider this a case of emergency, or one in which 
 delay might be fatal. "We are here only for such. A 
 few hours' absence could never justify my putting the 
 public force in motion. Paris swarms with places, in 
 which a young man may spend a night with no other 
 danger than to his piu'se and health. If we were to 
 humour the alarms of parents or other relatives, natural 
 enough, to be sure, though nine times in ten ground- 
 less, there would be no end of useless trouble provided 
 for us. The line must be drawn somewhere. Should 
 this young man not retiirn home to-morrow, renew your 
 application before evening, and you will receive, in the 
 ordinary course of business, such assistance as we can 
 afford." So saying, the night inspector rose, and civilly 
 bowed his visitors away. The Parisian is essentially 
 polite, and, let it be said to his honour, whenever he 
 is forced to meet a request with a refusal, or communi- 
 cate anything little agreeable to hear, rarely aggravates 
 the annoyance by any omission in point of form. 
 
 Thornton never closed his eyes that night, and 
 went much earlier than necessary to renew his appli- 
 cation at a particular office, which had been pointed 
 out to him as the one most eligible for his business. 
 He wrote down, as desired, the name and description 
 of the missing Paolo, the last place he knew he had 
 been at, gave his own name and actual place of abode, 
 and received the assurance that all possible diligence 
 should be used in tracing out Mr. Mancini, and in con-
 
 SEARCH. 9 
 
 veying to the applicant Mr. Thorntou whatever infor- 
 mation might be gathered. 
 
 Thornton oflfered money as a stimulant for the 
 search, but his offer was declined for the present; per- 
 haps, at a later stage of the proceedings, he was told, 
 he might be called on to defray some extraordinary 
 expenses. He was advised also to advertise his missing 
 friend in the newspapers, a step of which he had already 
 bethought himself 
 
 From the prefecture of police, he repaired, at Ma- 
 dame Fran^oise's suggestion, to an agency of jjublicity 
 in the Place de la Bourse, where an article was cou- 
 cocted and immediately sent for publication to the 
 leading newspapers, embodying the name, coimtry and 
 personal description of the missing individual, con- 
 cluding with the promise of a large reward to any one 
 who should convey to Rue de Rohan , No. 1 , any in- 
 formation that should lead to a discovery. 
 
 Thornton went next, God knows with what heart, 
 to the Morgue, and, by means of a handsome gratuity 
 to the president of that lugubrious establishment, secured 
 the certainty of an immediate summons, should any- 
 body be brought there whose appearance in the least 
 corresponded with the description he left. Madame 
 Fran(,'oise accompanied the English gentleman on all 
 these expeditions, being most especially useful in 
 smoothing away, with her womanly tact, that host of 
 minor difficulties, and microscopic jarrings, which a man 
 of Thornton's misanthropic turn, little relying, and not 
 caring to dissemble how little, on the benevolence of 
 his fellow-creatures, could not fail to create for him. 
 
 Having thus done all that his judgment suggested, 
 Mortimer drove back, wearied and worn out, body and
 
 lO LATIKIA. 
 
 mind alike, to the hotel, where he fotind a note from 
 Miss Lavinia awaiting him. It said, — 
 
 "Aunt has recovered her consciousness, but lost her 
 speech: judge of my state. I know not what to answer 
 to her anxious looks — mute inquiries I am sure they 
 are about Signor Mancini; your silence tells me clearly 
 that you have got no clue yet. I entreat you, in 
 common charity, to come to me. I long to know 
 what you have done, what you hope, what you fear. 
 I am so miserable that I feel entitled even to your in- 
 dulgence. 
 
 "L. J." 
 
 Thornton went to her, and, heart-broken as he was, 
 tried to comfort her. He had all but detested her in 
 her days of flightiness and successful beauty; repentant 
 and bowed down, he felt for her. Thornton had less 
 in him of the misanthropist than he believed. 
 
 Thus days and weeks passed on with little or no 
 change. Mortimer called every day at the Boulevard 
 des Capucines; was shortly admitted to the sick cham- 
 ber, and arranged a tolerably probable story about 
 Paolo, a sudden call to Rome, connected with the sale 
 of his great picture of Brennus — which the invalid's 
 enfeebled state of mind thankfully accepted for truth. 
 Mrs, Jones, in fact, had had a stroke of palsy, her left 
 side was paralyzed, and her mental powers were also 
 slightly affected. For the rest, she was going on as 
 favourably as could be hoped, and had partially re- 
 covered her speech. Paolo's fate continued an im- 
 penetrable mystery. Thornton caused copies of the 
 advertisement inserted" in the newspapers, to be separate-
 
 SEARCH. 11 
 
 ly printed in huge letters, and placarded far and wide 
 over the walls of Paris; he set detectives to work, pay- 
 ing them liberally, and further stimulating their zeal 
 by the promise of a fabulous pourboirc, in the event of 
 success. All was to no purpose. He received indeed 
 an avalanche of written communications, most of them 
 circulars from different trades-people or associations, 
 who, putting to profit the knowledge of his address, 
 urged on him, the one their merchandise, the other 
 their shares. However, of the correspondence that was 
 anonymous, some nine out of ten of the notes bore 
 reference at least to the subject of the advertisement. 
 One was to the effect, that if Thornton would go on 
 such a day, at such an hour, to such a place, he would 
 hear all about the frightful tragedy; another was to 
 the purport, that if a bank-note of twenty pounds were 
 sent by post to such an address, the writer of the letter 
 would call on the advertiser, and conduct him to the 
 house where the missing youth was forcibly detained; 
 a third gave the information that the young Roman 
 had been seen last near the Forest de Bondy riding on 
 a broomstick, and so on. There are wits so witty that 
 every circumstance affords a field for their talents. 
 After a few fruitless essays made in person, Thornton, 
 as advised, handed to the police all such communica- 
 tions, out of which, of course, nothing came. 
 
 Tliornton's spirits sank under the futility of his 
 every effort; indeed, the intensity of his depression, 
 after the departure of the Joneses for England, fairly 
 frightened Madame Fran^oise. Mrs. Jones, ever since 
 her last attack of illness, had never ceased sighing for 
 England, as if England were to be her panacea. No 
 sooner did the physicians withdraw their veto to her
 
 12 LAVINIA. 
 
 travelling, than the family set off for London. Great 
 as the deprivation was for Mortimer, it bore still harder 
 on Lavinia, who, as the prospect before her darkened 
 apace, grew every day more alive to the value of a 
 real friend, the more precious too that Thornton was 
 also his friend. Thornton, on his side, lost in Lavinia 
 the only creature that suited him in his forlon condi- 
 tion, the only heart that could sympathize in full with 
 him, the only safety-valve from his lapsing into despair. 
 Lavinia gone, he felt alone in the world. 
 
 Madame Fran^oise watched with daily increasing 
 disquietude his haggard looks, his long fits of absence 
 of mind, his starts of feverish, useless activity, and by- 
 and-by a terror seized upon her lest he should lose his 
 reason. So greatly had his misery impressed her, that 
 when the long-expected notice to quit her premises 
 within a week, was served on her, the good woman had 
 not the courage to abandon him to himself, and at once 
 resolved to put off to a better time the realization of 
 her cherished plan of going to live with her married 
 daughter at Evreux. Instead of that, she secured com- 
 fortable apartments for Mr. Thornton and herself at a 
 lady friend's, who kept a maison garni in the Eue 
 Neuve des Augustins. As soon as they were installed 
 there, new advertisements and new placards were 
 printed and issued, in order to give the advertiser's 
 new address. The police also, the man in charge of 
 the Morgue, and Miss Jones, now in London, were duly 
 informed of the change. Mortimer did all this scrupii- 
 lously but without any spirit, like one who discharges 
 a duty for conscience-sake, but hopes no result from it.
 
 Paolo's progress. 13 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Paolo's Progress. 
 
 It is mortifying and appalling to think how little 
 may suffice to defeat the best-laid scheme. Here is a 
 case in point. The combined resources of a well 
 organized police, and of a system of publicity, spreading 
 the knowledge of a fact far and wide through every 
 grade of the pojiulation, the two great engines and 
 contrivances of modern civilization, kept at bay, or 
 rather put to nought by one or two insignificant cir- 
 cumstances, which an adept in the calculation of pro- 
 babilities would have disdained to cast up in his reckon- 
 ing. Thus it noAv and then happens that a machine, 
 most ingeniously devised on the most irrefragable prin- 
 ciples, does not answer in practice: OAving to what? — 
 to a slight friction which has been overlooked. 
 
 Prosper and his wife saw no daily paper. Beuoit, 
 scarcely able to spell, never resorted to reading. Mr. 
 Perrin, the only person about Paolo likely to interest 
 himself in the news of the day, had systematically 
 given up all periodicals, save those of his craft, which 
 had no advertisements but medical ones. Thus far 
 newspapers had no hold on our hero's surroundings. 
 Nor had placards any better chance with people who, 
 like the omnibus check-taker and his wife, never left 
 their domicile either by night or day, and in whose 
 immediate neighbourhood, supposing them occasionally 
 to have strayed into the street, no bills were or could 
 be put u^); for the suite of shops on either side of Mr. 
 Prosper's establishment, and the low parapet opposite,
 
 14 LAVINIA. 
 
 that is, on the side overlooking the river, afforded no 
 space for the labours of the bill-sticker. Prosper's 
 establishment, if the reader recollects, was situated on 
 the Quai Montebello, opposite Notre Dame. Mr. 
 Perrin, when out of doors, was constantly preoccupied 
 with the cases of his patients, and, above all, too short- 
 sighted to have noticed the huge sheets of printed 
 paper, even had they been half as large again; and as 
 to Benoit, his five minutes' walk from what he called 
 his "den" to Prosper's "shop," lay through narroAv un- 
 frequented lanes , where nothing but the internal 
 interests of those lanes ever excited attention. Remained 
 that quickest and surest conductor of all news, the un- 
 rivalled trumpeter, gossip); but indulgence in gossip, 
 whether actively or passively, presupposes leism-e, and 
 life was such a continual race to each and all of Paolo's 
 attendants, more especially since he had fallen among 
 them, that they had no time to spare for gossip, even 
 without taking into account a circumstance which had 
 closed their lips against the but too natural itching to 
 impart confidentially, each to a few bosom friends, the 
 portentous intelligence of the handsome stranger picked 
 up in the street, and ever since the tenant of Mr. 
 Prosper's back parlour. — 
 
 During his first and second night under that Sama- 
 ritan's roof, Paolo had raved a good deal in an un- 
 familiar jargon, which Benoit had oracularly pronounced 
 to be Polish, but which the better informed Mr. Perrin 
 declared to be Italian. Now Benoit had been quartered 
 at Pont du Var in 1833, and with his own eyes had 
 beheld many an Italian come from the opposite shore 
 to seek a refuge on French soil. Benoit had served in 
 Africa, and there known more than one Italian refugee
 
 PAOLO's PROGRESS. 15 
 
 in the foreign legion. Benoit had also got acquainted 
 in Paris with Italian exiles; and whether in Paris, Al- 
 geria, or the Pont du Var, had invariably seen them 
 roughly handled, narrowly watched by the police, now 
 and then sent to prison, or unceremoniously despatched 
 to the nearest frontier under an escort of gendarmes. 
 Benoit's experience on this particular matter had cry- 
 stallized itself into two distinct axioms: first, that Italian 
 and refugee were one and the same thing; second, that 
 the police had permanent orders to track out Italians, 
 with a view to their expulsion or imprisonment. Ap- 
 plying his profound wisdom to Paolo's case, Benoit, 
 after various thrusts at his imaginary adversary, ad- 
 dressed the following short and striking oration to 
 Prosper and his wife, — 
 
 ^''Mottis! the lad is an Italian; you know what that 
 means; shut up your lips, oi', '<:?■(/ no/«, we shall have 
 the police and all the hataclan down on us here." 
 
 The matter had been referred on the morrow to 
 Mr. Perrin, who had shrugged his shoulders without 
 saying yes or no. As the proverb, "Silence is ac- 
 quiescence," was known to the applicants, they all 
 accordingly held their tongues. Thus it came to pass, 
 that, chance aiding and abetting, police, newspapers, 
 placards, and even the clangor of gossip's big trump, 
 were set at defiance. Paolo's whereabouts continued 
 hid as if it were a crime. 
 
 The hand-to-hand struggle between fever and the 
 lancet was long and fierce, and more than once did the 
 doctor's leaden-coloured face, on the reappearance of 
 symptoms supposed to be conquered, turn of a cada- 
 verous green. When the enemy was at length put to 
 flight, it left behind a ruin, a wreck, a corpse you
 
 16 LAVINIA. 
 
 would say, but for tliat thin vapour issuing from his 
 lips on the mirror, the only proof of yet unsuspended 
 vitality. For fully three weeks life oscillated and 
 flickered like a torch in the wind; after that it began 
 to burn slowly but regularly again. Paolo was declared 
 out of danger, another fortnight, and he had entered 
 the phase of convalescence. 
 
 One of the inevitable consequences of any acute 
 disease which has its seat in the brain, is that of a 
 period, more or less long and intense, according to the 
 duration and intensity of the disorder — a jjeriod, we 
 say, of torpidity and sluggishness in the cerebral sen- 
 sorium, and the functions dependent on it, which some- 
 times amounts to temporary imbecility. Such was the 
 case with Paolo. Life was certainly fast regaining its 
 hold of him, but animal life alone; the sentient being, 
 the Psyche, lay still asleep. He Avould sit up on his 
 bed, and for hours stare vacantly at the wall, chequered 
 by some stray sunbeam, or play with the children, as 
 thoughtless and unconcerned as a child himself. When- 
 ever Prudence, Prosper, Benoit, or Mr. Perrin came into 
 his room, he always smiled good-naturedly, but never 
 spoke unless first spoken to, and then only in mono- 
 syllables, never asked questions, never evinced the least 
 sign of surprise or curiosity at the strangeness of the 
 place he was in. The only occurrences which appeared 
 to arouse his interest, were his meals, which he ate with 
 great relish. When able to leave his bed, he would sit 
 for half the day in an arm-chair at the window of the 
 back room, and watch with the same mute delight the 
 manoeuvres of a spaiTOw, or the movements of Benoit, 
 lording it over baths and douches at the bottom of the 
 court-yard opposite, and looking, as he moved amid
 
 Paolo's progress. 17 
 
 thick volumes of smoke, mucli like a droll representa- 
 tion of a half-marine, half-iufernal deity. 
 
 See him next by the side of Prosper's official desk, 
 promoted to the stir-ing joys of the waiting room, and 
 ready to applaud the bustle of the scene. 
 
 "It's like a sea-port, is it not?" chuckles the little 
 omnibus official, nudging the invalid; ''no wonder there's 
 such a competition; find me another conveyance, com- 
 bining cheerfulness, comfort and speed, ready to take 
 you to any part of the town at any moment of the day 
 or night. You'll see it yourself as soon as you are 
 strong enough for a drive; and remember the company 
 is always respectable — 'lawyers, physicians, merchants, 
 employes, rentiers, not to speak of people of rank like 
 that grey-haired gentleman opposite, with a red rosette 
 in his button-hole — an officer of the Legion of Honour", 
 very likely a general in plain clothes; an officer, not a 
 chevalier of the order — chevaliers wear a red ribbon. 
 Look at those horses noAv;" and Prosper, whistle in 
 hand, would slap the powerful animals on the neck, 
 accompanying the caress with a side glance at Paolo, 
 which meant to say, "Did you ever see horseflesh equal 
 to that?" The esprit de corps which prompts us to 
 make much of the banner under which we serve, must 
 be strong indeed, that even this poor, ill-paid, ill-lodged, 
 ill-warmed drudge should put his pride in a concern 
 which made him such a scanty return. 
 
 Then followed the days of those beautiful drives in 
 Mr. Prosper's omnibus, and those long sittings in the 
 mild spring sun in the Jardin des Plantes, or in the 
 Tuileries, with Madame Prudence by his side, to give 
 him treats of galette ad Uhitum; then came strolls, gra- 
 dually lengthening, in the one garden or the other, 
 
 havinia. II. 2
 
 18 LAVIXIA. 
 
 where gentle-looking old men and women would stop, 
 gaze at him wistfully, and observe to each other, in 
 passing, "Poor lad, how weak he looks; ah! youth, 
 after all, is no buckler against illness." Perliaps me- 
 mory brought him back now and then a momentary 
 whiff of the past; the image of a tall, black-haired girl, 
 of a tall, grey-haired gentleman — images faded as the 
 personages of a tale read long ago , and more than half 
 forgotten. But it was so much trouble to think and try 
 to recollect, so as to put in colour into those vague out- 
 lines, that he was fain at once to let them slip away. 
 How far easier and more agreeable to watch those 
 beautiful lions crouching down, majestic even in the 
 captivity of their cages; those restless monkeys, for ever 
 playing mischievous tricks to each other, startled into a 
 second's immobility by the bells they had unconsciously 
 set ringing in their gambols; or to gaze on the reflection 
 of the sun playing in the rippling waters of the great 
 basin in the Tuileries, and making them into an endless 
 cascade of sapphires and rubies. 
 
 One evening he was on the Terrasse aux Bords de 
 TEau, when the setting sun had dyed the noble river 
 below a Tyrian purple. Paolo was looking at this 
 never-tiring spectacle, when his attention was attracted 
 by a small steamer issuing from below the bridge De 
 la Concorde, and in its onward course leaving behind 
 a long Avhite panache of smoke. Paolo watched with 
 unusual eagerness the progress of the little craft, until 
 he saw it stopped and moored in front of the Pont 
 Royal. This sight stirred up a confused recollection of 
 a similar scene, a scene he had witnessed somewhere; 
 was it lately, or long ago? A scene in which the set- 
 ting sun, a large expanse of water, and a big steamer,
 
 Paolo's progress. 19 
 
 with Thornton on its deck, figured. He hesitated, then 
 said in an excited manner, pointing to the steamer, — 
 
 "Thornton is there." 
 
 It was the first time, since his illness, that the name 
 and figure of Thornton had risen up clearly in his re- 
 collection. That evening Pacjo, with the air of one 
 imparting a solemn secret, gave the name of Thornton 
 to Prosper, Benoit, and Mr. Perrin, one after the other. 
 Mr. Perrin asked, — 
 
 "Who is Thornton? An Italian?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "An Englishman?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Is he your father, yoiu' brother; in short, any re- 
 lation to you?" 
 
 "Thornton," said Paolo, "is my friend." 
 
 "And where is he to be found?" questioned Mr. 
 Perrin. 
 
 Paolo tried very hard to recall where, but in vain. 
 
 However, the sleeping Psyche was at last awakened, 
 and began to throw light on the past. Thread after 
 thread of memory's involved skein was disentangling 
 itself in Paolo's mind. Within a few days, he recol- 
 lected every incident up to his arrival in Paris, but 
 from that period down to the present moment, all was 
 indistinct, like objects seen through a mist, pierced, 
 however, by salient points, such as the shouting in the 
 streets of persons in masquerade attire , ]\Iiss Jones in a 
 ball dress, a huge building brilliantly lighted, and a 
 violent cold that had made his teeth chatter. It was 
 only by the recital given by those good Samaritans, 
 bis hosts, of the circumstances attending his entry under 
 their hospitable roof, that he was able to fill uj), by
 
 20 LAVINIA. 
 
 induction, tlae gaps in his memory. There was one 
 among these, however, which defied his every effort, 
 and that was the name of the street in which Thornton 
 and he lodged, on their arrival in Paris. He had heard 
 it so seldom, and that too at a time when his mind was 
 beginning to be so straiigely confused, that his having 
 altogether forgotten it was nothing extraordinary, and, 
 as for identifying street or house from its appearance, 
 no chance of that, considering that he had never seen 
 either by daylight. Prosper and his wife might have 
 gone on to eternity repeating to him the titles of all the 
 streets they could recollect, without ever hitting on the 
 right one, but that the inventive genius of Benoit de- 
 vised a method which won the day at last. He bought 
 one of those cheap and popular Paris guides, in which 
 not alone streets, squares, and places, are marked, but 
 wherein "you will find the narrowest passage, leading 
 nowhere, accurately noted down. Once in the posses- 
 sion of this, Benoit read over every appellation from 
 beginning to end. This scheme may appear obvious 
 enough, but so was the way to make the egg stand 
 upright, once hit upon by Columbus. As soon as the 
 old bath-man pronounced the word Rohan, Paolo ex- 
 claimed that that was the street. Madame Prudence 
 immediately set out with him, but alas! when they 
 reached the spot, the Rue de Rohan no longer existed; 
 all its buildings had been demolished a month previous. 
 Then Paolo became, for the first time, aware that two 
 full months had elapsed since the evening he had left 
 Madame Fran^oise's house, never again to re-enter it. 
 Yes, he could remember now that it must have been in 
 the last week of March, and now it was the last week 
 of May.
 
 Paolo's progress. 21 
 
 Paolo bore the disappointment with much more 
 eq^uanimity than his companion, who protested that it 
 seemed done on purpose to vex a saint — that it was 
 frightful. Indeed, to be perfectly truthful, we ought 
 to say that Paolo did not look at all disappointed. The 
 revival of his mental faculties had not extended to this 
 sensibility: his affections continued to slumber. He was 
 abundantly indifferent to everything; and the very im- 
 pressions, which he received from such parts of his re- 
 collections, as would have quickened his blood, and 
 set him in a blaze two months ago, were now languid 
 in the extreme — indeed, any thoughts he had about 
 Lavinia or Thornton left his heart undisturbed, 
 
 Paolo's recovery of relative health of body and mind 
 coincided, or thereabouts with the 24th of May, a date 
 sacred in the annals of Prosper's family, and to comme- 
 morate which the little omnibus superintendent granted 
 himself a holiday — the only one in the year — a ho- 
 liday of six hours, from midday to six in the evening. 
 On the 24th of May, 1845, Prosper and Prudence had 
 lost their only girl, a child of four years old, and on 
 all successive 24ths of May ever since, they had never 
 failed to go and hang garlands of flowers, and wreaths 
 of immortelles on the small iron cross , which marked 
 the resting-place of little Annette in the cemetery of 
 Mont Parnasse. They resolved on the present anni- 
 versary to take Paolo with them, and make a great 
 day of it. Accordingly, husband and wife, dressed in 
 mourning, the children in brown blouses with leather 
 belts, Paolo in his only suit of clothes, marvellously 
 brushed for the occasion, with one of Prosper's caps to 
 replace his lost hat; and last, not least, Benoit, dressed 
 for once like any common mortal, started at noon in
 
 22 LAVINIA. 
 
 one of the Company's omnibuses, and were duly set 
 down at the Baniere d'Enfer, from whence they pro- 
 ceeded on foot to the cemetery. 
 
 At one of the many shops furnishing funereal wares, 
 which swaiTxi in the neighbourhood of all the burying 
 grounds of Paris, Mr. Prosper provided himself with as 
 many wreaths as there were persons in his party, and 
 distributed one to each, the children included; they then 
 proceeded to little Annette's tomb, where each one laid 
 their fragile emblems of a never-dying regret. Prudence 
 threw herself on her knees, an example immediately 
 followed by Prosper, Benoit and Paolo, and calling her 
 boys to her side, bid them kneel also, and joining their 
 hands, made them repeat a short prayer, in which they 
 begged their little sister, now a bright angel in heaven, 
 to intercede for them with the blessed Virgin, so that 
 they might grow up good, and a consolation to their 
 parents, as she herself, the dear lost one, had been. 
 Madame Prudence made no extravagant display of sen- 
 sibility, but her brown face was rather whiter than 
 usual , and her usual cheerful voice was low and broken. 
 Prosper was very, red when he got up, and he was a 
 long time brushing the dust from the knees of his 
 trousers, while Benoit was violently chewing a quid — 
 quite an imaginary one — and looked pugnaciously 
 ready for a thrust at some one, but he checked himself 
 in time. 
 
 After this, they walked about the grounds for a 
 couple of houi-s, comparing notes about this and that 
 gorgeous monument, forming conjectures as to whether 
 the little coffin just brought in was that of a girl or 
 boy, expressing warm sympathy for the tall woman in 
 black, who looked so carqv orn, and for the elderly
 
 Paolo's rROctRESS. 23 
 
 gentleman in the sliabby coat, praying so earnestly 
 over a tomb; all this interspersed with remarks in- 
 numerable on the pleasantness of the spot. And cer- 
 tainly, if anything can make the abode of death plea- 
 sant, these neat, quiet verdant cemeteries of Paris must 
 do so, with their trim alleys and walks, their rows of 
 trees, and fresh groves, their profusion of flowers round 
 the well preserved tombs, their concourse of visitors of 
 all classes, at all times, with all the tokens, in short, 
 of the great care of the living for the dead, 
 
 "Three o'clock — en marchc!'" commanded Benoit, 
 after consulting his watch. A last farewell and a last 
 prayer at the foot of little Annette's cross, and they 
 took the road to the barrier, and into the wine shop 
 opposite the omnibus stand, where they had a quiet 
 dinner, composed of puree aux croutons, fricandeau a 
 roseille, omelette, salad — accompanied by a bottle of 
 wine with the yellow seal; which being disposed of, 
 Benoit ordered a fresh bottle, while Prosper carefully 
 imdid a paper parcel and placed on the table what at 
 first sight might have been mistaken for a huge nugget 
 of silver. But the children knew what that shining 
 coat meant, and saluted the "cm55^" with screams of 
 joy, that a lump of real silver would never have ex- 
 cited. The cake being cut in slices, and distributed, 
 and the glasses filled, Benoit rose and gave the health 
 of his young and esteemed friend, ]\[r. Paulot Maug- 
 chinie, Avhich was drunk with hearty good wishes, at- 
 tested by a merry clinking of the glasses one against 
 the othei'. Paolo looked more pleased and excited than 
 he had ever done since his recovery, especially when 
 the two minor Prospers went up to him, and putting 
 their arms round his neck, kissed him.
 
 24 LAVINIA. 
 
 And now , both Benoit's bottle and pipe being 
 empty, and time sbort, they stepped into a departing 
 omnibus — Benoit on tbe imperiale for tbe enjoyment 
 of a fresh pipe — and twenty minutes later , they 
 alighted at the bureau ruled over by Mr. Prosper, as 
 satisfied, if not more so, with their six hours' holiday, 
 as many bigger and moi'e consequential people with 
 their six weeks' tour on the Continent, or stay at some 
 fashionable town by the sea-side. Fortunately for the 
 poor and busy, who have to work hard for their daily 
 bread , the fewer their occasions for self-indulgence, 
 the greater and keener the enjoyment they derive from 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The stern Soberer. 
 
 Mrs. Jones bore better than could have been ex- 
 pected the fatigue of her journey to London, where, 
 however, her stay was bixt short; for the medical ce- 
 lebrities of the capital , immediately consulted , if differ- 
 ing toto ccelo in the treatment they recommended, were 
 unanimous in advising country air and tranquillity. 
 Accordingly, aunt and niece, with part of the house- 
 hold, went to Mr. Jones's country seat, near Guildford, 
 within an hour by rail from London. 
 
 The change was at first fraught with favourable 
 results. Old sounds, old sights, old associations — all 
 that combination of mysterious agencies and influences, 
 which constitute home, attested their power, and re- 
 vived the invalid; but the improvement lasted only as 
 long as the novelty of the impressions , and the decline
 
 THE STERN SOBERER. 25 
 
 that followed seemed by contrast more continuous and 
 speedy. Poor Mrs. Jones saw, and felt herself die inch 
 by inch. Stroke followed stroke in quick succession, 
 and the palsy, hitherto confined to the left side, made 
 its way slowly but surely to the right, like an enemy 
 who carries subterranean approaches round a besieged 
 citadel, previous to storming it. The little walk taken 
 morning and evening was reduced to once a day, and 
 had gradually to be curtailed , till it dwindled to nothing. 
 The only way she could now enjoy the air, warmed by 
 the April sun, and the sight and smell of spring flowers, 
 Avas in a Bath chair; but even this had to be given up 
 in course of time, and an hour or two spent on a sofa, 
 drawn close to a window, biecame the only solace ac- 
 cessible to the dying woman — a solace which, alas! 
 had to be renounced in its turn, for Mi-s. Jones could 
 no longer rise from her bed. 
 
 It was at this pass, that all the fond devo^edness, 
 which graced Lavinia's heart , revealed itself thoroughly. 
 She lavished treasures of filial tenderness upon her 
 aunt. Ah! if Paolo could have seen her now, looking 
 more like an angel than a woman, as she kept watch 
 over her sinking friend! From the beginning she had 
 unwillingly allowed any one to share with her in the 
 duties of a fond nurse and attendant, yielding only 
 when Nature despotically asserted a claim to repose. 
 But as the dear one's time on earth visibly shortened, 
 love conquered the body's weakness, and day and night 
 there she was by the bedside, day and night devising 
 new schemes to procure more ease for the patient — 
 that relative ease which is but a diminution of pain — 
 there she was insensible to fatigue, inexhaustible in 
 words of encouragement, of hope, of endearment. Was
 
 26 LAVINIA, 
 
 Lavinia not richly repaid by tlie calm she imparted, by 
 the smiles she elicited, by the blessings bestowed on 
 her? More than a hundredfold did she receive back in 
 return for her every loving kindness. She did not, per- 
 haps, recognize at the time tlie great blessing that fell 
 on herself, while ministering to Mrs. Jones's spiritual 
 comfort; but surely portions of holy writ, the eternal 
 truths of Scripture, recited and thought over by tlie 
 lamp of a sick room, under the veiy shadow of death, 
 seldom fail to assume a new and living significance in 
 the mind of the reader, and to mould themselves into 
 practical precepts of life. 
 
 At intervals Mrs. Jones referred anxiously to Signor 
 Mancini, wondering why he had not joined them in 
 England, Lavinia, poor girl, needed no reminder about 
 Paolo; a thought of him mingled M'ith her most painful 
 pre-occupations. Gentle and loving as he was, how he 
 woiild have sympathized with her, had he known of 
 her affliction. Not one of his words, which had ever 
 borne the least reference to her present sad trial, but 
 she recollected as vividly as though spoken only the 
 day before. How truly had he said, that neither youth, 
 nor fortune, nor health, had ever proved an impenetrable 
 shield against the shafts of sorrow, which, through the 
 breast of some dear object, found a sure passage to the 
 most fortunate of mankind. How many times, under 
 how many shapes, had he not tried to impress on her, 
 that aflPections were the salt of life, the only reality 
 woi-th pursuing here below. 
 
 The truth of his words struck home to her now. 
 But for the love she felt, but for the love she inspired, 
 what would have been in this hour of extremity her 
 poor aunt's fate? The answer was ready: rich in mo-
 
 THE STERN SOBERER. 27 
 
 ney, surrouuded by luxury, as she was, Mrs. Jones 
 would have been left, in these her last days, to the 
 mercenary care of hirelings. For, as to IMi-. Jones, he 
 had never once omitted going daily to town, had never 
 returned an hour earlier to his dinner, had never shortened 
 by five minutes the time dedicated to his wine, nor once 
 refrained from finishing the day by a comfortable even- 
 ing's nap in the easy-chair by his wife's bedside. When 
 he spoke, if he spoke at all, it Avas on topics strangely 
 at variance with the atmosphere of the room; in general, 
 however, he confined himself to a good-night, accom- 
 panied by one or other of those would-be consolatory 
 banalities, which, in Mrs. Jones's all but hopeless state, 
 meant less than nothing. The servants on their side 
 made up for the official look of condolence, Avhich they 
 thought becoming to wear in their masj;er's presence, by 
 making twice as merry when out of sight. 
 
 As the sufi'erer's strength decreased, so did the 
 lucidity of her mind increase. One evening, after she 
 had lain in a letliargic state throughout the whole day, 
 Mrs. Jones seemingly awoke, and, calling to Lavinia, 
 bade her come close to her, that she might not lose a 
 word of what she was about to impart. A burden had 
 long pressed heavily on her conscience, said Mrs. Jones 
 — a burden she must throw ofi', otherwise she could 
 not die easily. Then, Avith a clearness never once at 
 fault, she went on to make to the astonished girl the* 
 following disclosure. 
 
 When, now more than thirteen years ago, Mr. Jones 
 Lad been prevailed on by his Avife to adopt and take 
 charge of the only daughter of his eldest brother, Mr. 
 Jones had done so on the express condition, that the 
 existence of the little Lavinia's parents, and the early
 
 28 LAVINIA. 
 
 circumstances of the family into Avliicli slie was about 
 to enter, should both be kept a secret from her. Mr. 
 Jones, rich and a man of growing impoitance, was al- 
 ready ashamed of his former calling, and, wishing to 
 have what he styled a real gentlewoman in his niece, 
 believed he was taking the best means to secure her 
 becoming one, by trampling under foot one of God's 
 commandments. Mrs. Jones, out of fondness for the 
 child on whom she doted, accepted the bargain, and 
 Lavinia accordingly grew up in the belief, confirmed 
 by the silence of her uncle aud aunt, that she was an 
 orphan. Her father, on his side, who had renounced 
 all intercourse with his daughter (]\Irs. Jones believed 
 for a certain sum of money) , kept faithfully out of the 
 way. For the tacit deception she had practised, partly 
 out of feai' of her husband's wrath, though still more so 
 out of apprehension as to the consequences, which any 
 liivulging of the truth might bring to a niece she 
 adored, repentant jMi-s. Jones now humbly asked and 
 easily obtained forgiveness. 
 
 It is easy to imagine that Lavinia, not only startled, 
 but deeply affected by this revelation, was anxious to 
 hear SotQething more of her unknown parents. Mrs. 
 Jones had never known LaWnia's mother, who had died 
 shortly after giving over the child to her relations ; and 
 of her father she had seen very little. The first time 
 "was shortly after her marriage to Mr. Mark Jones; he 
 was then a man perhaps of six or seven and thirty, 
 but looking much older, and very careworn. She knew 
 he had been a bankmpt more than once; but the bro- 
 thers not being on good terms, she met him but rarely: 
 and from the moment she and her husband had taken 
 charge of Lavinia, all sort of communication had utterly
 
 THE STERN SOBERER. 29 
 
 ceased between her and lier brother-in-law; even his 
 abode had been carefully concealed from her. She had, 
 however, discovered, throug-h the loquacity of the ser- 
 vants, that he came by stealth now and then to see her 
 husband. After these visits Mr. Jones had always been 
 out of sorts, complaining of his brother, and calling 
 him a drunkard. As to the poor man's being dead or 
 alive, Mrs. Jones had not the slightest clue to guide 
 her; the last time she had seen him was in the street, 
 just before they went abroad, and he appeared sadly 
 broken down. She would have spoken to him, but for 
 being with her husband. This was all the information 
 Lavinia could gain about her parents. 
 
 The aunt completed her confession by making 
 known to her niece her own and her husband's humble 
 origin and beginning in life. She reproached herself 
 the more with having concealed these circumstances, as 
 she now saw that Lavinia might have found, in the 
 knowledge of them, a counterpoise and a corrective to 
 the ideas and aspirations, imbibed from a training far 
 above her station, and fostered by the self-conceit, the 
 preposterous notions, and example of Mr. Jones. His 
 chase after gentility had been the bane of thei life. 
 Eegavded with feelings of resentment, or ridicule, by 
 the class he had deserted; despised by his superiors, 
 whose notice he courted; haunted by a perpetual fear 
 of meeting some one acquainted with a past he would 
 fain have forgotten himself, Mr. Jones, ever since he 
 had been bitten by the gad-fly of pride, had made him' 
 ^elf one of the most disturbed of mortals. Lavinia had 
 surely not forgotten their precipitate and mysterious 
 flight from Florence in the heat of August. Well, that 
 was entirely induced by Mr. Jones having come across
 
 30 LAYINLV. 
 
 an old patron; in fact, one of liis first customers, my 
 Lord Bemton. 
 
 As to herself, sighed ]VIrs, Jones, her health and 
 spirits had declined from the very commencement of 
 this mad straining after an unattainable fashion, from 
 the moment when she had had to resign a wholesome 
 sphere of activity and usefulness for one of inert luxury, 
 in which she felt not only displaced, but every taste, 
 duty, and habit of which jarred with all her former 
 tastes, duties, and habits. Thence it was that she had, 
 somewhat hastily she allowed, encouraged her niece's 
 growing partiality for Signor Paolo; being satisfied by 
 what she had seen of the world, that a union entered 
 upon, even with scanty means, but based on mutual 
 affection and esteem, and some moderation of desires, 
 had more chances of happiness than one of those dash- 
 ing matches between two spoilt children of fortune, 
 which leaves nothing to wish for but the condiment of 
 love; the couple concerned being too much in love 
 with themselves, to have any left to bestow on each 
 other. 
 
 These were the last confidences that Miss Jones re- 
 ceived from her aunt. Before another day reached its 
 close, the lips that had made them were sealed for ever 
 here below, and she who had listened to them lay on 
 a sick couch, shattered in body and mind. But the 
 wholesome seed of more than one kind, which had 
 fallen on heart and soul during this painful probation, 
 was not likely to be lost; and we may confidently ex- 
 pect that once the first shock be over, Lavinia will rise 
 from the trial quite a renovated being, strengthened for 
 all good purposes. Sorrow is the toga -virilis of the 
 soul. He or she, who has never seen face to face that
 
 COUNTKR-SEAUCn. 31 
 
 stern soberer, Deatli, knows but little of life and its 
 aims. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Counter-search. 
 
 A MIGHTY consultation was being held in the back 
 parlour of Mr. Prosper's establishment, under circum- 
 stances promising little for the quick settlement of the 
 jDoint in question, inasmuch as, out of the four pleni- 
 potentiaries assembled in conference, two, Benoit and 
 Prosper, were constantly bounding in and out of the 
 room, and thus causing perpetual delay to the pro- 
 ceedings. 
 
 If there were ever two galley-slaves by trade, the 
 two were Benoit and Prosper, and if one of the two 
 was a greater galley-slave than the other, that one was 
 Prosper. For people do not douche nor steam them- 
 selves for ever; and therefore Benoit might have mo- 
 ments of respite, could even remember having sat down 
 to his dinner, and finished it without interruption-, whereas 
 such a luxury was unknown to Prospei\ His labours 
 knew of no solution of continuity. Peo2)le do loco- 
 move for ever. There was an uncouth machine stopping 
 before Prosper's dwelling every five minutes, and there 
 was Prosper every five minutes seeing passengers out 
 of it, and passengers into it, comparing notes, settling 
 with the conductor, and whistling to the huge convey- 
 ance to move off; more to do yet — back to his bureau 
 to serve out new correspondence tickets, and numbers 
 of precedence, besides affording information to all who 
 ask for it. Five minutes were soon used up at this
 
 32 LAVINIA. 
 
 rate, and again a warning whistle carried him to the 
 street to begin the foregoing performance anew, and 
 so on and on from seven in the morning to twelve at 
 night. And thus Prosper being whistled away every 
 five minutes, and Benoit telegraphed to from his den 
 in the courtyard, let us say on an average every seven 
 minutes, one or both were always missing, and the de- 
 liberation flagged. 
 
 The question just now under consideration had 
 been mooted by Paolo , and seconded by Madame 
 Prudence, and was this: Should Paolo go to the police 
 to make inquiries after Thornton? The initiative taken 
 by the young Eoman betokened a new phase in his 
 psychological 'condition. Paolo's feelings were at last 
 roused, and friendship at once asserted its rights. To 
 find his benefactor, to reassure and be reassured, were 
 the paramount desires of his heart. Even had he been 
 without those strong cords of an almost filial affection 
 which bound him to the Englishman, other considera; 
 tions would have impelled him to the search. With 
 Thornton he should find the means of discharging that 
 part of his debt to his kind hosts which money could 
 repay, and of getting back to Rome. Paolo had left 
 money enough in his lodgings in the Rue de Rohan, 
 to meet both exigencies, and naturally Mortimer would 
 have seen to the safety of his property. Paolo was 
 eager to leave Paris — a sort of nostalgy had seized 
 upon him. 
 
 Having decided with himself that the most probable 
 clue to Thornton's whereabouts was to be obtained from 
 the Joneses, he had made up his mind to the effort of 
 calling there. The recollection of Lavinia was linked 
 with many painful, though still confused associations,
 
 COUNTER-SEAKCH. 33 
 
 SO that lie knew not wlietlier he should like to see her 
 again or not. He had gone to the Boulevard des Ca- 
 pucines, but only to be thrust into deeper darkness. 
 The Joneses had been gone more than two months, 
 and the tall English gentleman Avho had been latterly 
 in the habit of calling on them had never shown his 
 face there since their departure. Paolo had then be- 
 thought himself of the police, and some questions hav- 
 ing revealed his intention of going to that ofSce, the 
 present consultation had been the result. 
 
 Madame Prudence was of opinion that he ought to 
 go, and might do so with safety, provided she were 
 with him. Prosper was for referring the matter to ]\Ii-. 
 Perrin, and abiding by the doctor's advice, but was 
 prevented from developing his thesis by the whistle, 
 which summoned him out of doors. Benoit combated 
 any notion of the kind with might and main. 
 
 "Go to the police!" remonstrated the ex-sergeant, 
 getting down from the window-sill, in Avhich he had 
 been seated, with a jerk that sent both his slippers 
 across the room in opposite directions. "Thi-ow him- 
 self into the wolf's jaws, you mean; and once in, who 
 is to get him out, giioi?" 
 
 "I have committed no offence," said Paolo, quietly; 
 "why should I be in danger with the police?" 
 
 "Let them alone; they'll find plenty of reasons for 
 putting you out of sight. Take it as a rule, a refugee 
 is always giving offence to somebody." 
 
 "But I am not a refugee," said Paolo. 
 
 "Not a refugee!" repeated Benoit, standing aghast. 
 
 "Not a refugee!" repeated Madame Prudence and 
 Prosper, who was making one of his hundreds of en- 
 trances. 
 
 Laviniu. II. o
 
 34 LATIXL^. 
 
 "Xo more than you are," persisted Paolo. 
 
 "An Italian and not a refugee!" said Benoit, scrap- 
 ing Lis bald pate; "it's out of nature;" and bj way of 
 reconciling himself to the absurdity, he made a thrast 
 or tvro at the wall. "Are you sure that you are not a 
 ref — D — the boy with his signals. On y va. I think 
 all Paris wants to be vapoured to-day — quoiT'' and 
 away the old fellow shuffled. 
 
 "If you are not a refug — " Prosper began, but he 
 had just time to add — "d — the whistle," and he 
 bolted away. 
 
 Paolo and Madame Pradence, thus left alone, did 
 what, under the circumstances, was the only reasonable 
 thing to do — namely, put on, he his somewhat greasy 
 casquette, she, her faded bonnet, and went out at once. 
 Prosper, whom they met on the threshold of the office, 
 patiently listening to a complaint lodged by a very fat 
 lady against the conductor, who had not stopped im- 
 mediately on her signing to him so to do — Prosper, 
 we say, faintly attempted to dissuade his wife from 
 taking a step he was morally sm'e would be displeasing 
 to his godfather. 
 
 Madame Pradence, who harboured some seeds of 
 jealousy as to the great ascendancy exercised by Benoit 
 over her husband, retorted that his godfather was at 
 full liberty to be pleased or displeased, but that she 
 and Signer Paolo were neither of them children, nor 
 yet, thank God, in any need of leading-strings, upon 
 hearing which Prosper wisely let things take their 
 com'se. Truth to say, the omnibus official's belief in 
 Benoit's infallibility had received a severe check ever 
 since the latter had peremptorily pronounced Paolo's 
 case to be one of cholera, and had been proved to be
 
 COUNTEK-SEARCH. 35 
 
 grossly iu error. And now tlie morning's discovery 
 that Paolo was not a refugee, when Beuoit had de- 
 clared the impossibility of his being aught else, could 
 not be overlooked by even so dutiful a godson as Prosper. 
 Benoit's prestige was fading away fast, like many an- 
 other reputation based on infallibility. 
 
 Through the same dingy passages and vaults, along 
 the identical mouldy yards and lurid squares, which 
 had frowned a few months ago on Iiroi-timer and Ma- 
 dame Fran^oise in seai'ch of Paolo, now Paolo and 
 Madame Prudence toiled in search of Tliornton. The 
 prefecture was to I'rudence a tcvra incognita. In fact, 
 she had never been there, and knew no more about the 
 different offices, their names and attributions, than about 
 Troy or Tyre. The best course, in her holy state of 
 ignorance, seemed, and was, to apply to a sergent de 
 ville — there were many about — and ask for direc- 
 tion; but the moment she tried to shape her question, 
 she found it far from easy, considering that in order to 
 ask one's way somewhere, one must know, or there- 
 abouts, the name at least of one's place of destination. 
 Nothing remained in this dilemma, but to jmt the 
 police agent on the scent of what she wanted, by 
 briefly stating her case, which she did. It was a case 
 for the Bureau des Eenseinncments., said the man, and 
 he forthwith took her to the foot of the staircase, Avhich 
 led to the office of information on the first floor. 
 
 A great stillness prevailed iu the room, into which, 
 after a discreet knock at the door, and an answer from 
 within to "come in," our visitors ventured with a beat- 
 ing heart. Two gentlemen were busy writing at a 
 desk, and t6 the one of them who raised his head in 
 mute interrogation, Prudence explained her errand. 
 
 3*
 
 36 , LAVINIA. 
 
 "Was slie, or was the gentleman in lier company, 
 related to the person they inquired for?'' asked the 
 official. 
 
 "Neither were related to the gentleman they sought 
 after," replied Prudence; "but her companion was a 
 great friend of Mr. Thornton." 
 
 "Had they a written order from the prefect of 
 police, authorizing the inquiry?" asked the official 
 again. 
 
 They had nothing of the sort. Well, then, let them 
 procure one, and come again with it. It was indis- 
 pensable. 
 
 As our discomfited couple issued on to the little 
 piazza facing the office, they met at the veiy spot where 
 they had left him, the identical policeman who had 
 directed them, and who now asked of the lady, if she 
 had found her man. 
 
 "Alas! not," said Prudence; "we must have an 
 order from the prefet." 
 
 "I thought so," said the man, walking along a little 
 way with them. "You needn't apply in person, you 
 know — the prefet wouldn't receive you. Send in 
 your request in writing." 
 
 Prudence thanked him for the information. They 
 were standing now in front of the Bureau des Passe- 
 ports. 
 
 "Did not you say, that your friend that's missing 
 was an American?" asked the policeman. 
 
 "An Englishman," rectified Prudence. 
 
 "Ah! yes — a foreigner at all events. Suppose 
 he had set oflF? Had you not better see at the Bureau 
 des Passepo7'ts?" 
 
 The hint was sensible, and appeared good to follow,
 
 COUNTER-SEARCH. ' 37 
 
 SO, witli many tlianks to tlie prompter, Paolo and 
 Prudence walked in. 
 
 The passport office was to tlie office of information 
 what a surging sea is to a stagnant pool. In the month 
 of June, Paris, like London, begins to move out of 
 town, and consequently great was the concourse of aji- 
 plicants, and liglitning quick went the employes' pens 
 and tongues, taking down descriptions of, and cross- 
 examining, we were going to say, the accused •, for there 
 is something suggestive of a criminal court, and a wit- 
 ness-box, in the calling up of persons, and then sub- 
 jecting them to interrogations, the answers to which ai-e 
 Avritten down. As the half-bewildered Prudence, with 
 a rueful face, was contemplating a gap in the thick 
 human wall standing between her and the official's 
 desk, the municipal guard on duty stationed in front 
 of the rails, noticing her distress, bade her come for- 
 ward, and, gallantly making way for her, observed to 
 a tall by-stander, who grumbled about being before- 
 hand, that the fair sex always took precedence in 
 France. Thanks to this seasonable succour, she Avas 
 enabled to make known her request to the nearest 
 employe, who directed lier to another part of the room, 
 where there were more desks and more men at them. 
 
 The one to whom she addressed herself proved of 
 a very humane disposition, and showed an interest in 
 her and her companion. Maybe he had a mother or 
 sister, not better off in the world than poor scantily 
 dressed Prudence, or perhaps he had once had a 
 brother looking as emaciated and careworn as Paolo. 
 Sympathy, however, is to be gratefully accepted Avith- 
 out prying into its origin, and gratefully it Avas receiv- 
 ed in this case, AA'hen tlic kindly disposed individual.
 
 38 LAYEs'IA. 
 
 depositing Lis pen beliind liis ear, took himself out of 
 the room with a scrap of waiting containing the name 
 and last address of the person inc|uii-ed after, and pre- 
 sently came with the little consoling intelligence, that 
 ".SV;"" Mortimer Thornton had had his passport vised 
 for the United States on the IGth of May. 
 
 "He is gone to look after me, I am sni-e," said 
 Paolo, as he walked away slowly and with tears start- 
 ing into his eyes. 
 
 "T\'oll, when he does not iind you there, he'll come 
 hack, and seek you out here," replied Prudence with 
 a show of confidence and cheerfulness which did not 
 go farther than the surface. They readied home before 
 Prosper's state of disti-action had entirely disorganized 
 the sei-vice of his line of omnibuses •, for the little man 
 had been so frightened out of his wits by the visions 
 of dungeons, bagnios, and scaffolds, which fi-iendly 
 Beuoit had evoked for his comfort, that for the last 
 quarter of an hoiu" he had been sending the jiassengers 
 for the Jardin des Plantes to the Pantheon, and vice 
 versa, heaping blunder upon blunder. 
 
 Prudence slept little that night, and thought much, 
 and the upshot of her reflections was, that it would be 
 worth while to apply to the English Embassy, "for," 
 reasoned Prudence, "Mr Fortou" (such being her pro- 
 nunciation of Thornton's name), "Mr. Forton has been 
 gone now, if he went at all, for nine-and-twenty whole 
 days, and even I know that nine-and-twenty days is time 
 enough for going, staying, and returning from New 
 York. He may then be back already, and if he is, 
 ten to one but they know it at his embassy." 
 
 Madame Prudence told this to Paolo next day, as 
 the fruits of a counsel held with her 2>illow, and, un-
 
 COUNTER-SEARCH. 39 
 
 like most counsels, it was favoiuaWy received Ly all, 
 and eagerly grasped at by the yonug man; and with 
 renewed hope Prosper's wife and her protege started 
 on this new expedition after Thornton. 
 
 As directed by the concierge of the British Em- 
 bassy, they turned into the consulate office, where the 
 simple statement of their wish to know whether an 
 English gentleman of tJie name of Thornton was actu- 
 ally in Paris, drew forth a volley of questions as to 
 who they themselves were — if they had any pecuniary 
 claim against this Englishman, or were related to him 
 — and what had put it into their heads to come to 
 the English consulate. These queries answered, and 
 the nature of the interest prompting the inquiry clearly 
 and fully explained, then, and not till then, the secre- 
 tary or clerk, by whom they were received, informed 
 them that Mr. Mortimer Thornton had solicitors in Lon- 
 don, whose address he would write down for them, if 
 they wished it. Meagre as was the proffered service, it 
 was accepted' with thanks, and Mr. Secretary accordingly 
 I^resented tliem with a bit of paper, on which was 
 written, "Messrs. Hcnstrid and Co., 14, Golden Square, 
 London," whereupon the two applicants walked out 
 very little wiser than they had walked in — Prudence, 
 with feminine perspicuity, suspecting the consul's clerk 
 of knowing more about Thornton than he chose to say, 
 a suspicion which, however, with feminine kindness, 
 she forbore to impart to poor Paolo. 
 
 Paolo despatched without delay a letter to Messrs. 
 Henstrid and Co. in London, and one to IMortimer 
 Thornton, addressed to Via Babuino, in case his friend 
 sliould have retvnncd to Home. He also Avroto a few 
 lines to Angelo Gisli — that Ijeing the real name of
 
 40 LAVINIA. 
 
 our fuuny little friend, Salvator Rosa — to recollect 
 wliicli cost Paolo not a little thinking. This last epistle, 
 sibylline enough, simply stated that Thornton had dis- 
 appeared, but without the least reference to any of the 
 attendant circumstances, asking, should any clue to him 
 happen to reach Salvator, that the intelligence might 
 be immediately sent to the writer in Paris, care of Mr. 
 Prosper, Quai Montebello, 77. 
 
 To his illness or to his money difficulties, Paolo 
 made no allusion whatever. Why should he give the 
 good little painter the pain of knowing his friend to be 
 in distress, when he had no power to help? For well 
 did Paolo know that not all tlie money Salvator and 
 his other companions could scrape together, would be 
 half sufficient to take him from Paris to Rome. 
 
 We may as well mark here that Paolo, on quitting 
 Rome, had, in the anticipation of a long absence, taken 
 with him all the money he possessed in the world, and 
 that the French bank post bill representing this sum, 
 had been left with Thornton; also that the half-dozen 
 pieces of gold he had had about him when he set off 
 on the unlucky expedition to the Hotel de Ville, had 
 also gone, j)urse and all, comprising the scrap of paper 
 Avith the address of the Rue de Rohan, probably drop- 
 ped while he was either scuffling with or trying to 
 bribe the guards to let him in as one of the ball guests. 
 
 In due course of post Messrs. Henstrid and Co., 
 with business-like alacrity, acknowledged Paolo's letter: 
 they regretted not being able for the present to furnish 
 Mr. Mancini with the address of their esteemed client, 
 M. Thornton, Esq., whose absence abroad they had 
 every reason to suppose would last a considerable time. 
 
 This letter, however unsatisfactory, had in it a drop
 
 COUNTER-SEARCn. 41 
 
 of consolation for Paolo. It assured liim that, wherever 
 Thornton might be, he was safe and uninjured. 
 
 Messrs. Henstrid's letter was quickly followed by 
 one from Salvator, to say that Thornton had not been 
 seen in Rome since he had left the city with Paolo. 
 Salvator's letter, naturally enough, teemed with ques- 
 tions and conjectures about the mystery of Thornton's 
 disappearance, and asked to be told what were Paolo's 
 plans for the future. Paolo wrote back that he had no 
 other plan than to be back in Rome as soon as possible, and 
 would delay all explanations about Thornton and him- 
 self until he could give them viva voce. Paolo had two 
 motives for this postponement of confidence — one, his 
 unwillingness to make known his present embarrass- 
 ments to his friend, which he could not avoid if he 
 entered into any details of what had occurred; the other, 
 his repugnance to accuse Lavinia, which it would be 
 difficult not to do, if a real statement of the case was 
 to be given. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER V. 
 
 Himself again. 
 
 Messrs. Henstrid and Co.'s concise and well- 
 written letter had extinguished Paolo's last hope of 
 reaching Thornton for the present, even through the 
 medium of the post, but had in no way diminished the 
 young man's confidence, that wherever that good friend 
 was, he was in search of him. In the meantime he 
 must depend on himself, that is, he must work not 
 only for his daily bread, but to gain wherewithal to 
 make his way back to Rome.
 
 42 LAVIXL\. 
 
 Paolo did not disguise from himself that it was 
 easier to wish for work than to procure it; more pecu- 
 liarly so for one in his own situation — a stranger in 
 a foreign land, imperfectly acquainted with French, 
 with no possession but a threadbare suit, a solitary 
 change of linen, and the good-will of three kind-hearted 
 creatures, poor as rats, and without a right to claim 
 kindred with any other human beings. But when ne- 
 cessity gives us a gripe of her iron claw, it is said 
 that she communicates to ns invention. Paolo consulted 
 his confidant, Prudence, or rather reposed his confidence 
 in her motherly heart. A good woman, whatever her 
 station, is the earthly j^rovidence of the men about her. 
 Prudence shrank a little from the idea of the delicate- 
 looking invalid working for his daily bread; he must 
 get stronger first, indeed he must. 
 
 "I am strong enough," said Paolo, "and I cannot 
 afford to go on idling. I have been already too long 
 a burden to you — I hate to think how long; but I 
 have not been myself till to-day." 
 
 Prudence scorned the notion of his having been a 
 burden to them. The little they had been able to do 
 was more than repaid by his ha^ang put iip so willingly 
 with their poor accommodation, so far below his station 
 and habits. 
 
 "Pray," said Paolo, trying to smile, "dont seek to 
 diminish the benefits you have conferred, by fancying 
 me some prince in disguise. I wish I may never have 
 worse accommodation than what you are pleased to 
 disparage. I have not been brought up in lavender, I 
 assure you. At seventeen I was left naked as a worm, 
 with no other capital than my two hands. Had I
 
 HUrSELP AGAIN. 43 
 
 twenty lives to spend iu your service, I should still 
 never be quits with you — never." 
 
 If it be ti'ue, as it certainly is, that we must do 
 good for its own sake, and not for any thanks it may 
 bring us, it is not the less true, that a warm acknow- 
 ledgment of what we meant as kindness, is, next to the 
 testimony of our own conscience, the very sweetest 
 reward we can receive. The grateful enthusiasm of 
 the young Koman Avent to her heart the more, that 
 Prudence was less accustomed to anything like demon- 
 strativeness on liis part. Only now had his benumbed 
 feelings suddenly awoke to life, showing hiin, in their 
 full extent, the obligations he was under to his kind 
 hosts. Paolo had spoken the literal truth when he had 
 said, that till this day he had not been himself. 
 
 "Well, then," said Prudence, briskly, "we'll do 
 our best to find you work-, and — a Ja (jardc de Dien 
 — is there any one thing you can do better than an- 
 other?" 
 
 "I can draw and I can paint," returned Paolo. "I 
 was brought up as a painter." 
 
 "Painting and drawing are rather out of my way," 
 and the Frenchwoman, Avitli her forefinger on her lips, 
 fell to musing. "I'laying on the piano and singing 
 would have been better; there's the daughter of the 
 porter next door, she wants a singing-master, I know." 
 
 "I can teach Italian, or copy papers," said Paolo. 
 "I don't care what it is; I am ready to be a street 
 porter and carry loads, if I can get nothing else to 
 do." 
 
 "We shan't come to that, I hope," said Prudence; 
 "but you must give me time to think." 
 
 Prosper, when he was apprised of Paolo's wants
 
 44 LAVINIA. 
 
 and wishes, racked Lis brain, but found notliing there 
 except omnibuses, and what belonged to omnibuses; 
 and he was keen for applying to his company for a 
 vacant place of conductor for his protege. Benoit got 
 frightfully excited at the thought that here was Signor 
 Paolo, actually a painter, and a painter in want of work, 
 and not a fortnight ago all the baths of his establish- 
 ment had received a fresh coat of green. More practi- 
 cal Prudence passed all her neighbours in a mental 
 muster; the review did not take long, and the result 
 was, that "if Mr. Perrin did not help him out of this 
 trouble, why he'd have to stick in it." 
 
 Mr. Perrin accordingly received a visit from Madame 
 Prudence, and the dilemma was made known to him 
 with a circumlocution and diplomacy, that would have 
 been creditable in quarters to which Prudence and Co. 
 looked up with the awe due to principalities and arch- 
 angels. Mr. Perrin, having, with glasses on his nose, 
 succeeded in penetrating into the subject on which he 
 was being consulted, now took off his spectacles, twirl- 
 ing them between his thumb and first finger — the 
 ordinary sign with him of contention of mind. 
 
 "He is a painter, is he? a noble calling, no doubt; 
 but for practical purposes I had rather he had been a 
 musician. But all these Italians can sing and play, 
 can't they?" 
 
 "Just what I said to him," sighed Prudence; "but 
 it's just another of his misfortunes that he can't do either 
 the one or the other; and I see no help for it." 
 
 "None, indeed, that way," said the doctor; "we 
 must think of something else" — we must think; when 
 I have thought, I'll call and tell you. Adieu." 
 
 By the time Prudence got home, a placard, written
 
 HIMSELr AGAIN. 45 
 
 in Prosper's best hand, was already on tlie window 
 shutters of the office, announcing to all passers-by, that 
 drawing lessons by a first-rate master were to be had 
 on moderate terms; for the terms and address to apply 
 within. From that day, Mr. Prosper, whenever his 
 avocations called him momentarily out of his premises, 
 and that was pretty often, we know, never failed, be- 
 fore recrossing the threshold, to stop and read his own 
 placard with the utmost attention, giving himself all 
 the while, to the best of his ability, the air of an ama- 
 teur meditating upon the benefit to be derived from the 
 union of a first-rate and cheap master. 
 
 Poor Prosper! his kindly artifice had no effect. 
 Luckily, however, after two days of heart-sickness, Mr. 
 Perrin appeared in the waiting-room of the establish- 
 ment, his sjjectacles particularly bright and clear; he 
 came to leave the address of a gentleman, on whom he 
 requested Mr. Paolo Mancini to call next day at eleven 
 in the morning. The gentleman in question was a savant 
 of much renown, named Pertuis, one who had brought 
 to bear upon Kome and the Romans of yore a 2)ro- 
 digious amount of knowledge and of critical acumen, 
 and the patience of a Benedictine monk. In all likeli- 
 hood, Mr. Pertuis knew more about both subjects than 
 most of their own contemporaries. 
 
 Mr. Pertuis occupied an old and rather quaint- 
 looking house in the Place Roy ale, a quiet nook in 
 busy, worldly Paris; and Paolo, while traversing a 
 suite of lofty rooms on his way to the study of the man 
 of learning, had his eyes and heart truly gladdened by 
 the sight of many a dear, and once to him familial", 
 object. On the walls were finely engraved views of 
 Rome; some good copies from Raphael — on pedestals.
 
 46 LAYINIA. 
 
 casts from chef d\vnvres of sculpture. Paolo found Mr. 
 Pertuis busy comparing different authors, with a view 
 to establishing a contested date, and the wide writing- 
 table before him having proved incapable of accommo- 
 dating the number of open volumes of all sizes', to which 
 he wanted to refer, the savant had ranged on either side 
 of the arm-cliair he occupied two lesser tables, also over- 
 loaded with books. It was in this state of circum- 
 vallation that Mr. Pertuis was surprised by Paolo, who, 
 according to orders, had been ushered in without any 
 previous announcement. The archajologist, therefore, 
 in order to get out of his entrenchment without en- 
 dangering the equilibrium of his tables, and the rank 
 and file of his books, a work of trouble and time, had 
 no other alternative but to push his chair backwards 
 ovit of risk of upsetting his allies, and to meet his visi- 
 tor by a flank movement, which he dexterously accom- 
 plished, laughing heartily, and apologizing at the same 
 time. 
 
 This trifling incident saved Paolo much of the awk- 
 wardness that invariably attends a first visit, particularly 
 Avhen the visitor is very shy, and comes to ask a favour. 
 Mr. Pertuis's cordial reception and amenity of manners, 
 without mentioning his fluent Italian, soon put Paolo 
 at his ease. Rome and Art were the exclusive topics 
 of the conversation, and Paolo spoke of both like 
 the warm-hearted patriot and devoted artist he was. If 
 Mr. Pertuis, as was more than probable, aimed at draw- 
 ing out his companion, his wish must have been fully 
 gratified. After the lapse of a good half-hoiu-, Paolo 
 felt it incumbent on him to rise; shaking hands, Mr. 
 Pertuis begged the favour of another call in a few days, 
 when he hoped to have found some opening for him.
 
 HIMSELF AGAIN. 47 
 
 This was all tlie allusion made to tlie circumstances, 
 which had hcen the motive of the young man's intro- 
 duction to the savant. 
 
 After a week, Paolo considered he might venture 
 again to seek an interview with his patron of the Place 
 Koyale. Mr. Pj3rtuis received him cordially, and handed 
 to him the address of a Mr. Boniface. 
 
 "An excellent friend of mine," added Mr. Pertuis; 
 "and an astronomer of much repute. I fear the occu- 
 pation he may have to offer you may not be very ac- 
 cc]3tahle, as it has nothing whatever in common Avith 
 your profession. Nevertheless, I would not advise you 
 to refuse it, for you remember the old saying — a bird 
 in the iiand is worth two in the bush." 
 
 Paolo eagerly assented, and lost no time in seeking 
 out Mr. Boniface. This gentleman was a retired em- 
 ploye of the observatory, Avho, by dint of having been 
 perpetually on the look-out for new planets, and new 
 or old comets, had nearly lost his eyesight. lie was 
 now using his forced leisure in arranging his fonner 
 notes and observations, and preparing them for publi- 
 cation; but, as he was unable either to read or write 
 for any length of time at a stretch, he Avanted a secre- 
 tary who could do both for him, and had for some time 
 been in quest of one, without ever liaving been able 
 to decide on any of those who had offered to take the 
 situation. For Mr. Boniface, simple and naif as a child 
 in all other respects, in what concerned his MS., dis- 
 trusted the entire bulk of mankind, being convinced 
 there was a general permanent conspiracy on foot to 
 rob him of his theory on the formation of comets, and 
 of the glory that must accrue from it. A foreigner 
 and a stranger to science, such as Mi*. Pertuis had
 
 48 LAVINIA. 
 
 guaranteed the person he recommended to be, was, 
 under the drcumstauces , a godsend to the old astro- 
 nomer. 
 
 "Sir," began Mr. Boniface, a tall bonj man past 
 sixty, rather bent, and with a green silk shade over his 
 eyes — "sii-, I must -warn you at once that I am very 
 fidgety in my ways." 
 
 Paolo thought it polite to make a deprecatory ges- 
 ture. 
 
 "Indeed, I am," continued Mr. Boniface; "my sister 
 here present will tell you that I am so, and not easily 
 to be satisfied — and — an early riser to boot, Maiie, 
 my dear, if I forget anything else I ought to say, be 
 so good as to remind me. Well, then, if what I have 
 confessed does not serve to deter you, sir, well, then, I 
 shall be glad if you agree to come, and we will begin 
 work to-morrow," Here Mr. Boniface stopped and gazed 
 vacantly at the space before him. 
 
 "About the hours," whisjiered sister Marie, into 
 his ear. 
 
 "Ah, yes — about the hours," resumed ]\L-, Boni- 
 face; "thank you, Marie, my dear, I had forgotten 
 about the hours. If you can be here by eight in the 
 morning, sir, at eight precisely, you will oblige me 
 greatly." 
 
 Paolo bowed assent. 
 
 "Very well, at eight in the morning; then it's all 
 settled;" and all being settled, Mr. Boniface gave a nod, 
 and relapsed into what seemed a trance. 
 
 "My brother's hours," said Mdlle. Marie, now taking 
 the conversation into her own hands, "are from eight 
 in the morning to mid-day, and again from one o'clock 
 to six in the evening. Will they suit you?"
 
 HIMSELF AGAIN. 49 
 
 "Perfectly, madam," said Paolo. 
 
 "Now for the terms," cried the sister again, iuto her 
 brother's ears. 
 
 "Ah, yes — for the terms," repeated Mr. Boniface, 
 awakening; "very kind of you to remind me of the 
 terms ■ — I had forgotten all about them. Well, then, 
 we say from eight in the morning till noon; will that 
 do?" 
 
 "It is not that," interrupted the sister, "it is not 
 that." 
 
 "How not that?" said the brother; "I am sui-e I 
 tl ought it was fiom eight till twelve." 
 
 "Bless me — yes, brother; but we are speaking 
 about money now, not hours. Shall I arrange it for 
 you, my dear?" 
 
 "Precisely, precisely," reiterated Mr. Boniface, sud- 
 denly relieved. 
 
 "My brother, sir," said Mdlle. Marie, turning to 
 Paolo, "offers four francs a day, or, to be more exact, 
 sixty francs a fortnight, always payable in advance; 
 each party remaining free at the expiration of the fifteen 
 days to break or renew the agreement. This clause," 
 added the lady, remarking the disagreeable effect it had 
 upon the young man, "means nothing further than that 
 my brother is, or fancies himself, over particular, and 
 consequently is unwilling to bind you for a longer pe- 
 riod than a fortnight to duties Avhich might prove un- 
 palatable to you." 
 
 Paolo stammered forth a few words, expressive of 
 confidence in his employer's indulgence, said that he 
 hoped to make up by zeal for his Avant of knowledge, 
 and withdrew, not at all enlightened, and considerably 
 alarmed as to tlie nature of the employment ho had uu- 
 
 Luvinia. IL 4
 
 50 LAVIXTA, 
 
 dertaken; whicli, however, proved on tlie morrow, as 
 far as one day's experience might be ti-usted, far less 
 trying than he had anticipated. His houi'S were thus 
 divided: from eight o'clock to twelve, he had to put in 
 chronological order a good many notes, and then reading 
 them aloud, to retrench or add to them under Mr. Boni- 
 face's dii'ection and dictation-, fi-om one to six iu the 
 evening, to make a fair copy of the morning's work. 
 
 As a neighbouring clock struck six, Mdlle. Boniface 
 appeared to aimounce to her brother that dinner was 
 on the table, and to Paolo that his task for the day 
 was over. Paolo took his leave, and was already in 
 the passage, when he was overtaken by Mademoiselle, 
 who put a small packet in his hand, explaining that it 
 was the fortnight's salary, as stipulated. The young 
 man reddened , as if he had been caught in the act of 
 stealing the famous theory, and hurried away without 
 a word of thanks. 
 
 The first thing he did, even before allowiug himself 
 the meal, of which he stood in great need, was to go 
 and hire a fui-nished room in the garret of a house in 
 the Eue du Four, a street close to Rue Cassette, where 
 Mr. Boniface lived; the second, to buy some toys for 
 the children, and then for himself a hat, to replace 
 Prosper's old greasy cap. This done, he entered a 
 third or fourth rate restam-ant, and indulged in what had 
 become a luxury to him, viz. a bouillon, a beefsteak aux 
 poinmes-de-tevre, and bread a discretion — all enjoyed 
 for the modest sum of fifteen sous, one sou for the waiter 
 included. 
 
 Great was the impatience with which Mi'. Prosper's 
 household waited to know how Mr. Paolo had passed 
 his day, and gTcat Avas the excitement produced by his
 
 HIMSELF AGAIN. 51 
 
 accoiTnt, and the presentation of the sword and gun for 
 the little ones; but there was almost a tumult Tivhen he 
 announced that he had taken a lodging, and meant to 
 go and sleep there that night. Benoit especially was 
 so overcome by his feelings, and by something else to 
 boot, that in an attempt to vent them on the wall, he 
 lost his balance, and would have fallen flat on the ground, 
 but for the "boy's" catching him in his arms — an em- 
 brace from which Paolo could not extricate himself 
 short of many solemn vows never to forget his "vieux." 
 
 By ten o'clock that night Paolo was established in 
 his attic, busy with his accounts. Eight francs paid in 
 advance for a fortnight's rent of his room, five francs 
 for his hat, fifteen sous for the toys, ditto for his dinner, 
 made up a sum of fourteen francs fifty centimes, an 
 enormous amount for one day, which, deducted from the 
 sixty he had received, left a balance of five-andforty 
 francs, and fifty centimes. Paolo reckoned that, by 
 exercising the strictest economy, with the proviso that 
 Mr. Boniface continued satisfied with him, he might be 
 able to realize within two months wherewithal to defray 
 his journey back to Home. Two mouths seemed long 
 in prospect, but they would pass as so many others had 
 passed, and with this consolatory reflection he jumped 
 into his bed, which gave a succession of cracks, like the 
 bursting of a rocket. A rap on the thin partition wall 
 immediately followed. Paolo rapped back, and a voice 
 so near that it seemed to be in the room, said, — 
 
 '"'' Boiine tiiiit, voit:iii.^' 
 
 ''^ Bonne nuit, voisin,'" returned Paolo; and then all 
 relapsed into silence. 
 
 "A neighbour of a kind disposition," thought Paolo. 
 "Pd bet any wager that he is just such another poor 
 
 4*
 
 52 LAVINIA. 
 
 devil as I am. Poverty is a good conductor of kind- 
 liness. Were tliis a palace, and my neighbour and I 
 millionnaires — save us, ye gods — what introductions, 
 and notes, and cards it would need to bring us to- 
 gether." 
 
 Paolo could think no further, for he fell asleep. 
 We will leave him in this satisfactory condition, and 
 take a trip across the Channel to see after the fortunes 
 of one, whose claims on our sympathy are scarcely, if 
 at all, inferior to those of our Morpheus-stricken friend. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Alternative. 
 
 Nothing could prevail on Miss Lavinia to leave the 
 house in Avhich her aunt had died. The very reasons 
 urged by Mr. Jones against her remaining there, its sad 
 associations and utter solitude, for the surrounding villas 
 were emptying apace for the London season, only served 
 to endear Holly Lodge to her. What Lavinia wished 
 above all things, was to be let alone. Hers was not 
 one of those griefs, which seek to be diverted, or eva- 
 porate in visits of condolence and idle demonstrations. 
 Mr. Jones did not insist. There was that about Lavinia 
 — a something new and imposing, the majesty of sor- 
 row — which enforced acquiescence. In all the bloom 
 of health . and spirits , in all the splendour of her gay 
 attire of yore, she had never impressed him as being 
 half so commanding and queen-like, as she did now 
 in her plain mourning dress, with her pale face and de- 
 jected looks. 
 
 Nor was she sorry to be separated from Mr. Jones
 
 THE ALTERNATIVE. 53 
 
 at this period. Her uncle had gained notliing in lier 
 eyes of late. The deceit he had practised on her, and 
 imposed on his wife, the perfect indifference and unfeel- 
 ingness he had displayed throughout the whole of Mrs. 
 Jones's illness, were little calculated to increase the 
 esteem or affection of his niece for him. Nor had she 
 forgotten a confidence made to her in a moment of 
 anguish, at Rome, viz. that Mrs. Jones had married with- 
 out a settlement, and that consequently all she possessed 
 had become Mr. Jones's property. Arguing upon the 
 strength of her recent impressions, Lavinia came to the 
 conclusion that Mr. Jones's sole aim in marrying the 
 widow Jarman, had been to get hold of her money, 
 and that he had done so by taking advantage of her 
 simplicity and good faith. The prospect, therefore, of 
 residing with, and indeed of being entirely dependent 
 on, a man so unscrupulous and selfish, alarmed her 
 moral sense and revolted her honest pride. Had she 
 but been wiser, she would not have lacked a firm friend 
 and protector in this crisis. Much did she now dwell 
 on Paolo and on his love for her, and oh! how she 
 wished from the depths of her soul that she could re- 
 call the past. Vain longings! vainer regrets! she had 
 wilfully thrown away, past hope of recovery, that which 
 would have been a strong stay alike in haj)piness or 
 sorrow. She was alone in the world — no, not alone 
 — she had a father. 
 
 And then she resolved on having an explanation 
 with her uncle about this unknown father of hers, and 
 anxiously waited for an opportunity. This, however, 
 did not occur for some little time. Mr. Jones wrote 
 frequently to her would-be kind and consolatory notes, 
 asking after her health, and whether she wanted for
 
 54 LAY1^"IA. 
 
 anytliing, but he stayed away a whole fortnight. When 
 he at last made his appearance, it so happened that 
 Lavinia was too unwell to venture upon a topic so tiy- 
 ing to her feelings, and she was fain to put off her in- 
 quiries until a more favourable moment. 
 
 The next Sunday morning brought !Mr. Jones again 
 to the Lodge, and this time Lavinia at once told him 
 she was glad to see him, as she av anted to know all 
 that he could tell her of her father. Mr. Jones grew 
 black in the face, which was his way of blushing, and 
 with an oath, — 
 
 "So the old woman peached, did she; never mind, 
 it is all the better that she broke the ice for me. I had 
 made wp my mind to tell you all, but you must curb 
 your impatience. You will require, I know, tangible 
 proofs of what I have to say, and you shall have them 
 on my next visit." 
 
 Not another syllable on this subject could Lavinia 
 draw from him. 
 
 The day of the longed-for explanation at length 
 amved; it was on the Sunday following that on which 
 Lavinia had asked for it. Mr. Jones's statement was 
 full, minute, consistent in all its parts, leaving nothing 
 to desire in point of cleai-ness of evidence. We give 
 its substance in as few w^ords as possible, though with 
 some touches, which Mr. Jones's modesty suppressed 
 about himself 
 
 Mr. Mark Jones had, as we already know, a bro- 
 ther older than himself by some years, who went to 
 seek his fortune in London, and had been established 
 there for some time as a wine merchant, when the 
 younger brother set out for the capital, bent on a 
 similar errand. Xay, it even clearly resulted from some
 
 THE ALTERNATIVK. 55 
 
 of our Mr, Jones's reluctantly made admissions, that this 
 elder brother had been of some use to the younger, on 
 his debut in the vast theatre of the metropolis. How- 
 ever this may be, it came to pass that in proportion to 
 the rise of the" younger's fortunes, was the decline of 
 those of the elder, owing to his addictedness to drink. 
 The issue was bankruptcy, and the bankrupt drank the 
 harder to console himself, and became what all drunk- 
 ards become, a pest to society. 
 
 The younger brother, who had just married the 
 widow Jarman, felt the presence of this near relative 
 to be a disgrace, and fearing that the discredit it re- 
 flected on himself might injure the profitable and 
 genteel business he was now carrying on, agreed to 
 secure a small annuity to the ex-wine-merchant, on con- 
 dition that he should quit the fashionable West End, 
 and banish himself to one of the most distant and 
 obscure suburbs. The bargain was at once accepted, 
 and the bankrupt retired to Whitcchapcl, where he 
 found some one willing to help him to bear his troubles. 
 So he married and had a daughter, who received the 
 high-sounding name ofLavinia. Though forbidden any, 
 whatever intercourse with his lucky relative of the West 
 End, the exile of Whitechapel repeatedly applied, botli 
 in writing and in person, to Mr. Mark Jones for an 
 increase of his annuity, which he alleged to be scarcely 
 enough for one, and starvation for two. ]\Ir. Mark said 
 he should have thought of that before he took a wife, 
 and obstinately resisted all importunities until this child 
 was born; when, more out of fear of further disgrace 
 from an exposure of family circxmistances than from 
 compassion, he consented to a small augmentation of 
 the allowance.
 
 56 LAVINIA. 
 
 After this, tlie written demands and personal requests 
 for money grew rarer, but did not wholly cease for all 
 that, and it was upon the occasion of one of these 
 interested visits, that Mrs. Jones first noticed and was 
 captivated by the little Lavinia, who had accompanied 
 her father. Lavinia was then seven years old, and a 
 miracle of beauty, gentleness, and intelligence. Even 
 matter-of-fact Mr. Jones was not insensible to her in- 
 fantine grace, and precocious witty sayings; so no 
 wonder Mrs. Jones, to whom Providence had denied 
 the boon of children, should have earnestly desired to 
 adopt and bring her up as her OAvn child. It is not to 
 be supjiosed that Mr. Jones yielded at first, or with a 
 good grace, to his wife's wishes, but he did so at last; 
 and after much mean haggling, that bargain was entered 
 into between the two brothers, the clauses of which 
 have been already hinted at by dying Mrs. Jones. 
 When Lavinia was made over by her willing parents 
 to their rich relations, she was immediately consigned 
 to a first-rate boarding-school to receive a brilliant 
 education. Together with this act of adoption, Mr. 
 Jones took another important step; he parted with the 
 Italian warehouse. He had capital enough to insure his 
 being a man of some importance anywhere, and self- 
 conceit enough to match his capital. 
 
 A couple of years after Mr. Jones's name as a 
 tradesman had been erased from the General Directory., 
 he received by post a note, entreating his attendance 
 without delay at the residence of a Mary Holywell, 
 who had imj^ortant revelations to make with respect to 
 Miss Lavinia Jones, without doing which, she did not 
 dare to face death. The appeal, earnestly worded 
 enough, might, as the experienced Mr. Jones was
 
 TUB ALTERNATIVE. 57 
 
 aware, be a snare to draw tim into an ambush, from 
 whence no escape without undrawing his purse; it 
 might even be one of his Avortliy brother's stratagems 
 to force from him a few more pounds; and Mr. Jones 
 liad fifty minds to throw note and request to the winds. 
 But there is fascination in a mystery, and so after 
 wasting some hours in wise pros and cons, Mr. Jones 
 ended by proceeding to the address given by the soi- 
 disajit Mary Holywell. 
 
 It was one of those haunts of vice and misery, which 
 a beast of the field would not have chosen for its lair; 
 one of the foul excrescences, not unfrequently met with 
 on the smooth stuccoed surface of the proud, rich, and 
 prudish metropolis of Great Britain. At the house, to 
 which he had been directed, Mr. Jones found a woman, 
 evidently in the last stage of consumption, on Avhose 
 death-striken face still lingered the traces of great past 
 beauty, and who in a husky voice jjainfully gasped 
 out the following strange tale. 
 
 She had known the elder Mr. Jones and his wife 
 well, having occupied for years a house in common 
 with them in WhitechapeL She herself had at that 
 time been living with a man, a Spitalfields weaver, who 
 was not her husband, and she and her fellow-lodger 
 Mrs. Jones, had been confmed within a week or two of 
 one another, and admiring the name given to the 
 Jones's baby, she had called hers also Lavinia. Lavinia 
 Jones, always a puny, sickly child, died before it was 
 quite a twelvemonth old, a great distress to the father, 
 who became alarmed that the increase of allowance, 
 made on account of his child, Avould bo withdrawn by 
 his brother, as soon as he knew of the poor little 
 creature's death. Under this pressure, Jones proposed
 
 58 LAVINIA. 
 
 to lier to let tlie deceased child pass for liers, and to 
 give liim up lier living infant, for the consideration of 
 a weekly allowance. She was sickly, pleaded Mary 
 Holywell, unable to work, and otherwise utterly desti- 
 tute. The man she lived with had left her and gone 
 to California. God forgive her, but she was sorely 
 tried, and yielded to Jones's tempting tongue. She did 
 not feel much what she had done, as long as her girl 
 lived with her fellow-lodgers, but her heart had begun 
 to trouble her, when Mr. Mark Jones took the chile!, 
 believing it to be his own blood, and now she couldn't 
 die with the lie on her conscience. 
 
 AYell, we have not recorded much good of Mark 
 Jones: he was compassionate in this instance, he sent 
 a medical man to attend on Mary Holywell; but the 
 poor troubled spirit, relieved from its burden of a bad 
 secret, passed away on the very following day. 
 
 Mr. Jones was a man of business habits, therefore 
 he went at once to the registrar's office for the parfsh 
 of Whitechapel, to seek confirmation of the allegations 
 made by Mary Holywell, There he found, and had 
 copies taken of the certificates, which he now laid 
 before his j^resent Avretched listener, — one of Lavinia 
 Jones's death, and one of Lavinia Holywell's birth. 
 His next act was to go to his brother's, with the two 
 damnatory documents in his hand, and there he swore 
 a frightful oath, that if the guilty wretch ever breathed 
 a syllable of this foul transaction, or even showed his 
 face again in his (Mark Jones's) neighbourhood, he 
 Avould try what punishment the law awarded for such 
 knavery. This done, he debated with himself what his 
 own course should be, and he came to the conclusion 
 — half from liking to the child, half from dread of the
 
 TUE ALTERNATIVE. 59 
 
 scandal Avliicli niiglit arise — tliat tLe Avisest tliiug to 
 do was to bold Lis tongue, and keep Lis knowledge to 
 Limself, even to tLe exclusion of Lis wife; and tliis 
 determination Le Lad steadily adLered to, up to tLis 
 moment of revelation to Lavinia lierself. 
 
 A tLunderbolt does not carry stronger conviction of 
 its reality to tLe senses of tLe terror-striken Avayfarer, 
 at wLose feet it falls, tLan did tLe trutLfulness and 
 autLenticity of Mr. Jones's statement to tLe almost 
 stunned mind of Lavinia. SLe took in, nevertLeless, 
 at one glance and for ever, its wLole purport, and was 
 spared at least tLe struggles of suspense. All failed 
 Ler at once — tLe past, tLe present, tLe future, even 
 Ler own identity. TLe very affection, wLicL from tLe 
 otLer side of tLe grave cast a ray of ligLt into tLe 
 camera oscura of Ler life, was no longer Lers — sLe 
 Lad no riglit to it. Her inner as well as Ler oiiter 
 world reeled and crumbled about licr. JJespair clutcbed 
 tLe poor girl's Leart, and Liding Ler face witL Ler Lands, 
 sLe burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 Mr. Jones tried to console Ler in Lis way. TLere 
 was no occassion for Ler to put Lerself in sucL a state; 
 it was mere folly; for wLat, after all, was tlicrc 
 clianged in Ler situation? — notliing but a name. Uad 
 Le not known of Ler real condition for tliese eleven 
 years past, and yet Lad Le not gone on witli Ler edu- 
 cation, just as if sLe Lad been Lis real niece; made 
 Ler tLe tLorougli lady sLe Avas, and wLicL sLe migLt 
 remain to tLe end of Ler days, if sLe only trusted to 
 Lim? His Louse was Lers as before. Lis fortune at 
 Ler disposal, as it Lad been, and so on. Lav'inia sobbed 
 out Ler tLanks as best sLc could, but said, tLe sLock 
 Lad been too sudden, Lad taken Ler so unawares, tliat
 
 60 liAVIKIA. 
 
 slie must have time and quiet to think, and to regain 
 composure. Certainly, poor thing, agreed Mr. Jones. 
 He showed himself, under the circumstances, both dis- 
 creet and attentive. He called to see her the next day, 
 and the next, but only stayed a few minutes, as he 
 exjolained, to satisfy himself that she was not ill, and 
 wanted for nothing. By and by, he relapsed into his 
 usual Sunday visit. 
 
 Thus two months passed by — two months full for 
 Lavinia of anxious consultations with herself. One 
 point was perfectly clear to her perception. She could 
 not go on with any propriety living under the same 
 roof with, and eating the bread of one to whom she 
 was no kin, who had been, in fact, by a fraud, forced, 
 as it were, to become her benefactor. Independently 
 of her innate self-respect, which forbade such a course, 
 she would, so she felt, at least, by continuing to occupy 
 a place which was not hers by right, be a party, passive 
 indeed, but still a party, to a deceit upon the world. 
 But where was she to go? how was she to support 
 herself? She had none from whom to ask advice and 
 guidance; because to none had she the courage to 
 reveal the shame of her birth. None but Mr. Jones. 
 "Why then not trust him? He had con-espondents, con- 
 nections, interests in every quarter of the globe; of all 
 people he was the best able to help her, and having 
 the power, why should she doubt his good will? He 
 had showTi himself to her a real friend. Thus arguing 
 with herself, she came to the conclusion that she would 
 make him the confident of her wish to find some situa- 
 tion — abroad. 
 
 Mr. Jones's conduct well justified his claim to the 
 title of friend, that she had bestowed on him. She had
 
 THE ALTERNATIVE. 61 
 
 surely misjudged the man. He was unoLti'usively at- 
 tentive, kind, at times almost tenderly so. He brought 
 lier newspapers, books, and the choicest flowers; he 
 never interfered with her wishes by word or deed, even 
 seemed quite reconciled to her plan of seclusion. He 
 availed himself of every opportunity to encourage and 
 reassure her as to her future. He had even repeatedly 
 hinted at a something in store for her — a something 
 that might greatly surprise, but he fondly hoped Avould 
 not be displeasing to her. She knew not Avhat to make 
 of this innuendo, unless it was an allusion to some ofter 
 of marriage he had received for her. If so, the moment, 
 in her opinion, was ill chosen, but it would be a 
 reason the more why she should let him know her 
 intentions. 
 
 One afternoon, before dinner, she summoned all her 
 courage, and told him she wished to speak to him 
 about herself. He did not look at all disturbed — of 
 the two, rather pleased. He said that, thougli he was 
 not her uncle, that did not militate against his being 
 her friend — a tenderer friend than perhaps she sur- 
 mised, and as he spoke, he took one of her hands 
 in his. 
 
 "I am sure you are my friend," replied Lavinia, 
 "and indeed I am grateful to you for your kindness; 
 at the same time you must acknowledge, that your 
 being only my friend, and unfortunately not my uncle, 
 must prevent my remaining with you on the same 
 footing as if I were in reality your niece." 
 
 "Well, I allow it," replied Mr. Jones, and added 
 quickly, in a M'ould-be passionate tone, "why may I 
 not become to you something better than uncle or 
 friend?"
 
 62 LATINTA. 
 
 She did not seize his meaning. 
 
 "Is there not a more sacred and dearer title that 
 you can bestow on me?'" asked he, in a still tenderer 
 tone-, "a title -which will confer on me the right to 
 protect you in the face of tlie whole world?" 
 
 She looked alarmed and perplexed, like one who 
 cannot take in the sense of earnest words, spoken in 
 an unknown language. 
 
 "I am healthy, and strong," went on the tempter, 
 "and many a younger lady than you are, has married 
 an older man than I am, and not nied the bargain; 
 quite the contraiy. "What do you say to it, eh?" 
 
 She remained as if made of stone for a while; then 
 violently disengaging her hand, and recoiling from his 
 effort to repossess himself of it as from the touch of 
 a serpent, she sprang to the other end of the room, 
 saying, — 
 
 "Oh! never — never — rather die I'' 
 
 Mr. Jones turned the colour of lead, and strode 
 towards her with a menacing air — all the worst 
 passions which degi'ade man's natuie flushed from his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Don't rouse the devil in me,"' he shouted, "or 
 by •' 
 
 He made an effort to conti'ol himself, reti-eated a 
 step or two, and burst into a coarse laugh. 
 
 "I am a precious donkey to take your big words 
 seriously; you'll not find it easy to bully me, I warn 
 you. I mean to have you for my wife, and, will you, 
 nill you, my wife you shall be. I give you a night 
 and a day for meditation on the difference between 
 abandonment, beggary, starvation, and every luxury of 
 life, a jolly husband, and lots of friends. You'll say
 
 TUB ALTERNATIVE. 63 
 
 'yes' to me witli a good grace, I dare say." And he 
 left lier. 
 
 Lavinia locked herself into her room, watching 
 ■with a throbbing heart for the sound of wheels, to let 
 her know that he was gone. Sooner than she had 
 hojied, she heard his gig drive away. Then she threw 
 herself on her knees, and first prayed long and fervently, 
 then putting a few articles of clothing into a small 
 carpet-bag, she glided out of the house, and walked as 
 fast as she could to the nearest railway station. Within 
 another hour she was at the Loudon terminus. There 
 she took a cab, telHng the coachman to drive to Camden 
 Town. The name had slipped involuntarily from her 
 lips, in the effort to remember some out-of-the-way 
 place. She had never been in Camden Town, did not 
 know whether it Avas a single street, or a suburb con- 
 sisting of many streets. 
 
 The coachman asked whereabouts he was to stop 
 in Camden Town; "it were a loose sort of direction." 
 
 *'I will pull the check-string," said the perplexed 
 girl. 
 
 She was made aware of having reached her desti- 
 nation by the obstinate turning of the cabman to peep 
 in at her. She stopped him at once, paid him his 
 demand, took her carpet-bag, and walked straight on, 
 not quite sure whether she was awake or in a dream. 
 The cabman stared after her, shook his head, then set 
 his horse again in motion, satisfied that it was no busi- 
 ness of his to care what became of his out-of-the-way 
 passengers. 
 
 Lavinia's legs tottered under her, as she looked to 
 the right and the left, trying for the courage to knock 
 at one of the many houses, in the windows of which
 
 64 LAvnoA. 
 
 were notices of apartments to let. Xo bencli near for 
 the tired, yet rest she must; she was ready to drop 
 on the pavement — still wandering on, wandering on. 
 She was now in a row of two-storeyed, neat little 
 houses; looking over the railing, she could see the 
 four walls of the front parloui-s ; anything so diminutive 
 must be cheap. She knocked at one of these small 
 dwellings, and said she wanted a room. It was the 
 landlady herself who opened the door; after a close 
 and suspicious inspection of the inquirer, she answered 
 that she never let rooms to single ladies. A second 
 application farther down the row met the same fate. 
 The third time she was permitted to see a room, but 
 when, in reply to the query of what luggage she had, 
 she allowed that she had nothing but the carpet-bag in 
 her hand, she was told, civilly enough, that the room 
 was already all but let to another party, and that she 
 had better try elsewhere. A fourth attempt succeeded. 
 The landlady of Xo. 25 was either more needy or less 
 distiTistful ; to be sure, she required an assui'ance that 
 the young lady received no visits, and was willing to 
 pay a foiiinight's rent in advance, Lavinia drew out 
 her purse, and paid the money immediately — not 
 without difficulty, indeed, everything round her reeled 
 so. After this preliminaiy, she was admitted into a 
 clean, tidy room, surprisingly cheap to the poor tyio 
 in poverty. If she Avanted for anything, there was a 
 bell, said the landlady. Xotliing: Lavinia wanted no- 
 thing, only rest, she said, as she laid herself down on 
 the horse-hair sofa.
 
 FOUND AND LOST AGAIN. 65 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Found and Lost again. 
 
 The reader may perhaps owe us a grudge for having 
 so long kept Mr. Thornton out of sight, and for having 
 left unsolved a riddle or two connected with that gentle- 
 man. Had he really gone to the United States in search 
 of Paolo, as the last visa of his passport, entered at the 
 Bureau des Passeports, would lead one naturally to be- 
 lieve? And, if so, what could have been his motive, 
 and that of the clerk of the consulate, and of the soli- 
 citors in London, for making a mystery of his destina- 
 tion? AVc are going to meet categorically, and we hope 
 satisfactorily, this double query; our only reason for not 
 having done so before, being that we cannot relate the 
 history of several people at one and the same time. 
 
 Mortimer had, after leaving the Kue de Rohan for 
 the Rue Neuve des Augustins, still continued to receive 
 communications connected with his advertisement about 
 Paolo, most of them unworthy of notice, but which he 
 persevered in forwarding to the jiolicc. One letter, 
 however, dated from Havre, alike from its feeling tone, 
 and the quarter from Avhence it assumed to come, com- 
 manded his attention. The writer, who styled himself 
 the agent of a company for emigration to the United 
 States, and who professed himself to be a philanthropist, 
 explained how his sympathy had been aroused by the 
 perseverance of the advertiser, and how consequently 
 he had set on foot an inquiry in his own office, with 
 the view of ascertaining whether any one answering to 
 the description of the person missing had applied for a 
 
 Lavinia, II. 5
 
 66 LAVINIA. 
 
 passage in any of tlie company's steamers. Tlie result 
 of the inquiry was, tliat, in fact, a young man whose 
 appearance tallied with the description given of Signer 
 Paolo Mancini, had called at the office on the 26th of 
 March last, and had secured a second-class berth for 
 New York in the AtalanVi. The name of this person, 
 as appeared from the books, was Paolo Manni, and not 
 Mancini-, but the slight difference in the surnames might 
 be, perhaps, owing to some incorrectness of the clerk 
 who had registered the passenger. Unfortunately, wrote 
 Thornton's unknown correspondent, he had not himself 
 seen the Italian, but should the advertiser think it worth 
 his while to follow out this clue, and come to Havre, 
 the clerk above mentioned would be too happy to impart 
 all his recollections as to the personal appearance of the 
 gentleman booked as Paolo Manni. Here followed the 
 signature of the writer, and the street and number of 
 the office at which application Avas to be made. A 
 postscript further intimated that the steamer No7ichalant 
 would leave Havre for New York on the day after the 
 morrow. 
 
 Mortimer thought the indications too precious to 
 allow of a moment's hesitation. He went straight to 
 the police, had his passport vised for the United States, 
 in order to be ready for instant embarkation, if neces- 
 sary, and then set off for Ha\T.-e, where he was not long 
 before he ascertained that he was the victim of a heart- 
 less hoax. The signature, the street, the number, and 
 the office, were one and all a fabrication. Thornton 
 came back utterly discomfited, and more sombre and 
 dejected than ever. He took to going frequently to the 
 Morgue. The ill-omened spot, and the lurid sights it 
 presented had a sort of savage fascination for him. The
 
 FOUND AND LOST AGAIN. 67 
 
 impression, which he had had from the first, that Paolo 
 had thrown himself into the river, returned again and 
 again with the pertinacity and vigour of mania, and his 
 diseased fancy could not help speculating upon how 
 Paolo's dead body would look, stretched on the lugu- 
 brious flagstones of the sinister establishment. Thornton 
 was there one morning when a body, just dragged out 
 of the river, was being carried in. It had lain in the 
 water but a few hours, and was not at all disfigured. 
 It was the corpse of a young girl, not yet twenty, 
 middle-sized, slender, and strikingly handsome. The 
 wet masses of her rich auburn hair adhering to her 
 temples and neck, brought out in strong relief the 
 alabaster delicacy of her complexion. She was dressed 
 in white. Great was the concourse of people round the 
 beautiful dead girl, unanimous the pity, and loud the 
 guesses as to the cause of her untimily end. A 
 disappointment in love was, of course, the solution 
 given. 
 
 Longand wistfully did Mortimer gaze at the solemnly 
 quiet face, and lo! as he gazed, a strange work of trans- 
 formation, such as Ave have examples of in our dreams, 
 slowly accomplished itself in the solemnly quiet f;\ce, 
 until the unknown features shaped and settled them- 
 selves into those familiar ones, wliich had been for the 
 last nine years engraved in outlines of fire on his brain 
 and heart. All notion of time was obliterated withal, 
 and it seemed but yesterday that she, whom he identified 
 in the corpse now lying on those cold stones before him, 
 was hanging, a happy, confiding girl, on his ann; and 
 he had had the heart, madman that he was, to fling her 
 from him, and consign her to despair. And hero Avas 
 his work! and so then he was standinjr a convicted
 
 68 LAVINIA. 
 
 murderer before Lis victim! Under the sway of tliis 
 horrible delusion , Mortimer rushed forth and precipitated 
 himself into the Seine ! 
 
 In large and crowded cities, a man may drop from 
 sheer exhaustion, and breathe his last on the unfriendly 
 pavement little heeded; but if he takes to the river for 
 his death-bed, he is sure to be interfered with by the 
 very persons who would have shrugged their shoulders, 
 and passed on the other side, in the first case. The 
 reason of the difference is obvious; the inhabitants of 
 large towns are biased and fearful of being imposed 
 ujion; a man writhing and foiiming at the mouth in tlie 
 street maybe an impostor, whereas he who plunges into 
 running water cannot but be in downright earnest; and 
 once the possibility of a trick removed, human sensibi- 
 lities reassert their rights and get fair play. No sooner 
 was Thornton in the water, than a double shout was 
 raised from a multitude of anxious spectators lining both 
 banks of the Seine, and several boats and swimmers 
 put off to the rescue. A barge full of timber was coming 
 up the river; the man at the helm manoeuvred, so as 
 to place the barge sideways. Thornton, borne swiftly 
 doAvn the current, was stopped awhile by this impedi- 
 ment, then sank under it. A loud cry from the shores 
 testified to the universal horror; a boat shot forward to 
 the sjiot where Thornton had disappeared, and one of 
 the men in her jumped into the water and dived. There 
 was a moment of thrilling silent suspense, and then the 
 brave fellow rea£)peared, and not alone. A real shout 
 of triumph and admiration rent the air. With a stroke 
 or two of the oars, the men left in the boat brought 
 her close enough to preserved and preserver to lift them 
 safely in, and in five mimites more the still unconscious
 
 FOUND AND LOST AGAIN. 69 
 
 Englishman, followed by the excited multitude, was 
 being carried to the nearest corps de garde. 
 
 A commissioner of police was already there, who, 
 as soon as Mortimer recovered his senses, proceeded to 
 an interrogatory. Mortimer's replies were at first collected 
 and to the point. He said who he was, and where he 
 lived , and cautioned the functionary not to interfere with 
 the liberty of a British subject. But when questioned 
 as to what had impelled him to attempt self-destruction, 
 he began raving that he was a murderer , and that ho 
 had passed sentence of death upon himself. He referred 
 the commissioner to the Morgue, where he would see 
 his (Thornton's) victim. The commissioner, though 
 strongly* impressed with the belief that he had to deal 
 with a person in a state of insanity, sent one of his staff" 
 to the Morgue, who brought back imformation which 
 completely proved the groundlessness of Mortimer's self- 
 accusation. He was accordingly conveyed in a carriage 
 to his lodgings, and left there under the strict surveil- 
 lance of two police agents in plain clothes, lest he should 
 renew his attempt against his life. In the meantime, 
 the English embassy was officially informed of what had 
 occurred, and a clerk of the British consulate, the very 
 same to whom Paolo and Prudence had applied for in- 
 formation about Thornton, was sent to the Eue Neuve 
 des Augustius, 
 
 Mortimer answered all this gentleman's inquiries 
 rationally; said he had no near relations that he knew 
 of; and when asked to do so, made no difficulty to give 
 the address of his solicitors in London; but once put on 
 the track of his late rash act, immediately accused him- 
 self of murder, launching forth in the same wild strain 
 as before. As Thornton seemed to have no friends
 
 70 LAVINIA. 
 
 about him, tlie best thing to do was to telegraph to 
 Messrs. Henstrid and Co. information of the state of their 
 client. 
 
 One of the firm from Golden Square came at once 
 to Paris and had the unfortunate gentleman examined 
 by the English physician of the embassy, and by the 
 eminent Frenchman, Dr. Ternel, whose specialty Avas 
 the treatment of mental diseases. Both these gentlemen 
 agreed that Mr. Thornton was labouring under delusious, 
 and could not with safety to himself be left without 
 restraint. Upon this a sort of family council was held, 
 composed of the commissioner of police, the clerk of 
 the consulate, and the representative of the firm of 
 Henstrid and Co., and attended by the two physicians, 
 who had already examined into the case. It was then 
 iinanimously decided on, that the best course to pursue, 
 was to place the English gentleman under the care of 
 Dr. Ternel, and for that purpose to have him removed 
 to a maison de saute, immediately under that celebrated 
 man's direction. Owing to the infinite tact and persua- 
 sive ways of Mr. Ternel, no difficulty or demur was 
 made to the carrying out of this plan, by him whom it 
 chiefly concerned. 
 
 The nature of Thornton's malady, one of those which 
 relations and friends strive to conceal to the very last, 
 accounts for the evasive and ambiguous answers of 
 Messrs. Henstrid and Co. and of the clerk of the con- 
 sulate. 
 
 It is scarcely necessary to add, that Mortimer's se- 
 clusion put an end to all further advertisements, or in- 
 quiries about Paolo. More than this, one of the strangest 
 symptoms of Thornton's derangement was the dread and 
 terror, with which the recollection of Paolo was attended.
 
 FOUND AND LOST AGAIN. 71 
 
 He was often busied writing out petitions for protection 
 against tlie persecution lie endured, and claiming from 
 Dr. Ternel the promise that he would prevent Paolo 
 from having access to him. 
 
 Madame Fran(,'oise had felt keenly for her lodger, 
 nor did she desert him in this his time of need. She 
 was frequently at the Malson de Sante ^ striving to com- 
 fort him with a woman's ingenious kindness. But a 
 month having elapsed without any. apparent improve- 
 ment in his condition, and her questions as to the pro- 
 bability of a speedy recovery meeting Avith no more 
 explicit answer from Dr. Ternel than a doubtful shake 
 of the head, the good lady lost heart and went to 
 Evreux to redeem her long-made promise to be with 
 her daughter during her approaching confinement. 
 
 Dr. Ternel did not shake his head in despair of 
 Thornton's case, but in despair at not being able to 
 seize on the indispensable clue for handling and mas- 
 tering it. Such details as Madame Fran(,'oise had been 
 able to relate of Thornton, previous to his outbreak of 
 madness in the Morgue, though of service in forming a 
 partial diagnosis, were of too scattered a nature, and 
 too disconnected with the immediate cause of Thornton's 
 disorder, to afford the doctor a good standing ground. 
 Material evidence it was that Dr. Ternel wanted, in 
 order to counteract effectually the lunatic's delusions. 
 Till he could lay hold of that, and there was little 
 likelihood of his doing so, he had scarcely any hope 
 of a favourable result to his treatment. The unlucky 
 Englishman seemed an isolated being. Apart from the 
 quarterly payments made regularly for him, no one in- 
 quired about, or cared for him. Poor deserted Thorn- 
 ton!
 
 72 LAVINIA. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 On the Left Bank of the Seine. 
 
 Was Paolo really in gay, turbulent, noisy Paris, or 
 liad he fallen from the clouds into some convent on the 
 top of Mount Lebanon? Such was the question that he 
 often put to himself during the first days of his new 
 employment. The house inhabited by Mr. Boniface was 
 the quietest of a quiet collection of houses, through a 
 court, down an alley, between another court and a gar- 
 den, in quiet Rue Cassette-, and the quietest nook in 
 this quietest of houses, was allotted to Paolo for his 
 daily avocations. The cell of an anchorite, as far as 
 silence and retirement go, could alone stand a compa- 
 rison with his little study. Not the faintest echo of the 
 noisy world without found a way to it, and within, no 
 sound but that of the scraping of a pen against paper. 
 The maids who shook carpets out of the opposite 
 windows, did so with a care; the very sparrows which 
 lighted on the solitary tree in the centre of the noise- 
 less court below, seemed impressed by the stillness that 
 reigned, and chirped sotto voce. 
 
 Paolo had never come in contact before with a real 
 devotee of science, and for the first time had an idea 
 of that tranquil, unremitting race after knowledge, 
 which the life of an intellectual pioneer can be. The 
 specimen he had under his eye interested him the more. 
 Scientific speculation was with Mr. Boniface a process 
 as natural, indispensable, and continuous as respiration. 
 Shut up as in a coat of mail in his world of thoughts 
 and calculations, the only realities for him, he forgot
 
 ON THE LEFT BAKE OF THE SEIKE. to 
 
 the external world and its exigencies, and would have 
 dropped exhausted over his volume or his slate, with- 
 out a surmise of the why and tlie wherefore, had not 
 his sister been at hand to warn him that it was time to 
 breakfast or to dine. A fish out of water was not more 
 helpless than he was, when summoned from the lofty 
 regions in which his spirit soared, and forced to take 
 into consideration any detail of common life — such, for 
 instance, as the being measured for a coat — then he 
 would search after something sensible to say, and in- 
 variably miss it; but set him on any of his favourite 
 themes — and all scientific sul)jects were so — or ask 
 an explanation of his own speculations, and he would 
 warm up and develop the most ingenious theories with 
 true eloquence. 
 
 Of an afternoon, Mr. Boniface often had visitors, 
 and as his study was contiguous to that of his ama- 
 nuensis, and the conversation, owing to liis deafness, 
 was carried on in a loud voice, Paolo had naturally his 
 share of it. Mr. Boniface's friends were for the most 
 part men of science like himself — naturalists, archaeo- 
 logists, orientalists, mathematicians — each having a 
 particular hobby of his own. Mr. Pertuis, of the Place 
 Eoyale, he who had introduced Paolo to Mr. Boniface, 
 was one of the most as.siduous visitors at Pue Cassette. 
 Often would Paolo lay down his pen to listen, and 
 derive the greatest gratification from what he heard. 
 Not that he could understand or take in the hundredth 
 part of what was said on these occasions — he Avould 
 have been quite another and a more accomjilished man 
 than he was, had he been able to do so; it was the 
 lofty standard of their callings, the entirencss of their 
 devotion to the interests of the mind , the all-absorbing
 
 7-4 LAYIXIA. 
 
 character of their pursuits, the depth of their couvic- 
 tions, their enthusiasm, their patience, their simplicity, 
 which commanded Paolo's sympathy and admiration, 
 Paolo felt instinctively that these were the salt of the 
 city, and that to the patient investigations of such men 
 might be traced the germ of all the great discoveries 
 that honoured and beneiited mankind. Thus Paolo, in 
 his humble capacity of copyist, had a revelation, and 
 a bird's-eye view, of the world of intelligence. 
 
 In other and more personal respects also, he had 
 every reason to be satisfied with his present lot. Set- 
 ting aside the difficulty of quick communication with 
 one who was half blind, tolerably deaf, and always 
 abseut in mind — a difficulty, however, which each 
 day's habit lessened — his duties were easy enough; 
 and the regard shown him by brother and sister soon 
 made them pleasant Jlr. Boniface never came to him 
 with a change to make, of which he had bethought 
 himself after more pondering, without offering an apo- 
 logy for being so tiresomely particular, and without 
 uttering many self-reproaches for thus taxing Mr. Man- 
 cini's obligingness. Mademoiselle on her side never let 
 him dejjart at six o'clock, without expressing her own 
 and her brother's thanks for his kind attendance, ^h: 
 Pertuis also was very civil, and rarely called without 
 slipping into Paolo's study to shake hands with its in- 
 mate. Thanks and smiles and handshaking, you will 
 say, don't prove much regard: agreed; but they do good 
 all the same , and go far to sweeten dependence. Nor 
 were these outward signs of good-will the only tokens 
 of satisfaction received by the pr-o tempore secretary. 
 At the end of the second fortnight, his salary was 
 raised, from sixty to seventy-five francs, an item of
 
 ox THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE, 75 
 
 some importance to one wliose heart was bent on 
 amassing funds as fast as possible for a journey from 
 Paris to Rome. 
 
 In spite of this augmentation, however, and of the 
 strictest economy, Paolo's savings at the end of the 
 month proved much less than he had anticipated. More 
 claims than he had reckoned upon had drained his 
 purse — the cobbler's wife opposite, who blacked his 
 shoes, and cleaned his room, had to be paid, and there 
 was an occasional wax-candle, and his washing. This 
 last expense was a very heavy one. Besides, manage 
 as best he could, it was, after all, an impossibility to 
 go on decently with a change of linen, and a worn-out 
 pair of boots. And a pair of shoes, at the lowest price, 
 was seven francs, and three shirts, at three francs and 
 a half each, had made altogether a large outlay. If 
 one could only do without eating ; but no, one must eat 
 every day, and several times a day. Truth to say, 
 Paolo had reduced this necessity to its simplest ex- 
 pression. A hot roll — poor Salvator's breakfast, minus 
 the roasted chesnixts not to be found in Paris at that 
 time of the year — a hot roll munched on his way to 
 Kue Cassette in the morning — two other rolls at tAvelve, 
 swallowed before a book-stall on the quays, his usual 
 and most economical circulating library, or while walk- 
 ing in front of yonder noble pile, the Louvre — and at 
 half-past six in the evening, such a luxurious dinner as 
 we have described already — constituted his daily food, 
 at the cost of eighteen sous per diem. It is possible 
 that some of the materials of the last-mentioned repast 
 were not always unimpeachable, but the condiment of 
 hunger seasoned them. Neither bitters, nor absynth, 
 nor vermuth render the stomach of a youth of twenty-
 
 76 LAVIXLA.. 
 
 four so optimist as a fast of ten Lours broken only by 
 three halfpenny rolls. 
 
 Paolo had taken a local affection for the old-fashioned 
 and comparatively tranquil part of the town in which 
 chance had thrown him, and seldom went out of its 
 precincts. The -Seine was his Rubicon. He liked to 
 stroll of an evening over the half-deserted quays, and 
 watch, from one or other of the bridges, the setting of 
 the sun behind the heights of Chaillot, to contemplate 
 the imposing silhouette of Xotre Dame by moonlight, 
 and follow the reflection of the lamps in the dark roll- 
 ing waters below. His rambles and his admiration were 
 not unfrequently shared by a companion, his neighbour 
 of the '"''Bonne nuit, voisin!'''' a young student from 
 Evreux, as he afterwards proved to be, who was sup- 
 posed to be accomplishing his droit at Paris — equiva- 
 lent, I fancy, to keeping Law Terms in Lincoln's Lm 
 — and, under cover of that convenient legal liction, 
 sowing his wild oats. 
 
 A more sociable, sanguine, thoughtless, and original 
 Bohemian than Theophile Courant had never pitched 
 his tent in the Quartier Latin. As long as his quarter's 
 allowance lasted — which, when he was most prudent, 
 might be a fortnight — he had a merry life of it, re- 
 fusing himself nothing; the rest of the time he shifted 
 as best he could, living on fried potatoes and credit-, a 
 change of diet which in nowise affected his humour: 
 merrily and carelessly as he had gone through his seven 
 years of plenty, to use his own phrase, merrily and 
 carelessly he ti'aversed his seven years of famine. 
 
 The Frenchman disapproved of the Italian's some- 
 what ascetic ways and retired habits of life, and would 
 fain have enticed him into forming acquaintances among
 
 ox THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 77 
 
 the griscttes frequenting the Mar-che mix Fleurs close by. 
 It was to that humble stage, that the soi-disant student, 
 weaned for the time being from the joys and conquests 
 of the Chaumiere and the Closerie aux Lilas , confined 
 his exploits, seeking there thrice a week easy bonnes 
 fortunes. He had, in truth, plenty of them, and was 
 fond of relating his triumphs. The mixture of a Sar- 
 danapalus and a Diogenes in him , not to s^^eak of the 
 attractions of a pate de foie (p'as, and rof/uons sante's aux 
 trujfcs in his days of abundance, took amazingly with 
 the fair and loving spinsters of the Quartier Latin. 
 Paolo did not envy him his successes. Love, to his 
 mind, meant something better, be would say, than a 
 temporary association for the sake of pleasure; upon 
 which Theophile nicknamed him faroiiclie Hippolyte, 
 favouring him with much ridicule and laughing at his 
 own jokes. Courant was a clever fellow, full of talk, 
 of wit, of paradox, boldly flying at all subjects, and 
 agreeing with Paolo on none, save that of politics. All 
 epicurean and sceptic as he boasted himself to be, the 
 young Frenchman had strong political convictions of 
 the same decided hue as those of his new friend. 
 
 As usual during what he termed his temporary 
 eclipses, Courant was in a concentrated literary mood 
 — had, in fact, on the stocks, at one and the same 
 time, a poem, a comedy, and a novel — and spiced 
 his pennyworth of fried potatoes with visions of the 
 Cross of the Legion of Honour , and a seat at the In- 
 stitute. He loved to dilate on his plots, especially on 
 tJiat of his rredestine ^ a novel of passion. According 
 to him, passion was the only field in Avhich Balzac 
 had left anything to glean. AH other forms of fiction, 
 whether of worldly life or private life, whether of mo-
 
 78 -LAxrsiA. 
 
 rals or pliilosophj, that great dissector of tte human 
 heart had exhausted. Balzac was Courant's prophet, 
 and the Physiology of Marriage the book of books with 
 him. 
 
 Well, then, to return to the student's favourite 
 theme. The "Predestine" was a Parisian poet, young, 
 handsome, rich, and highly gifted withal, intensely un- 
 happy from the absence of that sister soul, caressed in 
 dreams , and which was to complete his existence. 
 Stormy had been his youth, an Ixionlike race after his 
 half-ball; he had demanded it from the aristocratic 
 salons of Europe, from the workshop, the thatched 
 cottage, from the pampas of America, and the orgies 
 of the salon dore. All in yain: the "Predestine" walked 
 through life gloomy, incomplete, alone. One day, as 
 he emerged from the depths of a forest, he heard a 
 merry peal of bells from a little village church. He 
 enters it — there is a wedding going on. The clerk 
 to the notary of the village, a common-lookiug per- 
 sonage enough, is being married to the daughter of his 
 employer, a slender, pale, and far from handsome blonde. 
 The "Predestine" — mark this — objects, always has 
 objected, to blondes in general; but the more he looks 
 at this one, strange to say, the more he feels attracted. 
 Surely there is something fatal in the fascination she 
 exercises over him. His whole soul flies towards her 
 as to its centre. In short, as the benediction is pro- 
 nounced, he has received a full in-efragable revelation, 
 that the bride of the notary's clerk is his the "Pre- 
 destine's" heaven-destined better half. 
 
 "How was it revealed to him, the fool?" inter- 
 rupted Paolo, 
 
 Courant, unmoved, continued; —
 
 ON THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 79 
 
 "Like a wolf who does not lose sight of his prey, 
 he follows the bridal j^arty to the little country inn, 
 where the modest family banquet is to take place. As 
 he does so, contending thoughts sweep over his brain, 
 like wind-driven clouds over the sky. No, he will not 
 be defrauded of his own — his rights, registered in 
 heaven, are anterior to those of that paltry epicier. She 
 shall be his. Acting upon this resolve, tlie 'Predestine' 
 forthwith procures a quantity of a narcotic; hires a 
 small chamber contiguous to the dining-room, where 
 the wedding repast is to take place; pours some of the 
 sojjorific in the champagne glasses, ten in number, and 
 lies in wait for the effect. The dinner proceeds slowly 
 and prosily, at last he hears the report of the cham- 
 pagne corks — toasts are drunk — and then little by 
 little the murmur of voices subsides, one head after 
 another drops on the table, and the whole company 
 is fast asleep. The 'Predestine' seizes the moment, 
 pounces upon his prey, lifts her up in his arras, and 
 carries off his precious charge to his retreat." 
 
 "An infernal trick, worthy of ten thousand guillo- 
 tines," cried Paolo. 
 
 "Eather so," said Theophile; '"strike hard to strike 
 home,' is my motto. I see my plot is a taking one. I 
 have not done yet — there's something still more spicy 
 in store. Hearken to this:" "After a time, the bride- 
 groom, awaking, misses his bride, seeks her with tot- 
 tering steps, notices a door ajar, pushes it, and enters. 
 The door was that of the chamber of the 'Predestine,' 
 which he had forgotten to lock. A tiger disturbed in 
 his den is not more terrible than the 'Predestine' at 
 sight of his rival; the clutch of a tiger's claws not more 
 deadly than the grasp of the 'Prc'destind's' fingers round
 
 80 LAYINU. 
 
 the intruder's throat. A struggle of ten seconds, a 
 stifled groan, and there lies the morning's bridegroom 
 — a corpse." "What do you say to that, eh? I hope 
 it is lively and passionate enough for a first chapter," 
 chuckled Couraut. 
 
 "I say it is unnatm^al, absurd, abominable, non- 
 sensical. "What is the use of this string of impossible 
 horrors? Cid bono?" 
 
 "He asks ciii bono?'''' retorted Courant, laughing. 
 "Why, to carry away the reader from the first, to lay 
 violent hands on his attention, to have a sale of twenty 
 thousand copies; in a word, to succeed." 
 
 "You will never do so by means of giving people 
 nightmares," said innocent Paolo; "there are other and 
 purer sources of interest, thank God, than treachery, 
 murder, and such like amenities. Listen to this;" and 
 enthusiastic, and overflowing with recollections, as all 
 true Italians are, of the Promessi Sposi, Paolo gave his 
 friend an outline of Manzoui's celebrated novel ; namely, 
 the simple story of two obscure existences, a poor silk- 
 weaver and his affianced bride, momentarily brought in 
 contact with, and dragged along by, the current of the 
 evil passions of a rude age, and making their way out 
 of the turbid whirlpool through humble faith and love, 
 and lauding in safety after many trials, wiser, better, 
 humbler, happier. 
 
 "I daresay it is all very fine," observed Theophile; 
 "but it has a radical defect; it might compete for the 
 2J)'Lv Monthyon — it is too moral." 
 
 "Too moral!" exclaimed Paolo, his eyes widening 
 Avith amazement. 
 
 "Yes: far too moral, and tame in proportion," 
 averred Courant; "no cloves and pepper; no chic; no
 
 ON THE LEFT BANK OF THE SEINE. 81 
 
 toucli of what I call real passion in it; none of the posi- 
 tions risquees^ in which the public delight. The author 
 had a precious gold vein within his reach, in the love 
 aifair of La Signora with Cavaliere Egidio — the passion 
 of a nun; a capital hit, if j)roperly developed. But no; 
 he did not see it." 
 
 "He rejected, he spurned it," said Paolo, with 
 Avarrath; "never would Manzoni have so lowered him- 
 self." 
 
 "So much the more stupid. Morality, as a rule, is 
 unbearable in a work of fiction. The very reviewers, 
 who praise it professionally, laugh at it in their sleeves. 
 The palate of the public is blunted, palled, my dear 
 friend; it requires, and must have, stimulants. Every 
 nose turns up at y oui* boiled beef; no — no ! you must 
 give viands with sauce pifjuaiite; game that is high; 
 stuflfed with truffles into the bargain; plenty of cayenne, 
 — that is what is wanted." 
 
 "Kather than gratify such tastes, I would throw 
 away all pens, and black shoes for ever," cried un- 
 civilized Paolo. 
 
 "1 am more of a philosopher than to do that," said 
 Courant. "History teaches me that every age has its 
 crotchets. I am of my age, and accept it as I find it 
 without discussion. Such of its foibles as can help me 
 up, I take advantage of; that's my philosophy." 
 
 "Your scepticism, you mean. And the dignity of 
 letters, the eternal moral, the right divine of the beau- 
 tiful and the true; what becomes of them, pray, in your 
 system?" interrogated Paolo. 
 
 Courant -looked at him with compassionate interest, 
 and said, — 
 
 "I never saw such fly-swallowers as you Italians, 
 
 Ltivinia. U. 6
 
 82 LAYIXIA. 
 
 with your inexhaustible stock of enthiisiasm. There's 
 something in it, though, artistically speaking, and I 
 have a mind to put you in my next novel. In sober 
 truth, let me tell you, that you drivel — tu patanges. 
 The high-flo^Ti theories about Art of a few visionaries, 
 a few fanatics , are no gospel. My theory is far simpler, 
 all summed up in that famous verse of the great master: 
 Tons les genres sont bons hors le genre enwnjcnx." 
 
 "Down to the cynical," expostulated Paolo. 
 
 "And why not, so long as the form is good, and 
 success attends it? Did not Horace skirt it, Ovid dive 
 into it, Longus, the sophist, revel in it? and don't we 
 admire them to this day?" asked Courant. 
 
 "But they were pagans, my dear friend. And so 
 then you reduce literature to an affair of style?" 
 
 "And success," quoth Courant. 
 
 "And the Venus de' Medici, and the Hottentot 
 Venus, provided they attract the crowd, are equally 
 welcome in your eyes." 
 
 ''DixisUr 
 
 In spite of these disagreements, or perhaps owing 
 to them, the two neighbours were on the most friendly 
 terms, sought after each other, and regularly spent the 
 Sundays, Paolo's only holiday, in walking through the 
 galleries of the Louvre and Luxembourg. Theophile 
 was even introduced to Mr. Prosper and his wife, at 
 whose establishment Paolo generally ended his evening 
 strolls. 
 
 Thus time wore on up to the middle of August, 
 when our Eoman painter, who had almost forgotten 
 that he was one, found himself master of the round sum 
 of a hundred and twenty-two francs. This, according 
 to his calculations, was more than sufficient for his
 
 ON THE LEFT BAKK OP THE SEINE. 83 
 
 journey to Rome. His economies of tlie fortniglit just 
 entered upon, and wliich lie reckoned would amount to 
 some forty francs, were destined for an object, on wliich 
 bis heart had long been set; for the purchase of some 
 useful article for the self-denying' Madame Prudence. 
 Nor must it be supposed that Paolo had been remiss in 
 sliowing gratitude in substantial ways towards Prosper's 
 family — many a franc had been spent on the little 
 ones, which otherwise would have accelerated his hour 
 of hoped-for freedom. We have done as Paolo' him- 
 self, laid no stress on what Avas so immeasurably below 
 his wishes and their claims. 
 
 Such being the satisfactory state of his affairs, it 
 occurred to our Roman, that it might be as well to go 
 betimes, and look after his passport. Accordingly, one 
 morning, instead of indulging in his habitual lounge 
 between the Pont Neuf and the Pont des Tuileries, 
 while he made his noonday repast of the two halfpenny 
 rolls, he took them and himself through the Rue de 
 rUniversite, his road to the residence of the Pontifical 
 Nuncio in Paris. Introduced to a gentleman in black, 
 he gave his name, calling, and address at Rome, ex- 
 plaining that he had come to Paris in the preceding 
 March, had lost his passport, and wanted to replace it 
 in order that he might go back to Rome. 
 
 The affair seemed a very simple one to the appli- 
 cant; not so to the gentleman who received the appli- 
 cation. He did not mince the matter, but said at once 
 that what was asked was impossible. Before furnishing 
 any one with a passport, it was indispensable, the gen- 
 tleman in black explained, first, that it should be clearly 
 ascertained that the applicant was the person ho re- 
 presented himself to be; secondly, that he did not be-
 
 84 LAVINIA. 
 
 long to any of the categories of refugees, who were 
 excluded from the Papal States. The first desideratum 
 might and would be, he had no doubt, in the present 
 instance , satisfactorily fulfilled by unexceptionable 
 guarantees; but none could supply the second, save the 
 government of his Holiness, to which it would be his 
 duty to submit the case, and apply for instructions. 
 
 A poor devil who has been living for two months 
 on a hope, and sees it torn from him at the very mo- 
 ment he expects its realization, may well be pardoned 
 a moment of imi^atience, when he asks, rather snap- 
 pishly, as Paolo did, what possible length of time this 
 weighty affair of State was likely to require. The 
 patient answer was, that no time could be fixed, but if 
 Signor Paolo Mancini would give himself the trouble 
 to call again at the end of three weeks, or a month, 
 there might probably be some communication to impart 
 on the subject of his application. 
 
 This conclusion of the interview having by no 
 means improved Paolo's temper, he made his exit 
 chewing something between his teeth, which was not 
 precisely a blessing, and it may also be that he did 
 not shut the door, but allowed it to close itself with a 
 smart bang. The gentleman of the Nonciatura received 
 from these petty incidents a decidedly sinister impres- 
 sion of Mr. Paolo Mancini, which impression he hastened 
 to convey to his superior, who, in his turn, transmitted 
 it to his chief at Home. A circumstance, which at first 
 sight Avould seem as if it ought to have told in Paolo's 
 favour, on the contrary strongly militated against him 
 — it was, that his name did not figure on any of the 
 lists and reports forwarded to the Nonciatura by any 
 of its Paris agents; a proof as clear as day to every
 
 SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE. OO 
 
 one belonging to tlie Nonciatura, tliat he must have 
 been skulking elsewhere than in Paris, most likely had 
 been to London for fresh orders and watchwords of in- 
 surrection. 
 
 No one but philosophic-tempered Theophile could 
 have stood the poi'cupine mood of Paolo, after this 
 mishap. Beyond calling him now and then massncraiit, 
 and lecturing him on the excessive absurdity of wishing 
 to go anywhere else, when one had the luck to be in 
 Paris, the student never evinced any symptom of im- 
 patience. Perhaps his equanimity was sustained by the 
 metamorphosis he knew to be near at hand, and which 
 occurred with the arrival of his quarter's allowance. 
 The caterpillar rose up a butterfly, which took its 
 flight to higher regions, after vainly urging Paolo to 
 send Bonifaces and passports to Hades, and learn what 
 life might be. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Surprise upon Surprise. 
 
 As Paolo, one-and-twenty days after his first appli- 
 cation for a passport, was walking at full speed down 
 the Rue Jacob, towards the Nonciatura, his progress 
 was suddenly checked by an omnibus crossing the street 
 in a diagonal line. Without waiting for the huge ob- 
 struction to leave the road clear, Paolo glided round it, 
 and found himself face to face with the tall horse of a 
 tilbury coming in the opposite direction from the om- 
 nibus, and concealed by the big machine. The driver 
 of the tilbury, shouting "(?a/r, maladroit!" reined in 
 his horse quickly enough to prevent any more serious
 
 86 LAVIXIA. 
 
 mischief than the rash passenger's liat being knocked 
 off bj the head of the horse. 
 
 Paolo picked up his hat, and was proceeding on his 
 way, when a voice cried after him, — 
 
 "By the Capitol! it is that enraged Telemachus in 
 search of the Ideal." 
 
 Paolo stopped, and in his turn cried, — 
 
 "By Jove! it is Du Genre." 
 
 "The very same, at your service," said Du Genre; 
 "get in, there's a seat for you, my fine fellow," stretch- 
 ing out his hand to Paolo; and as soon as he had him 
 by his side, bestowing on him a fraternal accolade. 
 "Since how long in Paris? And you didn't seek me 
 out, you false friend! Where is Mentor? You look 
 as pale, and thin, and shaved as if you came out of a 
 convent of Trappistes. Lucky that the horse knocked 
 off your hat, or I should never have recognized you 
 under that monument; no wonder you run against car- 
 riages with that Babel structure on your caput." 
 
 "Always the same," said Paolo, smiling. "First of 
 all, I must tell you that I am bound for the Nonciatura, 
 and if out of your way — " 
 
 "I'll drive you to Mecca if Mecca is your destina- 
 tion," answered the realist; you are not going to get 
 rid of me so easily, I can tell you. May I, without 
 indiscretion, ask Avhat business takes you to the Non- 
 ciatura?" 
 
 "To get a passport, if I can, to replace the one I 
 have lost." 
 
 "You are not going to leave Paris, are you?" 
 asked Du Genre. 
 
 "Most positively so," said Paolo. 
 
 "At any rate not yet, for I lay an embargo on you
 
 SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE. 87 
 
 for at least three weeks. You sliall not leave Paris 
 without tasting some of its sweets uuder my direction." 
 
 "I have had quite enough of its bitters," said Paolo. 
 
 "You talk and look as mysteriously as one of 
 Byron's heroes. Paris, I told you often, is exactly the 
 place for such as you. It will cure you of many of 
 your crotchets; it will send you back to Rome a new 
 man, a wiser man." 
 
 "Thank you," said Paolo, "but I have no wish to 
 part with my old skin, or old crotcliets. I have an 
 affection for one and the other. But here we are at 
 the Nonciatura." 
 
 The tAvo friends alighted and went up to the office. 
 On giving his name, Paolo had a letter handed to him 
 by the same gentleman in black, whom he had seen 
 on his previous visit three weeks before; and who said, 
 that the letter had been waiting there for some time, 
 as, Mr. Maucini's address not being known, there was 
 no possibility of forwarding it. Taking it for granted, 
 that it was a written answer to his former application, 
 Paolo broke the huge black seal, looked at the signa- 
 ture after glancing at the first few lines, then exclaimed, 
 in a tone of disappointment, — 
 
 "But this has no reference Avhatever to my request. 
 What about the passport I have applied for?" 
 
 As to the passport, replied the urbane gentleman 
 in the black suit, he was sorry he was obliged to say 
 that it could not be granted. Strict injunctions to the 
 contrary had been received from his government at 
 home. 
 
 If ever man was provoked, Paolo Avas. lie fretted 
 and fumed and demanded to know the why and where- 
 fore of this order: a usual weakness in those smarting:
 
 00 LAVmiA. 
 
 under injustice; tliey nve always wanting reasons, as if 
 those who inflicted injustice always knew the why. 
 
 The business of the gentleman in black was to see 
 orders executed, and not to inquire into their cause. If 
 Signor Mancini considered himself aggrieved, he was at 
 liberty to forward a petition. 
 
 Paolo, wishing petitions and petitioners at a certain 
 place not usually mentioned aloud at the Nonciatura, 
 bolted out of the office. 
 
 "A precious state of things," he said, getting into 
 the tilbury after his friend, "and for which we have to 
 thank your country, Du Genre." 
 
 Du Genre hung his head. 
 
 "A famous houlette it was," said he, rather sulkily, 
 "nothing like clever people for getting themselves 
 and their friends into a mess. "VVliere do you want 
 to go?" 
 
 "Can you drive me to Rue Cassette?" 
 
 "Willingly, if you will direct me. I thought I 
 knew the town well, but I never heard of that street 
 before. It must be at the antipodes of Paris, out of 
 the pale of the habitable world. Are you in search of 
 the fossil remains of antediluvian megatheriums." 
 
 "I am going to Mr. Boniface, my employer, who 
 lives there." 
 
 Du Genre opened his eyes wide. There was no 
 help for it now. Paolo had to explain, and in so 
 doing, he had necessarily to touch on some of those 
 circumstances — Thornton's disappearance among others 
 — which had rendered a search for means of gaining 
 his daily bread imperative. 
 
 Du Genre looked like one fallen from the clouds, 
 but he was not slack in offering his purse, which Paolo
 
 SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE. 89 
 
 declined at once. They were still deep in interesting 
 topics when they reached Mr. Boniface's door. 
 
 "Here is my address," said Du Genre; "but can't 
 I see you again to-day?" 
 
 "At a quarter past six on the Pont Neuf," said 
 Paolo, laughing. 
 
 "The impressive silence of Pompeii," said Du Genre, 
 looking round him; "the air full of the odour of mum- 
 mies." Then he called out, as Paolo alighted, "Mind, 
 old fellow, you have dropped your big despatch; by- 
 the-by, you have never read it." 
 
 Paolo picked up the letter, saying — 
 
 "As far as I could see, it was the notification of 
 Bishop Rodipani's death. It is signed ' Guarini,' a name 
 quite unknown to me." 
 
 "Guarini?" repeated Du Genre; "why, that is the 
 name of a celebrated lawyer in Rome. Allow me to 
 observe, friend Telemachus, that it is always an inju- 
 dicious act to read any letter partially, especially so 
 when it is one announcing the decease of a relation. 
 Who knows but that you are down in the bishop's will 
 for a handsome legacy." 
 
 "The most likely thing in the world," said Paolo, 
 shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 "More unlikely events have happened," said Du 
 Genre. "Come, I wager two to one that it is so now; 
 read it, or let me read it." 
 
 "See for yourself," said Paolo, giving Du Genre 
 the letter; "I can't wait, I am already behind my 
 time." 
 
 Du Genre, throwing the reins to his little groom, 
 followed Paolo through the j)orte cocherr, the first court, 
 the alley, and the second court, taking in the contents
 
 90 LAVINIA. 
 
 of Siguor Gruariui's communication the while; then gave 
 a jump as if a mine had exploded under his feet, — 
 
 "It's true, by Jove! I have won; you were horn 
 with a silver sj^oon in your mouth. Hail to Bishop 
 Rodipani's illustrious heir!" 
 
 "•Chut, nonsense," said Paolo, looking hack. 
 
 "Believe your own eyes. E-re-de u-ni-ver-sa-lc. 
 Excusez du peu." 
 
 Nothing less than the evidence of his own senses 
 could convince young Manciui of the truth of his friend's 
 assertion. Strange, unlikely, almost unnatural as the 
 fact was, there it was, the clear statement staring him 
 in the face. Who can fathom the mysteries of a death- 
 bed? 
 
 Paolo stood mute and blank, as if confronted by the 
 head of Medusa. 
 
 "What is the matter with the man now?" cried 
 the Frenchman; "a fortune has fallen at your feet, and 
 you look as if you saw a ghost." 
 
 "I wish Bishop Rodipani had made another will," 
 was Paolo's answer. "I feel as if I ought not to accept 
 this fortune." 
 
 "That's a little too cocasse," cried Du Genre, in a 
 sort of comic despair; "the man's lunatic. And pray, 
 why is it incumbent upon you to refuse such a god- 
 send?" 
 
 "Because it comes from the persecutor of my 
 parents." 
 
 "Listen to him," ejaculated the Frenchman. "Never 
 mind the instrument Providence employs, my Tele- 
 machus. Money never smells bad from whatever source 
 it conies, was the remark of a Roman emperor, who 
 was far from being considered a goose. If the donor
 
 SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE. 91 
 
 Las given you cause of complaint, reason the more for 
 accepting the peace-offering meant in reparation; would 
 you have him broil in purgatory to all eternity?" 
 
 "I will think about it," said Paolo, one foot on the 
 stairs; "I must leave you now." 
 
 "I shall go with you," said Du Genre, following; 
 "I am not going to forsake you in this dangerous 
 frame of mind; you are not compos, you are not in- 
 deed." 
 
 "You can't come in with me; it is against all rules," 
 expostulated Paolo , on the landing. 
 
 "You'll see whether I can or not," said tlie realist, 
 pulling the bell. "I tell you, you are not fit for 
 work just now. I'll ask this employer of yours to give 
 you a holiday." 
 
 Mr. Boniface's lucky star ordained that the bell 
 should be answered by Mdlle. Boniface, who, to spare 
 her brother all contention of mind, graciously took upon 
 herself to grant Du Genre's request; she Avas sure, was 
 Mdlle. Marie, of her brother's approbation. Upon tliis 
 assurance Paolo thanked the lady, and the two friends 
 drove to Du Genre's notary, a fine old gentleman, with 
 white hair and a mild, benevolent countenance, which 
 did any one good only to see. Nor was the face want- 
 ing in caution, still less so in acuteness; you might sec 
 the one in the slightly pinched lips, and the other in 
 the quick glance of the clear eye. 
 
 lie listened to a translation of the letter from Home, 
 and to the comprehensive statement which Du Genre 
 afterwards gave him, with the utmost attention, his 
 eyes half closed, which he opened wide enough, how- 
 ever, when he heard the nature of Paolo's scruples ; and
 
 92 LAvmrA. 
 
 looked so searcliinglj at tlie young mau, as to make 
 liim redden and cast down his eyes. 
 
 "Had the testator any other relation than this young 
 gentleman?" inquired the old lawyer. 
 
 His query being answered in the negative, he 
 added, — 
 
 "The question at issue is one that scarcely comes 
 within the domain of a notary; it is nothing more nor 
 less than a case of conscience, the solution of which 
 had better have been asked of a priest. However, as 
 men of my profession have often been styled, and are, 
 in a certain sense, the directors of the consciences of 
 their clients — as to worldly affairs I mean — I think 
 I shall not be passing beyond the boundaries of my own 
 calling, if I give an opinion about this matter. It will 
 be done in a very few words." 
 
 Tm-ning himself round so as to address Paolo in 
 particular, he continued, — 
 
 "To spurn a fortune, my dear sir, maybe, accord- 
 ing to the circumstances, a very wise or a very foolish 
 thing. To the enthusiastic and the unreflecting, self- 
 abnegation may seem a viiine, quand meme, but it is 
 not so. An act, for being generous — for entailing, 
 I mean, a sacrifice on him who does it — is not essen- 
 tially good; what makes it so, is its consonance to rea- 
 son. It is consonant to reason, that to avert a great 
 evil or to effect a great good, which cannot be averted 
 or effected otherwise, one's fortune, or even one's life, 
 should be imperilled or renounced; but it is contrary 
 to reason that any such sacrifice be made — for what? 
 — for the mere pleasure of making it. Xow, the more I 
 think of the step you are meditating, sir, the less I see 
 what rational purpose it can answer. It confers no
 
 SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE, 93 
 
 benefit on any one else , -while it deprives you of the 
 power of good which resides in money; that's what 
 your sacrifice would accomplish, and ad quid perditio 
 Juec?" 
 
 "But," faltered Paolo, considerably abashed, "the 
 person who has left me his property, Avas cruel to my 
 parents in a way aud to a degree you cannot realize; 
 and whatever reason may say, my feelings make me 
 shrink from accepting from Bishop Rodipani dead, a 
 benefit that I most surely would have scorned from Bi- 
 shop Rodipani living." 
 
 "Allow me to tell you," replied the notary, "that 
 a feeling which is in itself a sin, cannot be received 
 as your justification. All earthly resentment should 
 cease before a tomb; this liberality from one formerly 
 little friendly to you or yours, is evidently intended as 
 an amends." 
 
 "Did I not say the very same words to you?" broke 
 in Du Genre. 
 
 "It is a token of reconciliation proffered to you 
 from the grave," wound up the old gentleman; "you 
 ought no more to refuse it than a pardon to the 
 dying." 
 
 "I must be honest," said Paolo; "I cannot say that 
 my heart is softened to forgive when it is not." 
 
 "It will soften in good time," said the notary. "One 
 token of the forgiveness of trespasses commanded to us 
 all you can give at least — respect the will of the dead, 
 it ought to be held sacred." 
 
 "Let it be so then," said Paolo, conquered, if not 
 convinced (Du Genre drew a long breath of relief); 
 "I'll abide by your decision, sir." 
 
 The letter from Rome contained simple, but minute
 
 94 LAVHsIA. 
 
 directions for Mancini's guidance. If tlie beir could not 
 or would not return to his own country for the present, 
 Signor Guarini infonued him that he had but to send a 
 power of attorney to one of Mr. Guarini's friends and 
 colleagues, whom he named, and that gentleman would, 
 in bis capacity of Paolo's legal representative, see to 
 the taking off the seals, the drawing up of the inven- 
 tory, &c. ; in short, would go through all the forms in- 
 cumbent in such a case. This power of attorney was 
 drawn up then and there by Du Genre's notary, signed 
 by Paolo, attested by Du Genre and the notary's head 
 clerk, and finally sent to the proper quarter for the ne- 
 cessaiy legalization. 
 
 Paolo then rose to go. 
 
 "Stop a minute," said the realist: "since that pearl 
 of lawyers, Signor Guarini, volunteers to advance any 
 sum you may require, which I consider very handsome 
 on his part, had you not better draw on liim for a thou- 
 sand scudi or so?" 
 
 "A thousand scudi, and what for?" cried Paolo. 
 "I have got plenty of money at present — more than 
 a hundred francs." 
 
 "And how far will five napoleons go in Paris? Well, 
 say five hundred scudi." 
 
 "A hundred is more than is necessary," replied 
 Paolo, sitting down to write. 
 
 "I insist on five hundred," said Du Genre. "You 
 need not spend them; money costs nothing to keep. 
 Then there's that little fellow — what do you call him? 
 — and his wife, who nursed you; you must deal hand- 
 somely by them." 
 
 "You are right; what was I thinking of to forget 
 that debt?" and without hesitation he drew a cheque
 
 SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE. 95 
 
 for five hundred scudi, wliich he left with the notary to 
 be forwarded with the power of attorney. They then 
 took a cordial leave of the old gentleman. 
 
 "Ouf," said Du Genre, as soon as they wei*e in the 
 street, "what hard work you have given me. Pythias 
 and Damon, Pylades and Orestes, put together, never 
 stood as much for one another. I am ready to drop 
 from exhaustion; and imprudent that I was, I sent away 
 the tilbury. Half-past four — scarcely a decent time to 
 ask for dinner — but sit and eat I must, or there's no 
 answering for the consequences. Are you for a snpveme 
 de volaille or a lobster salad?" 
 
 Paolo would have preferred to either of the dainties 
 jiroffered, a quiet tete-a-tete with himself, to probe, if 
 possible, a certain uncomfortable feeling, touching the 
 resolve he had been induced to take, and which still 
 lurked somewhere in his heart or in his brain; but this 
 being out of the question without rudeness to his friend, 
 he answered that he left the dinner to Du Genre, They 
 proceeded to the Boulevards des Italiens, and entered 
 a cafe. 
 
 "Not considered first-rate," explained the French- 
 man,, "but ther" cookery is excellent, and the dame du 
 comptoir adorable. Come close and look at her." 
 
 But Paolo would not comply, and with his usual 
 shyness, stood aloof from the red velvet shrine at wliicli 
 his companion was offering his devotions. At any rate, 
 Paolo did not share Du Genre's enthusiasm for the 
 divinity of the counter ; on the contrary, ho found plenty 
 of defects in her — her eyes wanted depth, her com- 
 plexion transparency, her head character. 
 
 "Of course," said Du Genre laughing, "she is but 
 a woman, and not a picture,"
 
 96 LAVIXIA. 
 
 "As to tliat, I am not quite sure," retorted tlie 
 Roman. 
 
 '■''Mmivais farqeur! I assure you slae is not painted. 
 INTot a bad hit, however. What was I saying? Ah, 
 she is but a beautiful specimen of flesh and blood 
 woman , without an atom of the ideal Madonna in her, 
 and this is -what constitutes her fault in your eyes. By 
 dint of cultivating the ideal, you have lost the sense 
 of the real. But never mind, it will return to you by 
 and by." 
 
 Paolo shook his head incredulously. 
 
 "A little patience and a trifle of good will," per- 
 sisted the Frenchman, "and you'll recover from your 
 mania. // n''y a que Je j)remiev pas qui coiite. It is like 
 eiiting oysters," continued he, the simile suggested by 
 the very thing on the table. "You object to them with- 
 out knowing yourself why; the moment you taste them, 
 your scruples vanish and you ask for more." 
 
 "But supposing I do not taste them," said Paolo, 
 sending away his plate untouched. 
 
 "Why, in that case — que (liable — you are pre- 
 judiced; that's my opinion at least." 
 
 Du Genre was in mourniug for that uncle of his 
 who had had the triple indelicacy of summoning him 
 to Dauphine on the eve of Armida's debut, of lingering 
 on for months, and of leaving his affairs in a substan- 
 tially good, but very confused state. The care of put- 
 ting them in order — Du Genre Avas a man df method 
 — had kept him ia Dauphine much longer than he 
 wished, and it was only late in June, that is, long 
 after all advertisements for Paolo had ceased, that he 
 had been able to come and settle in Paris. While these 
 explanations were being given, the room was filling
 
 SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE. 97 
 
 apace, and not a table, right or left, opposite or be- 
 hind, was unoccupied. Paolo felt ill at ease among so 
 many strangers, and hardly opened his mouth, except 
 to eat, during the rest of the dinner. Du Genre talked 
 for two, was quite at home alike with waiters and with 
 customers, exclianging salutations and shakes of the 
 hand with many of the latter. It seemed to Paolo an 
 age before th6 good-natured rattle proposed to go. 
 
 From the m/V, Du Genre led the way to a tobac- 
 conist's on the other side of the Boulevard. As they 
 were going in, he said, — 
 
 "Here is another bit of reality, which I recommend 
 to your special notice." 
 
 Paolo looked and saw a richly attired lady behind 
 the counter, who, with the delicate tips of her fingers, 
 carefully guarded from pollution, by neatly fitting gloves, 
 dropped pinches o'f caporal into one of the small scales 
 erected before her. She was good-looking in her way, 
 with a face Avhich the French designate as niinols ch/'f- 
 foniie, which translated, means a turned-up nose, hair 
 drawn back a la Chinoise, acc)'oehc-C(vurs on the temples, 
 and mutinous dimples. "Would she be so amiable," 
 asked Du Genre, "as to giVe him some pmiatelas? he 
 wished to choose them from a fresh box." The lady, 
 with great affability, sprang up on a chair, stretched 
 her arms up at full length to reach the box, and in so 
 doing displayed a remarkably elegant shape. Du Genre 
 Avas nudging Paolo during this exhibition. 
 
 "And, monsieur," she said, turning to Paolo, and 
 offering him the panatrlas, with a bewitching smile. 
 
 The monsieur addressed declined at first, saying he 
 did not smoke; upon second thoughts, however, he chose 
 one, and liglited it. This second thought — and it 
 
 Luvinia. II. 7
 
 98 LAVIXIA. 
 
 came vrith. a sigh — was, Trliat was tlie nse of putting 
 any constraint on Mmself? whether he smelt of tobacco 
 or not, was a matter of indifference to every body, him- 
 self included. 
 
 And so, cigars in mouth, and arm in arm, the 
 friends lounged up the Boulevard, and down the Boule- 
 vard; sat down outside a cafe to sip their Mocha; in 
 coiu'se of time got on their legs again for* a new lounge, 
 limited as before by the Eue de la Chaussee d'Autin 
 on the one side, and by the Eue Eichelieu on the 
 other. 
 
 "Are these two sti'eets your Pillars of Hercules?" 
 inquired Paolo. 
 
 "Exactly," returned Du Genre. "I never go beyond 
 them; no Parisian, worthy of his bhthplace, ever does, 
 without some extreme cause. The Boulevard des Ita- 
 liens is a compendium of Paris — it is Paris seen to 
 its greatest advantage. Every comfort and elegance of 
 civilized life is compressed within its narrow compass. 
 Xot a pretty woman, not a man of note, but pay their 
 daily homage to it. Our lions in politics, in literature, 
 in ail, in fashion, in finance, gravitate liither as towards 
 their natural centi-e. TVhat the Lyceums were to the 
 ancient Greeks, and the Thermes to the Eomans, the 
 Boulevard des Italiens is to the Parisians. Here it is 
 that statesmen, writers, singers, acti'esses — that eveiy- 
 body and eveiything are judged, and sentenced without 
 appeal. Paris is the world's brain, and the Boulevard 
 des Itahens is the brain of Paris." 
 
 "I am unwilling to throw cold water on yoiu' lyii- 
 cal effusions," said Paolo, with a little ii-ony; "but to 
 me, one of the uninitiated, your brain of Paris, after
 
 SURPRISE UPON SURPRISE. 99 
 
 two hours' enjoyment of it, begins to savour a little of 
 monotony." 
 
 "It is another of the realities, which with cultiva- 
 tion will improve on you," said Du Genre. "Let us go 
 to the flower market of the Madeleine." 
 
 "To look after grisettes?" questioned Paolo. 
 
 "A notion from the left bank of the Seine. For 
 your information, the grisette, as a class, has no exis- 
 tence on this side of the water. Such stray specimens 
 as may emigrate hither, soon soar into the lorette. 
 Lorettes rule supreme here. Let us go." . 
 
 They were at this instant standing in front of the 
 Chaussee d'Antin. But for the growing dusk, Paolo 
 might have distinguished the windows of the house 
 where she had lived on the Boulevard des Capucines. 
 A deep gloom fell on his countenance, and he an- 
 swered, — 
 
 "No, thank you. I care neither for grisettes nor 
 lorettes. I feel out of my place in this quarter of the 
 town, ril bid you good-bye, and go back to my 
 pcnates," 
 
 "Go home at seven?" remonstrated Du Genre; 
 "scarcely time even for hens to go to roost." 
 
 "It will be nearly eight when I reach my street, 
 and I have to be up early in the morning." 
 
 "Early — and what for?" 
 
 "To go to my employer!" 
 
 "Your employer? What a ridiculous notion for a 
 bishop's heir." 
 
 "Your jDardon; my altered circumstances do not, I 
 presume, allow me to dispense with common honesty. 
 I have been j^aid in advance for a fortnight, and a 
 fortnisrht more I shall work."
 
 100 LAVDsIA, 
 
 "Upriglit as a post — inflexible as an iron bar. 
 Yon are a capital fellow, and if I "^ere not Felix Pe- 
 lissier, I would williuglj be Paolo Mancini. Tlie 500 
 scudi will just arrive, I calculate, at the end of your 
 semi-monthly engagement. Should you want any 
 money in the meantime — No; well, then, no be it. 
 I wonder what yoiu- income will be — I hope some- 
 thing handsome." 
 
 "I wish you. would spare me your calculations just 
 now.'" 
 
 "And why so, most austere of youths?"' 
 
 "Because they give me pain — because I loathe the 
 subject." 
 
 "Upon my word, this sounds like insanity, and 
 after all the trouble, too, that the notary took to clear 
 the matter of all clouds." 
 
 "Clear or not," said Paolo, impetuously, "is nothing 
 to the purpose. Xot all the arguing in the world can 
 argue away a feeling when it exists; and I feel that I 
 am wrong in accepting this inheritance. You will see 
 that it will bring me ill-luck. Good night." 
 
 "That which will bring you ill-luck," Du Genre 
 cried after him, "if you don't gain wisdom before it is 
 too late, is your false point of view of life. You look 
 upon it as a tragedy, when life is but a farce — but a 
 farce I Good niffht."
 
 SELF-DISCIPLINE. 101 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Self-Discipline. 
 
 Twilight had superseded broad day, and darkness 
 twilight, and there on her couch still lay j\Iiss Lavinia, 
 apparently in a heavy slumber, yet half conscious, a 
 dead weight on her chest, a dead weight on the crown 
 of her head. If the widow who had let her the lodgings, 
 went once on tiptoe to her sitting-room door, she went 
 twenty times, listening in vain for any, the least sound 
 indicative of life within, returning to her parlour after 
 every disappointment with a still more elongated face, 
 and resuming her knitting with more trembling fingers. 
 
 "Are you sure, Molly, that the new lodger has not 
 rung for candles?" 
 
 Molly was ready to stake her life that no bell had 
 so much as stirred in the house. Bless her heart, it 
 was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, let alone a bell 
 ring. 
 
 Mrs. Tamplin had no eyes but for the gloomy side 
 of life. Of a lymphatic temperament, and anything but 
 sanguine, even when young, independent, and on the 
 whole happy, she had had all her little stock of spirits 
 squeezed out of her by the simultaneous loss, in her 
 fortieth year, of husband and fwtune. "Despair and 
 die," had become her motto ever since. To moan over 
 the past, and tremble for the future, to create difticulties 
 where there were none, and magnify into impossibilities 
 those which existed, to fancy dangers everywhere and 
 to anticipate misfortunes from every quarter, — such 
 Avas the unfortunate lady's bent of mind and occupation. 
 
 All new lodgers were objects of suspicion for Mrs.
 
 102 LATINIA. 
 
 Tamplin, and the days on wliicli she received any such, 
 ■were frauglit -witli pai-ticular teiTors, lest, if a man, lie 
 should be a housebreaker, come with intent to rob and 
 murder her; lest, if a woman, she should be one of a 
 gang of thieves, sent for the pm'pose of admitting her 
 associates. Miss Jones, however, it must be allowed, 
 had so far found favour at first sight with the morose 
 ■vsddow as to be spared the degradation of such an hy- 
 pothesis.- But if tolerably free from uneasiness as to 
 any conspiracy against her person and property, Mrs. 
 Tamplin very soon found a cause, and improved it, for 
 alarm and gloomy speculation on another score. This 
 cause, obviously enough, was the continued deathlike 
 stillness of the new comer, as repeatedly veryfied by 
 her own observations. "People did not engage rooms," 
 reasoned the low-spirited landlady during the interv^als 
 of her stations at the ominous door — "people did not 
 engage rooms to sit still in the dark, as if for a wager; 
 it wasn't natural; people moved about, coughed, sneezed, 
 called for candles, in short, gave signs of being alive; 
 if they didn't, why, then, they must be in a fit, or — " 
 
 At this point of her argument with herself, Mrs. 
 Tamplin recollected ha\"ing once read in the newspaper, 
 of somebody — was it a lady or gentleman? she ra- 
 ther thought it had been a lady — well, of somebody, 
 hiring lodgings for the purpose of taking poison, or 
 cutting his or her tiiroat, whichever it was. Such things 
 had happened, and why shouldn't they again? The 
 young lady looked flurried enough for anything. That 
 she, Sirs. Tamplin, of all the landladies in the world, 
 should have the luck of such lodgers, where was the 
 wonder? It would only be in keeping with all the rest. 
 
 The mine was rich, and the miner indefatigable.
 
 SELF-DISCIPLINE. 103 
 
 She pursued, a fancied lugubrious scene tlirougli all its 
 details, from the first finding of the corpse to coroner 
 and jury sitting on the morrow in the little back-room 
 — pursued the theme with the minuteness and zest pe- 
 culiar to the habitual dealers in horrors. The excess 
 of her self-inspired terror at last gave her the courage, 
 she had hitherto lacked, to go and confront the incubus 
 she had conjured up. She seized a candle, hurried 
 across the short passage, opened the little back-room 
 with resolution, and went in. 
 
 Miss Lavinia, startled into full consciousness, sprung 
 to her feet, and asked, — 
 
 "Is that you, Grace? What a fright you gave me." 
 
 "Bless me! she is wandering in her mind," thought 
 Mrs. Tamplin, this fresh alarm swallowing up her satis- 
 faction at the groundlessness of the old one. She said 
 aloud, "It's only me, Mrs. Tamplin, with a light. Arc 
 you ill, miss?" 
 
 "Oh, no! not ill, thank you, only a little giddy and 
 sick," answered Lavinia, reseating herself. 
 
 "You haven't taken anything to make you so, have 
 you?" eagerly inquired the landlady. 
 
 Lavinia shook her head. 
 
 "Are you sure, quite sure?" urged Mrs. Tamplin. 
 
 "Quite sure," repeated the poor girl, looking up at 
 her questioner with some amazement. "What makes 
 you ask me that?" 
 
 "Sometimes, you know," stammered the widow, 
 nearly reassured by the frankness of Lavinia's face, — 
 "sometimes what one eats or drinks — one's food, I 
 mean, disagrees with one's stomach — and, no head- 
 ache?" 
 
 "A little."
 
 104 LAVINIA. 
 
 "Your eyes told me so. I am a bit of a doctor; 
 not a complaint that lias ever been beard of, but I have 
 had it; I am a perfect martyr to ill health. Will you 
 alloTv me to feel your pulse V Gracious goodness! why, 
 ■what's the matter with you? your hands are as cold as 
 death.'" 
 
 Those of the affrighted lady, if not cold , were ma- 
 nifestly trembling from the contact. 
 
 "I am only chilly," said Lavinia; "I'll lie down 
 quietly for a little, and then, I dare say, I shall be well 
 again." 
 
 But !Mrs. Tamplin was of a different opinion. It 
 was a chill, according to her, not to be trifled with; the 
 best thing to do was to send for a doctor. This pro- 
 position Lavinia opposed with all the little strength she 
 had left; while Mrs. Tamplin held to her idea with the 
 energy of despair. 
 
 "Just to satisfy me, miss — being both of us stran- 
 gers to one another. I dare say it is nothing, only it 
 makes me fidgety, when I don't see clearly into things. 
 It isn't much of a sacrifice to see a good gentleman just 
 for five minutes. We have a doctor next door. Dr. 
 Duncan will see what's amiss at a glance. We call 
 him doctor, but he is only a surgeon ; but it would take 
 a dozen doctors to make the like of him, though they 
 are not ashamed to charge a guinea. His visit is but 
 half-a-crown, medicine included. Haifa-crown won't 
 ruin any one. Ah! I see. I may send for him. There's 
 a good girl. I'll be back in a minute.'' 
 
 Poor Lavinia, sick and faint, with her head split- 
 ting with pain, was no match for the excited widow; 
 and to get rid of her teasing, gave at last a reluctant 
 consent.
 
 SELF-DISCIPLINE. 105 
 
 Mrs. TampHn's vehement burst of eloquence, the 
 reader has ah-eady guessed, was produced by a new fit 
 of terror, which had seized on her. She had noticed 
 in the last week's return of deaths for London, a few 
 in the hospitals arising from cholera, and had been ever 
 since in dread expectation of an outbreak of this fear- 
 ful malady. Now, finding to her dismay, that her lodg- 
 er s hands were stiff and cold — it being hot weather, 
 mark, and well knowing that cold hands were one of 
 the first symptoms of cholera; and considering further, 
 that if there was to be a visitation of cholera, it was 
 but natural that it should begin at her house; on the 
 strength of these premises, we say, ]\Irs. Tamplin rushed 
 to the conclusion that she had a case of cholera before 
 her, on her very own couch. 
 
 Mr. Duncan must surely have had a presentiment 
 that his services would be required, and have accord- 
 ingly been prepared, for in less than five minutes after 
 the landlady's exit from the little back-room, a short, 
 thickset, bull-headed, goggle-eyed personage, with shaggy 
 eyebrows and tufts of hair at the root of every finger, 
 bolted in with a grunt, — 
 
 "Is that the person? Ah! how are we?'' 
 
 Lavinia looked at the assemblage of grimacing, 
 squinting, topsy-turvy, unnatural features hanging over 
 her, in a frightened wonder, tempered, however, by a 
 sense of their ludicrousness, and began an account of 
 her sensations; but was instantly stopped. No need of 
 that; he did not care a bit for symptoms. What he 
 wanted was to go to the root of the evil at once. Had 
 we had the measles? Yes, very Avell; he thought so; 
 he would bet a wager that rve had had the hooping- 
 cough also. To the best of her recollection, she had
 
 106 LAVINIA. 
 
 had the hoo2)ing-cougli, said Lavinia. Very good-, and 
 he should not be surprised if ive had been suflfering 
 from low spirits lately? He might have guessed that, 
 without being a prophet, from the careworn face, and 
 'mourning dress of the patient. And what did our tongue 
 say? The recondite meaning of this query, as explained 
 by Mrs. Tamplin, who had gone through the process 
 passim^ was that Lavinia was to put out her tongue for 
 inspection. As Lavinia obeyed, Mr. Duncan exclaimed, — 
 
 "All right; he saw it as plain as daylight: a trifle 
 wrong with the great sytnpathetic. You needn't be un- 
 easy, nor you, Mrs. Tamplin; well soon be on our legs 
 again, and as jolly as ever. Just desire Molly to come 
 to my house, and I'll send you a powder — to be taken 
 in half a tumbler of hot brandy-and-water — very hot, 
 and the stronger the better. And you," turning to La- 
 vinia, "mind you send all blue devils to Coventry; do 
 you hear?" 
 
 After this witty sally, heightened by a broad grin, 
 the facetious Esculapius withdrew, escorted by the 
 gloomy landlady. 
 
 The short palaver in whispers held in the passage 
 between the surgeon and his escort, must have been 
 greatly to the satisfaction of the latter, for she returned 
 to Lavinia in high spirits enough, to hint at the pos- 
 sibility of a speedy recovery • — in a week or two. 
 Mrs. Tamplin saw to the literal execution of Mr. Dun- 
 can's prescri]3tion, not sparing her charge one drop of 
 the beverage. If the surgeon meant it as a practical 
 means of enforcing his recommendation about blue de- 
 vils, his success was complete. Miss Jones at once fell 
 asleep and slept all night like a post. She awoke next 
 morning refreshed, and wanted to get up, but Mrs.
 
 SELF-DISCIPLINE. 107 
 
 Tampliu would allow of no sucli imprudence. Mr. Duncan, 
 when he called, said Mrs. Tamplin was perfectly right. 
 Two days after, the medical practitioner paid another 
 visit, and still ordered rest. Miss Lavinia had to keep 
 her bed for a whole week. 
 
 This forced leisure was not lost upon her-, no lack 
 of subjects, Heaven knows, had she for earnest and 
 anxious speculations, wherewith to beguile the long 
 hours. Her old self to unlearn, as it were, and a new 
 one to create in keeping with her new circumstances 
 — a particularly knotty point connected with the past 
 to settle; some course of action to decide upon, with a 
 view to earning her bread — these were the salient 
 subjects principally engrossing her mind during her 
 imprisonment in her bed. Nor without some good 
 results, she hoped, save, indeed, as to the means of 
 gaining employment. All was mist and gloom to her 
 vision in that direction; not that she anticipated any 
 difficulty in this respect; she was far too ignorant of 
 the hard realities of the world, far too strongly imbued 
 with one of Mr. Jones's favourite axioms, that "where 
 there is a will there is a way," for any fear of that 
 kind; but she was in want of any practical data to go 
 by; she must be put on the right road by some one 
 with more experience in the matter. All she knew 
 was through having heard it mentioned a propos of 
 some recommendations made to herself, that ladies of 
 education in reduced circumstances turned governesses. 
 But was she qualified to teach? She was rather afraid 
 not. Governesses were expected to know everything, 
 and she hardly knew any subject that she could ven- 
 ture to say she was capable of teaching — music, jierhaps, 
 and French and Italian. AVould that be enouerh?
 
 103 LAYINL\. 
 
 In lier honest endeavours to bring her spint down 
 to the level of her low fortune, Lavinia an-ived at a 
 more satisfactory result. The trials she had gone 
 through during the last few mouths, and the reflections 
 they had induced, had ripened her reason, and awaken- 
 ed her to the sense of the duties and moral responsi- 
 bilities which life implied. Even when steeped in all 
 its vanities, and untouched by gi'ief, she had had many 
 a sudden qualm of conscience at Paolo's earnest appeal 
 to those duties and responsibilities. The life she had 
 hitherto led, what a poor figure it now cut, viewed by 
 this new light — if, indeed, such a worthless fluttering 
 of childish impulses, and aimless pursuits, as had filled 
 her days, were worthy to be called by the name of 
 life. Happy still, if by it, she had wronged no one 
 but herself; but she dared not thus console herself; 
 she knew she had wronged others, one, at least, most 
 cruelly, perhaps in-eparably. And could she for a 
 moment regret having lost a position, the recollection 
 of which filled her with shame, and alas! with remorse. 
 Had she not, on the contrary, every reason to thank 
 Providence for having hurled her from it — even by 
 a thunderbolt? for forcing her to begin hfe anew? for 
 granting her the means of atoning for the past? 
 
 We alluded to a knotty point which greatly per- 
 plexed her; but this also she managed to settle. It 
 related to Lady Augusta, the friend to whom her con- 
 fidential letters from Pome were addressed. Their 
 friendship had begun in girlhood, at the fashionable 
 boarding-shool to which both were sent, and had after- 
 wards continued unabated. Out of a rather numerous 
 circle of nominal friends. Lady Augusta was the only 
 one who had not contented herself with sending cards
 
 SELF-DISCIPLINE. 109 
 
 or conventional letters of condolence, but had gone to 
 see her former playmate after Mrs. Jones's death, and 
 shown real feeling- for her bereavement. It seemed but 
 natural, under the circumstances, that Lavinia should 
 have no secrets with Lady Augusta, nay, should throw 
 herself for sympathy and support on so staunch a 
 friendship. Her first impulse had been this; but further 
 thought made her question the vvasdora of such a course. 
 That Lady Augusta would befriend her in spite of 
 everything, she had no doubt — hut would it be in 
 her power to do so? Would not that perfectly polite, 
 but cold and formal countess, discountenance her 
 daughter's doing so? nay, probably, put an absolute 
 veto against any further intercourse with Lavinia? It 
 was more than likely from one, who had no more than 
 tolerated the friendship between the young girls, and 
 though courteously condescending to the niece, had 
 maintained a frigidly patronizing manner to the uncle 
 and aunt. 
 
 After long weighing of the pros and cons of her 
 anticipations with regard to the countess, Lavinia came 
 to the conclusion, that, having doubts on the subject, 
 she would not be justified in running the risk of becom- 
 ing an apple of discord for parent and child — at all 
 events of entailing upon her friend a painful struggle 
 between duty and inclination. Having most conscien- 
 tiously made this resolve, Lavinia felt freed, as from a 
 load, from the necessity of making a confession of what 
 she looked upon as a disgrace, but which was, in fact, 
 a misfortune. To one person alone in the world could 
 she have told all without dying from shame. Not to 
 Paolo; no. She recollected very well his once treating 
 the notion of the transmission of a badge of honour or
 
 110 LAVINIA. 
 
 dishonour, to one who had done nothing to deserve it, 
 as most absurd. But she remembered also — with 
 what confusion, God knows — the contempt with 
 which she had treated such a notion, and the warmth, 
 she had displayed in her arguments against it. He 
 whom she could have made her confidant of all men, 
 he from whom she could anticipate receiving sympathy 
 and pity, was Thornton. He had been to her, while 
 himself sorrowing, so forbearing, so generous, so father- 
 ly, that her heart melted at the recollection. 
 
 Some disaster must have occurred to him, she was 
 sure, or he would have Avritten. His last letter, in 
 which he told her of his change of abode, and gave 
 his address to the Kue Neuve des Augustins, was dated 
 as far back as the beginning of May. She had written 
 twice to him since then, but had received no replies. 
 Surely, this silence foreboded no good. It seemed to 
 her as if she brought misfortune on all those she loved. 
 
 This sad and long monologue with herself was, 
 oftener than she might have wished, interrupted by 
 Mrs. Tamplin, who, under the thick coating of morbid 
 selfishness and vulgarity, forming the staple of her 
 character, had a vein of kindliness, which she showed 
 after her manner. She would of an evening bring her 
 knitting ijato the sick chamber, and by way of raising 
 the spirits of her young lodger, give her the benefit of 
 the newest "mysterious disappearance," "frightful loss 
 of life," or "shocking suicide," as the case might be 
 found in the day's paper. 
 
 Mrs. Tamj)lin delighted in horrors — would will- 
 ingly dine, and sup on them. She was ever ready to 
 welcome the most marvellous amount of misery, whether 
 produced by fire, shipwreck, self-murder, or legal exe-
 
 HAKD APPRENTICESHIP. Ill 
 
 cutions. Not a casualty occurred in tlie year, but she 
 noted it down, stored it in her mind. 
 
 At other times, she reverted to the better days she 
 had seen, and would enter into a minute explanation 
 of the how, and the why, and the when of the wreck 
 of her fortune, winding up by expressing some doubts, 
 whether the lady who kept three servants in her house 
 at Pimlico, was identical with the woman who let lodg- 
 ings in Camden Town, with a servant of all work. 
 
 Lavinia was determined not to lose patience with 
 her querulous vulgar hostess, and to show herself 
 gentle and sympathizing. Rather a difficult task at 
 first, but it grew easier after a time, until she even felt 
 thankful for the opportunity thus offered of testing her 
 powers of self-control. The effort was not without its 
 reward — it secured her Mrs. Tamplin's good graces, 
 who had never before lighted on so complacent a 
 listener as Miss Jones. And by Lavinia, in the utter 
 isolation to which she was reduced, even the good will 
 of so helpless and low-spirited a creature as her land- 
 lady, was not to be disdained. 
 
 CHAPTEK XL 
 
 Hard Apprenticeship. 
 
 The first thing that Lavinia did on being at last 
 released from her bondage of bed, was to write to Lady 
 Augusta and to Mortimer. I was not easy to justify 
 the extreme step she had taken in quitting Mr. Jones's 
 house, without bringing an accusation against him, nor 
 was it easy to establisli the impossibility of any further 
 intercourse between her and her friend, without making
 
 112 LAVINIA. 
 
 any allusion to the quarter from whence opposition to 
 the continuance of their intimacy might be apprehended. 
 However, she managed to make her meaning clear 
 without bringing in third persons, choosing rather to 
 appear rash, over-sensitive, or even ungrateful, than to 
 injure others in Lady Augusta's estimation. 
 
 The account she gave of herself was of course 
 entirely conformable to truth. She had lately discovered 
 that she was not Mr. Jones's niece, in no way related 
 to him or to Mrs. Jones. Her mother had died many 
 years ago in very poor circumstances; her father had 
 gone abroad when she was an infant, and had never 
 been heard of since. She hinted at some disgrace in 
 her case, which she said was as unnecessary as painful 
 to relate. Professions of faithful, unvarying attach- 
 ment, warm from the bleeding heart, traced amid a 
 shower of tears, closed the letter. It consummated her 
 divorce with the past. 
 
 That to Thornton contained but two lines. They 
 were simply to say that she had written twice, but had 
 received no answer; that she had much to say, but 
 dared not write explicitly until a word from him, Avhich 
 she entreated for, came to relieve her from the uncer- 
 tainty of whether the present letter would reach him. 
 It did reach him, but alas! was like all others, either 
 unread or unheeded. She had signed only Lavinia, 
 both to Lady Augusta and to Thornton — her Christian 
 name was her own still. The surname which she 
 intended henceforth to bear, was that of her mother — 
 Holywell. 
 
 Her next thought was of something to do, of some 
 work to begin immediately. Not a minute of her time 
 could she afford to lose. Drawing or painting, with
 
 HARD APPRENTICESHIP. 113 
 
 any view to making a livelihood by either, was, she 
 knew, out of the question. Landscape, she was aware, 
 sold best, and she was unable to paint landscapes. She 
 might have copied figures tolerably well, but not invent; 
 and how was she to obtain originals to copy? besides, 
 how meet the dreadful outlay for brushes, colours, 
 canvasses, &c. ? Needlework would to better, it required 
 no capital. Hers were not very clever fingers, truth 
 to say, as far as needlework was concerned. Still she 
 was a tolerable adept at crochet, embroidery and 
 worsted work. Which of the three, she wondered, 
 would sell best? Not being competent to solve this 
 question, she went and put it to Mrs. Tamplin. 
 
 On hearing it, the worthy matrons's face lengthened 
 considerably, and she gave it as her opinion that none 
 of the three had any chance of a fair price, if sold at 
 all. The market was glutted with such articles, com- 
 petition kept prices down, and tradesmen turned the 
 screw very hard upon the poor workers. 
 
 "Then I will put my question another way," said 
 Lavinia. "AVhich — crochet, embroidery or worsted 
 work — • is the most likely to find a pui'chaser, what- 
 ever the price given?" 
 
 "I should say embroidery, if neatly done, and 
 according to the fashion," said Mrs. Tamplin; "but 
 it so soon destroys the eyes, and gives so little profit, 
 that for my part I had rather break stones on the road 
 than work muslin." 
 
 "But how much do you think a tolerably good 
 worker might realize by it in a day?" asked Lavinia, 
 not to be daunted. 
 
 " Why, from eight to tenpcnce at most, and vrorking 
 
 Liwiuid. 11. O
 
 114 LAVIXIA. 
 
 twelve lionrs. I have heard of first-rate hands making 
 as nnich as a shilling, but they are exceptions." 
 
 "But can a workwoman suj^port herself on a shilling 
 a day?" was perplexed Lavinia's next inquiry. 
 
 "It's a miracle when they can," answered Mrs. 
 Tamplin; "and as miracles don't happen every day of 
 the week, that's why so many yoiang women starve or 
 do worse. There's such a competition, you see. The 
 men, though, God knows, often badly off enough, have 
 more ways than one of turning an honest penny; while 
 a woman has but one, you know — her needle; and 
 the consequence is, that there ai-e more needles than 
 work for them, A firm in the city, I miss the name 
 now, advertised the other day for fifty hands — guess 
 how many applied? Seven hundred, my dear young 
 lady, seven hundred, fourteen times as many as were 
 wanted." 
 
 Apparently, Miss Lavinia did not look particularly 
 cheered by this intelligence, for Mrs. Tamplin said 
 suddenly, — 
 
 "It is not, I hope, on your own account, that you 
 are asking for information about these sort of things?" 
 
 Lavinia did not speak, but nodded her head de- 
 spondingly, in the affirmative. 
 
 "Oh! my poor lady, is it as bad as that?" ex- 
 claimed the widow, with more feeling than might have 
 been anticipated from one so utterly wrapt in self. 
 "So young, so — genteel-looking; what will become 
 of you?" 
 
 "He who clothes the flowers of the fields, and 
 feeds the birds of the air, will provide for me also," 
 said Lavinia. "None of God's creatures perisli for 
 want."
 
 HARD APPRENTICESHIP. 115 
 
 "Goodness me! where do you come from?" cried 
 Mrs. Tamplin, clasping her hands. "I cannot be re- 
 sponsible about the sparrows, but this I know, that in 
 the last year alone, as many as 358 of God's creatures 
 did perish in this blessed metropolis from absolute want 
 of the necessaries of life. You look as if you didn't 
 believe it. I'll show it you in print. I can prove it. 
 Where has it gone now?" muttered Mrs. Tamplin, as 
 she fumbled in a drawer, one of her many repositories 
 of lugubrious facts. "Ah! here it is, cut out of the 
 Weekly Dispatch: Mortality fi-om privation, want of 
 breast-milk, neglect and cold in 1853 — 358. Read it 
 yourself" 
 
 Lavinia was fain to drop the conversation, she felt 
 that she must have a little fresh air, so she asked for a 
 direction to the nearest place where she might get the 
 materials for her embroidery, and went out in quest of 
 them. Mrs. Tamplin had given her facts enough to 
 startle her out of all her preconceived notions. Well 
 might her landlady ask, with hands clasped in wonder, 
 from whence she came. It is astonishing how little the 
 young lady of the iine world knows of another world, 
 which, for not being fine, is not the less real. 
 
 Screened from all rude contact by her carriage and 
 servants, meeting everywhere the ready deference that 
 wealth commands when abroad, smiled upon by all 
 that is comfortable, elegant, and pleasant at home, 
 finding in every house in which she visits, a counter- 
 part of her own, what can a young lady do but argue 
 from the known to the unknown, and pronounce this 
 Avorld to be the best and happiest of worlds? The 
 greatness, the riches, the unparalleled prosperity of 
 the land, are freely dwelt upon in her presence; but all 
 
 8*
 
 116 LAVIXIA. 
 
 disagreeable topics which might cast a shade on the bright 
 picture, are studiously avoided. The papers and novels 
 she is allowed to read, or rather to turn over — for 
 our fine young lady is always at a loss for time — are 
 most of them strongly impregnated with "high life" 
 musk, calculated to enhance her delusions-, and such 
 bits of hard reality as she may chance upon in Dickens 
 or Thackeray, disagree so entirely with her habits of 
 thought, and feeling and exjDcrience, that she puts them 
 down either as clajjtrap, or exaggerations for the sake 
 of effect. 
 
 Such was in the main the state of mind out of 
 which Lavinia had been ai-oused by the awful revela- 
 tions of that morning. As one tries to get at an ap- 
 proximation of the number of the wounded, from the 
 ascertained number of those slain on the battle-field, 
 so did she start from the ghastly cypher just learned, 
 to speculate upon the amount of miseiy which it pre- 
 supposed. I was frightful, and an immense pity for 
 those who were suffering, an immense yearning to be 
 of service to them, took possession of her heart. Oh! 
 that she had known of this in time , — when she had 
 the means of being useful! How much evdl she might 
 have jDrevented! how much good effected! Oh! that an 
 occasion would offer to call into action the newly-born 
 power of charity which stin-ed within her! 
 
 There was a something in Mrs. Tamplin's manner 
 and voice, when she greeted her lodger nex,t morning, 
 which gave Lavinia courage to say at once: 
 
 "Will you bear with me while I put to you a few 
 questions, and will you kindly give me the benefit of 
 your experience?"
 
 HARD APrRENTICESHIP. 117 
 
 "Who refuses to give advice? The permission asked 
 having been willingly granted, Lavinia began; — 
 
 "I can draw a little, I know French, German, and 
 Italian pretty well; I am considered to play and sing 
 better than most ladies. Do you think these things 
 are sufficient to qualify me to be a governess?" 
 
 "Enough, and to spare, if you fall in with reason- 
 able beings; but people have grown so exacting of 
 late; and then it's the same affair about governesses as 
 about needlewomen. For one that is wanted, fifty offer; 
 a good situation as a governess is a prize in the lottery, 
 99 to 1 against getting it, and the salaries are so small. 
 You have to j^ay your own washing, and always to be 
 well dressed — tit, as they call it, to go out with your 
 pupils, and to appear in the evening in the drawing- 
 room. Then the drudgery of a governess's life — all 
 work and no play; always Avanted if they ask for an 
 hour's holiday ; and the holes they have to sleep in ! — 
 no fireplace often; and the tea they have to drink! — 
 it's awful," concluded Mrs. Tamplin. "I knew a lady 
 who had a governess; dear me! I never shall forget 
 the sort of resigned, haggard look of the poor thing's 
 face; it used to make my heart sore every time I saw 
 her." 
 
 "Is there nothing else I could do — no other 
 situation for educated young ladies?" 
 
 "I know of none other except that of being com- 
 panion to a lady; but, oh, dear! I would not wish 
 my worst enemy to be a companion. The ladies who 
 want companions are generally old, infirm, and irritable ; 
 you would be more of a prisoner even than as a gover- 
 ness, for you would not have the daily walk you are 
 sure of with the young people. You M'ould be expected
 
 118 LAVINIA. 
 
 to read aloud till you had no voice left, to be constantly 
 amusing her, for ever doing something for her — nothing 
 better than her shadow. I would rather be a sick 
 nurse, they manage pretty well to have their own 
 way." 
 
 Lavinia was silent for a while; Mrs. Tamplin's last 
 speech had touched a spring in her memoiy; slowly 
 and with difficulty she recalled some account she had 
 heard or read, of an institution for nurses. 
 
 "You have given me a good idea, Mrs. Tamplin ; I 
 will leam to be a nurse." 
 
 "Dear me, I am sure I never meant to put such a 
 preposterous plan into your head." 
 
 "A very good one, and not preposterous at all. 
 There are training institutions for nui'ses — I remember 
 hearing of them; and then the pupils, or whatever 
 they are called, have to go through several ordeals to 
 see if they are fit for the vocation, and if they are, 
 they are sent into hospitals or wherever they are most 
 wanted." 
 
 "An hosj)ital nurse!" exclaimed Mrs. Tamplin, in 
 consternation; "no one in their senses would accept of 
 you for one. First of all — excuse me, I mean it 
 friendly — you are too handsome to be safe in an 
 hospital ; this world isn't heaven yet, dear lady ; in the 
 second place, if you were ever so ugly, you are not 
 strong enough for all the rough, dreadful work that 
 goes on in hospitals." 
 
 Though far from seeing the link of connection 
 between her being handsome and the world not being 
 heaven, Lavinia felt too diffident now of her own 
 judgment to have any inclination to contest the point.
 
 HARD APPRENTICESHIP. 119 
 
 She resumed instead the train of thought abandoned 
 for the moment, and said, — 
 
 "You really think, then, I am capable of being a 
 governess?" 
 
 Mrs. Tamplin emphatically decided that she was. 
 
 "And you will be so good," continued Lavinia, 
 "as to tell me how to set about trying for such a 
 situation?" 
 
 "Eeally," Mrs. Tamplin could not help saying, 
 "you seem as ignorant of the doings of this earth as a 
 baby. The most natural course would be to apply 
 to your friends and relations — to anybody, in short, 
 likely to have an interest in you — and ask them to 
 look out for some place of the kind among their ac- 
 quaintances." 
 
 "And if I have no friends, no relations — no o)ie 
 to take an interest in me," said Lavinia, big tears 
 gathering in her eyes. 
 
 "But that is impossible; every one belongs to some- 
 body," cried Mrs. Tamplin, beginning to be agitated. 
 "Human beings don't grow at the foot of a tree, like 
 mushrooms. Compose yourself, and try to recollect." 
 
 Lavinia shook her head dejectedly, forlornly; two 
 large tears were running down her cheeks. 
 
 "Pray don't," entreated Mrs. Tamplin, Avho, much 
 addicted to the melting mood, knew the danger of 
 example. "There is no earthly use in crying, you 
 know. My dear lady, you must see the truth of what 
 I say; without a little interest, nothing is done in this 
 world of ours. Besides, you must have references, 
 you must; without a reference, not a soul will employ 
 you."
 
 120 LATETIA. 
 
 Lavinia wiped away lier tears, and witli tliem every 
 ti-ace of emotion, and said quietly, — 
 
 "Excuse me for troubling you with a last question. 
 Is tliere no agency through wliich a person, situated 
 as I am, can make known her want of employment?'' 
 
 "There are the newspapers," returned Mrs. Tamplin. 
 "You can advertise in them for the situation of a 
 governess; but I would not advise you to do so, as 
 advertising comes very expensive, and in your case it 
 would just be money lost, or I am much mistaken. 
 You had better take a reading of a daily paper, and 
 look through the advertisements till you see something 
 you think might suit you, and then you can apply for 
 it either in person or by letter, as the advertiser directs. 
 But without references, my dear lady, it is scarcely 
 worth while trying." 
 
 However, Lavinia was determined to try. Xot 
 that she did not feel the full force of Mrs, Tamplin's 
 objection; her efforts would, in most quarters, she was 
 convinced, be foiled by it; still she did not despair of 
 lighting on the right person — some pitying woman, 
 some kindly mother, for whom the knowledge that she 
 was an orphan, one alone in the world, would be suffi- 
 cient reason for befriending her. She sent for The 
 Times next morning, and had not gone far down its 
 advertising columns, when she discovered what seemed 
 the very thing for her: "Wanted a governess in a 
 quiet family, residing in the country, &c. Apply by 
 letter." She had made up her mind from the first, to 
 seek for no situation but in the country or abroad. 
 She was known to far too many in London not to 
 dread disagreeable encounters there. The very idea of 
 meeting Mr, Jones again, turned her blood cold. She
 
 HARD APPRENTICESHIP. 121 
 
 applied at once by letter for tliis situation in the coun- 
 try, and waited the result divided between hope and 
 fear. Every double knock in tho street reverberated 
 through her heart. Nothing came of this application, 
 however; days wore on, a week passed, and no answer 
 was vouchsafed to her letter. 
 
 She resolved to answer another advertisement. A 
 family setting out on a tour abroad wanted a governess 
 who could speak German, Italian, and French; apply 
 every day, from three to five p.m., Hyde Park Place. 
 From Camden Town to Hyde I*ark I'lace is quite a 
 journey — one undertaken by Lavinia in a great flutter 
 of spirits. Excepting those who have had a similar 
 experience, few can realize to themselves what must 
 be the feelings of a girl who has scarcely ever set foot 
 on the streets before, and then always well accom- 
 panied; few, we repeat, can form an idea of what her 
 physical and mental discomfort, on finding herself for 
 the first time alone, having to thread her way through 
 a motley throng. 
 
 Lavinia's courage rose, however, on perceiving the 
 streets to be quieter than she expected. But when she 
 reached the New Koad, an obstruction of carriages, and 
 its natural accompaniment, a crowd, enjoying the fun, 
 forced her to stop. A lively quarrel was raging among 
 the several drivers; their looks, words, gestures, would 
 have been more in character for cannibals than for 
 Christians. They cursed, swore, shook their fists and 
 whips at one another, until the terrified Lavinia ex- 
 pected to see them fly at each other's throat; but as 
 soon as their wheels were in safety, they jmsscd on as 
 if nothing had been. 
 
 Was it a delusion originating in her troubled mind.
 
 122 LAVINIA. 
 
 or was it a fact, that the farther she advanced towards 
 the West End, the keener her impression that the pas- 
 sers-by took more notice of her than was consistent 
 with good breeding? No, it was not fancy, they cer- 
 tainly did so — not the artisans, but the gentlemen, or 
 whatever they were, who were dressed like gentlemen. 
 One and another, as they went by, peered curiously 
 through her veil, some, to do so more conscientiously, 
 leant forwards, or raised their eye-glass. Five out of 
 ten who were going doAvu the street in the same direc- 
 tion with her, would linger by her side, stare at her 
 over their shoulders, and when they had passed on, 
 turn their heads again and again. In spite of her 
 thick veil, and keeping her eyes on the ground, Lavinia 
 could not help being aware of these manoeuvres, so 
 openly and audaciously were they carried on. Presently, 
 near Regent's Circus, a tall, fair, whiskered dandy 
 stopped so directly before her, that in order not to stop 
 also, she had to make a circle round him. She had 
 scarcely time to breathe, when there he was again at 
 her side; she hurried on — it was no use, he kept the 
 step with her, or went before, halting" and turning 
 round to wait for her. A mist rose before her eyes, 
 she crossed the street, without caring for cart or car- 
 riage, and ran on with the speed of despair. She 
 hardly knew whether her terror or indignation was the 
 greatest. Where had they all gone, those highly-bred 
 gentlemen she used to meet at parties, the pink of 
 courtesy, whose deferential manner she had considered 
 the perfection of refinement, so flatteringly obliging at 
 dinner, concert or ball, so chivalrous in protecting her 
 from all inconvenience in crowds, darting furious looks 
 at the chance contact of some unruly elbow — where
 
 HARD APPRENTICESHIP. 123 
 
 Lad they all gone? Surely none of them trod the 
 pavement that day. To see London from the height 
 of one's carriage , or from the height of one's legs, 
 makes a rare difference, I can tell you. 
 
 Lavinia reached her destination with the wan looks 
 and jaded feelings of a remanded culprit, brought to 
 the bar to hear sentence passed on him. The con- 
 sciousness of innocence is but a poor shield against the 
 utter dejection, which protracted anxiety, such as she 
 had gone through, carries along with it. Fortunately, 
 the lady who received her spoke kindly and encourag- 
 ingly — with that good-natured, motherly sort of face, 
 she could not speak otherwise. Lavinia stood in great 
 need of encouragement; a frown, or a harsh word 
 would have sent her into a violent fit of tears. In 
 answer to the lady's inquiries, she stated with modesty 
 her accomplishments, said she could play on the piano 
 and harp, and sing. 
 
 "Very nice," said the lady; "isn't it, James?" 
 "Very," said the gentleman addressed, never look- 
 ing up from the newspaper, Clara, her eldest daugh- 
 ter, explained the lady, had just begun the harp, and 
 Miss Holywell could carry her on perhaps, without a 
 master for the present. The lady then mentioned the 
 salary she was accustomed to give. Lavinia made no 
 difficulties, the sum was quite satisfactory. " Of course," 
 resumed the lady, "I expect you to give me good re- 
 ferences." Lavinia faltered out that she had none to 
 give. "None in London, perhaps, you mean," kindly 
 suggested the lady. 
 
 "Neither in town nor in country, madam," said La- 
 vinia, now ashy pale.
 
 124 LAVINIA. 
 
 "Sm-ely, jon are known to some one in England, 
 who would answer for yon." 
 
 "Pray, madam," cried Lavinia, so choked with 
 emotion that she could scarcely speak inteUigibly, "pray, 
 be not pi-ejudiced against me by what I am going to 
 say. Indeed, I have done no harm, God is my wit- 
 ness, I have injm'ed no one, but still there is no one I 
 can give you as a reference." 
 
 The lady looked fixedly at the speaker all the 
 while, but there was nothing hard in her look, rather 
 the contrary. She mused for an instant, then said, — 
 
 "Strange, almost incredible, as your statement may 
 seem, if you could only account satisfactorily — " 
 
 "Mary," said the gentleman, never looking up from 
 his newspaper. The tone in which these two syl- 
 lables were pronounced must have lowered the thermo- 
 meter. 
 
 "All things considered," said the lady, rising, "I 
 am sorry I cannot engage you." 
 
 "God bless you the same for your kindness," said 
 Lavinia, bowing low, and departed. 
 
 Poor thing! so near the port, and wrecked. 
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 On the raght Bank of the Seine. 
 
 While Lavinia was thus hunting for some chari- 
 table soul who Avould employ her, and found none, 
 Paolo, on his side, was looking out, with no better 
 success, for some one who would relieve him of a por- 
 tion of the 500 scudi he had received from Home. Let 
 us hasten to add, lest the reader should be tempted to
 
 ON TUB RIGHT BAMC OF THE SEINE, 125 
 
 laugh at this statement, that the young Roman's appli- 
 cation for such a service was restricted to a very nar- 
 row circle of persons, whom it is almost useless to 
 name — in fact, to the group of good Samaritans who 
 took him in, and nursed and tended him in his sickness 
 and poverty. 
 
 Youth is so happy to give fur the mere pleasure 
 of giving! It was the only gratification Paolo antici- 
 pated from heing rich. How keenly he enjoyed in 
 thought the agreeable surprise he would one day manage 
 for his little friend Salvator, and his betrothed Clelia! 
 But to do so as generously as he wished, he must be 
 no longer dependent on the complaisance of a man of 
 business, he must be in the actual possession of his 
 own. In the meantime, hoAvever, here were those at 
 hand, who had stretched their small means to the ut- 
 most to help him in his distress; and it was lucky that 
 he had it in his power to show his sense of the ser- 
 vices he had received. But in this, as we have just 
 hinted, he had reckoned without his host. Save Dr. 
 Perrin, who, when made to comprehend the change in 
 his patient's circumstances, did at last consent, though 
 with reluctance, to receive a moderate fee for himself, 
 and a contribution for his more indigent patients, none 
 of the young man's other friends would hear of any- 
 thing like cash. 
 
 Fortunately for Paolo's peace of mind, they proved 
 less intractable on the chapter of souvenirs; and many 
 were the useful household articles, soi-disaiH trifles for 
 the children, and little comforts for the table, which, 
 under that commodious nickname, Avere smuggled from 
 the neighbouring shops into Mr. Prospcr's establishment, 
 and into Mr. Bcuoit's den. Amonfr these last contribu-
 
 126 LAVINIA. 
 
 tions figured a collection of black bottles, of wLose con- 
 tents Benoit could never hereafter speak -^dtbout qnoi.^ 
 of enthusiasm, and repeated thrusts at the nearest wall ; 
 and also a magnificent meerschaum, which he seem- 
 ingly disdained to use for smoking, but of which he 
 must have been pretty vain, as he constantly wore it, 
 inserted daggerwise, in the strings of his apron. After 
 all, it might have been a better feeling than vanity 
 which prompted his carrying it; as to the manner he 
 had no choice — Benoit's costume admitted of no such 
 thing as a pocket. 
 
 Paolo had given up his secretaryship at the end of 
 the fortnight, and, for having plenty of money and 
 time at his own disposal, he was none the happier; 
 quite the reverse. He positively knew not what to do 
 with himself — he thought once of hiring a studio, 
 and settling himself to his painting again. But then, 
 a quoi bon ? Even should he succeed in acquiring 
 fame, beyond what was probable in a foreign countiy, 
 was the end worth the ■double? With Lavinia — his 
 only incentive for wishing to anive at greatness — had 
 vanished every spark of ambition — his enthusiasm for 
 art — as he believed, for ever. Who has not laboured, 
 more or less, under such dispiriting influences? who has 
 not, on the newly covered gi-ave of some dear being, 
 or not less dear dream, pronounced all piirsuits worth- 
 less? The soul takes long to recover the shocks of 
 such bereavements. 
 
 Du Genre was not slack in proposing a method of 
 cure for his friend's ennui; it consisted of a series of 
 measures, the first, the most urgent, the sine qua non 
 of which, was to pass what he styled the Rubicon; by 
 which he meant that Paolo should cross the Seine, and
 
 ON THE EIGHT BANK OF THE SEINE. 127 
 
 remove his quarters to tlie habitable part of Paris, viz. 
 the right side of the river. To this Paolo said neither 
 yes nor no. He had already made up his mind to 
 leave his garret, and seek for a more eligible lodging; 
 but he had, as was natural, a strong prejudice against 
 the Boulevards so vaunted by Du Genre. Nor was he 
 particularly inclined for the present to take a stall twice 
 a week at the theatre of the Palais Royal, or to canvass 
 for admission to the club of which his French fellow- 
 painter Avas a member. The only one of Du Genre's 
 various devices for killing time, which at all tickled 
 Paolo's fancy, was that of taking riding lessons at a 
 Manege^ to which the realist, himself a subscriber, vo- 
 lunteered to introduce him. Riding was a manly and 
 healthy exercise, and Paolo saw no reason why he 
 should not devote a few of his idle hours to that, as 
 well as to walking. It was, therefore, settled that this 
 introduction should take place as soon as Paolo should 
 have fulfilled the indispensable preliminary of making 
 himself fit, as far as personal appearance went, for so 
 fashionable a lounge. 
 
 "For, indeed," observed Du Genre, "your dress and 
 hati are quite anachronisms in this part of the world, 
 though they might cut a tolerable figure in a museum 
 of antiquities." 
 
 Paolo took a survey of his threadbare black coat 
 and trousers, smiled assent, and in less than eight-and- 
 forty hours, thanks to the combined exertions of Du 
 Genre's tailor, hatter, and bootmaker, he was in a fit 
 condition, though rather an absurd figure in his own 
 eyes, to be presented at the ^fnnege. 
 
 Being Du Genre's acquaintance, his admission met 
 with no difficulty, one of the old members being easily
 
 128 LAVINIA. 
 
 found to stand sponsor for him, according to the rules. 
 To this ceremony, and a few other conditions and limi- 
 tations, submitted to by all those entering, the establish- 
 ment owed its character rather of a riding-club than of 
 a riding-school, the appellation usually, hoAvever, given 
 to it. 
 
 The riding-master augured well of him from the 
 first day. Light hand, quick eye, strong, supple limbs, 
 and plenty of pluck, Paolo was wanting in none of the 
 natural gifts which go towards the making of a fine 
 horseman; he had, moreover, what is more rare, that 
 intuitive perception of the best means to an end, whicli 
 is to all undertakings what a good ear is to the mastery 
 of music. He took to the saddle con amorc^ and made 
 rapid progress. A few days sufficed, Du Genre aiding 
 and abetting, to establish between the new pupil and 
 the habitues those relations of boime compagnie so easily 
 formed in France; but none of these ever ripened into 
 intimacy. The men he met there were most of them 
 jovial young fellows of Paolo's own age; some, how- 
 ever, mere boys; but one and all were deep in the 
 "hausse," and the "baisse," and in the scandalous 
 chronicle of the day. The way they spoke of women 
 was alone enough to distance our idealist. 
 
 Among the patrons of the Manege^ who from time 
 to time came thither, and even occasionally joined the 
 youths in a ride, was the Vicomte du Verlat — we 
 have heard this name before — a peculiarly good- 
 looking elderly gentleman. His tall stature, and grey 
 beard, which he wore long; his elegant, yet simple 
 style of dress ; the ease and distinction of his manners, 
 reminded Paolo of his English friend, Thornton. Erect, 
 supple, and active as any of the young men, Vicomte
 
 ON THE RIGHT BANK OF THE SEINE. 129 
 
 du Verlat maintained intact at fifty Lis well-earned re- 
 putation of being one of the best riders of the day, 
 and great was the excitement in the riding-house, when 
 the tyros felt the keen glance of the master on them. 
 The vicomte had noticed Paolo as a promising pupil; 
 had given him several useful hints; came to the school 
 more frequently than he had lately done, as if drawn 
 thither by some new interest. Paolo, flattered and 
 pleased by the attention of one so generally looked 
 up to, met Mr. du Verlat's advances gratefully and 
 warmly. 
 
 Meanwhile the whereabouts of the new quarters for 
 Paolo remained , notwithstanding Du Genre's advice and 
 persuasions, an open question. One day the viscount 
 said to Paolo, — 
 
 "I never meet you on the Boulevard ; I suppose you 
 do not reside in this neighbourhood?" {The Manege wa,s 
 in the quarter of the Madeleine.) 
 
 Paolo turned red as he replied that he lived at some 
 distance, but that he was intending to come nearer to 
 the Boulevard. 
 
 "Allow me to say that the sooner you do so, the 
 better," said the vicomte. "Come nearer to us; you will 
 find it more cheerful; at least, I, for cue, will try to 
 make it so to you." 
 
 From this day, Paolo felt discontented with his attic 
 on the left bank of the Seine, and made up his mind 
 to 2)ass the Eubicon. Du Genre, delighted with this 
 resolve, gave the most unwearied help towards its 
 realization. A good many apartments were looked at 
 by the two friends fruitlessly, for some days; those 
 patronized by the Frenchman being objected to by the 
 Italian as too luxurious and expensive; those the Itahau 
 
 Lavinia. II. 9
 
 1 30 LAVINIA. 
 
 would have chosen being rejected by the Frenchman as 
 shabby and unfit for a man with any self-respect. At 
 length, as usual in such cases, each party conceded 
 somewhat, and the matter ended in a compromise. A 
 snug entresol in the Hue St. Georges was selected as 
 neither too cheap not too dear, neither too showy nor 
 too plain; and when Paolo had satisfied the porter that 
 he was possessed of neither children nor dogs, and that 
 he had wherewithal to pay a month's rent in advance, 
 the keys of the apartment were delivered to him. 
 Cei'berus, moreover, condescended, for a additional sum 
 of twenty francs a month, to clean Mr. Mancini's shoes, 
 and look after his rooms. Paolo scorned the notion of 
 having a servant all to himself. 
 
 And so possession was taken ip?to facto, and the two 
 friends, each lighting a cigar — Paolo had become an 
 habitual smoker — intended as a votive offering to the 
 familiar Lares, proceeded to make arrangements for the 
 removal of what moveables Paolo had on the other side 
 of the water. 
 
 "You are probably not aware," said Du Genre, as 
 they walked down the street, "that you have given your- 
 self a master and a tyrant in the shape of this porter 
 of yours. Remember, however, never to call him Foi'tier, 
 but always Concierge, or he will call you to severe 
 account. You had one real advantage in your hole in 
 theRueDufour, and that was having no porter. Porters 
 with our absurd style of houses are indispensable, but 
 not the less a scourge. They are the natural enemies 
 and persecutors of their proprietors' tenants , whom they 
 look upon, and justly so, as the cause of their own 
 bondage. It is perfectly logical, for if there were no 
 lodgers, there would be no porters. They have a thou-
 
 ON THE RIGHT BAKK OF THE SEINE. 131 
 
 saud ways of embittering your life: they can stop your 
 letters; forget to give you the cards left for you; say 
 you are at home to the visitors you dislike to see; say 
 you are out to those you wish to receive; keep you in 
 the rain ad libitum o{ a night, — and woe to you if you 
 seek redress. Either the landlord will back them against 
 you, and you are at their mercy; or he will reprimand 
 them; and then, farewell to peace, — the house will 
 soon grow too hot to hold you. So, let it be your 
 constant policy never to resist, or have the slightest 
 difference with , the gentleman you have just engaged to 
 clean your rooms and your shoes. Propitiate him at all 
 costs. You laugh. I am speaking in sober earnest, I 
 assure you. Let me see; there was something else I 
 meant to say. Ah! you must not be quite unprovided 
 for visitors. Order in a dozen of Madeira; yes, that 
 and Vermuth will do for the stronger sex; the softer will 
 prefer champagne or maraschino." 
 
 "But I have no intention of receiving ladies," said 
 Paolo, with some surprise. 
 
 "Nonsense! you are too well launched now, to be 
 able to stop midway. Now you have got a decent 
 apartment, the next thing you must provide yourself 
 with, is a fair companion." 
 
 "Thank you," said Paolo, blushing like a girl; 
 "but I shall do no such thing. Let us act like Chris- 
 tians." 
 
 "Why should we act like what we are not?" 
 
 "Are we not Christians?" said Paolo. 
 
 "Certainly not, save in name," returned the French- 
 man. "Show me any, the least spark of the spirit, 
 which made a stable the cradle, and a cross the throne 
 of a humanized god, and I will follow you into the 
 
 9*
 
 132 LAvisrA. 
 
 desert, and live upon locusts. Cbristianity, to most 
 people, is an ingenious tbeoiy, with no more practical 
 bearing on men's actions than the theory of colours, or 
 that of the formation of hail. Look around you," con- 
 tinued Du Genre, jjointing to the throng of men on the 
 Petite Bourse, blocking up the pavement on both sides 
 opposite- to the Passage de TOpera. "Here it is where 
 it is decided -whether the Rente shall rise or fall; here 
 plenty of bargains with the devil are made; the single 
 aim and passion of all these so-called Christians here 
 assembled, but one — money — to get rich — make 
 a fortune. Step on that bench and tell these Chi-istians 
 that there is written in a book, which they have accepted 
 as their rule of life, that, 'It is easier for a camel to 
 pass thi-ough the eye of a needle, than for a rich man 
 to enter the kingdom of heaven,' and see how they will 
 receive the intelligence; it will not anger — oh, no! 
 but amuse them vastly. Christians forsooth ! The religion 
 of our age is a mitigated Paganism; its gods, Plutus, 
 Venus, and Bacchus. Take away the- Bom-se, the 
 Dames aux Camelias, and the wine-shops, and society 
 win collapse like a balloon out of which the hydro- 
 gen has escaped. Yon see I can moralize when I 
 choose." 
 
 "With a vengeance," said Paolo. "But then, if 
 the world be so wicked as you make it out to be, rather 
 than seek pleasure, we ought to put on sackcloth, and 
 cover our heads with ashes." 
 
 "The conclusion of morose Heraclitus," said the 
 Frenchman; "laughing Democritus knows better, and 
 says. Let us -wreathe our temples with roses, and do as 
 others do. Take my advice, Telemachus; choose your 
 Eucharis."
 
 ON THE RIGHT BANK OF THE SEINE. 133 ' 
 
 "Never," said Paolo; "every principle, every feel- 
 ing, the very foundation of my soul, rises up in arras 
 against the notion. There is a gulf between your ideas 
 of woman and mine." 
 
 "Aye!" sighed Du Genre; "the gulf that separates 
 sober reality from wild fancy. What do you know about 
 women? Living like an anchorite, you have made for 
 yourself, and bond fide worshipped, an ideal type, which 
 no more resembles a flesh and blood woman, than the 
 brilliant plant of the tropics reared in a hothouse re- 
 sembles the common flowers of the field. Experience 
 alone Avill cure you of your delusion; it will come. In 
 the meanwhile, condescend to open your eyes, and 
 contemplate the stream of inflated ladies, who pour out 
 of the church of the Madeleine. Mark me, they are 
 most respectable; examine them, and reconcile, if you 
 can, your high-flown sentiments Avith their frivolous ap- 
 pearance. Do they answer best to the description of 
 the angels and muses you dream of, or to that of the 
 thorough-bred daughters of Eve that they are? The 
 fool's cap, I know, docs not make the fool; but when 
 wilfully worn, it is not the less indicative of a certain 
 frame of mind. Can you think of the respectable mother 
 of a family stepping into her steel cage, and help laugh- 
 ing? And why should we be in earnest, and bruise our 
 hearts to a jelly for those who are not in earnest about 
 themselves? They do not expect it of us." 
 
 During the last part of Du Genre's speech, Paolo's 
 attention had been divided between it and a group of 
 three artisans, Avho had stopped to watch awdiile the 
 passing of some of their fair, so styled, superiors. He 
 could not hear what they said, but judging from their 
 curled lips, and half-angry, half-sarcastic survey of
 
 134 LAVINIA. 
 
 waving hoops and flounces, he could guess pretty well 
 at the nature of their opinions and comments. Paolo 
 nudged his friend, who, following the direction of the 
 Roman's glance, said, — 
 
 "When those in authority on board the vessel con- 
 descend to play the fool, no wonder the crew take them 
 at their own valuation. After all," added he, with 
 a shrug, "it's no business of ours — apres nous le 
 delugey 
 
 Mr. du Verlat's was the first visit Paolo received in 
 his new abode. "A snug comfortable pied-a-terre,^'' re- 
 marked the vicomte, approvingly; no gingerbread show 
 about it. Looked like common sense, and the vicomte 
 valued simplicity of all things. And what was his young 
 acquaintance doing? Beginning to dabble in the wicked- 
 ness of the world? Too late in the year for Mabille or 
 the Chateau aux Fleurs; but there was Valentino, and 
 the Concerts de Paris. Not been there yet! Was he an 
 ascetic? Very agreeable rencontres might be made there. 
 Parisian belles, the vicomte was aware, could not stand 
 comparison with Roman beauties , but they had the brio, 
 the entrain, the jc ne sais quoi. 
 
 Paolo shook his head despondingly, as though he 
 would say he made as light of Roman beauties as of 
 Parisian belles, or that it was not that he looked for. 
 
 "A! I understand — I feel for you," resumed the 
 vicomte. "Early love, disappointment, deception. We 
 have all gone through it. I have been young and 
 romantic as you are; I have pursued my beau ideal as 
 fervently as any one, have wept bitter tears on its flight, 
 and — I have ended by me faire nne raison. Follow 
 my example, sir; try a little homoeopathy — similia 
 shnilibus. Life is too short to si)end it in di-eams, and
 
 ON THE KIGHT BANK OP THE SEINE. 135 
 
 youth comes but once — carj^e diem. Believe me, life 
 lias realities not to be disdained, and with your physical 
 powers — " 
 
 "Perhaps it is a fault in me," said Paolo, smiling, 
 "but what if I prefer my dreams to your realities?" 
 
 "Pardon me; that proves nothing more than that 
 you are in a morbid state of mind , out of which it is 
 the duty of those who wish you well to arouse you. 
 You cherish your disease, and that's the worst feature 
 of it. I did much the same when similary afflicted. 
 What would you say of that person — excuse the tri- 
 viality of the simile — what would you say of any one, 
 who, dissappointed of the woodcock he had relied on 
 for his dinner, would rather not dine at all than do so 
 on a pigeon pie? Make an effort, sir, and shake off 
 your trammels. True wisdom consists in asking of life 
 no more than life can give. Constancy, you see — I 
 could prove it to you both on anatomical and physiolo- 
 gical grounds — is a virtue incompatible with our faulty 
 organization. Have you read Balzac? Well, read him; 
 there is great philosophy in Balzac. If you will permit 
 me, I will send you some of his works. Adieu." 
 
 Du Verlat was sincere in saying he felt for Paolo; 
 he felt like a compassionate physician, who sees his 
 patient refuse the medicine that would restore him to 
 health, or rather like one who sees his friend labouring 
 under a painful hallucination, and strives to reason 
 him out of it. The good-humoured viscount was not a 
 common roue,, nor had nature intended him for one at 
 all. lie was born generous, confiding, tender-hearted. 
 A coquette he had met with at twenty had made him 
 what he now was, an elegant sensualist. There are 
 men who cannot resist the deleterious effect of a fii-st
 
 136 LAVINIA. 
 
 deception ; and in tliat of whicli lie liad been the victim, 
 there were peculiarly aggravating circumstances. Mr. 
 du Verlat bad spent some of tbe best years of his life 
 in inoculating himself with the belief — nay, had erected 
 it into a sort of system, backed by anatomy and phy- 
 siology — that women were irresponsible agents, and 
 ought to be treated as such. This belief it was that 
 had kept him a bachelor, in spite of the urgent entrea- 
 ties of all his family that he would marry. 
 
 But his scepticism had nothing in it either malig- 
 nant or aggressive. The vicomte did not make it his 
 profession to go about slandering the fair sex, nor did 
 he treat them cavalierly; quite the contrary. The sys- 
 tematic view he took of them, together with the inborn 
 elegance of his mind, inclined him rather to that de- 
 ferential indulgence which is shown to infants. It was 
 from pure good-nature, that he had so far gone out of 
 his usual routine as to catechize Paolo; but possessing, 
 as he believed he did , an infallible antidote against the 
 malady, which, according to his own guesses, and Du 
 Genre's confidences, afflicted his Italian acquaintance, 
 could he keep it fi-om one so young and interesting? 
 
 Days and weeks passed, and Paolo saw with amaze- 
 ment, as he looked back, the alteration in his habits, 
 which his simple change of residence had stealthily 
 brought with it. Somehow or other he had, since 
 passing the Rubicon, with difficulty found time for a 
 couple of visits to his friends of the Quai Montebello; 
 and Mr. Boniface, or Mr. Pertuis, on whom he used to 
 call once a week at least, he had entirely neglected. 
 Somehow or other, he was rarely in his bed till an 
 hour after midnight, rarely out of it before ten in the 
 morning, and yet he had not been to the theatre more
 
 DESPAIR. 137 
 
 than five or six times during these three weeks, and as 
 to balls or concerts, he had never set his foot in one 
 of them. He had besides lost his great dislike to the 
 Boulevard ; he would loiter there with much equanimity, 
 exchanging greetings and cigars with other loiterers, 
 having become by this time on speaking terms with 
 most of the frequenters of the cafe^ at which he took 
 his meals. 
 
 Perhaps, had he scanned the inner man as closely 
 as the outward, Paolo might have noticed modifications 
 in the former, as well as the latter. Not that he had 
 come the length of being in the least disposed to ex- 
 change his gods for the gods of others — not at all; 
 l)ut his holy horror of what he considered idolatry had 
 much abated, and instead a new spirit of tolerance was 
 springing up within him for tenets distant as pole from 
 pole to his own. Balzac's philosophy, ArnaVs donhle 
 cntendres, Rosati's o/trcchat,'', and evening walks on the 
 Boulevard, are not exactly calculated to strengthen spi- 
 ritualistic tendencies. The atmosjDhere in which Paolo 
 lived , notwithstanding his attempts to neutralize it, 
 began to tell on him, imperceptibly, but steadily. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Despair. 
 
 There was, at the time of the events in course of 
 narration, an extensive linen-drapery establishment in 
 the vicinity of Camden Town. Miss Lavinia walked 
 into this shop one morning, a little basket in her hand, 
 containing some embroidery of her own working — a 
 chemisette with sleeves to match — the labour of many
 
 138 LAVIXIA. 
 
 scores of weary hours. Had her countenance been 
 clearly visible, instead of only indistinctly through her 
 thick veil , it would have betrayed the great effort 
 which the step she was taking cost her. 
 
 The eager j)oliteness of the counter official, who 
 stepped up to her side soliciting the honour of her 
 commands, on hearing the nature of her request, and 
 the tone in which it was made, vanished; he pointed 
 in silence to the farther end of the room , wheeled 
 round, and left her to herself. Her request was to the 
 effect that she wished to speak to one of the gentlemen 
 of the firm; and she had to repeat it twice over to two 
 different young men, before she could make out which 
 was the person she was in search of. It being not yet 
 nine in the morning, business was more than languid, 
 and the master, seated a little apart from his shopmen, 
 was diligently trimming his nails with a penknife. All 
 that was visible of him in his semi-reclining postiu-e, 
 was a big bunch of crisp black hair cai-efully brushed 
 to one side of his head, and a profile view of a chin 
 and mouth of that deep blue hue, indicative of a strong 
 black beard. 
 
 Lavinia went up to him, and, leaning over the 
 counter, which half hid him from view, said, in a timid 
 whisper, — 
 
 "I beg yom" pardon, sir; I have come to offer some 
 work for sale," and she produced her embroidery. 
 
 The partner of the firm rose, looked at her, noticed 
 the small gloved fingers, took in at a glance the fine 
 proportions of her figure, and conveyed the satisfactory 
 impression he -had received from the tout ensemble, by 
 a wink and a grin full of meaning to some one standing 
 behind the lady. The smart, bandy-legged little fellow,
 
 DESPAIR. 139 
 
 tbus telegraphed to, no less a personage than the head 
 clerk, stole on tiptoe to Lavinia's side, and tried to 
 peep under her veil; caught in the act, he assumed au 
 air of unconsciousness, took the embroidery handed him 
 by the gentleman of the firm, examined it, and asked 
 if it was for sale. Being answered in the affirmative, 
 he said, "by your leave," and without waiting for it, 
 he pretended to measure the sleeves to Lavinia's wrist, 
 and in so doing, managed, with malice prepense, to 
 touch the fair hand and arm more than necessary. She 
 drew it back hastily. 
 
 "Heyday, you needn't be afraid of me; my skin is 
 as clear as yours, ma'am," said he; "if we are to have 
 dealings together, you must be a little more agreeable." 
 
 Lavinia took no notice of him, but repeated her 
 question to the partner. 
 
 "Will you jDurchase these things, sir?" 
 
 "Certainly," he replied, with another wink to his 
 subordinate; "but you are aware, ma'am, that we cannot 
 buy articles without identifying the seller." 
 
 "I can leave you my name and address," said in- 
 nocent Lavinia. 
 
 " That's not enough , miss. Suppose some lady 
 comes in half an hour hence, sees this chemisette and 
 sleeves, and says that they belong to her, that she has 
 lost them? I know what you are going to say, and I 
 don't doubt you are speaking the truth, when you tell 
 me they are your own work; I have no doubt you 
 would appear to prove them to be so; but pray, how 
 could we swear you were the person that sold them — " 
 
 "Unless," added the head clerk, with a very grave 
 face, "you would be so kind as to remove your veil — ■ 
 just for an instant."
 
 140 LAVINIA. 
 
 His too well preseiTed gravity -was the ruin of the 
 joke. The partner could not resist it, and burst out 
 into a roar of laughter. Bandy-legs took the infection 
 and roared also. Lavinia now saw they had been 
 amusing themselves at her expense; she silently picked 
 up her work and walked away. Her tears for not 
 gushing forth were not the less bitter-, only the more 
 heavily did they fall back on her heart. What coarse, 
 mischievous men these were, thought she. She had 
 never guessed at the existence of such beings. 
 
 !Mrs. Tamplin comforted her in her way. 
 
 "And so they made game of you! the more shame 
 for them. I might have known as much. You are not 
 the sort of person to be going from shop to shop on 
 selling eiTands; you are too handsome and too good. 
 They wanted to see you without your veil, and so they 
 trumped up that ridiculous story about identification. 
 A parcel of saucy scamps. Beauty is a sad gift to the 
 poor and modest. They think they have done wonders, 
 when they buy the worth of a sixpence from you, and 
 expect no end of complaisance in return — and they 
 get it in most cases. And how can it be otherwise? 
 If you knew what it was to be hungry! A wicked 
 world I can tell you. All the effect of competition, 
 that's what it is." 
 
 !Mrs. Tamplin, to her honour be it said, did not 
 confine her consolations to worse than sterile theories 
 about human wickedness. She did better than that — 
 she did something practical — namely, took the em- 
 broidery and went about with it herself Lavinia could 
 the better appreciate this effort in one so low-spii-ited 
 as her landlady, after her own recent personal ex- 
 perience. The effect upon herself had been to blight
 
 DESPAIR. 141 
 
 that most precious and most tenacious flower of youth 
 — confidence in mankind. She now shrank from them. 
 Not to gain the world would she a second time have 
 gone through the same ordeal as that she had passed in 
 the Camden Town linen-draper's shop. 
 
 The embroidery sold after all — sold for a liigher 
 price than Mrs. Tamplin had supposed probable. Even 
 the gloomy widow, elated for a moment by her success, 
 found some chords within her which sounded like hope! 
 The flower withering in Lavinia's breast revived, and 
 her want of faith filled her with shame and remorse. 
 She felt as if, in doubting her fellow-creatures, she was 
 doubting Providence! How ungrateful of her! Was it 
 not more than she deserved, her having already secured 
 an active sympathizing friend? If instead of desponding 
 at her first disappointment and crouching down like a 
 coward, she had put on patience as an armour against 
 all rebufis, had she been strong in the knowledge 
 that she was doing well, her failure must have been 
 followed by success. It Avas her pride, her faint-heartcd- 
 ness, that she ought to find fault with, and not her 
 neighbour. 
 
 Impressed with a deep sense of her unworthiness, 
 she shut herself into her little room, knelt by the side 
 of her poor couch, and prayed and Avept as only those 
 can pray and weep, who have no proper stay but Our 
 Father that is in Heaven. And then, fairly worn out 
 by emotions of many kinds, and want of rest for the 
 last two nights, she fell asleep like a little child and 
 dreamed that she was driving in the grounds of Villa 
 Borghese with her aunt by her side. There were 
 numerous loungers strolling in the gardens; one with 
 his back to her reminded her of Paolo. She knew in
 
 142 LAVINIA. 
 
 lier dream that she had not seen him for very long, 
 and an earnest deske arose in her to tell him how 
 much she had changed, and that she cared no more for 
 those things he cared not for. And presently the gentle- 
 man turned, and she saw that it was Paolo, and he had 
 a large rose in his button-hole, and she beckoned to 
 him. He came to her hurriedly, and stretched his hands, 
 holding his beautiful rose, towards her. In her eager- 
 ness to grasp it, she leaned far out of the carriage, and 
 felt that she was falling, which she was doing in right 
 earnest. As Paolo, the rose, the gardens disappeared, 
 she found herself lying on the floor by the bed, fortu- 
 nately without any hurt. 
 
 There are moods of the mind which predispose one 
 to receive strong impressions, however unwarranted by 
 reason, from causes almost puerile. Lavinia was in one 
 of these moods, and, silly as it may seem in her, drew 
 so happy an omen from her dream as to amount to a 
 certainty of Paolo's safety. We will not grudge her 
 this superstitious feeling, considering the great comfort 
 she derived from it, and her great need of some com- 
 fort. 
 
 Renewed trust in God, in the good-will of His crea- 
 tures, and a strengthened purpose to keep herself, to 
 the best of her powers, in the spirit of one who is sure 
 to be helped, such was the revulsion of feeling Avith 
 which Lavinia arose from her momentary fit of dis- 
 couragement. As to the means of earning her bread, 
 she had no choice but to persevere in the old course — 
 applications for the situation of governess and her needle. 
 Answering advertisements, whether in pei-son or by 
 letter, occupied but little of her time; all the rest was 
 devoted to her embroidery. She grew so chaiy of
 
 DESPAIR. 143 
 
 every moment, that slie grudged lierself even the quarter 
 of an Lour for her dinner — and such a dinner! If 
 the few sparrows whom she had tamed to come to the 
 window-sill and peck crumbs from her hands, were at 
 all slow in coming to her call, she would chide them 
 for keeping her idle. Yes, even the very poorest have 
 their superfluities. She had her luxury also, something 
 to tend, and watch, and think of, and hope in, and love 
 — a hyacinth growing in its long blue glass. That poor 
 root represented all the external poetry of her life. 
 
 To see her pretty lodger slaving from early dawn 
 till late at night, ought to have afforded Mrs. Tamplin 
 an occasion for many a comfortable moan about the 
 misery that always dogged her life; but she neglected 
 this precious opportunity, setting her wits to work in- 
 stead, to devise some means of forcing Lavhiia to enjoy 
 a second's respite; her cunningest trick being reserved 
 for the evening, when, pleading the sad state of her 
 eyes, she would entreat the young lady to read to her 
 from the day's paper the account of the man who 
 smashed a pane of glass that he might obtain a lodging 
 in a prison; or that of the family of four persons who 
 spent most of the night in taking down bills from the 
 walls, and made from the sale of the paper thus obtained 
 as much as sevenpence a day, upon Avhich the four 
 persons contrived to exist. 
 
 One day Mrs. Tamplin had an idea — a bright 
 idea. The young lady played on the piano, she be- 
 lieved; could she not give music lessons? Lavinia 
 thought she could, only — 
 
 "Wait a moment," said the widow; "I don't mean 
 that you should seek to give lessons at the pupils' own 
 hoimes. I know very well it would be the old story
 
 144 LAVIXIA. 
 
 over again about references, and good-day to yon as 
 the Aviud-up. Xotliing, lio'n'ever, Mnders you fi-om 
 opening a class for tlie piano; very clieap, of course, at 
 the beginning — a class for the piano, here, in this 
 house. I will very -willingly let you use the drawing- 
 room for it." 
 
 "Thank you very much, kind 3Irs. Tamplin," said 
 Lavinia. "But to give lessons on the piano, I must 
 first have a piano and — " 
 
 "Wait a moment," intermpted the widow. "I know 
 all you are going to say. There is no occasion to hire 
 a piano before we have secured pupils enough to pay 
 for the hire. Here's my idea: we'll put a card in the 
 window, on which we'll write as clearly as possible : ' A 
 pianoforte class for young ladies three times a Aveek, 
 by a pupil of — ,' and then the name of whoever was 
 your master; it will sound very well, I daresiiy. 'For 
 farther particulars, apply within.' Xow, either pupils 
 come or they do not. If enough of them appear, we 
 hire the piano; if no one comes, well and good, then 
 we do not hire the piano, and the class is unavoidably 
 postponed to the first of next month; do you under- 
 stand now?" 
 
 The scheme promised well, in so far that it was 
 feasible and necessitated no outlay on mere chance, 
 and Lavinia eagerly embraced it. A card was written 
 and hung up in the front parlom* window; then came 
 the calculations; supposing only six pupils could be 
 got; six pupils at ten shillings a month each — what 
 happiness! Why, after deducting the hire of the in- 
 strument — and Mrs. Tamplin was sm-e one was to be 
 had for sixteen shillings — there would remain forty-
 
 DESrAin. 145 
 
 four shillings, and it would be independence, riches- 
 And surely in this interminable Babylon of London it 
 was not very improbable that she might find six pupils, 
 or five, or at the least four. 
 
 Alas! days and weeks crawled on, and the card in 
 the window availed nothing. The piano scheme went 
 to pieces. Many persons applied, asked questions, 
 wanted to see the class-room, wanted to see the music 
 mistress's certificates from her master, wanted to hear 
 her play, and Avere disgusted when they found there 
 was no piano in the house. One volunteered to bring 
 three pupils, provided her own daughter had the benefit 
 of the class gratis, and after the bargain was agreed to, 
 took her leave, and never reappeared. Of all the in- 
 quirers one lady alone accepted the terms as they stood. 
 The same unlucky issue attended all Lavinia's personal 
 or written applications for the situation of a governess. 
 Once, only once, since her failure with the lady at Hyde 
 Park Place, had a ray of hope entered her sinking 
 heart. A lady commissioned by one of her friends in 
 the country to look out for a governess, had received 
 the poor girl most courteously, had begged to hear her 
 play on the piano; had expressed warm admiration of 
 her fingering and style of playing, and great gratifica- 
 tion at having fallen in with a person so calculated to 
 satisfy her friend; but the moment the question of 
 references was mooted, clouds quickly obliterated the 
 sunshine. Lavinia did not hurry away in despair as 
 in the instance above alluded to; she pleaded her cause 
 earnestly and simply. The lady was touched, went so 
 far as to say that, were she acting for herself, she might 
 perhaps trust to her feelings, and overlook the irre- 
 gularity of the want of a reference, but acting as she 
 
 Lavinia. 11. 10
 
 146 LAVINIA. 
 
 was for another person, the mother of several young 
 daughters, the thing vras impossible. 
 
 The little stock of money Lavinia had had about 
 her, when she left Mr. Jones's country seat, was long 
 since exhausted. Of the few costly ornaments, chosen 
 from among the many she owed to the generosity of 
 Mrs. Jones, and which she had felt justified in taking 
 away with her, on accoimt of their particular character 
 of keepsakes, and of their having been intended as 
 such, one, a bracelet, had already been sold, — with 
 what a pang, God knows; the rest must soon follow — 
 and then? what then? For the produce of her inde- 
 fatigable needle scarcely sufficed for her shoes and 
 washing. Well might the lovely face grow wan, and 
 the youthful figure waste away, as she tried to work 
 out some answer to the terrible question of what was 
 then to become of her. 
 
 Mrs. Tamplin, more and more drawn out of her 
 selfishness by the patience of her gentle, uncomplain- 
 ing lodger, was once more racking her brains for some 
 fresh expedient; and seeking, she found one — and a 
 capital one it was this time. Mr. Duncan, the surgeon, 
 their next-door neighbour, was the person to turn the 
 scales in Lavinia's favour. Mr. Duncan had both the 
 will and the power to do so, at least, so Mrs. Tamplin 
 affirmed. Naturally obliging as he was to every one, 
 she knew he was particularly favourably disposed 
 towards Miss Lavinia; she could see that, by his civi- 
 lity on two or three occasions, and by his having drop- 
 ped in i;nprofessionally after tlie young lady was well 
 again, and by his never meeting her (Mrs. Tamplin) 
 without inquiring for her interesting lodger. As to
 
 DESPAIR. 147 
 
 friends and interest, few men could equal him. Why 
 not confide in him? 
 
 If Mr. Duncan could be induced to recommend La- 
 vinia as a governess or companion — and Mrs. Tamplin 
 was certain that he would do so — and also take upon 
 himself the responsibility of being a reference for her, 
 every difficulty now in her path would vanish like 
 mist before the noonday sun. Was there any objection 
 to Mrs. Tamplin sounding the surgeon? The gentleman, 
 judging from the little Lavinia had seen of him, had in 
 his nature a rich vein of coarseness, which made him 
 impalatable to one of her refinement and delicacy of 
 feeling; but was she, merely from perhaps dainty 
 squeamishness, to reject the hand, rough indeed, yet 
 perhaps the only hand which could and Avould rescue 
 her from utter shipwreck? These blunt, rude-spoken 
 men Avere often the truest and best, she had heard it 
 said; in short, Lavinia ended by accepting this new 
 project with thanks, and Mrs. Tamplin Aventh forth- 
 with to open negotiations. 
 
 Mr. Duncan fully justified the most sanguine expec- 
 tations of his melancholy admirer — nothing could 
 surpass his obliging kindliness. He called to see La- 
 vinia that evening, and exhaled good will from every 
 pore. 
 
 "And so," said he, "zr^ were at a rather low ebb, Avere 
 we? No occasion to despair. We should be afloat 
 again in less than no time. He had set to rights many 
 worse cases than this, eh, Mrs. Tamplin? Stooping over 
 embroidery wouldn't do, it hurt the chest, it spoilt the 
 shape. Away with it, and Avith drooping mouths, and 
 faded cheeks. Let roses and lilies and that sort of 
 thing be the order of the day." 
 
 10*
 
 148 LAVINIA. 
 
 Mrs. Tamplin, good soul, for once chuckled, with un- 
 mixed delight, and gave it as her decided opinion, that 
 one might go far, and not find Mr. Duncan's match. 
 Lavinia's conclusions, without going that length, travel- 
 led, however, in the same direction. A nigged exterior, 
 but a kindly heart, thought she, and her spirits rose. 
 
 Mr Duncan took the habit of frequently dropping 
 in at Mrs. Tamplin's now, and his interest in his fair 
 protegee waxed warmer, and more demonsti-ative at 
 every visit. He began to call her his "little pet," and 
 "still waters," find fault with her pale cheeks and thin 
 wrists, pinching both with much the grace an old bear 
 might display in toying with a rose. Lavinia would 
 willingly have dispensed with these familiarities, indeed, 
 they were positively odious to her; but taking into ac- 
 count the coarse grain of the man, his kindness to her, 
 and his age = — young ladies of twenty are apt to look 
 on a gi-een quinquagenarian as upon a Methusalem — 
 she saw in his newly-adopted ways, merely the odd 
 expression of a fatherly interest, and endured them with 
 patience. 
 
 One evening Mrs. Tamplin was called out of the 
 sitting-room. Mr. Duncan, who happened to be there, 
 immediately twisted his face into a would-be agreeable, 
 reassuring grin, and said, in a confidential whisper, — 
 
 "I have found a first-rate situation for you." 
 
 "Have you, indeed? how very kind of you!" cried 
 Lavinia, with a burst of joy and gratitude. "Is it as 
 a governess?" 
 
 "Faugh! a governess! Something far better. You 
 come and stay with me." 
 
 "With you?" she exclaimed, and her face length- 
 ened.
 
 DESPAIR. 149 
 
 "Yes, with me; the ill-combed monkey is growing 
 oldish, and wants somebody to look after him and bis 
 house-, come you, and be my housekeeper; not a bad 
 offer, let me tell you." 
 
 Lavinia looked at him in great perplexity, not free 
 from some alarm. Mr. Duncan's countenance was not 
 exactly formed for the display of tender feelings; all 
 his efforts to produce insinuating smiles only gave him 
 a greater resemblance to a mischievous terrier. The 
 astonished girl said at last, — 
 
 "But you are a single gentleman, sir." 
 
 He laughed his coarsest laugh. 
 
 "Yes, thank God, I am — reason the more for 
 you to come; you will have everything your own way, ' 
 don't you seer" — eh? — plenty of the best that's to be 
 got to eat, and to drink — plenty of fine clothes — ■ 
 plenty of money." 
 
 Lavinia could bear no more. She jumped up, cast 
 on the grinning knave one look of infinite contempt, 
 and walked away without deigning even a word of 
 rebuke. 
 
 "Oh! merciful God, save me from my despair; oh! 
 merciful Lord, take me to Thee." 
 
 Such was the agonized cry of the heartbroken girl 
 as she threw herself down — her face on the floor of 
 her bed-room, as if she would bury it for ever from 
 the sight of all mankind. It seemed, indeed, as though 
 the God of the aftlicted, the God of the fatherless, 
 had in His mercy listened to her prayer, for all con- 
 sciousness left her.
 
 150 LA.VIXIA. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 A Bachelor's Supper , and what came of it. 
 
 About the middle of tlie month of November, 
 Paolo received intelligence from Rome, of the transfer 
 of Bishop Eodipaui's fortune to himself, according to 
 the terms of the will. The solicitor regretted to say- 
 that the bishop proved to be less wealthy than had 
 been expected; in fact, that Signer Mancini's legacy 
 would exceed little more than a hundred thousand scudi, 
 half of which, as detailed in the annexed statement, 
 •was vested in various foreign stock, realizable at a 
 short notice. Prudent Monsignor Eodipani, in the 
 choice of his investments, had evidently had an eye to 
 the mutability of earthly things. There was, besides 
 the sum of money above mentioned, another of eighteen 
 thousand scudi lying at the bankers, about the disposi- 
 tion of which the solicitor asked for directions. 
 
 Paolo very curiously examined the several items 
 of the statement furnished to him, and far from any 
 astonishment or regret at the modicity of his inheritance, 
 he felt a kind of bewilderment at the idea of being so 
 rich. Positively, it was more like a fairy tale than a 
 reality, his being able to fulfil one of the most earnest 
 of his wishes, namely, the securing of the independence 
 and happiness of his two friends, Salvator and Clelia. 
 A really happy morning he spent in writing, first, a 
 very long and afi"ectionate letter to the little painter, 
 then one less long, but not less affectionate, to Clelia, 
 which was enclosed in that to her betrothed, together 
 with a cheque in favom* of Salvator for a thousand 
 scudi.
 
 A bachelor's SUPPEU , AND WHAT CAME OF IT, 151 
 
 By tLe same post lie wrote to apprise liis man of 
 business of wliat lie had done, desiring tliat liencefortli, 
 without any further advice from himself, the sum of 
 sixty scudi should be paid monthly to the person 
 named in the cheque. This done, Paolo went in search 
 of his breakfast, and a hearty meal he made of it; for 
 his satisfaction at the good turn he had been able to 
 do for his friends, was overshadowed by none of the 
 misgivings, as to the source of the wealth of which he 
 disposed — misgivings which had so obstinately haunted 
 him two months ago. 
 
 At the Manc^ge he met the Vicomte and Du Genre; 
 they were waiting expressly for him, said M. Du 
 Verlat. One of the habitues of the school was on the 
 point of marriage, and according to an established 
 custom, the bridegroom elect was bound to give a 
 soiiper de garqons to the best riders. The choice of 
 the guests had been left to the Vicomte, in his capa- 
 city of honorary president, and Paolo naturally had a 
 right to a high place on his list. It would have been 
 difficult, even for one inclined to do so, to decline an 
 invitation so flatteringly and so courteously given; but 
 Paolo, in his present mood, was not likely to run the 
 risk of disobliging any one of his acquaintances; so he 
 accepted the compliment paid to himself and his 
 equestrian powers, with thanks. M. Du Verlat looked 
 much pleased as he said, — 
 
 "We are to meet at twelve to-night at Barruel's, 
 You know where I mean; if not, Pelissier is of the 
 party, and will show yovi the way. Adieu, till then, 
 and remember there is no need to dress." 
 
 "A few hours of «i«»/," thought Paolo to himself, 
 as, on the stroke of midnight, he walked, arm-in-arm
 
 152 LAVINIA. 
 
 witli Du Genre, to the place of rendezvous — at most 
 a few hours of ennui — to listen to how some lucky 
 speculator won a fortune within an hour by the hausse 
 or the baisse, or to hear the apotheosis of the legs of 
 La Petra Camara. Other danger or dangers he could 
 not see, unless indeed from the bottle ; and against that 
 he felt fully armed. Of the possibility of there being 
 ladies among the guests, he never once thought, or his 
 natural shyness would have been on the qui vice at 
 once. A bachelor's supper, as he in his innocence 
 understood it, meant a supper of men in the blessed 
 state of celibacy, to the entire exclusion of the other 
 sex. Fancy then his consternation when, on being- 
 ushered into the sancta sanctorum, he confronted a bevy 
 of ladies — he could have sworn to there being fifty 
 of them, though, in fact', there were only eight, the 
 same number as of gentlemen. Paolo's first instinctive 
 movement was to draw back, but this probability had 
 to all appearance been foreseen, and provided against 
 by Du Genre, who gave his friend a gentle push for- 
 ward, and a gentle warning not to make a fool of him- 
 self The consciousness which now dawned upon 
 Paolo, of having been intentionally decoyed into a 
 trap, gave him a finishing stroke — his heart thumped, 
 his ears tingled, his head swam. All this was the 
 aflTair of a few seconds. 
 
 "Mdlle. Celina," called thevicomte, as he hastened 
 towards the Italian, and took him courteously by the 
 hand. A graceful, impish figure sprang to her feet at 
 this summons, fluttered across the room on the points 
 of her toes, came to a full stop, and suddenly describing 
 a parabola in the air, alighted on her right foot, with 
 the whiz of a bomb, between Paolo and Du Verlat.
 
 A bachelor's supper, and what came of it. 153 
 
 "Mdlle. Celina, of the opera ballet corps," explained 
 the vicomte. "Mademoiselle is all impatience to make 
 your acquaintance, ]\Ir. Mancini, and to hear of the 
 wonders of Eome. I confide her to your gallantry as 
 your partner for the evening, or rather for the night. 
 I leave you to each other." 
 
 While the introduction was taking place, Mdlle. 
 Celina slowly waved herself about, crossed her arms 
 upon her bosom, and curtseyed in full choreographic 
 style. She was in the costume of her calling, bare 
 neck, bare arms, plentifully rouged, with a fabulous 
 circumvallation of white muslin around her. She might 
 have figured to advantage in a picture of the tempta- 
 tions of St. Anthony. Her well-cut eyes, and cherry- 
 round lips — the oiily beauty about her, except her 
 youth — were as saucy and provoking as any of Pro- 
 pertius' odes. A girl hardly past sixteen, with the 
 figure and manner of that age, hers were the set fea- 
 tures, the assiu'ance, the knowing look of a coquette of 
 thirty. Little fit to observe, and to reason out his ob- 
 servations as Paolo was at this moment, he felt intui- 
 tively this glaring want of harmony, and was repelled 
 by it. An old soul in a young body, as he defined 
 her afterwards. 
 
 Dropping all that was professional for the nonce, 
 Paolo's partner for the night passed her arm within his, 
 and said abruptly, — 
 
 "Art thou a prince, a marquis, or what?" 
 
 Rather wincing under the infliction of the quaker- 
 like form of address, he replied that he had no title 
 at all. 
 
 "Not a little bit? what a pity; particularly for
 
 154 LAYINHA. 
 
 a joli garcon. I doat on titles. I ■\rill dub tliee che- 
 valier." 
 
 "I beg jou will commit no such folly," said Paolo. 
 
 "Papa vicomte," called out tlie miss, "fine my part- 
 ner; he has called me you." 
 
 A general burst of laughter welcomed the ac- 
 cusation. Every eye brought itself to bear on the 
 Italian. 
 
 '.'Pardon him for this once," said Du Verlat; "be- 
 sides, we are not yet at table." 
 
 If what he had already seen and heard by this time 
 had not revealed to Paolo the nature and the purpose 
 of the surprise prepared for him by his friends, a very 
 little further observation of what was said and done, 
 soon fully opened his eyes. The curious, though care- 
 fully guarded attention, of which he was the object, 
 marked him out plainly enough for the hero of the 
 fete., and what the nature of the fete was to be, was as 
 clearly intimated by the look of the lionnes convened — 
 the look of Bacchantes in repose, ready to rush forth 
 in their real character at the first call of the srjstvum. 
 A few mouths ago, when he was a thorough savage, 
 neither stratagem nor force would have kept him from 
 breaking loose, and, come what might, quitting the 
 company, now, that he was half civilized, the fear 
 of ridicule was a potent spell, and rooted him there. 
 Yet to breathe that stifling atmosphere, to face for any 
 length of time that odious little imp by his side, to sit 
 a witness, if not an actor, in the revel — all this he 
 felt to be a moral impossibility. 
 
 An irruption of waiters with trays, and the bustle 
 that followed, aroused him from his brown study. He
 
 A bachelor's supper , AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 155 
 
 did what lie saw the others do — led his allotted 
 partner to a seat, sat himself down beside her, and — 
 
 Don't shut the book, fair reader, in fearful ex- 
 pectation of our being about ,to shock your feelings. 
 If anything improper took place at the convivial board, 
 neither Paolo nor the muse of his historiographer — a 
 teetotaller muse, by the way, and one who wears high 
 dresses — know anything of it. For no sooner had 
 Paolo dropped into his chair, than he had an inspira- 
 tion — yes, a positive inspiration as to how effectually 
 to isolate himself from his surroundings. He deliberatly 
 gulped down a glass of Madeira, then a second, a third, 
 and a fourth, and being little used to libations, was out 
 of harm's way, that is, dead drunk, before the initiatory 
 oysters were disposed of; and had to be removed from 
 the room, conveyed to his entresol, consigned to his 
 bed, and left to the care of his portress. A headache 
 of three days' duration, and, if possible, a greater horror 
 than ever of that particular kind of orgies, into which 
 he had been entrapped — such were for Paolo the im- 
 mediate results of his having made one at the bachelor's 
 supper. It was, unluckily, destined to have some further 
 consequences. 
 
 Pique and champagne are dangerous counsellors. 
 Mdlle. Celina, of the opera ballet corps, was brimful, 
 at all events, of the first, and must, and would have 
 her revenge. In what had Paolo offended her? Paolo 
 had done more than spurn, revile, trample her under 
 foot; blessed with the promise of her society, he had, 
 to get quit of her, wilfully parted with his own reason, 
 making her thus a butt for the quizzing of the whole 
 party. There was no room for the shadow of a doubt; 
 for Du Genre, who saw no cause why he should keep
 
 156 LAVINIA. 
 
 his convictions secret, franklj declared liis belief that 
 Paolo's intoxication was an intentional, predetermined 
 act. His sober, nay abstemious habits', together with 
 the fulminating character of the drunken fit, left room 
 for no other explanation. 
 
 And so it came to pass that the spiteful little imp 
 hatched a plot against the poor absent youth, and then 
 and there chalked it out before her wine-heated com- 
 peers — amid frantic acclamations and promises of un- 
 conditional support, more especially from Du Genre, 
 whose patronage was regarded as peculiarly necessary 
 to the success of the scheme. 
 
 Du Genre, and most likely the other men, had for- 
 gotten all about Mdlle, Celina and her projects by the 
 morrow, but Mdlle. Celina had an excellent memory. 
 A few days after, in fact, when her preparations for 
 action were complete , the piquant young lady, with the 
 well-cut eyes, and cherry-round lips, paid Du Genre an 
 unexpected visit; she came to summon him to redeem 
 the pledge of assistance he had given. Du Genre would 
 rather that his pretty friend had not asked this, but 
 he did not dare to withdraw from his engagement. He 
 had promised — he well recollected having done so — 
 and must abide by his word. Men have sometimes odd 
 notions of duty. I have known some who never paid 
 their tailor's bill, hold a gambling debt sacred, and 
 starve themselves to meet it. On the other hand, Du 
 Genre reflected that, after all, little was asked of him 
 — very little — merely to furnish a few indications of 
 Paolo's where-abouts and habits, and he gave them. 
 Paolo greatly frequented the Boulevard des Italiens, 
 drove or rode almost daily to the Bois de Boulogne, 
 and had just taken the stall No, 22 at the "Italiens"
 
 A bachelor's supper , AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 157 
 
 for the season. After all, philosophized the French- 
 man, since Telemachus must needs go through his 
 apprenticeship and pay for it sooner or later — as well 
 with a Mdlle. Clarisse as with any other. 
 
 Mademoiselle Clarisse, the intimate friend of Miss 
 Celina, and who was to act for the latter in this affair, 
 was a lionne of some renown. She had walked the 
 boards professionally, and could personate all characters 
 to the life, both on and off the stage, but l^pr triumph 
 was in that of the Ingenue. Sentiment was her forte: 
 to see her gaze pensively before her, as she would often 
 do for mere frolic, her head slightly bent forward, her 
 chin reclining on the palm of her hand, her cheek 
 against her stretched - out forefinger, was to see the 
 image of an Ophelia. Nature had blundered in Ma- 
 demoiselle Clarisse; given the outward distinction, the 
 reserve, the dignity of a Lucretia, to a humbug. 
 
 A few evenings later, Paolo was in his stall at the 
 "Italiens." The iSonnaialuIa was the opera; he knew 
 it by heart, and yet he was all eyes and ears. Who 
 can ever have enough of the Sonnamhida ? Everything 
 about it — the story, music, and feelings — so simple, 
 so true, so fresh. Paolo's soul swam in a bath of 
 delight. At the end of ''^Cari luoi/hi,'''' a few exclama- 
 tions of unmitigated enthusiasm drew his attention from 
 the stage to those about him; on his right sat a l^y 
 of the age of chaperones, and by her one of the 
 chaperoned, both of whom, but especially the younger, 
 seemed to enjoy the performance keenly. The latter 
 had positively big tears in her lovely eyes. Paolo was 
 charmed to see his own emotion shared by others, and 
 naturally felt an interest in those doing so. The ladies 
 were richly but simply and soberly dressed; the fea-
 
 158 LAVINIA. 
 
 tures of the elder one were rather commonplace ; those 
 of the yonnger, fine, noble, even haughty, had they not 
 been softened by her present emotion. Her pure white 
 complexion, hazel eyes, and acoru-hned hair, gave to 
 her beauty that sijbdued and mellow tone, so dear to 
 poetic dreamers; rather suggestive of violets and moon- 
 light, than of sunshine and roses. Paolo could discern 
 about her eyes and temples traces of early suffering; 
 or, of late yli ours and hard libations, as the case might 
 be. But he only thought of the former. 
 
 Occasional remarks were interchanged between him 
 and the elderly lady, his immediate neighbour, but the 
 younger did not join in the conversation, though her 
 eyes and his met often in sympathetic communion. She 
 addressed him once though, and in this way: He over- 
 heard her whisper to her chaperouc that he must be an 
 Italian. Paolo looked at her, and smiled assent, when 
 she suddenly leaned forwards, seemingly incapable of 
 controlling the impulse, saying to him, — 
 
 "I was certain of it, only an Italian can feel this 
 music as you do." 
 
 Then she blushed scarlet, and said no more for the 
 evening. 
 
 When Mario sang II phi trisfo dei mortali, the sen- 
 timental lady fairly gave way and sobbed aloud; she 
 ki»w it was very foolish, but she could not help it. It 
 was all Paolo could do not to follow her example. The 
 curtain fell, too soon for Paolo's pleasure; the ladies 
 withdrew, not without a gentle inclination of the head 
 to the stranger, who bowed low and even sighed, as 
 the lovely vision disappeared. How long it was, since 
 he had sat at such a feast! Here was a woman worth 
 knowing: and carius: for! What a soul she had! Ten
 
 A bachelor's supper , AND WHAT CAME OF IT. 159 
 
 to one he should never meet her again in this Babylon 
 of Paris; though, perhaps, they might come again to 
 hear Bellini's masterpiece. Whether they did or not, a 
 sweet recollection Avas his, nobody could rob him of 
 that; and his thoughts rested long and fondly on the 
 fresh oasis he had discovered. 
 
 Apparently it was written somewhere, that he should 
 have something more substantial than recollection to feed 
 iipon. The next day but one — what a piece of luck! 
 — he met her most unexpectedly in the Bois de Bou- 
 logne. She was in an open carriage — the weather 
 being uncommonly fine and mild for the season — 
 looking passively before her, her head slightly bent 
 forwards, in short, in the jiose that we already know 
 of. Du Genre's tilbury and her coupe brushed past 
 each other; the hazel eyes met the black eyes. Paolo 
 blushed and bowed. 
 
 "Heyday," cried Du Genre; "it seems that we have 
 been making fine acquaintances." 
 
 Paolo, who had kept his adventure to himself, now 
 made a clean breast of it, and did so with a warmth of 
 tone and feeling, which gave the Frenchman quite a 
 qxialm of conscience. He pursed up his lips, and an- 
 swered, — 
 
 "As a general rule, never take the measure of^a 
 woman's sensibility from the tears she may shed in 
 public. Some women look beautiful in tears, and they 
 know it." 
 
 "Nonsense; hers gushed from her very soul," aver- 
 red the enthusiast. 
 
 "Are you sure she has such a thing as that? Plato 
 denied souls to women."
 
 160 LAVKIA. 
 
 "Then Plato was a fool; and you have a perverse 
 pre-cletermination to depreciate all that is exalted." 
 
 "Holy patience!" cried Du Genre. "I disclaim any 
 blacker purpose than to put you on your guard." 
 
 "This is, indeed, quite a new sort of mission you 
 have undertaken; hitherto, you have rather endeavoured 
 to throw me off my guard." 
 
 "True enough," said Du Genre; "but then, it was 
 with a view to something defined — it is the vague, 
 the unknown , that scares me for you." 
 
 A little opposition was just the ingredient wanting 
 to give zest to the pui-suit. Du Genre's disparaging 
 hints had no other effect than that of raising the owner 
 of the hazel eyes. That a materialist of Du Gem-e's 
 calibre, should misjudge, nay feel an instinctive anti- 
 pathy to her, where could be a clearer proof of her 
 sujDerior natm-e? 
 
 Paolo returned to the Bois on horseback — alone; 
 gazed at her, raised his hat, sighed, but kept at a re- 
 spectful distance. Encouragement came in the shape of 
 an embroidered handkerchief, inadvertently dropped; he 
 dismounted , picked it up , returned it to the fair owner, 
 and withdrew. This was provoking discretion on his 
 part — the fine weather could not last for ever. On 
 the morrow, the fairy was suddenly seized by an im- 
 moderate wish for a walk in a solitary alley — by a 
 strange coincidence Mr. Mancini happened to be passing 
 at the moment, he stopped iiTesolute — a smile and a 
 glance invited him to dare. He alighted, tied his horse 
 to a ti-ee, and joined the lady with such a beating heart. 
 She did not look offended, thank God — spoke of the 
 charms of solitude — there was nothing like nature. 
 Could he sketch or paint? A little; he said, but not
 
 A bachelor's supper , AND WHAT CAME OF IT, 161 
 
 landscape. Was lie acquainted Avith Troyon's pictures? 
 they were so beautiful, so real — she possessed two of 
 them. Did she really? he should so much like to see 
 them. No; would he? as a rule she received no com- 
 pany — hers Avas a life of retirement; but for once she 
 would make an exception. Iler address was 101, Kue 
 Breda, if he dropped in some day after one o'clock, he 
 should be shown her two gems. 
 
 lie went, and was ushered by a man in livery into 
 a small but gorgeously fitted apartment — soft carpets, 
 and endless mirrors. Madame received him in her bou- 
 doir — in her pensive pose. How stupid of her to have 
 forgotten that she had sent her Troyons to have new 
 frames. He had actually come for nothing. For no- 
 thing! when he enjoyed the blessing of her presence. 
 Time flew on its swiftest pinions in her society. She 
 was full of enthusiasm about all that was grand and 
 noble, Italy, of course, included. She was a Avidow, 
 had had her affections horribly trifled with — believed 
 men to be invariably false and fickle. Such was the 
 precious information gathered on his first visit. 
 
 A second and a third followed — then came a full 
 stop. Madame de Saint Victor was not at home; Avas 
 not to be met at the Bois — the Aveather had veered to 
 rain and mud — nor yet was she to be seen at the Ita- 
 lian Opera. Poor Paolo Avas a living image of disap- 
 pointment. What could be the meaning of this eclipse 
 of his sun? The explanation was vouchsafed in the 
 foUoAving note left with her porter one morning. 
 
 "Dear Sir, — 
 
 "Pray, do not call any more. My door is shut 
 against you by 7n>/ orders. To no living man but your- 
 
 Lavinia. 11. 11
 
 162 LATIXIA. 
 
 self, "would I condescend to account for any of my 
 actions. I am sure you will feel for me, and not mis- 
 understand me, when I say that the course I have 
 adopted is the only one consistent with my future peace. 
 I have been too cruelly wrecked on the sea of passion 
 to venture on it again. Do not think me bold when I 
 am only frank. I wish to see you once more — when 
 and where I have not yet decided; but not here, in my 
 own house. Farewell till then. 
 
 "C. de S. Y." 
 
 Every syllable of this rigmarole, down to the very 
 dashes, and pallid-hued sealing wax, wrought the young 
 recipient up to white heat. Paolo took to staying much 
 at home, he expected a second note, which would fix 
 the time and place of the heavenly Inst interview, and 
 was in mortal fear lest it might reach him too late to 
 allow of his obeying the summons. Paolo's fancy at 
 its utmost stretch did not go beyond a letter. 
 
 One morning he was poring over a letter just re- 
 ceived from Rome, in which his man of business in- 
 formed him that no cheque for a thousand scudi had 
 been jjresented by Signor Angelo Gigli, and that he 
 had moreover ascertained, that that person was no 
 longer in Rome — his present abode no one knew. 
 Where the deuce can Salvator be? was Paolo thinking 
 to himself, when a great pull at the bell stai-tled him. 
 He went to open the door and lo! there she was. His 
 heart alone told him it was her, for the thick folds of 
 her black veil quite concealed her features. She walked 
 past him into the salon, there with trembling hands 
 raised her veil, and showed him the adored face, ashy 
 white with emotion.
 
 A bachelor's supper, and what came of it. 163 
 
 "Oh! what have I done! What must you think of 
 me!" and with this cry of despair, she threw herself on 
 the sofa in an agony of tears. Paolo dropped on one 
 knee, and wiped away her tears with his lips. Celina 
 was revenged. 
 
 The Boulevard knew Paolo no more for the next 
 ten days. Vague reports to the effect that he had been 
 met with at Fontainebleau, and at St. Germains accom- 
 panied by a lady, reached Du Genre, who, pushing his 
 inquiries further, learned that his Koman friend had 
 hired a small pied-a-tcrre in the Avenue Montaigne, to- 
 gether with a carriage and men-servants. Du Genre felt 
 uneasy, and grew still more so, when unexpectedly 
 called upon by the Italian, at the request he received, 
 and the excited manner in which it was made. Paolo 
 wanted five thousand francs within tlu'ee hours. Du 
 Genre had not the sum him§clf, but hoped he could 
 manage to find it — at the same time, he could not 
 help hinting at the danger of raising money. Paolo 
 winced and said bitterly, he rather expected to have 
 been congratulated than remonstrated with. Was he 
 not making a fool of himself, just what his friends had 
 wished him to do from the first. Du Genre's conscience 
 smote him, and in his heart he Avished Miss Celina at 
 the devil. He would willingly have made a full con- 
 fession, but he saw that Paolo was in no state to listen 
 to anything like reason — and then — to what purpose 
 now. The evil Avas done, and could not be undone. 
 
 The required money was had, but not without diffi- 
 culty. Paolo gave his note of hand for the sum at a 
 month's date, six per cent, interest being guaranteed 
 per month. The five thousand francs were equally 
 
 11*
 
 164 LAVKIA. 
 
 divided between Miss Celina aud Clarisse. There's 
 nothing like honesty in trade. 
 
 We have at least this consoling intelligence from 
 Paolo's own lips, that he knew he was making a fool 
 of himself; let us add for om' own satisfaction that three 
 weeks had not gone by, before he also knew that he 
 was being made a fool of by quondam Mdlle. Clarisse. 
 She was not the woman long to play an uncongenial 
 part to j)lease anybody, and her inherent tastes for 
 champagne, extravagant dress, and bank notes asserted 
 their existence little by little , and then blazed forth the 
 more vigorously for their momentary repression. In 
 short, Paolo saw much, endured much that jarred with 
 his nature, endured it, partly from timidity and a scarcely 
 conscious desire not to write himself down an ass so 
 soon, partly also from the base spell which held him 
 captive. But endurance has limits even for a man — 
 bewitched. Among the host of male and female cou- 
 sins, with whom she had made him acquainted, there 
 was a young scapegrace, particularly offensive to him 
 on account of his coarse manners, and unbecoming tone 
 of familiarity with her. Paolo asked Mdlle. Clarisse 
 one day to forbid this fellow's visits, and received a 
 flat refusal. Paolo insisted aud said she must. To hear 
 her laughter at this! She improved the occasion to let 
 him hear a bit of her mind. To oblige a dear friend, 
 she had condescended to act a little comedy with Signer 
 Mancini, she said; but not for twenty, such as he was, 
 would she give up her Desire — the cousin on whom 
 she doated. 
 
 Paolo was confounded by her cynicism, at the pa- 
 rade she made of her own deceit, at the naive pride 
 she evinced in her own infamy. He left her to see her
 
 A PLANK OF SAFETY. 165 
 
 no more. But thoroughly as he despised her, he de- 
 spised himself still more — for missing her as he did. 
 Yes, he missed her — or rather missed the excitement 
 that followed in her footsteps. Not knowing how to 
 fill up the vacuum she had left in his life, he took to 
 haunting the public balls — the carnival was just then 
 at its height. A very handsome man such as he was, 
 and known in certain quarters to be rich and generous, 
 Paolo was offered consolation, and accepted it, accepted 
 it without illusion, and for what it was worth. 
 
 Let us turn aside from viewing him wallowing in 
 this mire. Who knows but that from his own debase- 
 ment, he may leave a lesson of forbearance for the 
 weaknesses of others! 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A Plank of Safety. 
 
 Brought back to consciousness and helped to her 
 bed by the affrighted widow, who, on learning the cause 
 of the young lady's distraction, kept on assuring her 
 that Dr. Duncan could not have meant what she sus- 
 pected him of, and that it was all a mistake which 
 would be cleared up on the morrow, — Lavinia at last 
 found relief in tears ; and after indulging in a hearty fit 
 of crying, she recovered something like composure and 
 begged to be left alone — to sleep. Not that she en- 
 tertained the least hope of sleeping, but she had reached 
 that stage of wretchedness, at which even sympathy 
 becomes importunate, and complete solitude is the only 
 boon craved for. 
 
 In this desolate mood she turned her misery round
 
 166 LAVINIA. 
 
 and round, looking at it from every side, and mused 
 and mused upon it till lier head grew quite bewildered, 
 and her thoughts ungovernable-, and feeling greatly- 
 afraid of her own excitement, she bethought herself of 
 the Word which never fails to calm, and soothe, and 
 comfort. She took up a New Testament lying on her 
 dressing-table — a gift from Lady Augusta's mother — 
 it opened of itself at these words: "Come unto me, all 
 ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give 
 you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, 
 for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find 
 rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my 
 burden is light." 
 
 She read long, and as she read the whiz and buzz 
 in ber brain subsided, a sense of repose stole alike over 
 soul and body. Hoping to be able to sleep now, she 
 put down the book, and in so doing caused a slip of 
 paper to dro23 from it on the floor. She took it up, it 
 was a card, on the back of which Avere written in pencil 
 these words: "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, 
 and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto 
 you." The quotation was in the large bold angular 
 handwriting of Lady Augusta's mother. On the other 
 side of the card was engraved in minute characters — 
 " Countess Willingford." The merciful sentence endorsed 
 as it were by the countess, struck Lavinia as a promp- 
 ting from heaven. The very voice of Lady Augusta's 
 mother seemed to call to her and say, "Ask and it shall 
 be given you." Why had Lavinia not asked of her old 
 friend? It would have been so natural to have done so 
 from the very beginning of her troubles. Had it been 
 some lurking pride, which had held her back? If so, 
 reason the more to humble herself now.
 
 A PLANK OF SAFETY. 167 
 
 Lavinia rose from her bed, and wrote a long letter 
 to the countess, describing all her attempts and failures ; 
 the utter sinking of her heart but a few hours ago ; and 
 related the circumstance under which her hopes and her 
 confidence in her, whom she was now addressing, had 
 revived ; freely accused herself of ingratitude, and begged 
 to be pardoned; acknowledged her readiness to accept 
 of even the humblest situation, and the impossibility in 
 which she stood of procuring any, unless a word from 
 one so high in station as her ladyship, came to the as- 
 sistance of her own efforts. This and much more that 
 we leave out, Lavinia wrote, signing herself Lavinia 
 Holywell. This outpouring of pent-up feelings lightened 
 the heavily-burdened young heart; she slept a sound re- 
 freshing sleep, and rose next morning with renewed 
 elasticity of spirit and body. Her first act was to drop 
 her letter into the box of the nearest post-ofiice. 
 
 At nearly four o'clock of the same day, a hackney 
 coach stopped opposite Mrs. Tamplin's, and a tall lady, 
 whose age and countenance were concealed by a thick 
 veil, stepping out of it, knocked at the door, and in a 
 clear voice asked for Miss Holywell. At the sound of 
 the well-knoAvn tones, Lavinia rushed from her room to 
 meet the visitor, and — 
 
 Let it be understood that Lady Willingford had 
 started on her present mission, very much in the mood 
 of an old diplomatist going to take a part at a con- 
 gress; namely, in a spirit full of reservation on many a 
 point. The mystery she had made of Lavinia's letter 
 to her daughter, the hired coach, the rather shabby at- 
 tire, and the closely-drawn down veil, were all so many 
 guarantees to herself of a pre-determination to keep 
 strictly within certain limits braced by prudence — to
 
 168 LAVINIA. 
 
 go so far, and no farther. But at siglit of the sweet 
 pale face — oh I how much changed since last seen - — 
 at the sound of sobs -which involuntarily broke from the 
 stooping form — at the feeling of the hot tears on her 
 hands, the woman swallowed up the countess; and 
 raising the humbly bent face to her own, she pressed 
 the poor girl to her heaving bosom with a tenderness 
 which, had Lavinia been the daughter of the mightiest 
 duke in Great Britain, instead of the friendless orphan 
 she was, would certainly not have been warmer or 
 more sincere. 
 
 "Here I am, your old friend! Let us have done 
 with tears," said her ladyship, her own voice choked by 
 emotion. 
 
 "It is not grief," sobbed the girl, smiling amid her 
 teai's. 
 
 " What you must have gone through, my poor child," 
 said the countess, taking a long look at Lavinia's hag- 
 gard countenance. "Augusta and I have been really 
 alarmed by your obstinate silence. Eveiy day for these 
 last three months have we been expecting and hoping 
 to hear again from you. My dear, why did you not 
 write?" 
 
 "I was wrong, very wrong," and again Lavinia's 
 tears began to flow. 
 
 "Come, come, I do not mean to scold you." 
 
 "Oh yes, do scold me, pray do. It was so ungrate- 
 ful, so heartless of me; I deserve that you should be 
 angry." J 
 
 "Well, if it will be any comfort to you," said the 
 countess smiling, "I shall call you a very naughty 
 child," and a hearty kiss softened this not very sharp 
 rebuke.
 
 A PLANK OV SAFETY. 169 
 
 "And now that my scolding is over," continued Lady 
 Willingford, whose own usual composure had by this 
 time returned, "let me praise you for the care you took 
 to spare Augusta's feelings; it was so sensible, so con- 
 siderate in you to write to me and not to her. Charm- 
 ing as your letter is, there is much in it that might have 
 pained one of her quick sensibility ; that is the reason 
 why I have kept it from her for the present: you must 
 not consider it as an unkinduess." 
 
 "Oh! Lady Willingford, could I ever think you un- 
 kind? No, indeed; whatever you decide to be best for 
 me, I shall believe to be best." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear," said the countess, much 
 pleased, "however, do not imagine that I purpose long 
 to deprive her of the good news that our Lavinia is 
 found — only for a few days — until I see my way 
 as to how I can best be of use to you. To speak 
 frankly, I rather fear being hampered by Augusta in 
 my measures, she is so hasty and vehement. Of course, 
 I expect and wish you both to meet — how glad she 
 will be to see you — previous to your leaving London, 
 as you say you wish to do. We shall discuss this plan 
 of yours by-and-by, but first will you not give me your 
 entire confidence that I may be able fairly to judge 
 whether there is no choice for you, except this extreme 
 one of being either a governess or companion?" 
 
 Lavinia was quite ready to confide in Lady Wil- 
 lingford. Not a single particular of the sad narrative 
 related by Mr. Jones was withheld from the eager 
 listener, who now learned how the real Lavinia Jones 
 had died when a baby, how, in a sordid view of gain, 
 the little Lavinia Holywell had been substituted in the 
 deceased infant's jilace; and how, to case her conscience,
 
 170 LAVINIA. 
 
 oue of the accomplices in the fraud, Lavinia's mother, 
 had sent for Mi*. Jones and made a full confession to 
 him. Nor was the squalor of the dying woman's con- 
 dition, nor the fact of her being unmarried, passed over 
 in silence, but simply and unhesitatingly stated. 
 
 Peremptorily as all this established the absence of 
 any relationship bet\Yeen Lavinia and Mr. Jones, it still 
 left unaccounted for and unjustified the exti'eme step 
 she had taken in breaking off all intercourse with him. 
 Pressed on this point, Lavinia said for all answer, — 
 
 "Indeed, I had no alternative but to do so." 
 
 The coimtess must have had in her disposition some 
 of her daughter's impetuosity, so emphatically did she 
 exclaim, — 
 
 "The villain!" 
 
 "He wanted me to marry him," added Lavinia, who 
 saw the expediency of correcting the erroneous im- 
 pression she had given. 
 
 "Oh! the old wretch," said her ladyship, by way 
 of variation. 
 
 The ground was now clear for taking into conside- 
 ration Lavinia's future prospects. They afforded indeed 
 little room for discussion; the necessity of some situa- 
 tion, which should assure Lavinia the means of existence, 
 and the desirableness of finding such a one in the country, 
 Avhere there would be less risk for her of disagreeable 
 meetings, stared her ladyshi]! in the face. She ac- 
 cordingly promised to set about this search immediately, 
 and bade her jTi-otege'e be of good cheer. The countess 
 had too much good sense and good feeling, and was, 
 besides, too deeply impressed by the girl's gentle dignity, 
 to venture on any offer which would have made Lavi- 
 nia dependent on her bounty.
 
 A PLAi^K OF SAFETY. 171 
 
 "We shall find some snug home for you after all, 
 where you may enjoy comfort, even happiness," said 
 Lady Willingford. "Station and riches, believe me," 
 and here came a sigh, "do not always secure either; 
 it is the spirit in which we accept our lot, great or 
 humble, which renders it a happy or unhappy one." 
 
 The parting was as aflFectionate as the meeting had 
 been. Patroness and patronized might have been easily 
 mistaken for mother and daughter, so tender was the 
 former, so dutiful and confiding the latter. 
 
 Kind and encouraging notes, and little presents, 
 after this red-letter day, began to pour in on the young- 
 recluse of Camden Town. Those best know the value 
 of these priceless nothings, who have been long se- 
 questered from all interchange of the small coin of 
 courtesies. Be it only a bunch of violets, or an inquiry 
 left with a card at your door, how sweet the assurance 
 thus implied that you are something to somebody! The 
 countess herself came now and then. Doubly lucky 
 was it for Lavinia to have this fresh supply of sym- 
 pathy from abroad, for scanty indeed was that she met 
 just now at home. 
 
 Mrs. Tamplin's milk of human kindness, vie are 
 very sorry to say, had waxed rather sour ever since the 
 impeachment of her matchless surgeon. Mr. Duncan 
 was the widow's last illusion, the only sunny spot in 
 her mental perspective, and no wonder she clung to 
 him with the tenacity of despair. His right to be heard 
 and explain, which she was sure he could do most satis- 
 factorily, was as clear in the eyes of tlie landlady as 
 was in those of her lodger the utter uselessness, nay, 
 the positive degradation, of anything like an argument 
 with a man who had so indubitably insulted her. Tliis
 
 172 LAVINIA. 
 
 contrary point of view, in spite of all Laviuia's efforts 
 to divest her ojipositiou of any asj^erity, could not but 
 create between the two parties concerned a little jarring, 
 which the jealousy fermenting in ]\Irs. Tamplin's breast 
 all this while did not tend to allay. How could she, 
 who had hitherto played the first part, not wince at 
 being reduced to the second? 
 
 Happily, this disagreeable state of affairs was not 
 to be of long continuance. When the powerful of this 
 world set their hearts on anything, it is rare but that 
 the realization should quickly follow the wish. Service- 
 ableness is certainly a virtue far from uncommon, but 
 never so effectually exercised as when they who draw 
 bills upon it can be drawn upon in their turn. A fort- 
 night had scarcely elapsed from the day of the countess's 
 first visit to Lavinia, when a little note came to an- 
 nounce that the much-desired situation was found. Lady 
 "Willingford put off all particulars till the morrow, when 
 she would call as early as eleven in the forenoon, and 
 Lavinia was desired to have her trunk packed, and to 
 be ready to accompany her fiiend — whither? The 
 note did not explain; probably to her new home; at 
 least our heroine argued as much from the circumstance 
 of being told that she was to be prepared to leave her 
 lodging. 
 
 She did not take long to pack. Her wardrobe had 
 dwindled to the smallest compass, and she might have 
 said, with the ancient philosopher: "I have all my be- 
 longings about me." The whole of this, her last day 
 under Mrs. Tamplin's roof, Lavinia spent in propitiating 
 that worthy matron, but for whose kindly advice, and 
 help, and motherly care, the grateful girl protested she 
 knew not indeed what minrht have become of her. Low-
 
 A PLANK OF SAFETY. 173 
 
 spirited Mrs. Tamplin, who had. no heart of stone, was 
 quickly mollified, and ended by forgetting her grievance 
 as to the charge against matchless Mr. Dnncan. And 
 whenLavinia pressed her to accept a simple ring, which 
 she begged Mrs. Tamplin to Avear in remembrance of 
 the good she had done to a poor friendless orphan girl, 
 the widow was fairly conquered, and the two amicably 
 mingled their tears; that great luxury of rich and poor 
 alike. 
 
 By ten minutes past eleven the next morning, La- 
 vinia was driving with Lady Willingford to the station, 
 from whence they were to go by railway to her lady- 
 ship's country seat near Southampton, where Lady 
 Augusta was impatiently waiting for them. Fancy our 
 dear girl's agreeable surprise at this prospect, when she 
 had been thinking she Avas to go directly to the family 
 who had engaged her! On the contrary, it had been 
 arranged that she was to spend three days with the 
 countess and Lady Augusta, and to start on the fourth 
 to join Mrs. Ennerly, the lady whose companion she 
 was to be. Mrs. Ennerly was just now, aud would be 
 till after Christmas, at her country house, near Moreton 
 in Dorsetshire, and she had desired that Miss Holywell 
 should come to her there; but Weymouth might more 
 probably be considered Lavinia's ultimate destination, 
 as it was in that Avatering-place that Mrs. Ennerly re- 
 sided the chief part of the year. She was a person of 
 good family and fortune, and, Lady Willingford had 
 been assui-ed on all sides, also of very kindly disposi- 
 tion and not difficult to please. She was passionately 
 fond of poetry and music; and reading aloud, and 
 playing and singing would be the principal duties 
 exacted from her companion. Fifty pounds a year was
 
 17-1 LAVDOA, 
 
 the salary agreed on, considered as a tolerably fair re- 
 muneration out of Loudon. Altogether, the countess 
 hoped that the situation was one to suit her young 
 friend; if not, Lavinia had only a word to say, and 
 another should be sought out for her. Lady Willing- 
 ford also exacted a promise, that no notions of false 
 delicacy should prevent her young friend from frankly 
 confessing if she were uncomfortable. Laviuia must 
 learu to trust her friends. Laviuia gave the required 
 promise, fervently kissing the white hand held up in 
 playful menace, and said simply, — 
 
 "God bless you. Lady Willingford ! " words spoken 
 in a way that made the object of that blessing feel 
 really blessed. 
 
 If we were to say that Lady Willingford did not 
 feel a little nervous on reaching the station, and that 
 the five minutes she had to spend iu the waiting-room 
 did not seem very long to her, we should say that 
 which is untnie. It was only too probable, well known 
 as she was on the road they were about to travel, that 
 she might meet some one she knew, and be asked 
 questions inconvenient to answer, as to her lovely com- 
 panion. However, the train departed, and iu due time 
 deposited the travellers safely at Southampton, without 
 her ladyship's incognito having been once endangered. 
 
 Though the beginning of December, the weather 
 was uncommonly clear and fine, and the forty minutes' 
 drive from Southampton to Willingford Castle was more 
 keenly enjoyed by Lavinia than any drive she had ever 
 taken. After long seclusion in dreary, foggy London, 
 every picturesque spot, every patch of green, every 
 glossy-leafed holly, were welcomed by her as old friends 
 lost and found again. But how her heart fluttered, and
 
 A PLANK OF SAFETY. 175 
 
 how dim grew her sparkling eyes, when they caught 
 sight, far up the long avenue of stately oaks, of a lovely, 
 familiar figure tripping quickly towards them! The 
 can-iage stopped at the sound of a sweet voice, calling 
 to her joyously by name; she jumped out to find her- 
 self clasped in the arms of her dear faitliful friend. 
 Lady Augusta. 
 
 Let us be as discreet as the countess, and leave the 
 young people to an uninterrupted three days' tete-h-teic. 
 Laviuia had, as we know, plenty to relate, and it is 
 easy to fancy the one rehearsing the eventful history 
 of the period of their separation, the other building 
 castles for the future. We all live chiefly on memory 
 and hope; the present, a fugitive point no sooner pos- 
 sessed than gone, occupies but little room in the flying 
 mirage of life. On this we may rely, that amid the 
 evocations of the past, the days at Home, and true- 
 hearted Domenichino, were not forgotten on one side, 
 as was not, on the other, among the anticipations of the 
 future, the hope of a speedy and long reunion at Wey- 
 mouth. Weymouth would be a far more agreeable 
 place to go to than Brighton. 
 
 Perhaps Lavinia might have been inclined to sliake 
 her head a little disconsolately at this anticipation; 
 perhaps she might even have spoken out some of her 
 fears; but at sight of a sweet mouth beginning to droop, 
 kept her wisdom to herself, and even paraded a con- 
 fidence as to their meeting, which she did not feel. 
 What was the use, in fact, of throwing cold water on 
 illusions originating in the warmest aftections? Surely 
 enough, the realities of life would assert themselves iu 
 due time, and dispel all such fond dreams. 
 
 Lady Augusta's preoccupations at to the future,
 
 176 LAVINIA. 
 
 however, did not blind her to some of the urgent ne- 
 cessities 'of the present. She had detected at a glance, 
 insufficiencies in her friend's Avardrobe, glaring enough 
 indeed to attract the notice of less friendly eyes, and 
 immediately set to Avork to supply what was wanted 
 with what she had best of her own. With so much 
 delicacy was this done, that not even the most irritable 
 susceptibility could have been wounded. Lady Augusta 
 must have Lavinia dressed like herself, as they used 
 often to be in former days, and under this jjretext a 
 black dress and cloak were procured from Southampton. 
 Lavinia must have furs like Lady Augusta. 
 
 "And now," said her young ladyship, "if you don't 
 captivate Mrs. Ennerly, she must have the heart of the 
 dragon that attacked Andromeda; though, after all," 
 she added, fondly, "you would look charming with a 
 brass pan on your head; unlike some other people, not 
 a hundred miles away, who req^uire fine feathers to be 
 fine birds." 
 
 How could Lavinia have refused any gifts so offered? 
 She was almost as happy to receive as Lady Augusta 
 to give. 
 
 Longer than a three days' meeting comes to a close. 
 Early on the fourth morning since her arrival at the 
 castle, mother and daughter accompanied Lavinia to 
 the Southampton station. Sad and silent was the drive, 
 sad and silent the ten minutes spent at the terminus. 
 The countess placed in Lavinia's hand a handsomely 
 embroidered purse, and said hm-riedly, — 
 
 "Keep it in remembrance of me; it is my own 
 work, and I had meant it for Augusta; I know it will 
 be doubly precious to you on that account. There is 
 a little money in it, which you must not refuse, as it
 
 THE ROSE UNIQUE. 177 
 
 will make my mind easy about you. I am only treating 
 you as I would my daughter; it is requisite always in 
 travelling to be prepared for unforeseen contingencies. 
 
 Lavinia took the purse, kissed it, and the hand 
 which bestowed it, but did not venture to speak. 
 
 By this time the warning bell rang. The two girls 
 fell into each other's arms, holding one another in a 
 long, long embrace. 
 
 "Oh! must it be really so?" cried Lady Augusta, 
 with an appealing glance at her mother. 
 
 "It must," said Lavinia, firmly, "because it is 
 plainly the will of God. He knows best, who cast my 
 lot among the lowly; and my clear duty is to accept 
 my portion humbly and cheerfully; help me to do so, 
 dearest. God bless you. Lady Willingford! God bless 
 you, my own darling!" And Lavinia was hurried from 
 the platform into a carriage. 
 
 Oh, fatal platform! how many dramas, not the less 
 heart-rending for being compressed into a few minutes, 
 have you not seen! 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 The Rose Unique. 
 
 Lavinia, as she took her seat in the carriage, let 
 down her veil, and — AVe have had so much of the 
 melting mood in our last chapter, that we dare not say 
 what she did. After all, it is not our fault if, dealing 
 as we do with the realities of life, we stumble oftener 
 on tears than on smiles. It is not, we should say, 
 without good reason that the world has been styled "a 
 valley of tears." 
 
 Luviiiia. IL 12
 
 178 LAVINIA. 
 
 Whatever Lavinia's occupation on first entering the 
 carriage, she was soon roused from it by the novelty 
 and responsibility of her situation. The mere fact of 
 finding herself travelling alone amid strangers, on her 
 way to an unknowxr place, a fact unprecedented in her 
 life, was sufficient to inspire her with some vague un- 
 easiness, and keej) her nervously awake to the present, 
 Avithout taking into account the incubus of her luggage 
 to look after, and the dread of passing Wareham; the 
 station at which, being bound for Moreton, she had 
 been told she would have to change carriages. Suppose 
 she were to be carried on, and find herself at Exeter, 
 what would become of her! Such preoccupations, ridi- 
 culous as they may seem to practised travellers, did 
 not weigh the less heavily on the mind of one so 
 thoroughly unpractised and unpractical — and how 
 could she be otherwise — as our poor heroine? 
 
 However, all went smooth with her ; when Wai-eham 
 was reached, passengers for Moreton were warned 
 audibly enough, God knows, to alight; and she had the 
 further satisfaction of seeing her trunk safely deposited 
 in the luggage van of the train for Moreton. IMuch 
 eased in her mind, Lavinia had leisure to feel hungry; 
 she ventured into the refreshment room, and bought 
 some buns, and, searching out an empty carriage, got 
 in, ensconced herself in a corner seat, and amused 
 herself with watching the coming and going of pass- 
 engers. 
 
 One in particular attracted her notice, a lady of 
 middle height, who was carrying a flower-pot large 
 enough to require her to use both hands. Had it been 
 a baby, the lady could not have hugged her burden
 
 THE ROSE UNIQUE. 179 
 
 more carefully and tenderly against her bosom. Tlie 
 railway porters vied Avith eacli other as to who should 
 free her of her flower-pot; but she defended it against 
 all officious offers, with as much determination as 
 graciousness. There is no surer conductor of sympathy 
 between gentle natures, than the care bestowed upon 
 gentle and delicate things, be they even inanimate. 
 Lavinia felt an interest in this lady, and followed her 
 movements with kindly curiosity. She saw her stand 
 still to speak to one of the officials, and for an instant 
 obliged to take her right hand from her charge, in 
 order to receive a newspajoer this person presented to 
 her; he, standing all the while with uncovered head, in 
 spite of her signing to him repeatedly to put on his 
 cap. "A lady of consequence, unassuming withal and 
 most good-natured," thought Lavinia, as the object 
 of her survey was moving forward in quest of a carriage. 
 "How I wish she would come in here!" The wish 
 was scarcely formed before it was gratified. The 
 stangcr installed herself in tlie corner opposite to 
 Lavinia. 
 
 "Is it not beautiful? a real rose unique," said the 
 new comer, in answer to the glance of admiration cast 
 on her roses by her vis-a-vis; "they smell so sweet 
 too," and saying this, she held them towards Lavinia. 
 
 "Thank you — they arc delicious," said Lavinia, 
 burying her face in them; "they are doubly beautiful 
 so late in the year." 
 
 "Yes, I managed to preserve them in bloom, by 
 keeping them in the greenhouse," added the lady, 
 placing the flowers on the bottom of the carriage in 
 order to be at liberty to unfold The Tiinrs. She turned 
 the enormous paper over and over, evidently in search 
 
 12 «
 
 180 LAVIXIA. 
 
 of sometliiug special, -whicli having found, slie began 
 earnestlj to read. Her attention, liowever, was speedily 
 diverted from her penisal, for, the train being now in 
 motion, the flower-pot danced about most ominously. 
 She tried first to steady it by the help of her feet, then 
 put it on the seat by her, then finally took it in her 
 lap; but this last device interfered terribly with her 
 reading: the unruly flower-pot requiring one hand to 
 make it maintain its perpendicular, the other proved 
 sadly insufficient to manage the huge printed sheet. 
 Seeing this, Lavinia begged that the care of the rose 
 might be confided to her; a proposal which was 
 natnrally objected to on the plea of the trouble it 
 would give, but Lavinia assiu-ed her it would be no 
 trouble. 
 
 "I really should be glad to be of some use to 
 you," she said, and so feelingly, almost enti'eatingly, 
 that the other, with a look of pleased surprise, gave up 
 her perplexing charge, and returned to the perusal of 
 her paper. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lavinia was studying the sweet little 
 face before her. It was still young and pretty, but its 
 charm lay elsewhere than in youth and loveliness. 
 Sprinkle with grey the auburn hair as much as you 
 like, and print with wrinkles the soft transparent skin, 
 and yet the suavity of expression which comes from 
 within would remain the same, and go straight to your 
 heart. It was one of those faces which do good to 
 look at, inasmuch as they convey at once an impres- 
 sion of moral worth, and win immediate confidence. 
 There was something of quaker-like simplicity in the 
 make and material of her dress: a gray gown, a dark 
 waterproof cloak, and a gray beaver bonnet; the snow-
 
 THE ROSE UNIQUE. 181 
 
 white border of a closely fitting cap, witli no ribbon or 
 ornament whatever, giving to the pure oval of the face 
 a somewhat austere grace. Laviuia was greatly puzzled 
 by this cap, which had nothing of the character of what 
 is styled a bonnet cap, but resembled a mob cap, singu- 
 larly unsuited to the age of the wearer. Was it worn 
 in obedience to some hygienic prescription, or in a 
 spirit of renunciation of the vanities of this life? Really, 
 the wearer seemed to attach so little importance to 
 personal appearance, that this second hypothesis Avas 
 not unlikely. And if so, what could have detached 
 one so young and good-looking from the' world? Do 
 what we will, there are countenances about which we 
 cannot help speculating, nay, having an irresistible 
 longing to know the history of their owner. Lavinia 
 would have given a good deal to know something 
 about her fair travelling companion — would have 
 also given a little to know the subject and kind of 
 interest which fixed her atte^jtion so engrossingly to the 
 newspaper. 
 
 That the interest, whatever it might be, was of 
 a painful nature, was evidenced by the cloud which 
 overspread the reader's fine features as she read on. 
 At one moment, she changed her posture, with a sudden 
 jerk, as if to give vent by physical motion to the pres- 
 sui'e of inner feelings. Presently the lips drooped, and 
 from that moment the tide of anxious emotion flowed 
 continually, until at last it overpowered the reader, 
 who, letting the paper fall on her knees, leaned back, 
 and shut her eyes like one in bodily pain. 
 
 "I hope you have not seen any bad news?" asked 
 Lavinia, kindly, when her vis-a-vis' eyes opened again 
 and encountered her own.
 
 182 LAYINIA. 
 
 "Dreadful!" replied the lady, and "without another 
 word, she handed over the paper to the inquirer, laying 
 her finger on a certain passage. It formed part of a 
 con-espondence, headed "Siege of Sebastopol," and told 
 a heart-rending tale of multiform misery — snow, rain, 
 hurricane, cholera, wrecks; tents blown down, or no 
 better shelter from the inclemency of the weather than 
 so many sieves; trenches turned into ditches of mud; 
 sick soldiers driven out of the hospital marquee by the 
 winds, seeking refuge in sheds, shivering and moaning; 
 able-bodied men killed by cold and wet, or dying by 
 scores of disease — a scene of utter desolation. The 
 mere description made Lavinia's heart bleed; the sad 
 pictm-e took her by surprise. Too busy with her 
 needle for months past to read the newspaper herself, 
 never told by her general informant of the world's 
 disasters, of these Crimean sufferings, Avhich apparently 
 were not in Mrs. Tamplin's line, all that she knew 
 about the great contempor^j-y event was, that England 
 and Russia were at war , and that the seat of that war 
 was in the Crimea. 
 
 In a voice of anguish, she exclaimed, — 
 "Can nothing be done for these poor creatures?" 
 "What can avail against the elements?" replied 
 the lady, with a despairing shake of the head. 
 
 "But why is it more impossible to house the soldier 
 now than in other wars?" 
 
 "TVe know little of the details of other wars, 
 whereas one of the featm-es of this age, is the informa- 
 tion we have of all that is going on at a distance; 
 however, huts are now building in England to be sent 
 out to the Crimea, and some have been sent akeady. 
 Charity is astir throughout the laud, large sums are
 
 THE ROSE UNIQUE. 183 
 
 being subscribed, quantities of clothes and medicine- 
 chests are preparing, bands of nurses for the sick and 
 wounded are abeady gone, and more will soon follow." 
 
 "God bless them," said Lavinia, "that is indeed 
 the highest charity. May anyone go as nurse who 
 wishes to do so?" 
 
 "Yes, I believe so; that is, any one who is not 
 only willing, but strong. Surely you must have lieard 
 
 of Miss ," and here the speaker pronounced the 
 
 sweetest name of oi;r century, a name which future 
 generations will record with benedictions, even when 
 those of tbe conquerors of the Crimea are forgotten. 
 Yet Lavinia had never heard of it, 
 
 "Is it possible!" exclaimed the other; "a name 
 which is on every tongue." 
 
 "Mine has been for some time past a very retired 
 life," pleaded Lavinia, in extenuation of what seemed 
 her unpardonable ignorance. 
 
 "I understand," answered the lady, with a com- 
 passionate glance at Lavinia's black dress, and then 
 she proceeded to give her eager listener a full account 
 of that "angel in human shape," to use the relator's 
 enthusiastic words, who had initiated the female crusade 
 of mercy, and who had herself gone at their head to 
 the east. 
 
 Amid such interesting talk, Morcton was reached, 
 and the two ladies alighted. 
 
 "Can I be of any use to you?" asked the owner 
 of the roses, as she took back her flower-pot. 
 
 "Thank you," said Lavinia; "perhaps you can toll 
 me how best to reach the house I am going to — Ivy 
 Lodge." 
 
 "Ivy Lodge?" repeated the lady in gray, in a
 
 1 84 L AVINIA. 
 
 voice of pleased surprise. "I am going there myself, I 
 am Mrs. Ennerly's niece." 
 
 "Are you? how glad I am. Yon have been so 
 kind to me that I was really sorry to think we were 
 going to part for ever." 
 
 "No chance of that, for the present at least, you 
 see; since we are both bound to the same place, we 
 will go there together. Are you going to pay my 
 aunt a long visit?" 
 
 "The time I stay will entirely depend on Mrs. 
 Ennerly's pleasure," answered Lavinia. 
 
 "Surely, you cannot be Miss Holywell?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I am the person engaged as com- 
 panion to Mrs. Ennerly." 
 
 "I am very glad I have met you; you and I are old 
 acquaintances, as it were, so that I can have the plea- 
 sure of introducing you to Mrs. Ennerly. Does she 
 know that you are in mourning?" 
 
 "Really, I cannot tell," said Lavinia, a little sur- 
 prised at this question; "I have had no communication 
 myself with Mrs. Ennerly; a lady, a kind friend of 
 mine, managed the business for me. Will my being 
 in black be an objection against me?" 
 
 "I hope not; indeed, I am sure it cannot be; the 
 first impression may not be agreeable, but one look 
 at your face will set everything right. My aunt is an 
 excellent woman, but rather over-partial to what is 
 gay-looking." 
 
 "If so, my chances with the lady are small indeed," 
 thought Lavinia, but she kept the thought to herself 
 
 This dialogue, begun on the platform, had ended 
 outside the Moreton station in front of some public 
 conveyances, large and small, waiting there for fares.
 
 THE ROSE UNIQUE. 185 
 
 Lavinia, as desired by lier companion, followed her 
 into one of these. Mrs. Ennerly's niece, to all appear- 
 ance, was as well known here as at AYareham-, no 
 railway official passed her without lifting his cap, even 
 the omnibus and fly-mca behaved respectfully to her, 
 and contrary to tradition, offered their services without 
 the least trace of their habitual roughness. Little was 
 spoken by either lady during the short drive. . The 
 approach of so decisive a moment for Lavinia, even 
 without the hint that had been given as to the possible 
 bad effect of her lugubrious garments, easily accounted 
 for her abstraction. Neither was the current of thought 
 of Mrs. Ennerly's niece difficult to guess, from the 
 glances she bestowed now and then on the lovely girl 
 by her side. She who had been the object of Laviuia's 
 study, studied Lavinia in her turn with compassionate 
 interest. What concatenation of circumstances could 
 have brought one so evidently of the upper class to 
 accept of the painful situation of a lady's companion? 
 This was the enigma, the effort to solve which, kept 
 Lavinia's fellow-traveller silent. 
 
 Ivy Lodge justified its name. The porch, and all 
 that could be seen of the dwelling from the approach, 
 was one mass of ivy. Ivy also covered the massive 
 stone pillars on either side of the gate, and seemed to 
 threaten with suffocation tlie two cat-like caricatures of 
 lions which moimted guard on the tops. The sound of 
 wheels brought out an old woman from the lodge at 
 the gate, and a man-servan! to the porch, while a per- 
 son with a superlative cap loomed in the background 
 of the entrance haU. Miss Schmaltz, JMrs. Ennerly's 
 housekeeper, was a rather ill-favoured masculine spe- 
 cimen of German spinsterhood , whose immoderately
 
 186 LAVINIA. 
 
 gaiicl3r and huge caps were famous both in Dorchester 
 and Weymouth. 
 
 "Good morning, Miss Schmaltz, I hope you are 
 well; this is Miss Holywell whom my aunt, I suppose, 
 has told you to expect."' 
 
 "I am quite well, thank you, Miss Clara, and much 
 obliged to you for your kind inquiries. What beautiful 
 roses you have got! Dear me, I believe they are the 
 rose Unique." 
 
 For her share of notice, Lavinia had only a stiff 
 curtsey, coupled with a formal inquiry if she had had 
 a good journey. 
 
 "How is my aunt?" asked Miss Clara, walking 
 towards one of the room doors. A large spaniel here 
 rushed upon the scene, nearly upsetting Lavinia, who 
 could not restrain a little scream, more of surprise than 
 of fright. 
 
 "Down, Turk, down," cried Miss Clara, seizing the 
 dog, now in a paroxysm of barking at the stranger; 
 "be quiet, Turk;" and she tried by mingled coaxing 
 and threatening to quiet him. 
 
 "Shall I fetch Miss Holywell a little hartshorn or 
 sal volatile?" asked Miss Schmaltz, with sarcastic 
 politeness. 
 
 Lavinia felt the intended sneer, but replied in a 
 propitiatory tone, "Oh, dear no, thank you; it was 
 very silly of me to be so startled, 1 am not in general 
 afraid of dogs." 
 
 This little incident had prevented Miss Clara's 
 inquiry about her aunt being answered. "When they 
 were all three in the drawiug-room, she asked again 
 for Mrs. Ennerly. Mrs. Ennerly was quite well, Miss
 
 XnB ROSE UNIQUK. 187 
 
 Sclimaltz liopcd and trusted, and at Exeter by tins 
 time. 
 
 "At Exeter?" cried Miss Clara. 
 
 "Yes, at Exeter, as I Lave the honour to tell you. 
 Mrs. Ennerly got a letter yesterday, begging her to go 
 at once to Exeter for the christening of her friend Lady 
 Amelia's grandchild, which is fixed for to-morrow. It 
 was settled some time ago, as you may recollect. Miss 
 Clara, that Mrs. Ennerly was to be godmother, when 
 the little one came, and Sir Timothy Livingston, of 
 Holly Park, godpapa. Somehow or other, the ceremony 
 is to take place sooner than had been first decided, and 
 Mrs. Ennerly had to start this morning by the nine 
 o'clock train; and, as it couldn't be helped, she desired 
 me to say that she hoped Miss Holywell would excuse 
 her absence." 
 
 "How long do you think my aunt will be away?" 
 asked the niece. 
 
 "Mrs. Ennerly was not sure how long — three or 
 four days — perhaps it might be a Aveek." 
 
 "It is really provoking," murmured Miss Clara, 
 "really provoking." 
 
 "Miss Holywell's room is ready for her," said the 
 housekeeper. "Miss Holywell will be made as com- 
 fortable as I can make her-, though," added she, with 
 pinched lips, "of course I understand that a young 
 lady will have but a dull time of it with an old woman 
 like me." 
 
 Here was the sting again, the instinctive protest of 
 a vulgar nature against the claims, felt, though unac- 
 knowledged, of a refined one. It went deep into i)oor 
 Lavinia's heart, as her blanched cheeks and quivering 
 lips testified. Nothing so entirely upsets inexperienced
 
 188 LAVINIA. 
 
 youth, as the marks of an hostility, that they cannot 
 account for. Miss Clara observed all this, and made 
 up her mind not to leave her new acquaintance alone, 
 at the mercy of the jealous housekeeper. She accord- 
 ingly said, — 
 
 "I have no doxibt that you would make Miss Holy- 
 well very comfortable, and very hapjiy. Miss Schmaltz, 
 but it occurs to me that, since my aunt is away, I 
 might just as well take the opportunity of doing now 
 what must be done some day or other — I mean the 
 introducing Miss Holywell to my sister. What do you 
 say to going home with me, Miss Holywell?" 
 
 Lavinia had to put a strong curb on herself, not to 
 betray, in a manner offensive to her fresh enemy, the 
 immense relief afforded her by this proposal of her 
 new friend. Instead, therefore, of giving way to a 
 spontaneous outburst of joy, she expressed her thanks 
 and willingness in what seemed to herself a very cool 
 and commonplace way. 
 
 "Don't thank me yet, for I have an interested mo- 
 tive in asking you to come to our Hermitage for a few 
 days," resumed Miss Clara, smiling, "which, like a 
 postscript to a letter, though last is not least. The 
 fact is, I have a quantity of needlework on hand, 
 destined for the Crimea — a whole lot of flannel jackets 
 to make, and I don't think you will refuse me your 
 assistance." 
 
 Lavinia did not look as if disposed to refuse any 
 aid Miss Clara might require, and so it was settled 
 that the young ladies should start immediately to catch 
 the two o'clock train for Warcham, which would enable 
 them to reach Owlscombe, the name of Miss Clara's 
 home, by four. At Miss Clara's desire, Miss Schmaltz
 
 THE ROSE UNIQUE. 189 
 
 ordered round Mrs. Ennerly's pony-cliaise, hoped to 
 see Miss Clara soou again at Ivy Lodge, and wislied 
 Miss Holywell, in a rather prim manner, a jileasant 
 visit. 
 
 Miss Schmaltz was not really an ill-natured woman 
 — the personnel of the household over which she ruled, 
 and even most of the poor cottagers in the village, 
 would have given her quite a different character. She 
 was simply jealous and imperious, and might have well 
 adopted as her motto the famous parceve suhjcctis et dc- 
 hellare superhos. Had Lavinia been a common-looking 
 girl, arriving at Ivy Lodge alone, ten to one but that 
 Miss Schmaltz would have patronized and befriended 
 her; being, on the contrary, beautiful and unconsciously 
 distinguished looking, and, to boot, already known to, 
 and a favourite with, Mrs. Ennerly's niece, the new 
 companion was endowed with all the requisites to be a 
 successful rival, and must, therefore, be crushed. De- 
 lenda Carthago. We begin to tremble for the poor 
 girl's situation at Ivy Lodge. 
 
 The return to Wareham, and the drive to Owls- 
 combe did not take altogether more than an hour and 
 a half. This time was not lost by our travellers in 
 improving their acquaintance with one another. They 
 had a good deal of talk upon different subjects, and 
 unconsciously drew each other out, and to their mutual 
 satisfaction. Though treated and addressed by Miss 
 Clara on a footing of perfect equality, Lavinia never 
 departed for a moment from that modest reserve of 
 manner, w'hich suited one in her inferior position. 
 
 Owlscombe was just what Lavinia, judging by Miss 
 Clara, had fancied her home was likely to be; a mo- 
 dern, unpretending building, with nothing showy, or
 
 190 LAVINIA. 
 
 even pictm-esque about it, but with a look of homely 
 simplicity, for those who could appreciate it, better felt 
 than described. Miss Clara led Lavinia to a small room 
 on the second floor, saying. — 
 
 "I give you twelve minutes, just time enough to 
 get ready for dinner, and not to take cold. A fire 
 shall be made while we are at dinner. I'll send you 
 your trunk directly." 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII. 
 
 Owlscombe and its Inmates. 
 
 Lavixia was received by the master and mistress of 
 Owlscombe, as if she had been an old acquaintance. 
 She saw at once that family union reigned supreme in 
 the house, and that she need have no fears that j\tr. or 
 Mrs. Aveling should consider that her new friend had 
 taken any liberty in bringing her thither, an unex- 
 pected guest. Mrs. Aveling was fairer, taller, and some 
 years older than Clara, but in fcatui-es and expression, 
 the sisters were the living portrait of each other. Mr. 
 Aveling M'as tall, swarthy, and gentlemanlike, with a 
 profusion of iron-grey hau- tossed back, and falling in 
 weeping-willow fashion on both sides of his temples. 
 Hi s forehead was high and broad, but furrowed; his 
 countenance fine and intellectual, but wanting in soft- 
 ness. Such, at least, was Lavinia's fii'st impression, 
 an impression confiimed by his vehement manner of 
 speaking. 
 
 The topic of conversation was, natm-ally enough, 
 the hai-dships of the troops then besieging Sebastopol. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Aveling had e^-idently also read the cor-
 
 OWLSCOMBE AND ITS INMATES. 191 
 
 respondeuce from tlic Crimea, whicli had so affected 
 Miss Clara dming the morning's journey. The women, 
 like true women as they were, had no eyes nor feelings 
 but for the fact, the heart-rending fact, that thousands of 
 their fellow-creatures were suffering and perishing 
 miserably far from their homes. To take their share 
 of these sufferings, as it were, by a vivid representation 
 of all their dire variety, and to devise methods how 
 best to alleviate those which could be helped, and pre- 
 vent their recurrence for the future — such was the 
 circle out of which the sisters never for one moment 
 strayed. 
 
 Mr. Aveling, on the contrary, true to the combative 
 ingredient in his sterner sex, was less full of pity for 
 the terrible suffering, than roused to wrath by what he 
 believed to be the cause of it; and this cause, according 
 to his judgment, was the utter want of forethought, 
 nay, the gross neglect, of those he tei'med the red- 
 tapists. If there be any truth in the adage of the 
 tingling of ears when we are being evil spoken of, 
 how must these gentlemen's ears have tingled at the 
 loud denunciations of carelessness, incapacity, &c., which 
 irate Mr. Aveling hurled at their heads. Above all, he 
 would hear of no allowances being made. 
 
 "No one," he cried, "has any right to make al- 
 lowances where the lives of our soldiers are at stake; 
 the life of the youngest of our drummers in the Crimea 
 is more precious to the country than that of a dozen 
 such hirelings at home, who, by their guilty negligence, 
 leave our tine fellows to rot and starve amid mud and 
 rain. I say it is a shame, a crying shame, and that 
 they ouglit to be hanged for it," and Avith a portentous
 
 192 LAVIXIA. 
 
 jerk of tlie liead, Mr. Aveling sent Lis loDg hair flyiug 
 about his face. 
 
 "How fiercely you talk this evening, George," said 
 Miss Clara. 
 
 "Do I — now really?"' and he gazed round him 
 with much the look of one just emerging from under 
 water. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, you are very fierce; and Miss Holy- 
 well, who does not yet understand your ways, will take 
 you for a regular fire-eater, if you go on in such a 
 strain." 
 
 "Well, then, as I don't wish to give myself out for 
 anything but what I am — a peaceable member of 
 society," said Mr. Aveling, with a queer mixture of 
 contrition and comicality, "the sooner I leave off, and 
 beg Miss Holywell's pardon, the better. The truth is, 
 that I have a strong and a weak point. Miss Holywell; 
 my strong point is to hate all that is bad with the 
 whole intensity of my reverence for all that is good; 
 my weak one, to express my detestation of what is bad 
 intemperately, without measm-e, in a sort of mad bull 
 way, offensive alike to reason and good taste." 
 
 "It is only natural that those who feel strongly," 
 said Lavinia, rather puzzled, but wishing to say some- 
 thing conciliatory, "should express strongly what they 
 feel." 
 
 "But not violently, not rashly, not uncharitably," 
 urged Mr. Aveling, warmly. 
 
 "Xow, George, you go too far against yourself," 
 protested Miss Clara. 
 
 "I cannot bear to hear you blackening yourself so 
 unwarrantably," said Mrs. Aveling. "Don't believe 
 him. Miss Holywell."
 
 OWLSCOMBE AND ITS INMATES. 193 
 
 "Just listen to them, Miss Holywell," cried Mr. 
 Aveling; "they will swear next that I am a lamb." 
 
 "So you really are," cried both sisters together. 
 
 "You be my witness, Miss Holywell," said Mr. 
 Aveling, half cross, half pleased. "Here is a man 
 who passes a sweeping condemnation on a number of 
 his fellow-creatures, on no other foundation than the 
 allegations of a newspaper — a man who gets into 
 a passion and talks of hanging — and that man is not 
 rash, oh, no! — not uncharitable, oh, no! — not un- 
 just, oh, no!" 
 
 "Not a word more, pray — to please me," entreated 
 Mrs. Aveling. 
 
 "So be it, to please you, Eleanor, and you too, 
 Clara. Miss Holywell has heard enough to draw her 
 own conclusions Avithout further comments of mine." 
 
 Lavinia truly had heard enough to be aware by 
 this time that Mr. Aveling was a simple-minded, warm- 
 hearted fellow, with just such a proportion of impulse 
 in his nature as to keep constantly alive his sense of 
 justice and moral responsibility. And as she gazed on 
 his now smooth brow and smiling face, she inwardly 
 called herself stupid and blind for having fancied she 
 discovered in either a want of softness. She was anxious 
 to atone for this inner hasty judgment, and succeeded 
 pretty well in ingratiating herself with him. The task 
 was not difficult, for Mr. Aveling had all the simplicity 
 and the laisi^cr aUer of a big boy. Even physically, 
 there were glimpses of youth in his eyes, and in the 
 tones of his voice, more suited to a lad of twenty than 
 to a man past forty. 
 
 On adjourning to the library, which was the general 
 sitting-room, the ladies took their seats round a table, 
 
 Lavinia. II. 13
 
 194 LAVINIA. 
 
 and set to work immediately on tlie flannel jackets for 
 the Crimea, of which there were three bulky heaps 
 lying already cut out upon three chairs. Mr. Aveling 
 took up a review, and occasionally read snatches aloud 
 from it. After a little, he put dowTi the book, and 
 began pacing up and down the room in a tit of musing. 
 Now and then, as he passed the table, at which the 
 ladies were busy, he would stop and gaze at his wife 
 and sister with infinite complacency, sometimes play 
 them some childhke trick, such as stealing the thimble 
 of the one, or hiding the scissors of the other, pretend- 
 ing the while with the utmost gravity to know nothing 
 of the missing articles, but sure to end by betraying 
 himself with a laugh. 
 
 There was, of course, no lack of "For shame, 
 George." "Did you ever see such a harum scarum. 
 Miss Holywell?" even of bodily struggles to recover 
 by force thimble or scissors, out of which conquered 
 and conquerors came equally well pleased. At last the 
 harum scarum grew composed, sat down at a small 
 table on one side of the chimney, and began writing. 
 The scratching of the pen on the paper, the hissing of 
 the thread, and the ticking of the French clock on 
 the mantelpiece, were the only sounds audible in the 
 room. 
 
 "All is so still," said Mr. Aveling, after some time; 
 "I wish the little birds were chirping, it might help me 
 to my simile." 
 
 "The birds are too busy to chirp," said Miss Clara. 
 "What simile are you hunting for?" 
 
 "A simile for the Coliseum; the image ought to be 
 grand."' 
 
 "Difficult to find one both grand and ti-ue, except
 
 OWLSCOMBE AND ITS INMATES. 195 
 
 on the spot itself," observed Miss Clara. "You must go 
 to Rome, George." 
 
 "So we will, by Jove," cried, Mr, Aveling, with 
 enthusiasm, tapping on his writing-desk. "It is mon- 
 strous that a poet — one, at least, who writes and 
 publishes poems — should know nothing of the Eternal 
 City, save by hearsay. But I cannot wait for my simile 
 till I go to Rome." 
 
 "I have been there," joined in Lavinia, timidly, 
 "and seen the Coliseum." 
 
 "What a piece of good luck! " cried George, delighted. 
 "Did you see it by moonlight, Miss Holywell? I 
 hope so." 
 
 "Yes," said Lavinia, "as every one makes a point 
 of doing since the days of Byron." 
 
 "And what was the impression you received?" 
 
 "I will give you that of one whose ideas are better 
 worth repeating than mine," said Lavinia, withui little 
 sigh, as she recalled that evening. "A young Roman 
 painter, who was of our party, likened the Coliseum, 
 looked at sidewise, remember — and the image struck 
 me by its justness — to the carcase of a gigantic ship, 
 stranded — " 
 
 "Stranded on the shore of Time's ocean," concluded 
 Mr. Aveling, with a flourish of his right hand. "That's 
 it: simple, grand and true. I am much indebted to you, 
 Miss Holywell." 
 
 "I am afraid you will have little rest now. Miss 
 Holywell," observed Mrs. Aveling, laughing, "for I must 
 tell you that the scene of the poem my husband is writ- 
 ing is precisely in Rome. I tremble at the thought of 
 the demands that are in store for you." 
 
 13*
 
 196 LAVINIA. 
 
 "And not without cause, and not without cause," 
 affirmed the poet, with mock gravity. 
 
 Lavinia expressed, of course, her willingness and 
 readiness to give all the help in her power, and on wen 
 the pen and on went the needles, this time not without 
 a brisk accompaniment from the tongues of the needle- 
 women. Lavinia's kind hostesses were full of curiosity 
 about Rome and the Pope and the events of the siege 
 in 1849, on all of which topics, especially the last, 
 Lavinia possessed and could give, thanks to her friend. 
 Domenichino, authentic and entertaining information. 
 Miss Clara wanted particularly to know all about the 
 persons who had volunteered as nurses, and from whom, 
 as stated in the newspapers at the time, the sick and 
 wounded during the siege had met with such unremitting 
 care. Were they chiefly ladies or women of the people? 
 Lavinia stated what was the fact, that all ranks and 
 stations of life had united in this work of charity. She 
 remembered a young and handsome princess having been 
 pointed out to her, who had been one of the foremost 
 assistants in and out of the hospitals; and she had her- 
 self known a most interesting girl, only a poor worker 
 in cameos — but what a rich heart she had — who 
 had also been one of the pious sisterhood. The enthu- 
 siasm with which these nurses were spoken of by all 
 who had seen them at their task, concluded Lavinia, 
 was a voucher for the devotedness and efficiency with 
 which it was done. 
 
 "It seems," said Miss Clara, with gentle gravity, "as 
 if suffering, both in oneself and others, is an indispens- 
 able stimulant to noble exertions here below — ab- 
 solutely necessary to develop in human nature wLat it 
 has of divine. Troubled times are always the richest
 
 OWLSCOMBE AND ITS IJSMATES. 197 
 
 in heroism. Only think what incalculable amount of 
 power of self-sacrifice woixld lie dormant and waste, but 
 for such occasions of being called into action, as, for 
 instance, that direst of all calamities, war." 
 
 "Who speaks of war?" said a doleful voice from the 
 writing-table; "I am sadly at war with myself at this 
 minute. Doubts rush upon me like the Balaklava charge 
 of cavalry." 
 
 "We'll bring up an auxiliary force," said Miss Clara; 
 "I'll ring for tea." 
 
 "I want help and not tea, you unfeeling jester. I 
 am in a bog, Nelly." 
 
 Nelly rose and bent, supple, graceful and loving, 
 over her hvisband's desk. One of her arms lay coiled 
 round his neck, and supported her delicate frame, her 
 long ringlets fell in golden streams over his shoulders 
 and face, and he, while explaining his difficulty, caressed 
 the flowing curls, twisting them round the fingers of his 
 left hand , the only one he liad free — for his right arm 
 encircled his wife's waist in a chaste embrace. 
 
 "I hope you will give us some music, Miss Holy- 
 well," said Miss Clara, while this little conjugal 
 scene was going on; "I am sure you sing and play 
 well." 
 
 "I ought to do so," replied Lavinia, "considering 
 the time I have wasted on singing and playing." 
 
 "Wasted!" repeated Miss Clara; "that is a very 
 severe word to use upon what seems to me one of 
 the most elevating and beneficial influences in this 
 world." 
 
 "I quite agree with you," said Lavinia, "in your 
 high estimate of music, yet I cannot but regret having 
 made it the chief occupation of [my life. There are so
 
 198 LAVINIA. 
 
 many other things that one ought to learn; and then 
 music in amateurs is generally a temptation to vanity 
 and display." 
 
 "Sometimes, perhaps, but not necessarily," returned 
 Miss Clara, kindly; "and in a family circle it may be 
 a great source of good as well as pleasure. George is 
 very fond of music; and whenever something goes wrong 
 — I do not mean at home, thank God — we have the 
 blessing of being all of one mind in the house; but 
 whenever some injustice, or some sad occurrence, such 
 as that which ruffled him before dinner, puts his soul, 
 as he expresses it, out of tune — music charms away 
 his irritation, and — " 
 
 An intimation that she was wanted at the writing- 
 desk, interrupted ]\liss Clara's confidences for the 
 nonce. 
 
 "A full cabinet council! — some mighty question to 
 solve," said she, laughing; "you must excuse me for a 
 minute, Miss Holywell," and she joined her sister, and 
 listened gravely to the matter in dispute. Her answer 
 came quick and decided — she spoke loud enough for 
 Lavinia to hear — she said, — 
 
 "Yes, a woman actuated by love would do it" 
 (whatever it was, that Mr. Aveling doubted), "and 
 remain true to her nature." Upon this, the council 
 broke up, and the sisters resumed their seats at the 
 work-table. 
 
 "Can you keep a secret, Miss Holywell?" asked 
 Mr. Aveling. 
 
 "I hope I can — really, I don't know," returned 
 Lavinia, taken by surprise. 
 
 "I am determined to run the risk of your reserva-
 
 OWIiSCOMBE AND ITS INMATES. 199 
 
 tion," said he, "and take you into my confidence. Here 
 it is — I am a humbug," 
 
 "Oh, sir! oh, George!" protested three voices at 
 once. 
 
 "I knew there would be a unanimous outcry against 
 me; unvarnished truth always is repulsed, but — amicus 
 Plato ^ amicus Cicero^ sed magis arnica Veritas — I will 
 give you my reasons for what I state, Miss Holywell, 
 for it is to you I appeal as to an impartial judge. 
 The verses which I send forth into the world under 
 my name, and of which I get the credit, are none of 
 mine." 
 
 "How can you tell such fibs, George?" 
 
 "What stuff and nonsense are you — " 
 
 "Attend to me. Miss Holy well , if you please," went 
 on Mr. Aveling, overpowering both his opponents by 
 his sonorous voice. "The verses which the reviewers 
 criticize as mine, or praise as mine, belong by right of 
 authorship to the two blessed women who are sewing 
 by your side." 
 
 This declaration met a stout, almost angry denial, 
 from the sisters. 
 
 "I protest to heaven and earth, Miss Holywell, that 
 not one deep feeling or striking thought, not one 
 felicitous image or expression, ever dropped from my 
 pen, whose filiation I cannot easily trace to some feel- 
 ing, thought, image, or expression of theirs; that not 
 one of those gentle personations, which have given some 
 little fame to my name, but is their work, their creation, 
 the very essence of their souls crystallized. In short, 
 they are at once the poet and the poem, and I but the 
 amanuensis. Now that I have made a clean breast of 
 it, I feel more comfortable."
 
 200 LAVINIA. 
 
 "The best refutation of George's libel against him- 
 self," said Miss Clara, addressing Lavinia, "is this very 
 poetic effusion — not his best performance, though — 
 in which he has just indulged as to Eleanor and to me. 
 Who but an hihorn poet — " she underlined the word 
 by the emphasis she laid on it — "could discover and 
 colour as he did a flimsy paradox?" 
 
 "Specious, but unsteady at the base," parenthesized 
 G-eorge. 
 
 "Miss Holywell," said Mrs. Aveling, "George pub- 
 lished his first poem when he was seventeen: I don't 
 think we kneAv each other at the time." 
 
 "Rather incon-ect as to chronology," observed Mr. 
 Aveling, quietly. "Evelina, if I remember, the 
 heroine of my first production, was no other than Mrs. 
 Aveling." 
 
 "A heroine of ten years old," retorted IVIrs. 
 Aveling. 
 
 "What matters the age? I can answer for it that I 
 was just as much over head and ears in love with you 
 at seventeen as I am at fort — " 
 
 "Be quiet, George; how dare you!" 
 
 "Miss Holywell, I appeal to you again; is it im- 
 proper in a husband to say that he is in love — " 
 
 He could not say, or rather he chose not to say, "in 
 love with his wife," for the little hand, which, by this 
 time was pretending to close his mouth, was more of a 
 virtual than a formal impediment to utterance. He shut 
 his eyes instead, crossed his hands over his breast, and 
 otherwise intimated his helpless condition under over- 
 whehning force. The entrance of a maid-servant with 
 the tea-things put a stop to proceedings which, however 
 little dignified they may look on paper, had a charm of
 
 OWLSCOMBB AND ITS INMATES. 201 
 
 their own in action, and Avere suggestive of much to the 
 credit of human nature. 
 
 All work of every kind was put aside, and the party 
 drew round the tea-table. The sisters made use of their 
 leisure to retaliate on the poet; they recalled with merci- 
 less circumstantiality every one of his literary triumphs, 
 from the letter of encouragement he had received when 
 quite a lad, from the laureate of that day, down to the 
 furore of tears created by his last poem. 
 
 "Fears were entertained of an inundation," said 
 Mr. Aveling, gravely, "and boats were at a pre- 
 mium." 
 
 "And bad jesters at a discount," retorted Miss 
 Clara. "I must warn you. Miss Holywell, that my 
 brother professes the superbest disdain for the melting 
 mood." 
 
 "But at the same time," added Mrs. Aveling, "in- 
 dulges in it with sufficient zest." 
 
 "Oh, Nell! On n'est train que par les siens" ex- 
 claimed the husband. 
 
 "Listen to me, Miss Holywell," said Miss Clara, 
 in her turn; "listen to an illustration of his masculine 
 fortitude. He took it into his head, Avhile writing 
 his last poem, that the heroine, a perfect darling, 
 should die." 
 
 "Oh, Clara! and you also!" deprecated Mr. 
 Aveling. 
 
 "We entreated, we implored her grace, all in vain," 
 continued the implacable narrator. "It was an absolute 
 necessity that she should die, he affirmed. Authors are 
 among the worst of tyrants, they destroy the flower of 
 their flock; though justice compels me to own, that being 
 determined to kill her, George did so in some of the
 
 202 LAVINIA. 
 
 most magnificent verses that ever welled up hot from his 
 heart. Well, he came and read them to us, as is his 
 wont ■ — I ought rather to say that he attempted to read 
 them, for, at the middle of the second stanza, he began 
 to blubber dreadfully; this gentleman, who does not look 
 very like a baby, sobbed like one, I assure you." 
 
 "I plead guilty, but Avith extenuating circumstances," 
 said Mr. Aveling. "Of all my creations, Bianca was 
 my favourite - — " 
 
 "There!" cried his wife, with a little shouf of 
 triumph, "he is caught. I appeal to all present, has 
 he not confessed to being the creator of all his heroes 
 and heroines?" 
 
 "You take advantage of a mere form of speech, 
 used to avoid circumlocution," explained Mr. Aveling. 
 "What I meant to say was this, that of all the per- 
 sonages, of which you were the sun, and I only the 
 photographic machine — " 
 
 "No, no, that won't do — ■ too late for recantation." 
 
 "Well, Bianca was the one I loved best. She had 
 become for me a thing of flesh and blood; it was not 
 without a long and hard struggle that I made up my 
 mind to sacrifice her. No Avonder if, at the moment of 
 striking the fatal blow, my hand trembled a little." 
 
 "No equivocation," cried both ladies. "Trembled, 
 indeed! you wept like a fountain." 
 
 " I don't deny it, I was completely upset, there never 
 were tears more pleasant than those I shed. Through 
 them I had the revelation that my Galatea had the 
 breath of life in her; thi-ough them I could say to my- 
 self, Anch'.io son pittore." 
 
 "Now, I am satisfied," said Miss Clara. "Spoken 
 like a man and a true poet."
 
 OWLSCOMBE AND ITS INMATES. 203 
 
 Mrs. Aveling said nothing, but looked the proudest 
 of wives. 
 
 "Now for the end of my story," resumed Miss Clara. 
 "When he was disabled, Eleanor took up the MS., read 
 three lines, and broke down shamefully. It was now 
 my turn. I screwed up my courage, steadied my voice, 
 got through a line and a half, and joined in the wail. 
 Jane came in with the tea-tray at that critical moment, 
 and found us all dissolved in tears. She stood aghast 
 at the sight, desperately inclined to scream and run 
 away, as she confessed afterwards. The ludicrousness 
 of the situation struck us so forcibly, that we all three 
 burst into a Homeric fit of laughter, which, however, 
 only half reassured Jane as to nothing dreadful having 
 happened. We wasted a good deal of time and in- 
 genuity in trying to exi)lain to her the cause of the 
 emotion she had witnessed, but Ave succeeded very ill 
 in making the case clear to our country maiden; and to 
 this day she looks with suspicion on George's manu- 
 scripts, which, to use her own phrase, can play such 
 tricks with master and mistress." 
 
 Amid such pleasant talk the evening wore on. La- 
 vinia, when again pressed, went to the piano and sang, 
 to the delight of her audience, some popular Italian 
 songs she had learned at Eome. At ten the family 
 party broke up, and Miss Clara accompanied her guest 
 to her room, to make sure that everything there was 
 comfortable; and all being as it ought to be, she wished 
 Lavinia good night and pleasant dreams. If dreams 
 are but the reflex of the impressions received during 
 the day, it was difficult indeed under that hospitable 
 roof to have any other than pleasant dreams.
 
 204 LAVINIA. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A new Link clinched by an old Name. 
 
 Miss Clara did not appear at breakfast next morn- 
 ing, nor did she for several days running join the family 
 circle till near dinner-time. Lavinia was consequently 
 thrown on the hands of Mrs. Aveling, and was no loser 
 by it. Miss Clara herself could not have done the 
 honours ofOwlscombe with greater cordiality and friend- 
 liness. No corner of the house or grounds was left un- 
 explored; the conservatory, the aviary, the Alderaey 
 cows, the Cochin China fowls came in each and all in 
 theii- turn for a share of notice and admiration. La- 
 vinia's attention was especially claimed for a particular 
 plot of ground in the garden, at which Mr. Aveling 
 used to work every morning, as if for his daily bread; 
 and to a little summer-house, of which he made his 
 study in the hot season. Mrs. Aveling also pointed out, 
 not without a little look of pride, two full grown fir- 
 trees, which overshadowed the summer-house, and which 
 she and her husband had planted with their own hands, 
 and christened with each other's name, on the day of 
 their marriage, now more than fifteen years ago. 
 
 "What a nice idea!" said Lavinia; "they have 
 grown the very image of their namesakes; so straight, 
 so vigorous. It must do your heart good to look at 
 them." 
 
 "Yes, indeed; though at times it saddens me to 
 think," said Mrs. Aveling, with a sigh, "that they will 
 pass into strange hands when we are gone. After all," 
 she added, waving her head as if to throw off some 
 
 i
 
 A NEW LINK CLINCHED BY AN OLD NAME. 205 
 
 annoying burden, "it is worse tlian foolish to indulge 
 in regrets for what one has not, when one has so much 
 — oh! so much as I have." 
 
 Lavinia needed no clearer hint to show her the 
 nature of the regret, which had wrung a sigh from her 
 cheerful hostess. Passing lovely and sweet as Avas the 
 picture of the interior it had been her good fortune to 
 have a peep of, she had missed in it a feature which 
 would have given it completeness; a group of rosy 
 cherubs gambolling on the hearthrug, and filling the air 
 with their infantine voices. Yes; even Mrs. Aveling was 
 no exception to the rule, that there is on earth no ab- 
 solute felicity; even she, the proudest and happiest of 
 wives and sisters, had a wish unfulfilled, an ambition, 
 the most legitimate of ambitions, unsatisfied. 
 
 Let not the reader, however, imagine that this long- 
 ing proved the bane of her life; not at all: there was 
 sweet enough in her cup to drown this drop of gall. 
 Such passing clouds of melancholy, as the thought might 
 evoke now and then, were lost in the sunshine of love 
 in which she walked. The lioman conquerors of old 
 were not the worse for being reminded in their day of 
 triumph, that they were but mortals. Perhaps, without 
 this remembrancer of the disappointments to which all 
 flesh is heir, Mrs. Aveling's flow of gentle sympathies 
 for the unfortunate would have run less abundant and 
 active. Certain it is, that this trial, if such it was, had 
 rather tightened than otherwise the bonds of affection 
 and reverence, which bound the two sufferers from it; 
 for the consciousness in each of a wish ungratified in 
 the other, acted on both as an ever fresh stimulant to 
 that endless interchange of little tendernesses and en-
 
 206 LAVINIA. 
 
 dearments, wliicli said, in their own peculiar language, 
 "Know that I liave notlmui to wish for." 
 
 With such, and other little confidences, Mrs. Aveling 
 enlivened the long mornings, when they sat, needle in 
 hand, in the cosy oak parlour at Owlscombe. What 
 other subjects could she broach, but those of which she 
 was full — her husband and her sister? They were 
 all the world to her. Clara was an angel, Mrs. Aveling 
 averred. She had refused every proposal of marriage 
 in order to stay with her brother and sister, and do 
 good. Doing good was Clara's passion. Her life was 
 an uninterrupted succession of errands of charity. No 
 needy or afflicted ones, within a circuit of ten miles, 
 but she carried comfort and assistance to. The sick 
 were pre-eminently her favourites. Just at this time 
 she was the centre and soul of a movement throughout 
 the county, for collecting funds and clothes for our 
 soldiers in the Crimea. It was this which kept her so 
 much from home. Clara neglected herself for the sake 
 of others. She was far from strong. No doubt Miss 
 Holywell had remarked the mob cap she always wore. 
 She had been advised to wear it as a preventive against 
 the severe headaches, from which she suffered so con- 
 stantly. And yet she was never satisfied that she did 
 enough, and yearned for a wider field of usefulness and 
 self-immolation. Another and a deeper sigh at this 
 place seemed to point to some special cause of uneasi- 
 ness, which was left a mystery for Lavinia. 
 
 Mrs. Aveling looked upon her husband as the beau 
 ideal of a hero and a genius. She worshipped his very 
 shadow. Young, handsome, gifted beyond all men, the 
 very essence of all goodness, as he had appeared to 
 her girlish vision, when he came, a printed author al-
 
 A NEW LINK CLINCHED BY AN OLD NAME. 207 
 
 ready at seventeen, to spend the holidays at Owlscombe 
 with her father, so he stood in the eyes of the wife 
 woman now, after the lapse of nine and twenty years, 
 and the same he would remain for ever. Had there 
 ever been a friend like George? If she and her sister 
 had a roof over their heads, were they not indebted for 
 it to George? After the death of her father, Mr. Avel- 
 ing, then only beginning his career as a barrister, had 
 spent five of the best years of his youth, had devoted 
 all his energies, and his little fortune as well, to save 
 such wrecks of theirs as could be saved. Thank God, 
 he had succeeded — not till this happy issue had been 
 secured, had they married. How sweet to owe every- 
 thing to him one loves! 
 
 These, and similar disclosures, were not made, of 
 course, in the compressed and uninterrupted form in 
 which they are here given, much less given in one day; 
 they oozed out in intermittent streamlets under the pres- 
 sure of scarcely appreciable agencies. One of these 
 was unmistakeably Mr. Aveling's visits to the ladies' 
 sitting-room. His presence left a glow after it, which 
 was favourable to confidence. Truly, he had always 
 something affectionate to say or do. It seemed as if 
 he could receive no agreeable impression without 
 enhancing it by sharing it with his Nelly. Now it was 
 a fresh bud which had opened on some favourite plant 
 she had placed in his study, and which she was re- 
 quested to admire; now a piece of news in a newspaper, 
 or a striking passage in a book which he knew would 
 interest her. 
 
 When he came in with no such apparent message, 
 Avhich was pretty often the case, he was always sa- 
 luted with the question, "Do you want me, George?"
 
 208 LAVINIA. 
 
 This afforded an inexhaustible fund of merriment, 
 for then he would wonder at the self-couceit of some 
 better halves, who thought they were for ever wanted, 
 and pretend that he had come to see that Miss Holy- 
 well was not being canvassed against him behind his 
 back. At other times he would answer, — 
 
 "Well, suppose I wanted to have a peep at your 
 sweet face, where is the harm?" 
 
 "The harm is in the saying so," would say his 
 wife, and, "Oh, the hypocrite!" be the laughing retort. 
 "Do you hear her, Miss Holywell? I put it to you. 
 Is it so very shocking in a husband to say he wished 
 to look at — " 
 
 Probably Mrs. Aveling here rose with such a threaten- 
 ing aspect, that the gentleman was fain to take to his 
 heels, concluding in his flight the obnoxious phrase, to 
 the increased wrath of the offended party, who would 
 run after him, and disappear in the chase. 
 
 On the fifth morning of Lavinia's stay at Owls- 
 combe, Miss Clara breakfasted for the first time with 
 the rest of the family. The day was clear and fine, 
 the ground dry and frosty. 
 
 "Just the day and the ground for a good walk," 
 observed Miss Clara. "Will you go out with me. Miss 
 Holywell?" 
 
 Lavinia answered in the affirmative, and away went 
 the two young ladies. They walked on in silence for 
 some time. Miss Clara looked grave. 
 
 "I hope you are not suffering from one of your bad 
 headaches," said Lavinia. 
 
 "Oh, no! I am pretty well, thank you," replied 
 Miss Clara, "only vexed and puzzled."
 
 A NEW LINK CLINCHED BY AN OLD NAME. 209 
 
 "But nothing seriously wrong, I hope?" asked 
 Lavinia, with interest. 
 
 "No; only disagreeable; and I am sorry to say it 
 concerns you, Miss Holywell." 
 
 Lavinia started. 
 
 "1 have heard from Mrs. Ennerly," continued Miss 
 Clara. At the mention of that name Lavinia's face 
 lengthened. "There is no cause for alarm," hastened 
 to add Miss Clara; "you are among friends, you know, 
 who will take care of you, whatever happens." 
 
 "Then Mrs. Ennerly refuses — to — receive me," 
 faltered Lavinia. 
 
 "Not exactly so; but she objects to your being in 
 mourning — you know, I rather apprehended as much 
 from the first — not that I believe such an objection 
 would have weighed a straw, had she seen you. As 
 it is, I perceive with pain that my aunt has received 
 an impression — You see what a poor hand I am at 
 diplomacy," wound up Miss Clara, with a little em- 
 barrassed laugh. "The short and the long of the 
 matter is," she continued, resolutely, "that my aunt 
 hints at a wish to annul the engagement she entered 
 into with you, to annul it in a way, you understand, 
 honourable and agreeable to both parties, if possible; 
 but, rather than give offence to anybody, she would 
 abide by her agreement j)urely and simply." 
 
 After a moment's reflection, Lavinia said timidly, 
 "I could not take advantage of Mrs. Ennerly 's con- 
 siderate scruples, to force myself, as it were, into her 
 house contrary to her wish." 
 
 "Surely not, if it were not next to a certainty that 
 that wish would be altered the moment she saw you," 
 said Miss Clara. "It is cpite on other grounds I feel 
 
 Lavinia. 11. 14
 
 210 LAVINIA. 
 
 disposed to influence you to accept of the overtures 
 Mrs. Ennerly makes towards the cancelling of your en- 
 gagement. Listen to me, Miss Holywell. I have not 
 the least doubt but that my aunt, did I advise her to 
 do so, would receive you immediately and kindly, and 
 also come' to like you in a very short time. I have as 
 little doubt, but that any hostile influence, if such there 
 were, which you might meet in her establishment, 
 would be eventually conquered by your gentleness and 
 candour. My doubt and fear is as to your happiness. 
 I do not believe that, with your tastes and habits, such 
 as I judge them to be, you could easily accommodate 
 yourself to those of Mrs. Ennerly. For instance, she is 
 in a constant whirl of company and entertains a great 
 deal. During the Weymouth season, her house is the 
 gayest of the gay. Now, would that suit you?" 
 
 "Oh! no," was the hurried answer, "I have had 
 quite enough of gaieties; I literally thirst after retire- 
 ment and obscurity," 
 
 "I guessed as much," said Miss Clara; "I am glad 
 I have consulted with you on the subject. You will 
 oblige me by writing to Lady Willingford so as to ex- 
 onerate my aunt as much as you can from blame." 
 
 "I shall exonerate her entirely; and I will also 
 write to Mrs. Ennerly herself," said Lavinia, "if you 
 do not disapprove." 
 
 "Yes, do, it will be very kind of you; let us make 
 a golden bridge for her to escape from reproaching her- 
 self too much. Of course, she owes you a handsome 
 compensation — " 
 
 "Will you think it presumptuous of me to say," in- 
 terrupted Livinia, "that I would rather have no com- 
 pensation?"
 
 A NEW LINK CLINCHED BY AN OLD NAME. 211 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "Because you have been so kind to me, all of you 
 so very kind, that it would mortify me very much to 
 accept of anything like money from one of your 
 family." 
 
 Miss Clara saw Lavinia struggling with her tears, 
 and said, — 
 
 "Well, well, I shall not press the matter further for 
 the present; and now let me see you look cheerful 
 again. You need not be uneasy about the future," con- 
 cluded Miss Clara; "we shall not have any groat diffi- 
 culty in finding a situation suitable to your disposition. 
 In the meantime we shall detain you at Owlscombe, as 
 a most skilful needlewoman. Perhaps, I may even 
 have to beg of you to prolong your stay at Owlscombe 
 for an indefinite period — beg you to fill my place 
 while I am absent.'*' 
 
 "Are you going away?" asked Lavinia, in painful 
 surprise. 
 
 "Yes, and for some time; but I do not go imme- 
 diately," replied Miss Clara, with a little reserve of 
 manner. Lavinia said nothing further, and they walked 
 on, both thoughtful and silent. 
 
 Lavinia was the first to speak. 
 
 "Since you are so good as to take an interest in 
 my fate," said she, "I will venture to tell you of a wish 
 I have, which my engagement with Mrs. Enuerly being 
 at an end, I may perhaps be able to realize. I am so 
 ignorant of all practical things, that I need advice and 
 help. Can you tell me if fifty pounds would be suffi- 
 cient to take me to the East?" 
 
 "To the East?" echoed Miss Clara, in the greatest
 
 212 LAvmiA. 
 
 wonder. "Do you really and positively mean that you 
 wish to go to the East?" 
 
 "Yes; to serve as a nurse in one or other of the 
 hospitals there," said Lavinia. "I have thought of little 
 else ever since I had the good fortune to meet you. I 
 should be so happy, oh! so happy to do something for 
 my fellow-creatures." 
 
 "I can understand and sympathize with your wish," 
 said Miss Clara-, "at the same time, do not take it ill, 
 I beg of you, if I counsel you to be on your guard 
 against any precipitate and rash resolution. Your voca- 
 tion for such a service being of so fresh a date, had 
 you not better test it a little first?" 
 
 "Perhaps," said La\nnia, meekly, "though what 
 you name my vocation dates much farther back than 
 you imagine. Months ago , had I known how to manage 
 it, I would have gone and served in the hospitals of 
 London; from the very day, indeed, on which I learned 
 what an amount of misery there was in the world — I 
 was ignorant of it once and so thoughtless — from that 
 day, not a very distant one, after all, I have begged 
 of God each morning and evening that I might not die 
 without been of some use." 
 
 "Have you no family ties?" asked Miss Clara. 
 
 "None, I am an orphan." 
 
 "No one on whose judgment you ought to depend, 
 whose sanction you ought to have?" 
 
 "None, except Lady Williugford, without whose 
 consent I would take no decisive step." 
 
 "Well, then, if Lady Willingford consent, and if 
 within three weeks from this you are still of the same 
 mind, your wish shall be gratified. At the end of 
 January we will start for Scutari together."
 
 A NEW LINK CLINCHED BY AN OLD NAME. 213 
 
 -■ "Together? you are going there?" cried Lavinia, 
 at the acme of astonishment. 
 
 "Yes; when I spoke of being away from home for 
 awhile, I alluded to my intended journey to the East; 
 it has been a settled thing for more than a month 
 past." 
 
 "I understand now," said Lavinia, "what Mrs. 
 Aveling meant the other day, when mentioning all the 
 good you were accomplishing at home, she added that 
 you yearned for a still wider sphere of usefulness and 
 self-sacrifice." 
 
 "Mrs. Aveling looks upon my poor exertions in this 
 neighbourhood, with the eyes of a partial sister, that 
 is, she looks upon them through the magnifying glass 
 of affection. By-the-by, I must warn you, that to spare 
 ourselves as much pain as Ave can, we have tacitly 
 agreed at home to avoid all reference to the subject of 
 my departure. It preys heavily enough on our minds 
 as it is," added Miss Clara, with a sigh. "We love 
 each other so dearly! we are so happy together, that 
 sometimes I am tempted to ask myself if I am justified 
 in taking the course I am bent on; and yet I feel 
 impelled to it so strongly, in so unconquerable a 
 manner." 
 
 The subject being one of too peculiar a nature for 
 Lavinia to venture any remark upon, they both again 
 fell into a silence, which was unbroken until they 
 emerged from the intricacies of a small wood into a 
 road which ran across some downs, and commanded a 
 full view of the surrounding country. The prospect 
 was rather dreary as long as the eye dwelt on the 
 naked, slightly undulating spread of upland ; but to the 
 south the hills slojied gracefully down into little valleys,
 
 214 LAVINIA. 
 
 wliicli lay, as it were, folded at tlieir feet; smiliug 
 nooks, sprinkled with coppice, hedgei'ows, meadows, 
 farms, country-houses, and hamlets. A little farther 
 off, the steeples and church towers of the old town of 
 Wareham, rising behind leafless trees, cut sharply 
 against the sky. A broad expanse of sea extended 
 beyond to the horizon. 
 
 "This is a favourite spot of mine," observed Miss 
 Clara; "I hope you admire my Dorsetshire." 
 
 "Indeed I do," said Lavinia, "lovely as it is even 
 now in its austere winter deshabille, how charming it 
 must be when decked in its summer mantle of green!" 
 and as she was surveying the numerous country-houses, 
 which dotted the landscape far and near, her gaze was 
 an-ested by one in the foreground, which reminded her, 
 she said, of an Italian villa, less owing to its noble 
 proportions and vast portico, than to the two stately 
 cypresses standing in front of it, a picturesque feature 
 very common in Italy near any dwelling of note. The 
 closed windows and other signs of neglect clearly 
 pointed out that the mansion was empty; and Lavinia 
 wondered how such a lovely place should be un- 
 inhabited. 
 
 "Poor Cypress Hall!" said Miss Clara, with a 
 sigh; "it has been forsaken for nine years. Its owner 
 lives abroad." 
 
 While Miss Clara was speaking, a misgiving arose 
 in Lavinia's mind, that Cypress Hall was fraught with 
 painful associations for her friend, and she therefore 
 dropped the subject. 
 
 On their return to Owlscombe, the first thing Lavi- 
 nia did was to write to Mrs. Ennerly and Lady Wil- 
 lingford, as she had promised to do, and to show both
 
 A NEW LINK CLTNCnf:D BY AN OLD NAME. 215 
 
 letters to Miss Clara before despatching tliem. It will 
 be as well to state at once, that she received satisfac- 
 tory replies by return of post-, Mrs. Ennerly enclosing 
 a cheque for twenty pounds, which Lavinia was per- 
 suaded to accept; and thus this mighty negotiation 
 ended to the contentment of all parties. 
 
 After this, Lavinia became Miss Clara's inseparable 
 companion in her errands of charity, and a very docile 
 and clever aid she jiroved in the art of tending and 
 relieving the sick. Like all charitable ladies living in 
 the country. Miss Clara had a considerable smattering 
 of medicine, and into all that she knew herself, she 
 initiated her pupil, who soon became as great a profi- 
 cient in prescribing as her instructress. 
 
 Never had Lavinia been so busy and so happy. 
 Her shyness and sense of social inferiority had gradu- 
 ally worn away under the warmth of cordiality she 
 met from her hosts. They treated her as though she 
 were one of the family, and she soon felt like one. 
 And thus days and weeks rolled away, quick and full 
 in their sweet uniformity. Here is a little incident, 
 however, which we have obvious reasons for recording. 
 
 One evening, some chance observation of Lavinia's 
 brought the siege of Home again on the tapis, and 
 among other facts she was relating, she said that one 
 of the stanchest defenders of the Eternal City in 1849 
 had been an English gentleman of the name of Thorn- 
 torn. This mention was immediately followed by one 
 of those awkward silences, which are so painful to all 
 present, and more especially to the person who is their 
 nnwilling cause. The sudden hush was the more 
 striking from the conversation having been more than 
 usually animated. Miss Clara was the first to recover
 
 216 LAVINIA. 
 
 herself, but no efforts of hers sufficed to dispel the 
 chill which had so suddenly fallen on the whole party. 
 It was a relief when bed-time came, and they separated 
 for the night. 
 
 Miss Clara, however, went with Lavinia into the 
 latter's room, saying, — 
 
 "I have something to explain, and to apologize 
 for." 
 
 "Apologize for?" repeated Lavinia, in surprise. 
 
 "Yes, for sitting like a dumb goose, instead of 
 having presence of mind enough to prevent your being 
 distressed by such a mysterious change of manner in 
 my brother and sister. To explain it, you must know 
 that the name you pronounced this evening, has not 
 been heard by the walls of Owlscombe for years, and 
 is one, I must add, unwelcome to everybody here but 
 me." 
 
 "How unlucky that I should just hit upon that 
 particular onel" exclaimed Lavinia. 
 
 "How could you know?" said Miss Clara, adding 
 hurriedly, and with a good deal of agitation. "A 
 gentleman of the name of Thornton was once our neigh- 
 bour and friend, in fact he owned that Cypress Hall 
 which you admired so much the other day. In an ill- 
 omened moment a misunderstanding arose between him 
 and my family, mark, it was my fault — yes, my 
 fault — and he went away, and has never been heard 
 of since. Appearances were against him, and in their 
 blind tenderness for me, George and Nelly threw the 
 whole blame on him. I, Avho knew better, was in duty 
 bound to take his defence; and this difference of opinion 
 led to some little discomfort at home, to avoid which,
 
 A NEW LINK CLINCHED BY AN OLD NAME. 217 
 
 by a mutual tacit agreement, all mention of the subject, 
 even of the name connected with it, was dropped." 
 
 "I am so sorry — so very sorry," exclaimed La- 
 vinia, "to have been the unconscious occasion of this 
 revival of bitter associations in your mind." 
 
 "Not so bitter as you think; there is also some 
 sweet. If there is any good in me, I owe it chiefly to 
 having been thrown back on myself — to the recoil 
 of the event alluded to. It was from the throbs of a 
 noble heart that I had wounded, that a timely warning 
 was conveyed to me. But no more of myself; tell me 
 about this Thornton you met at Home — was he tall 
 and very good-looking?" 
 
 "Yes; and I should think about fifty," added La- 
 vinia. 
 
 "Oh, no; then he must be another person. Mr. 
 Thornton of Cypress Hall cannot be more, let me see, 
 than seven-and-thirty at most." 
 
 " The one I knew is certainly much older than that ; 
 though, now that I think of it, perhaps it was his 
 almost white nair and beard which made him appear 
 so. By the by, my Mr. Thornton's Christian name is 
 Mortimer." 
 
 "Then it is he," said Miss Clara. "Only to think 
 of his hair being white! and when he was twenty eight 
 he did not look his age." 
 
 "Nearly white," again repeated Lavinia. "He 
 must have suffered cruelly; indeed, I kuow he has, for 
 he told me so himself — not while I was at Home, I 
 could not endure him then. He was so grave and 
 reasonable, took everything so in earnest, and I was 
 so unreasonable, so giddy. It was not till the day of 
 trial came that I found out his Avorth: ah! he is one of
 
 218 LAVIXIA. 
 
 tlie noblest and kindest of men. "Without him, I do 
 believe, I should have gone mad. And yet he was 
 sorely tried himself at the time, and through my 
 thoughtlessness. Shall I tell you how it was? Oh, 
 yes, if you will allow me — if only that you may 
 know how much I owe to him, and how much I have 
 to atone for." 
 
 And, Miss Clara readily accepting this offer of 
 confidence, the repentant Lavinia (related her poignant 
 recollections of her last stay in Paris, beginning at the 
 untoward circumstances that had attended the an-ival 
 of the young Roman painter there, describing the fatal 
 ball at the Hotel de Ville, the distraction, and subse- 
 quent disappearance of Paolo, down to Mrs. Jones's 
 sudden illness, winding up her nan-ative with a violent 
 fit of crying. 
 
 Miss Clara evinced the keenest interest in the sad 
 tale, and was not chary of words of comfort to the 
 afflicted girl. 
 
 "You have been more unfoi-tunate than guilty," 
 said she. "Cruel as it is to be in any way an instm- 
 ment of suffering to others, there is consolation in the 
 consciousness of not having meant it, at least." 
 
 "Ah I but the injury done remains no less an in- 
 jury," said Lavinia. 
 
 "Alas! too time,'' said Miss Clara, -nnth the deep 
 feeling of one who speaks from painful personal ex- 
 perience. "All we can do is to try and make atone- 
 ment. You have never heard more, then, of this 
 Italian gentleman?" 
 
 "Never; nor had Mr. Thornton, up to the date of 
 his last letter to me, which is as far back as May. 
 Since then all my letters to him have remained unan-
 
 A NEW LINK CLINCHED BY AN OLD NAME. 219 
 
 swered; and when I try to imagine tlie reason of this 
 silence, I grow frightened." 
 
 "Let us hope for the best," said Miss Clara. "As 
 wo pass through Paris, yon will have an opportunity 
 of inquiring about Mr. Thornton at the place from 
 which he dated his last letter to you-, and probably 
 you will be able to obtain some clue to his present 
 whereabouts. If so — and something tells me it will 
 be so — he will give you tidings, either by letter or 
 by word of mouth, as to his lioman friend, which may 
 set your mind a rest. The ways of Providence are 
 inscrutable, my dear Miss Holywell. Who would have 
 believed that through you, an utter stranger to me a 
 few weeks ago, I should receive, after a blank of nine 
 years, such cheering news of the dear friend of my 
 youth? Cheering in this sense, I mean, that whatever 
 alterations his trials may have brought in the flesh, his 
 soul remains vmchanged, that he is the same upright, 
 noble, and tender specimen of mankind I knew him to 
 be, and that I have persisted in reverencing to this 
 hour. He had faults, certainly — who has not? He 
 was morbidly sensitive, exacting, exclusive in every- 
 thing; but the richness of his heart made up for all his 
 faults. He had experienced much early injustice and 
 harshness. His stejnnother hated him, his guardian 
 deceived him, and to recover what was his own he had 
 to fight a hard battle for years. What wonder if a 
 man so circumstanced should have had his temper 
 soured, and looked less at the sunny than at the shady 
 side of humaii nature!" 
 
 Thus, led on by invisible threads, the two kindly 
 souls drew closer and closer together, and the seeds 
 that pity and sympathy had sown, by a fresh com;
 
 220 LA.VIXIA. 
 
 munity of interests and feelings , grew up fast and 
 vigorous into a blessed flower of sisterly friendship. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The Discovery in Paris. 
 
 The departure of Miss Clara and Lavinia was fixed 
 for the 25tli of January. They were two of a large 
 batch of accepted nm-ses — all female England would 
 have gone en masse ^ if allowed — who were to start 
 from Marseilles on the 3rd of February, by the steam- 
 ship Veetis^ weather permitting. The general rendez- 
 vous was to be at the English embassy in Paris, on 
 the 31st of January at latest. Having some particular 
 business of their own to transact in Paris, viz., to make 
 inquiries about Mr. Thornton, our two young ladies had 
 naturally determined to give themselves a few days in 
 advance, in order not to be straitened for time. 
 
 We must not forget to say , before proceeding 
 further, that Lavinia had written beforehand to Lady 
 Willingford, and had not only received her ladyship's 
 consent to her intended journey, and her sanction to 
 apply her gift of fifty pounds to it, but another sum of 
 equal value, accompanied by praises, and blessings in- 
 numerable. Lady Augusta's half-a-dozen sheets of the 
 largest note paper were scarcely legible — not so much 
 on account of the very small, close writing, and cross- 
 ings and recrossings, as of certain patches here and 
 there as if it had rained upon the paper. 
 
 Their last week at Owlscombe was a great tiial to 
 every one there. It was a pitiful and a touching sight 
 to watch the looks of assumed unconsciousness and
 
 THE DISCOVERY IN PARIS. 221 
 
 cheerfulness with which each of the sisters practised 
 upon the other a pious deceit, which deceived no one. 
 Never had Miss Clara gone her rounds of charity more 
 regularly, never had she been more indefatigable in her 
 attentions to the conservatory, the poultry yard, the 
 dairy, and the aviary; never showed a keener interest 
 in the calf that was expected, or the bud of the rare 
 camellia, which was about to open, as if such were to 
 be for ever her engrossing occuj)ations. Never had Mrs. 
 Aveling been more lively and more suggestive of im- 
 provements in this or that department of the little house- 
 hold, or Mr. Aveling more talkative and sportive, or 
 more assiduous in his devotion to his poem, which, 
 nevertheless, somehow or other, did not progress very 
 rapidly. But thei-e were now and then sudden silences, 
 sudden exits, and as sudden returns Avith red eyes, 
 which no one perceived, of course. 
 
 Let us draw a veil over the scene of parting. It 
 was cruel, as all partings are; more cruel than most. 
 If the path of duty were strewn with roses, where would 
 be the merit of walking on it'? The dear sister did not 
 go alone, thei-e was comfort in this; she had by her 
 side a dear and loving friend, one who would stand by 
 her, and take care of her if — oh, may God avert it! 
 — any evil were to befall her. Affection is always 
 full of fearful anticipations. Nothing untoward happened, 
 however, as far as the journey to Paris was concerned, 
 where our two travellers were safely housed by ten in 
 the evening of the morrow. 
 
 Though from the Hotel de Hollande in the Kue de 
 la Paix, where they had rooms, to the house in the Rue 
 Neuve des Augustins, from whence Mr. Thornton had 
 dated his last letter, the distance was scarcely more
 
 222 LAVINIA. 
 
 than two hundred paces, they drove thither in a coach, 
 in which Miss Clara might wait for the result of La- 
 vinia's inquiries. Lavinia was shown into a parlour, 
 where two respectable-looking- women were sitting, one 
 of whom came up to the young lady and begged to 
 know in what way she could be of use to ^fademoiselle. 
 Lavinia, with many apologies for her intrusion, stated 
 as briefly as she could the object of her call. On hear- 
 ing which, the other, a good-natured, middle-aged, buxom 
 woman, who had not yet spoken, came forward, say- 
 ing, — 
 
 "You must be Miss Jones, who lived last year on 
 the Boulevard des Capucines."' 
 
 "Yes, and you, I am sure, are Madame Fran^oise, 
 whom Mr. Thornton mentioned so often as the very 
 best of landladies." 
 
 "Just so,'" answered Madame Francoise, curtsey- 
 ing; "the proverb is right which says, that only moun- 
 tains do not meet. As to the being kind to Mr. Thorn- 
 ton, there was little merit in that. I never met a 
 gentleman so easily satisfied, or so considerate and 
 good-natured — pity he was so queer; all the English 
 are so, I know; but he, particularly the last time he 
 came to Paris — well to be sure I always expected he 
 would end so," 
 
 "End how?" asked Lavinia, in mortal fear. 
 
 "Is it possible that you do not know? Mr. Thorn- 
 ton is — " The end of Madame Francoise's phrase 
 was in dumb show; she lifted her right hand to the 
 level of her forehead, and gave it a rotatory move- 
 ment. 
 
 "Not — out of his senses?" cried Lavinia, looking 
 aghast.
 
 THE DLSCOVEUY IN PARIS. 223 
 
 "No doubt of it," returned Madame Francjoise, witli 
 a very sonorous "Alas!" and she would have imme- 
 diately entered on a full history of the circumstances 
 preceding, accompanying, and following the sad cata- 
 strophe, had not Lavinia, with many apologies, stopped 
 her, saying to the one who appeared the mistress of the 
 house, — 
 
 "Will you allow me, madam, to go and fetch a 
 friend of mine, who is waiting down-stairs in a coach, 
 and who, as an old acrjuaintance of Mr. Thornton, is 
 equally anxious to hear about him?" 
 
 As may be supposed, this request was easily 
 granted, and Lavinia, running down the stairs, in her 
 agitation hui-riedly revealed the whole extent of the 
 sad intelligence at once, which so overjiowered Miss 
 Clara, that Lavinia was for putting off any further 
 disclosures. But Miss Clax-a, regaining her self-com- 
 mand by a strenuous effort of will, would hear of no 
 delay. 
 
 "You understand that time is precious," she said; 
 "perhaps we may yet be of some use to him." And 
 a minute after, the two friends were seated in the 
 Frenchwoman's little parlour, listening, pale and mute 
 as two marble statues, to the distressing tale. 
 
 "That (^e cher Monsieur Thornton sliould give him- 
 self out to be a murderer," wound up the loquacious 
 matron, "he who would not have willingly hurt a fly 
 — that is what passes my comprehension. To know 
 Avhat a heart he had, one ought to have seen him as I 
 have done, taking care of that young friend of his — 
 more like a mother than a father, so anxious always: 
 'Won't you take a crust of bread and a glass of wine, 
 Paul, or a bouillon, or a cu^) of tea: suppose Ave take
 
 224 LAVINIA. 
 
 a drive, it will do you good;' — always something to 
 pleasure Mr. Paul. And how often, in the night as 
 well as the day, did he go to listen at the young gen- 
 tleman's door. And no wonder, for poor Mr. Paul was 
 an object of pity, if ever there was one, as white, and 
 haggard, and distracted looking as if lie had come out 
 of his grave. Oh dear! I am sure I for one don't won- 
 der at his being lost — not I, indeed." 
 
 This was, perhaps, the twentieth time that Paolo's 
 name bad been mentioned, and each time a question 
 had been trembling on Lavinia's lips, which the terror 
 of the answer it might elicit had frozen on them. 
 Guessing at the cause of her friend's silence. Miss Clara 
 at last ventured on the perilous query, — 
 "Was Mr. Paul ever heard of again?" 
 "Oh, yes, thank God, he turned up in the course 
 of time," answered Madame Fran^oise. (Lavinia joined 
 her hands, and raised her eyes — oh! what a look 
 that was!) "A young man of Evreux, that I know 
 very well, called Courant," continued Madame Fran- 
 9oise, "who studied law in Paris, met him in the month 
 of July or August, somewhere in the Quartier Latin. 
 Mr. Paul was just rallying from a serious illness, and 
 was veiy feeble and melancholy, poor as a rat, and 
 longing to be back in his own country. When Mr. 
 Courant saw him last, he was busy about getting a 
 passport. I hope he got it, and is long ago safe at 
 home. He was an excellent youth, not like our yoimg 
 men — no balls, no cafe's, no — never mind what. 
 That Courant, who, by the way, is one of the scape- 
 graces, though a good boy at the bottom, used to quiz 
 liim mightily, and call him sentimentalist. Better he 
 had been more of a sentimentalist himself — Mr. Cou-
 
 THE DISCOVERY IN PARIS. 225 
 
 rant, I mean — and then lie would not be ill at Evreux 
 as lie is, and at daggers drawn with his uncle, who 
 swears he will disinherit him." 
 
 As soon as Madame FranQoise stopped for breath, 
 the visitors rose to take leave, whereupon both ]\Ir. 
 Thornton's ex-landlady and her friend poured forth a 
 perfect torrent of offers of service, begging the English 
 ladies to call again, Madame Fran^oise taking care to 
 explain that her time was her own till the middle of 
 March, she being on a visit to the mistress of the mai- 
 son mciihle'e. 
 
 Furnished with the address of Dr. Ternel, the di- 
 rector of the sanitary establishment where Thornton was, 
 Lavinia, by Miss Clara's desire, directed the coachman 
 to drive thither at once. Little was spoken during the 
 long drive. One is not told of the safety of the long 
 lost, nor of his illness, his goodness, his sadness; one 
 does not go to meet a dear and esteemed friend, un- 
 heard of for nine years, at a lunatic asylum, without a 
 revival of feelings too deep and tumultuous for utterance. 
 A sympathizing pressure of the hand by which they 
 held each other, was a mute language thoroughly under- 
 stood by the two friends. 
 
 Dr. Ternel's maison de sante stood at the western 
 extremity of Paris, on the outskirts of the Champ de 
 Mars. We use the past tense purposely, for it is a 
 thing of the past. Even that tranquil and out-of-the- 
 way corner, with its shady walks and centenary cedars 
 of Lebanon, has been engulfed and swept away by the 
 successive encroachments of the pickaxe, which have so 
 completely transformed the face of Paris Avithin the 
 last few years. High wooden boards painted green, 
 entirely lined the iron railings of the gate of the esta- 
 
 Laviida. 11. 15
 
 226 LAVLNIA. 
 
 blisliment, thus securing tlie interior against any in- 
 discreet glance of tlie passers-by. A j)orter's lodge on 
 tlie right hand, a snug little chalet on the left, and in 
 front, beyond a trimly kept lawn, an elegant villa over- 
 shadowed by trees — such was the agreeable prospect 
 which met you when admitted within the premises. 
 Lest the appellation of villa should seem out of character, 
 it may be as well to explain that the dwelling had been 
 intended for the summer residence of the governor of 
 the Invalides, and had served as such at no distant 
 date. The extensive grounds attached to it stretched 
 from the Eue St. Dominique, in which was the princi- 
 pal entrance, to the Rue de FUniversite, not far from 
 the banks of the Seine. Our two visitors crossed the 
 court, as directed, and entered that of the two lesser 
 side doors, which was on the right. A servant met 
 them in the passage, and immediately inti'oduced them 
 into the study of the doctor. 
 
 Dr. Ternel was a little spare gentleman about fifty, 
 in the neatest professional costume, and whitest of cra- 
 vats and frilled shirts. There was nothing remarkable 
 either in the details or the ensemble of his person, save 
 a mouth full of finesse, and a general expression of 
 good nature. Perhaps, despite the courteous frankness 
 of his manner, a keener observer than our English 
 ladies could be at the moment, might have noticed in 
 his looks, and in the whole carriage of his person, 
 something collected and guarded, something like an 
 armed neutrality, the result most likely of a long ex- 
 j)erience of the often dangerous customers "nath whom 
 he consoiied, and of more than one narrow escape. A 
 ten seconds' inspection of the two fair faces, however — 
 just the time to rise and offer seats — brought with- it
 
 THE DISCOVERY IN PARIS. 227 
 
 a general disarming botli of body and mind, and tliere 
 was notliing in the clear grey eye, as it fell upon the 
 visitors — absolutely nothing but a plain interrogative 
 point. 
 
 Miss Clara, who was quite unprepared with any 
 form of speech to make clear the object of her visit, 
 felt awkward- at this tacit summons , and said at hap- 
 hazard, — 
 
 "We are English, sir — " (an acquiescent nod and 
 a half-smile from the doctor, intimated that she might 
 have dispensed Avith this preliminary), "I mean, that 
 Ave are the countryAvomen of an English gentleman, 
 who, we learned only this morning, is one of your 
 patients, and — " 
 
 "And as such," said the doctor, coming to her help, 
 "take a natural interest in your comj^atriot. I have 
 several English patients. Pray, what is the name of 
 this gentleman?" 
 
 On hearing that it was Thornton, a gloAV of pleasure 
 lighted up Dr. Ternel's face. 
 
 "May I inquire Avithout indiscretion if Mr. Thorn- 
 ton is related to you?" 
 
 "No, not exactly; he is a friend, only an old family 
 friend," said Miss Clara. 
 
 "It is not mere curiosity makes me put that question 
 to you. In Mr. Thornton's case it is most important 
 for me to ascertain Avhether tlie malady under Avhich he 
 at present suffers is hereditary or not." 
 
 "I cannot speak positively; but to the best of my 
 belief, it is not," was the answer. "I never heard him 
 make any, the very least allusion to anything of the 
 kind. His father, and indeed his grand father, I am 
 
 15*
 
 228 LAVINIA. 
 
 certain, were of perfectly sane mind to the last day of 
 their lives." 
 
 "This is good news," said Mr. Temel, pondering. 
 "Did this Mr. Thornton ever, to your knowledge, show 
 any signs of particular eccentricity — anything that 
 attracted general attention?" 
 
 "Never that I heard of He was perhaps at all 
 times — somewhat different to other men — more 
 earnest, more thorough-going; always slightly melancholy, 
 even subject to fits of depression, but never, never the 
 least unreasonable. I speak of nine years ago." 
 
 "I beg your pardon for appearing so inquisitive; do 
 not answer me if you have any objection to do so; but 
 am I to understand that you lost sight of Mr. Thorn- 
 ton entirely for nine years?" 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 Dr. Ternel had another fit of musing, then looking 
 Miss Clara fully in the fece, said, — 
 
 "I suppose, then, you are not acquainted with the 
 sad circumstances under which Mr. Tornton's present 
 derangement broke out. He had been for some time 
 labouring under great despondency, consequent on the 
 mysterious disappearance of a young man, to whom he 
 was greatly attached. It had become his habit to visit 
 the Morgue, with a vague terror of some discovery of 
 this youth's xmtoward fate, and it was the accidental 
 sight there of the corpse of a girl, who had drowned 
 herself, that brought on a fit of madness, and, in fact, 
 he attempted suicide. From that moment, his former 
 constant preoccupation of mind about his lost friend, 
 which was the root of his morbid disposition, vanished 
 entirely, and its ])lace was taken by a new one, the 
 links of which with reality, if any such exist, it has
 
 THE DISCOVERY IN PARIS. 229 
 
 been out of my power, or that of any of liis acquaintances 
 witli whom I have communicated, to discover. This 
 shifting of fixed ideas is a not uncommon phenomenon 
 in mental maladies. Mr. Thornton's present monomania 
 consists in this, that he identifies the drowned girl he 
 saw at the Morgue with a person, real or imaginary, 
 whom he has, or fancies he has, wronged; this it was 
 which led him to try and destroy himself, and this is 
 why he accuses himself of being her murderer. He 
 sees, argues with, and entreats for pardon this person, 
 whom he calls Clara." Here the doctor made a full 
 stop. "In every other respect, Mr. Thornton speaks 
 and acts as a man of sound mind; but his interest in 
 every thing which is not his delusion, is extremely 
 languid and fugitive." 
 
 By the time Dr. Tern el had finished speaking, he 
 knew what it mattered him to know. Miss Clara's 
 feelings, struggled against in vain during the doctor's 
 explanation, had fully confirmed a susjiicion, which had 
 crossed his mind the moment she had mentioned Thorn- 
 ton's name. Xo doubt, he had found the lever he had 
 for the last eight months been seeking. 
 
 "Can you hold out any hope of Mr. Thornton's 
 recovery?" asked Miss Clara, after a silence of some 
 minutes. 
 
 " Certainly I can. I seldom despair of any of my 
 patients, least of all of those like this one, I have 
 witnessed such wonderful cures. I could almost answer 
 for it if" — (every syllable of the next phrase came 
 out in an earnest staccato) — " if the person he mourns 
 over as dead, were a woman of flesh and blood, and 
 would help me in the task." 
 
 The scarlet flush that rose to ]\riss Clara's face, told
 
 230 LAVINIA. 
 
 tlie doctor plainly enougli tliat his appeal had found an 
 echo in the right quarter. Determined, therefore, to 
 pursue his advantage, and strike the iron while it was 
 hot, he continued, this time, however, addressing him- 
 self more particularly to Lavinia, — 
 
 "A task well worthy of a woman, nay, such as only 
 the boundless devotedness of a woman's heart can ac- 
 complish. And then think of the result," added the 
 doctor, his features bright with enthusiasm; "to call up 
 harmony from chaos, to rescue a noble mind from the 
 worst of bondages, to new create a man, as it were, in 
 God's image. Really, it is a task almost divine." 
 
 "You speak of it with the feeling of one who has 
 seen and brought about such effects," said Lavinia, with 
 sympathizing warmth. 
 
 "Thank God, I may say I have," said the doctor, 
 with elation; "but, alas!" he added, with a sudden 
 change to grave sadness, "for a few successes how 
 many failures — oh! how many." 
 
 "Doctor," exclaimed Miss Clara, "will you allow 
 me to call again to-morrow?" 
 
 "Certainly; with the greatest pleasure." 
 
 "I have another request to make. Could I — I 
 think it would be best so — see the gentleman, myself 
 unseen?" 
 
 "Oh, yes," urged Lavinia; "pray, if you can, let us 
 have a sight of our friend." 
 
 "That can be easily managed, if he should be in 
 his garden, as is probably the case," re])lied the doctor; 
 then turning to Lavinia, he asked, "Is there any reason 
 why you should wish not to be seen by him?" 
 
 "None at all," said Lavinia; "I should be too glad 
 to shake hands with him."
 
 THR DISCOVERY IN PARIS. 231 
 
 "Very well-, however, it will be Aviser tliat I should 
 mention yonr visit to him beforehand. What name 
 shall I say?" 
 
 "Lavinia Jones," answered the young lady, "one 
 whom he knew both in Rome and Paris." 
 
 The ladies drew down their veils as they were de- 
 sired to do, and, under the guidance of the doctor, 
 issued through a back door into the park attached to 
 the establishment. As they advanced, every now and 
 then their attention was attracted by some lonely figure 
 flitting among the trees, or gravely pacing up and down 
 the well kept gravel walks. One of these, a tall man, 
 closely followed by two others, hurried up from a 
 distance towards the doctor, who whispered to his com- 
 panions, — 
 
 "This patient is going to speak to me; do not be 
 afraid, he is quite harmless, and, besides, his two ser- 
 vants are at his heels." 
 
 A tall, handsome young gentleman with a flowing 
 beard bore down upon the doctor, as if he meant to 
 run over him, but stopping suddenly, cried in an ex- 
 cited manner, — 
 
 "How long are you going to keep me in a mad- 
 house ? " 
 
 "Until you remember to behave like a gentleman," 
 said the doctor, stepping briskly forward, a pace or two 
 nearer to the speaker. "Ccntlemen and reasonable per- 
 sons, Mr. Marcel, show themselves to be such by treating 
 with due respect the head of this establishment and the 
 ladies whom they see in his company." 
 
 Mr. Marcel's eye quailed under the keen glance of 
 the doctor, and he almost instantly turned his back, but
 
 232 LAVINIA. 
 
 presently -wlieeled about again, and said, witli mncli 
 composui'e, — 
 
 "The ladies, at all events, shall have the benefit of 
 this meeting-, here are some of the finest emeralds which 
 ever graced the crown of an emperor. I am making a 
 necklace of them for Queen Victoria. Here is one for 
 you, madam, and one for you," and as he presented a 
 pebble to each of the ladies, he muttered, in a low 
 voice, "Beware! you are in a madhouse," and hastened 
 away. 
 
 "That is one of my saddest cases," sighed the doc- 
 tor, "a most gifted young man, an only son, the pride 
 and delight of talented, wealthy, fond parents; and 
 scarcely any hope left, for his malady is hereditary. 
 He lives in that little cottage on our right, and Mr. 
 Thornton in that with the green jalousies and the small 
 walled garden in front. He seldom comes into the park, 
 he prefers solitude. I will go in first," said the doctor, 
 as they reached the gate of Thornton's residence, "and 
 should I think the moment favourable, I will send a 
 servant to conduct you to a good j^ost for observation, 
 and then I will come myself to fetch Miss Jones , when 
 I have prepared the gentleman for her visit." 
 
 The two ladies were shortly joined by a man-ser- 
 "vant, who led them up to a room on the first floor, and 
 having drawn the muslin ciu-tain of a window which 
 looked into the garden, left them there. 
 
 Thornton Avas sitting on a bench by the side of a 
 big hole he had been digging in the earth. A spade 
 and shovel lay at his feet. A shade of unspeakable 
 sadness clouded his gentle features, as he sat pensively 
 resting his chin on his right hand, and looking into the 
 hole. Nothin"- in the outward man announced the dis-
 
 THE DISCOVERY IN PAPaS. 233 
 
 order of the inner one; on the contrary, everything about 
 him, his beard and hair, now entirely white, his loose 
 dressing-gown, his linen, were all clean and proj)erly 
 attended to. 
 
 "You see what I am doing," he said, in answer to 
 the doctor's inquiries, "I am acting the grave-digger." 
 
 "Indulging in your morbid fancy, you mean," ob- 
 served Dr. Ternel. "Graves are dug to receive corpses. 
 I see none here." 
 
 Thornton shook his head, and answered nothing. 
 
 "Mr. Thornton, I say," cried the doctor aloud, 
 "where is the corpse?" 
 
 "It was here when you came — lo! there it is," and 
 Thornton 2)ointed to a corner in the little enclosure. 
 The doctor went to the spot indicated , and , sawing the 
 air with his arms in every direction, kept saying, — 
 
 "There is nothing here, don't you perceive that 
 there is nothing; how could I toss my arms about as 
 freely as you see me doing, if there were any obstacle 
 in the way?" 
 
 "No one saw the spectre of Banquo, save he who 
 ivas to see it — the murderer," groaned Thornton. 
 
 "A spectre!" exclaimed the doctor; "but tliat is un- 
 substantial — how can you expect to bury that which 
 has no substance?" 
 
 Thornton smiled, and hung down his head without 
 answering. 
 
 "Oh! Mr. Thornton," resumed Doctor Ternel, pas- 
 sionately, "how can you, a gentleman, a scholar, and, 
 above all, a Christian, allow yourself to be made the 
 sport of such idle dreams?" 
 
 "Dreams!" repeated Thornton. "Let me tell you 
 that there are more thins-s in heaven and earth. Dr.
 
 234 liAVINIA. 
 
 Temel, tlian you dream of in your philosophy. There! 
 now! don't you see her?"' and the monomaniac started 
 up , clasping his hands imploringly, his eye fixed in the 
 direction of a tree. 
 
 "Come, then, let its follow and force an explana- 
 tion from her," said the doctor, laying hold of Thorn- 
 ton's arm. 
 
 "Xo, no, no!" cried the Englishman, in an agony 
 of teiTor, and grasping at the bench he had been sit- 
 ting on. 
 
 After a pause. Dr. Ternel said, — 
 
 "There is a lady here who wishes to see you. Are 
 you listening to me, Mr. Thornton? A countiy woman 
 of yours, a friend of yours, is come to pay you a visit 
 
 — Miss La\-iuia Jones." 
 
 Not a muscle of Thornton's face moved. 
 
 "Do you not remember ]\Iiss Lavinia Jones, a tall, 
 handsome young lady, whom you knew at Rome and 
 also here in Paris?" 
 
 "I may possibly have met her," said Thornton. 
 
 "Allow me to tell you that it is not very amiable 
 of you to receive the news of a friend's visit so coolly." 
 
 "What matters who comes or who does not come 
 
 — now?" returned Thornton, with great dejection. 
 "Shall I tell her to come to you?" 
 
 "As you hke," was the reply. 
 
 The doctor went for Lavinia. 
 
 "How glad I am to see you again, Mr. Thornton," 
 faltered the young lady, with assumed glee, as she came 
 in; "my good and excellent friend, do you not remem- 
 ber me in the Palazzo Morlacchi at Eome, and in the 
 Boulevard des Capucines, here in Paris?" 
 
 The cloud rolled from the cast-doA^■^ countenance,
 
 THE DISCOVERT IN PARIS. 235 
 
 whicli cleared for a second , but in a twinkling the deep 
 shadow overspread it again, the lustrous eyes wandered 
 from the beautiful face down to the black dress, and 
 there remained riveted. 
 
 "It is well and right that you should wear mourning 
 for her," he said , slowly ; " all the world ought to wear 
 it-, there is not left a creature like her." 
 
 "I am in mourning for my dear aunt, Mr. Thornton 
 — poor Mrs, Jones, who was so kind to me; you must 
 remember her — she is gone from this world," and La- 
 vinia's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "Don't cry, don't cry, poor thing," he* said, com- 
 passionately, "it is worse than useless. All the tears 
 in the world could not make another Clara; but what 
 we can do for her, is to give her Christian burial," and 
 he took up his spade. 
 
 "I have been staying in Dorsetshire, and seen your 
 house, Cypress Hall — what a delightful place it is. 
 You will go back there some day, Mr. Thornton, won't 
 you, to live," but he paid no heed to her. Lavinia 
 persisted in her efforts to gain his attention. "And 
 Signer Paolo is found, and safe in liome; blessed news 
 that, is it not?" 
 
 "No news to me," replied Thornton, with a start at 
 the mention of the name. "I knew he would reappear 
 one time or another to bear witness against me." 
 
 "Against you? Oh! Mr. Thornton, he would stand 
 by you against all the world, and love you, and com- 
 fort you, as he did at Eome." 
 
 "Pshaw! everything is changed now; he is sworn to 
 tell the truth, and tell it he will — he said so himself 
 to me here. But now, excuse me, I must go on with 
 my work, or I shall be behind my time."
 
 236 LAVINIA. 
 
 A glance from the doctor Avarned Lavinia that the 
 interview had lasted long enough. 
 
 "Well, then, good-bye, my dear, dear friend," said 
 Lavinia, scarcely able to restrain her tears, and stretch- 
 ing out her hand; Thornton withheld his. 
 
 "Will you not shake hands with an old friend?" 
 
 "Better not," he said; "no good can come of touch- 
 ing my hand; the smell of blood is on it still. You re- 
 collect that line, 'All the perfumes of Arabia will not 
 sweeten it;' very true, too true," and he recommenced 
 his digging. 
 
 Miss CFara had not lost a syllable • nor a look of 
 what had been passing in the little garden. 
 
 Not a word was exchanged between the three, as 
 the ladies, pale and mute as shadows by the doctor's 
 side, were reconducted through the park back to the 
 entrance gate. 
 
 "^ f7«««m," said the doctor, as he handed Miss 
 Clara into the carriage. 
 
 "-4 demain,'''' she answered, and the long and warm 
 shake of the hand which accompanied the words , gave 
 them a significancy, which a man of Dr. Ternel's pene- 
 tration could not mistake.
 
 THE RESULT OF THE DISCOVERY. 237 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The Result of tlie Discovery. 
 
 The result was — all that tlie reader foresees. 
 Startling events are not our province; on the con- 
 trary, nothing gladdens our heart like the seeing what 
 is to follow, anticipated from what has preceded. Let 
 Miss Clara tell her own story: — 
 
 "Dearest Eleanor, dearest George, 
 "What should we have said to any one, who, when 
 I parted from you only a week since; had ventured to 
 predict that my journey to the East would end in 
 Paris! I see from hence Nelly's look of amazement at 
 this piece of news, answered by an ominous shake of 
 George's mane ; not altogether unwelcome the announce- 
 ment, I fancy. Noav or never is it a case for quoting, 
 ."Man proposes, God disposes." Yes, I hope and believe 
 that I am not indulging in a superstitious feeling, when 
 I allow myself to trace the finger of God in the course 
 of events which have led to this issue. The way in 
 which it has been brought about does seem marvellous 
 when I recall its several steps. Had I not delayed my 
 going to Scutari for two months in deference to yoiu* 
 ■wishes — had I not during that interval met Miss 
 Holywell on her way to my aunt — had it not so 
 happened that my aunt was from home. Miss Schmaltz 
 unusually cross, and Miss Holywell in so sore a puzzle 
 what to do with herself, that she enlisted my sympathies 
 in her behalf, and that I carried her off to Owlscombe, 
 why — But it is really cruel in mc to be retracing at
 
 238 LAVmiA. 
 
 my leism-e every link of a chain of events, wliile your 
 curiosity is on tlie rack. To make my story clear, I 
 must, however, go back a little. 
 
 "Miss Holywell, you must know, while at Eome, 
 had become acquainted with Mr. Thornton, and circum- 
 stances followed which caused the acfj[uaintance to 
 become intimacy. The last time she had seen him was 
 in Paris, some nine or ten months ago. He had pro- 
 mised to write to her, but as, after her return to Eng- 
 land, she never received any letter, she had some mis- 
 givings, and one of the first things she did on her 
 arrival here was to try and find out what had become 
 of him. I cannot now enter into some details, prin- 
 cipally because doing so would involve the disclosure 
 of other people's affairs — suflice it to say, that once 
 informed of Lavinia's anxiety, I fully shared in it. 
 
 "Our inquiries Avere successful, and we have fotmd 
 him — if a man can be said to be found whose better 
 and nobler part is missing. Dear sister, dear brother, 
 the gay beginning of my letter will not Lave prepared 
 you, I am sure, to hear- that we found him the inmate 
 of a lunatic asylum. Oh, my dear ones, what a sight! 
 I cannot tell you what a mingling of agony and tender- 
 ness swept through my heart, when 1 looked at the sad 
 wreck of my former friend. I used to think I knew 
 what it was to feel for others. It Avas a mistake — 
 no-, never till that moment did I learn Avhat active 
 charity was like. Thank God, I am here-, thank God, 
 I can be of service! At first I could scarcely identify 
 him — his hair quite white, his noble figure bent like 
 an old man's, yet nothing haggard in his countenance; 
 the same gentle and mild expression as of yore; but 
 so thin, so pale, so sad I My heait — : no, I can't write 
 
 i
 
 THE RESULT OF THE DISCOVERY. 239 
 
 what I felt. He was digging a grave — his liaLitual 
 employment — a grave for a woman lie had wronged 
 and killed; that is, for me, whom he fancies dead 
 through his fault. In this fancy lies the root of his 
 madness. The misgiving of his past injustice has been 
 his crown of thorns for these nine years, a crown of 
 thorns that has pierced to his very brain. Oh! my 
 dearest brother and sister, what woman worthy of the 
 name could stand the appeal conveyed by such a fact? 
 
 "Need I, after this, plead his cause with you? I am 
 sure I need not. I know that, as you read this, all 
 leaven of resentment passes away from your hearts. 
 But I owe it to him to say, that if he sinned against 
 me. — and he did wrong me — I was not myself 
 exempt from blame. Indeed, I was not. Tlic subject 
 is disagreeable to you, but bear Avith me while I tell 
 you now the whole truth; nor must you imagine that 
 I am wilfully blackening myself, because I refuse to 
 be thought better of than I deserve. You were not 
 with me when the circumstances I allude to occurred. 
 
 "I had gone on a visit to my aunt at Ivy Lodge, 
 for the purpose of attending one of the Moreton 
 assemblies. It was my first ball, and I was quite 
 carried away by the gay scene, and the lovely music. 
 What girl of nineteen but is fluttered on such an 
 occasion. Among the company, more than usually 
 numerous and brilliant, aunt singled out, and introduced 
 to me in a very marked manner, a young ofTicer. 
 Aunt, I must say, had neither eyes, nor ears, nor smiles 
 for anyone but this gentleman, who was neither pre- 
 possessing in manner nor appearance; but then he was 
 the sou of an earl. His attentions to me became, 
 during the evening, so pointed aud assiduous as to
 
 240 LAVINIA. 
 
 attract general notice. Probably, he was not aware 
 that I was an engaged girl, nor that my future husband 
 was at the ball; and I, with the stupid bashfulness of 
 my age, and country education, lacked both the courage 
 and the tact that would have enabled me to check this 
 young coxcomb of a lord. He laid regular siege to 
 me, prevented any but himself from approaching me, 
 insisted, in a way I knew not how to resist, that I 
 should dance every dance with him — (Thornton, as 
 you are aware, never danced) — and when I expressed 
 a wish to sit down, led me to a corner, and sitting- 
 down by me, cut me off from all communication with 
 the rest of the company. Now, believe my confession, 
 that, annoyed as I felt at this sort of persecution, still 
 I was not insensible to the honour done me by the 
 principal person in the room. 
 
 "Thornton, and in this he was wrong, did nothing 
 to help me out of ray awkward predicament; on the 
 contrary, kept aloof. I remarked this Avith pain, as 
 well as the vexation his looks betrayed, but soon forgot 
 everything in the excitement of a new quadrille. I had 
 a glimpse of Thornton at the door of the supper room, 
 as I was going in with my lord. I did not see him 
 again that night. He called at Ivy Lodge the next 
 day but one; he was cold and grave, and I read re- 
 proach in his eyes. I received him peevishly. Aunt's 
 taunts about what she called his neglect of me at the 
 ball, had influenced me to believe that I had rather 
 received than given offence. I need not remind you 
 that aunt was anything but friendly to Mortimer. His 
 measured remonstrances called forth ungracious answers. 
 What had I done? I had been civil to those who had 
 been civil to me; I had danced with those who had
 
 THE RESULT OF THE DISCOVERY. 241 
 
 asked me. Where was tlie great harm? Why had he 
 not danced with me himself? I knew, he said, that he 
 never danced. That was no reason why I should not, 
 was my repartee. For what did a girl go to a ball, 
 but to dance? Ah! for what else indeed? echoed he 
 significantly. 
 
 "My lord came in at this instant. He was full of 
 the races, the dinner and the ball, which were to take 
 l^lace at Weymouth on the day after the morrow. His 
 present visit was to make sure that we had received 
 invitations. I assured him that we had our tickets, and 
 should certainly be there. Mortimer went away without 
 another word. Next day brought me a short note from 
 him: — 
 
 "'Will you give up, for my sake, your Weymouth 
 ball? The request may seem unreasonable, but you 
 are so good and so indulgent to my whims, that I 
 venture to make it." 
 
 "I made up my wind to comply with his wish, 
 and showing aunt the note, told her I should not go 
 to the ■ ball. Aunt was incensed with the note and 
 with me; the note was absurd, ridiculous, odious, my 
 complying with it an impossibility, and she gave me 
 plenty of reasons why it was so. The end of it was, 
 that I wrote in answer, that much as I wished to liu- 
 mour even his whims, aunt declared that I could not 
 do so in the present case, witliout infringing every rule 
 of good breeding and of good society. The ball was 
 given at the barracks, and as we approached the gate, 
 I perceived Tliornton standing there; he bowed low, 
 but did not make the least attempt to accost us. I 
 believe he was in the ball-room for some time, but I 
 did not see him, 
 
 Loviniu, II. 16
 
 242 LATIiiilA. 
 
 "You knoAv the rest. Tlie next evening I received 
 a letter from liim dated London — the letter in which 
 he told me he released me from my engagement to 
 him; that he did so, not in anger, but in the sad con- 
 viction that, being such as he was, he shoiild be 
 unable to make me happy. AYas the punishment dis- 
 proportioned to the offence? Strangers might deem it 
 so; but I, who had had a twelvemonth to judge of his 
 peculiarities, who had accepted him for better and for 
 worse — oh! no, I could not think it so. The scales 
 fell from my eyes, and I at once measured to the full 
 the extent of my fault, and the worth of the heart I 
 had wounded. That letter marked a new era in my 
 life, and I may say without exaggeration, that if there 
 is any good in me, I owe it to the man who penned it. 
 Thus far I have thought it my duty to unbury the 
 past; and now let us consign to everlasting oblivion 
 all that relates to that ill-omened transaction. 
 
 "The sanitary establishment of which Mortimer is 
 an inmate is under the management of Dr. Ternel, an 
 eminent physician, and a most worthy man, who has a 
 passion for his calling, and better still, infinite devotion 
 to his patients. Our friend could not be in better hands. 
 With what might well be taken for divination, Dr. Ternel 
 at once detected that I was the very person he had 
 been longing for all these eight months. For you must 
 understand this, that nothing but reahty can dispel 
 Thornton's morbid delusion; nothing but a Clara of 
 flesh and blood can obliterate and put to flight the 
 shadowy Clara, which haunts him by day and by night. 
 So, you see, that I am the only person in the world, 
 who can eff"ect a cure — if a cure is to be effected — 
 and Dr. Ternel is sanguine of success. God grant that
 
 THE RESULT OF THE DISCOVERY. 243 
 
 liis anticipations may be realized! As mine is to be 
 no small part in the pious task, in fact, the chief one, 
 under the doctor's guidance and direction, I have, of 
 course, no reserve with him on this matter; while he, 
 like the true-hearted and plain-spoken man that he is, 
 is above all things anxious that I should not be the 
 dupe of what he calls my generosity. Consequently, 
 he has kept from me, not only none of the difficulties 
 of the present, but also none of the responsibility of 
 the future. 'For,' says the good doctor, 'even in case 
 of success, don't imagine your task to be over. To 
 confirm that success and render it definitive, your con- 
 stant presence will be indispensable for a length of 
 time-, without that, a relapse would be inevitable. In a 
 word, my dear lady, you must learn to consider your- 
 self the guardian angel of this gentleman, and stick to 
 his side as closely as his own shadow. Unfortunately, 
 we live in a sceptical age, and even the part of a 
 guardian angel, when enacted by a young and hand- 
 some lady, might be liable to misconstruction.' (Tiie 
 doctor is short-sighted, which accounts for his calling 
 an old maid of eight- aud-twenty, young.) 'There is a 
 way, however, of getting over the difficulty. I beg 
 your pardon for my seeming audacity, but my motive 
 must be my justification. If you could take upon your- 
 self to do now for Mr. Thornton, in the event of his 
 recovery, what you promised and intended to do nine 
 years ago, I could almost answer for there being no 
 return of his present attack.' I answered, that if indeed 
 my presence was of such vital consequence to Mr. 
 Thornton, and he should ever express the slightest 
 wish that I should become his wife, I could and would 
 consent. So do not be surprised, my dear George and 
 
 16*
 
 244 LATINTA. 
 
 Eleanor, if one of these days you are pounced upon 
 by a jolly couple. Speaking in earnest, the situation 
 of a wife-nurse to a man, whom of all men I respect, 
 has nothing in it that repels me — quite the contrary. 
 Ours would be a sort of joint-stock association, to do 
 a little good in this world, and Thornton's ample 
 means would go far to secure the prosperity of the 
 association. 
 
 "For the present, my only occupation is to go 
 every day to the doctor's maison de sante, and hear 
 progress reported, for the patient is now undergoing 
 a sort of preparatory training. All Dr. Ternel's inde- 
 fatigable ingenuity is brought to bear on a single j^oint, 
 that of impressing upon Thornton the notion of my 
 existence. The doctor refers constantly to many parti- 
 culars connected with our days of courtship, and which 
 I communicated for this purpose. The doctor represents 
 me as full of life and affection, quite bent upon finding 
 Thornton. It is painful, yet at the same time curious, 
 to hear their conversation respecting me, for most of 
 these discussions I overhear, according to the doctor's 
 wish, in order that I may become familiarized Avith 
 Thornton's aspect, ways, and habit of thought. A 
 Madame Framboise, a kind old soul, with whom he lodged 
 for some time, is the most useful auxiliary in this part 
 of the affair. In a little while, I shall have to write a 
 letter to Thornton, and another to the doctor, fixing on 
 a certain day for my arrival, and on the effect of these 
 letters the doctor greatly counts. A piano is to be put 
 near the doctor's private room, and I am to play once 
 familiar airs, and sing the songs of the merry days, 
 when we were young. Ah, me! and the doctor will 
 manage to bring Mortimer somewhere within hearing.
 
 THE KESULT OF THE DLSCOVKRY. 245 
 
 But neither letters nor music will be resorted to, until 
 the present preparatory discipline has given some 
 favourable result. Then, should the plan so far suc- 
 ceed, I am to show myself; and I pray to God to give 
 me courage, and to inspire my words, for much, if not 
 all the cure, will depend on my j^resence of mind, and 
 unwavering resolution. 
 
 "But even should we fail in the first trial, we shall 
 not despair. Dr. Ternel has a second scheme in reserve 
 — an en cas, as he calls it — which he thinks would 
 be worth the trying. It will be to take Thornton to 
 England, to Cypress Hall. His native air and the 
 sight of familiar objects may, so the doctor avers, pro- 
 duce a favourable crisis, when all other measures have 
 failed. In that case, a young physician, one of tlie 
 most skilful of Dr. Teruel's pupils, is to accompany us 
 to England, and we are implicitly to obey his direc- 
 tions. Should things come to this, then, my jdearest 
 brother and sister, we shall indeed re<|uire your kind 
 assistance, and I know we may depend on that. Let 
 us, however, hope that there may be no necessity for 
 any call upon you. 
 
 "I enclose a note from Miss Holywell. She starts 
 to-morrow morning for Marseilles in excellent company. 
 I cannot tell you how much I regret to part with one, 
 who has proved to me a sincere and affectionate friend. 
 By a strange coincidence — providential might be a 
 better word — she also has had tidings of a person 
 she was much interested in, and whose disappearance, 
 under very suspicious circumstances, had been a source 
 of wearing anxiety to her, and also to poor Thornton. 
 This person was a young Italian artist, to whom 
 Thornton had much attached himself at Home; and
 
 246 LAYINIA. 
 
 from Avhat Miss Holywell Las said, I cau understand 
 that Thornton was also once of much use to her in 
 trying circumstances, here in Paris — I mean before 
 this illness of his. You see the man was born to do 
 good to everyone he had to do with. Miss Holywell 
 always speaks of him as the best of men. Without 
 him, she declares, she should have gone mad. 
 
 "Do not be uneasy about me, or my whereabouts. 
 I am in capital health and spirits, and very comfortable 
 in this maison ineuhh'e. The landlady is quite respect- 
 able, and Madame Fran^oise is on a visit to her, and 
 both of them take every possible care of me. You 
 must not, therefore, think there is any necessity for 
 your coming over here on my account. If I "want you, 
 believe that I will write to summon you. And noAV, 
 good-bye, dearest brother and sister, and believe me, 
 "Your ever affectionate, 
 
 "Claea." 
 
 Among the several letters despatched that day by 
 Lavinia, was one addressed to Signer Paolo Mancini, 
 Eome, of which we shall hear at some future day. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Awakening. 
 
 Paolo in the meantime had little joy of his halt in 
 the mire. The longer his body stuck in the bog of 
 sensualism, the less his soul got acclimated to the foul 
 atmosphere. A being organized to soar, cannot crawl 
 without suffering from the violence done to its nature. 
 How could he, Avho had dreamed all his life, and for a
 
 AWAKENING. 247 
 
 short wLile laad tasted of the ambrosia and nectar of re- 
 quited love, how could he be satisfied with the food of 
 swine of which he was now partaking? And yet, loath- 
 some as it was, he lacked the strength to turn from 
 Circe's proffered cup. He who wonders at this incon- 
 sistency, knows little of human nature. The video lae- 
 liora, deteriora fteqiior, has been a phenomenon common 
 to all times. Exuberance of youth, idleness, force of 
 habit, and last not least, that most tremendous of bars 
 to a good resolve, "For whose sake now?" were the 
 enemies which kept Paolo balancing himself uneasily 
 on the slippery slope. But whatever the blandishments 
 used, they could not silence the inner witness, who cried 
 to him now and then, "You debase your immortal soul, 
 you give the lie to every precedent of your life, you 
 are a contemptible wretch — shame, shame upon you ! " 
 With so sensitive a patient there is room for hope. The 
 sick man who does not feel his disease, is past recovery; 
 for one who groans and laments himself, there is the 
 chance of a favourable crisis. 
 
 Our sinning young hero had gone to bed at four in 
 the morning. Not, however, in the Rue St. Georges, 
 where we left him ; his friends had decided, not himself, 
 that apartment to be too shabby and mean for him; be- 
 sides, there was no coach-house or stable attached to it 
 — too great an inconvenience for a man, who no longer 
 hired, but kept horses and carriages of his own. Paolo 
 then had rented a second floor in the Eue de la Chaussde 
 d'Antiu, capacious, gorgeously fitted up, and extra- 
 vagantly dear. "Well, then, he had gone to bed about 
 four in the morning, after a night as ill-spent as may be. 
 He had played and lost a round sum of money — lost 
 it certainly to very gentlemanly persons, but, as he had
 
 248 LA.VIKIA. 
 
 every reason for believiug, sLarpers into the bargain. 
 Money, in general, was the least of his troubles, indeed, 
 he squandered it with a sort of rage. In the present 
 instance, it was the way in which he had been tricked 
 out of it, that galled and provoked him. A man does 
 not find himself enacting the part of a dupe, without 
 wincing a little, and, to render Paolo justice, the strings 
 of conscience had also something to do with his sleep- 
 lessness. On what he had staked and lost, two families 
 of honest artisans might have lived in plenty for a whole 
 year. Prosper did not earn a quarter as much in a 
 twelve-month by his unremitting labour. Then he be- 
 gan to wonder what had become of the little man, of 
 Prudence, of the children, of Benoit and Dr. Perrin, of 
 Mr. Pertuis and Mr. Boniface. They might be all dead 
 for anything he knew. He had not only not seen any 
 of them, or sought to see them for ages; but he had 
 literally forgotten them, ungi-ateful wretch that he was. 
 It was not till the dawn began to peep through the 
 silken curtains, that something like calm stole over his 
 senses, and allowed him to sleep — a heavy unhealthy 
 sleep. 
 
 He was dreaming of a violent ringing of bells, when 
 what was in reality a most formidable pull of his door- 
 bell, succeeded in thoroughly awakening him. He sat 
 up in his bed and listened; the faint echo of an angiy 
 debate in the room preceding his salon, reached him. 
 What could it be? He jumped out of bed, slipped into 
 a brocade dressing-gown, and shouted through the 
 salon, — 
 
 "What's the matter, Victor?" 
 
 No answer being vouchsafed, and the noise of the 
 scuffle without, continuing unabated, Paolo pushed open
 
 AWAKENING. 249 
 
 the door leading to tlie hall, aud saw Victor, with his 
 hack to him, defending' the approach to the salon, par- 
 rying, Avith a chair held in front of him, the attack of 
 a smart little fellow, hrandishing a broom twice as long 
 as himself, by which he Avas striving to brush Victor 
 out of his way. At first Paolo Avas struck dumb by 
 surprise; the next instant, little disposed to merriment 
 as he was, the ludicrousness of the scene Avas too much 
 for him, and he burst into a glorious fit of laughter. 
 Salvator — for Salvator it was, threw doAvn his broom, 
 and, holding his sides, sunk on a chair, convulsed; 
 while Victor, his face as red as his Avaistcoat, looked 
 on in grim expectation of what was to happen next. 
 Naturally, this Avas tliat Paolo and Salvator fell into 
 each other's arms, giving and receiving the hearty hug 
 of brotherhood, on seeing AA'hich, Victor relinrpished 
 his chair, and Avithdrew in undisguised disgust. 
 
 "By Jove!" cried Salvator still laughing, "you arc 
 better guarded than the Pope ; it is no metaphor to say, 
 that one has to fight one's way to your presence. I 
 may Avell sing with the libretto, A puijiuw la accinsi, 
 Eoina — " 
 
 "Hush!" said Paolo leading the Avay to his bed- 
 room, for he began to wish for more covering than even 
 his Avadded dressing-gown. 
 
 "Why hush? — is singing forbidden in private in 
 the classic land of cliansouV 
 
 "Certainly not, but it is so early." 
 
 "Early? my fine fellow, do you call eight o'clock 
 early? You seem not to be aware of the fact, that, JJa 
 tve ore il sol ris-ple-cndey 
 
 "The fact is, it's the fashion about licre to keep ra- 
 ther late hours," returned Paolo, a little abaslied, as he
 
 250 LAvmiA. 
 
 drew aside tlie curtains, aud opened tlie jalousies. TLe 
 flood of light he let in was like a reproach. 
 
 "The saints preserve me ! " cried Salvator; "you are 
 lodged like a cardinal, and habited like the Grand 
 Signior." 
 
 "Or like a fool" said Paolo, with a side glance at 
 the sky-blue cachemire pantaloons he was even then 
 donning. "But never mind me just now; rather tell me 
 about yourself and Clelia, and all my old friends. Are 
 you married? and how is it you are here? why did you 
 not answer my last letter?" 
 
 "Your letter of the beginning of JSTovember, witii 
 the one for Clelia, enclosing the cheque for 1,000 scudi, 
 you mean? — for the simple reason that I never got 
 it until our return to Rome from Palermo, a fortnight 
 ago. Clelia and I, you must know, spent the winter 
 with the marchioness, at Palermo, or rathei', to be pre- 
 cise, near Palermo, at a villa belonging to a sister of 
 Prince Eocca Ginestra. As there were to be operatic 
 performances, and acting, and tournaments, Clelia and 
 I were, of course, articles of absolute necessity to the 
 marchioness. As it turned out, she might have dispensed 
 with us, as, instead of gaieties, we had nothing but 
 jealousies, quarrels, and confounded confusion, as of old. 
 But all that is nothing to you, nor yet to the post, who 
 did not forward my letters, because, not expecting any, 
 I had taken no precautions to have them sent on. Thus 
 it was that, returning to Eome in the middle of Feb- 
 ruary, I thought myself a favourite of fortune to find 
 your letter of November still awaiting me — and then 
 it was I learned, for the first time, that difilculties Avere 
 raised by Government to your return. Finding also no 
 letters of a later date, I gi-ew uneasy about you. "Why
 
 AWAKENING. 251 
 
 should I not do like Mahomet, and go to the mouutaln, 
 since the mountain could not come to me? Clelia en- 
 couraged the idea; money I had in plenty, without 
 touching the 1,000 scudi, which, indeed, are intact. So 
 I put myself en ronte^ and, after a week's stay at Turin, 
 to satisfy myself from what quarter the wind really blew 
 there, I arrived in Paris yesterday morning. My first 
 visit was to Rue St. Georges, the address marked in 
 your last letter. I was told there that you had long 
 left, they no longer remembered for what neighbourhood. 
 I then wcHt to Mr. Prosper's, Quai Montebello, the ad- 
 dress you gave me in your first letter. Mr. Prosper 
 sent me to Rue du Four; nobody there knew of your 
 whereabouts; and, in short, without that excellent j\[a- 
 dame Prosper, I never should have discovered you. 
 We spent the whole of yesterday in tracking you, with 
 the genius and patience of a policeman, from Rue du 
 Four to Rue St. Georges, from Rue St. Georges to 
 Avenue Montaigne, and from Avenue Montaigne here. 
 I called three times last evening, but the porter said you 
 were not at home, and would not let me in. Very grim 
 personages these French porters. But your jackanapes 
 in red sleeves beats them all, Nidi and midi^ and midi 
 again — I could wrench from him nothing but midi. 
 What could I do under such circumstances but drop all 
 parley, and push forward a reconnaissance. Red sleeves 
 bars the way, and skirmishes with a chair in defence of 
 the approach. 
 
 'Ah canaglia vuol battaglia, 
 ^ E battaglia ti dar6.' 
 
 sing I, and at him with a broom. Luckily you ap- 
 peared, like a Dcus ex machind., in time to prevent fur- 
 ther hostilities."
 
 252 LAVINIA. 
 
 "My good friend," said Paolo, half touched, half 
 amused, "what a deal of trouble I have cost you! It 
 was like you to come, aud it is, I assure you, like a 
 providential interference to have you here. I have so 
 much to say, oh! so much." 
 
 "And I such an impatience to hear all you can say ; 
 but tell me first about Thornton — no, first about Miss 
 Lav — By the by," and Salvator bounded up from the 
 sofa like an india-rubber ball, and began fumbling in 
 his pockets: "if I am not mistaken, I myself am the 
 bearer of news of la Diva. AVhere is it got to now?" 
 
 "Wliere is — what?" asked Paolo, in great agitation. 
 
 "A letter addressed to you, which I found at the 
 post-office in liome, and I had no end of discoursing to 
 do, before I could rescue it from the officials there. 
 Ah! here it is, in my very last pocket." 
 
 Paolo seized the letter, broke the seal with shaking 
 fingers, and literally devoured the contents. This was 
 what Lavinia wrote, — 
 
 "Paris, 31st Jan. 1855. 
 
 "My dear Signor Paolo, 
 
 "Passing through Paris, I have heard from Ma- 
 dame Fran(,'oise of your safety, and indeed that, in all 
 probability, you are at this moment once more in your 
 dear Pome. I feel so happy and thankful at this news, 
 that I cannot resist the temptation of telling you so. 
 But when I try to find words adequate to my feelings, 
 nothing comes but tears — sweet tears, and inarticulate 
 blessings. Accept them — not the less for being un- 
 spoken — accept them, though they are from one who 
 has rendered you evil for good. Most sincerely and 
 humbly do I entreat your forgiveness. Indeed, indeed,
 
 AWAKENING, 253 
 
 I knew not what I did. I saw without understanding, 
 and mistook the semblance for the substance. I was 
 intoxicated with prosperity and flattery. Since we 
 parted, I have become acquainted with that stern, but 
 friendly monitor, adversity. I needed humbling, I 
 needed sobering, and this austere friend has done both 
 for me. The trial has been a hard one, but blessed be 
 the day which brought it to me; blessed be the day 
 which opened my eyes to the knowledge that life has 
 duties, and that in the performance of duty lies true 
 happiness; and, so help me God, I will do my part. 
 How many other truths you tried to impress upon me, 
 and which, j)assing unheeded at that time, now rise up 
 and people my memory! Believe me, my recollection 
 of you is indissolubly associated in my mind with all 
 that is good and noble, while when you think of me — 
 Oh! Signor Paolo, how you must have despised me! 
 and I deserved it well. But now you may give me 
 back your esteem; you may, indeed; I am entitled to 
 it. Not for my eternal salvation Avould I impose on 
 you. The only claim I impose on you is for your 
 esteem; every other I can and do entirely give up; let 
 the past be in every other respect as if it had never 
 been, but your esteem I must have. It is, I feel, the 
 staff on which I rely, to support me on my thorny path. 
 It is not likely that we shall ever meet again in this 
 world. I am setting off on an expedition from which I 
 may never return. But wherever I am, you will have 
 my earnest prayers for your welfare, and for that of 
 yoi;r country also. May its destinies be what your 
 patriot heart desires; and now, good-bye. All good be 
 around you. 
 
 "Lavinia.
 
 254 LAVIXL\. 
 
 "P.S. — Don't imagine I Avisb to justify my past 
 folly, but one tiling I must state in my defence. It 
 was not my fault, tliat I inflicted that last disappoint- 
 ment on you in Paris. AVhat I said in my hurried 
 note was the exact truth. I went to the ball against 
 my will. I was positively forced to go. From thence 
 date all my troubles. Mrs. Jones was taken ill there, 
 and never recovered. She is dead. Sickness, estrange- 
 ment, and death followed in the wake of that night. 
 Surely you will forgive me. Mr. Jones and I have 
 parted for ever. Adieu." 
 
 Paolo threw down the letter with a gesture of 
 despair, buried his face in the sofa cushion, and sobbed 
 desperately. 
 
 "What is the matter? Good heavens! is the news 
 so bad?" cried poor Salvator, in an agony of sympathy. 
 Paolo pointed to the letter. Salvator took it up and 
 read it, "Upon my word," said he, after the perusal, 
 "though I don't understand it quite, I cannot see any- 
 thing in it to put you into this state. There is a hor- 
 rible hint, to be sure, about her never coming back, 
 but she may, you know; it's only mountains that never 
 meet." 
 
 "It is not that, it is not that," sobbed Paolo, swing- 
 ing his buried head from side to side, like an obstinate 
 child. 
 
 "If it is not that, I don't see what vexes you," pur- 
 sued Salvator; "perhaps it is that the dear old lady has 
 departed this life." 
 
 Still the head oscillated in sign of denial. 
 
 "If it is not that either, I give up trying to guess 
 what it is," continued Salvator, with just a shade of
 
 AWAKENING. 255 
 
 impatience. "All tlie rest, to my common-place vision, 
 at least, reads well and promising, She confesses to 
 have done wrong, like a brave, honest girl, asks for 
 pardon, and begs for your esteem." 
 
 "My esteem," groaned Paolo. 
 
 "Well, well, the word is rather icy, hut in the dic- 
 tionary of lovers, you may take it as a rule," added 
 the little man, wagging his head with a great air of 
 wisdom, "that esteem stands for love." 
 
 "Don't say any more, don't say any more," ex- 
 claimed Paolo. 
 
 "I assure you I am right; why, any one with a 
 grain of sense can understand what she means; just 
 look at the way she speaks of you ; everything you ever 
 said or did, quite right in her eyes; every one wrong 
 hut you." 
 
 "That is exactly what I cannot bear; that is what 
 is enough to drive me mad," burst forth Paolo, stand- 
 ing up, in a whirlwind of passion. "Praising me! I 
 tell you it is horrible mockery, a downright profanation; 
 every word she writes cuts me like a knife. My esteem ! 
 I have none to spare for myself; my virtues are those 
 of swine; my goodness! hell is full of such. I wish I 
 were dead!' 
 
 "Paolo!" shouted poor Salvator in new-born terror; 
 and taking hold of Paolo's hand, he raised himself to 
 the level of his friend's eyes. "Paolo!" 
 
 "Don't be afraid. I am not out of my senses," said 
 Paolo more composedly; "it would be better for me, 
 perhaps, if I were. I am not mad, but a degraded 
 being, Avho recoils, horror-struck, from his own degra- 
 dation. You yourself are the mirror in which I see it 
 in full length."
 
 256 LAVINIA. 
 
 "I?" exclaimed Salvator, in increasing perplexity. 
 
 "Yes, you. There you stand, in your manly sim- 
 plicity and innocence, the living reproach of my effe- 
 minacy, my profligacy. Those ridiculous coxcombs we 
 used to call women-men, and make sport of at Rome, 
 I am one of them, nay, worse. A glorious figure I cut 
 in my Turkish morning costume, don't I? Look at ray 
 collection of whips, canes, cravat-pins, wrist-buttons, 
 and scent-bottles, and be lost in admiration. Worthy 
 property for an artist, is it not? By and by, the hair- 
 dresser will he here, and elaborately arrange and curl 
 my hair. How manly! ha! ha! Why don't you laugh 
 too? Open the safety-valve, or, by Jove, you will be 
 choked by contempt." 
 
 "Come, come," expostulated Salvator, who now 
 began to have some inkling of the state of the case, 
 "you take things too tragically, a moment of weakness 
 is soon retrieved. For a man of your spirit, to shake 
 off any worldly shaskles requires but the will." 
 
 "And the inward bonds, friend Salvator! Samson 
 pulled down pillars; did he free himself from inward 
 bonds? His ideal dragged in the mire by Dalilah, 
 was he ever able to raise it again on its pedestal? My 
 soul is a sink of pollution." 
 
 "Xonsense!" here ejaculated the little man. 
 
 "Such a life, such orgies I should rather say, as I 
 have revelled in for these last three months, you cannot 
 imagine; to tell you of it, would be to contaminate yon; 
 but there, in that escritoire, lie materials for the history 
 — scented documents signed by names renowned in 
 infamy. Foulness, foulness, foulness, has been my daily 
 pittance. Everything respectable, everything holy — 
 chastity, patriotism, disinterestedness, honesty — I have
 
 AWAKENING. 257 
 
 heard quizzed, lampooned, cursed — heard it without 
 wincing, ixntil, by G — , I have come not to know right 
 from wrong." 
 
 "Tibs!" exclaimed Salvator. "If that were the 
 case, you would not talk as you are doing." 
 
 "And now that I have sunk so low as to he past 
 any hope of ever rising again," pursued Paolo, without 
 heeding his friend's interruption, "here comes my finish- 
 ing stroke — a glimpse of Paradise to madden me ou 
 my dunghill. Purified through suffering, restored to 
 her angelic nature, she who was the embodiment of my 
 ideal of a woman, lays her innocent heart open before 
 me, prays for peace, and lavishes blessings on me — 
 heavens ! on me, a lump of corruption ! The fate of 
 Tantalus — the draught of happiness within sight, and 
 yet never to be reached. My own doing — that's the 
 comfort I have — my very own doing. Do you under- 
 stand what Tantalus may feel in such a predicament, 
 Salvator? That he'll not go on for ever suffering, I 
 should say." 
 
 "Hush!" cried Salvator, "this is the raving of a 
 Pagan; we are Christians, Paolo, and, as such, must 
 think, speak, and act. Suppose yourself in tlie next 
 world, have you escaped from yourself there? Be a 
 man." 
 
 Paolo for all answer covered his face. 
 
 "Besides," continued Salvator, descending from his 
 unusual altitudes to the level of an argument ad homl- 
 nem, "besides, allow me to observe, that it is but a 
 sorry welcome to a poor devil Avho has come all the 
 way from Kome to see you, to tell him — " Here Sal- 
 vator came to a full stop. "I say to threaten — " The 
 good little fellow could not finish his remonstrance. 
 
 Lavinia. U. 17
 
 258 LAVINIA. 
 
 "Forgive me, Salvator," said Paolo, wringing his 
 friend's hand; "I am not the unfeeling wretch I may- 
 seem. It was that letter which upset me — that letter, 
 with the associations and memories it evoked — it sets 
 old wounds bleeding afresh." 
 
 There are emotions which admit of no utterance 
 but tears. 
 
 After a while, Salvator exclaimed, — 
 "It's just one of the tricks of this nasty Paris." 
 "Not at all," said Paolo. "Paris is a place like 
 any other, it is within one's option here, as elsewhere, 
 to live simply, reasonably, and yet agreeably. I ques- 
 tion if there be any other capital in Europe where there 
 are so many opportunities for self-cultivation and honest 
 recreation. Everywhere public monuments, picture gal- 
 leries, libraries, lectures, gardens, and what not, ac- 
 cessible to the public gratis. ' Temptations also of all 
 kinds there is no lack of in Paris, nor is there in any 
 other huge metropolis; but their high price here, as 
 elsewhere, acts as a safeguard for the great majority. 
 Money has been my bane. But for it, I might still be 
 the honest fellow I was when I came here, and look 
 every man in the face without a blush. Talk to me 
 of the corruption of Paris! Misery threw me among 
 the hard-working class. There, in that humble sphere, 
 my friend, you may find all the virtues inculcated by 
 the Gospel in action — Charity first and foremost. 
 Later again, benignant fate brought me acquainted with 
 the studious of Paris. My employer was a savant, 
 simjile as a child, learned as a Benedictine. Good Mr. 
 Boniface! — his mind in a constant state of contention 
 lest he should overtask me. No scarcity of good ex- 
 amples there, for his friends were cast in the same mould
 
 AWAKENING. 259 
 
 as himself — living rather in the spirit than in the 
 body. All the elevating influences which can improve 
 a man, I breathed in that atmosphere. About that time 
 I met with a wild young student, a good fellow at 
 bottom, but a Voltairian quand meme^ who took to 
 hectoring me, to drag me down from my height of 
 spiritualism. In vain; I was firm as a rock. Poverty 
 and constant occupation kept me out of temptation. 
 Then, I received that fatal legacy, and ere long, idle- 
 ness aiding and abetting, I was low enough in ma- 
 tei'ialism. My guardian angel whispered warnings to 
 me to refuse it, but my evil genius prevailed. The 
 moment I was rich, I was transformed from my old self 
 to another being, and from weakness to Aveakness I 
 sunk to what you find me — a grovelling sensualist. 
 There is a curse in money, Salvator, believe me." 
 
 "Well, if it be so," replied Salvator, "the remedy 
 is easy. Cast from you that curse, and begin life anew 
 on bread and cheese." 
 
 "And so I will, by all that is holy," cried Paolo. 
 
 "At it at once," urged Salvator; "put on your shab- 
 biest coat and hat, to be in keeping with mine, and let 
 us go out. Do you know of any place where Ave arc 
 likely to see any blackbirds?" 
 
 "Possibly in the Tuileries, or Bois de Boulogne; 
 but, to tell the truth, I know nothing about birds, or 
 trees, or flowers." 
 
 "Well, let us take our chance Avith both places." 
 
 "My good fellow," said Paolo, with a very signi- 
 ficant unwillingness, "the Tuileries and the Bois have 
 been the theatre of more than one of my follies, and 
 besides, I am sure to meet at either the one or the 
 other, hosts of people I know." 
 
 17*
 
 '260 LAVKIA. 
 
 "Hm! can you think of no retired nook, where 
 there are turf and trees, and none of your acquaint- 
 ances?" pleaded Salvator. 
 
 Paolo mused a little, then said, — 
 
 "Yes; though it is ages since I was at the place, 
 I remember being struck by the number of blackbirds 
 in the cemetery of Mont Parnasse. 
 
 "A cemetery I" repeated Salvator, with a gi-imace 
 indicative of anything but gratification. 
 
 "You must not be alarmed by the name. A bury- 
 ing-ground in Paris is a fresh, verdant, quiet spot. You 
 will like it well, I promise you." 
 
 "Here then goes for the burying-ground," pronounced 
 Salvator. 
 
 Paolo was ready in a few minutes. Victor listened 
 grimly to an intimation that the room off the salle-a- 
 manger was to be got ready for the new arrival, 
 
 "Is the hairdresser to wait for monsieur?" asked 
 Victor, solemnly. 
 
 "No; tell him not to come any more till I send for 
 him." 
 
 "Is the can'iage to be sent to meet monsieur?" 
 
 "Xo; and tell Pien-e I shall not want him to-day, 
 and that he may consider himself at liberty for the 
 whole of next week." 
 
 "And should any visitor come for monsieur?" 
 
 "I am out of town: let the concierge know." 
 
 "Is monsieur absent even for — the person who 
 breakfasted yesterday with monsieur?" 
 
 "Even for that person," and monsieur shut the door 
 with a bang. 
 
 Victor looked despondent for a second or two, then 
 rallying his spirits, he lifted up his right leg, leant his
 
 AWAKENING. 261 
 
 head to one side, stretched forth both arms, and gave 
 to all limbs concerned a vibratory motion to and fro in 
 the direction of the door — a sort of blessing sui generis 
 to his master. 
 
 The only precise idea Paolo had of the where- 
 abouts of the cemetery of Mont Parnasse was that it 
 lay somewhere on the other bank of the Seine; but 
 thanks to that thread of Ariadne , which in the person 
 of "commissionnaires" is ready for use at almost every 
 corner of every street in Paris, the friends were not 
 long in being put in the right track. Prejudiced as he 
 was against Paris — most foreigners are so on first 
 coming thither — disposed as he was to find fault, 
 Salvator was nevertheless too fair not to acknowledge 
 the usefulness of this provident institution; and Avhen 
 he espied in a bye-street the familiar sight of a vendor 
 sub dio of roasted chesnuts, Salvator's heart relented for 
 good and all, and he openly allowed France to be a 
 civilized country, whatever her shortcomings. Incredible 
 how far these imponderables go in determining our 
 estimate of objects and places! Salvator improved the 
 occasion, and stuffed his pockets full of his favourite 
 eatable — horribly dear though, as he said — and then 
 he held a little conversation with the seller, and dis- 
 covered him to be a native of Italian Switzerland. 
 
 Another and agreeable novelty to the small painter 
 were the number of shops with flowers and funeral- 
 wreaths, garlands, statuettes, and mementoes of many 
 kinds, which studded the immediate neighbourhood of 
 the cemetery. Paolo bought some garlands of ever- 
 green, which he intended for little Annette's cross, if 
 he found it, which he did not; nor did his conscience 
 reproach him in the least, that by so doing he was en-
 
 262 LAVINIA. 
 
 couraging an immoral traffic on the holiest sympathies 
 of mankind, as is urged by some people. Would to 
 God that the spirit of commerce were never applied to 
 worse purposes! 
 
 The cemetery of the Mont Parnasse is one of the 
 humblest of the French capital, yet not the less im- 
 pressive for that. Few and far between are the pompous 
 monuments — vain protests of posthumous vanity against 
 the stern equality of death — many the modest slabs 
 of marble — innumerable the anonymous crosses, sug- 
 gestive alike of obscure lives, and Christian humility. 
 Not one but had a wreath hung round it, or a tuft of 
 flowers carefully reared at its base. Go thither at what 
 hour of the day you will, and you find pious hands 
 are busy — many of them the horny ones of artisans, 
 or the sorely needle-pricked ones of seamstresses — 
 clearing away, embellishing, propping up or watering 
 the silent home of their departed ones. It is in this 
 assiduous care of the living for the dead, that lies the 
 great charm of the Paris burying-grounds. 
 
 Salvator could scarcely understand the scene at first, 
 and when he did, he nearly vented his pleased wonder- 
 ment in a profane ut de poitrine, which he checked, how- 
 ever, in time, declaring instead most emphatically, that 
 if the respect for the dead was to be taken as the mea- 
 sure of the worth of the living, the Parisians certainly 
 were superior to their reputation. 
 
 "Let us sit down here," said Paolo, "and enjoy the 
 prospect from this mound." 
 
 The view before the friends had a melancholy charm 
 of its own. Not a tint, not a sound, not a movement 
 in the vast enclosure at their feet, but was subdued to 
 harmony with its destination. The mellow light of a pale
 
 AWAKENING. 263 
 
 March sun, the gentle undulations of the plain, the 
 twitterings of birds, which filled every ivy-bush and 
 cypress, the tender green of the new shoots on syca- 
 mores, acacias and pendent willows, were the soft notes, 
 if we dare use the expression, from whose ensemble arose 
 a full chord — a chord which struck home to the heart, 
 inclining it to reverie. 
 
 "A beautiful spot, and full of blackbirds, I declare," 
 said Salvator at last. 
 
 "Did I not tell you, that even though a cemetery, 
 it was beautiful?" replied Paolo, as if awaking. "Sweet 
 must be the rest under this verdant turf, and in these 
 quiet shades." 
 
 "True — but not before a journey, let us say of 
 fourscore years in search of some grand object," returned 
 Salvator spiritedly. 
 
 Paolo shook his head despondingly, upon which 
 Salvator thought the moment a fitting one to remind 
 his gloomy friend, tliat for him, Salvator, Paolo's his- 
 tory, since his departure from Rome, was still a mys- 
 tery. Salvator knew nothing of Thornton, nothing of 
 Lavinia, and was still in the first wonderment as to 
 what had caused so complete a severance between the 
 three friends. Paolo, not unwillingly, consented to re- 
 late the particulars of a tale, which had lain long 
 heavily hidden in the depths of his heart. lie now 
 poured forth his sorrows, told of his fit of frenzy on 
 learning that Lavinia had gone to the ball at the Hotel 
 de Ville, his subsequent ilhiess, his useless search after 
 Thornton, and the conclusion he had come to, that 
 Thornton had gone to the United States in search of 
 him; and last but not the least momentous event to
 
 264 LAVINIA, 
 
 liim, his accession to liis uncle's fortune, and his sub- 
 sequent dissipation. 
 
 Salvator was so moved by this narrative, a real 
 romance he declared, and which as such, must end well 
 sooner or later, and then so dreadfully excited by the 
 sight of a blackbird perched just below where they were 
 sitting, whistling and trilling, as if in defiance, that 
 he protested he must either give way to his singing 
 propensities, or choke. To avoid one or other extre- 
 mity, it Avas better to beat a timely retreat; in efifecting 
 which, a savoury smell which exhaled from a small 
 wineshop by the roadside, a smell suggestive of cutlets 
 on the gridiron, and of potatoes in the act of frying, 
 came to remind Salvator of one of his idiosyncracies — 
 viz. that any strong emotion infallibly made him hungry. 
 A halt was accordingly decided on, and the young men 
 entered the humble eating-house. It was without effort 
 as without repugnance that Paolo seated himself at a 
 small table with a coarse cloth — he was at bottom 
 still as simple in tastes, notions, and habits as when at 
 Rome; and riches, thank God, had not inoculated him 
 with any of that fastidiousness, which teaches people to 
 turn up their noses at everything not set in gold, or 
 bearing on it the stamp of fashion. Paolo did ample 
 justice to the frugal meal. A stomach of five and twenty 
 will assert its rights, whatever the mental frame of the 
 owner. 
 
 After this they walked to the Luxembourg, strolled 
 leisurely through the gardens on to the Pantheon, which 
 concluded their walking tour of Paris for that day. It 
 was eight in the evening when a cab put them down 
 at Paolo's door in the Chaussee dAntin — it was the 
 only drive they had had, and that was necessitated by
 
 TEDIUM VIT^. 265 
 
 Salvator's portmanteau having to be fetched from the 
 fourth-rate hotel, to which he had gone on his first ar- 
 rival. No wonder they were ready to drop with fatigue, 
 they had been nearly nine hours on their legs. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 Tedium Wtas. 
 
 Well might red-waistcoated Victor, and his colleague 
 of the whip , deplore the degeneracy of the age, and in- 
 dulge, glass in hand, at their quasi-fashionable wine- 
 shop over the way, in ominous forebodings how all this 
 would end. Ever since the advent of little saute riiisseau, 
 as they styled Salvator, the life they led had become 
 sorry and unprofitable. No more billets doux to carry, 
 no more mysterious visitors to introduce, no more cases 
 of champagne and Strasbourg pates to order, no more 
 parties fines to superintend; and naturally no more little 
 douceui's to realize out of these several items. The 
 snug little establishment which they had served with 
 such complacency, was turned, alas ! into a desert. How 
 else designate a house, the master of which sallied 
 forth at seven in the morning, returned at dusk, and 
 was in his bed at ten! 
 
 Such was, in fact, the course of life adopted of late 
 by Paolo, under the influence of his friend and guest. 
 They went out early, spent most of the day in visiting 
 public galleries or other remarkable places — when 
 tired of being on their legs, jumped into the first omni- 
 bus they met, stopping where it stopped, most frequently 
 at a barriere, occasionally in a suburb — took their 
 dinner at the nearest restaurant, and then returned
 
 266 LAVINIA. 
 
 home, either by the same omnibus or a similar con- 
 veyance, Paolo having laid it down as a rule never to 
 hire a cab. 
 
 Nor had he wished to do so, would Salvator have 
 allowed of it. Salvator delighted in the omnibuses; 
 he considered them as the most wonderful, instructive, 
 and amusing contrivances of modern times. His power 
 of observation, which was of the scantiest, and his pro- 
 pensity to communication, which was of the largest, 
 both found full scope in those rolling stages, whose 
 actors were for ever changing. Nothing deterred by 
 his ignorance of French, he spoke freely and good- 
 humouredly right and left, making friends among his 
 fellow passengers — rarely leaving the vehicle without 
 being on intimate terms with the benevolent gentleman 
 — thank God, there is one at least in every batch! — 
 who assists in and out the aged and infirm, the children 
 and the ladies, and is for ever on the stretch, with 
 danger to himself of a twisted neck or spine, in his 
 readiness to collect the fare of those in the farthest off 
 seats, for the conductor. Even within the small com- 
 pass of a public carriage there is a plenty of room for 
 the exercise of the smaller charities of life. Unfortu- 
 nately — and our little fi-iend was not long in making 
 the discovery — there is space also for selfishness and 
 harshness — and your active, good-natin-ed, kindly 
 disposed gentleman finds his contrast too often in yon- 
 der gruff individual, who looks upon every newcomer 
 in the light of an intruder, nay, of an enemy, and 
 would not for any consideration move an inch to ac- 
 commodate a delicate woman or child, and snarls when 
 inadvertently brushed against — a living negation of 
 all human fellow-feeling;.
 
 TEDIUM VIT^. 267 
 
 This half-artistic, half-nomadic existence was the 
 very one for Salvator to enjoy, had not Paolo's increas- 
 ing gloom cast a shadow upon it. Paolo grew more 
 self-absorbed, less sociable every day; the very topics 
 nearest his heart, Lavinia, Thornton, Clelia, Rome, 
 seemed to have lost their hold on him; he dismissed 
 them with monosyllables. If he spoke at all, it was to 
 agree with Salvator's praise of pictm-e or statue, of the 
 weather, or the scenery, or living creature, in a strain 
 far too high-flown and exaggerated not to betray a pre- 
 determination. But even such kindly effort was too 
 much for him in the evening. Neither self-control nor 
 self-reasoning could soften or stem the paroxysm of de- 
 jection, which after dark seized on him, crushing body 
 and soul in its cruel grasp. He Avould plead fatigue, 
 stretch himself at full length on a sofa, and lie there 
 for hours with closed eyes and lips. All Salvator's at- 
 tempts to rouse him — and God alone knows the in- 
 genuity, the patience, the gentleness, displayed by the 
 little fellow — proved unavailing. The only result was 
 a "Don't mind me, I am tired to death; I am past 
 entertaining now," or such like phrase; which made 
 Salvator droop his head and look grave and anxious. 
 
 Gravity and anxiety sat ill at ease, almost unnatu- 
 rally, upon Salvator's childlike brow and cheery fea- 
 tures. One evening — it was the fifth the young men 
 had thus spent together — one evening, Paolo awak- 
 ing, as it were, from one of his trances, his eyes met 
 those of his friend riveted upon himself, and the change 
 in the familiar face, once so mirthful, now so forlorn, 
 gave him a qualm of remorse, rousing the latent warmth 
 of his heart.
 
 268 LAVIKIA. 
 
 "Oh! my poor Salvator!" exclaimed Paolo, "what 
 a selfish, unfeeling, ungrateful wretch I am!" 
 
 "Heyday! what a luxmy of adjectives," said Sal- 
 tor, brisking up; "may I inquire their drift?" 
 
 "It is my destiny to bring misfortune on all those 
 who love me. I am killing you by inches." 
 
 "Stuff!" laughed Salvator. "I am of too tough 
 materials to give way so easily, you grieve me deeply, 
 I don't deny it; but as for killing — " 
 
 "My only excuse is that I cannot help it. I am 
 not a free agent. The axe which inflicts death is not 
 more responsible than I am. Indeed, Salvator, I cannot 
 help it." 
 
 "Try as much as though you could," replied Sal- 
 vator; "perhaps your distemper lies in this same morbid 
 impression of your helplessness. Perhaps there is 
 nothing more required to cm-e you, than a manly effoi-t 
 to shake off the incubus. Make it, summon up all the 
 energy of youi* will." 
 
 "Ah! my will — forsooth! you have thought of a 
 mighty lever, ily will is like a worn-out key, which 
 doesn't bite any longer. Bid a man, stxmg by a cobra 
 cabello, exert himself; he has neither the power nor the 
 inclination; hot pincers won't make him stir. All that 
 survives of him is a desperate craving for rest. So it 
 is with me. I am stuug by a serpent whose name is 
 tedium vita'.'''' 
 
 "At it again!" groaned Salvator, with a sort of 
 shudder. 
 
 "K you knew what it was to be sick of life," con- 
 tinued Paolo; "if I could describe the feeling to you! 
 On our journey hither we had to pass thi-ough a long
 
 TJEDnjM VIT^. 269 
 
 tunnel. It must have been somewliere between Lyons 
 and Paris. My recollections of that journey are dim 
 and confused; I was restless in body and mind, and my 
 feelings were undoubtedly morbid. Nevertheless, I 
 remember that tunnel well, and the effect produced on 
 me by the passage from broad daylight to pitch dark- 
 ness, and the shrill, fiendish yell with thousands of yells 
 compressed in it, Avhich, as we tore madly along, seemed 
 to cheer us on to destruction. Then all sense of motion 
 onwards ceased,, and there we were, as I fancied, os- 
 cillating in the vacuum, suspended over the abyss. Oh! 
 the horror of that moment. It was more than I could 
 stand, I was ready to jump out of the carriage window. 
 Well, what that tunnel was, life has become to me, it 
 is unbearable. I long to be out of it." 
 
 "Nothing of the kind. Away with such feelings," 
 burst forth Salvator with an energy and vehemence the 
 more startling, as nothing hitherto in his look or manner 
 had given any warning of the direful impressions he 
 was receiving from Paolo's words. "A thousand times 
 no, I say, unless you choose to have to answer for 
 another life as well as your own, for the ruin of two 
 Christian souls." 
 
 "Salvator!" exclaimed. Paolo in a subdued voice. 
 
 "Yes, your life and my life, your soul and my soul. 
 We'll have no equivocations between us; play false to 
 yourself, my good fellow, and here I solemnly swear to 
 follow your example." 
 
 "0 Salvator!" groaned Paolo, "I did not expect 
 this of you." 
 
 "And I, poor fool, who left house, country, friends 
 in the fulness of my affection for you, do you think I 
 expected such a welcome as you have given me? 7V-
 
 270 LATIXIA. 
 
 dium vita; must be a jjrecious selfish disease, if it blinds 
 you for a moment to the monstrous part you would 
 have me perform — the part of a mute confidant in a 
 living tragedy, which is to snatch from me my best 
 friend, the friend in whom I prided and delighted." 
 Here the speaker was obliged to stop, for his voice had 
 grown dreadfully husky; but at sight of Paolo's eyes 
 glistening with tears, he cleared his throat in a huny, 
 and pursued his advantage. "To die is to surrender; 
 far nobler to fight against all odds. Take example by 
 Miss Lavinia. Did she despond under her trials? Xot 
 she, but took her stafi", and started on the Lord knows 
 what errand, like the sweetest of pilgrims. And why 
 should you not do as she did? Look out yourself for 
 some such noble task, as I am sure hers must be. To 
 those who have a country to free, there can be no lack 
 of scope for action. There is the Crimea, for instance. 
 Will you go to the Crimea? 
 
 "Go to the Crimea?"' repeated Paolo, with the most 
 undisguised astonishment. 
 
 "Just so; why shouldn't you help to take Sebas- 
 topol?" 
 
 "Tou mean, that if " I am so desirous of death, I 
 might perchance find a glorious one there. Time, that 
 would be a certain benefit to myself, but I see none to 
 my country." 
 
 "Apart all other considerations," replied Salvator, 
 "methinks he is doing good service to his counfry who 
 contributes his best to uphold the honour of its arms. 
 Piedmont is sending some thousands of her soldiers to 
 the Crimea — join them. That is the spot where a 
 man may live or die with credit." 
 
 "I don't dislike the idea," said Paolo; "but could
 
 TEDroM VIT^. 271 
 
 I, a republican, consistently with my creed, sei-ve under 
 a royal banner?" 
 
 "Why not, if that banner be an Italian one, and 
 floats wherever a blow is struck for the independence 
 of Italy? Take my word for it, Sebastopol is the first 
 stage of the journey to Milan." 
 
 "If I could only believe that!" said Paolo. 
 
 "Why should you doubt what all Europe believes 
 by this time? If it were not so, why should the Pied- 
 montese meddle with the war at all? Be so good as 
 to follow my argument. Sardinia has no interests of 
 consequence to look after in the East, she has no old 
 grudge against Russia to gratify, Sardinia is still bleed- 
 ing from the wounds she received in 1848 and 1849; 
 her debt is heavy, her credit indifferent, her exchequer 
 all but empty. For a kingdom in such a condition, 
 there would seem but one course left, that of neutrality. 
 If Sardinia discards this self-evident policy, and takes 
 upon herself the chances of a war, depend upon it, she 
 must have a mighty inducement for so doing; and what 
 other inducement could tempt her, but a promise from 
 the Western powers, a foi-mal promise that if Sardinia 
 lends a hand towards the reduction of Sebastopol, Eng- 
 land and France will lend her two towards ridding her 
 of Austria in Italy?" 
 
 "Seeing is believing," said Paolo, sententiously. 
 "You spoil a plausible argument, by trying to make it 
 comprise too much, my friend." 
 
 "Not a bit," affirmed Salvator, Avho had his own 
 reasons for colouring richly: "I tell you it is all settled, 
 and set down in black and white. When a cup is full, 
 a drop is sufficient to make it overflow. Austria has 
 been fooling France and England in this Oriental busi-
 
 272 LAVINIA. 
 
 ness for many a long day, and their cup of patience is 
 fairly running over. They wish to humiliate her — 
 they tell her so in so many words. Down with Austria, 
 and long live Piedmont, is the burden of the song of 
 their newspapers, and the newspapers after all represent 
 the opinion of a country." 
 
 Paolo shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 "I know the objection you are about to make," went 
 onSalvator, "that the press is not unfettered in France. 
 Reason the more, if it be not, to believe, that it ex- 
 presses at least the views of the government; for, what 
 the government might, yet does not prevent, it indirectly 
 sanctions. That is plain enough, is it not? However, 
 let us lay aside the French press, if you will not believe 
 in it, and turn exclusively to the English. If ever there 
 was a free press in the world, that is one, you allow 
 that — very well. Open any of its public journals, 
 and what do you find? Columns teeming with sneers, 
 denunciations and threats levelled at Austria, and with 
 praises and encouragement for Piedmont. You look 
 surprised at my knowledge, my dear fellow; all these 
 articles are translated into Italian, and re-published in 
 the Turin papers; and there, in that nest of Italian 
 liberty, I feasted my eyes on them. Yes; you should 
 read the comparison drawn between the selfishness and 
 sluggishness of the huge empire, the backwardness of 
 its ruler, the crooked ways of its statesmen, with the 
 pluck of the little kingdom, the chivalrous spirit of 
 Victor Emmanuel, the daring of its premier. Austria 
 is set up as a scarecrow, and Piedmont as an example." 
 
 "Very possibly," returned Paolo; "but have you 
 forgotten our proverb : Dal detto al fatto , ci corre un gran 
 tratto? (From word to deed, there is far indeed.) I re-
 
 TEDIUM VIT^. 273 
 
 member Thornton warning me against trusting to snch 
 ebullitions of feeling. In 1849 there was something, 
 similar to what you now describe, which, nevertheless, 
 did not hinder our being left to our fate. The immense 
 majority in England, Thornton bid me believe, do not 
 consider the Italian cause worth the sacrifice of a drop 
 of English blood, or the out-lay of a single English 
 guinea. Their real sympathies, he said, were all with 
 their old ally, Austria." 
 
 '■'■Were so, I allow," cried Salvator, "but are not so 
 now. You confound the days of Pitt with those of Lord 
 Palmerston; you overlook the Concordat with Rome, 
 that dealt the death-blow to Austrian influence in Eng- 
 land. Side with Austria, forsooth! Why, Austria is the 
 negation of all that makes Great Britain great." And 
 the little painter went on to prove mathematically to 
 the incredulous Paolo, that the English to a man were 
 against Austi'ia, and for Italy. Poor, innocent, simple- 
 minded Salvator! 
 
 Much more than we choose to relate was added on 
 either side, still no immediate practical result came of 
 this conversation. However stringent Salvatoi''s argu- 
 ments, however tempting the prospect they opened to a 
 man afflicted with iedium v!trr>, they failed because a 
 participation in what he called a kingly Avar, involved 
 in Paolo's eyes, as a first consequence, the abandonment 
 of the principles which, right or wrong, he had always 
 held, Salvator must rest content with carrying to his 
 bed the consoling assurance, that his friend was far less 
 dead to the interests of this world, than the himself be- 
 lieved. Night brought him no sleep, but it did counsel. 
 About three in the morning, he went and knocked at 
 Paolo's door. 
 
 Laviiiia. II, 18
 
 274 LATIXIA. 
 
 "It is only me; are you acquainted with Manin?" 
 
 "Not personally," was the answer given so readily, 
 that it showed Paolo must have been abeady awake. 
 "Why do you ask?" 
 
 "I mean, do you consider him a leader to be 
 trusted?" 
 
 "Entirely; who doubts it?" 
 
 "And," pursued Salvator, "were he to say that a 
 course of action was right that you deemed wrong, would 
 you abide by his decision?" 
 
 "I think I should," replied Paolo. 
 
 "Very well; that is all I want to know. Goodnight." 
 
 Ten seconds after the active little fellow was in his 
 bed again, and his mind at rest, in another ten seconds 
 he was snoring placidly. 
 
 During his short stay at Turin, Salvator had heard 
 much about Manin, and of the conciliatory line of policy 
 adopted of late by the great Venetian. Manin in fact, 
 not long before, had published his new programme of 
 "Independence and Unification," that programme which, 
 whatever may be said to the contrary, did so much 
 towards preparing that unanimity of purpose and of 
 action, which a few years later, was to form the ad- 
 miration of all the friends, and provoke the despair of 
 all the foes of Italy. Thrice happy in this, that he did 
 not live long enough to see the worse than useless issue 
 of his work of conciliation for the heroic land, alas! 
 which had given him birth, the land he had loved so 
 well, so wisely, so valiantly — alas! for his own Venice! 
 Well , then , it so happened that Salvator had had given 
 him at Timn the address of the illustrious exile in Paris, 
 This circumstance, almost forgotten amidst his constant 
 preoccupation about Paolo, now returned to. his memory
 
 TEDIUM VIT^E. 275 
 
 in this hour of need, and he resolved to turn it to 
 account. 
 
 When, next morning, Salvator proposed a visit to 
 Manin, Paolo raised no objection, only regretted their 
 not having a letter of introduction to make their access 
 to the ex-dictator more easy. 
 
 "Never mind that," said Salvator-, "you know the 
 proverb as to good looks; your face must serve to re- 
 commend us; and great men, you know, are the pro- 
 perty of the public." 
 
 Manin occupied a small and more than modest lodg- 
 ing in the third story of a house in the Rue Blanche. 
 His reception of the two ^young men was full of that 
 frank cordiality, which is a distinctive trait of the Italian 
 character. Manin had his hat on, evidently ready to go 
 out, when his unexpected visitors appeared; nevertheless 
 he would not permit of their going away, as they wished 
 to do, but said he had a quarter of an hour at their 
 service. Paolo, therefore, after giving his own and his 
 companion's name, their calling, and their coxxntry, 
 stated in as few words as possible the case of conscience 
 he had come to sxxbmit to Manin's judgment. Coxxld he, 
 withoxxt betrayal of his republican faith, joixx the Sar- 
 dinian ranks in the Crimea? 
 
 "Which do you care most for?" asked Manin, "the 
 Republic or Italy? Italy, of course. To be either a 
 republic or a monarchy, Italy mxxst first exist as a nation 
 — that is , be independent — and form one body. Every 
 act which tends towards that end — to make a uixited 
 Italy, I mean — deserves the sxipport of all patriots, 
 whatever their creed. Is the co-operation of Piedmont 
 in the Crimean war to be considered an act of this sort, 
 a step in the right direction? I do ixot hesitate to say 
 
 18*
 
 276 LAVINIA. 
 
 it is so, inasmucli as it widens her circle of influence in 
 Europe, and strengthens her hands for good, inasmuch 
 as it places her in manifest antagonism with Austria, 
 inasmuch as it furnishes a ;precious occasion to add to 
 the prestige of Italian arms. Those who go to fight 
 under the three colours of Italian redemption, are not 
 the soldiers of the Piedmontese State, but the soldiers 
 of Italy. Would to God that I were young enough and 
 strong enough to be one of them." 
 
 As soon as he ceased speaking, Paolo and Salvator 
 rose to go, but he detained them, adding, — 
 
 "I have been subjected to much obloquy lately for 
 being too favourable to Sardinia. I view Sardinia as a 
 great national force. Is that a good or an evil? It is 
 a fact — and this fact, moreover, is monarchic. Are 
 we to render it hostile to the cause of emancipation be- 
 cause it is so, or are we to turn it to good account, tak- 
 ing it as it is? The question is not a question for me, 
 at all events. I declare that for my part I am ready to 
 accept of monarchy, if monarchy is to give us an Italy 
 independent and one." 
 
 The door had been gently pushed ajar while he was 
 speaking, and the moment ^-e stopped, a female voice 
 — (ah! pity him, not that of his wife or daughter: both 
 lay in their freshly opened graves) — a female voice 
 said warningly, — 
 
 "Mr. Daniel, it is striking eleven; you know you 
 have to go to Rue Pigalle." 
 
 "Thank you," said Manin to his careful hoime^ "I 
 am off;" and snatching a book from a table, and put- 
 ting it under his arm, he led the way down the stairs to 
 the street-door. There he stopped and said, with emotion, 
 "Good-bye, my young friends; may all success attend
 
 TEDroM VIT^. 277 
 
 you in the pass you have chosen. Honour certainly will, 
 for it is the path of duty. My blessing goes with you. 
 To the rising generation which you represent, to the 
 simple in mind, and stout of heart, Providence reserves 
 the great work of Italian emancipation. Peace, peace 
 at all costs among the oppressed , that their united war- 
 cry may be like the trumpet before Jericho, at sound 
 of which the ramparts of the oppressors shall crumble 
 into dust. You will see that day, young men." 
 
 "And so will you," exclaimed Paolo and Salvator, 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 "Not so, not so," replied Manin; "the spirit is strong, 
 but the flesh is weak. Dies mei numerati sunt^ I may 
 say with the Psalmist, nor do I regret that it be so. 
 Once again, farewell." And with a friendly squeeze of 
 tbe hand of both, he hurried away. Paolo's heart sunk 
 within him as he watched the tottering steps of the noble 
 man, and he thought to himself, why this mysterious 
 dispensation which dooms the flower of a whole nation 
 to live and to die brokenhearted? 
 
 "Bravo!" cried Salvator; "a man worth his weight 
 in gold; every word of his hits the bull's-eye; though, 
 allow me to observe, that wnat he has said, much more 
 pointedly, I confess, is just what I had the honour of 
 telling you last night. By the bye, though, I should 
 like to know why he goes about with an Italian gram- 
 mar under his arm." 
 
 "Manin gives lessons to live, and therefore carries 
 with him the tools of his trade. Yes, oh! mockery of 
 fortune, the ex-dictator of Venice is reduced to sell 
 participles!" 
 
 Salvator mused a little, then said, —
 
 278 LA.VINIA. 
 
 "And why not? Poverty at all times lias been the 
 seal of true greatness. Deck Homer with a mantle of 
 pm-ple, seat Dante in a 'carriage and four, and see what 
 a sorry figure they will cut." 
 
 CHAPTER XX.IIL 
 
 Leave-taking. 
 
 Paolo was for starting that same evening. 
 
 "But your passport?" objected Salvator. 
 
 Paolo was for starting without passport. Salvator 
 shrugged his shoulders. A man does not travel from 
 Rome to Palermo, and then to Paris, as he had done, 
 without growing keenly alive to the importance of the 
 item in question. He said accordingly, — 
 
 "More easily said than done, my dear friend — I 
 mean as far as the arriving at our destination is con- 
 cerned. Let us reserve extreme remedies for extreme 
 evils, and first try what the Sardinian consulate will do 
 for us." 
 
 Taking this good advice, Paolo with his wise little 
 friend went thither. Strong in his good conscience, 
 Paolo stated his case briefly and simply; he knew, he 
 said, after making his request, that he had no specific 
 claim upon the Sardinian government, yet he was not 
 without hope that the anomaly of his situation, coupled 
 with the object he had in view, that of enlisting for the 
 Crimea, might entitle him to some consideration, 
 
 " Certainly," said the gentleman, to whom his appli- 
 cation was made. "If I understand you right, your 
 object is to reach Turin."
 
 LEAVE-TAKING. 279 
 
 Paolo bowed assent. 
 
 • "Very well, excuse me for a moment," continued 
 tlie official, leaving the room. He returned in a few 
 minutes accompanied by another gentleman, who said 
 to Paolo, — 
 
 " Can you give me the date at which you asked for 
 a passport at the Nonciatura and wei'e refused?" 
 
 Paolo named the beginning of the month of Sep- 
 tember. 
 
 "Nearly seven months ago — time enough indeed 
 to come to resipiscence," said the second gentleman, 
 smiling. "Such being the case, I think your best course 
 will be now to renew your application tliere-, if still 
 unsuccessful, come to me again with two respectable 
 fellow-countrymen of ours, who can testify to the re- 
 fusal, and to your own identity, and I will give you a 
 passport for Turin. It will be but a temporary one — 
 to serve only for the journey. Will that do?" 
 
 "Perfectly," said Paolo; "I am much obliged to 
 you." 
 
 Salvator here producing his passport, asked, — 
 
 "Will you accept of me as one of the witnesses 
 you require for my friend?" 
 
 Glancing over the jiassport tendered to him, the 
 Sardinian gentleman replied in the affirmative. 
 
 Renewing their thanks, the two young Romans took 
 their leaA^e, and following the advice they had received, 
 went immediately to the Nonciatura. But the hearts 
 that they found there were as hardened towards Paolo 
 as Pharaoh's to the Jewish lawgiver. Salvator, how- 
 ever, took the opportunity of having his own passport 
 vised for Rome. 
 
 "Now then," said he, as they walked away from
 
 280 LAVINIA, 
 
 the nnaccommodating Nonciatura, "now for tliis second 
 witness. Do you know any Italians in Paris?" 
 
 "Not one," said Paolo. 
 
 "Then we must apply to Du Genre," quoth Salva- 
 tor, "he is the man to help us, he knows everybody." 
 But this suggestion was so evidently unpalatable to 
 Paolo, that Salvator, sto23piug short, turned upon his 
 companion with an inquisitive "What's your objection?" 
 
 Paolo could not bring himself to any specific ex- 
 planation; so Salvator, Avith pitiless good sense, con- 
 tinued, — 
 
 "My good Paolo, when necessity drives, squeamish- 
 ness must be got over. Du Genre is the most service- 
 able fellow on earth, and I can't understand any one 
 hesitating to ask a favour of one so cordial. We have 
 no time to lose, and recollect that he who will the end, 
 must will the means. Come, let us go to Du Genre 
 without more ceremony." 
 
 The Frenchman being out, Paolo left a card, on 
 which he wrote his wish to see him. 
 
 The confession, withheld by Paolo from Salvator, 
 was, that of late a coolness had sprung up between him 
 and the realist. Du Genre, being a man who put me- 
 thod in his dissipation, that is, one Avho made it a point 
 to keep within the limits of his purse, seeing that Paolo, 
 on the contrary, was living beyond his means, had 
 taken upon himself to remonstrate with him repeatedly, 
 and Paolo, too excited to listen to reason, had seen fit 
 to take oifence at what he considered an encroachment 
 on his personal independence. Hence a comparative 
 estrangement between the quondam inseparables. 
 
 Du Genre called on Paolo in the evening, and 
 warm was the greeting he gave to Salvator, whose pre-
 
 LEAVE-TAKING, 281 
 
 sence took him quite by surprise. He evinced none, 
 however, on hearing of Paolo's sudden resolve. "He 
 was prepared for anything and everything," he said, 
 "in that quarter; it wouldn't make him start if he met 
 Paolo on the Boulevards with a tower of Notre Dame 
 under each arm. Always in extremes, eh, Paolo? How- 
 ever, as it must be so, let me tell you that, extreme 
 for extreme, I give my vote for a six months' campaign 
 in the Crimea on short rations, in preference to that 
 infernal gallop — excuse me for calling it so — which 
 you have been keeping up for the last two months." 
 
 "You have characterized my life perfectly," said 
 Paolo, good-humouredly ; "be charitable enough to help 
 my escape from it," and he proceeded to explain the 
 service he needed. Du Genre took up the matter with 
 all his old cordiality, of course, he would find a wit- 
 ness, twenty witnesses, any number of witnesses, from 
 each and all of the Italian States, including the republic 
 of San Marino, but he must have a little time. 
 
 Time was the only thing which Paolo could ill 
 afford, but circumstances laid their bridle on his neck, 
 and forced the curb between his lips. Champ the bit 
 as he would, and scatter forth the foam of his im- 
 patience, three whole days he had to wait. Luckily he 
 was not without some imperative occupation. 
 
 There was, first, his establishment to break up, and 
 plenty of accounts to settle, but for these more money 
 than time was required. As to the carriage and horses 
 he had been fool enough to buy, Du Genre took charge 
 of them, and would sell them, when a good opportunity 
 occurred. Secondly, there was a duty not to be omitted 
 — the few friends he had so long neglected, to see and 
 take leave of.
 
 282 LATINLA.. 
 
 Mr. Perrin, Mr. Pertuis, and Mr. Boniface gave tlie 
 young Roman as hearty a reception, as if his last call 
 had been paid the day before. Perhaps Mr. Boniface, 
 with the good faith of an absent man, fancied such to 
 be the case. Busy people in large cities, be their busi- 
 ness speculative or active, are generally apt to overlook 
 the flight of time ; even the few exceptions to this rule 
 affect to do so, in order to avoid unnecessaiy expla- 
 nations. 
 
 On hearing that he was going to Turin — Paolo care- 
 fully abstained from breathing a word of the Crimea — 
 both Mr. Perrin and ]\L\ Pertuis, taking it for gi'anted 
 that he meant to i-emain there, expressed their appro- 
 bation of this choice. Sardinia, said Mr. Perrin, was 
 fast becoming the centre of the Italian movement, and 
 it was to be wished that all the scattered energy in the 
 Peninsula should converge to that focus. Mr. Pertuis 
 considered the last bold move of Piedmont in the affair 
 of the Crimea, as a clwf cTrpuvre of statesmanship, and 
 one which might have incalculable consequences. Paolo's 
 heart swelled with joy as he listened to the golden 
 opinions entertained by these talented men, of a country 
 which he was in a manner to adopt as his own, and of 
 a policy in support of which he was going to stake 
 his life. 
 
 His visit to the Quai Montebello was reserved as a 
 bonne houche for the last. Prudence was the only one 
 among Paolo's acquaintances, who seemed to have per- 
 ceived the length of his absence. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Paul!" she exclaimed, "what a stranger 
 you have grown!" 
 
 Tears started into Paolo's eyes at this gentle rebuke. 
 
 "Would to God I had been less so!" he said.
 
 LEAVE-TAKING. 283 
 
 feelingly; "it would have been better for me and 
 otbers." 
 
 The busy Prosper had had no leisure for recollec- 
 tions; he was as simply overjoyed to see Mr. Paul as 
 the children, who came and established themselves be- 
 tween their former playmate's knees, and needed no 
 urging to empty his pockets of the toys and bonbons, 
 with which they were crammed. 
 
 Benolt, telegraphed to from the back window, 
 shuffled in presently, and, what with his astonishment 
 and emotion, could find nothing better to do than to 
 snatch at the famous meerschaum pipe which he wore 
 dagger fashion in his belt, and to cry, as he flourished 
 it, "Here it is." Day was closing in, and Benoit was 
 under the influence of — vapour, as he Jesuitically 
 termed it — a toxicological condition, which added to 
 his pantomimic, what it took from his oratorical, 
 powers. 
 
 The party being thus au complete as Prosper pro- 
 fessionally observed, kindly inquiries were exchanged, 
 and such bits of information given and elicited hinc iiuh', 
 as Prosper's frequent exits, and the ebb and flow of 
 passengers in and out, allowed. The room in which 
 they were sitting had undergone some repairs; the walls 
 had been freshly papered, and a new and neat stove 
 had taken the place of the old and rickety one. These 
 improvements were pointed out by Prosper with no 
 little pride. 
 
 "It is all the doing of the new administration," 
 explained the elated little man "the Compagnie Gdne- 
 rale des Omnibus — all capitalists cased in millions — 
 bought up all the lines at an immense outlay; there is
 
 284 LAVINIA. 
 
 notliing like centralization, jou see. Between you and 
 me, an affair of gold, and perfectly respectable." 
 
 "Are you better paid?" asked Paolo; "that is the 
 most interesting question for me." 
 
 "No; my salary is not raised yet, Mr. Paul; "but 
 we have got a uniform — all our men bave — band- 
 some, is it not?" and Prosper drew himself up to his 
 full height, and stood complacently to be looked at. It 
 was only then that Paolo noticed the great fact of 
 Prosper's blue overcoat, with its embroidered collar and 
 cap to match. "Capital cloth; just feel it; smooth as 
 velvet; and the embroidery of real silver; and we have 
 a waterproof cloak for rainy days — here it is." 
 
 Paolo approved of the waterproof garment, but de- 
 murred as to the uniform. Prosper mordicus defended 
 his new acquisition. From the Marshal of France down 
 to the shop porters, he said, every one now-a-days had 
 his uniform. 
 
 "It's the men's crinoline," said Prudence, laughing. 
 
 "Hang the crinoline!" cried Prosper, with sudden 
 vehemence; "three-quarters of the complaints made to 
 us are caused by that downright abomination. Now, 
 a uniform, thank God, is in nobody's way, and most 
 comme il faut it is, isn't it, mon pavrainV 
 
 At this appeal, mo7i parram, who, during the debate, 
 had been obstinately puffing at his empty" meerschaum 
 with the gravity of a Cherokee chief, got up , made a 
 military salute, and said emphatically, "The uniform is 
 the man, quoiP'' — too profound a dictum not to settle 
 the question. 
 
 After this, Paolo was called on to admire the 
 children's copy-books, and to listen to La Fontaine's 
 "Ant and the Grasshopper," recited by the eldest boy.
 
 LEAVE-TAKING. 285 
 
 "WTien the little ones, praised, caressed, and loaded 
 with gifts, had gone off to bed, Paolo rose and said, — 
 
 "And now, my dear friends, I must also be off-, I 
 came to say good-bye to you before leaving Paris. I 
 am on the move for Turin." 
 
 This announcement had the most exhilarating effect 
 on the old trooper. He made a feint at Paolo's breast, 
 ejaculating, — 
 
 ^''Farceur, va — none of that; ha! ha! ha! Turin! 
 a good joke." 
 
 "Turin!" repeated Prosper, with a lengthened face; 
 "far away, isn't it? I hope you don't mean to settle 
 there for good and all." 
 
 "As to that I can say nothing, my good Prosper; 
 you know that man's decisions are often set aside by 
 circumstances." 
 
 "Because," continued Prosper, "be it said without 
 meaning to disparage other countries, I have always 
 heard that there is no place for comfort like Paris; 
 only to speak of public conveyances, find me another 
 city where, for instance, you can go as far as from 
 Batignolles to the Jardin des Plantes, a little journey, 
 for six sous." 
 
 Paolo assured him that there were plenty of public 
 conveyances in Turin, and that the fare from one end 
 of the town to the other was only four sous. 
 
 "That's very well — very well indeed; but, mon- 
 sieur, I don't believe Turin covers the ground that Paris 
 does. However, I am glad to hear what you say. 
 Omnibuses speak well for the civilization of a place; 
 but there are omnibuses and omnibuses, you know; and 
 you may take my word for it, there's only one 'Com- 
 pagnie Gtinerale' in the world."
 
 286 LAVIXIA. 
 
 "Will you humour a childish fancy of mine?'" 
 Tvhispered Paolo to Prudence. "Just let me have a 
 peep at my old room, "will you?" 
 
 "Most willingly," said she, lighting a candle, and 
 leading the way. 
 
 Benolt saluted their exit with a fresh burst of 
 laughter, and a "well done, old boy!" In what cir- 
 cumstance originated his delusion, that Paolo was joking 
 as to his intention of leaving Paris, was, and must re- 
 main one of the unfathomable mysteries of tipsiness. 
 Paolo sui'veyed the back parlour for a moment; it was 
 empty, cold, and dismal enough, God knows, but even 
 such as it was, full for him of sweet memoi'ies, of the 
 sweetest of all those hallowed by disinterested affection. 
 He took Prudence by the hand, and said, — 
 
 "I have sought for this moment of privacy to tell 
 you — " there was a knot in his throat which stopped 
 his words; "I want to ask your pardon — yes, your 
 pardon — I ought to ask it on my knees — here, in 
 this place. Don't look as if you did not understand for 
 what. You know, and I know, that I have been un- 
 grateful to you and yours; that I have kept away from 
 you, my benefactress, my kind nurse — paid you back 
 by shameful neglect for the boon of life, that, after God, 
 I owe you. If you can say so truly, say that you for- 
 give me." 
 
 "If it must be so," said Prudence, smiling through 
 her tears, "I will say that I forgive you; though I have 
 never felt angry; and that I bless you, dear 'Mx. Paul, 
 with all my heart. And now, let me explain one thing. 
 If I receive the news of your departure just now with 
 seeming coolness, don't believe that it was from in- 
 difference, or resentment, indeed, it was neither. The
 
 LEAVE-TAKING. 287 
 
 truth is I was prepared for it. The moment you came 
 in, I was sure you had come to say good-bye. I was 
 sorry for myself, but glad for you; it is for your good, 
 I know. You look pale and thin, not like what you 
 were when you were writing for Mr. Boniface. You 
 don't look happy," (Paolo here raised his eyes to the 
 ceiling, in a Avay highly confirmatory of Prudence's hint.) 
 "Will you let me give you a good recipe for happiness? 
 I am but a poor uneducated woman, but women have 
 good guesses about some things. Find out some nice 
 young lady to love, and who will love you, and marry 
 her, though she were a born princess." 
 
 "Suppose," said Paolo, won by this maternal affec- 
 tion to sudden confidence, "suppose the lady were al- 
 ready found, and that I feel myself to be unworthy 
 of her." 
 
 "Fiddlesticks!" cried Prudence, with a laugh-, "it's 
 well enough to be modest, but too much of anything is 
 bad. I am glad, at all events, that you are on the 
 right track; it will come all right at last." 
 
 "Is there nothing in the world I can do for you?" 
 asked Paolo, almost imploringly. 
 
 "Not in the way you mean," was Prudence's quick 
 answer; "we are very comfortable indeed; but if not 
 too inconvenient perhaps you will let us hear of you 
 now and then." 
 
 Paolo promised, took her in his arms, kissed her, 
 and left the room. 
 
 "Adieu, Pi-osper, adieu, ?non vieiLv, God bless yo\i 
 all." And with another shake of the two men's hands, 
 he was gone. 
 
 Good tidings were awaiting him in tlie Chaussde 
 d'Antin. Du Genre had called, and left word with
 
 288 LATIXIA. 
 
 Salvator that he had found the required witness, who 
 would be at the Sardinian Consulate the next day at 
 noon. Xo fear but that Paolo was punctual to the hour 
 of rendezvous. Everything went as smooth as oil, and 
 by three o'clock Paolo was the legitimate possessor of 
 a regular passport, duly vised by the French police into 
 the bargain. He and Salvator accordingly fixed to take 
 their departure by that evening's express train for 
 Lyons. 
 
 Clothes, books, boots were tossed into trunks and 
 portmanteaus, which were no sooner filled than sent off 
 to the terminus, Du Genre making merry the while at 
 Paolo's expense. Paolo was in such dread of missing 
 the train , that they reached the debarcadere exactly two 
 hours too soon — considering which, and that none of 
 the three had dined, they with common consent sought 
 the refreshment room, and ordered dinner. 
 
 Du Genre ate little, but, contrary to his custom, 
 drank freely, talked rather more than usual, and was 
 more outrageously paradoxical than ever. 
 
 "An Italy independent and free!" quoth the realist, 
 tossing off a glass of Champagne in response to a toast 
 of Salvator's to that effect. "You speak of it at your 
 ease, my dear friends, without giving a thought to the 
 consequences. 'To digest or not to digest,' that is the 
 European question involved in the Italian one; and 
 what if I prove to you that the status quo of Italy is 
 the sine qua 7ion of a good digestion for nine-tenths of 
 Europe! Make the least attempt at change, and jaun- 
 dice will be the order of the day. You ask for evidence, 
 ye hard of understanding! Just handle, gently as a 
 zephyr plays with a rose, the Roman question — and 
 to be free, touch it you must — and two hundred mil-
 
 LEAVE-TAKING. 289 
 
 lions of Catliolics soon find their gastric juices impaired. 
 Just give a wink to the Italian Tyrol — and wink in 
 that direction you must, or no independence for you — 
 and dyspepsia seizes on more than forty millions of 
 your fellow-creatures, Avhose goipel it is — not the 
 Gospel of Christ, though — that the saurkrautian ele- 
 ment was ab cvterno destined to lord it over the maea- 
 ronian element. To come down from the wholesale to 
 the retail. Suppress that providential Italian issue, and 
 no class, no individual but will sorely suffer from the 
 revulsion. Publicists, statisticians, journalists will be 
 deprived of their richest mine of speculation, philan- 
 thropists of their favourite dada, parliamentary orators 
 of their cue for indignation sjjeeches, poets of their 
 camposanto, over which to sing everlasting requiems, 
 fair readers of TjC vile I'rlgioni as a safety-valve for 
 working off their surplus of sensibility; and, to sum up 
 all, the mass of nonentities whom God has blessed with 
 a country, will sadly miss a point of comparison, which 
 tends greatly to their self-glorification. So that, you 
 must see, every one will be the worse for the change, 
 and none the better — no, not even the Italians. I 
 anticipated the objection. You will be the first to suffer, 
 and probo. What is it that gives breadth and elevation 
 to the Italian character, and wins favour for it? It is 
 the immateriality of their pursuit, and the spirit of 
 sacrifice they carry into it. Amidst the hard race after 
 material interests and enjoyments which characterizes 
 the present age, and lowers all individuals to the same 
 level, no one can help respecting and sympathizing 
 with people original enough to stake everything, life 
 included, on something that is not tangible, not visible 
 — for an idea. Commonplace as we may have become 
 
 Luvinia- II. 19
 
 290 LAYINIA. 
 
 ourselves, we are still tickled by originality in others. 
 Well, now for this state of things you are indebted to 
 Austria. Eeuiove the cause, and you remove the effect; 
 make an Italy independent, free and happy, and fare- 
 well spiritual ballast? farewell poetry, and originality, 
 you fall to the ground flat and uninteresting as an ex- 
 hausted balloon; in fact, you are like the rest of the 
 Avorld, worthy of revolving — clignus intrare — in the 
 commonplace orbit, which is to speculate in railways 
 or the funds, get rich, in short, and prendre du ventre."' 
 
 Men are too often ashamed of appearing as good as 
 they are. All the farrage of nonsense just delivered by 
 Du Gem-e had no other object than to cover the depths 
 of an emotion much to his credit, and which, do what 
 he would to check it, still would assert itself in his 
 looks and words at parting. 
 
 "Farewell, dear Salvator, farewell, dear Telemachus, 
 and sans rancune, I trust. If I gave you cause of com- 
 plaint, and probably I did, my judgment was the guilty 
 party, and not my heart; believe me, old fellow, I have 
 got a heart in spite of appearances, and the day this 
 weary Italian question is fairly put, directly and not 
 by ricochet — well, never mind the rest. Perhaps after 
 all you are right; but right or wrong, remember I value 
 your friendship, and am always at your service. Write 
 sometimes, and now, Partant pour la Syrie., and a re-
 
 SAIiYATOR WINS THE DAY. 291 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Salvator wins the Day. 
 
 Down to Lyons and Chambery with the speed of 
 an arrow, and up the MontCenis, grand, solemn, snow- 
 clad Mont Cenis. Paolo had never before seen the 
 Alps, he had tried often and often to realize them from 
 description; but Avhat powers of imagination can ap- 
 proach such stupendous reality? Paolo felt the pre- 
 sence of God in His works, and adored. 
 
 The day was cold and clear, and the old fir-trees, 
 covered all over with frost, sparkled in the sun like 
 gigantic Venetian chandeliers. To lose none of the 
 sublime harmonies of the spectacle, Paolo made the 
 whole ascent on foot, revelling in that glorious sensation 
 of having, as it were, no body, and being wafted along 
 on wings. Salvator's stumpy legs did good service in 
 their way, for, with the exception of two short lifts, he 
 kept by his tall companion's side. 
 
 And thus the summit was reached; and lo! deep 
 down below, running at first within narrow defiles, but 
 quickly expanding as it stretched onwards, lay the 
 valley of Susa — and Susa itself, that brown speck in 
 the distance. "Behold her, Salvator," cried Paolo. 
 
 "Italy for ever!" shouted the little man, and for 
 the first time since heaven knows how long, he sung 
 forth a quotation, even more appropriate than usual to 
 the occasion. Ah! del ciclo e della terra ^ Bella Italia 
 sci Vonor. 
 
 This passage of the Mont Cenis, Paolo affii'ms to 
 this day, did more to tune his soul once more up to 
 
 I'J*
 
 292 LA^-EvIA. 
 
 an liarmonious diapason, tlian all the books of all the 
 moralists piit together. Lucky that it was so, for 
 delays and disappointments were in wait for kim at 
 Turin, From every quarter the two young Eomans re- 
 ceived tke unpalatable intelligence, that no volunteers 
 were admitted into the Piedmontese expeditionary corps, 
 but suck as had served already, and could prove tkeir 
 services. Tkere was, it is true, in course of formation 
 a foreign legion for tke service of England, in wkick 
 recruits were received witkout any similar condition, 
 and probably Salvator kad confounded tkis witk tke 
 Piedmontese corps. Tke ai'dent little fellow, kowever, 
 in no wise daunted, went to some of tke deputies, wkom 
 ke kad come across in kis first visit to tke Sardinian 
 capital, and upon tkis slender tkread of acquaintance- 
 skip, ke did manage to make kis way, and obtain a 
 letter of introduction for a kigk official in tke war office; 
 biit notking came of it but a confirmation of tke fact, 
 tkat ke and kis friend Avere ineligible for service in tke 
 Crimea. "Even you yourself will, I am sure, acknow- 
 ledge tke necessity for strictness on tkis point," wound 
 up tke man in office, witk a consoling skow of sym- 
 patky for tke disajjpointment ke was inflicting. "We 
 are about to confront a formidable military poAver, and 
 tkat, under tke eyes of tke two best armies in Em-ope; 
 tke konour of our country is doubly at stake, and we 
 should be inexcusable, did we trust tkat to otker tkan 
 tiied men." 
 
 No bad reasoning, tkought to himself the unsuccess- 
 ful suitor, as he went down the staks, not the less pro- 
 voking to me and Paolo, though. I suppose it's no 
 use trying so see the minister himself, of course they 
 have settled one and all to sing the same song. But
 
 SALYATOR WINS THE DAY. 293 
 
 if I could get to the top of the tree — to the king — 
 he might help one. Full of this new idea, he turned 
 mechanically to the right, and was roused from his me- 
 ditation by perceiving the royal palace right before 
 him. The iron gates being always wide open, Sal- 
 vator walked into the spacious court, and looked long 
 at the king's dwelling. There must be some solace in 
 gazing at the windows of those who can influence our 
 destinies. Lovers, for instance, are never tired of a 
 mute contemplation of those of their beloved ones. 
 
 An officer of the National Guard, seemingly on 
 duty, was pacing up and down before the palace. He 
 had an open, communicative countenance. Salvator 
 directed his own steps so as to approach the officer 
 without appearance of design. 
 
 "A fine building," exclaimed the landscape painter. 
 
 "No doixbt," replied the officer. "Excuse me, but 
 you seem to be a stranger to Turin." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I am a Roman," answered Salvator. 
 "Are travellers allowed to see the interior of the 
 palace?" 
 
 "Not when his Majesty is there, as is the case at 
 this moment. After all, one must not grudge kings a 
 little privacy." 
 
 "I am not the man to grudge Victor Emmanuel 
 anything," retorted Salvator, briskly. After a little 
 pause, he added: "Pray, is his majesty difficult of 
 access?" 
 
 The Piedmontese smiled with a certain pride as he 
 said, — 
 
 "The palace you are looking at, sir, is not Schon- 
 brunn. Our king is not afraid to see anyone; if you 
 Avant to have an audience, all you have to do is to
 
 294 LAVINIA. 
 
 forward a request in writing, stating tlie object you 
 liave in view, and get yonr ambassador's signature — " 
 
 "To tell the truth," interrupted Salvator, "I don't 
 think myself entitled to ask to see his majesty on what 
 is only an afPair of consequence to myself; still I should 
 like to have a peep of // Re Galantuomo', and liberty 
 to say a dozen words to him." 
 
 "Then, why not accost him in the street?" sug- 
 gested the officer. "He will not take it amiss." 
 
 "If I only knew when and where," cried Salvator, 
 eagerly. 
 
 "That's easily discovered," said the obliging citizen- 
 soldier. "You see that archway to the left of this court; 
 go through it — you'll find a chmxh on your right, 
 skirt its walls till you come to a lane that runs behind 
 it. On that side of the lane which adjoins the palace, 
 several back-doors open. Through one or other of those 
 private doors the king makes his exit almost daily be- 
 tween two and three o'clock in the afternoon. Mount 
 guard there, and it's ten to one but that you will have 
 your wish. But beware of looking alarmed or stammer- 
 ing when you address his majesty; nothing he dislikes 
 more than timidity or slowness." 
 
 Salvator was so elated at the chance thus pointed 
 out to him, that, had he followed his first impulse, he 
 would have thrown himself, in a transport of gratitude, 
 on the neck of his obliging informant; but, on second 
 thoughts, he was wise enough to content himself with 
 expressing his thanks in a Roman accent, that sounded 
 like soft music in answer to the sharp, snipped words 
 of his north countryman. Through the archway, round 
 the church, and he was in the lane blessed with the
 
 SALVATOR WINS THE DAY. 295 
 
 palace back-doors, in less time than it takes to record 
 his movements. 
 
 Ha! ha! friend Salvator, thinks he to himself, here 
 is a famous chance for yon, if you know how to use 
 it; lucky that you are in a fit condition to a2)pear be- 
 fore any potentate. (The reader has perhaps forgotten 
 that, since his elevation to the post of scene-painter, 
 director of choruses, and prompter in ordinary to her 
 ladyship Delfuego y Arcos, Salvator had adopted a 
 rigorous dress suit of black, with white cravat, and frilled 
 shirt.) Yes, -a famous chance; provided tlie king comes, 
 though. As to nervousness and stammering, and all 
 tliat sort of thing, we'll try to scare his majesty as little 
 as possible in that way. 
 
 In spite of this assurance, however, Salvator felt 
 somewhat disturbed, as testified by the dialogue he was 
 carrying on with himself aloud; a fact no sooner per- 
 ceived than checked by a resolute, "None of that, sir," 
 and humming a tune, he fell to examining the locality, 
 with an eye to the back-doors all the while. 
 
 It had wanted a quarter to two when he took his 
 position in the lane. Two o'clock struck. All the 
 clocks in Turin seemed to have a rendezvous over his 
 head — a quarter-past two, half-past two, and no ar- 
 rival, save that of a shower of rain, short but heavy, 
 which wet him to the skin, A quarter to three — three. 
 Poor Salvator began to shake in his shoes. Either the 
 king had gone oiit earlier than usual, or was not going 
 out at all. Scarcely, however, had he come to this 
 dispiriting conclusion, when one of the long-watched 
 back-doors opened, and two figures issued from it. Both 
 gentlemen were in plain clothes, but in the foremost 
 Salvator immediately recognized the king, and to re-
 
 296 LAVINIA. 
 
 cognize and see tlie king bear do\m on liim with a firm 
 rapid step was one and the same tiling. 
 
 Salvator drew back, and had to be quick as light- 
 ning in taking off his hat — and raising his hand in 
 military fashion to his forehead, he stood stiff as a 
 poker, ready to take advantage of the slightest notice. 
 Attracted by the soldierly salute, his majesty stopped, 
 and with a half smile at the queer figure with such 
 eager eyes fixed on himself, asked, 
 
 "Have you anything to say?" 
 
 "Please your majesty," was the prompt answer, 
 "we are two Eomans, who have come all the way from 
 Paris to enlist for the Crimea." 
 
 "For the Crimea? Are you big enough?" asked 
 the king, glancing sharply at the little painter. 
 
 "Just the right size for a Bersagliere, please your 
 majesty. My friend is as strong and as tall as a tower; 
 we have both smelt gunpowder already, please your 
 majesty." 
 
 "Where?" inquired the king. 
 
 "At the siege of Eome in 1849." 
 
 "What puts it into your head to go to the Crimea?" 
 
 "The wish to qualify om'selves for your next cam- 
 paign in Lombardy, sire." 
 
 His majesty turned with a pleased smile to the 
 gentleman accompanying him, then addressing Sal- 
 vator: 
 
 "And suppose you are killed in the Crimea?" 
 
 "If so, dnice et decorum est pro patria mori^ sire." 
 
 "Bravo," cried the king, "good Latin, and good 
 sense. What is your name? where are you to be 
 found?"
 
 SALVATOR WINS THE DAY. 297 
 
 "Angelo Gigli, sire, at your service, and just now 
 at the Locanda of the Dogana Yecchia." 
 
 "Addio," said the king, and raising a linger to his 
 Jiat, he passed on. Salvator had maintained his mili- 
 tary attitude throughout the short dialogue, nor in- 
 deed did he relinquish it till the king was fairly out 
 of sight. 
 
 "But," ohjected Paolo, when the particulars of this 
 meeting with the king were related to him, "you were 
 wrong in mentioning two volunteers, you know that I 
 go alone." 
 
 "See if you do," quoth Salvator. 
 
 "Surely you don't mean to go with me," urged 
 Paolo. 
 
 "See if I don't," quoth Salvator. 
 
 "And Clelia?" pleaded Paolo. 
 
 "Clelia Avill have to wait till Sebastopol is taken, 
 that's all," said poor Salvator, with very assumed glee. 
 
 "And suppose any — misfortune happens to you?" 
 
 "Just what his majesty graciously thought possible 
 also, forgetting that misfortunes and cannon-balls prefer 
 the great-, besides," continued Salvator, with great gra- 
 vity, "to satisfy you, I promise I'll duck down when 
 I hear a whiz. My good Paolo, why grudge a little 
 chap a few laurels to add to his height? But what's 
 the use of talking? let us sing instead — 
 
 " So unit! negli aflfani , 
 Noi fummo sempre insieme," &c. 
 
 Early next morning a young officer came to the 
 Locanda of the Dogana Vecchia to inquire for Signor 
 Angelo Gigli. lie was aide-de-camp to F — , a general, 
 who distinguished himself in the campaigns of 1848
 
 298 LAYINIA. 
 
 and 1849, and was now named to a higli command in 
 the Crimean expedition. 
 
 The king had taken sucli a fancy to the spii'ited 
 young fellow, who spoke with so much assurance of a 
 campaign in Lombardy, that he had requested General 
 F — , the gentleman in attendance, to see what could 
 be done for the would-be volunteer and his friend, and 
 General F — had in his turn dejjuted his aide-de-camp 
 to fulfil that duty. 
 
 "His majesty having expressed a wish favourable 
 to you," continued the aide-de-camp, "of course my in- 
 structions are, that short of some insuperable disqualifi- 
 cation, your services should be accepted. Signor Gigli 
 is rather short, I must say, but active and supple, and 
 will do for a sharpshooter. As to Signor — " 
 
 "Mancini," suggested Paolo. 
 
 "Signor Mancini will make a capital gi'enadier. 
 Gentlemen, you are of right good stuff; but drill, hard 
 constant drill, is necessary to make your good qualities 
 of service. Having thus reassured you, permit me for 
 a moment to play the part, as it is called, of the devil's 
 advocate, and advise you to pause and consider well, 
 before you take an irrevocable step. A soldier's life 
 in the field is not the poetic thing enthusiastic youths 
 are apt to imagine it; on the contrary, it is a ten-ibly 
 matter-of-fact business, with drawbacks innumerable. 
 I don't allude to the mere common hardships of cold, 
 rain, or broiling sun, of hunger and thirst — of days 
 of exhausting fatigue, followed by sleepless nights — 
 nor yet of sickness and the chances of wounds or death. 
 But I speak of the hope deferred, that makes the heart 
 sick, of the perpetual annihilation of all independent 
 action, all independent judgment, of all individuality —
 
 SALVATOR WINS THE DAY. 299 
 
 a positive torture to gifted minds. I speals. of the 
 maddening ennui of Avceks and months of inaction, and 
 which makes a soldier's life a life of unparalleled trial. 
 Does such a picture tempt you?" 
 
 Paolo and Salvator declared that their resolution 
 was not to be shaken. 
 
 "So much the better for the service," cried the 
 officer, rising and shaking both by the hand. "The 
 aide-de-camp has done his duty, now allow tlie volunteer 
 of 1848 to congratulate you on your decision. Not 
 that the picture I drew was exaggerated, far from it; 
 but that I see that you have the true patriotic feeling, 
 up to any sacrifice. Ad augusta per angiista. I was 
 made a soldier by circumstances myself I was pre- 
 jiaring for the bar in 1848. I abandoned my profes- 
 sion, because I believed my country needed my arm. 
 I enlisted — and would do so again, though I have 
 gone through all that I have described to you. I even 
 think my sufferings have ended by endearing a sol- 
 dier's life to me. May it be so with you!" 
 
 Having now the certitude of being sent to the 
 Crimea, Paolo on the morrow went to a public notary, 
 and made his will. It was of the simplest; he left 
 everything he jjossessed in the world to his dear and 
 faithful friend, Angelo Gigli, and in the event of his 
 death, then to Clelia Mauri, both of liome. A few 
 days after, Paolo entered the first regiment of the 
 second infantry brigade, under the command of General 
 Trotti, and Salvator the second battalion of Lamar- 
 mora's rifles. A whole month elapsed between the day 
 of their enlistment, and that of their embarkation — a 
 month of drill, and nothing but drill, and during which the 
 friends conscq[uently could see but little of one another.
 
 300 LAVINIA. 
 
 Their voyage was made iu different transports, and 
 once at their destination, their chances of meeting were 
 of the smallest, the corps to which they respectively 
 belonged occupying the two opposite extremities of the 
 Sardinian camp. But, as luck Avould have it, towards 
 the end of June, the second brigade was transferred to 
 the centre, and the difficulty of getting a peep of each 
 other diminished in direct ratio with the diminished 
 distance between their divisions. 
 
 Our concern being neither with the Crimean war, 
 nor with the part played in it by the Piedmontese 
 Contingent — both by this time matters of history, the 
 streamlet of our narrative keeps clear of such mighty 
 waters to remain constant to the humble track of Paolo's 
 and Salvator's fortunes. These were neither stirring 
 nor brilliant, and may be disposed of in very few 
 words. We have, however, before doing so, a duty to 
 discharge towards the reader, whom we suppose impa- 
 tient to learn whether Paolo's new life has produced a 
 change for 'the better in his morbidly gloomy mental 
 perspective. 
 
 Paolo, let US hasten to state, was already cured 
 before he landed in the Crimea — cured, we mean, 
 of the obsession which had haunted him in Paris. 
 Though ready to die for his country, he was re- 
 conciled to life — nay, more than that, deeply peni- 
 tent for having despised that boon, and of having 
 contemplated, even for a moment, the throwing of it 
 aside as a burden. Physical and moral agencies, change 
 of scene, bodily exertion, the stir of patriotic passions 
 around him, the new elevating aim offered to his acti- 
 vity, the sense of his own usefulness, had one and all 
 helped to bring about this result. Yet it must not be
 
 SALVATOR WIHS THE DAY. 301 
 
 supposed tliat he bad learned to view, with more iu- 
 dulgence than formerly, his late follies — no such thing 
 — his abhorrence of them continued unabated, not so 
 his utter hopelessness of ever being able to redeem 
 those errors. They seemed so far away, too, those ill- 
 omened days of Paris — while, by an opposite play 
 of mental optics, other times, other images and scenes, 
 of a far more distant date, seemed things of yesterday, 
 for instance, that charming first interview with Lavinia 
 in his studio, in Via Frattina — he heard again and 
 again the soft rustling like summer air among the trees, 
 which heralded her approach — again and again he 
 was sensible of those ambrosial odours which ever 
 floated around her; every graceful kind word or action 
 of that happy lunch at the Palazzo Morlacchi, Avas 
 again vividly before him, he saw her again, as he had 
 seen and believed her then, the good genius of her 
 uncle's household; and constant, more than all, was the 
 living remembrance of their leave-taking at Rome; of 
 the touching earnestness of her repentance, and the un- 
 conditional surrender of her own Avill to his, which had 
 sealed the renewal of their former engagement. 
 
 On these crumbs of the past Paolo's soul fed, and 
 throve; but not on them alone. It had besides a sub- 
 stantial honeycomb to feast upon — her last letter. lie 
 guarded it as he would have done "the instrumental 
 parts of his religion." He had folded it carefully in 
 soft paper, and carried it in his bosom, close to his 
 heart, that, should he die, it miglit be buried with him. 
 Knowing it thoroughly by heart, he still read it over 
 and over again, and on many a dark, lonely night, liad 
 recited to himself its contents, finding in it a talisman 
 against heavy thoughts. Docs any one call this child-
 
 302 LAVINIA. 
 
 like infatuation? Childlike perhaps, but not the less 
 attended with positive and beneficial results; for out of 
 the few data in that letter, Paolo was reconstructing 
 inch by inch his spiritual world — a Lavinia hallowed 
 by adversity, his own love purified by humility — and 
 withal all the lofty aspirations which refine and exalt 
 human nature. Was this nothing? 
 
 And now to leave these poetical heights for the flat 
 level of matter-of-fact every day life. Dull, dreary and 
 trying enough was that of our two cidevant painters in 
 their quarters on the Tchernaya. 
 
 The Piedmontese Contingent were paying to the 
 deadly climate of the Crimea a heavy tribute. Sick- 
 ness and death in theii- most repulsive shapes put out 
 of question for a time all active operations on their 
 part, and many a gallant fellow had much to do to 
 bear up against the disheartening effects of the awful 
 visitation, and the relative idleness and want of excite- 
 ment consequent upon it. "We say "relative idleness," 
 for, of course, there was more than enough of mounting 
 guard, of patrolling, and picketing, and raising of 
 epaulements for the able-bodied; but these occupations, 
 though affording a temporary relief, had too little of 
 excitement in them, to counteract the gloom which hung 
 over the sick camp. 
 
 Our two volunteers stood the ordeal bravely, and 
 without flinching; no small praise, if it be true that — 
 
 "It is the detail of blank interval, 
 The patient sufferance where no action is , 
 That proves our nature. Many are who act , 
 But, oh, how few endure ! " 
 
 Paolo and his little friend did more than endure, they 
 helped and encouraged. Now it was that Salvator's
 
 SALVATOR WINS THE DAY. 303 
 
 comic powers, and large stock of quotations from bis 
 peculiar and favourite literature, proved of real practi- 
 cal use in cheering many a desponding heart. Nor 
 was he chary of his talents, though his blanched 
 cheeks of late were in pathetic contrast to his fun and 
 drollery. 
 
 For, even Salvator's inexhaustible flow of spirits 
 was no buckler against the grasp of disease. One Sun- 
 day, the last of the month of July, he was absent at 
 the church parade. To Paolo's anxious inquii-ies after 
 his friend, the reply was that "the little Roman" had 
 been taken ill and carried to the hospital marquee. 
 
 For obvious reasons, access to the temporary hospi- 
 tal of the Sardinians, was interdicted to all but those 
 having official business there, and Paolo could get no 
 admission ticket. However, through the kind offices of 
 General F — 's aide-de-camp — the same who had 
 come to the Locanda of the Dogana Vecchia in Turin, 
 and who had shown constant kindness to his jjroteges 
 during the campaign, Mancini received news of Salva- 
 tor, which relieved his worst fears. His complaint, 
 according to the physicians, was not one attended by 
 dangerous symptoms; an intermittent fever, such as he 
 had had once before at Kome, likely to be long and 
 tedious, but not putting life in jeopardy. This prima 
 facie view of Salvator's case was confirmed later, when 
 at the end of the fii'st week in August, the expectation 
 of an attack by the allies on the tower of Malakoff, 
 caused all the hospitals in camp to be cleared out, and 
 Paolo further learned to his great satisfaction, that his 
 sick friend had been transfen-ed to Balaklava, from 
 whence, as soon as it could be done with safety, he 
 would be conveyed to the hospital of Scutari.
 
 304 LAVISIA. 
 
 To prevent all false alarms or possible misconcep- 
 tions, whicli Salvator's prolonged silence might entail 
 on Clelia, Paolo thought it best to apprise her at once 
 of the real state of affairs, by a letter which also con- 
 tained a cheque for a considerable amount of scudi. 
 By the same post, he vrrote, as he had promised, to 
 Prudence, informing her of his being, for the present, 
 a soldier, and enlarging on the gallantry and the so- 
 ciability of her own countrymen in the Crimea. 
 
 The next salient point in Paolo's Crimean life, was 
 a reconnaissance made by the Sardinians on the 13th 
 of August, and the most lively anticipations of which 
 were unfortunately frustrated. The expeditionary corps 
 swept over the plateau on the other side of the Tcher- 
 naya, and to the banks of the Tchontion, without find- 
 ing a trace of the enemy. 
 
 The 16th of August dawned at last, a day which 
 was to be one of hard but glorious work for the allies, 
 and in which the Piedmontese were to have their share 
 of hardship and glory. 
 
 At the break of day, the line of the Tchernaya 
 was attacked in gallant style by the Russians, who, 
 after a momentary success, and not without a most 
 obstinate struggle, were finally thrown back with great 
 loss. This battle of the Tchernaya, according to com- 
 petent judges, sealed the fate of SebastopoL Paolo 
 had the good luck to be one of the division Trotti, 
 which was engaged in the action; nay, to belong to 
 the very battalion which was sent to harass the 
 retreat of the enemy. Mancini did not at one stroke 
 run his lance through half-a-dozen Russians — by-the- 
 by, he had no lance — nor did he achieve any other 
 supernatural feat in the knight-errantry line; but his
 
 BENEFICIAL CATASTROPnE. 305 
 
 behaviour tlirougliotxt was steady and resolute enough 
 to be noticed by tlie men and officers of his company. 
 The greater their pity when they saw him stagger, reel, 
 and fall to the ground. It was the hist discharge but 
 one of the retreating ai-tillery which had done the 
 deed. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Beneficial Catastrophe. 
 
 It is now high time to return to Paris, and see 
 what has been going on at Dr. Ternel's sanitary 
 establishment. Miss CLira's pen has been busily at 
 work during this interval, and her letters to Owlscombc 
 and Scutari, if textually given, would fill a goodsized 
 volume, which would raise the number of our volumes 
 to four. Now, it being against rule for a fashionable 
 novel, such as this professes to be, to go beyond tlie 
 sacred figure of tlaec, we shall take the liberty of 
 squeezing out of Miss Clara's corresjiondence all the 
 facts of any importance, and offering the summary to 
 the reader. 
 
 Dr. Ternel having done all in his power by word 
 of mouth , to arouse in his English patient an ixnder- 
 standing of the reality preparing for liim, at lenght 
 thought the moment had come for taking a step further 
 in the same direction. Accordingly, one fine morning, 
 a letter directed to himself was put into Mr. Thornton's 
 liaud — a letter dated from Owlscombe, bearing the 
 Wareham post-mark, written in Miss Clara's well-known 
 hand, and signed with her name in full. She wrote 
 tlmt she had hoard of his being in Paris in the Rue 
 
 l.ai'iiiia. II. 20
 
 306 LAVIXIA. 
 
 St. Dominique, and tliat, being now in possession of 
 liis address, she had instantly determined on going to 
 see lier old friend, "Would lie not be glad to see her? 
 
 The doctor anxiously watched the effect of this 
 letter: rather to his surprise, it was one far from satis- 
 factory. Thornton looked thoughtful, was much ab- 
 sorbed after its perusal; talked a good deal to himself, 
 but never spoke to the doctor. Mr. Temel had to break 
 the ice himself. 
 
 "Well," he began, cheerfully, "you have received 
 good news, I know. Miss Clara is already on her 
 way hither." 
 
 "How came you to know that?" asked Mortimer, 
 after pondering awhile. 
 
 "I have a letter from her also. See, here it is," 
 and the doctor produced it. 
 
 Thornton looked at it, then said sternly, — 
 
 "It is all a hoax; since when have the dead taken 
 to wi'iting?" 
 
 "But Miss Clara is not dead — that is a mere 
 morbid fancy of yours. Miss Clara is full of life and 
 energy and affection for her dear old friend." 
 
 Thornton shook his head despondingly. 
 
 "Who ought to know better than I, who am her 
 mm'derer?" 
 
 "I hold in my hand a plain undeniable proof that 
 you are mistaken," urged the doctor, tapping her letter. 
 "You- are quite right in saying that dead persons can- 
 not write — now Miss Clara does write, you know her 
 writing." 
 
 "Once upon a time I did," said the ixnfortunate 
 Englishman; "but who can tell? hands are so easily
 
 BENEFICIAL, CATASTROPHE. 307 
 
 counterfeited. Have you ever advertised for a missing 
 friend?" 
 
 "Never," replied the doctor. 
 
 "Well tben, do so; and you'll see what comes of 
 it. There are plenty of people who trade in heartless 
 hoaxes. When the steamship President was lost, there 
 was no end of such. I have had experience, for I was 
 taken in myself," and he went on to relate his trip to 
 Havre, and his cruel disappointment. 
 
 No reasoning, no appeals from the doctor could 
 undo this new twist of his patient's mind. It would 
 be unsafe to venture on a more tangible proof of his 
 eri'or. Better wait for a favourable change of mood 
 — such was the doctor's decision. 
 
 "We must not risk too hastily our last, our only 
 chance," he said to Miss Clara. "Thougli the best- 
 matured plan may fail, yet let us at least do all that 
 humanly can be done, to have the odds on our side." 
 
 The first failure had not caused the indefatigable 
 doctor to relax in his activity, he only varied the means 
 to his end. What the sight of ]\Iiss Clara's handwriting 
 had failed to do, perhaps her voice, that most power- 
 ful of instruments to strike home to tlie heart, might 
 accomplish, especially if connected with old associations. 
 In furtherance of this plan. Dr. Tcrnel had a piano put 
 in a small room at the back of the establishment, ad- 
 joining his own study, and the only window of which 
 looked into the park. In this species of light closet 
 Miss Clara spent many anxious hours, recollecting and 
 practising those tunes and songs, which she thought 
 would most powerfully recall old times to Mortimer. 
 
 The doctor, on his side, undertook to persuade his 
 patient to go out, and enjoy tlic sight of the first com-
 
 308 LAVIXIA. 
 
 ing into leaf of tlie trees. Tliornton's servant having 
 already received instructions to take bis master to the 
 jiarticular spot, which it was desirable he should visit. 
 It was long before Mortimer could be prevailed upon 
 to comply with the doctor's wish. Inclined at all times 
 to be sedentary and solitary, he had grown still more 
 so of late. One day, however, when it was least ex- 
 pected, out he went, and following on the steps of the 
 servant, came under the closet window. A short prelude 
 of chords, followed by "Weber's Derniere Pensee, rooted 
 him to the spot. He looked uj) to the window from 
 whence the sound proceeded, and listened intently. 
 The doctor from behind the blind studied the play of 
 Thornton's physiognomy with intense interest. He 
 desired Miss Clara to sing, and she began at once. 
 
 The effect of her voice was instantaneous upon the 
 eager listener. He stared violently, clasped his hands 
 togetlier, and his eyes filled with tears. 
 
 "Now or never," whispered Dr. Ternel in great ex- 
 citement; "sing on, sing on. 111 bring him here at 
 once. Courage ! " 
 
 It took him but a minute to run down the stairs, 
 and round the house to Thornton; but in that minute 
 there had been time enough for a change. AVhen the 
 doctor came up to him, Thornton's brow was lowering, 
 and his eye fixed on the ground. 
 
 "Miss Clara is there," said Doctor Ternel, pointing 
 to the window above their heads. 
 
 Thornton looked up with a glance full of suspicion. 
 
 "She is singing for you," went on the physician; 
 "you will go to her, will you not?" 
 
 Thornton shmk back in silence.
 
 BENEFICIAL CATASTItOniE. 309 
 
 "Why don't you wish to see Miss Clara, your clear 
 old friend?" 
 
 Thornton vehemently shook his head; without 
 speaking a word recoiled still farther, and ended by 
 hurrying away altogether. 
 
 Tears started into the good doctor's eyes at having 
 to return alone to the anxious young lady, with news 
 of this second discomfiture. Had Thornton's mood, at 
 first hearing her voice, but lasted a few minutes longer, 
 there was no saying what might have been the result. 
 Cruel, cruel, indeed, to founder in sight of port. But 
 what was delayed was not lost. The doctor had too 
 thorough an experience of the habits of diseased minds, 
 not to feel assured that Thornton would revisit the 
 spot, where he had received so strong an impression. 
 And then the missed opportunity might be found again. 
 With such and other cheering predictions, the sym- 
 pathizing doctor tried to allay the shock of Miss Clara's 
 disappointment. 
 
 This opportunity, however, did not present itself 
 for the next fortnight. Thornton went two or three 
 times into the grounds during that period, but studiously 
 avoided the place to which his servant would have 
 enticed him. Dr. Teruel perceived also that he was 
 more agitated, and his thoughts more disordered than 
 before the last experiment. 
 
 One afternoon Miss Clara was sitting at the piano 
 — it was a lovely, mild April day — and as her eyes 
 rested on the bright tender green of the trees opposite, 
 her fingers wandered half-unconsciously over the keys. 
 All of a sudden she felt she was no longer alone. A 
 figure was standing on her right, too tall to be Dr. 
 Ternel; surely then it must be Thornton. Startled
 
 310 LAVINIA. 
 
 beyond all conceptiou as slie was, she liad been too 
 well warned and instructed by the doctor as to what 
 was chiefly to be avoided in a like emergency, to show 
 her agitation. She accordingly continued to strike the 
 keys, striving the while to regain full self-control; at 
 last, she gently turned towards him, and said, — 
 
 "Is that you, Mortimer; how do you do?" and 
 without rising, she held out her hand to him. 
 
 He did not take it, but examined her face calmly 
 enough, though with a shade of timidity. 
 
 "Shall I sing Queen Mab to you?" resumed Clara. 
 "It used to be a great favourite of yours at Owlscombe; 
 you recollect it, don't you?" 
 
 He did not answer the question, but, as if ponder- 
 ing, still gazed at her. At last he exclaimed, — 
 
 "Where can the other be, I wonder?" 
 
 "The other who?" said she, rising cautiously. 
 "There is only one Clara, you know — your Clara. 
 Won't you shake hands with her?" 
 
 She bent forwards a little as she spoke. 
 
 He looked pleased, and smiled, hesitated if he 
 should take the proffered hand or not, then, with a 
 childlike gesture, touched it rapidly, but immediately 
 drew back his own, muttering to himself, with down- 
 cast eyes, — 
 
 "How can it be?" 
 
 Clara approached him softly, took both his hands 
 in hers, and plunging her eyes into his, said, — 
 
 "Clara, your Clara." 
 
 Thus they stood, perhaps, ten seconds, hand in hand, 
 face to face. To his had returned full consciousness, 
 but a change speedily came over it. As waters touched 
 by a sunbeam, when a cloud intervenes, lose their
 
 BENEFICIAL CATASTROPHE. 311 
 
 transparency, and in a twinkling become livid, so did 
 Thornton's countenance lose all its limpidity, and grew 
 at once grey and haggard. 
 
 "Don't touch my hand," he cried, "it is cursed; 
 it is the hand of a murderer," and he struggled to 
 disengage himself from her grasp. She strove to main- 
 tain her hold, trying at the same time to soothe and 
 pacify him with gentle loving words. To no avail. 
 Just as, in the pitiable contest, they had unwittingly 
 got near to the open Avindow, a man dashed noisily 
 into the room. 
 
 This proved more than sufficient to heighten 
 Thornton's excitement into ])0sitive madness. "The 
 avenger, the avenger!" he shouted, and, shaking off 
 Miss Clara violently, in another moment he had flung 
 himself out of the window. A double scream rent the 
 air; she looked out, saw a motionless form lying on 
 the ground; saw a red stream flow from under it, and 
 fell back senseless. 
 
 The person, whose sudden entrance had brought 
 about this frightful catastrophe, was Thornton's servant, 
 who, on missing his master, had first searched the 
 grounds, and not finding him there, had next gone to 
 report his disappearance to Dr. Ternel. Unluckily, the 
 doctor was not in his study, and the man becoming 
 sensible that some sort of scuffle was taking place in 
 the next room, had hurried in; with what result, we 
 know. 
 
 He immediately raised an alarm, that speedily 
 brought half the household to the spot, Dr. Ternel 
 among the rest. Consigning Miss Clara, now in violent 
 hysterics, to the care of one of his assistants, the doctor, 
 ashy pale but collected, hastened to see M-hat could be
 
 312 LAVINIA. 
 
 done for tlie more serious case. Thornton was carried 
 witli all speed to his own room, and upon examination 
 it was found, that, beside many relatively unimportant 
 injuries, his right thigh was broken. The fracture was 
 instantly and successfully reduced, and stimulants ad- 
 ministered; every resource of art, however, failed to 
 restore the sufferer to consciousness. The day wore 
 on, night came, and another day dawned, and still 
 Thornton lay insensible, and but for his fainting, flut- 
 tering pulse, might have been supposed dead. 
 
 Great was the doctor's dread of a concussion of the 
 brain, beyond the power of mortal skill to cm'e; but 
 this dread he kept locked within his breast, while, 
 under his own superintendence, every known remedy 
 was unflinchingly persevered in; not a moment's rest 
 did he take, only leaving Thornton's sick bed to bring 
 words of encouragement to Miss Clai-a, lying in a 
 feverish state in the room of one of the needlewomen 
 of the establishment. Dr. Ternel, by tm'ns physician 
 and comforter, wrestled valiantly with both bodily and 
 mental sufferings. 
 
 About noon of the day following that of the dire 
 event, Clara, quite worn out, had fjilleu into a sleep, 
 when the doctor entered her room. He looked greatly 
 excited, and was evidently struggling for self-command. 
 It often happens that the men most hardened to painful 
 emotions lose all their power of self-control under the 
 pressure of joy. 
 
 "He is dead!" screamed Clara, starting up in her 
 bed, her eyes wide with teiTor. 
 
 "He is alive," shouted the doctor, with elation; 
 
 "he is conscious — he is I am a great fool; 
 
 prepare youi'self for "
 
 BENEFICIAL CATASTROPHE. 313 
 
 "Tell me, good doctor — oli! tell me," cried poor 
 Clara, 
 
 "Cured! cured!" was all that tlie doctor managed 
 to say, accompanied by something mightily like a 
 caper. Clara threw up her arms in siieechless grati- 
 tude, and fell back on her pillow in a paroxysm of 
 tears. 
 
 There is no better sedative for overwrought feeling 
 than a good fit of crying; and jjresently the young 
 lady Avas calm enough to hear what the doctor had to 
 relate. He told her, that after a twenty hours' applica- 
 tion of the strongest stimulants, Tliornton had at last 
 revived, and the first thing he had done, was to motion 
 to Dr. Ternel to lean down close to him, and then, in 
 a scarcely audible whisper, had asked, "Where is 
 Clara?" 
 
 "I told him," continued Dr. Ternel, "you were in 
 the lingerie^ and he desired me to come at once, and 
 tell you that, thanks to you, he was cured, and that, 
 if he lived, it would be to bless to the last day of his 
 life, her, who had restored him to reason." 
 
 Three days later, Clara was allowed to show her- 
 self to her friend ; literally but show herself, for it Avas 
 only under an express condition tliat she would neither 
 speak nor be spoken to, that Thornton and she were 
 allowed to meet. A useless proviso, after all, for 
 neither could have said a word, so choked were both 
 by tears. 
 
 Tears served indeed for all explanation between 
 them — nothing more, not a word, even after all 
 embargo to conversation had been taken off. And 
 when, installed in the sick room, with a female atten- 
 dant as chaperone, Clara proved herself the most in-
 
 314 LAvrsiA. 
 
 telligeut, tender, and devoted of nurses, never did 
 Thornton make any allusion to tlie past, but it was 
 speedily drowned in their mutual tears, 
 
 Thornton, as may easily be believed, was, under 
 the circumstances, the most docile and grateful of 
 patients; he spoke little, though he felt so much; but 
 he murmured over and over again to himself, even in 
 his sleep, "angel, angel," and often asked of some in- 
 visible friend Avhat he had done to deserve this bliss of 
 blisses. As to the kind doctor, he looked ten years 
 younger than he had done the previous month, and his 
 white cravat and shirt-frill, at one period rather ne- 
 glected, shone with all their pristine lustre. 
 
 Thus a month went by, and then another, and the 
 sun was warm, and the grounds all decked in green, 
 and the parterres amass of colour; and Thornton began 
 to hobble about upon his crutches, or rather upon his 
 cmtch, for that on the side Miss Clara walked, was 
 superseded by her arm. The sun presently grew al- 
 most too hot, and shady walks were preferred, and the 
 wooden crutch disappeared; the other, the soft, slender 
 arm, was always, oh! always there. And save a shade 
 of lameness, which would vanish in time, Mortimer 
 Thornton was, to all intents and purposes, his former 
 self again — that is, his body; for, as to his mind, 
 that had undergone a change indeed, and not for the 
 worse. 
 
 With summer's glad time, little projects budded 
 forth, and ]\[ortimer began to feel the expediency 
 of shifting his quarters, and of leaving room in the 
 establishment, to him thrice blessed, for some other 
 more in need of assistance than, thank God, he noAv 
 was. It was then Miss Clara wi-ote to Kelly and
 
 all's well that ekds well. 315 
 
 George tluat tlicy were wanted, and George and Nelly 
 set off without delay, and arrived in Paris in the first 
 week of July. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXVI. 
 
 All's well that ends well. 
 
 The scene of this last stage of our journey is the 
 court of the Barrack Hospital at Scutari, in the latter 
 days of September. I'he court swarms with soldiers 
 in all the varieties of the uniforms of the allied forces 
 in the Crimea — English, French, and Piedmontese — 
 but the British regimentals far predominate. A la- 
 mentable sight, including, as it does, every shape of 
 human wreck, which the most lugubriously disposed 
 fancy could evoke, from the poor fellow yonder, who 
 hobbles along minus a frozen foot, to that misshapen 
 bundle of living flesh, with no arms and no lags, that 
 lies upon a bench. Many crawl about with all their 
 limbs, whose wasted frames and cadaverous hues tell 
 even a more pitiful tale than that of their mutilated 
 brethren. Returning health and vigour shine in the 
 looks of a few, but even returning health and vigour 
 are sad here, from the melancholy contrast they offer 
 to decay, past recovery. 
 
 Several of the convalescents are walking about, 
 alone, in couples, or standing in little knots; many are 
 seated, conversing or reading; here and there one dic- 
 tates a letter to a more learned comrade. Occasionally, 
 a female figure dressed in gray, wearing a band across 
 her shoulder, with "Scutari Ilospital" embroidered on 
 it, flits through the crowd on some charitable errand;
 
 316 LAVDSIA. 
 
 and the crowd opens before the flitting figure, and all 
 caps are lifted, and grateful glances meet hers, as if she 
 were some gracious queen. 
 
 We must single a group out of the motley throng. 
 A handsome young man, very pale, with jet-black hair 
 closely cut, is on his knees before a bench, drawing, 
 on a large sheet of paper. Though there is no wind 
 stirring, his foraging cap lies on one corner of the 
 paper, and a stone on the other, to fix it down. The 
 gray capote of the Piedmontese infantry is thrown 
 loosely over his shoulders, as if it were a cloak, the 
 sleeves dangling empty behind. While drawing, he 
 converses with a fine young woman, grave and digni- 
 fied looking, in spite of her humble attire, and of her 
 occupation, which just then was that of mending a 
 stocking. Her southern origin is written in unmistake- 
 able characters in her raven hair and eyes and soft 
 olive complexion. A third person takes part now and 
 then in the conversation, and rarely without producing 
 an exhilarating effect. This third person is a little 
 fellow in the short gray cloak of the Sardinian Ber- 
 saglieri, and the longest and most ludicrous of striped 
 cotton caps, the tassel of which bobs perpetually back 
 and forward, in obedience to the quick and never- 
 ceasing jerks and twists of its owner's head. The busi- 
 ness of this little Bersagliere seems to be to march 
 round and round the bench, brandishing a long stick, 
 and singing whenever not speaking — 
 
 "Su, dabravl, figliuoll, coraggio, 
 Che fra i sassi s' arriva alia gloria." 
 
 "Yes," said Clelia, "it is as I told you. He came 
 on board om* steamer at Leghorn, he was bent on 
 reachin": Balaklava,"
 
 all's well that ends well. 317 
 
 "This beats all his j^ast tricks," said Paolo, laugh- 
 ing. "Count Fortiguerra turned Polish nobleman — 
 an exile of course, and singing to the g-uitar." 
 
 "And a very good affair he made of it, I assure 
 you," continued Clelia; "copper, and even silver, rained 
 into his begging plate. lie has an excellent barytone 
 voice, I must say, and he manages it well." 
 
 "A rival for you, Salvator," cried Paolo; "I'll bet 
 you anything he makes his way to Scutari one of these 
 days." 
 
 "If he does," said Salvator, "I'll take care to make 
 him go back faster than he came." 
 
 "Mere professional rivalry," quoth Paolo. "The 
 prhno tenor af^sohito is jealous of the barytone." 
 
 "Pray, Salvator, may avc ask what this infallible 
 charm is for getting rid of him?" said Clclia. 
 
 "The unmasking him, of course." 
 
 "Even if you wished to do so — which I much 
 doubt if you once saw him," said Clelia, quietly; "poor 
 fellow he is old, and sadly out at elbows — well, if 
 you had all the Avill in the world, I doubt, Salvator, 
 your power to get the better of Count Fortiguerra, or 
 whatever he may now call himself. He is a consum- 
 mate actor, and personates any character he assumes to 
 the very life. To see him in his square Polish cap, 
 and surtowt all bebraided with loops and frogs, a white 
 tuft on his chin, and large white moustaches, to hear 
 him talking of the campaign of IS.'JO, — impossible 
 not to believe him to be one of the noble relics of the 
 heroes of Ostrolenka. Not a soul on board the steamer 
 — and some Poles were there — ever doubted for a 
 moment his assumed nationality and story; and whoever
 
 318 LAVINIA. 
 
 bad ventured to impeacli tlie old rogue, would liave 
 fared ill, I assure you." 
 
 "Impudence, I perceive, is the safest capital in this 
 world," observed Mancini. "Did you find out wbetber 
 be recollected you?" 
 
 "Tbat be did," answered Clelia; "one day I spoke 
 to bim in Italian, and tliere was a full admission in 
 tbe roguisb wink tbat accompanied bis reply, ^ Farlare 
 Italiano molto (fiovinetto^ vrcehio scoi'dafo tutto quai/to.'" 
 
 "You saw notbing of bis Acbates, tbe chevalier?" 
 
 Before Clelia could reply to Paolo's question, Sal- 
 vator, in a startled tone, exclaimed, — 
 
 "By tbe Capitol, a younger brother of Mentor, I 
 declare." 
 
 Paolo turned round, and saw a tall man in plain 
 clothes striding across the court, on bis way out. 
 
 "By heaven, it is himself," cried Paolo, jumping 
 up, and darting after the retreating figure. 
 
 At the sound of bis name, Thornton looked back, 
 put up bis eye-glass, and with tbe exclamation, "God 
 be praised!" hurried towards Paolo. "Now then, I 
 am indeed happy," added Thornton, pressing the young 
 man's right band within both bis own. 
 
 Paolo fixed a long, eager, inquiring look on bis 
 benefactor. Changed, radically changed, tbe expression 
 of bis face, tbe tones of bis voice — Thornton, indeed, 
 but surely not tbe Thornton of Eome. 
 
 "Thank God, I sec you so well — better than I ever 
 hoped to see you!" said Paolo, with emotion. 
 
 "Happiness, Paolo, happiness has been the great 
 magician. Yes, indeed, many things are altered since 
 we parted, and I have been more lucky than I de- 
 served. You see in me a man restored to health of
 
 all's well that ends well. 319 
 
 miud and body, to a sound appreciation of men and 
 tilings — a man made happy, in short, by love — 
 the love of an angel, she whom I had most wronged. 
 But let us not talk of me just now, tell me how it 
 is you are here — what became of you in Paris — 
 tell me." 
 
 "Come and sit down a moment," said Paolo, point- 
 ing to the bench where he had left Clelia and Sal- 
 vator; "there are some more of your friends from liome 
 here." 
 
 "How glad my wife will be!" said Thornton. 
 
 "Your wife!" 
 
 "Did I not tell you I had an angel to take care of 
 me? Lavinia is here too, Paolo." 
 
 "Lavinia?" gasped forth Mancini. 
 
 "Ay, indeed; she makes one of our family for the 
 present. Oh, Paolo! merciful heavens! what is this?" 
 cried Thornton suddenly, stopping short, his every fea- 
 ture working with emotion. 
 
 Thornton, in mentioning Lavinia, had affectionately 
 jnxt forth his hand to take hold of Paolo's left arm, 
 when he suddenly discovered tliat there was none there. 
 
 "One of the many chances of war," said Paolo, with 
 a quiet smile; "I am thankful it is the left and not the 
 right." 
 
 "Oh, my noble boy!" exclaimed Mortimer, clasping 
 Paolo to his bosom, and, all English as he was, and 
 used to control his feelings, he burst fairly into a tit of 
 crying. 
 
 Clelia and Salvator now approached, and greetings 
 were exchanged. Too moved to say much, Thornton 
 made up by warmth of manner for deficiency of speech. 
 They all sat oii a bench, and before everything else,
 
 320 LAVINIA. 
 
 Paolo bad to give a very minute account of all tliat 
 related to bis wound, and consequent amputation. This 
 was followed hy a short summary of what had befallen 
 him since his separation from Thornton; nor did be 
 spare himself when be got on the chapter of bis Paris 
 dissipation. Mortimer, in bis turn, related his own 
 strange story. The reader already knows most of its 
 gloomy, but only a little of its bright side. To com- 
 plete tliis last, a few lines will suffice. 
 
 Thornton and Clara's marriage had taken place at 
 the British embassy in the month of August, and bride 
 and bridegroom were on the eve of starting for Cypress 
 Hall, accompanied, of course, by Mr. and Mrs. Aveling, 
 when they received very alarming tidings from Scutari. 
 Lavinia had been struck down by cholera. Thornton 
 forthwith proposed that they should go to Scutari. "We 
 shall thus realize your former plan," said he to Clara, 
 "and enter actively into that partnership in good works, 
 which we have agreed that our united life should be. 
 If we arrive too late — which God forbid! — to be of 
 use to our dear young fi-iend, we may be in time, at 
 all events, to do some little good to othei's." 
 
 Mrs. Thornton wanted no persuasion, she bad had 
 the very same thought. Dr. Ternel, consulted upon 
 this project, approved of it warmly. A poet like Mr. 
 Aveling could not but have bis fancy tickled by the 
 prospect of a journey to the East. Mrs. Aveling bad 
 no will but her husband's will; in short, the quatuor 
 embarked at Marseilles instead of at Boulogne, and 
 had the great consolation, on arriving at Scutari, to 
 find Lavinia out of danger, and fast recovering. 
 
 Within a few miles of the general hospital, where 
 Lavinia lay, was an untenanted country-house, the pro-
 
 all's well that ends well. 321 
 
 perty of an English mercliant, wlio preferred remaining 
 for tlie present in Constantinople. This villa, tolerably 
 well furnished, the proprietor had willingly let to 
 Thornton; and as soon as it could be safely done, the 
 exhausted convalescent had been conveyed thither. 
 
 The general hospital, just mentioned above, it is 
 scarcely necessary to explain, was not the same as that 
 into whose court we have just introduced the reader, 
 the common appellation of which was barrack hospital, 
 and distant about half a mile from the general hospital. 
 In this last it was that Lavinia had been on duty when 
 taken ill; and to it, save an occasional visit to the other 
 on special business, Thornton and his party had confined 
 their charitable exertions. This was how it had hap- 
 pened, that neither Paolo, nor Salvator, nor Clelia, in- 
 mates long before Paolo of the barrack hospital, had 
 ever met Thornton. 
 
 "Are you able for a short hour's ride?" asked Mor- 
 timer of Paolo, when their mutual explanations were 
 over; "but I forgot you are no rider." 
 
 "I can ride pretty well now," answered Paolo 
 reddening; "I have paid dear enough for my in- 
 struction." 
 
 "But are you sure it will not over-fatigue you?" in- 
 sisted Thornton. 
 
 " Quite sure — I consider myself all but well." 
 
 " The road, if road it can be called , is so abomin- 
 ably bad, that it admits of no carriage; but we may 
 make a leisurely ride of it. I know that my wife will 
 not be satisfied unless you go to see her and her friend 
 directly. What do you say, shall I come for yo\i to- 
 Lavinia. II. 21
 
 322 LAVIXIA. 
 
 morrow morning at ten? Will that suit you? I will 
 accompany you back in the evening." 
 
 "I see, I am doomed always to be a trouble to 
 you," said Paolo. 
 
 "Trouble! " repeated Mortimer, "that is a word which 
 won't do between you and me. I am going to re-assert 
 all my rights as Mentor, my dear Telemachus, I give 
 you fair warning," and with this kindly threat Mortimer 
 took his departure. 
 
 Paolo had not a wink of sleep that night, and we 
 might bet a good sum, safe to win, that his were not 
 the only pair of eyes of our acquaintance, which, within 
 the circuit of less than a hundred miles, obstinately re- 
 fused to close in slumber. 
 
 With military precision, Thornton arrived at the 
 barrack hospital at ten next morning; Paolo in a mo- 
 ment was in the saddle, and off they went. The road 
 was execrable, Paolo did not find it out — the prospect 
 was bewitching, he was blind to it — Thornton spoke 
 — he was deaf to his words. Sight, hearing, sensa- 
 tions, were all engrossed by one image, Lavinia; one 
 thought, he was about to see her again. His friend un- 
 derstood this state, and respected it, maintaining silence 
 for a time; but when within half an hour of their desti- 
 nation, he forced Paolo's attention from Lavinia to La- 
 vinia's history. 
 
 Paolo listened eagerly enough now, to Mortimer's 
 account of her altered circumstances, how it had come 
 out, shortly after Mrs. Jones's death that Lavinia was 
 not Mr. Jones's niece nor in any way related to him, 
 but the child of a poor weaver, which out of interested 
 motives had been substituted for the real Lavinia Jones;
 
 all's well that ends well. 323 
 
 how, on discovering this, Lavinia had left Mr, Jones's 
 house to seek by her own exertions to support herself, 
 and how it was in the course of such endeavours, that 
 she had been brought in contact with the present Mrs. 
 Thornton; how at last the consequence of this meeting 
 had been that the two young women had volunteered 
 to go to the East, whither, however, Lavinia alone had 
 gone, her companion remaining behind in Paris for 
 Thornton's sake. 
 
 Thornton made no mention of the circumstances, 
 which had obliged Lavinia to quit Mr. Jones's house, 
 in order not to give his friend gratuitous pain. He also 
 withheld another fact, viz. that Lavinia's parents had 
 never been married. This was another secret, and of 
 so delicate a nature, that Thornton did not feel justified 
 in divulging it without the express permission of the 
 person it concerned. 
 
 "It was all for the dear girl's good," wound up 
 Thornton; "she is come out of her trials a new and a 
 charming creature. Thrice blessed the man who may 
 call her his own." 
 
 Paolo did not speak on this hint, and the rest of 
 the ride passed in unbroken silence. 
 
 Two ladies were sitting in the porch of the villa, 
 when the riders dismounted, neither of them Lavinia. 
 These two ladies, so like each other that they could not 
 be supposed other than two sisters, and a tall, rather 
 absorbed-looking gentleman, with the most shaggy iiud 
 disordered of natural wigs, came forward to shake hands 
 with Paolo, and, taking possession of him, half led, half 
 carried him into a sitting-room, forced him, in spite of 
 
 21*
 
 324 LAVINIA. 
 
 his protestations that he was not in the least tired, to 
 stretch himself out at full length on a sofa, covered him 
 ■with shawls, and overpowered him with consommes, 
 wines, kind looks, and kindest inquiries. 
 
 Paolo was still panting under this avalanche of cor- 
 diality, when Thornton appeared, leading in Lavinia. 
 
 "Here is our other interesting invalid," he said; "I 
 think there is no need of any introduction." 
 
 The meeting between the two was such, as from 
 their respective situations, and the circumstances under 
 which they met, might have been anticipated; full of 
 repressed emotion, and painful embarrassment. Mrs. 
 Thornton was not slow in coming to the rescue; no 
 sooner had they shaken hands without a word, than she 
 passed her arm round Lavinia's waist, and led her to 
 a seat, while Mrs, Aveling recommenced pressing on 
 Paolo, who, on Lavinia's entrance, had jumped up from 
 the couch, the expediency of lying down again, and al- 
 lowing himself to be covered up. But this time he 
 stoutly and successfully resisted her persuasions. 
 
 Paolo was the hero of the moment, the centre of the 
 general interest and curiosity. He had to tell over 
 again the story of his wound, and of the loss of his 
 arm, of his illness in Paris, to describe the Prosper fa- 
 mily, and all their kindness, and to exj)laiu what had 
 led him to think of volunteering for the Crimea — a 
 dangerous topic this last, and one on which the presence 
 of the ladies forced him to some concealments. After 
 this came Mr. Aveling with his never-ending inquiries 
 about Rome, often interrupted by Thornton's, about 
 some point of Paolo's recent life, as to which the good 
 gentleman's curiosity was not easily satisfied.
 
 all's W£ll that ends well. 325 
 
 She who ought to have had most to ask was the 
 least forward to put questions. Lavinia spoke little, 
 and the little she did say had no reference to the past; 
 on the contrary, she took care to avoid any allusion to 
 it. She expressed her pleasure in knowing that Clelia 
 was so near, and said how glad she should be to see 
 her again. Though by this time Paolo's and Lavinia's 
 manner to one another had become natural and friendly 
 enough, there was still a shade of reserve and constraint 
 in it. Her eyes never rested on his, nor his on hers, 
 with that full direct long glance, which penetrates be- 
 neath the surface — their glances glided over each 
 other's, as if both were on their guard. 
 
 The change, which little more than a twelvemonth 
 had effected in their appearance, a change rendered still 
 more striking by Paolo's military dress, and Lavinia's 
 garb of a sister of charity, might to some extent have 
 accounted, had there been no other reason, for the dif- 
 ficulty they experienced in resuming anything of their 
 former familiarity. 
 
 Lavinia was still beautiful, perhaps more beautiful 
 than ever, but her beauty had assumed a different char- 
 acter to that he formerly admired. SorroAv, reflection, 
 and the habit of gentle and lofty thoughts , had softened, 
 and, as it were, spiritualized her countenance, had im- 
 pressed on it a calm serenity and dignity, which made 
 her quite a new being. 
 
 Paolo was not less altered on his side: the features 
 of the youth had ripened and settled into those of the 
 man, and repentance and humility had breathed a new 
 spirit into them. The experience he had had of life and 
 of himself, had sobered and subdued his manner. Add
 
 326 LAvixu. 
 
 to this, his paleness and touching infirmity, and a 
 complete transformation was the consequence. 
 
 But there was another reason than that of their out- 
 ward change, for their looking ill at ease, and on their 
 guard; and this was that they were actually on their 
 guard. Paolo and Lavinia had so far profited by the 
 lessons they had received, as to be strongly impressed 
 with the conviction of being each unworthy of the other, 
 and accordingly in duty bound to renounce each other. 
 It was this preconception, which had made their first 
 meeting so full of reticence, and so deep-rooted was it, 
 that their first impulse, had they followed it, would have 
 been to fall at each other's feet. How could she, the 
 silly thing of yesterday, the outcast of to-day, ever hft 
 up her eyes to him, the austere youth, the hero, the 
 martyr? How could he, the fallen idealist, the impure 
 sinner, the intentional felo-de-se, ever aspire to her as 
 she now was, purified by trial, sanctified by self- 
 sacrifice? Hence their studious attention, their vigilance, 
 not to say or do anything which might be consti'ued to 
 imply the assertion of presumptuous claims , forfeited and 
 abandoned for ever. And from this study, this vigilance, 
 arose that consti-aint, hastily interpreted on both parts 
 as the sign of altered feelings. 
 
 The full moon shone on the two friends' ride back 
 to the hospital — a light so calm, so sweet, so melan- 
 choly, that Paolo could willingly have wept. It made 
 him think of the night of the ball at Torlonia's, and of 
 Thornton's bitter confidences about the very woman 
 who now formed his crown of bliss. 
 
 Mingled were the impressions, which the Roman 
 brought back from his visit — regret and discourage-
 
 all's well that ends well. 327 
 
 meut on one liand, unbounded admiration and sympathy 
 on the other. Paolo was not a man to breathe the same 
 atmosphere with such a better order of beings as the two 
 sisters, without carrying away with him some of its 
 elevating spirit. 
 
 "Well may you call yourself the luckiest fellow in 
 creation," he burst forth enthusiastically; "Mrs. Thornton 
 is an angel, and Mrs. Aveling is another." 
 
 "And Lavinia, pray what title is she to receive?" 
 inquired Mortimer, half jocosely, yet not without some 
 anxiety. 
 
 "She is worthy of her friends, and that is saying 
 everything," was Paolo's reply. 
 
 "Then you agree with me that thrice blessed will 
 be the man who gains that prize?" 
 
 "Surely; but he must be hold who aspires so high." 
 
 "I don't quite seize your meaning," observed Mor- 
 timer. 
 
 "My meaning, however, is clearly stated," said 
 Paolo. "Where is the man worthy of her?" 
 
 "Yet I once knew a young rogue, who had the 
 audacity to think himself worthy of her," laughed the 
 Englishman. 
 
 "So did I," proceeded Paolo , "but she was not then 
 what she is now; and the silly rogue you allude to, 
 though presumptuous, was nevertheless pure and possessed 
 of all his limbs, whereas he is now humble, stained, 
 and a cripple." 
 
 "H— m! but is not humility after all a potent recom- 
 mendation to the choicest of the fair sex?" asked Thorn- 
 ton. "And those you style cripples , when crippled from 
 certain causes, are they not apt to look only the more
 
 328 LAVINIA. 
 
 interesting in tlieir eyes? to say nothing of the occasion 
 for devotedness which such cases afford. And as for 
 past sins, women are for ever ready to bestow forgive- 
 ness, and to render good for evil. Am I not myself a 
 case in point?" 
 
 "Yes," said Paolo, "but there are sins and sins." 
 
 "I'll lay you a hundred to one," returned Thornton, 
 "that your sins are easily forgiven. Will you commission 
 me to make your confession to Lavinia?" 
 
 "Do," answered Paolo; "till that is done, I shall 
 feel as if I were playing the hypocrite with her; but, 
 above all, extenuate nothing." 
 
 "I promise you I will not; but now, suppose she 
 passes a sponge over the past — wipes it all out." 
 
 "Tempter!" cried Paolo; "why try to lull my con- 
 science with fallacious hopes?" 
 
 Thornton had a ready answer on his lips, but he 
 gulped it down. He remembered in time, that Paolo 
 did not yet know all Lavinia's story, and he judged it 
 better not to push the subject further, until he had spoken 
 to Lavinia. 
 
 A curiously analogous conversation was passing at 
 the same moment between Mrs. Thornton and Lavinia, 
 with similar but yet more definite results. "Never, 
 whatever her feelings might be," said Lavinia, "no, 
 not for worlds, would she fasten her disgrace on an 
 honourable man." 
 
 Thornton's horses, what with visitors and mes- 
 sengers, had a sorry time of it for the next ten days. 
 Merry Salvator obtained a great success with the Eng- 
 lish family; quiet Clelia, perhaps, even a greater, espe- 
 cially with Lavinia. The Koman girl not seldom car-
 
 all's well that ends well. 329 
 
 ried away morsels of comfort, which she bestowed in 
 certain desponding quarters. She even once went so 
 far as to be guilty of a great indiscretion, by revealing 
 that an old pencil sketch, dated Rome, September, and 
 signed P. M. , a sketch of Mrs. Jones and Lavinia", and 
 which somehow or other had accompanied the latter to 
 the Crimea, occupied a prominent place on the walls of 
 the young lady's bedroom. Nor was it long before 
 Thornton reported that the revelations of Paolo's short- 
 comings in Paris, had been received in a most Chris- 
 tian spirit. Under the many gentle incitements to 
 courage he received, the young man's sense of his un- 
 worthiness of the great prize began to lose something 
 of its intensity, and hope to revive in his breast. Never- 
 theless, there was but a trifling amendment in the situa- 
 tion ^ the same painful restraint marred the pleasure of 
 the unavowed lovers' intercourse. 
 
 In this awkward position of affairs, Mr. and Mrs. 
 Thornton laid their wise heads together to find some 
 means of producing a crisis. 
 
 "These two children adore each other," quoth Mor- 
 timer, "and are pining away, and making themselves 
 miserable from the absurd notion, that neither is deserving 
 of the other. How are we to get such nonsense out of 
 their heads?" 
 
 "No one," said Clara, "can put it out of Lavinia's 
 head but Signer Paolo; and as for Signer Paolo, I be- 
 lieve you are the only one to manage him. You must 
 begin by him." 
 
 "I am ready to do anything," replJCd the husband; 
 "but before further urging him to come to the point, 
 I think it indispensable that he should be informed of
 
 330 LAVI^nA. 
 
 the circumstance, on wliich Lavinia lays sucli a pre- 
 posterous weiglit, and which I have kept from him till 
 now." 
 
 ""Wliy should we not outrun discretion for once," 
 said ]\Ii-s. Thornton, "and take upon ourselves the re- 
 sponsibility, without distressing Lavinia by asking her 
 consent? Let him know everything; and if the bar 
 sinister in her escutcheon makes no diflFerence in his 
 feelings, why, then tell him that it is that, and that 
 alone, which causes Lavinia's reserve towards h.im, 
 and that I, Clara Thornton, know she loves him de- 
 votedly." 
 
 In pursuance of this plan, as Thornton was riding 
 with Paolo the next day towards the villa, the English- 
 man said, 
 
 "Suppose there were some blot on Lavinia's birth, 
 would that modify youi* views with regard to her?" 
 
 "How can you ask such an absurd question?" said 
 Paolo. "Xo more than if you were to tell me, she 
 was the heiress of the mightiest monarch in Europe. 
 How can one be made responsible for an accident in- 
 dependent of one's will, and consequently excluding 
 either merit or demerit? Whether Lavinia is the 
 daughter of a Prince, or the child of a poor artisan, 
 can that alter the essence of her being, make her less 
 or more good, change her one iota from the lovely, 
 blessed creature she is?" 
 
 "Certainly not," said Thornton. "Well, then, as 
 you have doubtless already guessed from my question, 
 there is a stigma attached to the dear girl's birth. Her 
 parents were never man-ied; and now you have the key 
 to the resei^ve she maintains toward you. In her inno-
 
 all's well that ends well, 331 
 
 cence she fancies that some disgrace attaches to her, 
 and makes her unworthy of you; but, believe me, her 
 happiness depends as much on you as yours on her. 
 It is for you to overcome her scruples, Paolo." 
 
 "And so help me God, I will try," exclaimed Paolo 
 with fervour. "If I succeed, and she accepts me, then 
 I am blessed indeed; if not, I go by the steamer that 
 leaves to-morrow." 
 
 , Lavinia and Mrs. Thornton were sitting at work in 
 a pleasant room over the porch; thither Thornton led 
 Paolo whispering, — 
 
 "Now or never, I'll pave the way for you;" and 
 going towards the ladies, he added aloud, "I advise 
 you, ladies, to lay violent hands upon this traitor, who 
 meditates a flight." 
 
 "Oh! Signer Paolo," remonstrated Clara in painful 
 and unfeigned surprise, "surely you are not really 
 going away?" Lavinia did not speak, but all colour 
 left her cheek. 
 
 "I may possibly have to go. I am not sure yet," 
 faltered Paolo, almost choked by emotion. "My going 
 or staying will depend on — Miss Lavinia." 
 
 "On me?" cried Lavinia in sudden alarm. 
 
 "Yes, on you," pursued Paolo, now speaking with 
 great resolution. "I have a petition to make, on the 
 issue of which much more is at stake than my going 
 or staying — I mean the whole happiness or unhappi- 
 ness of my life. Lavinia, mine is a most ambitious 
 request, and yet made in all the humility of my heart." 
 Saying this, he knelt down on both knees, and took her 
 two hands in his. "Lavinia, will you undertake to
 
 332 LAVINIA. 
 
 make me worthy of you , by bestowing on me the 
 blessing of yom- companionship through life?" 
 
 Overcome by contending emotions, with eyes averted 
 from his pleading ones, Lavina cried in a broken 
 voice, — 
 
 "Pray, Signor Paolo, spare me — it is impossible 
 — you don't know — " 
 
 "I know this," resumed Paolo passionately, "that 
 there stands between you and me a prejudice of yours, 
 which I am here on my knees to remove. Lavinia, I 
 entreat you, let me have the benefit of my long-cherished 
 opinions, whatever others may think. I don't make 
 them for this present emergency. Long, long ago, you 
 heard me say, that merit or demerit were strictly per- 
 sonal, and that the transmission of a badge of honour 
 or of dishonour to such as had done nothing to deserve 
 the one or the other, was the acme of absurdity in my 
 eyes; wrong or right, what I thought then I think now. 
 Oh! Lavinia, Lavinia, don't sacrifice a loving heart to 
 a mere misconception on your part. Tnist me, my 
 whole life shall be spent iu proving to you, the high 
 sense I have of the great boon I am asking from you. 
 
 Lavinia, for all answer, burst into a great fit of 
 tears. And now Thornton and his wife, the greatly 
 moved witnesses of this scene, joined their arguments 
 to Paolo's entreaties. 
 
 The sti'uggle was long and obstinate, but love had 
 the best of it at last, and Paolo from that day became 
 an inmate of the villa. 
 
 Towards the end of December our whole party of 
 friends left Scutari for Turin, whither Clelia and Sal- 
 vator had long preceded them. It was in the capital
 
 all's well that ends -well. 333 
 
 of Piedmont, that tlie double marriage of Paolo and 
 Lavinia, and of Salvator and Clelia, took place on the 
 same day, and at the same church. Thus came to be 
 fulfilled Salvator's fantastic anticipation about his own 
 and his friend's wedding day, and thus our performance 
 is at an end, to the satisfaction, we hope, at least of 
 the lovers of gay finales. A tale which winds up with 
 three marriages ought to be as good as three vaude- 
 villes.
 
 334 LAVINIA. 
 
 MORE LAST WORDS. 
 
 Paolo has had a house built after his own design 
 on the Lago Maggiore, between Intra and Pallanza. 
 It is as unpretending as its owner, but spacious and in 
 a lovely situation. Tbe garden in front stretches to 
 the edge of the lake, and there is a hillock behind 
 planted with Italian pines. A suite of rooms on the 
 second story are exclusively destined for the Thorntons 
 and Avelings, and at the top of the house, adjoining 
 Paolo's atelier, are two rooms fitted up for Clelia and 
 Salvator. 
 
 Paolo has taken to painting again, and can do so 
 without inconvenience, thanks to a most skilfully con- 
 trived artificial arm. Great as his excellence is, his 
 beau ideal still, as of yore, keeps flying before him, 
 just beyond his reach; but he takes his disappointment 
 more philosophically now, that he has, according to his 
 own account, secured the beau ideal of a wife. Two 
 little charming impediments in the shape of a boy and 
 a girl, arriving in reasonable succession, came in the 
 way for some time of the yearly visits, the Mancinis, 
 according to agreements, were to pay to Cypress Hall 
 and Owlscombe; and therefore the inmates ofOwlscombe 
 and Cypress Hall had to obey the proverb descended 
 to us from Mahomet. But nothing has happened lately
 
 MORE LAST WORDS. 335 
 
 to prevent our liero and heroine's journey to Dorset- 
 shire. 
 
 The Thorntons and Avelings inhabit by turns, but 
 always together, Owlscombe and Cypress Hall, that is 
 when not in the Mancini Villa on the Lago Maggiore. 
 Living quietly and chiefly for themselves, and not for 
 their neighbours, they are rather unpopular with the 
 gentry around, but very popular with the cottagers, 
 especially with the needy and sick. Mr. Aveling has 
 just published with great success his new poem. The 
 Gladiator, conceived and begun in 1856, at Rome, 
 whither he and his wife went, and made some con- 
 siderable stay, after the marriage of the Mancinis and 
 the Giglis. 
 
 Salvator and Clelia are settled at Turin. Salvator 
 is one of the scene painters at the Carignano Theatre, 
 and Clelia has passed her examination as a school- 
 mistress and teacher for one of the government schools. 
 Husband and wife earn enough to be able to economize, 
 and the vivacious little man has visions already of a 
 villa of his own near that of Paolo. Whenever he or 
 Clelia have a few spare moments, they run down to 
 Lago Maggiore, where they are always welcome. 
 
 Prosper and Prudence are no longer to be found 
 on the Quai Montebello, they have been promoted to 
 an omnibus bureau near the Madeleine, where they 
 labour on in unaltered contentment. Whenever the 
 Mancinis pass through Paris on their way to England 
 or back, they never fail to visit these their Parisian 
 friends, and great are the rejoicings on these occasions. 
 
 Benoit has made over his douche and vapour de- 
 partment to a younger man, who pays him a pension 
 of two francs and a half a day, and the abdicated
 
 336 LAVIXIA. 
 
 monarch of the bath has migrated to his godson's new 
 neighbourhood. He makes himself useful in many Tvajs, 
 attends the youngsters to and from school, and takes 
 them on holidays for long walks. 
 
 Pelissier, alias Du Genre, has been as good as his 
 word. The moment the Italian question was jiosee pour 
 tout de bon, to use his own expression, he volunteered 
 as a common soldier, and went through the whole cam- 
 paign with great bravery, and lucky fellow, returned 
 to Paris without a scratch; his only regret being, as he 
 ■wrote to Paolo, that he was stopped just when he was 
 beginning to take to a soldier's life. 
 
 Iilr. Jones has married a young and handsome lady, 
 and is full of contentment at the birth of a long coveted 
 son and heir. His wealth and influence are still on 
 the increase, and literally he has nothing to wish for 
 but a change in his name. We see no other remedy 
 for that but a peerage. Who knows? Stranger things 
 have happened. 
 
 Lady Augusta, now Countess Terrol, is still La- 
 vinia's most intimate friend, and their correspondence 
 goes on as regularly as in the days of the diary from 
 Eome. Her mother, Lady Williugford, also retains a 
 maternal interest in her former protegee. 
 
 As to the Marchioness Delfuego y Arcos, the latest 
 news of her ladyship is, that she rents a villa on the 
 Lake of Como, and swims and races and shoots and 
 sings there, with a select circle of bipeds and quadrupeds 
 about her, as of yore in the Villa Torralba. 
 
 THE EXD.
 
 
 .LIBRARY 
 fY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Santa Barbara 
 
 jook is due on the last date 
 
 STAMPED below. 
 
 2/92 Series 9482
 
 3 1205 01102 4195 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 A A 001 424 455 2
 
 ol:>i>" • . 
 
 
 vsmsL