3 1822 02772 6777 

 
 P I C C I L A. 
 
 THE 
 
 PRISONER OF FENESTRELLA 
 
 OR, 
 
 CAPTIVITY CAPTIVE. 
 
 BY X. B. SAINTINE 
 
 A NEW EDITION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD. 
 
 1848.
 
 'sssrrr op 
 
 LtPORNtA 
 N DIEGO
 
 PUBLISHERS' ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 During the eight years which have elapsed since the first 
 appearance of Picciola, it has assumed the position of a 
 classic. It has been crowned by the Academie Francaise ; 
 and has passed through numberless editions, in every form, 
 and at every price, from the costly and elegant edition de luxe, 
 to the cheap volume for schools. It has been translated into 
 several foreign languages. In England it has met with a 
 cordial reception ; and in this country, the favour with 
 which it has been received is attested by the number of 
 editions through which it has passed, the appearance of an 
 impression in the original, and the demand for imported 
 copies. 
 
 Under these circumstances, the publishers have thought 
 that the numerous admirers of this beautiful little tale might 
 be pleased to possess it in a form more suited to its merits 
 than any in which it has heretofore appeared in this country ; 
 they have therefore prepared this edition, with Illustrations, 
 and an Introduction from the author, with the assurance of 
 an extended sale. 
 
 Philadelphia, April, 1847. 
 
 (5)
 
 INTRODUCTORY EPISTLE 
 
 TO 
 
 MADAME VIRGINIE ANCELOT. 
 
 I have re-read my book, and I tremble in offering it to 
 you; yet who can appreciate it better? You like neither 
 romances nor dramas ; my work is neither a romance nor a 
 drama. 
 
 The tale which I have related, madam, is simple ; so sim- 
 ple, indeed, that perhaps never has pen laboured on a subject 
 more utterly restricted. My heroine is so unimportant ! 
 Not that I wish beforehand to throw the fault of failure on 
 her ; for if the action of my little history is thus meagre, its 
 principle is lofty, its aim is elevated ; and if I fail in attain- 
 ing my purpose, it will be that my strength is insufficient. 
 Yet I am not careless as to the fate of my labor, for in it 
 are the deepest of my convictions ; and believe me that, 
 more from benevolence than vanity, I hope, though the 
 crowd of ordinary readers may pass over my work with 
 carelessness, that still for some it may possess a charm, for 
 others, utility. 
 
 Do you find interest in the truth of a story? If so, I offer 
 that to you to compensate for what you may not find in the 
 story itself. 
 
 You remember that lovely woman, so lately dead, the 
 Countess de Charney, whose expression, though mournful, 
 seemed already to breathe of Heaven. Her look, so open, 
 
 (7)
 
 \ 
 
 viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 so sweet, which seemed to caress while wandering over you, 
 and to make the heart swell as it lingered ; from which one 
 turned away only to be drawn again within its enchantment ; 
 you have seen it, at first timid as that of a young girl, sud- 
 denly become animated, brilliant, and self-possessed, exhibit- 
 ing all its native energy, power, and devotion. Such was 
 the woman ; a marvellous union of tenderness and courage, 
 of the weakness of sense and the strength of soul. 
 
 Such have I known her ; such did others know her, long 
 before me, when her soul was excited only by the affections of 
 a daughter and of a wife. You understand the pleasure with 
 which I dwell with you on such a woman ; I may not often 
 again have the opportunity. Still, she is not the heroine of 
 my story. 
 
 In the only visit which you made her at Belleville, where 
 was the tomb of her husband, and now, alas ! her own, you 
 more than once seemed surprised with what you saw. You 
 were struck with an old, white-haired man, who sat next 
 her at table, whose appearance and manners were coarse, 
 even for his class. You saw him speak familiarly with the 
 daughter of the countess, who, beautiful as her mother had 
 been, answered him with kindness, and even with deference, 
 giving him the name of godfather, which, indeed, was the 
 relation he bore to her. Perhaps you have not forgotten a 
 flower, dried and colorless, in a rich case ; and, also, that 
 when you asked her concerning it, a saddened look stole 
 over the countenance of the widow, and your questions re- 
 mained unanswered. This answer you now have before you. 
 
 Honored with the confidence and affection of the countess, 
 more than once, before that simple flower, between her and 
 the venerable man, have I listened to long and touching de- 
 tails. Besides this, I hold the manuscripts of the count, his 
 letters, and his two prison journals. 
 
 I have carefully retained in my memory those precious 
 details ; I have attentively perused those manuscripts ; I have
 
 INTRODUCTION. [ x 
 
 made important extracts from those letters ; and in those 
 journals have I found my inspiration. If, then, I succeed in 
 rousing in your soul the feelings which have agitated mine 
 in presence of these relics of the captive, my fears for my 
 little book are vain. 
 
 One word. I have given throughout to my hero his title 
 of count, even during a time in which such dignities were 
 obsolete. This is because I have always heard him so called, 
 in French and in Italian; and in my memory his name and 
 his title are inseparably connected. 
 
 You now understand me, madam. You will not expect 
 in this book a history of important events, or the vivid de- 
 tails of love. I have spoken of utility ; and of what use is 
 a love-story 1 In that sweet study, practice is worth more 
 than theory, and each one needs his own experience : each 
 one hastens to acquire it, and cares little to seek it already 
 prepared in books. It is useless for old men, moralists by 
 necessity, to cry, " Shun that dangerous rock, where we 
 have once been shipwrecked !" Their children answer 
 them, " You have tempted that sea, and we must tempt it in 
 turn. We claim our right of shipwreck." 
 
 Yet is there in my story something still of love ; but, be- 
 fore all, of a man's love for shall I tell you ? No, read 
 
 and you will learn. 
 
 X. B. SAINTINE.
 
 PICCIOLA. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Charles Veramont, Count de Charney, whose name is not 
 wholly effaced from the annals of modern science, and may be 
 found inscribed in the mysterious archives of the police under 
 Napoleon, was endowed by nature with an uncommon capacity 
 for study. Unluckily, however, his intelligence of mind, schooled 
 by the forms of a college education, had taken a disputatious turn. 
 He was an able logician rather than a sound reasoner; and there 
 was in Charney the composition of a learned man, but not of a 
 philosopher. 
 
 At twenty-five, the count was master of seven languages; but 
 instead of following the example of certain learned Polyglots, who 
 seem to acquire foreign idioms for the express purpose of exposing 
 their incapacity to the contempt of foreigners, as well as of their 
 own countrymen, through a confusion of tongues, as well as intel- 
 lect, Charney regarded his acquirements as a linguist only as a 
 stepping-stone to others of higher value. Commanding the ser- 
 vices of so many menials of the intellect, he assigned to each his 
 business, his duty, his fields to cultivate. The Germans served 
 him for metaphysics ; the English and Italians for politics and 
 jurisprudence ; all for history ; to the remotest sources of which 
 he travelled in company with the Romans, Greeks, and Hebrews. 
 
 In devoting himself to these serious studies, the count did not 
 neglect the accessory sciences. Till at length, alarmed by the 
 extent of the vast horizon, which seemed to expand as he ad- 
 vanced ; finding himself stumble at every step in the labyrinth in 
 which he was bewildered — weary of the pursuit of Truth — (the 
 unknown goddess,) — he began to contemplate history as the lie 
 of ages, and attempted to reconstruct the edifice on a surer foun- 
 
 2 (13)
 
 14 PICCIOLA. 
 
 dation. He composed a new historical romance, which the learned 
 derided from envy, and society from ignorance. 
 
 Political and legislative science furnished him with more posi- 
 tive groundwork; but these, from one end of Europe to the other, 
 were crying aloud for Reform ; and when he tried to specify a 
 few of the more flagrant abuses, they proved so deeply rooted in 
 the social system, — so many destinies were based on a fallacious 
 principle, that he was actually discouraged. Charney had not the 
 strength of mind, or insensibility of heart, indispensable to over- 
 throw, in other nations, all that the tornado of the Revolution had 
 left standing in his own. 
 
 He recollected, too, that hosts of estimable men, as learned, and 
 perhaps as well-intentioned as himself, professed theories in total 
 opposition to his own. If he were to set the four quarters of the 
 globe on fire for the mere satisfaction of a chimera ? This consi- 
 deration, more startling than even his historical doubts, reduced 
 him to the most painful perplexity. 
 
 Metaphysics afforded him a last resource. In the ideal world, 
 an overthrow is less alarming; since ideas may clash without dan- 
 ger in infinite space. In waging such a war, he no longer risked 
 the safety of others ; he endangered only his own peace of mind. 
 
 The farther he advanced into the mysteries of metaphysical sci- 
 ence, analyzing, arguing, disputing, — the more deeply he became 
 enveloped in darkness and mystery. Truth, ever flying from his 
 grasp, vanishing under his gaze, seemed to deride him like the 
 mockery of a will-o'-the-wisp, shining to delude the unwary. When 
 he paused to admire its luminous brilliancy, all suddenly grew 
 dark ; the meteor having disappeared to shine again on some re- 
 mote and unexpected point; and when, persevering and tenacious, 
 Charney armed himself with patience, followed with steady steps, 
 and attained the sanctuary, the fugitive was gone again ! This 
 time he had overstepped the mark ! When he fancied the meteor 
 was in his hand — grasped firmly in his hand — it had already 
 slipped through his fingers, multiplying into a thousand brilliant 
 and delusive particles. Twenty rival truths perplexed the horizon 
 of his mind, like so many false beacons beguiling him to ship- 
 wreck. After vacillating between Bossuet and Spinoza, — deism 
 and atheism, — bewildered among spiritualists, materialists, ideal- 
 ists, ontologists, and eclectics, he took refuge in universal scep- 
 ticism, comforting his uneasy ignorance by bold and universal 
 negation. 
 
 Having set aside the doctrine of innate ideas, and the revelation 
 of theologians, as well as the opinions of Leibnitz, Locke, and 
 Kant, the Count de Charney now resigned himself to the grossest 
 pantheism, unscrupulously denying the existence of one high and 
 supreme God. The contradiction existing between ideas and
 
 PIC CI OLA. 15 
 
 things, the irregularities of the created world, the unequal distri- 
 bution of strength and endowment among mankind, inspired his 
 overtasked brain with the conclusion that the world is a conglo- 
 meration of insensate matter, and Chance the lord of all. 
 
 Chance, therefore, became his God here, and nothingness his 
 hope hereafter. He adopted his new creed with avidity — almost 
 with triumph — as if the audacious invention had been his own. It 
 was a relief to get rid of the doubts which tormented him by a 
 sweeping clause of incredulity ; and from that moment, Charney, 
 bidding adieu to science, devoted himself exclusively to the plea- 
 sures of the world. 
 
 The death of a relation placed him in possession of a consider- 
 able fortune. France, reorganized by the consulate, was resuming 
 its former habits of luxury and splendour. The clarion of victory 
 was audible from every quarter ; and all was joy and festivity in 
 the capital. The Count de Charney figured brilliantly in the 
 world of magnificence, elegance, taste, and enlightenment. Having 
 attracted around him the gay, the graceful, and the witty, he un- 
 closed the gates of his splendid mansion to the glittering divinities 
 of the day, — to fashion, bon ton, and distinction of every kind. 
 Lost in the giddy crowd, he took part in all its enjoyments and 
 dissipations; amazed that amid such a vortex of pleasures he 
 should" still remain a stranger to happiness ! 
 
 Music, dress, the perfumed atmosphere surrounding the fair and 
 fashionable, were the chief objects of his interest. Vainly had he 
 attempted to devote himself to the society of men renowned for 
 wit and understanding. The ignorance of the learned, the errors 
 of the wise, excited only his compassion or contempt. 
 
 Such is the misfortune of proficiency ! No one reaches the 
 artificial standard we have created. Even those who are as learned 
 as ourselves are learned after some other fashion ; and from our 
 lofty eminence we look down upon mankind as upon a crowd of 
 dwarfs and pigmies. In the hierarchy of intellect, as in that 
 of power, elevation is isolated : — to be alone is the destiny of 
 the great. 
 
 Vainly did the Count de Charney devote himself to sensual 
 pleasures. In the infancy of a social system so long estranged 
 from the joys of life, and still defiled by the blood-stained orgies 
 of the Revolution, attired in rags and tatters of Roman virtue, 
 yet emulating the licentious excesses of the regency, he signalized 
 himself by his prodigality and dissipation. Labour lost. — Horses, 
 equipages, a splendid table, balls, concerts, and hunting-parties, 
 failed to secure Pleasure as his guest. He had friends to flatter 
 him, mistresses to amuse his leisure; yet, though all these were 
 purchased at the highest price, the count found himself as far as 
 ever from the joys of love or friendship. Nothing availed t«
 
 16 PICCIOLA. 
 
 smooth the wrinkles of his heart, or force it into a smile : Charney 
 actually laboured to be entrapped by the baits of society, without 
 achieving captivation. The syren Pleasure, raising her fair form 
 and enchanting voice above the surface of the waters, fascinated 
 the man, but the eye of the philosopher could not refrain from 
 plunging into the glassy depths below, to be disgusted by the scaly 
 body and bifurcal tail of the ensnaring monster. 
 
 Truth and error were equally against him. To virtue he was 
 a stranger, to vice indifferent. He had experienced the vanity of 
 knowledge ; but the bliss of ignorance was denied him. The gates 
 of Eden were closed against his re-entrance. Reason appeared 
 fallacious, joy apocryphal. The noise of entertainments wearied 
 him ; the silence of home was still more tedious ; in company, he 
 became a burden to others ; in retirement, to himself. A profound 
 sadness took possession of his soul ! 
 
 In spite of all Charney's efforts, the demon of philosophical ana- 
 lysis, far from being exorcised, served to tarnish, undermine, con- 
 tract, and extinguish the brilliancy of every mode of life he se- 
 lected. The praise of his friends, the endearments of his loves, 
 seemed nothing more than the current coin given in exchange for 
 a certain portion of his property, the paltry evidence of a necessity 
 for living at his expense. 
 
 Decomposing every passion and sentiment, and reducing all 
 things to their primitive elements, he, at length, contracted a 
 morbid frame of mind, amounting almost to aberration of intellect. 
 He fancied that in the finest tissue composing his garments, he 
 could detect the exhalations of the animal of whose fleece it was 
 woven — on the silk of his gorgeous hangings, the crawling worm 
 which furnishes them. His furniture, carpets, gewgaws, trinkets 
 of coral or mother-of-pearl, all were stigmatized in his eyes as the 
 spoil of the dead, shaped by the labours of some squalid artisan. 
 The spirit of inquiry had destroyed every illusion. The imagina- 
 tion of the sceptic was paralyzed ! 
 
 To such a heart as that of Charney, however, emotion was in- 
 dispensable. The love which found no single object on which to 
 concentrate its vigour expanded into tenderness for all mankind ; 
 and he became a philanthropist! 
 
 With the view of serving the cause of his fellow-creatures, he 
 devoted himself to politics, no longer speculative, but active; ini- 
 tiated himself into secret societies, and grew a fanatic for freedom, 
 the only superstition remaining for those who have renounced the 
 higher aspirations of human nature. He enrolled himself in a 
 plot ! — a conspiracy against nothing less than the sovereignty of 
 the victorious Napoleon ! 
 
 In this attempt, Charney fancied himself actuated by patriotism, 
 by philanthropy, by love of his countrymen! — More likely by
 
 PIC CI OLA. 17 
 
 animosity against the one great man, of whose power and glory he 
 was envious! An aristocrat at heart, he fancied himself a level- 
 ler. The proud noble who had been robbed of the title of count, 
 bequeathed him by his ancestors, did not choose that his inferior 
 in birth should assume the title of emperor, which he had con- 
 quered at the point of his sword. 
 
 It matters little in what plot he embarked his destinies ; at that 
 epoch, there was no lack of conspiracies! It was one of the many 
 hatched between 1803 and 1804, and not suffered to come to light: 
 the police — that second providence which presides over the safety 
 of empires — was beforehand with it! Government decided that 
 the less noise made on the occasion, the better ; they would not 
 even spare it so much as a discharge of muskets on the Plaine de 
 Crenelle, the scene of military execution : but the heads of the 
 conspiracy were privately arrested, condemned, almost without 
 trial, and conveyed away to solitary confinement in various state 
 prisons, citadels, or fortresses, of the ninety-six departments of 
 consular France. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 In traversing the Alps on my way to Italy, — an humble tourist, 
 with my staff in my hand, and my wallet on my shoulder, I re- 
 member pausing to contemplate, near the pass of Rodoretto, a tor- 
 rent swollen by the melting of the glaciers. The tumultuous 
 sounds produced by its course, the foaming cascades into which 
 it burst, the varying colours and hues created by the movement 
 of its waters, yellow, white, green, black, according to its channel 
 through marl, slate, chalk, or peat earth, — the vast blocks of mar- 
 ble or granite it had detached without being able to remove, around 
 which a thousand ever-changing cataracts added roar to roar, cas- 
 cade to cascade: the trunks of trees it had uprooted, of which the 
 still foliaged branches emerging from the water were agitated by 
 the winds, while the roots were buffeted by the waves; fragments 
 of the very banks clothed with verdure, and driven like floating 
 islands against the trees, as the trees were driven in their turn 
 against the blocks of granite; — all this, these murmurs, flashings, 
 and roarings, confined between narrow and precipitous banks, 
 impressed me with wonder and admiration. And this torrent was 
 the Clusone ! 
 
 Skirting its shores, I pursued the course of the stream into one 
 of the four valleys retaining the name of " Protestant," in the 
 memory of the Vaudois who formerly took refuge in their solitudes.
 
 18 
 
 PICCIOLA. 
 
 There, my torrent lost its wild irregularity ; and its hundred roar- 
 ing voices were presently subdued. Its shattered trees and islands 
 had been deposited on some adjacent level ; its colours had re- 
 solved themselves into one ; and the material of its bed no longer 
 distinguishable on the tranquil surface. Still strong and copious, 
 it now flowed with decency, propriety, almost with coquetry : 
 affecting the airs of a modest rivulet as it bathed the rugged walls 
 of Fenestrella. 
 
 It was then I visited Fenestrella, a large town celebrated for 
 peppermint water, and the fortress which crowns the two moun- 
 tains between which it is situated, communicating with each other 
 by covered ways, but partly dismantled during the wars of the Re- 
 public. One of the forts, however, was repaired and refortified 
 when Piedmont became incorporated into France. 
 
 &U.BEKT4-&IK0N 
 
 In this fortress of Fenestrella, was Charles Veramont, Count de 
 Charney, incarcerated, on an accusation of having attempted to
 
 P I C C I O L A . 19 
 
 subvert the laws of government, and introduce anarchy and con- 
 fusion into the country. 
 
 Estranged by rigid imprisonment, alike from men of science 
 and men of pleasure, and regretting neither, — renouncing without 
 much effort his wild projects of political regeneration, — bidding a 
 forced farewell to his fortune, by the pomps of which he had been 
 undazzled, — to his friends, who were grown tiresome, and his mis- 
 tresses, who were grown faithless; having for his abode, instead 
 of a princely mansion, a bare and gloomy chamber; — the gaoler 
 of Charney was now his sole attendant, and his imbittered spirit 
 his only companion. 
 
 But what signified the gloom and nakedness of his apartment ? 
 The necessaries of life were there, and he had long been disgusted 
 with its superfluities. — Even his gaoler gave him no offence. It 
 was only his own thoughts that troubled him ! 
 
 Yet what other diversions remained for his solitude — but self- 
 conference? — Alas! none! Nothing around him or before him 
 but weariness and vexation of spirit! All correspondence was in- 
 terdicted. He was allowed no books, nor pens, nor paper ; for 
 such was the established discipline at Fenestrella. A year before, 
 when the count was intent only on emancipating himself from the 
 perplexities of learning, this loss might have seemed a gain. But 
 now, a book would have afforded a friend to consult, or an adver- 
 sary to be confuted! Deprived of every thing, sequestered from 
 the world, Charney had nothing left for it, but to become recon- 
 ciled to himself, and live in peace with that natural enemy, his 
 soul. For the cruelty with which that unsilenceable monitor con- 
 tinued to set before him the desperateness of his condition, ren- 
 dered conciliation necessary. His case was indeed a hard one! 
 A man to whom nature had been so prodigal, whose cradle society 
 had surrounded with honours and privileges, — he to be reduced to 
 such abject insignificance! — he to have need of pity and protec- 
 tion, who had faith neither in the existence of a God nor the mercy 
 of his fellow-creatures ! 
 
 Vainly did he strive to throw off this frightful consciousness, 
 when in the solitude of his reveries it alternately chilled and 
 scorched his shrinking bosom : and once more, the unhappy Char- 
 ney began to cling for support to the visible and material world, — 
 now, alas! how circumscribed around him. The room assigned 
 to his use was at the rear of the citadel, in a small building raised 
 upon the ruins of a vast and strong foundation, serving formerly for 
 defence, but rendered useless by a new system of fortification. 
 
 Four walls, newly whitewashed, so that he was denied even the 
 amusement of perusing the lucubrations of former prisoners, his 
 predecessors; a table, serving for his meals; a chair, whose insu- 
 lated unity reminded him, that no human being would ever sit
 
 20 P I C C I L A . 
 
 beside him there in friendly converse ; a trunk for his clothes and 
 linen : a little sideboard of painted deal, half worm-eaten, offered a 
 singular contrast to the rich mahogany dressing-case, inlaid with 
 silver, standing there as the sole representative of his former splen- 
 dours. A clean, but narrow bed, window-curtains of blue cloth 
 (a mere mockery, for, thanks to the closeness of his prison bars 
 and the opposite wall rising at ten feet distance, there was little 
 to fear from prying eyes or the importunate radiance of the sun.) 
 Such was the complement of furniture allotted to the Count de 
 Charney. 
 
 Over his chamber was another, wholly unoccupied ; he had not 
 a single companion in that detached portion of the fortress. 
 
 The remainder of his world consisted in a short, massive, wind- 
 ing stone staircase, descending into a small paved court, sunk into 
 what had been moat, in the earlier days of the citadel, in which 
 narrow space hv vas permitted to enjoy air and exercise during 
 two hours of the Jay. Such was the ukase of the commandant of 
 Fenestrella. 
 
 From this confii *-i spot, however, the prisoner was able to ex- 
 tend his glance towards the summits of the mountains, and com- 
 mand a view of the vapours rising from the plain ; for the walls 
 of the ramparts, lowering suddenly at the extremity of the glacis, 
 admitted a limited proportion of air and sunshine into the court. 
 But once shut up again in his room, his view was bounded by an 
 horizon of solid masonry, and a surmise of the majestic and pic- 
 turesque aspect of nature it served to conceal. Charney was well 
 aware that to the right rose the fertile hills of Saluces ; that to his 
 left were developed the last undulations of the valley of Aorta and 
 the banks of the Chiara; that before him lay the noble plains of 
 Turin; and behind, the mighty chain of Alps, with its adornment 
 of rocks, forests, and chasms, from Mount Genevra to Mount Ce- 
 nis. But, in spite of this charming vicinage, all he was permitted 
 to behold was the misty sky suspended over his head by a frame- 
 work of rude masonry; the pavement of the little court, and the 
 bars of his prison, through which he might admire the opposite 
 wall, adorned with a single small square window, at which he had 
 once or twice caught glimpses of a doleful human countenance. 
 
 What a world from which to extract delight and entertainment! 
 The unhappy Count wore out his patience in the attempt ! At 
 first, he amused himself with scribbling with a morsel of charcoal 
 on the walls of his prison the dates of every happy event of his 
 childhood ; but from this dispiriting task he desisted, more dis- 
 couraged than ever. The demon of scepticism next inspired him 
 with evil counsel ; and having framed into fearful sentences the 
 axioms of his withering creed, he inscribed them also on his wall, 
 between recollections consecrated to his sister and mother !
 
 PICCIOL A. 21 
 
 Still unconsoled, Charney at length made up his mind to fling 
 aside his heart-eating cares, adopt, by anticipation, all the puerili- 
 ties and brutalization which result from the prolongation of soli- 
 tary confinement. The philosopher attempted to find amusement 
 in unravelling silk or linen ; in making flageolets of straw, and 
 building ships of walnut-shells. The man of genius constructed 
 whistles, boxes, and baskets, of kernels; chains and musical in- 
 struments, with the springs of his braces; nay, for a time, he took 
 delight in these absurdities ; then, with a sudden movement of dis- 
 gust, trampled them, one by one, under his feet! 
 
 To vary his employment, Charney began to carve a thousand 
 fanciful designs upon his wooden table! No schoolboy ever mu- 
 tilated his desk by such attempts at arabesque, both in relief and 
 intaglio, as tasked his patience and address. The celebrated portal 
 of the church of Candebee, and the pulpit and palm trees of St. 
 Gudula at Brussels, are not adorned with a greater variety of 
 figures. There were houses upon houses, fishes upon trees, men 
 taller th;in steeples, boats upon roofs, carriages upon water, dwarf 
 pyramids, and flies of gigantic stature, — horizontal, vertical, 
 oblique, topsy-turvy, upside down, pell-mell, a chaos of hiero- 
 glyphics, in which he tried to discover a sense symbolical, an ac- 
 cidental intention, an occult design ; for it was no great effort on 
 the part of one who had so much faith in the power of chance, to 
 expect the developement of an epic poem in the sculptures on his 
 table, or a design of Raphael in the veins of his box-wood snuff- 
 box. 
 
 It was the delight of his ingenuity to multiply difficulties for 
 conquest, problems for solution, enigmas for divination ; but even 
 in the midst of these recreations, ennui, the formidable enemy, 
 again surprised the captive. 
 
 The man whose face he had noticed at the grated window, might 
 have afforded him food for conjecture, had he not seemed to avoid 
 the observation of the Count, by retiring the moment Charney 
 made his appearance; in consequence of which, he conceived an 
 abhorrence of the recluse. Such was his opinion of the human 
 species, that the stranger's desire of concealment convinced him 
 he was a spy, employed to watch the movements of the prisoners, 
 or, perhaps, some former enemy, exulting over his humiliation. 
 
 On interrogating the gaoler, however, this last supposition was 
 set at rest. 
 
 " 'Tis an Italian," said Ludovico, the turnkey. " A good soul, — 
 and, what is more, a good Christian; for I often find him at his 
 devotions." 
 
 Charney shrugged his shoulders : " And what may be the cause, 
 pray, of his retention ?" said he. 
 
 " He attempted to assassinate the Emperor."
 
 22 PICCIOLA. 
 
 "Is he, then, a patriot?" 
 
 " A patriot ! Rubbish ! Not he. But the poor soul had once 
 a son and daughter : and now he has only a daughter. The son 
 was killed in Germany. A cannon-ball broke a tooth for him. 
 Povero jigliaolo !" 
 
 " It was a paroxysm of selfishness, then, which moved this old 
 man to become an assassin?" 
 
 "You have never been a father, Signor Conte !" replied the 
 gaoler. " Cristo Santo! if my Antonio, who is still a babe, were 
 to eat his first mouthful for the good of this empire of the French 
 
 (which is a bantling of his own age, or thereabouts,) I 'd soon 
 
 But basta ! I 've no mind to take up my lodging at Fenestrella, 
 except as it may be with the keys at my girdle or under my pil- 
 low." 
 
 " And how does this fierce conspirator amuse himself in pri- 
 son?" persisted Charney. 
 
 " Catching flies!" replied the gaoler, with an ironical wink 
 
 Instead of detesting his brother in misfortune, Charney now be- 
 gan to despise him. " A madman, then?" he demanded. 
 
 " Per die pazzo, Signor Conte? Though you are the last comer, 
 you excel him already in the art of hacking a table into devices. 
 Pazienza !" 
 
 In defiance of the sneer conveyed in the gaoler's remark, Char- 
 ney soon resumed his manual labours, and the interpretations of 
 his hieroglyphics; but, alas! only to experience anew their insuf- 
 ficiency as a kill-time. His first winter had expired in weariness 
 and discontent : when, by the mercy of Heaven, an unexpected 
 object of interest was assigned him.
 
 P I C C I L A . 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 One day, Charney was breathing the fresh air in the little court 
 of the fortress, at the accustomed hour, his head declining, his eyes 
 downcast, his arms crossed behind him, pacing with slow and 
 measured steps, as if his deliberation tended to enlarge the pre- 
 cincts of his dominion. 
 
 Spring was breaking. A milder air breathing around, tanta- 
 lized him with a vain inclination to enjoy the season of liberty, as 
 master of his time and territory. He was proceeding to number, 
 one by one, the stones paving the court-yard, (doubtless to verify 
 the accuracy of former calculations, — for it was by no means the 
 first time they had put his arithmetic to the test,) when he per- 
 ceived a small mound of earth rising between two stones of the 
 pavement, cleft slightly at its summit. 
 
 The Count stopped short — his heart beat hurriedly without any 
 rational grounds for emotion, except that every trivial incident 
 affords matter of hope or fear to a captive. In the most indiffer- 
 ent objects, in the most unimportant events, the prisoner discerns 
 traces of a mysterious project for his deliverance. 
 
 Who could decide that this trifling irregularity on the surface 
 might not indicate important operations under ground ? Subter- 
 raneous issues might have been secretly constructed, and the earth 
 be about to open and afford him egress towards the mountains ! 
 Perhaps his former friends and accomplices had been sapping and 
 mining, to procure access to his dungeon, and restore him to light 
 and liberty ! 
 
 He listened ! he fancied he could detect the low murmur of a 
 subterraneous sound. He raised his head, and the loud and rapid 
 clang of the tocsin saluted his ear. The ramparts were echoing 
 with the prolonged roll of drums, like the call to arms in time of 
 war. He started — he passed his trembling hand over his forehead, 
 on which cold dews of intense agitation were already rising. Is 
 his liberation at hand? Is France submitted to the domination 
 of a new ruler? 
 
 The illusion of the captive vanished as it came. Reflection 
 soon restored him to reason. He no longer possesses accomplices 
 — he never possessed friends! — Again he lends a listening ear, 
 and the same noises recur; but they mislead his mind no longer. 
 The supposed tocsin is only the church bell which he has been 
 accustomed to hear daily at the same hour, and the drums, the 
 usual evening signal for retreat to quarters. With a bitter smile, 
 Charney begins to compassionate his own folly, which could mis-
 
 24 
 
 PIC CIOL A. 
 
 take the insignificant labours of some insect or reptile, some wan- 
 dering mole or field-mouse, for the result of human fidelity, or the 
 subversion of a mighty empire. 
 
 
 "V 
 
 ' ^=== 
 
 Resolved, however, to bring the matter to the test, Charney, 
 bending over the little hillock, gently removed the earth from its 
 summit; when he had the mortification to perceive that the wild 
 though momentary emotion by which he had been overcome, was 
 not produced by so much as the labours of an animal armed with 
 teeth and claws ! but by the efforts of a feeble plant to pierce the 
 soil — a pale and sickly scattering of vegetation. Deeply vexed, 
 he was about to crush with his heel the miserable weed, when a
 
 P I C C I L A . 25 
 
 refreshing breeze, laden with the sweets of some bower of honey- 
 suckles, or syringas, swept past, as if to intercede for mercy to- 
 wards the poor plant, which might perhaps hereafter reward him 
 with its flowers and fragrance. 
 
 A new conjecture conspired to suspend his act of vengeance. 
 How has this tender plant, so soft and fragile as to be crushed 
 with a touch, contrived to pierce and cleave asunder the earth, 
 dried and hardened into a mass by the sun, daily trodden down by 
 Ins own footsteps, and all but cemented by the flags of granite be- 
 tween which it was enclosed? On stooping again to examine the 
 matter with more attention, he observed at the extremity of the 
 plant a sort of fleshy valve affording protection to its first and ten- 
 derest leaves, from the injurious contact of any hard bodies they 
 might have to encounter in penetrating the earthy crust in search 
 of light and air. 
 
 " This, then, is the secret?" cried he, already interested in his 
 discovery. " Nature has imparted strength to the vegetable germ, 
 even as the unfledged bird which is able to break asunder with its 
 beak the egg-shell in which it is imprisoned ; happier than myself 
 — in possession of unalienable instruments to secure its libera- 
 tion !" And after gazing another minute on the inoffensive plant, 
 he lost all inclination for its destruction. 
 
 On resuming his walk the next day, with wide and careless 
 steps, Charney was on the point of setting his foot on it, from in- 
 advertence ; but luckily recoiled in time. Amused to find himself 
 interested in the preservation of a weed, he paused to take note 
 of its progress. The plant was strangely grown ; and the free 
 light of day had already effaced the pale and sickly complexion of 
 the preceding day. Charney was struck by the power inherent in 
 vegetables to absorb rays of light, and, fortified by the nourish- 
 ment, borrow, as it were, from the prism, the very colours predes- 
 tined to distinguish its various parts of organization. 
 
 " The leaves," thought he, " will probably imbibe a hue differ- 
 ent from that of the stem. And the flowers? what colour, I won- 
 der, will be the flowers ? Nourished by the same sap as the green 
 leaves and stem, how do they manage to acquire, from the influ- 
 ence of the sun, their variegations of azure, pink, or scarlet? — 
 For already their hue is appointed. In spite of the confusion and 
 disorder of all human affairs, matter, blind as it is, marches with 
 admirable regularity : still blindly, however ! for lo, the fleshy 
 lobes which served to facilitate for the plant its progress through 
 the soil, though now useless, are feeding their superfluous sub- 
 stance at its expense, and weighing upon its slender stalk !" 
 
 But, even as he spoke, daylight became obscured. A chilly 
 spring evening, threatening a frosty night, was setting in ; and the 
 two lobes, gradually rising, seemed to reproach him with his ob- 
 3
 
 26 P I C C I L A . 
 
 jections, by the practical argument of enclosing the still tender 
 foliage, which they secured from the attacks of insects or the in- 
 clemency of the weather, by the screen of their protecting wings. 
 
 The man of science was better able to comprehend this mute 
 answer to his cavilling, because the external surface of the vege- 
 table bivalve had been injured the preceding night by a snail, 
 whose slimy trace was left upon the verdure of the cotyledon. 
 
 This curious colloquy between action and cogitation, between 
 the plant and the philosopher, was not yet at an end. Charney 
 was too full of metaphysical disquisition to allow himself to be 
 vanquished by a good argument. 
 
 " 'Tis all very well !" cried he. " In this instance, as in others, 
 a fortunate coincidence of circumstances has favoured the deve- 
 lopement of incomplete creation. It was the inherent qualification 
 of the nature of the plant to be born with a lever in order to up- 
 raise the earth, and a buckler to shelter its tender head : without 
 which it must have perished in the germ, like myriads of individu- 
 als of its species which proved incapable of accomplishing their 
 destinies. How can one guess the number of unsuccessful efforts 
 which nature may have made, ere she perfected a single subject 
 sufficiently organized ! A blind man may sometimes shoot home ; 
 but how many uncounted arrows must be lost before he attains 
 the mark ? For millions of forgotten centuries, matter has been 
 triturating between negative and positive attraction. How then 
 can one wonder that chance should sometimes produce coinci- 
 dence? This fleshy screen serves to shelter the early leaves. 
 Granted ! But will it enlarge its dimensions to contain the rest 
 as they are put forth, and defend them from cold and insects? 
 No, no; no evidence of the calculating of a presiding Providence! 
 A lucky chance is the alpha and omega of the universe !" 
 
 Able logician! — profound reasoner ! listen, and Nature shall 
 find a thousand arguments to silence your presumption ! Deign 
 only to fix your inquiring eyes upon this feeble plant, which the 
 munificence of Heaven has called into existence between the 
 stones of your prison ! You are so far right that the cotyledon 
 will not expand so as to cover with its protecting wings the future 
 progress of the plant. Already withering, they will eventually fall 
 and decay. But they will suffice to accomplish the purpose of 
 nature. So long as the northern wind drives down from the Alps 
 their heavy fogs or sprinkling of sleet, the new leaves will find a 
 retreat impermeable to the chilly air, caulked with resinous or 
 viscous matter, and expanding or closing according to the impulse 
 of the weather ; finally distended by a propitious atmosphere, the 
 leaflets will emerge clinging to each other for mutual support, 
 clothed with a furry covering of down to secure them against the 
 fatal influence of atmospheric changes. Did ever mother watch
 
 PIC CI OLA. 27 
 
 more tenderly over the preservation of a child ? Such are the phe- 
 nomena, Sir Count, which you might long ago have learned to 
 admire, had you descended from the flighty regions of human sci- 
 ence, to study the humble though majestic works of God ! The 
 deeper your researches, the more positive had been your convic- 
 tion ; for where dangers abound, know that the protection of the 
 Providence which you deny is vouchsafed a thousand and a thou- 
 sand fold in pity to the blindness of mankind ! 
 
 In the weariness of captivity, Charney was soon satisfied to oc- 
 cupy his idle hours by directing his attention to the transform- 
 ations of the plant. But when he attempted to contend with it 
 in argument, the answers of the vegetable logician were too much 
 for him. 
 
 " To what purpose these stiff bristles, disfiguring a slender 
 stem?" demanded the Count. And the following morning he 
 found them covered with rime : thanks to their defence, the ten- 
 der bark had been secured from all contact with the frost. 
 
 " To what purpose, for the summer season, this winter garment 
 of wool and down ?" he again inquired. And when the summer 
 season really breathed upon the plant, he found the new shoots 
 array themselves in their light spring clothing; the downy vest- 
 ments, now superfluous, being laid aside. 
 
 " Storms may be still impending !" cried Charney, with a bitter 
 smile; "and how will these slender and flexile shoots resist the 
 cutting hail, the driving wind?" But when the stormy rain arose, 
 and the winds blew, the slender plant, yielding to their intempe- 
 rance, replied to the sneers of the Count by prudent prostration. 
 Against the hail, it fortified itself by a new manoeuvre; the leaves, 
 rapidly uprising, adhered to the stalks for protection ; presenting 
 to the attacks of the enemy the strong and prominent nerves of 
 their inferior surface; and union, as usual, produced strength. 
 Firmly closed together, they defied the pelting shower ; and the 
 plant remained master of the field ; not, however, without having 
 experienced wounds and contusions, which, as the leaves expanded 
 in the returning sunshine, were speedily cicatrized by its conge- 
 nial warmth. 
 
 "Is chance endowed then with intelligence?" cried Charney. 
 " Must we admit matter to be spiritualized, or humiliate the world 
 of intelligence into materialism?" 
 
 Still, though self-convicted, he could not refrain from interro- 
 gating his mute instructress. He delighted in watching, day by 
 day, her spontaneous metamorphoses. Often, after having exam- 
 ined her progress, he found himself gradually absorbed in reveries 
 of a more cheering nature than those to which he had been of late 
 accustomed. He tried to prolong the softened mood of mind by 
 loitering in the court beside the plant ; and one day, while thus
 
 28 PICCIOLA. 
 
 employed, he happened to raise his eyes towards the grated win- 
 dow, and saw the fly-catcher observing him. The colour rose to 
 his cheek, as if the spy could penetrate the subject of his medita- 
 tions ; but a smile soon chased away the blush. He no longer 
 presumed to despise his comrade in misfortune. He, too, had been 
 engaged in contemplating one of the simplest creations of nature; 
 and had derived comfort from the study. 
 
 " How do I know," argued Cbarney, " that the Italian may not 
 rnve discovered as many marvels in a fly, as I in a nameless 
 vegetable ?" 
 
 The first object that saluted him on his returning to his cham- 
 ber, after this admission, was the following sentence, inscribed by 
 his own hand upon the wall, a few months before : — 
 
 " Chance, though blind, is the sole author of the crea- 
 tion." 
 
 Seizing a piece of charcoal, Charney instantly qualified the as- 
 sertion, by the addition of a single word — " Perhaps." 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Char.vev had long ceased to find amusement in these gratuitous 
 mural inscriptions; and if he still occasionally played the sculptor 
 with his wooden table, his efforts produced nothing now but ger- 
 minating plants; each protected by a cotyledon, or a sprig of 
 foliage, whose leaves were delicately serrated and prominently 
 nerved. The greater portion of the time assigned him for exer- 
 cise was spent in contemplation of his plant, — in examining and 
 reasoning upon its developement. Even after his return to his 
 chamber, he often watched the little solitary through his prison- 
 bars. It had become his whim, his bauble, his hobby ; — perhaps 
 only to be discarded like other preceding favourites ! 
 
 One morning, as he stood at the window, he observed the gaoler, 
 who was rapidly traversing the court-yard, pass so close to it that 
 the stem seemed on the point of being crushed under bis footsteps ; 
 and Charney actually shuddered ! When Ludovico arrived as 
 usual with his breakfast, the Count longed to entreat the man 
 would be careful in sparing the solitary ornament of his walk; but 
 he found some difficulty in phrasing so puerile an entreaty. Per- 
 haps the Fenestrella system of prison discipline might enforce the 
 clearing of the court from weeds, or other vegetation. It might 
 be a favour he was about to request, and the Count possessed no 
 worldly means for the requital of a sacrifice. Ludovico had
 
 PIC CIO LA. 29 
 
 already taxed him heavily, in the way of ransom, for the various 
 objects with which it was his privilege to furnish the prisoners of 
 the fortress. 
 
 Besides, he had scarcely yet exchanged a word with the fellow, 
 by whose abrupt manners and character he was disgusted. His 
 pride recoiled, too, from placing himself in the same rank with the 
 fly-catcher, towards whom Ludovico had acknowledged his con- 
 tempt. Then there was the chance of a refusal ! The inferior, 
 whose position raises him to temporary consequence, is seldom 
 sufficiently master of himself to bear his faculties meekly, incapa- 
 ble of understanding that indulgence is a proof of power. The 
 Count felt that it would be insupportable to him to find himself 
 repulsed by a turnkey. 
 
 At length, after innumerable oratorical precautions, and the 
 exercise of all his insight into the foibles of human nature, 
 Charney commenced a discourse, logically preconcocted, in hopes 
 to obtain his end without the sacrifice of his dignity, — or, to speak 
 more correctly, of his pride. 
 
 He began by accosting the gaoler in Italian ; by way of propi- 
 tiating his natural prejudices, and calling up early associations. 
 He inquired after Ludovico's boy, little Antonio; and, having 
 caused this tender string to vibrate, took from his dressing-box a 
 small gilt goblet, and charged him to present it to the child ! 
 
 Ludovico declined the gift, but refused it with a smile; and 
 Charney, though somewhat discountenanced, resolved to perse- 
 vere. With adroit circumlocution, he observed, " I am aware that 
 a toy, a rattle, ajlowcr, would be a present better suited to Anto- 
 nio's age ; but you can sell the goblet, and procure those trifles in 
 abundance with the price." And, lo ! apropos of Jlowcrs, the 
 Count embarked at once into his subject. 
 
 Patriotism, paternal love, personal interest, every influential 
 motive of human action, were thus put in motion in order to ac- 
 complish the preservation of a plant! Charney could scarcely 
 have done more for his own. Judge whether it had ingratiated 
 itself into his affections ! 
 
 " Slgno7' Conte !" replied Ludovico, at the conclusion of the 
 harangue, " riprendi sua nacchera indorata! Were this pretty 
 bauble missing from your toilet-case, its companions might fret 
 after it! At three months old, my bantling has scarce wit 
 enough to drink out of a goblet; and with respect to your gilly- 
 flower — " 
 
 " Is it a gilly-flower?" inquired Charney, with eagerness. 
 
 " Sac a papious ! how should 1 know ? All flowers are more or 
 less gilly-flowers ! But as to sparing the life of yours, eccellenza, 
 methinks the request comes late in the day. My boot would have 
 3*
 
 30 PICCIOLA. 
 
 been better acquainted with it long ago, had I not perceived your 
 partiality for the poor weed !" 
 
 "Oh! as to my partiality," interrupted Charney, "I beg to as- 
 sure you — " 
 
 " Ta, ta, ta, ta ! What need of assurance," cried Ludovico. 
 " I know whereabouts you are better than you do. Men must 
 have something to love ; and state prisoners have small choice 
 allowed them in their whims. Why, among my boarders here, 
 Signor Contc, (most of whom were grand gentry, and great wise- 
 acres in their day, for 'tis not the small fry they send into harbour 
 at Fenestrella,) you 'd be surprised at what little cost they manage 
 to divert themselves? One catches flies, — no harm in that; an- 
 other — " and Ludovico winked knowingly, to signify the applica- 
 tion — " another chops a solid deal table into chips, without con- 
 sidering how far I may be responsible for its preservation." The 
 Count vainly tried to interpose a word : Ludovico went on : " some 
 amuse themselves with rearing linnets and goldfinches; others have 
 a fancy for white mice. For my part, poor souls, I have so much 
 respect for their pets, that I had a fine Angora cat of my own, 
 with long white silken hair, you'd have sworn 'twas a muff when 
 'twas asleep ! — a cat that my wife doated on, to say nothing of my- 
 self. Well, I gave it away, lest the creature should take a fancy 
 to some of their favourites. All the cats in the creation ought 
 not to weigh against so much as a mouse belonging to a cap- 
 tive !" 
 
 " Well thought, well expressed, my worthy friend !" cried Char- 
 ney, piqued at the inference which degraded him to the level of 
 sueh wretched predilections. " But know that this plant is some- 
 thing more to me than a kill-time." 
 
 "What signifies? so it serves but to recall to your mind the 
 green tree under which your mother hushed your infancy to rest, 
 per Bacco! I give it leave to overshadow half the court. My 
 instructions say nothing about weeding or hoeing, so e'en let it 
 grow and welcome! Were it to turn out a tree, indeed, so as to 
 assist you in escalading the walls, the case were different ! But 
 there is time before us to look after the business — eh! eccclhnza?" 
 said the gaoler, with a coarse laugh. " Not that you hav'n't my 
 best wishes for the recovery of the free use of your legs and lungs ; 
 but all must come in course of time, and the regular way. For 
 if you were to make an attempt at escape — " 
 
 " Well ! and if I were?" said Charney, with a smile. 
 
 " Thunder and hail ! — you'd find Ludovico a stout obstacle in 
 your way ! I'd order the sentry to fire at you, with as little scru- 
 ple as at a rabbit! Such are my instructions! But as to doing 
 mischief to a poor harmless gilly-flower, I look upon that man they 
 tell of who killed the pet-spider of the prisoner under his charge,
 
 PICCIOLA 
 
 31 
 
 as a wretch not worthy to be a gaoler ! 'Twas a base action, ec- 
 cellenza, — nay, a crime !" 
 
 Charney felt amazed and touched by the discovery of so much 
 sensibility on the part of his gaoler. But now that he had begun 
 to entertain an esteem for the man, his vanity rendered it doubly 
 essential to assign a rational motive for his passion. 
 
 " Accept my thanks, good Ludovico," said he, " for your good- 
 will. I own that the plant in question affords me scope for a va- 
 riety of scientific observations. I am fond of studying its physio- 
 logical phenomena." Then, (as Ludovico's vague nodding of the 
 head convinced him that the poor fellow understood not a syllable 
 he was saying,) he added, " more particularly as the class to which
 
 32 PICCIOLA. 
 
 it belongs possesses medicinal qualities, highly favourable to a dis- 
 order to which I am subject." 
 
 A falsehood from the lips of the noble Count de Charney ! and 
 merely to evade the contempt of a gaoler, who, for the moment, 
 represented the whole human species in the eyes of the captive. 
 
 " Indeed !" cried Ludovico; " then all I have to say is, that if 
 the poor thing is so serviceable to you, you are not so grateful to 
 it as you ought to be. If I hadn't been at the pains of watering 
 it for you now and then, on my way hither with your meals, la 
 povera picciola would have died of thirst. Addio, Signor Conte !" 
 
 " One moment, my good friend," exclaimed Charney, more and 
 more amazed to discover such delicacy of mind so roughly en- 
 closed, and repentant at having so long mistaken the character of 
 his gaoler. " Since you have interested yourself in my pursuits, 
 and without vaunting your services, accept, I entreat you, this 
 small memento of my gratitude ! Should better times await me, 
 I will not forget you !" 
 
 And once more he tendered the goblet; which this time Ludo- 
 vico examined with a sort of vague curiosity. 
 
 " Gratitude, for what, Signor Conte ?" said he. " A plant wants 
 nothing but a sprinkling of water ; and one might furnish a whole 
 parterre of them in their cups, without ruining oneself at the ta- 
 vern. If la picciola diverts you from your cares, and provides 
 you with a specific, enough said, and God speed her growth." 
 
 And having crossed the room, he quietly replaced the goblet in 
 its compartment of the dressing-box. 
 
 Charney, rushing towards Ludovico, now offered him his hand. 
 
 " No, no !" exclaimed the gaoler, assuming an attitude of re- 
 spect and constraint. " Hands are to be shaken only between 
 equals and friends." 
 
 "Be my friend, then, Ludovico!" cried the Count. 
 
 " No, ecc ellenza, no !" replied the turnkey. " A gaoler must 
 be on his guard, in order to perform his duties like a man of con- 
 science, to-day, to-morrow, and every day of the week. If you 
 were my friend, according to my notions of the word, how should 
 I be able to call out to the sentinel, Fire! if I saw you swimming 
 across the moat ? I am fated to remain your keeper, gaoler, e di- 
 votissimo servo !"
 
 PICCIOLA. 33 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 In the course of his solitary meditations, after Ludovico's de- 
 parture, Charney was compelled to admit that, in his relations 
 with the gaoler, the man of genius and education had fallen below 
 the level of the man of the people. To what wretched subterfuges 
 had he descended, in order to practise upon the feelings of this 
 kind-hearted and simple being! He had even soiled his noble 
 lips with an untruth. 
 
 He was startled to discover the services recently rendered by 
 Ludovico to the " povera picciola." The boor, the gaoler, mo- 
 rose only when invited to a breach of duty, had actually watched 
 him in secret, not to exult over his weakness, but to render him a 
 service ; nay, by his obstinate disinterestedness, the man persisted 
 in imposing an obligation on the Count de Charney. 
 
 In his walk next morning, the Count hastened to share, with 
 his little favourite, the cruise of water allotted to his use; not only 
 watering the roots, but sprinkling the plant itself, to refresh its 
 leaves from dust or insects. While thus occupied, the sky became 
 darkened by a thunder-cloud, suspended like a black dome over 
 the turrets of the fortress. Large rain-drops began to fall : and 
 Charney was about to take refuge in his room, when a few hail- 
 stones mingling with the rain, pattered down on the pavement of 
 the court. La povera picciola seemed on the point of being up- 
 rooted by the whirlwind which accompanied the storm. Her 
 dishevelled branches and leaves shrinking up towards their stalks 
 for protection against the chilling shower, trembled with every 
 driving blast of wind that howled, as if in triumph, through the 
 court. 
 
 Charney paused. Recalling to mind the reproaches of Ludo- 
 vico, he looked eagerly around for some object to defend his phnt 
 from the storm ; but nothing could be seen. The hailstones came 
 rattling down with redoubled force, threatening destruction to its 
 tender stem ; and, notwithstanding Charney's experience of its 
 power of resistance against such attacks, he grew uneasy for its 
 safety. With an effort of tenderness, worthy of a father or a lover, 
 he stationed himself between his protegee and the wind, bending 
 over her, to secure her from the hail ; and, breathless with his 
 struggles against the violence of the storm, devoted himself, like 
 a martyr, to the defence of la picciola. 
 
 At length the hurricane subsided. But might not a recurrence 
 of the mischief bring destruction to his favourite at some moment 
 when bolts and bars divided her from her protector ? He had
 
 34 PICCIOLA. 
 
 already found cause to tremble for her safety, when the wife of 
 Ludovico, accompanied by a huge mastiff, one of the guardians 
 of the prison, occasionally traversed the yard; for a single stroke 
 with its paw, or a snap of its mouth, might have annihilated the 
 darling of the philosophical captive; and Charney accordingly 
 passed the remainder of the day in concocting a plan of fortifi- 
 cation. 
 
 The moderate portion of wood allowed him for fuel, scarcely 
 supplied his wants in a climate whose nights and mornings are so 
 chilly, in a chamber debarred from all warmth of sunshine. Yet 
 he resolved to sacrifice his comfort to the safety of the plant. He 
 promised himself to retire early to rest, and rise later; by which 
 means, after a few days of self-denial, he amassed sufficient wood 
 for his purpose. 
 
 "Glad to see you have more fuel than you require," cried Lu- 
 dovico, on noticing the little stock. " Shall I clear the room for 
 you of all this lumber?" 
 
 " Not for the world," replied Charney, with a smile. " I am 
 hoarding it to build a palace for my lady-love." 
 
 The gaoler gave a knowing wink, which signified, however, that 
 he understood not a word about the matter. 
 
 Meanwhile, Charney set about splitting and pointing the up- 
 rights of his bastions; and carefully laid aside the osier bands 
 which served to tie up his daily fagots. He next tore from his 
 trunk its lining of coarse cloth; out of which he drew the strong- 
 est threads : and his materials thus prepared, he commenced his 
 operations the moment the rules of the prison and the exactitude 
 of the gaoler would admit. He surrounded his plant with pali- 
 sades of unequal height, carefully inserted between the stones of 
 the pavement, and secured at the base by a cement of earth, labo- 
 riously collected from the interstices, and mortar and saltpetre se- 
 cretly abstracted from the ancient turret-walls around him. When 
 the labours of the carpenter and mason were achieved, he began 
 to interlace his scaffolding at intervals with split osiers, to screen 
 la picciola from the shock of exterior objects. 
 
 The completion of his work acquired, during its progress, new 
 importance in his eyes, from the opposition of Ludovico. The 
 gaoler shook his head and grumbled when first he noticed the 
 undertaking. But before the close of the performance the kind- 
 hearted fellow withdrew his disapprobation ; nay, would even 
 smoke his pipe, leaning against the wicket of the courtyard, and 
 watching, with a smile, the efforts of the unpractised mechanic ; 
 interrupting himself in the enjoyment of his favourite recreation, 
 however, to favour Charney with occasional counsels, the result 
 of his own experience. 
 
 The work progressed rapidly ; but, to render it perfect, the
 
 P I C C I O L A . 35 
 
 Count was under the necessity of sacrificing a portion of his scanty 
 bedding; purloining handfuls of straw from his palliasse, in order 
 to band up the interstices of his basket-work, as a shelter against 
 the mountain wind, and the fierceness of the meridian sun, which 
 in summer would be reflected from the flint of the adjacent wall. 
 
 One evening, a sudden breeze arose, after Charney had been 
 locked in for the night, — and the yard was quickly strewn with 
 scattered straws and slips of osier, which had not been worked in 
 with sufficient solidity. Charney promised himself to counteract 
 next day the ill effects of his carelessness ; but on reaching the 
 court at the usual hour, he found that all the mischief had been 
 neatly repaired : a hand more expert than his own had replaced 
 the matting and palisades. It was not difficult to guess to whom 
 he was indebted for this friendly interposition. Meanwhile, thanks 
 to her friend, — thanks to her friends, the plant was now secured 
 by solid ramparts and roofing: and Charney, attaching himself, 
 according to the common frailty of human nature, more tenderly 
 to the object on which he was conferring obligation, had the satis- 
 faction to see the plant expand with redoubled powers, and ac- 
 quire new beauties every hour. It was a matter of deep interest 
 to observe the progress of its consolidation. The herbaceous stem 
 was now acquiring ligneous consistency. A glossy bark began to 
 surround the fragile stalk; and already, the gratified proprietor of 
 this gratuitous treasure entertained eager hopes of the appearance 
 of flowers among its leaves. The man of paralysed nerves, — the 
 man of frost-bound feelings, had at length found something to wish 
 for! The action of his lofty intellect was at last concentrated 
 into adoration of an herb of the field. Even as the celebrated 
 Quaker, John Bartram, resolved, after studying for hours the or- 
 ganization of a violet, to apply his powers of mind to the analysis 
 of the vegetable kingdom, and eventually acquired high eminence 
 among the masters of botanical science, Charney became a natu- 
 ral philosopher. 
 
 A learned pundit of Malabar is said to have lost his reason in 
 attempting to expound the phenomena of the sensitive plant. But 
 the Count de Charney seemed likely to be restored to the use of 
 his by studies of a similar nature; and, sane or insane, he had at 
 least already extracted from his plant an arcanum sufficiently po- 
 tent to dispel the weariness of ennui, and enlarge the limit of his 
 captivity. 
 
 "If it would but flower!" — he frequently exclaimed, " what a 
 delight to hail the opening of its first blossom ! a blossom whose 
 beauty, whose fragrance, will be developed for the sole enjoyment 
 of my eager senses. What will be its colour, I wonder ! what the 
 form of its petals? — time will show! Perhaps they may afford 
 new premises for conjecture — new problems for solution. Perhaps
 
 30 P I C C I L A . 
 
 the conceited gipsy will offer a new challenge to my understand- 
 ing? So much the better! Let my little adversary arm herself 
 with all her powers of argument. I will not prejudge the case. 
 Perhaps, when thus complete, the secret of her mysterious na- 
 ture will be apparent? How I long for the moment! — Bloom, 
 picciola ! bloom — and reveal yourself in all your beauty to him to 
 whom you are indebted for the preservation of your life!" 
 
 " Picciola!" — Such is the name, then, which, borrowed from 
 the lips of Ludovico, Charney has involuntarily bestowed upon his 
 favourite ! — " Picciola !" la povera picciola, was the designation 
 so tenderly appropriated by the gaoler to the poor little thing which 
 Charney's neglect had almost allowed to perish. 
 
 " Picciola !" murmured the solitary captive, when every morn- 
 ing he carefully searched its already tufted foliage for indications 
 of inflorescence ; " when will these wayward flowers make their 
 appearance !" The Count seemed to experience pleasure in the 
 mere pronunciation of a name uniting in his mind the images of 
 the two objects which peopled his solitude; — his gaoler and his 
 plant ! 
 
 Returning one morning to the accustomed spot, and, as usual, 
 interrogating Picciola branch by branch, leaf by leaf, his eyes 
 were suddenly attracted towards a shoot of unusual form, gracing 
 the principal stem of the plant. He felt the beatings of his heart 
 accelerated, and, ashamed of his weakness, the colour rose to his 
 cheek, as he stooped for re-examination of the event. The spheri- 
 cal shape of the excrescence which presented itself, green, bristly, 
 and imbricated with glossy scales, like the slates of a rounded 
 dome surmounting an elegant kiosk, announced a bud! — Eureka! 
 — rA flower must be at hand ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The fly-catcher, who occasionally made his appearance at his 
 grated window, seemed to take delight in watching the assiduities 
 of Charney towards his favourite! He had observed the Count 
 compose his cement, weave his osier-work, — erect his palisades; 
 and, admonished by his own long captivity of the moral influence 
 of such pursuits, readily conjectured that a whole system of phi- 
 losophy was developing itself in the mind of his fellow-prisoner. 
 
 One memorable day, a new face made its appearance at the 
 window, — a female face, — fair, and fresh, and young. The stranger 
 was a girl, whose demeanour apoeared at once timid and lively ^
 
 P I C C I L A . 37 
 
 modesty regulated the movements of her well-turned head, and the 
 brilliancy of her animated eyes, whose glances were veiled by long 
 silken eyelashes of raven darkness. As she stood behind the 
 heavy grating, on which her fair hand bent for support, her brow 
 inclining in the shade as if in a meditative mood, she might have 
 stood for a chaste personification of the nymph Captivity. But 
 when her brow was uplifted, and the joyous light of day fell on 
 her lovely countenance, the harmony and serenity of her features, 
 her delicate but brilliant complexion, proclaimed that it was in the 
 free air of liberty she had been nurtured, not under the dispiriting 
 influence of the bolts and bars of a dungeon. She was, perhaps, 
 one of those tutelary angels of charity, whose lives are passed in 
 soothing the sick and solacing the captive? — No! — the instinct 
 which brought the fair stranger to Fenestrella was still more puis- 
 sant, — even that of filial duty. Only daughter to Girardi the fly- 
 catcher, — Teresa had abandoned the gay promenades and festivi- 
 ties of Turin, and the banks of the Doria-Riparia, to inhabit the 
 cheerless town of Fenestrella, not that her residence near the 
 fortress afforded free access to her father : for some time, she 
 found it impossible to obtain even a momentary interview with the 
 prisoner. But to breathe the same air with him, — and think of 
 him nearer to herself, was some solace to her affliction. This was 
 her first time of admittance into the long-interdicted citadel ; and 
 such is the origin of the delight which Charney sees beaming in 
 her eyes, and the colour which he observes mantling on her cheek. 
 Restored to the arms of her father, Teresa Girardi has indeed a 
 right to look gay, and glad, and lovely! 
 
 It was a sentiment of curiosity which attracted her to the win- 
 dow ; — a feeling of interest soon attaches her to the spot. The 
 noble prisoner and his occupation excite her attention ; but find- 
 ing herself noticed in her turn, she tries to recede from observa- 
 tion, as if convicted of unbecoming boldness. Teresa has nothing 
 to fear ! The Count de Charney, engrossed by Picciola and her 
 flower-bud, has not a thought to throw away on any rival beauty ! 
 
 A week afterwards, when the young girl was admitted to pay a 
 second visit to her father, she turned her steps, almost uncon- 
 sciously, towards the grated window for a glimpse of the prisoner; 
 when Girardi, laying his hand upon her arm, exclaimed, " My 
 fellow-prisoner has not been near his plant these three days. The 
 poor gentleman must be seriously ill." 
 
 " 111 ; seriously ill !" exclaimed Teresa, with emotion. 
 
 " I have noticed more than one physician traversing the court : 
 and from what I can learn from Ludovico, they agree only to a 
 single point ; — that the Count de Charney will die." 
 
 " Die!" again reiterated the young girl, with dilating eyes, and 
 terror rather than pity expressed in her countenance. " Unhappy 
 4
 
 38 PICCIOLA. 
 
 man — unhappy man!" Then turning towards her father, with 
 terror in her looks, she exclaimed, " People die, then, in this mise- 
 rable place !" 
 
 " Yes, the exhalations from the old moats have infected the 
 citadel with fever." 
 
 " Father, dearest father !" 
 
 She paused — tears were gathering under her eyelids; and Gi- 
 rardi, deeply moved by her affliction, extended his hand tenderly 
 towards her. Teresa seized and covered it with tears and kisses. 
 
 At that moment Ludovico made his appearance. He came to 
 present to the fly-catcher a new captive whom he had just arrested : 
 — neither more nor less than a dragon-fly with golden wings, which 
 he offered with a triumphant smile to Girardi. The fly-catcher 
 smiled, thanked his gaoler, and, unobserved by Ludovico, set the 
 insect at liberty ; for it was the twentieth individual of the same 
 species, with which he had furnished him during the last few days. 
 He profited, however, by the gaoler's visit to ask tidings of his 
 fellow-prisoner. 
 
 "Santissimo mio padrono ! do you fancy I neglect the poor 
 fellow?" cried Ludovico, gruffly : " though still under my charge, 
 he will soon be under that of St. Peter. I have just been water- 
 ing his favourite tree." 
 
 " To what purpose — since he is never to behold its blossoms?" 
 interrupted the daughter of Girardi. 
 
 " Perche, damigella — perche ?" cried the gaoler, with his accus- 
 tomed wink, and sawing the air with a rude hand, of which the 
 fore-finger was authoritatively extended; "because, though the 
 doctors have decided that the sick man has taken an eternal lease 
 of the flat of his back, I, Ludovico, gaoler of Fenestrella, am of a 
 different opinion. Non lo credo — trondidio ! — I have notions of 
 my own on the subject." 
 
 And turning on his heel he departed ; assuming, as he left the 
 room, his big voice of authority, to acquaint the poor girl, that 
 only twenty-two minutes remained of the time allotted for her visit 
 to her father. And at the appointed minute, to a second, he re- 
 turned, and executed his duty of shutting her out. 
 
 The illness of Charney was indeed of a serious nature. One 
 evening, after his customary visit to Picciola, an attack of faint- 
 ness overpowered him on regaining his room ; when, rather than 
 summon assistance, he threw himself on the bed, with aching 
 brows, and limbs agitated by a nervous shivering. He fancied 
 sleep would suffice for his restoration. 
 
 But instead of sleep, came pain and fever; and on the morrow, 
 when he tried to rise, an influence more potent than his will nailed 
 him to his pallet. Closing his eyes, the Count resigned himself to 
 his sufferings. In the face of danger, the calmness of the philoso-
 
 P I C C I L A . 39 
 
 pher and the pride of the conspirator returned. He would have 
 felt dishonoured by a cry or murmur, or an appeal to the aid of those 
 by whom he was sequestered from the breathing world; — content- 
 ing himself with instructions to Ludovico respecting the care of 
 his plant, in case he should be detained in bed, the carcere duro 
 which was to render still harder his original captivity. Physicians 
 were called in, and he refused to reply to their questioning. Char- 
 ney seemed to fancy that, no longer master of his existence, he 
 was exempted from all care for his life. His health was a portion 
 of his confiscated property; and those who had appropriated all, 
 might administer to that among the rest. At first, the doctors 
 attempted to overcome his spirit of perversity : but finding the sick 
 man obstinately silent, they began to interrogate his disorder in- 
 stead of his temper. 
 
 The pathognomonic symptoms to which they addressed them- 
 selves, replied in various dialects and opposite senses; for the 
 learned doctors invested their questions, each in the language of a 
 different system. In the livid hue of Charney's lips, and the dilated 
 pupils of his eyes, one saw symptoms of putrid fever; another, of 
 inflammation of the viscera; while the third inferred, from the 
 coloration of the neck and temples, the coldness of the extremi- 
 ties, and the rigidity of the countenance, that the disorder was 
 paralytic or apoplectic; — protesting that the silence of the patient 
 was involuntary, the result of the cerebral congestion. 
 
 Twice did the captain-commandant of the fortress deign to visit 
 the bedside of the prisoner. The first time to inquire whether the 
 Count had any personal requests to make, — whether he was de- 
 sirous of a change of lodging, or fancied the locality had exercised 
 an evil influence over his health; to all which questions Charney 
 replied by a negative movement of the head. The second time, he 
 came accompanied by a priest. The Count had been given over 
 by his doctors as in a hopeless state. His time was expired ; it be- 
 came necessary to prepare him for eternity ; and the functions of 
 the commandant required that he should see the last consolations 
 of religion administered to his dying prisoner. 
 
 Of all the duties of the sacerdotal office, the most august, per- 
 haps, are those of the ordinary of a prison — of the priest whose 
 presence sanctifies the aspect of the gibbet! Yet the scepticism 
 of modern times has flung its bitter mockeries in the face of these 
 devoted men ! " Hardening their hearts under the cuirass of habit," 
 says the voice of the scorner, " these officials become utterly in- 
 sensible. They forget to weep with the condemned, — they forget 
 to weep for them ; and the routine of their professional exhorta- 
 tions has neither grace nor inspiration in its forms of prayer." 
 
 Alas ! of what avail were the most varied efforts of eloquence, 
 — since the exhortation is fated to reach but once the ear of the
 
 40 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 victim ! — Alas! what need to inveigh against a calling which con- 
 demns the pure and virtuous to live surrounded by the profligate 
 and hard-hearted, who reply to their words of peace and love, with 
 insults, imprecations, and contempt? Like yourselves, these de- 
 voted men might have tasted the luxuries and enjoyments of life, 
 — instead of braving the contact of the loathsome rags of misery, 
 and the infected atmosphere of a dungeon. Endued with human 
 sensibilities, and that horror of sights of blood and death inherent 
 in all mankind, they compel themselves to behold, year after year, 
 the gory knife of the guillotine descend on the neck of the male- 
 factor; and such is the spectacle, such the enjoyment, which men 
 of the world denounce as likely to wear down their hearts to 
 insensibility ! 
 
 In place of this " man of sorrows and acquainted with grief," 
 devoted for a lapse of years to this dreadful function, in place of 
 this humble Christian, who has made himself the comrade of the 
 executioner, summon a new priest to the aid of every criminal ! 
 It is true, he will be more deeply moved ; it is true, his tears will 
 fall more readily ; — but will he be more capable of the task of im- 
 parting consolation? His words are rendered incoherent by tears 
 and sobs; his mind is distracted by agitation. The emotion of 
 which he is so deeply susceptible, will communicate itself to the 
 condemned; and enfeeble his courage at the moment of rendering 
 up his life a sacrifice, to the well-being of society. If the fortitude 
 of the new almoner be such as enables him to command at once 
 composure in his calling, be assured that his heart is a thousand 
 times harder than that of the most experienced ordinary. 
 
 No, — cast not a stone at the prison priest; throw no additional 
 obstacles in the way of so painful a duty ! — Deprive not the con- 
 demned of their last friend. Let the cross of Christ interpose, as 
 he ascends the scaffold, between the eyes of the criminal and the 
 fatal axe of the executioner. Let his last looks fall upon an object 
 proclaiming, trumpet-tongued, that after the brief vengeance of 
 man, comes the everlasting mercy of God! 
 
 The priest summoned to the bedside of Charney, was fortunately 
 worthy of his sacred functions. Fraught with tenderness for suf- 
 fering humanity, he read at once, in the obstinate silence of the 
 Count, and the withering sentences which disfigured his prison 
 walls, how little was to be expected of so imperious and scornful a 
 spirit; and satisfied himself with passing the night in prayers by 
 his bedside, charitably officiating with Ludovico in the services in- 
 dispensable to the sufferer. The Christian priest waited, as for the 
 light of dawning day, an auspicious moment to brighten with a ray 
 of hope the fearful darkness of incredulity ! 
 
 In the course of that critical night, the blood of the patient de- 
 termining to the brain, produced transports of delirium, necessi-
 
 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 41 
 
 tating restraint to prevent the unfortunate Count from dashing 
 himself out of bed. As he struggled in the arms of Ludovico and 
 the priest, a thousand incoherent exclamations and wild apostrophes 
 burst from his lips; among which the words "Picciola, — povera 
 Picciola !" were distinctly audible. 
 
 "Andiamo!" cried Ludovico, the moment he caught the sound. 
 " The moment is come! — Yes, yes, the Count is right — the mo- 
 ment is come," he reiterated with impatience. But how was he 
 to leave the poor chaplain there alone, exposed to all the violence 
 of a madman? "In another hour, it may be too late!" cried Lu- 
 dovico. "Corpo diDio! — it will be too late. Blessed Virgin, 
 methinks he is growing calmer ! Yes, he droops ! — he closes his 
 eyes! — he is sinking to sleep! If at my return he is still alive, 
 all 's. well. Hurra ! reverend father, we shall yet preserve him, 
 hurra, hurra !" 
 
 And away went Ludovico, satisfied, now the excitement of Char- 
 ney's delirium was appeased, to leave him in the charge of the kind- 
 hearted priest. 
 
 >. 
 
 O'LBEKTt&lHOM 
 
 3* 
 
 x ?
 
 42 PICCIOLA. 
 
 In the chamber of death, lighted by the feeble flame of a flick- 
 ering lamp, nothing now was audible but the irregular breathing 
 of the dying man, the murmured prayers of the priest, and the 
 breezes of the Alps whistling through the grating of the prison- 
 window. Twice, indeed, a human voice mingled in these monoto- 
 nous sounds : — the " qui vive ?" of the sentinel, as Ludovico passed 
 and repassed the postern on his way to his lodge, and back to the 
 chamber of the Count. At the expiration of half an hour, the 
 chaplain welcomed the return of the gaoler, bearing in his hand a 
 cup of steaming liquid. 
 
 "Santo Christo! — I had half a mind to kill my dog!" said Lu- 
 dovico, as he entered. " The brute, on seeing me, set up a howl, 
 which is a sign of evil portent ! But how have you been going on 
 here? Has he moved? No matter ! I have brought something 
 that will soon set him to rights ! — I have made bold to taste it my- 
 self! — bitter, saving your reverence's presence, as five hundred 
 thousand diavoli! Pardon me! mio padre !" 
 
 But the priest gently put aside the offered cup. 
 
 "After all," said Ludovico, " 'tis not the stuff for us. A pint of 
 good muscadello, warmed with a slice or two of lemon, is a better 
 thing for sitters-up with the sick, — eh ! Signore Caprtlano ? But 
 this is the job for the poor Count; — this will put things in their 
 places. He must drink it to the last drop ; for so says the pre- 
 scription." 
 
 And, as he spoke, Ludovico kept pouring the draught from one 
 cup to another, and blowing to cool it; till, having reduced it to 
 the proper temperature, he forced the half-insensible Count to 
 swallow the whole potion, while the chaplain supported his shoulders 
 for the effort. Then, covering the patient closely up, they drew 
 together the curtains of the bed. 
 
 " We shall soon see the effects," observed the jailer to his com- 
 panion. " I don't stir from hence till all is right. My birds are 
 safe locked in their cages ; my wife has got the babe to keep her 
 company. What say you, Signore Capellano ?" 
 
 And Ludovico's garrulity having been silenced by the almoner, 
 by a motion of the hand, the poor fellow stationed himself in si- 
 lence at the foot of the bed, with his eyes fixed on the dying man ; 
 retaining his very breath in the anxiousness of his watchfulness for 
 the event. At length, perceiving no sign of change in the Count, 
 he grew uneasy. Apprehensive of having accelerated the last fatal 
 change, he started up, and began pacing the room, snapping his 
 fingers, and addressing menacing gestures to the cup, which was 
 still standing on the table. 
 
 Suddenly he stopped short, and fixed his eyes on the livid face 
 of Charney. 
 
 " I have been the death of him," cried he, accompanying the
 
 P I C C I O L A . 43 
 
 apostrophe with a tremendous oath. " I have certainly been the 
 death of him." 
 
 The chaplain raised his head, when Ludovico, unappalled by 
 his air of consternation, began anew to pace the room, to stamp, 
 to swear, to snap his fingers with all the energy of Italian gesticu- 
 lation, till, tired out by his own impetuosity, he threw himself on 
 his knees beside the priest, hiding his head in the bedclothes, and 
 murmuring his mea culpa, till, in the midst of a paternoster, he 
 fell asleep. 
 
 At dawn of day, the chaplain was still praying, and Ludovico 
 still snoring; when a burning hand, placed upon the forehead of 
 the latter, suddenly roused him from his slumbers. 
 
 " Give me some drink," murmured the faint voice of Charney. 
 
 And, at the sound of a voice which he had supposed to be for 
 ever silenced, Ludovico opened his eyes wide with stupefaction to 
 fix them on the Count, upon whose face and limbs the moisture of 
 an auspicious effort of nature was perceptible. The fever was 
 yielding to the effect of the powerful sudorific administered by Lu- 
 dovico ; and the senses of Charney being now restored, he pro- 
 ceeded to give rational directions to the gaoler, concerning the 
 mode of treatment to be adopted ; then, turning towards the 
 priest, still humbly stationed on his knees at the bedside, he ob- 
 served, — 
 
 "I am not yet dead, sir? Should I recover, (as I have every 
 hope of doing,) present the compliments of the Count de Charney 
 to his trio of doctors, and tell them I dispense with their further 
 visits, and the blunders of a science as idle and deceptions as all 
 the rest. I overheard enough of their consultations to know that 
 I am indebted to chance alone for my recovery." 
 
 "Chance!" faltered the priest — "chance!" — And, having 
 raised his eyes to Heaven in token of compassion, they fell upon 
 the fatal inscription on the wall — 
 
 " Chance, though blind, is the sole author of the cre- 
 ation." 
 
 The chaplain paused, after perusing this frightful sentiment; 
 then, having gathered breath by a deep and painful inspiration, he 
 added, in a solemn voice, the last word inscribed by Charney, — 
 
 "Perhaps !" 
 
 And ere the startled Count could address him, he had quitted 
 the apartment.
 
 44 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Elated by success, Ludovico lent his ear, in a sort of idiotic 
 ecstasy, to every syllable uttered by the Count. Not that he com- 
 prehended their meaning: — There, luckily, he was safe. But his 
 dead man was alive again; had resumed his power of speaking, 
 thinking, acting, — a sufficient motive of exultation and emotion to 
 the delighted gaoler. 
 
 " Viva!" cried he; " vira, ervira. He is saved. All 'swell! 
 Che maratriglia! Saved ! — and thanks to whom I — to ir/uit .'" 
 
 And, waving in the air his earthen vessel, he proceeded to hug 
 and embrace it, saluting it with the tenderest diminutives of the 
 Tuscan vocabulary. 
 
 "Thanks to what?" echoed the sick man. "Why, to your 
 friendly care, my good Ludovico. Nevertheless, should my cure 
 be perfected, you will find those doctors yonder claiming all ho- 
 nour for their prescriptions ; and the priest for his prayers." 
 
 " Neither they nor I have any title to the victory," cried Ludo- 
 vico, with still wilder gesticulation. "As to the Signore Capel- 
 lano, his handiwork may have done something : 'tis hard to say. 
 But as to the other, — ay, ay, — as to the other bringer of salva- 
 tion—" 
 
 "To whom do you allude?" interrupted Charney, expecting 
 that the superstitious Ludovico would attribute his recovery to the 
 interposition of some favourite saint. " Who has deigned to be- 
 come my protector?" 
 
 " Say protectress, and you will be nearer the mark," cried Lu- 
 dovico. 
 
 "The Madonna, — eh?" demanded Charney, with an ironical 
 smile. 
 
 "Neither saint nor Madonna!" replied the gaoler, stoutly. 
 " She who has preserved you from the jaws of death and the 
 claws of Satan, (for dying without confession you were damned 
 as well as dead,) is no other than my pretty little god-daughter." 
 
 " Your god-daughter !" said the Count, lending a more atten- 
 tive ear to his rhapsodies. 
 
 " Ay, Ecccllenza, my god-daughter, Picciola, Picciolina, Pic- 
 cioletta. Was not I the first to baptize your favourite? Did I 
 not give her the name of Picciola? Have you not often told me 
 so yourself? Ergo, — the plant is my god-daughter, and I her 
 god-father — per Bacco! I 'm growing proud of the distinction !" 
 
 "Picciola!" exclaimed Charney, starting up, and resting his 
 elbow on his pillow, while an expression of the deepest interest
 
 P I C C I L A . 45 
 
 took possession of his countenance. "Explain yourself, my good 
 Ludovico, explain yourself!" 
 
 " Come, come, no shamming stupid, my dear lord !" said the 
 gaoler, resuming the customary wink of the eye, " as if 'twas the 
 first time that she had saved your life!" 
 
 "The first time?" 
 
 " Didn't you tell me yourself that the herb was the only specific 
 against the disorder to which you were subject? Lucky job I 
 hadn't forgotten it; for the Signora Picciola proves to have more 
 wisdom in one of her leaves, than the whole faculty of Montpellier 
 in the noddles that fill its trencher-caps. Trondidio, my little 
 god-daughter is able to defeat a regiment of doctors! ay, in full 
 complements — four battalions, and four hundred picked men to 
 each. Pray, did not your three humbugs in black, throw back 
 the coverlid on your nose, and pronounce you to be a dead man? 
 white Picciola, the stout-hearted little weed, (God send her seed 
 in her harvest !) brought you round in the saying of a paternoster? 
 'Tis a recipe I mean to keep like the apple of my eye; and if ever 
 poor little Antonio should fall sick, he shall drink broths of the 
 herb, and eat salads of it; though, good truth, 'tis as bitter as 
 wormwood. A single cup of the infusion, and all acted like a 
 charm. Vittoria! Viva Pillustrissima Signorina Picciola !" 
 
 Charney had not the heart to resent these tumultuous ecstacies 
 of his worthy keeper. The idea of being indebted for his life to 
 the agency of the feeble favourite, which had embellished his days 
 of health, insensibly brought a smile to his still feverish lips^ But 
 a vague apprehension oppressed his feelings. 
 
 " In what way, my good Ludovico, did you manage to apply 
 your remedy ?" said he, faintly. 
 
 " Faith ! easily enough ! A pint of scalding water poured upon 
 the leaves," (Charney bit his lips with anxiety,) " in a close ket- 
 tle, which, after a turn or two over the stove, furnished the decoc- 
 tion." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the Count, falling back on his pillow, and 
 pressing his hand to his forehead. " You have then destroyed the 
 olant! I must not reproach you, Ludovico; you did it for the 
 !>est. And yet, my poor Picciola! What will become of me, 
 now I have lost my little companion !" 
 
 "Come, come! compose yourself!" answered Ludovico, as- 
 suming the paternal tone of a father comforting his child for the 
 loss of a favourite plaything. " Compose yourself, and do not ex- 
 pose your limbs to cold, by throwing off your clothes in this way. 
 Listen to reason !" he continued, disposing the covering round the 
 person of his patient. " Was 1 to hesitate between the life of a 
 gillyflower and the life of a man ? Certainly not ! 'Twould have- 
 been a sin — a murder !"
 
 46 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 Charney groaned heavily. 
 
 " However, I hadn't the heart to plunge the poor thing head 
 foremost into the smoking kettle. I thought a loan might do as 
 well as total pillage; so, with my wife's scissors, I snipped off 
 leaves enough for a strong infusion, (sparing the buds; for the 
 jade has now three flower-buds for her top-knot,) and though her 
 foliage is a little the thinner, I 've a notion the plant will not suffer 
 from thinning. Picciola will, perhaps, be the better for the job, 
 as well as her master. So now, be prudent, eccellenza! only be 
 prudent, and all will go by clock-work at Fenestrella." 
 
 Charney, directing a glance of grateful affection towards his 
 gaoler, extended towards him a hand which, this time, Ludovico 
 felt himself privileged to accept ; for the eyes of the Count were 
 moistened by tears of emotion. But suddenly recollecting him- 
 self, and angry with his own infraction of the rule he had traced 
 for his conduct towards those committed to his charge, the mus- 
 cles of Ludovico's dark face contracted, and he resumed his harsh, 
 surly, every-day tone. Though still holding within his own the 
 hand of his prisoner, he affected to give a professional turn to his 
 attitude. 
 
 " See !" cried he, " in spite of my injunctions, you still persist 
 in uncovering yourself. Remember, sir, I am responsible for your 
 recovery !" 
 
 And, after further remonstrances, made in the dry tone of office, 
 Ludovico quitted the room, murmuring to the accompaniment of 
 his rattling keys, the burden of his favourite song : 
 
 " I'm a gaoler by my trade ; 
 
 A better ne'er was made. 
 Easy 'tis to laugh for those that win, man ! 
 
 I'd rather turn the key 
 
 Than have it turn'd on me. 
 Better out of doors than always in, man! 
 With a lira-lira-la, — driva din, man!" 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 During the remainder of that and the following day, Charney 
 exhibited the depression of mind and body which results from 
 every great physical crisis. But on the third day he resumed his 
 powers of thought and action; and, if still detained by weakness 
 on his pillow, the time was not far distant when he was likely to 
 resume his former habits of life. 
 
 What delight to renew his acquaintance with his benefactress !
 
 P I C C I L A . 47 
 
 All his thoughts were now turned towards Picciola! — There 
 seemed to be something beyond the common course of events in 
 the fact that a seed, accidentally shed within the precincts of his 
 prison, should have germinated in order to cure in the first in- 
 stance his moral disorder, — ennui : and in the second, the peril- 
 ous physical disease to which he had been about to fall a victim. 
 He, whom the splendour of wealth had failed to enliven, — he, 
 whom the calculations of human learning had failed to restore, — 
 had been preserved, first and last, by a plant ! — Enfeebled by ill- 
 ness, he was no longer able to apply his full force of reasoning to 
 the developement of the question; and a superstitious feeling, ac- 
 cordingly, began to attach him with redoubled force to the myste- 
 rious Picciola. It was impossible to ground upon a rational basis 
 his sentiments of gratitude towards a non-sentient being; never- 
 theless Charney found it impossible to refuse his affection in ex- 
 change for the existence bestowed upon him. Where reason is 
 paralysed, imagination exercises her influence without restraint. 
 Charney's regard for his benefactress now became exalted into a 
 religious feeling, or rather into a blind superstition. Between him 
 and his favourite there existed a mysterious sympathy of nature, 
 like the attraction which draws together certain inanimate sub- 
 stances. He even fancied himself under a charm, — a spell of en- 
 chantment. Who knows? Perhaps the arrogant refuter of the 
 existence of a God, is about to fall into the puerilities of judicial 
 astrology. For in the secrecy of his cell, Charney does not hesi- 
 tate to apostrophize Picciola as his star, — his destiny, — his talis- 
 man of light and life! 
 
 It is a curious fact that scarcely one illustrious man, remarkable 
 for knowledge or genius, convicted of doubt in the agency of a 
 Providence, but has been in his own person the slave of supersti- 
 tion : while attempting to throw off the yoke of servitude, submit- 
 ting to become threefold slaves. In the blind eagerness of their 
 pride to arrogate to their own merit the power or glory they have 
 attained, — those deep-seated instincts of religion which they have 
 attempted to stifle in their souls, — thrust out of their natural chan- 
 nel, — force a way of their own towards daylight, and acquire a 
 wild and irregular character. The homage they arrest in its 
 course to heaven, falls back upon the earth. They would fain 
 judge, though they refuse to believe : and the genius whose hori- 
 zon they have circumscribed, requites the forced contraction by 
 seeing things in part instead of a whole, and losing all power of 
 estimating the homogeneous design of the great Master of all! 
 They attach themselves to details, because an isolated fact is 
 within the scope of their judgment : and do not so much as notice 
 the points of union which connect it with universal nature. For 
 what is the whole creation, — earth, air, water, — the winds, the
 
 48 PICCIOLA. 
 
 waves, the stars, — mankind, — the universe, but an infinite being, 
 complete, premeditated, varied into inscrutable details, and breath- 
 ing and palpitating under the omnipresent hand of God? 
 
 Subdued, however, by the strength of his pride and the weak- 
 ness of his health, Charney saw nothing to admire in nature but 
 his weed, — his plant, — his Picciola ; and, as if to justify his folly by 
 analogy, dived into the vast stores of his memory for a precedent. 
 
 He called to mind all the miraculous plants recorded from the 
 earliest times, by poet or historian; the holly of Homer, — the 
 palm-tree of Latona, — the oak of Odin; — nay, even the golden 
 herb which shines before the eyes of the ignorant peasants of 
 Brittany, and the May-flower, which preserves from evil thoughts 
 the simple shepherdess of La Brie. He recollected the sacred 
 fig-tree of the Romans, — the olive of the Athenians, — the Teutates 
 of the Celts, — the vervain of the Gauls, — the lotus of the Greeks, 
 — the beans of the Pythagoreans, — the mandrake of the Hebrews. 
 He remembered the green campac which blossoms everlastingly 
 in the Persian's paradise ; — the touba tree which overshadows the 
 celestial throne of Mahomet; — the magic camalata, the sacred 
 amreet on whose branches the Indians behold imaginary fruits of 
 Ambrosia and of voluptuous enjoyment. He recurred with plea- 
 sure to the symbolical worship of the Japanese, who elevate the 
 altars of their divinities on pedestals of heliotropes and water- 
 lilies, assigning the throne of Love himself to the corolla of a ne- 
 nuphar. He admired the religious scruples of the Siamese, which 
 make it sacrilege to exterminate or even mutilate certain conse- 
 crated shrubs. A thousand superstitions which in former times 
 excited his pity and contempt toward the short-sightedness of 
 human nature, tended now to elevate his fellow-creatures in his 
 estimation. For the Count had discovered that, from the vegeta- 
 tion of an humble flower, may emanate lessons of wisdom ; and 
 doubted not, that all these idolatrous customs must have originated 
 in sentiments of gratitude unexampled by tradition. 
 
 " From his imperial throne of the west," thought Charney, 
 "Charlemagne did not disdain to exhort the nation submitted to 
 his rule, to the culture of flowers. And have not ^Elian and He- 
 rodotus recorded that the great Xerxes himself took such delight 
 in the beauty of an oriental plane-tree, as to caress its stem, — 
 press it tenderly in his arms, — sleep enraptured under its shade, — 
 decorating it with bracelets and chains of gold, when compelled 
 to bid adieu to his verdant favourite?" 
 
 As the convalescence of the Count proceeded, he was seated 
 one morning reclining absorbed in thought in his own chamber, 
 of which he had not yet ventured to cross the threshold, when his 
 door was suddenly burst open, and Ludovico, with a radiant 
 countenance, hastened towards him.
 
 P I C C I L A . 49 
 
 " Vittoria!" cried he. " The creature is in bloom. Picciola! 
 — Picciolctta ! — -jiglioccia mia !" 
 
 " In bloom 1" cried Chamey, starting up. " Let me see her. — 
 I must see the blossom." 
 
 In vain did the worthy gaoler represent the imprudence of going 
 too soon into the air; and implore the Count to delay the under- 
 taking for a day or two. The morning was uncertain, — the atmo- 
 sphere chilly. A relapse might bring the invalid once more to 
 the gates of death. But Charney was deaf to all remonstrance ! 
 He consented only to wait an hour, in order that the sun might 
 become one of the party. 
 
 " Picciola is in bloom !" repeated Charney to himself. And 
 how long, — how tedious did that hour appear, which was still to 
 divide him from the darling of his imagination ! For the first time 
 since his illness, he judged it necessary to dress. He chose to 
 dedicate his first toilet to Picciola in bloom. He actually looked 
 into his pocket-glass while he arranged his hair to do honour to 
 his visit to a flower ! — A flower 1 — Nay ! — surely something more ? 
 His visit is that of the convalescent to his physician, — of the 
 grateful man to his benefactress, — almost of the lover to his mis- 
 tress ! He was surprised to notice in the glass the ravages which 
 care and sickness had wrought in his appearance. He began to 
 suspect, for the first time, that bitter and venomous thoughts may 
 tend to canker the human frame ; and milder contemplations pro- 
 duce a more auspicious temperament. 
 
 At the appointed moment, Ludovico reappeared, to offer to the 
 Count de Charney the support of his arm down the steep steps of 
 the winding stone staircase; and scarcely had the sick man 
 emerged into the court, when the emotion caused by a sudden 
 restoration to light and air, operating on the sensitiveness of an 
 easily excitable nervous system, produced a conviction on his mind 
 that the whole atmosphere was vivified and embalmed by the ema- 
 nations of his flower. It was to Picciola he attributed the delight- 
 ful emotions which agitated his bosom. 
 
 The enchantress had, indeed, attired herself in all her charms! 
 The coquette was shining in all her beauty. Her brilliant and 
 delicately streaked corolla, in which crimson, pink, and white 
 were blended by imperceptible gradations, her large transparent 
 petal bordered by a little silvery fringe or ciliation, which the 
 scattered rays of the sun seemed to brighten into a halo encircling 
 the flower, exceeded the utmost anticipations of the Count, as he 
 stood gazing with transport upon his queen ! He feared, indeed, 
 to tarnish the delicacy of the blossom by the contact of his hand 
 or breath. Analysis or investigation seemed out of the question, 
 engrossed as he was by love and admiration for the delicate thing 
 5
 
 50 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 whose fragrance and beauty breathed enchantment upon every 
 sense ! 
 
 But he was soon startled from his reveries ! The Count no- 
 ticed, for the first time, traces of the mutilation by which he .had 
 been restored to health ; branches half cut away, and fading leaves 
 stiil wounded by contact with the scissors of Ludovico. Tears 
 started into his eyes! Instead of admiration for the delicate lines 
 and perfumes of those expanding blossoms, he experienced only 
 gratitude for the gift of life ! He beheld a benefactress in his 
 Picciola. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The physician of the prison condescended to authorize on the 
 morrow, the Count de Charney's resumption of his daily exercise. 
 He was allowed the freedom of the little court, not only at the 
 usual hours, but at any moment of the day. Air and exercise 
 were considered indispensable to his recovery ; and thus, the pri- 
 soner was enabled to apply himself anew to his long-interrupted 
 studies. 
 
 In the view of committing to writing his scientific observations 
 on the developement of his plant, from the moment of its germi- 
 nation, he tried to seduce Ludovico into furnishing him with pens 
 and paper. He expected, indeed, to find the gaoler resume on 
 this occasion an air of importance, and raise a thousand difficul- 
 ties, but probably yield in the sequel out of love for his captive, 
 or his god-daughter, or worldly pelf; for where perquisites were 
 concerned, turnkey-nature was still uppermost. But to Charney's 
 great surprise, Ludovico received his propositions with the most 
 frank good-humour. 
 
 " Pens and ink? Nothing more easy, Signor Conte /" said he, 
 tapping his pipe and turning aside his head to keep it alive by a 
 whiff or two : for he made it a point to abstain from smoking in 
 presence of the Count, to whom the smell of tobacco was disa- 
 greeable. " I, for my part, have no objection. But you see, such 
 little tools as pens and paper remain under the lock and key of 
 the governor, not under mine: and if you want writing materials, 
 you have only to memorialize the captain-commandant, and your 
 business is done !" 
 
 Charney smiled, and persevered. 
 
 " But in order to frame my petition, good Ludovico," said he, 
 "pens, ink, and paper are, in the first instance, indispensable?" 
 
 " True, eccilknza, true ! But we must drag back the donkey
 
 PIC CIO LA. 51 
 
 by the tail to make it get on — no uncommon method with peti- 
 tions," quoth the gaoler, half aside, crossing his hands consequen- 
 tially behind him. " I must go straight to the governor, and tell 
 him you have a request to make, no matter about what. That is 
 not my business, but his and yours. If inconvenient to him to visit 
 you in person, he '11 send his man of business, who will furnish you 
 with a pen and a piece of stamped paper, just one sheet, ruled in 
 form for a petition, on which you must inscribe your memorial in 
 his presence ; after which, he places his seal on it in yours ; you 
 return the pen to him, he makes you a bow, and away he goes with 
 the petition !" 
 
 " But it is not from the governor I ask for paper, Ludovico, 'tis 
 from yourself." 
 
 " From me? You don't then happen to know my orders?" re- 
 plied the gaoler, resuming his accustomed severity. Then drawing 
 a deep breath of his pipe, he exhaled the smoke with much delibe- 
 ration, eyeing the Count askance during the process, turned on his 
 heel, and quitted the room. 
 
 Next day, when Charney returned to the charge, Ludovico 
 contented himself with winking his eye, shaking his head, and 
 shrugging his shoulders. Not a word now was to be extracted 
 from him. 
 
 Too proud to humiliate himself to the governor, but still bent 
 upon his project, Charney now set to work to make a pen for him- 
 self out of a crow-quill tooth-pick. With some soot, carefully dis- 
 solved in one of the golden cups of his dressing-case, he furnished 
 himself with ink and inkstand; while his cambric handkerchiefs, 
 relics of a former splendour, were made to serve for writing-paper. 
 With these awkward materials, he resolved to record the peculiar- 
 ities of Picciola ; occupying himself, even when absent from his 
 favourite, with details of her life and history. 
 
 What profound remarks already presented themselves for inscrip- 
 tion ! What pleasure would Charney have found in communicating 
 his observations to any intelligent human being! His neighbour, 
 the fly-catcher, might have been a satisfactory auditor ; for Charney 
 had now found occasion to admire the bland and benevolent ex- 
 pression of a countenance, at first sight commonplace. Whenever 
 the old man stood contemplating from his little window, with an 
 inquiring and propitious eye, the beauty of Picciola, and the atten- 
 tions of her votary, the Count felt irresistibly attracted towards his 
 fellow-prisoner. Nay, smiles and salutations with the hand had 
 been exchanged between them ; and it was only the rigid interdic- 
 tion of all intercourse between prisoners at Fenestrella, which 
 prevented mutual inquiries after each other's health and pursuits. 
 The solitary explorers into the mysteries of nature were therefore
 
 52 P I C C I L A . 
 
 compelled to keep to themselves their grand discoveries in botany 
 and entomology. 
 
 First among those by which Charney was interested, after the 
 flowering of his plant, was the faculty exhibited by Picciola of 
 turning her sweet face towards the sun, and following him with 
 her looks throughout his daily course, as if to imbibe the greatest 
 possible portion of his vivifying rays. When clouds obscured the 
 orb of day, or there was a prospect of rain, her petals instantly 
 closed, like a vessel furling its canvass before a storm. "Are light 
 and heat so necessary, then, to her existence?" mused the Count; 
 " and why should she fear to refresh herself with a sprinkling 
 shower? Why? why? Picciola will explain! I have perfect 
 confidence in Picciola!" 
 
 Already his darling had fulfilled towards him the functions of a 
 physician. She was now about to become his compass and baro- 
 meter, perhaps even his timepiece ; for by dint of constantly in- 
 haling her fragrance, Charney found he could discover that her 
 perfumes varied in power and quality at different hours of the day. 
 At first, this phenomenon seemed an illusion; but reiterated ex- 
 periments convinced him that he was not mistaken ; and he was 
 soon able to designate to a certainty the hour of the day, according 
 to the varying odour of the flower.* 
 
 Innumerable blossoms already studded his beautiful plant: to- 
 wards evening, their exhalations were as delicious as they were 
 potent ; and at that moment, what a relief to the weary captive to 
 draw near to his favourite ! He now constructed a rude bench, 
 with some planks derived from the munificence of Ludovico, and 
 pointed a few logs, which he contrived to insert into the interstices 
 of the pavement. A rough plank, nailed transversely, afforded him 
 a leaning place, as he sat for hours musing and meditating in the 
 fragrant atmosphere of his plant. He was happier there than he 
 had ever felt on his silken ottomans of former days ; and hour after 
 hour would he sit reflecting on his wasted youth, which had elapsed 
 without the attainment of a single real pleasure, or genuine affec- 
 tion ! withering away in the midst of vain chimeras and prema- 
 ture satiety. 
 
 Often, after such retrospections, Charney found himself gradu- 
 ally soothed into reveries between sleep and waking; his senses 
 subdued into a sort of apathetic torpor, his imagination excited to 
 a visionary ecstacy, perplexing the desolate Count with scenes of 
 days past and days to come. 
 
 He sometimes fancied himself in the midst of those brilliant 
 fetes, where, though himself the victim of ennui, he used to lavish 
 
 * Sir James Smith notices this property in the Antirrhinum repens. Flora 
 Britannica, vol. ii. p. 638.
 
 PICCIOLA. 53 
 
 upon others all the pleasures and luxuries of life. He seemed to 
 stand gazing, some night of the Carnival, beside the illuminated 
 facade of his hotel in the Rue de Verneuil ; the rolling of a thou- 
 sand carriages vibrating in his ear. One by one, they entered, by 
 torchlight, his circular courtyard, depositing successively in the 
 vestibule, covered with rich carpets, and protected by silken hang- 
 ings, the fashionable belles of the day, enveloped in costly furs, 
 under which was audible the rustling of satin or brocade ; the 
 beaux of the imperial court, with their high-crowned hats, cravats 
 up to their ears, and redundant knee-strings ; artists of eminence, 
 with naked throats, Brutus-heads, and a costume half French, half 
 Greek ; and men of science or letters, wearing the distinctive aca- 
 demic collar of green. A crowd of lacqueys clustered on all sides, 
 insolently defying, under their new liveries, the absolute decrees 
 of the once puissant conventional republic of France. 
 
 The fancy of Charney next ascended to the crowded saloons in 
 which were assembled all that was illustrious or notorious of the 
 capital. The toga and chlamyda were jumbled together with 
 jackets, or frock-coats. High-heeled shoes, with rosettes, trod the 
 same floors as jockey-boots, with spur on heel, nay, even with the 
 caliga and cothurnus. Men of the law, the pen, the sword, mo- 
 neyed men and moneyless, artists and ministers of state, all were 
 confounded in this olla podrida of the Directory. An actor stood 
 hand in glove with an ex-bishop, a ci-devant peer with a ci-devant 
 pauper ; aristocracy and democracy were united like twin brothers ; 
 wealthy ignorance paraded itself arm in arm with starving erudi- 
 tion. Such was the regeneration of society, rallying round a com- 
 mon centre in masses, of which each felt itself still too feeble to 
 stand alone. The marshalling of the crowd was deferred to some 
 more convenient season; there would be a time for that hereafter! 
 Such is the system of a play-ground, where all classes of a school 
 mingle together under the impulse of a common thirst after amuse- 
 ment. As the boys grow older, the powerful influence of the spirit 
 of social order insensibly estranges them from unbecoming com- 
 panions, and high and low mechanically range themselves under 
 their appointed banners. 
 
 With a silent smile did Charney contemplate this phantasma- 
 goric display of piebald civilization. That which had once excited 
 the bitter sneers of the man of the world, now served to divert him, 
 as the memento of the wasted years spent by his native country in 
 shallow, theoretic experiments, exposing it to the contempt of 
 Europe. 
 
 At times, brilliant orchestres appeared to strike into animating 
 
 and joyous measures ; and lo ! the opening of the ball ! — Charney 
 
 fancied he could recognise the favourite airs of former days, but 
 
 more impressive than at their first hearing. The glittering radi- 
 
 5*
 
 54 P I C C I L A . 
 
 ance of the lustres, their prismatic reflection in the numerous mir- 
 rors, the soft and perfumed atmosphere of a ball-room — the aroma 
 of a banquet — the mirth of the guests — the wild hilarity of the 
 waltzers, who rustled against him in the mazy round, — the light 
 and frivolous topics which excited their merriment, all tended to 
 stimulate him to a degree of joyousness such as the reality of the 
 dream had never succeeded in producing. 
 
 Women, too, — ivory-shouldered, slender-waisted, swan-throated, 
 — women, arrayed in sumptuous brocades, gauzes striped with gold, 
 and gems of sparkling lustre, thronged around him, smiling as they 
 returned his salutations. One by one, he recognised those lovely 
 beings; the grace and ornaments of his entertainments, when, 
 opulent and free, the Count de Charney was cited as one of the 
 favoured ones of the earth. There figured, unrivalled, the majestic 
 Tallien, arrayed in the classic tunic of Greece, and covered with 
 gems and costly rings, even to the toes of a foot from which might 
 have been modelled that of some Venus of antiquity, naked but for 
 the slight concealment of a golden sandal ; the fair Recamier, to 
 whom Athens would have erected altars ; and Josephine, ci-devant 
 Countess of Beauharnois, who, by dint of grace and affability, often 
 passed for the fairest of these three graces of the Consulate. But 
 even by the side of these, a hundred lovely women distinguished 
 themselves, by their beauty or their elegance ; and how exquisite 
 did they now appear in the dreaming eyes of Charney ! How much 
 fairer, how much softer, than when they courted his smiles ! How 
 gladly had he now commanded liberty of choice among so many 
 consummate enchantresses ! 
 
 Sometimes, in the wildness of his reveries, he did venture on 
 selection ! — from the brilliant crowd he singled out one, — undis- 
 tinguished, however, by the lustre of ivory shoulders, or a tiara of 
 diamonds. Simple in attire as in deportment, his beauty lingered 
 behind the rest, with downcast eyes, and cheeks suffused with 
 blushes; a girl, a young girl, arrayed in simple white, and the no 
 less spotless array of perfect innocence. She had never shone in 
 his galas of other times; though now she stood out prominent on 
 the canvass, while all others vanished into shade. At last, she 
 seemed alone ; and Charney began to reconsider her, charm by 
 charm, feature by feature. His feelings were gently agitated by 
 the lovely vision. But how much more when, on raising his eyes 
 to the dark braids of her raven hair, he beheld a flower blooming 
 there, his flower, the flower of Picciola ! Involuntarily he extended 
 his arms towards the beauteous apparition, when, lo ! all grew con- 
 fused and misty ; and the distant music of the orchestre became 
 once more audible, as the fair maiden and fair flower appeared to 
 melt into each other. The fragrant corolla, expanding, enclosed 
 with its delicate petals the loveliest of human faces, till all was
 
 P I C C I L A . 55 
 
 hidden from his view. Instead of the gorgeous hangings and 
 gilded walls of the ball-room, a hovering exhalation presented 
 itself to the eyes of the Count. The lustres gradually extinguished, 
 vanished in the distance, emitting a feeble arch of light on the 
 outskirts of the gathering clouds. Rude pavement replaced the 
 smooth and lustrous floor ; stern Reason re-appeared to take pos- 
 session of her throne ; and the gracious illusions of fancy expired 
 at her approach. A touch of the fatal wand of Truth dispelled at 
 once the dream of the captive. 
 
 Charney woke to find himself musing on his rustic bench, his 
 feet resting on the stones of the court-yard, and the daylight fading 
 over his head. But Picciola, — thanks be to Heaven, Picciola is 
 still before him ! 
 
 The first time the Count became conscious of this species of 
 vertigo, he noticed that it was only when meditating in the atmo- 
 sphere of his plant that such gentle visions descended upon his 
 mind. He recollected that the emanations of certain flowers are 
 of so intoxicating a nature as even to produce asphyxia. It was, 
 therefore, under the influence of his favourite, that these delicious 
 dreams visited his imagination; and for his fete — his houris — his 
 banquets — his music — he was still indebted to Picciola. 
 
 But the fair girl — the modest, gentle girl by whose image he had 
 been so powerfully impressed — from whence has he derived her 
 image? Did he ever behold her among the haunts of men? Is 
 she, like the other divinities of his dream, the creature of reminis- 
 cence? Memory had nothing to reply ! The past afforded no pro- 
 totype for her charms ! But the future ; — if the vision his fancy 
 has created should be the creature of anticipation, of presentiment 
 rather than of recollection ? alas ! of what avail anticipations — of 
 what avail revelations of the future to the unfortunate Charney ! 
 In a sentence of imprisonment for life, the destinies of the captive 
 are accomplished. 
 
 All human hope, therefore, must be laid aside. The young girl 
 of blooming blushes, and draperies of virgin white, shall be the 
 Picciola of his imagination ; — Picciola in the poetical personifica- 
 tion of a dream; — his idol, his love, his bride. The sweet coun- 
 tenance and graceful form revealed to him, shall image forth the 
 guardian spirit of his plant: with that, his reveries shall be bright- 
 ened, and the aching void in his heart and soul filled up for ever ! 
 She shall dwell with him, muse with him, sit by his side, accom- 
 pany his lonely walks, reply to him, smile upon him, enchant him 
 with her ethereal love ! She shall share his existence, his breath, 
 his heart, his soul. He will converse with her in thought, and 
 close his eyes to gaze upon her beauty ! They shall form but one, 
 in order that he may be alone no longer. 
 
 These emotions superseded the graver studies of the prisoner
 
 56 P I C C I L A . 
 
 of Fenestrella, the enjoyments of the heart succeeding to those of 
 the mind. Chamey now gave himself up to all that poetry of ex- 
 istence, from whose sphere the soul returns laden with perfumes, 
 as the bee, after extracting from the breast of the flower a harvest 
 of honey. There was a life of daily hardship and captivity to be 
 endured ; there was a life of love and ecstacy to be enjoyed ; and 
 united, though apart, they completed the measure of existence of 
 the once envied, but most unhappy Count de Charney. His time 
 was shared between Picciola, his mortal flower — and Picciola, his 
 immortal love : to reason, or rather reasoning, succeeded happi- 
 ness and love ! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Induced at length to renew his experimental inquiries into the 
 process of inflorescence, Charney became enchanted by the pro- 
 digious and immutable congruities of Nature. For some time, 
 indeed, his eyes were baffled by the infinite minuteness of the phe- 
 nomena to which his attention was directed; when, just as his 
 patience became exhausted by his own incapacity, Ludovico con- 
 veyed to him, from his neighbour the fly-catcher, a microscopic 
 lens, with which Girardi had been enabled to number eight thou- 
 sand oculary facets on the cornea of a fly's eye. 
 
 Charney was transported with joy at the acquisition! — The 
 most occult portion of the flower now became manifested for his 
 investigation ; and already he fancied himself advancing with 
 gigantic strides in the path of science. Having carefully analyzed 
 the texture of his flower, he convinced himself that the brilliant 
 colours of the petal, their form, their crimson spots, the bands of 
 velvet or satin which adorn their bases or fringe their extremities, 
 are not intended for the mere gratification of the eye ; but for the 
 purpose of reflecting, attracting, or modifying the rays of the sun, 
 according to the necessities of the flower during the grand process 
 of fructification. The polished crowns or studs of the calyx, 
 lustrous like porcelain, are doubtless glandular masses for the 
 absorption of the air, light, and moisture, indispensable to the 
 formation of the seed : for without light, no colour, — without air 
 and moisture, no vitality. Moisture, light, and heat, are the ele- 
 ments of vegetable life, which, on its extinction, it bequeaths in 
 restitution to the universe. 
 
 Unknown to Charney, his reveries and studies had attracted 
 two deeply interested spectators; Girardi and his daughter. The 
 latter, educated in habits of piety and seclusion, by a father im-
 
 P I C C I O L A . 57 
 
 bued with reverential religious sentiments, was blessed with one 
 of those ethereal natures, in which every good and holy interest 
 seems united. The beauty and excellence of Teresa Girardi, the 
 graces of her person and mind, had not failed to attract admirers; 
 and her deep and expansive sensibility seemed to announce a pre- 
 disposition for human affections. But if a vague preference had 
 occasionally influenced her feelings amid the fetes of Turin, every 
 impulse of her gentle heart was now concentrated into grief for 
 the captivity of her father. 
 
 Her soul was humbled, — her spirits subdued. Two only objects 
 predominated in her heart : her father in prison, — her Saviour on 
 the cross; despair on earth, but trust in immortality. Not that 
 the fair daughter of Italy was of a melancholy mind. Her duties 
 were easy to her, her sacrifices a delight; and where tears were 
 to be dried or smiles awaked, there was the place of Teresa : 
 hitherto, she had accomplished this task towards her father only; 
 but from the moment of beholding Charney, his air of depression 
 excited a two-fold compassion in her bosom. A captive like her 
 father, and with her father, a mysterious analogy seemed to unite 
 their destinies. But the Count is even more deserving pity than 
 her father. The Count had no earthly solace remaining but a 
 poor plant; and with what tenderness does he cultivate this last 
 remaining affection ! The noble countenance and fine person of 
 the prisoner might, perhaps, unsuspected by Teresa, tend to 
 enhance her compassion ; but had she become acquainted with 
 him in his days of splendour, when surrounded by the deceptious 
 attributes of happiness, these would never have sufficed to distin- 
 guish him in her eyes. His isolation, — his abandonment, — his 
 calamity, — his resignation, have alone attracted her interest, and 
 prompted the gift of her tenderness and esteem. In her ignorance 
 of men and things, Teresa is induced to include misfortune in her 
 catalogue of virtues. 
 
 As bold in pursuance of a good action, as timid in personal 
 deportment, she often directed towards Charney the good offices 
 of her father ; and one day when Girardi advanced to the window, 
 instead of contenting himself, as usual, with a salutation of the 
 hand, he motioned to the Count to draw as near as possible to the 
 window ; and, having moderated his voice to the lowest pitch, 
 whispered — 
 
 " I have good news for you." 
 
 " And I my thanks to return," replied Charney, " for the micro- 
 scope you have been kind enough to send me." 
 
 " It is rather to my daughter your thanks are due," replied 
 Girardi. " It was Teresa who suggested the offer." 
 
 " You have a daughter ; and are you allowed the happiness of 
 seeing her V demanded the Count, with interest.
 
 58 P I C C I L A . 
 
 " I am indeed so fortunate," replied the old man ; " and return 
 daily thanks to Heaven for having bestowed on me an angel in my 
 child. During your illness, sir, none were more deeply interested 
 in your welfare than my Teresa. Have you never noticed her at 
 the grating, watching the care you devote to your flower !" 
 
 " I have some idea that " 
 
 "But, in talking of my girl," interrupted the old man, "I 
 neglect to acquaint you with important news. The Emperor is 
 on his way to Milan, for his coronation as King of Italy." 
 
 " King of Italy !" reiterated Charney. " Doubtless, then, alas ! 
 to be our master. As to the microscope," continued the Count, 
 who cared less for king or kaiser than for his ruling passion, "I 
 have detained it too long : you may be in want of it. Yet, as my 
 experiments are still incomplete, perhaps you will permit " 
 
 " Keep it," interrupted the fly-catcher with a beneficent smile, 
 perceiving, by the intonation of Charney's voice, with what regret 
 he was about to resign the solace of his solitude, " keep it in re- 
 membrance of a companion in misfortune, who entertains a lively 
 interest in your welfare." 
 
 Charney would have expressed his gratitude; but his generous 
 friend refused all thanks. " Let me finish what I have to com- 
 municate, ere we are interrupted," said he. Then, lowering his 
 voice again, he added, " It is rumoured that a certain number of 
 prisoners will be released, and criminals pardoned, in honour of 
 the coronation. Have you friends, sir, in Turin or Milan ! Are 
 there any to intercede for you ?" 
 
 The Count replied by a mournful negative movement of the 
 head. " I have not a friend in the world !" was his reply. 
 
 " Not a friend !" exclaimed the old man, with a look of pro- 
 found pity. " Have you, then, exhibited mistrust of your fellow- 
 creatures? — for friendship is unpropitious only to those who with- 
 hold their faith. I, Heaven be thanked, have friends in abundance, 
 — good and faithful friends, — who might, perhaps, be more suc- 
 cessful in your behalf than they have been in mine." 
 
 " I have nothing to ask of General Bonaparte," said Charney, 
 in a harsh tone, characteristic of all his former animosities. 
 
 " Hush ! speak lower ! I hear footsteps," said Girardi. 
 
 There was an interval of silence ; after which the Italian re- 
 sumed, in a tone which softened, by almost paternal tenderness, 
 the rebuke which it conveyed. 
 
 " Your feelings are still imbittered, my dear companion in ad- 
 versity. Surely your study of the works of Nature ought to have 
 subdued a hatred which is opposed to all the commandments of 
 God, and all the chances of human happiness! Has not the 
 fragrance of your flower poured balm into your wounds? The 
 Bonaparte, of whom you speak so vindictively, surely I have more
 
 P I C C I L A . 59 
 
 cause to hate him than yourself! My only son perished under his 
 banner of usurpation." 
 
 " True ! And did you not seek to avenge his death?" 
 
 " The false rumour, then, has reached you," said the old man, 
 raising his head with dignity towards heaven, as if in appeal to 
 the testimony of the Almighty, "/revenge myself by a deed of 
 blood ! No, sir ! no ! My utmost crime consisted in the despair 
 which prompted me, when all Turin saluted the victor with accla- 
 mations, to oppose to them the cries of my parental anguish. I 
 was arrested on the spot ; a knife was found on my person, and I 
 was branded with the name of assassin ; /, an agonized father, 
 who had just learned the loss of an only son." 
 
 " Infamous injustice ! infamous tyranny !" cried the Count, with 
 indignation. 
 
 " Nay," remonstrated Girardi, " I thank Heaven I am able to 
 perceive that Bonaparte may have been deceived by appearances. 
 His character is neither wicked nor cruel; or what was there to 
 prevent him from putting us both to death ? By restoring me to 
 liberty, he would only atone an error ; nevertheless, I should bless 
 him as a benefactor. I find captivity, however, by no means in- 
 supportable. Full of trust in the mercy of Providence, I resign 
 myself to the event; but the sight of my imprisonment afflicts my 
 daughter ; and for her sake I desire my liberation. I would fain 
 shorten her exile from the world, her alienation from the pleasures 
 of her age. Say ! — have you no human being who sorrows over 
 your misfortunes? — no woman who weeps for you in secret, to 
 whom you would sacrifice even your pride, as an oppressed and 
 injured man ? Come, come, my dear brother in adversity ! author- 
 ize my friends to include your name in their petitions!" 
 
 Charney answered with a smile, — " No woman weeps for me! 
 no one sighs for my return : for I have no longer gold to purchase 
 their affection. What is there to allure me anew into the world, 
 where I was even less happy than at Fenestrella? But even were 
 troops of friends awaiting me, — had I still wealth, honour, and 
 happiness in store, — I would refuse the gift of freedom from that 
 hand, whose power and usurpations I devoted myself to over- 
 throw." 
 
 " You deny yourself even the enjoyment of hope ?" said 
 Girardi. 
 
 " Never will I bestow the title of emperor on one, who is either 
 my equal or my inferior." 
 
 " Beware of sacrificing yourself to a sentiment, the offspring 
 of vanity rather than of patriotism !" cried Girardi. " But peace! 
 silence !" said he, more cautiously. " Some one approaches in 
 earnest. Addio, away!" And the venerable Italian disappeared 
 from the grated window.
 
 60 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 " Thanks ! — a thousand thanks for the microscope !" was Char- 
 ney's last exclamation, as Girardi vanished from his view. And 
 at that moment the door of the court-yard creaked on its hinges, 
 and Ludovico made his appearance with the basket of provisions, 
 forming the daily allowance of his prisoner. Observing the Count 
 to be silent and absent, the gaoler accosted him only by rattling 
 the plates, as he went by, as a signal that his dinner was ready. 
 Then, having ascended to place all in order in the little chamber, 
 amused himself, as he re-crossed the court, with making a silent 
 obeisance to the Signor and Signora, as he was now in the habit 
 of qualifying the Count de Charney, and his plant. 
 
 "The microscope is mine!" mused Charney, when he found 
 himself alone. " But how have I merited such kind consideration 
 on the part of a stranger? Ludovico, too, has become my friend. 
 Under the rough exterior of the gaoler, beats a kind and noble 
 heart. There exist, then, after all, virtuous and warm-hearted 
 men. But where ! In a prison!" 
 
 " Be thankful to adversity," remonstrated conscience, " which 
 has made you capable of appreciating a benefit received. To what 
 amounts the generosity of these two men? One of them watered 
 your plant for you in secret; the other has conferred on you the 
 means of analyzing its organization." 
 
 " In the smallest services consists the truest generosity," argued 
 Charney, in reply. 
 
 " True," resumed the voice, " when such services are dedicated 
 to your own convenience. Had Picciola never sprung to life, these 
 two beings would have remained in your eyes, — the one a doting 
 old man, engrossed by puerile pursuits; the other, a gross and 
 sordid clod, absorbed by the love of gain. In your world of other 
 days, Sir Count, to what, pray, did you attach yourself? To nothing. 
 Your soul recoiled upon itself, and no man cared for you. By love 
 comes love. It is your attachment to Picciola which has obtained 
 you the affection of your companions. Picciola is the talisman by 
 which you have attracted their regard." 
 
 Charney interrupted this mono-dialogue by a glance from the 
 microscope towards Picciola. He has already forgotten the an- 
 nouncement of " Napoleon, Emperor of the French, and King of 
 Italy !" — one half of which formerly sufficed to convert him into a 
 conspirator and a captive. How unimportant in his eyes, now, 
 those honours conferred by nations, and based upon the liberties 
 of Europe ! An insect hovering over his plant, threatening mis- 
 chief to its delicate vegetation, seems more alarming than the 
 impending destruction of the balance of power, by the conquests 
 of a new Alexander.
 
 PIC CI OLA. 61 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Armed with his glass, Charney now extended his field of bota- 
 nical discovery; and, at every step, his enthusiasm increased. It 
 must be owned, however, that inexperienced as he was in the me- 
 thod of scientific inquiry, devoid of first principles and appropriate 
 instruments, he often found himself defeated ; and the spirit of 
 paradox became insensibly roused to existence by the cavilling tem- 
 per of his mind. 
 
 He invented half a hundred theories on the circulation of the 
 sap; on the coloration of the various parts of the flower; on the 
 secretion of different kinds of aroma by different organs of the 
 stem, the leaves, the flowers; on the nature of the gum and resin 
 emitted by vegetables, and the wax and honey extracted by bees 
 from the nectary. At first, ready answers suggested themselves to 
 all his inquiries; but new systems arose, to confute on the morrow 
 those of the preceding day. Nay, Charney seemed to take delight 
 in the impotence of his own judgment, as if affording wider scope 
 to the efforts of his imagination, and an indefinite term to the du- 
 ration of his experiments and inferences. 
 
 A day of joy and triumph for the enthusiast was now approach- 
 ing! He had formerly heard, and heard with a smile of incredu- 
 lity, allusion to the loves of plants, and the sublime discoveries of 
 Linnaeus concerning vegetable generation. It was now his pleasing 
 task to watch the gradual accomplishment of maternity in Picciola ; 
 and when, with his glass fixed on the stamens and pistils of the 
 flower, he beheld them suddenly endowed with sensibility and ac- 
 tion, the mind of the sceptic became paralyzed with wonder and 
 admiration ! By analogical comparison, his perceptions rose till 
 they embraced the vast scale of the vegetable and animal creation. 
 He recognised with a glance the mightiness, the immensity, the 
 harmony of the whole. The mysteries of the universe seemed sud- 
 denly developed before him. His eyes grew dim with emotion, — 
 the microscope escaped his hand. The atheist sinks back over- 
 powered on his rustic bench, and after nearly an hour of profound 
 meditation, the following apostrophe burst from the lips of Char- 
 ney : — 
 
 ' ; Picciola!" said he, in a tone of deep emotion, — "I had once 
 
 the whole earth for my wanderings, — I was surrounded by those 
 
 who called themselves my friends — by men of letters and science : 
 
 and not one of the learned ever bestowed upon me as much instruc- 
 
 6
 
 62 PIC CIO LA. 
 
 tion as I have received from ihee! — not one of the friendly ever 
 rendered me such good offices as thine ! In this miserable court- 
 yard, between the stones of whose rugged pavement thou hast 
 sprung to life, I have reflected more, and experienced more pro- 
 found emotions, than while traversing in freedom all the countries 
 of Europe ! Blind mortal that I have been ! — When first I beheld 
 thee, pale, feeble, puny, I looked on thee with contempt ! And it 
 was a companion that was vouchsafed to me — a book that was 
 opened for my instruction — a world that was revealing itself to my 
 wondering eyes ! The companion solaces my daily cares — attach- 
 ing me to the existence restored me by her aid, and reconciling 
 me with mankind, whom I had unfairly condemned. The book 
 teaches me to despise all works of human invention, convicting my 
 ignorance, and rebuking my pride ; — instructing me that science, 
 like virtue, is to be acquired through lowliness of mind. Inscribed 
 in the living characters of a tongue so long unknown to me, it con- 
 tains a thousand enigmas, of which every solution is a word of 
 hope. The world is die region of the soul — the abstract and cri- 
 terion of celestial and eternal nature : — the revelation of the organic 
 law of love, from which results the order of the universe, the gravi- 
 tation of atoms, the attraction of suns, and the electric union of all 
 created things, from the highest star to the hyssop on the wall — 
 from the crawling insect to man, who walks the earth with his 
 brows elevated towards heaven — perhaps in search of the omnipo- 
 tent Author of his being!" 
 
 The breast of Charney swelled with irrepressible emotion as 
 he spoke. Thought succeeded thought in his brain; feeling after 
 feeling arose in his heart; — till, starting from his seat, he began 
 to traverse the court with hurried footsteps. At length, his agita- 
 tion exhausted, he returned towards his Picciola, gazed upon her 
 with ineffable tenderness, raised his eyes to heaven, and faintly 
 articulated, — " Oh! mighty and unseen God ! — the clouds of learn- 
 ing have too much confused my understanding, — the sophistries 
 of human reason too much hardened my heart, for thy divine 
 truths to penetrate at once into my understanding. In my un- 
 worthiness to comprehend thy glorious revelations, I can yet only 
 call upon thy name, and humbly seek thy infinite, but invisible 
 protection." 
 
 And with grave demeanour, Charney retraced his steps to his 
 chamber; where the first sentence that met his eyes, inscribed 
 with his own hand upon the wall, was — 
 
 " God is but a word !" 
 
 In another moment he had superadded to the inscription, — " a 
 word, which serves perhaps to solve the great enigma of crea- 
 tion !" 
 
 "Perhaps" — the master word of doubts, still disfigured the
 
 PICCIOLA. 63 
 
 phrase ! — But it was something for the arrogant Charney to have 
 arrived at doubt, from the extreme of absolute negation. He was 
 recoiling in the path of falsehood he had so long pursued. He no 
 longer pretended to rely for support upon his own strength, — his 
 own faculties. He is willing now to learn, eager to perpetuate the 
 soft emotions by which his pride has been subdued, and it is still 
 to the insignificant Picciola he turns for instruction, — for a creed, 
 — a God, — an immortality. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Thus passed the days of the prisoner ; and after whole hours 
 devoted to inquiry and analysis, Charney loved to turn from the 
 weariness of his studies to the brightness of his illusions, — from 
 Picciola the blooming plant, to Picciola the blooming girl. When- 
 ever the awakening perfumes of his flower ascended to his cham- 
 ber, oppressing his senses, and creating misty confusion before his 
 eyes, he used to exclaim, " To-night Picciola will hold her court; 
 I must hasten to Picciola." 
 
 Thus predisposed to reverie, his mind was promptly attuned 
 into the sort of doze, in which, during the absence of reason, 
 " mimic fancy wakes." Oh ! were it not, indeed, a dearer enjoy- 
 ment than any yet vouchsafed to human nature, if man could so 
 far acquire authority over his dreams, as to live at will that 
 secondary life where events succeed each other with such rapidity ; 
 where centuries cost us but one breathing hour ; where a magic 
 halo environs all the actors of the drama, and where nothing is 
 real but the emotions of our thrilling hearts? Would you have 
 music? Harmonious concerts might arise in spontaneous unison, 
 unprefaced by discordant tuning, the anxious looks of the musi- 
 cians, or the ungraceful and quaint forms of their instruments. 
 Such is the world of dreams! Pleasure without repentance; the 
 rainbow without the storm ! 
 
 To such illusions did Charney resign himself! Faithful to the 
 gentle image of his Picciola, it was to her he invariably appealed ; 
 and the vision came at his call, simple, modest, and beautiful, as 
 at its first advent. Sometimes he surrounded her with the com- 
 panions of his early studies; sometimes, united with his mother 
 and sister, his imaginary love served to create around him the 
 domestic happiness of his youth. Sometimes she seemed to in- 
 troduce him into a dwelling cheered by competence, and adorned 
 with elegance, where pleasures hitherto unknown, came wooing 
 his enjoyment. After evoking the joys of memory and calling up
 
 64 
 
 PICCIOL A. 
 
 reminiscences of the past, she gave existence to hope, to ties un- 
 dreamed of, and joys unknown. Mysterious influence ! Where 
 was he to find the solution of the mystery? With the view of 
 future comparison, the Count actually began to record on his cam- 
 bric pages the wild illusions of his dreams! 
 
 One evening, in the midst of a flight of fancy, Picciola for the 
 first time dispelled the charm of happiness and serenity, by the 
 exercise of a sinister influence ! At a later moment he recurred 
 to the event as the effect of a fatal presentiment ! 
 
 It was just as the fragrance of the plant indicated the sixth hour 
 of evening, and Charney was musing at his accustomed post. 
 Never had that aromatic vapour exercised its powers more 
 potently : for more than thirty full-blown flowers were emitting the 
 magnetic atmosphere, so influential over the senses of the Count. 
 He fancied himself surrounded once more by the crowds of 
 society; having drawn aside from which, towards an esplanade of 
 verdure, his beloved Picciola deigned to follow his footsteps. The 
 graceful phantom advanced smiling towards him ; and Charney, 
 in a musing attitude, stood admiring the supple grace of the young 
 girl, around whose well-turned form the drapery of her snow-white 
 dress played in harmonious folds, and her raven tresses, amid 
 which bloomed the never absent flower ! On a sudden he saw her 
 start, stagger, and extend her arms towards him. He tried to rush
 
 PICCIOLA. 65 
 
 towards her; but an insurmountable obstacle seemed to separate 
 him from her side. A cry of horror instantly escaped his lips, 
 and lo ! the vision disappears! He wakes, but it is to hear a 
 second cry, respondent to his own ; yes, the cry, the voice of a 
 female ! 
 
 Nevertheless, the Count is still in his usual place — in the old 
 court, and reclining on the rustic bench beside his Picciola! But 
 at the grating of the little window, appeared the momentary glimpse 
 of a female form ! A soft and melancholy countenance, half hid 
 in shade, seems gazing upon him ; but when, rising from his seat, 
 he hastens towards it, the vision vanishes, or rather the young girl 
 hastens from the window. However swift her disappearance, 
 Charney was able to distinguish her features, her hair, her form, 
 the whiteness of her robe. He paused. Is he asleep or waking ? 
 Can it be that the insurmountable obstacle which divides him from 
 Picciola is no other than the grating of a prison ? 
 
 At that moment, Ludovico hastens towards him with an air of 
 consternation. 
 
 "Are you again indisposed, Signor Conte ?" cried the gaoler. 
 " Have you had another attack of your old disorder ? Trondidio ! 
 If we are obliged, for form's sake, to send for the prison doctor, 
 I'll take care, this time, that no one but Madame Picciola and 
 myself have a hand in the cure!" 
 
 " I am perfectly well," replied Charney, trying to recover his 
 composure. " What put it into your head that I was indisposed?" 
 
 " The fly-catcher's daughter came in search of me. She saw 
 you stagger, and hearing you cry aloud, fancied you were in need 
 of assistance." 
 
 The Count relapsed into a fit of musing. It seemed to occur 
 to him, for the first time, that a young girl occasionally inhabited 
 that part of the prison. 
 
 " The resemblance I fancied I could discover between the 
 stranger and Picciola, is doubtless a new delusion !" said he to 
 himself. And he now recalled to mind Teresa's interest in his 
 favour, mentioned to him by the venerable Girardi. The young 
 Piedmontese had compassionated his condition during his illness. 
 To her he is indebted for the possession of his microscope. His 
 heart becomes suddenly touched with gratitude, and in the first 
 effusion, a sudden remark seems to sever the double image, the 
 young girl of his dreams, from the young girl of his waking hours ; 
 " Girardi's daughter wore no flower in her hair." 
 
 That moment, but not without hesitation, not without self-re- 
 proach, he plucked with a trembling hand from his plant a small 
 branch covered with blossoms. 
 
 " Formerly," thought Charney, " what sums of money did 1 
 lavish to adorn, with gold and gems, brows devoted to perjury and 
 6*
 
 66 PICCIOLA. 
 
 shame ! upon how many abandoned women and heartless men did 
 I throw away my fortune, without caring more for them than for 
 the feelings of my own bosom, which, at the same moment, I 
 placed in the dust under their feet. Oh ! if a gift derives its value 
 from the regard in which it is held by the donor, never was a 
 richer token offered by man to woman, my Picciola, than these 
 flowers which I borrow from thy precious branches to bestow on 
 the daughter of Girardi!" 
 
 Then, placing the blossomed bough in the hands of the gaoler, 
 " Present these in my name to the daughter of my venerable neigh- 
 bour, good Ludovico !" said he. " Thank her for the generous 
 interest she vouchsafes me ; and tell her that the Count de Char- 
 ney, poor, and a prisoner, has nothing to offer her more worthy 
 her acceptance." 
 
 Ludovico received the token with an air of stupefaction. He 
 had begun to enter so completely into the passion of the captive 
 for his plant, that he could not conjecture by what services the 
 daughter of the fly-catcher had merited so distinguished a mark 
 of munificence. 
 
 " No matter ! Capo di San Pasquali f" exclaimed Ludovico, as 
 he passed the postern. " They have long admired my god-daughter 
 at a distance. Let us see what they will say to the brightness 
 of her complexion, and sweetness of her breath, on a nearer ac- 
 quaintance, Piccioletta mia, andiamo I" 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Many sacrifices of a similar kind, however, were now required 
 of Charney. The epoch of fructification is arrived. The bril- 
 liant petals of many of the flowers have fallen, and their stamens 
 become useless : decaying, like the cotyledons, after the first 
 leaves had attained maturity. The ovary containing the germ of 
 the seeds begins to enlarge within the calyx. The fertile flowers 
 lay aside their beauty, like matrons who, in achieving their ma- 
 ternal triumphs, begin to disdain for themselves the vain adorn- 
 ments of coquetry. 
 
 The Count now devotes his attention to the most sublime of all 
 the mysteries of nature, the perpetuation of created kinds, and 
 the reproduction of life. In opening and analyzing a bud detached 
 some time before from the tree, by the injury of an insect, Char- 
 ney had noticed the primary germ destined to fertilization, but 
 demanding protection and nutriment from the flower before its
 
 P I C C I L A . 67 
 
 feeble organization could be perfected. Admirable foresight of 
 nature, as yet unexplained by the logic of science. But now the 
 reproduction of a future Picciola is to be completed ; and the 
 narrow seed must be made to comprehend all the developement 
 of a perfect plant. The curious observer is to direct his notice 
 to the fecundation of the vegetable egg ; and for this purpose, 
 Picciola must be submitted to further mutilation. No matter ! — 
 She is already preparing herself for the reparation of her losses. 
 On all sides, buds are reappearing. From every joint of her 
 stem, or branches, new shoots are putting forth to produce a se- 
 cond flowering. 
 
 In pursuance of this task, Charney soon took his usual seat 
 with the grave demeanour of an experimentalist. But scarcely 
 had he cast his eyes upon the plant when he is shocked by the 
 air of languor apparent in his favourite. The flowers inclining 
 on their peduncles, seem to have lost their power of turning to- 
 wards the sun; their leaves curling inwards their deep and lus- 
 trous verdure. For a moment Charney fancies that a heavy storm 
 is at hand ; and prepares his mats and osier bands to secure Pic- 
 ciola from the force of the wind or hail. But no! the sky is 
 cloudless ; — the air serene ; — and the lark is heard singing out of 
 sight, overhead, secure in the breathlessness of the blue expanse 
 of heaven. 
 
 Charney's brow becomes overcast. " She is in want of water," 
 is his first idea ; but having eagerly fetched the pitcher from his 
 chamber, and on his knees beside the plant, removed the lower 
 branches, in order at once to reach the root, he is struck motion- 
 less with consternation. All — all — is explained. His Picciola is 
 about to perish ! 
 
 While the flowers and perfumes were multiplying to increase 
 his studies and enjoyments, the stem of the plant, also, was increas- 
 ing unobserved. Enclosed between two stones of the pavement, 
 and strangled by their pressure, a deep indentation first gave token 
 of her sufferings, the surface of which being at length crushed 
 and wounded by the edges of the granite, the sap has begun to 
 exude from the fissures, and the strength of the plant is exhaust- 
 ed ! 
 
 Limited in the allotment of soil for her nutriment, her sap un- 
 naturally expanded, her strength overtasked, Picciola must die, 
 unless prompt relief can be afforded ! — Her doom is sealed ! — 
 One only resource remains. By removing the stones that weigh 
 upon her roots, the plant may yet be preserved. But how to 
 effect this, without an implement to assist her efforts? — Rushing 
 towards the postern and knocking vehemently, the Count sum- 
 mons Ludovico to his aid. But although on the gaoler's arrival 
 the explanation of the disaster and the sight of his expiring god-
 
 68 PICCIOLA. 
 
 daughter overwhelm him with sorrow, no other answer can be 
 obtained by Charney to his entreaties that the pavement may in- 
 stantly be removed, than "Eccellcnza! the thing is impossible!" 
 Without hesitation, the Count attempted to conciliate the 
 gaoler's acquiescence by the offer no longer of the gilt goblet of 
 tiis dressing-case, but the whole casket. 
 
 But Ludovico, assuming his most imposing attitude, folded his 
 arms upon his breast; exclaiming, in his half-provincial, half- 
 Piedmontese dialect, "Bagasse, bagasse! Ludovico is too old 
 a soldier to submit to bribery. I know my orders. I know my 
 duty. It is to the captain-commandant you must address your- 
 self." 
 
 " No," cried Charney. " Rather would I tear up the stones 
 with my hands, even were my bleeding nails sacrificed in the 
 attempt !" 
 
 "Ay, ay ! time will show !" replied Ludovico, resuming the 
 pipe, which he was in the habit of holding half-extinguished 
 under his thumb, during his colloquies with the Count ; and after 
 a puff or two, turning on his heel to depart. 
 
 " Good Ludovico ! — I have hitherto found you so kind, — so 
 charitable! Can you do nothing for my assistance?" persisted 
 Charney. 
 
 "Trondidio !" answered the gaoler, trying to conceal by an 
 oath the emotion gaining upon his feelings, " can't you leave me 
 a moment's peace, — you and your cursed gilly-flower ! — As to the 
 poverina, I forgive her, — 'tis no fault of Picciola ! — but as to you, 
 
 whose obstinacy will certainly be the death of the poor thing " 
 
 " What would you have me do, then?" exclaimed the Count. 
 " Petition the commandant, I tell you, petition the command- 
 ant !" cried Ludovico. 
 " Never !" 
 
 " There you are again ; but if your pride is so tetchy, will you 
 give me leave to speak to him?" 
 
 " No," replied Charney ; " I forbid you." 
 
 "You forbid me !" cried the gaoler : — "D el is it your or- 
 ders I am to obey ? If I choose to speak to him, who is to pre- 
 vent me ?" 
 " Ludovico !" 
 
 " Set your mind at ease ; I am not going to undertake any such 
 fool's errand. What business is it of mine? — Let her live, let her 
 die ; — cite m' importa? If you want to put an end to the plant, 'tis 
 your own affair — Buona nottc!" 
 
 " But has your commandant sense enough to understand me?" 
 demanded the Count, detaining him. 
 
 " Why not? — do you take him for a kinserlick? Tell him your 
 story straight on end : pack it into pretty little sentences, like a
 
 P I C C I O L A . 69 
 
 scholar who knows what he is about ; — for now 's the time to put 
 your learning to some use. Why shouldn't he enter into your love 
 for a flower as well as I have? Besides, I shall be there to put in 
 a word. I can tell him what a capital tisane is to be made of the 
 herb. The commandant 's an ailing man himself. He has got a 
 sharp fit of the rheumatism upon him at this very moment, which 
 will perhaps make him enter into the case." 
 
 Charney still hesitated ; but Ludovico pointed with one of his 
 knowing winks to Picciola, sick and suffering; arid, with a gesture 
 of anxiety from the Count, off went the gaoler on his errand. 
 
 Some minutes afterwards, a man in a half-military, half-civil 
 uniform, made his appearance in the court, with an inkstand and a 
 sheet of paper bearing a government stamp. As Ludovico had 
 announced, this person remained present while Charney wrote out 
 his petition ; received it sealed into his hands, and, with a respect- 
 ful bow, departed, carrying off the inkstand. 
 
 GILBEKTwG/HOM
 
 70 P I C C I L A . 
 
 Reader, despise not the self-abasement of the haughty Count de 
 Charney ! — marvel not at the readiness with which he has con- 
 sented to an act of humiliation. Remember that Picciola is all in 
 all to the poor prisoner ! Reflect upon the influence of isolation on 
 the firmest mind, the proudest spirit! Had he recourse to submis- 
 sion when himself oppressed with suffering, pining after the free 
 air of liberty, overpowered by the walls of his dungeon, as Picciola 
 by its pavement ? No ! for his own woes the Count had fortitude ; 
 but between himself and his favourite, a league of mutual obliga- 
 tion subsists — sacred enjoyments have arisen. Picciola preserved 
 his life; must her own be sacrificed to his self-love? 
 
 The venerable Girardi presently beheld the Count pacing the 
 little court with agitated footsteps, and gestures of anxiety and im- 
 patience. How tediously were the moments passing — how cruel 
 the delay to which he was exposed ! Three hours had elapsed since 
 he despatched his petition; and no answer. As the sap of the ex- 
 piring plant oozed from the wounded bark, Charney felt that he 
 had rather his own blood were required of him. The old man, 
 addressing him from the window, tried in vain to afford him con- 
 solation ; but at length, more experienced than himself in acci- 
 dents of the vegetable and animal kingdom, indicated a mode of 
 closing up the wounds of the stem, so as to remove at least one 
 source of peril. 
 
 With a mixture of finely chopped straw and moistened clay, he 
 forms a mastic, easily fixed upon the bark with bandages of torn 
 cambric. An hour passed rapidly in the performance ; but at its 
 close, the Count has to bewail anew the silence of the governor. 
 
 At the usual dinner hour, Ludovico made his appearance with a 
 vexed and careworn countenance, annunciatory of no good tidings. 
 The gaoler scarcely deigns a reply to the interrogations of Char- 
 ney, except by monosyllables, or the roughest remonstrances. 
 
 "Can't you wait? — What use in so much hurry? — Give him 
 time to write !" 
 
 Ludovico seemed preparing himself for the part which he found 
 he should be required to play in the sequel. 
 
 Charney touched not a morsel : the sentence of life or death was 
 impending over Picciola ; and he sat trying to inspire himself with 
 courage, by protesting that none but the most cruel of men could 
 refuse so trifling a concession as he had asked. But his impatience 
 did but increase with his arguments, as if the commandant could 
 have no business more important in hand than to address an imme- 
 diate answer to his memorial. At the slightest noise, Charney's 
 eyes turned eagerly towards the door by which he was expecting 
 the fiat of the governor. 
 
 Evening came — no news ; — night — not a word ! The unfortu- 
 nate prisoner did not close his eyes that night !
 
 PICCIOLA. 71 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 On the morrow, the anxiously expected missive was delivered 
 to him. In the dry and laconic style of office, the commandant 
 announced that no change could be made in the distribution of 
 the walls, moats, or ditches of the fortress of Fenestrella, unless 
 by the express sanction of the Governor of Turin ; " and the pave- 
 ment of the court," added the commandant, " is virtually a wall 
 of the prison." 
 
 Charney stood confounded by the stupidity of such an argu- 
 ment ! — To make the preservation of a flower a state question, — 
 a demolition of the imperial fortification, — to wait a reply from 
 the Governor of Turin ! — wait a century, when a day's delay was 
 likely to prove fatal ! The governor might perhaps refer him to 
 the prime minister, — the minister to the senate, — the senate to the 
 emperor himself. What profound contempt for the littleness of 
 mankind arose in his bosom at the idea ! — Even Ludovico ap- 
 peared little better in his eyes than the assistant of the execu- 
 tioner : for on the first outburst of his indignation, the gaoler 
 remonstrated in the tone of an underling of the administration, 
 replying to all his entreaties by citing the rules and regulations of 
 the fortress. 
 
 Charney drew near to the feeble invalid whose bloom was 
 already withering; and with what grief did he now contemplate 
 ner fading hues! The happiness — the poetry of his life seemed 
 vanishing before him. The fragrance of Picciola already indicated 
 a mistaken hour, like a watch whose movements are out of order. 
 Every blossom drooping on its stem had renounced the power of 
 turning towards the sun ; as a dying girl closes her eyes that she 
 may not behold the lover, the sight of whom might attach her 
 anew to a world from which she is departing. 
 
 While Charney was giving way to these painful reflections, the 
 voice of his venerable companion in captivity appealed to his 
 attention. 
 
 " My dear comrade," whispered the mild and paternal accents 
 of the old man, " if she should die, — and I fear her hours are 
 numbered, — what will become of you here alone? What occupa- 
 tion will you find to fill the place of those pursuits that have be- 
 come so dear to you? You will expire, in your turn, of lassitude 
 and ennui ; solitude once invaded, becomes insupportable in the 
 renewal ! You will sink under its weight, as I should, were I now
 
 72 PIC CIO LA. 
 
 parted from my daughter, — from the guardian angel whose smile 
 is the sunshine of my prison. With respect to your plant, the 
 Alpine breezes doubtless wafted hither the seed, or a bird of the 
 air dropped it from his beak ; and even were the same circum- 
 stance to furnish you with a second Picciola, your joy in the pre- 
 sent would be gone, prepared as you would be to see it perish like 
 the first. My dear neighbour, be persuaded ! — suffer me to have 
 your liberty interceded for by my friends. Your release will per- 
 haps be more easily obtained than you are aware of. A thousand 
 traits of clemency and generosity of the new emperor, are every 
 where rumoured. He is now at Turin, accompanied by Jose- 
 phine." 
 
 And this last name was pronounced by the old man as if it con- 
 tained the promise of success. 
 
 "At Turin !" — exclaimed Charney, eagerly raising his drooping 
 head. 
 
 " For the last two days," replied Girardi, delighted to see his 
 advice less vehemently rejected than usual by the Count. 
 
 "And how far is it from Turin to Fenestrella?" continued 
 Charney. 
 
 " By the Giaveno and Avigliano road, not more than seven 
 leagues." 
 
 " What space of time is necessary for the journey?" 
 
 " Four or five hours, at the least : for at this moment the roads 
 are obstructed by troops, baggage-wagons, and the equipages of 
 those who are hastening to the approaching festival. The road 
 that winds through the valleys by the river side, is certainly the 
 longest; but in the end, would probably cause less delay." 
 
 "And do you think it possible," resumed Charney, " to procure 
 a messenger for me who would reach Turin this very night?" 
 
 " My daughter would try to find a trustworthy person." 
 
 "And you say that General Bonaparte, — that the First Con- 
 sul—" 
 
 " I said the Emperor," — gravely interrupted Girardi. 
 
 "The Emperor, then, — you say that the Emperor is at Turin?" 
 resumed Charney, as if gathering courage for some strong mea- 
 sure. " I will address a memorial, then, to the Emperor." And 
 the Count dwelt upon the latter word, as if to accustom himself 
 to the new road he had determined to follow. 
 
 " Heaven's mercy be praised !" ejaculated the old man: "for 
 Heaven itself has inspired this victory over the instigations of 
 sinful human pride! — Yes— write ! let your petition for pardon be 
 worded in proper form; and my friends Fossombroni, Cotenna, 
 and Delarue, will support it with all their interest, with Mares- 
 calchi, the minister, with Cardinal Caprara, and even with Melzi, 
 who has just been appointed chancellor of the new kingdom. 
 Who knows? We may perhaps quit Fenestrella on the same
 
 P I C C I L A . 73 
 
 day! — you to recommence a life of usefulness and activity, — I, to 
 follow the gentle guidance of my daughter." 
 
 "Nay, sir — nay," cried the Count. " Forgive me if I decline 
 the protection to which your good-will would generously recom- 
 mend me. It is to the Emperor in person that my memorial must 
 be remitted — to-night, or early in the morning. Do you answer to 
 me for a messenger?" 
 
 " I do," said the old man, firmly, after a momentary pause. 
 
 "One question more," added Charney. "Is there no chance 
 of your being compromised by the service you are so kind as to 
 render me?" 
 
 " The pleasure of being of use to you leaves me no leisure for 
 apprehension," answered Girardi. " Let me but lend my aid to 
 the alleviation of your afflictions, and I am content. Should evil 
 arise, I know how to submit to the decrees of Providence." 
 
 Charney was deeply touched by these simple expressions. Tears 
 glistened in his eyes as he raised them towards the good old man. 
 
 "What would I give to press your hand!" cried he; and he 
 stretched out his arm with the utmost effort, in hopes to reach the 
 grated window, while Girardi extended Iris between the bars. But 
 it was all in vain. A movement of mutual sympathy was the utmost 
 that could pass between them. 
 
 When Charney took leave of Picciola, on his way to his cham- 
 ber, he could not refrain from whispering, " Courage ! I shall save 
 thee yet !" And, having reached his miserable camera, he selected 
 the whitest of his remaining handkerchiefs, mended his toothpick 
 with the greatest care, made up a fresh supply of ink, and set to 
 work. When his memorial was completed, which was not without 
 a thousand pangs of wounded pride, a little cord descended from 
 the grating of Girardi's window, to which the paper was attached 
 by the Count, and carefully drawn up. 
 
 An hour afterwards, the person who had undertaken to present 
 the petition to the Emperor, was proceeding, accompanied by a 
 guide, through the valleys of Suza, Bussolino, and St. George, 
 along the bank of the river Doria. Both were on horseback ; but 
 the greater their haste, the more perplexing the obstacles by which 
 their way was impeded. Recent rains had broken away the bank ; 
 the river was, in many spots, overflowing; and more than one 
 raging torrent appeared to unite the Doria with the lake Avigliano. 
 Already, the forges of Giaveno were reddening in the horizon, an- 
 nouncing that the day was about to close, when, joyfully regaining 
 the high road, they entered, though not without having surmounted 
 many difficulties, the magnificent avenue of Rivoli ; and late in the 
 evening, arrived at Turin. The first tidings by which they were 
 saluted, was an announcement that the emperor-king had already 
 proceeded to Alexandria. 
 7
 
 74 P I C C I L A . 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 At dawn of day, next morning, the city of Alexandria was ar- 
 rayed in all its attributes of festivity. An immense population cir- 
 culated in the streets, festooned with tapestry, garlands of flowers, 
 and glossy foliage. The crowd pressed chiefly from the Town Hall, 
 inhabited by Napoleon and Josephine, towards the triumphal arch, 
 erected at the extremity of the suburb through which they were to 
 pass on their way to the memorable plains of Marengo. 
 
 The whole way, from Alexandria to the Marengo, the same 
 populace, the same cries, the same braying of trumpets. Never 
 had the pilgrimage to the shrine of our Lady of Loretto — never 
 had even the Holy Jubilee of Rome, attracted such multitudes as 
 were proceeding towards the field of that tremendous battle, 
 whose ashes were scarcely yet cold in the earth. On the plain 
 of Marengo, the Emperor has promised to preside over a sham- 
 fight — a mimic representation, given in honour of the signal 
 victory obtained five years before upon the spot, by the Consul 
 Bonaparte. 
 
 Tables, raised on trestles, appear to line the road. The people, 
 in innumerable masses, are eating, drinking, singing, shouting, 
 and acting plays in the open air. Even preaching is not ne- 
 glected ; for more than one pulpit has been improvisated between 
 the theatres and wine-shops; from which hosts of greasy monks, 
 not satisfied with giving their benediction to the passengers, and 
 exhorting them to temperance and sobriety, gratify their avarice 
 by the sale of consecrated chaplets, and little virgins, carved in 
 ivory. 
 
 In the long and only street of the village of Marengo, everv 
 house, transformed into an inn, presents a scene of noise and con- 
 fusion. To every window, the eyes of the spectators are attracted 
 by strings of smoked hams or sausages; of quails or red par- 
 tridges, or pyramids of gingerbread and cakes. People are pushing 
 in, or pushing out at every door; Italians and French, soldiers or 
 peasants; heaps of maccaroni, of marchpane, and other dainties, 
 are beginning to disappear. In the dark and narrow staircases, 
 people rub quarrelsomely against each other; some even com- 
 pelled, by the rapacity of their neighbours, to raise over their
 
 P I C C I L A . 75 
 
 heads the food they are carrying; while a cleverer hand and 
 longer arm than their own, makes off, unperceived, with the 
 savoury burden : — whether a buttered loaf, figs, grapes, oranges, 
 a Turin ham, a larded quail, a force-meat pie, or an excellent 
 stvfato, in its tureen ; — when cries of indignation, or shrieks of 
 distress, accompanied by mockeries and loud laughter, resound 
 on every side. The thief, in the ascending line upon the stair- 
 case, satisfied with his plunder, tries to turn back, and run away. 
 The victim, in the descending line, robbed of his dinner, attempts 
 to return, and furnish himself with new provisions; and the flux 
 and reflux of the crowd, disorganized by these irregular move- 
 ments, is pushed partly into the street, and partly into the ware- 
 house on the second story, amid oaths, imprecations, and peals of 
 laughter; while their discomfiture is hailed, with added uproar, by 
 the drinkers already established in the wine-shops of the ground 
 floor, in defiance of the sage counsels of the monks. 
 
 From one room to another, among tables covered with dishes, 
 and surrounded with guests, are seen circulating the hostess and 
 giannine, or waitresses of the house ; some with gay-coloured 
 aprons, powdered hair, and the coquettish little poniard, which 
 forms part of their holiday costume; others with short petticoats, 
 long braids of hair, naked feet, and a thousand glittering orna- 
 ments of tinsel or gold. 
 
 But to these animated scenes in the village or the road, — the 
 chamber or the street, — to these cries, songs, exclamations, the 
 noise of music, dancing, talking, and the jingling of plates and 
 glasses, other sounds of a different nature are about to succeed. 
 
 In an hour the thundering noise of cannon will be heard ; can- 
 non almost harmless, indeed, and likely only to break the windows 
 of the houses. The little street will echo with the word of com- 
 mand, and every house be eclipsed by the smoke of volleys of 
 musketry, charged with powder. Then, beware of pillage, unless 
 every remnant of provision has been placed in safety; nay, let the 
 gay giannina look to herself: for a mimic war is apt, in such par- 
 ticulars, to imitate its prototype. In great particulars, however, 
 no less : for nothing can exceed the majesty of the preparations 
 for the sham-fight upon the plain of Marengo. 
 
 A magnificent throne, planted round with tri-coloured standards, 
 is raised upon one of the few hillocks which diversify the field. 
 Already the troops, in every variety of uniform, are defiling to- 
 wards the spot. The trumpet appeals to the cavalry; the rolling 
 of drums seems to cover the whole surface of the plain, which 
 trembles under the heavy progress of the artillery and ammuni- 
 tion-wagons. The aide-de-camps, in their glittering uniforms, are 
 galloping hither and thither ; the banners waving to the wind, 
 which causes, at the same time, a pleasing undulation of the fea-
 
 76 P I C C I L A . 
 
 thers, aigrettes, and tri-coloured plumes; while the sun, that ever- 
 present guest at the fetes of Napoleon, that radiant illustrator of 
 the pomps and vanities of the empire, casts its vivid reflections 
 upon the golden embroideries, the brass and bronze of the cannon, 
 helmets, cuirasses, and the sixty thousand bayonets bristling the 
 tumultuous field. 
 
 By degrees, the troops, arriving with hurried march at the ap- 
 pointed spot, continue to force backward, in a wild semi-circle of 
 retreat, the crowds of curious spectators, broken up like the rip- 
 pling billows of the ocean, by the progress of one enormous wave; 
 while a few horsemen charging along the line, proceed to clear 
 the field for action. 
 
 The village is now deserted; the gay tents are struck, the tres- 
 tles removed, the songs and clamours reduced to silence. On all 
 sides are to be seen, scattered along the vast circuit of the plain, 
 men interrupted in their sport or repast, and women dragging 
 away their children, terrified by the flashing sabres, or loud neigh- 
 ing of the chargers. 
 
 It is no difficult matter to discern, by attentively examining the 
 countenances of the men still collected under the same colours, 
 to which among them the orders of the general-in-chief, Marsha] 
 Lannes, has assigned, in the coming fray, the glory of victory, — 
 to which the duty of being vanquished; while the gallant marshal 
 himself, followed by a numerous Hat major, is seen tracing and 
 reconnoitring the ground, on which it has been already his lot to 
 figure with such distinction. He now distributed to each brigade 
 its part in the coming battle; taking care, however, to omit in the 
 representation, the blunders of that great and terrible day, the 14th 
 of June, 1800: for, after all, it is but a delicate flattery in mili- 
 tary tactics, a madrigal, composed with salvos of artillery, which 
 is about to be recited in honour of the new sovereign of Italy. 
 
 The troops now proceed to form into line, deploy, and form 
 again, at the word of command ; when military symphonies are 
 heard from the side of Alexandria ; vague murmurs increase from 
 the mass of human population, which, protected by the streams of 
 the Tanaro, the Bormida, the Orba, and the ravines of Tortona, 
 form the moving girdle of the vast arena. Suddenly, the drums 
 beat to arms; cries and huzzas burst from amid circling clouds 
 of dust; sabres glitter in the sunshine; muskets are shouldered, 
 as if by a mechanical movement; while a brilliant equipage, 
 drawn by eight noble horses, caparisoned and emblazoned with 
 the arms of Italy and France, conveys to the foot of their throne, 
 the Emperor and Empress — Napoleon and Josephine. 
 
 The Emperor, after receiving homage from all the deputations 
 of Italy, the envoys of Lucca, Genoa, Florence, Rome, and even
 
 P I C C I L A . 77 
 
 Prussia, mounts impatiently on horseback ; and, instantaneously, 
 the whole plain is overspread with fire and smoke. 
 
 Such were the sports of the youthful hero ! War for his pas- 
 time, war for the accomplishment of his puissant destinies! No- 
 thing less than war could satisfy that ardent temperament, formed 
 for conquest an'd supremacy, to which the subjugation of the 
 whole world would alone have left an hour of leisure ! 
 
 An officer, appointed by the Emperor, stood explaining to Jose- 
 phine, as she sat solitary on her throne, half terrified by the spec- 
 tacle before her, the meaning of the various manoeuvres, and the 
 object of every evolution. He showed her the Austrian general, 
 Melas, expelling the French from the village of Marengo, over- 
 powering them at Pietra-Buona, at Castel-Ceriola; and Bonaparte 
 suddenly arresting him in the midst of his victorious career, with 
 only nine hundred men of the consular guard. Her attention 
 was next directed to one of the most important movements of the 
 battle. 
 
 The republicans appear to be giving way, when Desaix sud- 
 denly appears on the Tortona road ; and the terrible Hungarian 
 column, under Zach, marches to meet him. But, while the offi- 
 cer was yet speaking, Josephine's attention is diverted from the 
 military movements, by a sort of confusion around her; on de- 
 manding the cause of which, she is informed that " a young girl, 
 having imprudently cleared the line of military operations, at the 
 risk of being crushed by the artillery, or trampled by charges of 
 cavalry, is creating farther confusion by her obstinacy in pressing 
 towards the presence of her majesty, the Empress-Q,ueen." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Teresa, for the intruder was no other than the daughter of 
 Girardi, had been for a moment overcome by the intelligence she 
 received at Turin of the departure of the Emperor for Alexan- 
 dria. But it was fatigue rather than discouragement which made 
 her pause ; and nothing but the recollection that an unhappy cap- 
 tive was dependent upon her for the accomplishment of his only 
 wish on earth, would have urged her forward upon her perilous 
 errand. Without regard, therefore, to her weariness or loss of 
 time, she signified to the guide her intention of proceeding at 
 once to Alexandria. 
 
 " To Alexandria ! 'Tis twice as far as we have come already !" 
 cried the man. 
 7*
 
 78 PIC CI OLA. 
 
 " No matter, we must set out again immediately." 
 
 " I, for my part, shall not set out again before to-morrow," re- 
 plied the guide; "and then, only to return to Fenestrella ; so a 
 pleasant journey to you, signora !" 
 
 All the arguments she could use, were unavailing to change his 
 determination. The man, who had enveloped himself in the iron 
 obstinacy of the Piedmontese character, speedily unsaddled his 
 horses, and laid himself down between them in the stable, for a 
 good night's rest. 
 
 But Teresa, firmly devoted to her enterprise, would not now 
 recede from the undertaking. Having made up her mind to pur- 
 sue her journey, she entreated the landlady of the inn in the 
 Dora Grossa, where she had put up, to procure her the means 
 of proceeding to Alexandria without a moment's delay; and the 
 hostess instantly despatched her waiters in various directions 
 through the city in search of a conveyance ; but without success ! 
 From the Suza gate to that of the Po, from the Porta Nuova to 
 that of the palace, not a horse, carriage nor cart, public or pri- 
 vate, was to be seen ; all had long been engaged, in consequence 
 of the approaching solemnization at Alexandria. 
 
 Teresa now gave herself up to despair! Absorbed in anxious 
 thought, she stationed herself with downcast looks on the steps 
 of the inn, where luckily the gathering darkness secured her 
 from recognition by the inhabitants of her native city, when sud- 
 denly, the sound of approaching wheels became audible, accom- 
 panied by the tinkling of mule-bells ; and at the very door where 
 she was standing, there appeared two powerful mules drawing one 
 of those long caravans in use among travelling merchants; of 
 which the boxes, closed by heavy padlocks, are made to open and 
 form a movable shop ; but the only accommodation of which, 
 for passengers, consists in a narrow leathern seat in front, half 
 under cover of a small awning of oil-cloth. 
 
 The man and woman, owners of the cart and its merchandise, 
 having alighted, began to stretch their arms and yawn aloud ; 
 stamping with their feet by way of rousing themselves after a 
 long and heavy slumber. At length, having familiarly saluted the 
 hostess, they took refuge in the chimney-corner, holding out their 
 hands and feet towards the vine-stocks blazing on the hearth; 
 and after ordering the mules to be unharnessed and carefully 
 attended to, they began to congratulate each other on the conclu- 
 sion of their tedious journey, ordered supper, and talked of bed. 
 
 The hostess, too, was preparing for rest. The yawning waiters 
 closed up the doors and window-shutters ; and poor Teresa, 
 watching with tearful eyes all these preparations, thought only of 
 the hours that were passing away, the dying flower, and the de- 
 spair of the Count de Chamey.
 
 PIC CI OLA. 79 
 
 "A night, a whole night!" she exclaimed; "a night of which 
 every minute will be counted by that unhappy man ; while / shall 
 be safe asleep. Nay, even to-morrow, it will be perhaps impossi- 
 ble for me to find a conveyance !" 
 
 And she cast her wistful eyes upon the two travellers, as if her 
 last hope lay in their assistance. But she was still ignorant of 
 the road they were to take, or whether they could or would be 
 troubled with her company ; and the poor girl, unaccustomed to 
 find herself alone among strangers, still less among strangers of 
 such a class, impelled by anxiety, but withheld by timidity, ad- 
 vanced a step towards them, then paused, mute, trembling, and 
 undecided; when she was startled by the approach of a female 
 servant, holding a candle and a key, who pointed out to her the 
 room into which she was to retire for the night. Forced by this 
 proposition to take some immediate step, Teresa put aside the 
 arm of the giannina, and advancing towards the couple, engaged 
 in munching their supper, entreated pardon for the interruption, 
 and inquired what road they were to take on quitting Turin. 
 
 " To Alexandria, my pretty maid," replied the woman, starting 
 at the question. 
 
 " To Alexandria ! 'Twas then my guardian angel who brought 
 you hither !" cried Teresa, overjoyed. 
 
 "I wish he had picked out a better road, then, signorina," 
 cried the woman, " for we are all but ground to powder !" 
 
 " But what do you want with us? How can we serve you?" 
 interrupted the man. 
 
 " Urgent business carries me to Alexandria. Can you give me 
 a cast?" inquired Teresa. 
 
 "Out of the question," said the wife. 
 
 " I will pay you handsomely ; two pieces of St. John the Bap- 
 tist; that is, ten livres of France." 
 
 "I don't know how we could manage it," observed «the man. 
 " In the first place, the bench is so narrow that it will be scarcely 
 possible to sit three; though I own, signorina, 'tis no great mat- 
 ter of room you will take up. In the next place, we are going 
 only as far as the Mercato of Renigano, near Asti, which is only 
 half-way to Alexandria." 
 
 " No matter," cried Teresa ; " convey me only so far as to the 
 gates of Asti. But we must set out this very night — this very 
 moment." 
 
 " Impossible ! quite impossible !" exclaimed both husband and 
 wife at the same moment. " We made no bargain of our night's 
 rest." 
 
 " The sum shall be doubled," said Teresa, in a lower voice, 
 " if you will only oblige me." 
 
 The man and the woman interchanged looks of interrogation.
 
 80 P I C C I L A . 
 
 "No," cried the wife, at last; " we shall fall ill of fatigue on the 
 road. Besides, Losca and Zoppa want rest. Do you wish to kill 
 the poor mules?" 
 
 " Four pieces, remember !" murmured the husband. " Four 
 pieces !" 
 
 " What is that to the value of Losca and Zoppa !" 
 
 " Double price, recollect, for only half the fare, and no danger 
 to the beasts." 
 
 " Pho ! pho! a single Venetian sequin is worth two parpaiole 
 of Genoa." 
 
 Nevertheless, the notion of four crowns to be earned so easily 
 was not without its charm for either wife or husband, and at last, 
 after farther objections on one side, and supplications on the other, 
 the mules were brought out and re-harnessed. Teresa, enveloped 
 in her mantle, to protect her from the night air, arranged herself 
 as well as she could on the bench between the grumbling couple ; 
 and at length they set off on their expedition. All the clocks in 
 Turin were striking eleven as they passed the gate of the city. 
 
 In her impatience to arrive and procure good tidings for trans- 
 mission to Fenestrella, Teresa would fain have found herself car- 
 ried away by the speed of impetuous coursers towards Alexandria. 
 But alas! the vehicle in which she had secured a place lumbered 
 heavily along the road. The mules paced steadily along, lifting 
 their legs with measured precision, so as to put in motion the little 
 chime of bells, which imparted a still cooler character to the non- 
 chalance of their movements. For some time, indeed, the fair 
 traveller took patience, hoping the animals would become gradu- 
 ally excited, or that the driver might urge them with a touch of 
 the whip. But finding his incitement limited to a slight clicking 
 of the tongue, she at length took courage to inform him that it 
 was essential to make all speed towards Asti, that she might ar- 
 rive by day-break at Alexandria. 
 
 " Take my word for it, my pretty maid," replied the man, " that 
 'tis not a whit more amusing to us than to yourself, to pass the 
 night in counting the stars. But the cobbler must stick to his 
 last. My cargo, young lady, consists of crockery ware, which I 
 am conveying for sale to the fair of Renigano, and if my mules 
 were to take to the trot, I should have only potsherds to produce 
 at the end of my journey." 
 
 "Are you, then, a crockery merchant?" exclaimed Teresa, in 
 a tone of consternation. 
 
 " China merchants," remonstrated the wife. 
 
 "Alas! alas!" exclaimed the disappointed girl, — "is it then 
 impossible for you to go a little faster?" 
 
 " Except by knocking to pieces my whole freight." 
 
 " It is so important for me to arrive in time at Alexandria !"
 
 PICCIOLA. 81 
 
 " And for us to keep an eye to our goods." 
 
 As an act of concession, however, he condescended to bestow 
 a few additional clickings upon his beasts; but the mules were 
 too well broken to their pace, to risk their master's property by 
 quickening their speed. 
 
 Teresa now began to reproach herself with inconsideration, in 
 not having acquainted herself with the length of time necessary 
 to reach Asti, or personally attempted to discover in Turin some 
 more expeditious mode of conveyance. But she had nothing now 
 left for it but patience ! The vehicle jogged on at its accustomed 
 rate, Losca and Zoppa soon managed to take the soft sides of the 
 road, avoiding the rough jumbling of the pavement; and at length, 
 the merchant and his wife, after a few mutual consultations re- 
 specting their chance of success at the fair of Renigano, relapsed 
 into silence ; in the midst of which, soothed by the darkness, op- 
 pressed by the cold, and lulled by the monotonous tinkling of the 
 mule-bells, Teresa was overpowered with drowsiness. Her head, 
 which wandered in search of a resting-place from the shoulder of 
 the driver to that of his wife, at length inclined heavily on her 
 own bosom. 
 
 " Lean upon me, my poor child ; and happy dreams to you !" 
 said the man, in a compassionate tone ; and having accepted his 
 offer, the overwearied Teresa was soon in a deep sleep. 
 
 When she opened her eyes again, daylight was shining brightly 
 upon her! Startled to find herself in the open air, on the high 
 road, she strove to recall her bewildered recollections; and on 
 attaining perfect consciousness, perceived with horror that the 
 vehicle was standing still, and appeared to have been some time 
 stationary. The merchant, his wife, the very mules were fast 
 asleep; not the slightest sound proceeded from the chime of 
 bells! 
 
 Teresa now perceived at some distance on the road they had 
 been traversing, the pinnacles of several steeples; and through 
 the fantastic grouping of the morning mists, fancied she could 
 discern the heights of the Superga, the Chateau of Mille Fiori, 
 the Vigna della Regina, the Church of the Capuchins, all the rich 
 adornments of tlie noble hills overhanging Turin. 
 
 "Merciful Heaven!" vociferated the poor girl, — "we have 
 scarcely got beyond the suburbs!" 
 
 Roused by this exclamation, the driver rubbed his eyes and 
 hastened to reassure her. " We are approaching Asti," said he. 
 " The steeples you see behind you are those of Renigano. No 
 cause to find fault with Lnsca and Zoppa; they can only just have 
 begun their nap. Poor beasts ! — they have earned their rest hardly. 
 Heaven send they may not have profited by mine, to make a trot
 
 82 P I C C I L A . 
 
 of it. Teresa smiled. " Gee ! — away with you, jades !" he con- 
 tinued, with a crack of the whip which awoke both his wife and 
 the mules. And soon afterwards, at the gates of Asti, the worthy 
 china-man took leave of his passenger, assisted her to alight, and 
 after signing the cross over the twenty livres he received for her 
 fare, turned straight round with his mules, and made off delibe- 
 rately for Renigano. 
 
 Half of her way to Alexandria was thus accomplished ; but, 
 alas! it was now scarcely possible to arrive in time for the levee 
 of the Emperor. " Yet no doubt an Emperor must be late in 
 rising !" thought Teresa ; and oh ! how she longed to thrust be- 
 low the horizon again the sun which was just making its impor- 
 tunate appearance ! Expecting that every thing around her would 
 bear tokens of her own agitation, she fancied the whole popula- 
 tion of Asti must be already astir, in preparation for a journey to 
 Alexandria ; and that amid the confusion of carriages and carts 
 about to take the road, it would be easy to secure a place in some 
 public conveyance. 
 
 What, therefore, was her astonishment, on entering the town, 
 to find the streets still silent and deserted ; and the sun scarcely 
 yet high enough to shine on more than the roofs of the highest 
 houses and the dome of the church ! It occurred to her at that 
 moment, that one of her maternal relations resided at Asti, who 
 might render her assistance ; and perceiving through the ground- 
 floor window of a mean-looking house, the red glimmering of a 
 fire, she knocked and ventured to inquire her way to the abode 
 of her kinsman. A harsh voice answered her through the window 
 that, for the last three months, the individual in question had been 
 residing at his country-house at Monbercello ; and thus disap- 
 pointed, and alone in the solitary streets of a strange town, Te- 
 resa began to feel terrified and uneasy. To reanimate her cou- 
 rage, she turned towards a Madonna, before which, in an adjoin- 
 ing niche, a lamp was burning, and breathed her morning prayer. 
 Scarcely had she concluded her orisons, when she was startled 
 by the sound of approaching footsteps, and a man soon made his 
 appearance. 
 
 "Can you tell me of a conveyance to Alexandria?" said she, 
 civilly accosting the stranger. 
 
 "Too late, my pretty one! every cart and carriage has been 
 bespoken this week past!" he replied, and hastened on his way. 
 
 A second man came by, to whom Teresa ventured to address 
 the same inquiry. But this time, the answer was delivered in a 
 harsh and reproving tone. 
 
 " You want to be running after the French, then, razza male, 
 detta ?" cried he ; making off after his companion.
 
 P I C C I L A . 83 
 
 Teresa stood silent and intimidated at the accusation. At last, 
 perceiving a young workman singing as he proceeded gaily to his 
 business, she ventured to renew her inquiries. 
 
 "Aha, signorina!" cried he, in a tone of bantering, "you must 
 needs make one in the battle, eh? But there will be little room 
 left yonder for pretty damsels ; better stay with us here, at Asti. 
 'Tis a ftte to-day. The dancing will begin early in the after- 
 noon ; and the drudi ballarini will fall to breaking each other's 
 heads, to have you for a partner. Faith, you are worth the trouble 
 of a fight! Eh! what say you to a skirmish in your honour?" 
 
 And, approaching Teresa Girardi, he was about to throw his 
 arm round her waist: but, startled by her indignant glance and 
 exclamation, desisted, and resumed his song and his occupation. 
 
 A fourth, a fifth, now traversed the street, but the poor girl no 
 longer hazarded an inquiry ; but kept watching every opening 
 door, and peeping into every courtyard in hopes to find some car- 
 riage in waiting. At length, by especial favour, she managed to 
 obtain a place as far as Annone. Between Annone and Felizano 
 — between Felizano and Alexandria — she was perplexed by a 
 thousand farther difficulties. But with courage and perseverance, 
 all were at length surmounted, and she arrived happily at Alex- 
 andria. As she anticipated, the Emperor had already taken his 
 departure for Marengo; and without pausing a moment for de- 
 liberation, she followed the crowd which was pouring from the 
 suburbs along the road towards the field of battle. 
 
 Hurried on with the multitude, pressed and jostled on all sides, 
 watching eagerly for openings in the crowd, skirting the outer- 
 most edges of the road, Teresa neglected no opportunity of push- 
 ing forward. Undisturbed by the clamour of the trumpets, the 
 sports of the merry-andrews, or the discourses of the monks, she 
 pursued her way in the midst of the laughing, yelling, shoutincr 
 populace, which went leaping on in the heat and dust ; — a poor 
 solitary stranger, apart from the sports and the joys of the day, — 
 her countenance anxious, — her eye haggard, — and raising her 
 hand at intervals to wipe away the dew from her weary brows. 
 
 But the whole force and fortitude of Teresa's mind were de- 
 voted to her progress. She has scarcely even found a moment 
 for the contemplation of the farther means to be adopted. But a 
 halt being suddenly imposed upon the crowd on reaching the out- 
 skirts of the field, she began to reflect on the uneasiness the pro- 
 longation of her absence would cause to her father (since the 
 guide who had deserted her at Turin would not be permitted to 
 enter the prison). She thought of Charney accusing his messen- 
 ger of neglect and indifference ; then felt for the petition in her 
 bosom, apprehensive that, by some unlucky chance, it might have 
 escaped her.
 
 84 P I C C I L A . 
 
 At the idea of her father grieving over the unwonted absence 
 of his child, tears rushed into the eyes of Teresa ; and it was 
 from a reverie produced by these painful emotions, that she was 
 recalled to herself by the cries of joy bursting from the surround- 
 ing multitude. An open space had been formed just beside the 
 spot where she was resting, around which the crowd seemed cir- 
 cling; and the moment Teresa turned her head to ascertain the 
 cause of the tumult, her hands were seized, and in spite of her 
 resistance, her depression, her fatigue, she found herself com- 
 pelled to take part in afarandola, which went whirling along the 
 road, recruiting all the pretty girls and sprightly lads who could 
 be involved in the diversion. 
 
 Vexatious as was the interruption,' Teresa at length found 
 means to disengage herself from such unsatisfactory society ; and 
 having contrived by a painful effort to push her way through the 
 crowd, she at length obtained a glimpse of the vast plain glitter- 
 ing with troops ; and her eyes having wandered for some minutes 
 over the splendid army, paused upon the little hillock occupied 
 by the imperial court. At the sight of the throne, the aim and 
 end of her perilous journey, Teresa's heart leaped for joy; her 
 courage returned, her strength seemed renewed. All her preced- 
 ing cares were forgotten. But how to attain the wished-for spot ? 
 How to traverse those battalions of men and horses ? There was 
 madness in the very project ! 
 
 But that which at first sight presented an obstacle, soon appear- 
 ed to farther her intentions. The foremost ranks of the crowd 
 pouring in torrents from Alexandria, having deployed to the right 
 and left, on reaching the plain, were gradually gaining the banks 
 of the Tanaro and the Bormida ; where, at one moment, they 
 pushed on so impetuously as to seem on the point of taking pos- 
 session of the field of battle. A small body of cavalry instantly 
 galloped towards the spot, waving their naked sabres, and by 
 the plunging of their chargers causing the terrified crowd to re- 
 turn to the limits assigned them. The intruders evacuated the 
 territory as rapidly as they had gained it, with the exception of a 
 single individual : — that individual was Teresa Girardi ! 
 
 In an adjacent hollow of the plain, surrounded by a strong 
 quickset hedge, and sheltered by a small thicket of trees, flowed 
 a spring of limpid water; towards which, thrust onwards by the 
 crowd of spectators, the poor girl, whose eyes were fixed upon 
 the throne in the distance, found herself irresistibly impelled. 
 Apprehensive every moment of being crushed in the throng, she 
 seized in her arms the trunk of the nearest poplar tree; and clos- 
 ing her eyes, like a child who fancies the danger has ceased to 
 exist which it is not obliged to look upon, — remained motionless, 
 her hearing confused by the rustling of the surrounding foliage.
 
 PIC CI OLA. S5 
 
 The advance and retreat of the mob was, in fact, so instantane- 
 ous, that when Teresa re-opened her eyes, she was quite alone, 
 separated from the troops by the hedge and thicket, and from the 
 crowd by a column of dust, produced by the last detachment of 
 fugitives. Throwing herself at once into the little copse, she 
 found herself in the centre of about twenty poplar and aspen 
 trees, overshadowing a crystal spring, welling out of the ground 
 over a bed of ivy, moss and celandine, till, bubbling onward in a 
 silver thread, it gradually formed a brook capable of traversing 
 the plain, over which its course was defined by painted tufts of 
 blue forget-me-not, and the clusters of the white ranunculus. 
 The refreshing exhalations of the shady spot assisted to restore 
 the self-possession and strength of the exhausted girl. Teresa 
 felt as though she had reached an oasis of verdure in the desert, 
 sheltered from dust, and heat, and disturbance. 
 
 Meanwhile the plain has become suddenly quiet; she hears 
 neither the word of command, the huzza of the crowd, nor the 
 neighing of the horses. All she can discern is a singular move- 
 ment overhead ; and, looking up, Teresa perceives every bough 
 and spray of the trees to be covered with flights of sparrows, 
 driven to shelter from all quarters of the plain by the alarming 
 movement of the troops and the incursions of the crowd. The 
 poor birds, like the poor girl contemplating them, have taken 
 refuge in that verdant solitude, their little wings and throats ap- 
 parently paralysed by affright; for not a sound breaks from the 
 band of feathered fugitives. Even on the advance of a brigade 
 of cavalry towards the thicket, accompanied by the braying of 
 trumpets, not a bird is seen to stir. They appear to wait anx- 
 iously for the result; while a similar feeling prompts Girardi's 
 daughter to look through the foliage upon the field. 
 
 Her eyes are quickly attracted by files of troops, which appear 
 to have cut off all communication between the thicket and the 
 road. 
 
 "After all," thought the trembling Teresa, " it is but a sham- 
 fight that is about to take place ; and if I have been imprudent in 
 venturing hither, the Almighty, who knows the innocence of my 
 heart, will keep me in time of trouble !" 
 
 And, directing her attention through the opposite extremity of 
 the thicket, she discerns, at the distance of about three hundred 
 paces, the throne of Josephine and Napoleon. The space between, 
 is occupied by the manoeuvres of the soldiers; but every now and 
 then, the ground is sufficiently cleared to admit of passing. Teresa 
 now takes courage! — she feels that a decisive moment is at hand. 
 Having opened a way through the hedge, she is about to advance, 
 when the disorder of her toilet suddenly occurring to her mind, 
 brings blushes into her cheeks. Her tresses, unbraided and di- 
 8
 
 $6 PIC CI OLA. 
 
 mevelled, are floating over her shoulders; her hands, her face, her 
 person, are disfigured with dust. To present herself in such a 
 condition before the sovereigns of Italy and France, were perhaps 
 to insure her rejection, and the failure of her anxious mission. 
 
 Re-entering the thicket, therefore, and drawing near to the 
 spring, she unties her large Leghorn hat, shakes out and smooths 
 down her raven hair, braids up the flowing tresses, bathes her 
 hands and face ; and, having completed her morning toilet, 
 breathes a prayer to Heaven for its blessing upon the merciful 
 purpose which has cast her, thus defenceless, into the ranks of an 
 army. 
 
 While watching for an auspicious moment to recommence her 
 course, the stunning detonations of the cannon roar, from twenty 
 different points, into her ears. The ground seems to tremble 
 under her feet; and, while the poor girl stands motionless with 
 consternation, the scared birds, fluttering from the trees above, 
 with discordant cries and bewildered wings, make off for the 
 woods of Valpedo and Voghera. 
 
 The fight has begun ! Teresa, deafened by the roar of artillery 
 and the universal clamour, stands transfixed, gazing towards the 
 throne, which is sometimes concealed from her by clouds of smoke ; 
 sometimes by a screen of lances or bayonets. 
 
 After the lapse of half an hour, during which every idea seemed 
 to abandon her mind, but that of indescribable terror, the energy 
 of her soul resumed its force. She examined, with greater com- 
 posure, the obstacles with which she is beset ; and decided that it 
 may still be possible to attain the imperial throne. Two columns 
 of infantry, prolonged into a double line, to which the flanks of 
 the thicket form a centre, were beginning to engage in an ani- 
 mated fire upon, each other. Under cover of the clouds of smoke, 
 she trusted to make her way between them, unobserved. Still, 
 however, Teresa trembled at the attempt, when a troop of hussars, 
 burning with thirst, suddenly invaded her asylum, and the maiden 
 hesitated no longer. Her courage was roused, the moment her 
 modesty took the alarm. She rushed forth at once between two 
 columns of infantry ; and when the smoke began to subside, the 
 soldiers raised a cry of astonishment, on perceiving in the midst 
 of them, the white dress and straw hat of a young girl, — a young 
 and pretty Piedmontese, — whom each made it his immediate busi- 
 ness to capture. 
 
 At that moment, a squadron of cuirassiers was galloping up to 
 re-enforce one of the lines; the captain of which was on the point 
 of trampling down the unfortunate Teresa ; but, pulling up his 
 horse in time, he gave her in charge to two soldiers of the line; 
 not, however, without a few oaths and great wonder at such an 
 apparition on the field of battle.
 
 PICCIOLA. 
 
 87 
 
 One of the two cuirassiers deputed to escort her to quarters, 
 quickly raised her to his saddle; and it was thus she was conveyed 
 to the rear of the hillock, where a few ladies belonging to the suite 
 of the Empress were stationed, accompanied by an aid-de-camp 
 and the corps diplomatique of the Italian deputations. 
 
 Teresa now fancied that her enterprise was accomplished. She 
 had surmounted too many difficulties to be discouraged by the few 
 remaining; and when, on her demand to be admitted to the Em- 
 peror, she was informed that he was on the field, at the head of 
 the troops, she entreated an audience of the Empress. But this 
 request appeared no less inadmissible than the other. To get rid 
 of her importunities, the by-standers had recourse to intimidation, 
 and Teresa's courage rose against their efforts. They insisted 
 that she should at least wait the conclusion of the evolutions; and 
 were astonished to find her persist in forcing her way towards the 
 throne. Detained and threatened, her struggles became the more 
 vehement. It was then that, raising her voice in self-defence, its 
 piteous accents reached the ear of Josephine, to which the voice 
 of a female in distress and appealing to her protection, were never 
 known to be addressed in vain.
 
 88 PICCIOLA. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Scarcely were the commands of the Empress issued that no 
 farther obstruction should be offered to the young stranger, when 
 the brilliant crowd opened, to yield a passage to Teresa Girardi, 
 who appeared in the midst of the throng, in a suppliant attitude, 
 as if scarcely aware of being released from the detention of her 
 captors. 
 
 But on a sign from Josephine — a gracious sign, instantly recog- 
 nised by those around as a token of indulgence — the young Pied- 
 montese was set at liberty; and, on finding herself free, Teresa 
 rushed to the foot of the throne, breathless with agitation, and, 
 bending low before the Empress, proceeded to unfold a handker- 
 chief which she had taken from her bosom. 
 
 "A poor prisoner, madam," said she, " implores the clemency 
 of your majesty." But, with every disposition to indulgence, it 
 was impossible for the Empress to divine the meaning of the 
 strange-looking handkerchief which Teresa Girardi, sinking on 
 one knee, tendered to her hands. 
 
 " Have you a petition to present to me?" demanded Josephine 
 at last, of the trembling girl, in a tone of encouragement. 
 
 " This, madam, is a petition ; this is the memorial of an unfortu- 
 nate captive!" persisted Teresa, still holding up the handkerchief. 
 But tears of terror and anxiety, flowing down her cheeks, almost 
 concealed the smile which the gracious affability of the Empress 
 had for a moment called into existence. 
 
 " Rise, my poor girl, rise !" said Josephine, in a tone of com- 
 passion. "You appear deeply interested in the welfare of the 
 petitioner !" 
 
 Teresa blushed, and hung down her head. " I have never even 
 spoken to him, madam," she replied : " but he is so deserving of 
 pity ! If your majesty would deign to read the statement of his 
 misfortunes — " 
 
 Josephine now unfolded the handkerchief, touched to the heart 
 by the evidence of misery and destitution conveyed in such a sub- 
 stitute for writing-paper. Pausing, however, after she had perused 
 the first line of the petition, she exclaimed, " But this is addressed 
 to the emperor !" 
 
 "And are you not his wife?" cried Teresa. "Deign, deign to 
 read on ! Every moment is of consequence. Indeed, there is no 
 time to be lost !" 
 
 The fight was now at the hottest. The Hungarian column,
 
 PICCIOL A. 89 
 
 though exposed to the severe fire of Marmont's artillery, was for- 
 midable in its movements: Zach and Dessaix were face to face; 
 and the result of their encounter was to decide the destinies of 
 the battle. The cannonade became general : the field seemed to 
 vomit flames and smoke; while the clamour of the soldiers, 
 uniting with the clang of arms, and call of trumpets, agitated the 
 air like a tempest. And it was while all this was proceeding 
 around her, that the Empress attempted to give her attention to 
 the following lines : — 
 
 " Sire— 
 
 "The removal of two stones from the pavement of the court of 
 my prison will scarcely shake the foundation of your empire; and 
 such is the favour I presume to ask of your majesty. It is not for 
 myself I appeal to your protection. But in the stony desert in 
 which I am expiating my offences against your government, a single 
 living thing has solaced my sufferings, and shed a charm over my 
 gloomy existence! A plant — a flower springing spontaneously 
 among the stones of Fenestrella, is the object of my solicitude. 
 Let not your majesty accuse me of folly — of madness; it needs to 
 have been a prisoner, to appreciate the value of such a friend. To 
 this poor flower am I indebted for discoveries which have dispelled 
 the mists of error from my eyes, for my restoration to reason, for 
 my peace of mind, nay, for my very life! It is dear to me, sire, 
 as glory to yourself. 
 
 " Yet, at this moment, my precious plant is perishing before 
 my eyes, for want of a little space for the expansion of its roots; 
 and the Commandant of Fenestrella would fain submit to the 
 Governor of Turin my petition for the removal of the two misera- 
 ble stones that impede its growth. By the time that wisdom has 
 decided the question, the plant will be dead ; and it is therefore to 
 your compassion, sire, I appeal for the preservation of my plant. 
 Issue orders that may yet preserve it from destruction, and myself 
 from despair. — I implore it on my bended knees ; and should you 
 deign to favour my suit, the benefit vouchsafed by your majesty 
 shall be recorded in the inmost depths of my heart! 
 
 " I admit, sire, that this poor plant has softened the vengeance 
 doomed by your majesty to fall upon my devoted head ; but it has 
 also subdued my pride, and cast me a suppliant at your feet. From 
 the height of your double throne, deign, therefore, to extend a 
 pitying glance towards us. It is not for your majesty to appre- 
 ciate the power exercised by solitary confinement over even the 
 strongest heart, the most iron fortitude. I do not complain of my 
 captivity ; I support my sentence with resignation. Be its duration 
 as that of my own life ; but spare, oh, spare my plant! 
 
 " The favour I thus presume to implore, must be conceded, 
 8*
 
 90 P I C C I L A . 
 
 sire, on the spot, without the delay of a single hour ! On the 
 brow of the human criminal, justice may hold her sword suspend- 
 ed, in order to enhance the after-sentence of pardon ; but nature's 
 laws are more prompt in their operation. Delay but a single day, 
 and even the mighty power of your majesty will be unavailing to 
 farther the petition of the prisoner of Fenestrella. 
 
 " Charney." 
 
 At that instant, a sudden discharge of artillery seemed to rend 
 asunder the atmosphere, and immediately the thick smoke, cut 
 into circles and lozenges by the thousand lightnings of the dis- 
 charge, seemed to cover the field with a network of light and 
 shade. But on the cessation of the firing, the curtain of smoke 
 seemed gradually drawn aside; and a brilliant spectacle was given 
 to view, sparkling under the radiance of the sun, — even that noble 
 charge, in the original of which Desaix lost his life. Zach and 
 his Hungarians, repulsed in front by Bondet, harassed on the left 
 flank by the cavalry of Kellermann, were already thrown into dis- 
 order : after which, the intrepid consul, re-establishing his line of 
 battle from Castel-Ceriola to St. Julian, resumed the offensive, 
 overthrew the imperialists at every point, and forced' Melas to a 
 speedy retreat. 
 
 This sudden change of position, these grand movements of the 
 army, this flux and reflux of the human tide, at the command of 
 a single voice, the voice of a chief, motionless and calm in the 
 midst of the general disorder, might have sufficed to produce an 
 impression on the coldest imagination. From the groups sur- 
 rounding the throne, accordingly, burst cries of triumph, and ex- 
 ulting acclamations; when the Empress, startled by the contrast 
 afforded by these " vivats" to the hoarse uproar of the battle-field, 
 was instantly roused from her reverie to a sense of what was pass- 
 ing around her. For to all those brilliant manoeuvres and im- 
 posing spectacles, the future Queen of Italy had remained insen- 
 sible; her feelings and looks alike preoccupied by the extraordi- 
 nary memorial that still fluttered in her hand. 
 
 Teresa Girardi, meanwhile, attentive to every gesture of the 
 Empress, felt instantaneously reassured by the soft smile of sym- 
 pathy which overspread the countenance of Josephine while pe- 
 rusing the petition. With a beating heart, she stooped to imprint 
 a grateful kiss on the hand extended towards her, a hand how pu- 
 issant amid all its fragile fairness, for on its slender finger glit- 
 tered the nuptial ring of Napoleon ! 
 
 Dismissed by this gracious movement from the presence of the 
 Empress, Teresa now hastened towards the women's quarters : 
 and as soon as the field of Marengo was cleared of its multitudes, 
 proceeded to the nearest chapel, to tender to her sovereign pro-
 
 PIC CI OLA. 91 
 
 tectress, the Holy Virgin, an offering of prayer and tears, the 
 token of her heartfelt gratitude; for in the condescension of Jo- 
 sephine she fancied she had obtained a pledge for the eventual 
 fulfilment of her wishes. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The sympathy of the Empress-Queen had been, in fact, warmly 
 excited by the memorial of the captive of Fenestrella. Every word 
 of the petition conveyed the most touching appeal to her feelings. 
 Josephine herself was an almost idolatrous lover of flowers; as 
 the permanent advantages derived in France from her liberal en- 
 couragement of botanical science and patronage of its professors, 
 continue to attest. Escaping from the cares and splendours of 
 sovereignty, often did the empress recede from the courtier throng, 
 to watch the expansion of some rare exotic, in her fine conserva- 
 tories at Malmaison. There was the favourite empire of Josephine ! 
 She loved the imperial purple of the rich cactus, at that period a 
 splendid novelty to European eyes, better than the hues of the 
 rich mantle adorning her throne ; and the delicate fragrance of 
 her clustering magnolias, proved more intoxicating than the sooth- 
 ing but fatal breath of courtly adulation. At Malmaison she 
 reigned despotic over thousands of beauteous subjects, collected 
 from all quarters of the globe. She knew them face by face, name 
 by name ; — was fond of disposing them in classes, castes, or regi- 
 ments ; and when some fresh subject presented itself for the first 
 time at her levee, was able to interrogate the new-comer, so as to 
 ascertain his family and connexions, and assign him an appropri- 
 ate station in the community of which every brigade had its ban- 
 ner, and every banner a fitting standard-bearer. 
 
 Following the example of Napoleon, she respected the laws and 
 customs of those she rendered tributary. Plants of all countries 
 found their native soil and climate restored to them by her provi- 
 dence. Malmaison was a world in miniature ; within whose cir- 
 cumscribed limits were to be found rocks and savannahs, — the 
 soil of virgin forests and the sand of the desert, — banks of marl 
 or clay, — lakes, cascades, and strands liable to inundation. From 
 the heat of a tropical climate, you might fly to the refreshing cool- 
 ness of the temperate zone ; and in these varied specimens of at- 
 mosphere and soil, flourished, side by side, the various races of 
 vegetative kind, divided only by green edges or an intrenchment 
 of glass windows. 
 
 When Josephine held her field-days at Malmaison, the review
 
 92 PICCIOLA. 
 
 was indeed calculated to excite the tenderest associations. First 
 in the ranks was the hydrangea, which had recently borrowed 
 from her charming daughter its French name of Hortensia. Glory, 
 too, found its reminiscences there, as well as maternal affection. 
 Following the victories of Bonaparte, she contrived to reap her 
 share in the plunder of conquered countries; and Italy and Egypt 
 paid tribute to her triumphant parterres. Blooming in resplendent 
 union at Malmaison were the soldanella of the Alps, — the violet 
 of Parma, — the adonis of Castiglione, — the carnation of Lodi, — 
 the willow and plane of Syria, — the cross of Malta, — the water- 
 lily of the Nile, — the hibiscus of Palestine, — the rose of Damietta. 
 Such were the conquests of Josephine : and of those, at least, 
 France still retains the benefits ! 
 
 But even in the midst of these treasures, Josephine still culti- 
 vated, by predilection, a plant reminding her of her days of happy 
 childhood ; that beautiful jasmine of Martinique, whose seeds, 
 gathered and resown by her own hand, served to bring to her re- 
 collection not only the sports of girlhood and the roof of her 
 fathers, but her earliest home of wedded love. 
 
 With such pursuits and attachments, how could she fail to ap- 
 preciate the passion of the prisoner for his flower, — his only flower, 
 — his only companion! The widow of Beauharnais was not al- 
 ways the happy and prosperous inmate of a consular or imperial 
 palace. Josephine has herself tasted the bitterness of captivity; 
 and the lesson is not thrown away. 
 
 Nor has she altogether forgotten the brilliant, successful, but 
 proud and insouciant Count de Charney ; formerly so contemptu- 
 ous amid the pleasures of the world, and so incredulous in the 
 existence of human affections. To what is she to attribute the 
 singular change in his style and temper? What influence has suf- 
 ficed to soften that haughty character? He, who once refused the 
 homage of his knee to the Most High, now kneels to a human 
 throne to supplicate in utmost humility for the preservation of a 
 plant! 
 
 " The flower which has wrought so great a miracle," thought 
 the Empress, with a smile, " deserves to be preserved from de- 
 struction !" And eager to accomplish her benevolent purpose, she 
 grew impatient of the protraction of the fight, and would fain have 
 put an end to the last evolutions, in order to hasten her measures 
 in favour of her petitioner. 
 
 The moment Napoleon, surrounded by his generals, made his 
 reappearance, exhausted by his exertions, and doubtless expecting 
 compliments from her lips, the Empress presented the handker- 
 chief to his astonished eyes, — exclaiming, — "An order from your 
 hand, sire; an order for the commandant of Fenestrella ! and an 
 express to despatch it to the fortress !"
 
 P I C C I L A . 93 
 
 In the earnestness of her purpose, her voice assumed an im- 
 perial tone, and her eyes an expression of impatience, as if some 
 new conquest were within reach, and it was her turn to assume 
 command and authority. But after surveying her from head to 
 foot with an air of surprise and dissatisfaction, the Emperor turned 
 on his heel and passed on without a word. As if still reviewing 
 his troops, he appeared only to be finishing his inspection by the 
 last individual of the brigade. 
 
 Impelled by the force of habit, he next proceeded to examine 
 the field of action, unmoistened indeed with blood, but covered 
 with trophies of the early harvest, cut down by his victorious 
 troops: — fields of corn and rice were trampled or hacked into 
 chaff! In some spots, the earth itself was ploughed into deep 
 channels by the manoeuvres of the artillery; while here and there, 
 were scattered the buff-leather gloves of the dragoons, broken 
 plumes, or shreds of gold lace; — nay, even a few limping foot- 
 soldiers and chargers, lamed in the affray, still encumbered the 
 ground. 
 
 At one moment of the day, however, more serious consequences 
 than these appeared imminent. The French soldiers appointed 
 to occupy, as Austrians, the village of Marengo, resenting the 
 part assigned them as beaten troops, had chosen to prolong their 
 resistance beyond the period specified in the programme; and a 
 violent struggle took place between them and their opponents. 
 The two regiments happened to be irritated against each other by 
 the jealousies of garrison rivalship ; and mutual insults and chal- 
 lenges having been exchanged on the spot, bayonets were crossed 
 in earnest between the two corps. 
 
 But for the immediate intervention of the general officers pre- 
 sent, a terrible contest would have taken place; and the mimic 
 fight become only too fatally a reality. With some difficulty, the 
 troops were made to fraternise, by an exchange of gourds ; and 
 these being unluckily empty, in order to perfect the reconcilia- 
 tion, the cellars of the village were laid under contribution. Ex- 
 cess now succeeded to obstinacy, but a unanimous cry of " Vive 
 L' Empcreur" having been fortunately raised by the men, the whole 
 breach of discipline was placed to the account of military enthu- 
 siasm ; and, after twenty healths had been tossed off, the gallant 
 Austrians consented to stagger defeated from the field ; while the 
 victorious French made their triumphal entry into Marengo, 
 dancing the farandola, sincring the Marseillaise, and mingling 
 occasionally in their hurrahs, the now forbidden cry of "Vive la 
 Rtpitblique." But their insubordination was now justly attributed 
 to the enthusiasm of intemperance. 
 
 The troops having been formed once more into line, Napoleon 
 proceeded to a distribution of crosses of honour among the old
 
 94 P I C C I L A . 
 
 soldiers, who, five years before, had fought with him on that 
 memorable spot. A few of the more eminent of the Cisalpine 
 magistrates also received decorations on the field : after which, 
 accompanied by Josephine, the Emperor laid the first stone of a 
 monument, intended to perpetuate the victory of Marengo; ami 
 the ceremonies of the morning accomplished, the whole court, 
 followed by the whole army, took their way back towards Alexan- 
 dria. 
 
 All this time the destinies of Picciola remained undecided ! 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 To conclude the solemnities of the day, a public banquet was 
 offered to the Emperor and Empress by the city of Alexandria, in 
 the Town Hall, which was splendidly decorated for the occasion ; 
 after which, their majesties, wearied by their exertions, retired to 
 pass the evening in one of the private apartments allotted to their 
 use. The Emperor and Empress were now together, attended 
 only by the secretary of the former; and, while dictating his 
 despatches, Napoleon continued to pace the room, rubbing his 
 hands with an air of satisfaction. Josephine, meanwhile, stood 
 beguiling the time allotted by her lord to the duties of empire, by 
 admiring, in one of the lofty mirrors of the saloon, the elegant 
 coquetry of her own dress, and the splendour of the jewels in 
 which she was arrayed. 
 
 After the departure of the secretary, the Emperor took his seat ; 
 and, while resting his elbow on a table covered with crimson velvet, 
 richly fringed with gold, he fell into a train of reflection, announced 
 by the expression of his countenance, of a highly agreeable nature. 
 But the silence in which he was absorbed was far from satisfac- 
 tory to Josephine. She felt that he had deported himself harshly 
 towards her that morning, in the affair of the Fenestrella memo- 
 rial. But she was beginning to perceive that she had been pre- 
 cipitate in pressing her request at an inauspicious moment ; and 
 promised herself to repair the injury she might have done her 
 protege, by referring, at a more convenient season, his petition to 
 the Emperor. The happy moment, she fancied, was now ar- 
 rived ! 
 
 Seating herself at the table, exactly opposite to Napoleon, and 
 resting, like himself, her chin upon her hand, she met his 
 inquiring looks with a smile, and demanded the subject of his 
 cogitations.
 
 P I C C I O L A . 95 
 
 "Of what am I thinking?" replied the Emperor, in a cheerful 
 tone — "that the imperial diadem is a very hecoming ornament; 
 and that I should have been much to blame if I had not added 
 such a trinket to your majesty's casket." 
 
 The smiles of Josephine subsided as he spoke, while those of 
 the Emperor brightened. He was fond of repressing those ner- 
 vous tremors and evil auguries on the part of the Empress, natu- 
 rally excited by the extraordinary change of condition which had 
 elevated a simple subject to the imperial throne. 
 
 "Are you not better pleased to salute me Emperor than gene- 
 ral ?" he persisted, without noticing her serious looks. 
 
 " I am ! — for the higher title endows you with the prerogative 
 of mercy!" she replied; "and I have an appeal to make to your 
 clemency." 
 
 It was now Napoleon's turn to relapse into gravity. Knitting 
 his brows, he prepared himself sternly for resistance; — ever on the 
 watch lest the influence of Josephine over his mind should be- 
 guile him into some culpable weakness in matters of state. 
 
 " How often have you promised me," said he, in a tone of 
 severity, "to interfere no more with the course of public justice? — 
 Do you suppose that the privilege of according pardon is assigned 
 to sovereigns, that they may gratify the caprices of their private 
 feelings? — Mercy should be exercised only to soften the too 
 rigorous justice of the laws, or rectify the errors of public tri- 
 bunals. To extend one's hand in continual acts of forgiveness, is 
 wantonly to multiply and strengthen the ranks of the enemies of 
 government." 
 
 "Nevertheless, sire," remonstrated Josephine, concealing with 
 her handkerchief the tendency to mirth which she could scarcely 
 repress, " you will certainly comply with the request I am about 
 to make." 
 
 " I doubt it." 
 
 " And I persist in my opinion ; for it is an act of justice rather 
 than of clemency, I implore at your hands. I demand that two 
 oppressors should be removed from the post they hold ! Yes ! 
 sire, — let them be dismissed with ignominy; — let them be con- 
 demned, and discarded for ever from the service of your ma- 
 jesty '." 
 
 " How, Josephine !" cried Napoleon, " it is by your lips that for 
 once I am instigated to severity ? Have you become the advocate 
 of punishment ? Upon whom, pray, are you thus desirous to call 
 down vengeance?" 
 
 " Upon two flagstones, sire, which are superfluous in the pave- 
 ment of a courtyard !" replied the Empress, indulging, unre- 
 strained, in the merriment she had so long found it difficult to 
 repress.
 
 96 PIC CI OLA. 
 
 "Two flagstones! are you making a jest of me?" cried Napo- 
 leon, in a severe tone, piqued at supposing himself treated with 
 levity by his wife. 
 
 " Never was I more truly in earnest," replied Josephine, " for 
 on the removal of these two stones depends the happiness of a 
 suffering human being. Let me entreat your majesty's attention 
 to a history that requires your utmost indulgence, both towards 
 myself and its unfortunate object." And without farther circum- 
 locution, she proceeded to acquaint him with the particulars of 
 her singular interview with Teresa Girardi, and the devoted ser- 
 vices of the poor girl towards a friendless prisoner, whose name 
 she studiously kept concealed. While enlarging on the sufferings 
 of the captive, on his passion for his plant, and the disinterested- 
 ness of his young and lovely advocate — all the natural eloquence 
 of a humane and truly feminine heart flowed from her lips, and 
 irradiated her speaking countenance. 
 
 Impressed by the animation of her gestures, a respondent smile 
 played upon the lips of the Emperor; but that smile, alas! was an 
 exclusive tribute to the attractions and excellencies of his wife ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 During this tedious interval, the unhappy Charney was count- 
 ing the hours, the minutes, the seconds, with the utmost impa- 
 tience : he felt as if the minutest divisions of time were maliciously 
 heaping themselves together, to weigh down the head of his de- 
 voted flower ! 
 
 Two days had now elapsed. The messenger brought back no 
 tidings; and even the venerable Girardi was growing uneasy, and 
 beginning to deduce evil auguries from the absence of his daugh- 
 ter. Hitherto, however, he had not named his messenger to the 
 Count; and, while trying to awaken hope in the heart of his 
 companion, experienced the mortification of hearing accusations 
 against the zeal and fidelity of the person to whom the mission 
 had been intrusted. Girardi could no longer refrain from accusing 
 himself in secret of having hazarded the safety of his child. 
 "Teresa, my daughter, my dear daughter!" he exclaimed, amid 
 the stillness of his gloomy chamber, " what — what has become of 
 you?" And, lo ! the third day came, and no Teresa made her 
 appearance. 
 
 When the fourth arrived, Girardi had not strength to show him- 
 self at the window. Charney could not even catch a glimpse of
 
 P I C C I O L A. 97 
 
 his fellow-prisoner ; but had he lent a more attentive ear, he might, 
 perhaps, have overheard the supplications, broken by sobs, ad- 
 dressed to Heaven by the poor old man, for the safety of his only 
 child. A dark veil of misery seemed suddenly to have overspread 
 that little spot; where, but a short time before, in spite of the 
 absence of liberty, cheerfulness and contentment diffused their 
 enlivening sunshine. 
 
 The very plant was progressing rapidly to its last; and Charney 
 found himself compelled to watch over the dying moments of his 
 Picciola. He had now a double cause for affliction ; a dread of 
 losing the object of his attachment, and of having degraded him- 
 self by useless humiliation ; — if he should have humbled himself 
 in the dust, only to be repulsed from the footstool of the usurper. 
 
 As if the whole world were in a conspiracy against him, Ludo- 
 vico, formerly so kind, so communicative, so genuine, seemed 
 unwilling now to address to him a single word. Taciturn and 
 morose, the gaoler came and went, passed through the court, or 
 returned by the winding staircase, with his pipe in his mouth, as 
 if to avoid uttering a syllable. He seemed to have taken a spite 
 against the affliction of his captive. The fact was, that from the 
 moment the refusal of the commandant had been made known, 
 the gaoler began to prepare for the moment which he foresaw was 
 about to take place before him, the alternative of his duty and his 
 inclination. Duty, he knew, must eventually prevail ; and he 
 affected sullenness and brutality, by way of gaining courage for 
 the effort. Such is the custom of persons unrefined by the polish 
 of education. In fulfilling whatever harsh functions may be as- 
 signed them, they try to extinguish every generous impulse in 
 their souls, rather than soften them by courtesy of deportment. 
 Poor Ludovico's goodness of heart was rarely demonstrated in 
 words; and where kindly deeds were interdicted by those in au- 
 thority over him, his secret compassion usually found vent in sur- 
 liness towards the very victim exciting his commiseration. If his 
 ill-humour should call forth resentment, so much the better : his 
 duty became all the easier. War is indispensable between victim 
 and executioner, — prisoner and gaoler. 
 
 When the dinner hour arrived, Ludovico, finding Charney 
 transfixed in mournful contemplation beside his plant, took care 
 not to present himself in the gay mood with which he was wont 
 to accost the Count; sometimes sportively addressing his god- 
 daughter as " Giovanntta, fanciuletta," or inquiring after the 
 health of the " Count and Countess;" but, traversing the court 
 in haste, without noticing his prisoner, he pretends to suppose 
 him in the chamber above. By some accidental movement, how- 
 ever, on the part of Charney, Ludovico suddenly found himself 
 face to face with the captive ; and was shocked to perceive the 
 9
 
 98 PICCIOLA. 
 
 change which the lapse of a few days had effected in his counte- 
 nance. Impatience and anxiety had furrowed his brow, and dis- 
 coloured his lips, and wasted his cheeks; while the disorder of 
 his hair and beard served to increase the wildness of his aspect. 
 Against his will, Ludovico stood motionless, contemplating these 
 melancholy changes; but, suddenly, calling to mind his previous 
 resolutions, he cast an eye upon the flower, winked ironically, 
 shrugged his shoulders, whistled a lively air, and was about to 
 take his departure, wheh Charney murmured, in a scarcely recog- 
 nisable voice, " What injury have I done to you, Ludovico?" 
 
 " Me ! — done to nu ! None, that I know of," replied the gaoler, 
 more deeply touched than he cared to show, by the plaintiveness 
 of this apostrophe. 
 
 "In that case," said the Count, advancing towards him and 
 seizing him by the hand, " be still my friend ! Aid me while 
 there is yet time! I have found means of evading all objections! 
 The commandant can have no farther scruples, — nay, he need 
 not know a word of the matter. Procure me only a box of earth, 
 — we will gently raise the stones for a moment and transplant the 
 flower—" 
 
 " Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta !" interrupted Ludovico, drawing back his hand. 
 " The devil take the gilly-flower, for aught I care ! She has 
 done mischief enough already; beginning with yourself, who are 
 about, I see, to have another fit of illness. Better make a pitcher 
 of tisane of her before 'tis too late." 
 
 Charney replied by an eloquent glance of scorn and indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " If it were only yourself who had to suffer," resumed Ludovi- 
 co, " you would have yourself to thank, and there would be an 
 end on't. But there is a poor old man, whom you have deprived 
 of his daughter ; for Signor Girardi will see no more of his un- 
 happy Teresa." 
 
 " Deprived of his daughter !" cried the Count, his eyes dilating 
 with horror, " how? — in what manner?" 
 
 "Ay! how? in what manner?" pursued the gaoler, setting 
 down his basket of provisions, and taking the attitude of one 
 about to administer a harsh reprimand. " People lay the whip to 
 the horses, and pretend to wonder when the carriage rolls on. 
 People let fly the stiletto, and pretend to wonder when blood flows 
 from the wound. Trondidio ! O che frascheria ! You choose 
 to write to the Emperor — 'twas your own affair : you wrote. Well 
 and good ! You infringed the discipline of the prison, and the 
 commandant will find 'tis time to punish you. Well and good 
 again. But, because you must needs have a trusty messenger to 
 convey your unlucky letter, nothing less would serve you than to 
 employ the povera damigclla on your fool's errand !"
 
 P 1 C C I O L A . 99 
 
 " How ! — you mean that Girardi's daughter — " 
 
 "Ay, ay ! open your eyes, and look surprised," interrupted Lu- 
 dovico. " Did you suppose that your correspondence with the 
 Emperor was to be conveyed by the telegraph ? The telegraph, 
 sir, has got other business on hand. All that I have got to tell 
 you is, that the commandant has discovered the whole plot; per- 
 naps through the guide, (for the Giovana could not hazard her- 
 self alone on such an expedition.) And so she is forbid to re- 
 enter the fortress. Her poor father will behold her face no more. 
 And through whose fault, I should like to know?" 
 
 Charney covered his face with his hands, and groaned aloud. 
 
 " Unhappy Girardi ! have I, indeed, deprived thee of thine only 
 consolation?" cried he, at last. Then, turning to Ludovico, he 
 inquired whether the old man was apprised of what had befallen 
 him. 
 
 "He has known it since yesterday," replied the gaoler ; "and 
 no doubt loves you all the better. But make haste! your dinner 
 is getting cold !" 
 
 Charney, overwhelmed with grief, sank upon his bench. A 
 momentary pang suggested to him to crush Picciola at once, exe- 
 cuting retributive justice upon her with his own hand. But he 
 had not courage for a deed so ruthless ; and a faint hope already 
 seemed to glimmer in the distance, for his favourite. The young 
 maiden, who had thus generously devoted herself to serve him, 
 must be already returned. Perhaps she had been able to ap- 
 proach the Emperor? Yes! doubtless she has been admitted to 
 the honour of an audience; and it is this discovery which has so 
 irritated the commandant against her. The commandant may 
 possibly have in his possession an order for the liberation of Pic- 
 ciola! In that case how dares he venture on further delay? The 
 commands of the Emperor must be obeyed. Blessings, bless- 
 ings," thought Charney, " on the noble girl who has befriended 
 us — the girl whom I have been the means of separating from her 
 father! Teresa! sweet Teresa! how willingly would I sacrifice 
 half my existence for thy sake — for thy happiness — nay, what 
 would I not give for the mere power of opening to thee once 
 again the gates of the fortress of Fenestrella !" 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Scarcely' half an hour had elapsed after the intimation con- 
 veyed by Ludovico, when two municipal officers, arrayed in their
 
 100 PIC CI OLA. 
 
 tri-coloured scarfs of office, presented themselves, accompanied 
 by the commandant, before the Count de Charney, and requested 
 him to accompany them to his own chamber ; on arriving in 
 which, the commandant addressed his prisoner with considerable 
 pomposity and deliberation. 
 
 The commandant was a man of dignified corpulency, having a^ 
 round bald head, and gray and bushy whiskers. A deep scar, 
 extending from his left eyebrow to the upper lip, seemed to divide 
 his face in two. A long, blue, uniform coat, with prodigious 
 skirts, buttoned closely to the chin, top-boots over his pantaloons, 
 a slight tint of powder on his remnant of a braided pigtail, and 
 scanty side-curls, spurs to his boots, (by way of distinction, 
 doubtless, for the rheumatism had long constituted him chief pri- 
 soner in his own citadel;) — such were the outward and visible 
 signs of the dignitary, whose only warlike weapon was the cane 
 on which his gouty limbs leaned for support. 
 
 Appointed to the custody of prisoners of state alone, most of 
 whom were members of families of distinction, the commandant 
 piqued himself on his good breeding, in spite of frequent out- 
 breaks of fury : and, in spite of certain infractions of prosody 
 and syntax, on the chosen elegance of his language. He was up- 
 right, moreover, as a pikestaff; rejoiced in an emphatic and sonor- 
 ous voice ; flourished his hand when he attempted a bow, and 
 scratched his head when he attempted a speech. Thus qualified 
 and endowed, the brave Morand, captain and commandant of 
 Fenestrella, passed for a fine soldierlike-looking man, and an effi- 
 cient public functionary. 
 
 From the courteous tone assumed in his initiatory address, and 
 the professional attitude of the two commissaries by whom he was 
 accompanied, Charney fancied that their sole business was to de- 
 liver to him a reprieve for his unhappy Picciola. But the com- 
 mandant's next sentence consisted in an inquiry, whether, upon 
 any specific occasion, the prisoner had to complain of his want of 
 courtesy or abuse of authority. The Count, still flattering him- 
 self that such a preamble augured well for the accomplishment of 
 his hopes, certified all, and more than all, that civility seemed to 
 require in reply to this leading question. 
 
 "You cannot, I imagine, sir, have forgotten," persisted the com- 
 mandant, " the care and kindness lavished upon you during your 
 illness? If it was not your pleasure to submit to the prescriptions 
 of the physicians appointed to visit you, the fault was neither theirs 
 nor mine, but your own. When it occurred to me that your con- 
 valescence might be accelerated by a greater facility for takincr 
 air and exercise, you were instantly allowed, at all times and sea- 
 sons, access to the prison-court?" 
 
 Charney inclined his head in token of grateful affirmation. But
 
 picciola. mi 
 
 impatience of the good man's circumlocution already caused him 
 to compress his lips. 
 
 " Nevertheless, sir," resumed the commandant, in the tone of a 
 man whose feelings have been wounded, and whose advances were 
 repaid with ingratitude, " you have not scrupled to infringe the 
 regulations of the fortress, of the tenor of which you could not 
 have been ignorant; compromising me thereby in the eyes of 
 General Menon, the governor of Piedmont; nay, perhaps, of his 
 gracious majesty the Emperor himself. The memorial which you 
 have contrived to place before him " 
 
 "Place before him!" interrupted Charney; "has he then re- 
 ceived it?" 
 
 " Of course he has received it." 
 
 "And the result — the result!" cried the Count, trembling with 
 anxiety; "what has been decreed?" 
 
 " That, as a punishment for your breach of discipline, you are 
 to be confined a month in the dungeon of the northern bastion of 
 the fortress of Fenestrella." 
 
 " But what said the Emperor to my application ?" cried the 
 Count, unable to resign at once all his cherished hopes of redress. 
 
 " Do you suppose, sir, that the Emperor has leisure for the con- 
 sideration of any such contemptible absurdities?" was the disdain- 
 ful reply of the commandant; on which Charney, throwing him- 
 self in complete abstraction into the only chair the chamber hap 
 pened to contain, became evidently unconscious of all that was 
 passing around him. 
 
 " This is not all !" resumed the commandant; " your communi- 
 cations with the exterior of the fortress, being thus ascertained, 
 it is natural to suppose that your correspondence may have been 
 more extensive than we know of, and I beg to inquire whether 
 you have addressed letters to any person besides his majesty the 
 Emperor?" 
 
 To this address Charney vouchsafed no reply. 
 
 "An official examination of your chamber and effects is about 
 to take place," added the man in authority. " These gentlemen 
 are appointed by the governor of Turin for the inquisitorial duty, 
 which they will discharge punctually, according to legal form, in 
 your presence. But previous to the execution of the warrant, I 
 request to know whether you have any personal revelations to 
 make? Voluntary disclosures, sir, might operate favourably in 
 your behalf." 
 
 Still, however, the prisoner remained obstinately silent ; and the 
 commandant, knitting his brows and contracting his high forehead 
 into a hundred solemn wrinkles, assumed an air of severity, and 
 motioned to the delegates of General Menon to proceed with their 
 duty. Thev immediately began to ransack the chamber, from the 
 9*
 
 102 
 
 PICCIOLA. 
 
 chimney and palliasse of the bed, to the linings of the coats of the 
 prisoner; while Morand paced up and down the narrow chamber, 
 tapping with his cane every square of the flooring, to ascertain 
 whether excavations existed for the concealment of papers or pre- 
 parations for flight. He called to mind the escape of Latude and 
 other prisoners from the Bastille ; where moats, both deep and 
 wide, walls ten feet thick, — gratings, counterscarps, drawbridges, 
 ramparts bristled with cannon and palisades, sentinels at every 
 postern, on every parapet, — had proved insufficient to baffle the 
 perseverance of a man armed with a cord and a nail ! The Bas- 
 tille of Fenestrella was far from possessing the same iron girdle of 
 strength and security. Since the year 1796, the fortifications had 
 been in part demolished, and the citadel was now defended only 
 by a few sentries, planted on the external bastion. 
 
 After a search prolonged as far as the limited space would 
 allow, nothing of a suspicious nature was brought to light, with 
 the exception of a small vial, containing a blackish liquid, which 
 had probably served the prisoner for ink. Interrogated as to the 
 means by which it came into his possession, Charney turned
 
 PICCIOLA. 103 
 
 towards the window, and began tapping with his fingers on the 
 glass, without condescending to reply to the importunate querists. 
 
 The dressing-case still remained to be examined ; but, on being 
 required to give up the key, the Count, instead of presenting it 
 with becoming respect to the commandant, almost threw it into 
 the hand extended towards him. 
 
 Thus boldly defied in presence of his subordinates, the com- 
 mandant disdained all farther attempts at conciliation. He was, 
 in fact, suffocating with rage. His eyes sparkled, his complexion 
 became livid, and he bustled up and down the little chamber, but- 
 toning and unbuttoning his coat, as if to exhaust the transports of 
 his repressed indignation. 
 
 At length, by a spontaneous movement, the two sbirri, occupied 
 in the examination of the casket, holding it in one hand and turn- 
 ing over its contents with the other, advanced towards the window, 
 to ascertain whether it contained secret drawers, and immediately 
 exclaimed, in tones of triumph, "All's right! The mystery is 
 in our hands." 
 
 Drawing out from beneath the false bottom of the case a num- 
 ber of cambric handkerchiefs, closely scribbled over and carefully 
 folded, they were satisfied of having obtained possession of the 
 proofs of a widely-organized conspiracy ; for at this profanation 
 of the sacred archives so dear to him, Charney started up and ex- 
 tended his hand to snatch back the treasures of which he saw 
 himself despoiled. Then, struck by the consciousness of his own 
 incapacity of resistance, he reseated himself in his chair, without 
 uttering a syllable of remonstrance. 
 
 But the impetuosity of his first movements was not lost upon 
 the governor; who saw at once that the documents which had 
 fallen into his hands were of the highest importance in the estima- 
 tion of the Count. The handkerchiefs, therefore, were" deposited, 
 on the spot, in a government despatch-bag, duly sealed and dock- 
 eted. Even the soot-bottle and tooth-pick were confiscated to the 
 state ! A report was drawn up of the proceedings which had taken 
 place, to which the signature of Charney was formally demanded, 
 — impatiently refused, — and the refusal duly recorded at the end 
 of the document ; after which, the commandant issued his man- 
 date for the immediate transfer of the prisoner to the northern 
 bastion. 
 
 What vague, confused, and painful emotions prevailed, mean- 
 while, in the mind of the prisoner! Charney was alive only to a 
 single stroke of his afflictions ; a stroke which deadened his con- 
 sciousness of all the rest. He had not so much as a smile of pity 
 to bestow upon the imaginary triumph of the blockheads who were 
 carrying off what they supposed to be the groundwork of a crimi- 
 nal impeachment ; but which consisted in a series of scientific
 
 104 PICCIOLA. 
 
 observations upon the growth and properties of his plant; — Yes; 
 even his tenderest recollections snatched from his possession ; and 
 an impassioned lover required to give up the letters of his mistress, 
 can alone enter into the despair of the captive. To preserve Pic- 
 ciola from destruction, he had tarnished his honour, his self- 
 esteem ; broken the heart of a benevolent old man : destroyed the 
 happiness of a gentle and lovely girl ; and of all that had sufficed 
 to attach him to a life of wretchedness. Every trace is now 
 effaced — every record destroyed — the very journal of those happy 
 hours which he had enjoyed in the presence of his idol, is torn for 
 ever from his possession ! 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The intervention of Josephine in Charney's favour had not 
 proved so efficient as might have been supposed. At the conclu- 
 sion of her mild intercessions in favour of the prisoner and his 
 plant, when she proceeded to place in the hands of Napoleon the 
 handkerchief inscribed with his memorial, the Emperor recalled 
 to mind the singular indifference — so mortifying to his self-love — 
 with which, during the warlike evolutions of the morning at Ma- 
 rengo, Josephine had cast her vacant, careless gaze upon the 
 commemoration of his triumph. And thus predisposed to displea- 
 sure, the obnoxious name of Charney served only to aggravate his 
 ill-humour. 
 
 " Is the man mad?" cried he, " or does he pretend to deceive 
 me by a farce? A Jacobin turned botanist? — about as good a 
 jest as Marat descanting in the tribune on the pleasures of a pas- 
 toral life; or Couthon presenting himself to the Convention with 
 a rose in his button-hole !" 
 
 Josephine vainly attempted to appeal against the name of Ja- 
 cobin thus lightly bestowed upon the Count; for, as she com- 
 menced her remonstrance, a chamberlain made his appearance to 
 announce that the general officers, ambassadors, and deputies of 
 Italy, were awaiting their majesties in the audience-chamber; — 
 where, having hastily repaired, Napoleon immediately burst forth 
 into a denunciation against visionaries, philosophers, and liberals, 
 mainly inspired by the recent mention of the Count de Charney. 
 In an imperious tone, he threatened that all such disturbers of 
 public order should be speedily reduced to submission ; but the 
 loud and threatening tone he had assumed, which was supposed 
 to be a spontaneous outbreak of passion, was, in fact, a premedi-
 
 P I C C I L A . 105 
 
 tated lesson bestowed on the assembly ; and more especially on 
 the Prussian ambassador, who was present at the scene. Napo- 
 leon seized the opportunity to announce to the representatives of 
 Europe the divorce of the Emperor of the French from the prin- 
 ciples of the French revolution! 
 
 By way of homage to the throne, the subordinates of the Empe- 
 ror hastened to emulate his new profession of faith. The general 
 commandant at Turin, more especially, Jacques-Abdallah Menon, 
 forgetting or renouncing his former principles, burst forth into a 
 furious diatribe against the pseudo Brutuses of the clubs and ta- 
 verns of Italy and France ; on which signal arose from the minions 
 of the empire a unanimous chorus of execrations against all con- 
 spirators, revolutionists, and more especially Jacobins; — till, 
 overawed by their virulence, Josephine began to tremble at the 
 storm she had been unwittingly the means of exciting. At length, 
 drawing near to the ear of Napoleon, she took courage to whis- 
 per, in a tone of mingled tenderness and irony, — "What need, 
 sire, of all these denunciations? — My memorial regards neither 
 a Jacobin nor a conspirator; but simply a poor plant, whose plots 
 against the safety of the empire should scarcely excite such vast 
 tumults of consternation." 
 
 Napoleon shrugged his shoulders. " Can you suppose me the 
 dupe of such absurd pretences?" he exclaimed. "This Charney 
 is a man of high faculties and the most dangerous principles: — 
 would you pass him upon me for a blockhead? — The flower, the 
 pavement, the whole romance, is a mere pretext. The fellow is 
 getting up a plan of escape ! It must be looked to. Menon ! let 
 a careful eye be kept upon the movements of those imprisoned for 
 political offences in the citadel of Fenestrella. One Charney has 
 presumed to address to me a memorial. How did he manage to 
 forward his petition otherwise than through the hands of the com- 
 mandant? , Is such the discipline kept up in the state-prisons of 
 the empire?" 
 
 Again the Empress ventured to interpose in defence of her 
 protege. 
 
 " Enough, madam, enough of this man !" exclaimed the com- 
 mander-in-chief; and discouraged and alarmed by the displeasure 
 expressed in his words and looks, Josephine cast down her eyes 
 and was silent from confusion. General Menon, on the other 
 hand, mortified by the public rebuke of the Emperor, was not 
 sparing in the reprimand despatched to the captain-commandant 
 of the citadel of Fenestrella; who, in his turn, as we have seen, 
 vented his vexation on the prisoners committed to his charge. 
 Even Girardi, in addition to the cruel sentence of separation from 
 his daughter, (who on arriving full of hopes at the gate of the 
 fortress, was commanded to appear there no more,) had been sub-
 
 106 PIC CI OLA. 
 
 jected, like Charney, to a domiciliary visit ; by which, however, 
 nothing unsatisfactory was elicited. 
 
 But emotions more painful than those resulting from the for- 
 feiture of his manuscripts, now awaited the Count : as he traversed 
 the courtyard on his way to the bastion with the commandant and 
 his two acolytes, Captain Morand, who had either passed without 
 notice on his arrival, the fences and scaffolding surrounding the 
 plant, or was now stimulated by the arrogant contumacy of Char- 
 ney to an act of vengeance, paused to point out to Ludovico this 
 glaring breach of prison-discipline manifested before his eyes. 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this rubbish ?" cried he. " Is such, 
 sir, the order you maintain in your department?" 
 
 "That, captain," replied the gaoler, in a half-hesitating, half- 
 grumbling tone, drawing his pipe out of his mouth with one hand, 
 and raising the other to his cap in a military salute — " that, under 
 your favour, is the plant I told you of, — which is so good for the 
 gout, and all sorts of disorders." 
 
 Then, letting fall his arm by an imperceptible movement, he 
 replaced his pipe in its usual place. 
 
 " Death and the devil !" cried the captain, " if these gentlemen 
 were allowed to have their own way, all the chambers and courts 
 of the citadel might be made into gardens, menageries, or shops, — 
 like so many stalls at a fair. Away with this weed at once, and 
 every thing belonging to it !" 
 
 Ludovico turned his eyes alternately towards the captain, the 
 Count, and the flower, and was about to interpose a word or two 
 of expostulation. — "Silence!" cried the commandant; "silence, 
 and do your duty." 
 
 Thus fiercely admonished, Ludovico held his peace; removing 
 the pipe once more from his mouth, he extinguished it, shook out 
 the dust, and deposited it on the edge of the wall while he pro- 
 ceeded to business. Deliberately laying aside his cap, his waist- 
 coat, and rubbing his hands as if to gain courage for the job, he 
 paused a moment, then suddenly, with a movement of anger, as if 
 against himself or his chief, seized the haybands and matting, and 
 dispersed them over the court. Next went the uprights which 
 had supported them ; which he tore up one after the other, broke 
 over his knee, and threw the pieces on the pavement. His former 
 tenderness for Picciola seemed suddenly converted into a fit of 
 abhorrence. 
 
 Charney, meanwhile, stood motionless and stupefied, his eyes 
 fixed wistfully upon the plant thus exposed to view, as if his looks 
 could still afford protection to its helplessness. The day had 
 been cool, the sky overclouded, and from the stem, which had ral- 
 lied during the night, sprang several little healthy, verdant shoots. 
 It seemed as though Picciola were collecting all her strength to die !
 
 PICCIOLA. 107 
 
 To die! — Picciola! — his own, his only! — the world of his ex- 
 istence and his dreams, the pivot on which revolved his very life, 
 to be reduced to nothingness ! Midway in his aspirations towards 
 a higher sphere, the flight of the poor captive, over whose head 
 heaven has suspended its sentence of expiation, is to be suddenly 
 arrested ! How will he henceforward fill up the vacant moments 
 of his leisure? — how satisfy the aching void in his own bosom? 
 Picciola, the desert which thou didst people is about to become 
 once more a solitary wilderness ! No more visions, no more 
 hopes, no more reminiscences, no more discoveries to inscribe, 
 no farther objects of affection ! — How narrow will his prison now 
 appear — how oppressive its atmosphere — the atmosphere of a 
 tomb, — the tomb of Picciola ! The golden branch, — the sibylline 
 divining rod, which sufficed to exorcise the evil spirits by which 
 he was beset, will no longer protect him against himself! The 
 sceptic — the disenchanted philosopher, must return to his former 
 mood of incredulity, and bear once more the burden of his bitter 
 thoughts, with no prospect before him but eternal extinction ! 
 No, — death were a thousand times preferable to such a destiny! 
 
 As these thoughts glanced through the mind of Charney, he be- 
 held, at the little grated window, the shadow of the venerable 
 Girardi. " Alas!" murmured the Count, " I have deprived him of 
 all he had to live for ; and he comes to triumph over my affliction, 
 — to curse me — to deride me ! And he is right ; for what are sor- 
 rows such as mine compared to those 1 have heaped upon his 
 revered head?" 
 
 Charney perceived the old man clasping the iron window-bars 
 in his trembling hands; but dared not meet his eyes, and hazard 
 an appeal to the forgiveness of the only human being of whose 
 esteem he was ambitious. The Count dreaded to find that vene- 
 rable countenance distorted by the expression of reproach or con- 
 tempt ; and when at length their glances met, he was touched to 
 the soul by the look of tender compassion cast upon him by the 
 unhappy father; — forgetful of his own sorrows in beholdincr those 
 of his companion in misfortune. The only tears that had ever 
 fallen from the eyes of the Count de Charney, started at that try- 
 ing moment! But, consolatory as they were, he dried them hur- 
 riedly as they fell, in the dread of exposing his weakness to the 
 contempt and misapprehension of the men by whom he was 
 surrounded. 
 
 Among the spectators of this singular scene, the two sbirri alone 
 remained indifferent to what was passing — staring vacantly at the 
 prisoner, the old man, the commandant, and the gaoler ; wonder- 
 ing what reference their emotions might bear to the supposed 
 conspiracy, and nothing doubting that the mysterious plant, about
 
 103 PIC CIO LA. 
 
 to be dislodged, would prove to have been a cover to some mo- 
 mentous hiding-place. 
 
 Meanwhile, the fatal operations proceeded. Under the orders 
 of the commandant, Ludovico was attempting to take up the rustic 
 bench, which at first seemed to resist his feeble efforts. 
 
 "A mallet — take a mallet!" cried Captain Morand. 
 
 Ludovico obeyed ; but the mallet fell from his hands. 
 
 " Death and the devil ! how much longer am I to be kept wait- 
 ing?" now vociferated the captain; and the gaoler immediately 
 let fall a blow, under which the bench gave way in a moment. 
 Mechanically, Ludovico bent down towards his god-daughter, 
 which was now alone and undefended in the court; while the 
 Count stood ghastly and overpowered, big drops of agony rising 
 upon his brow. 
 
 " Why destroy it, sir; why destroy it? — you must perceive that 
 the plant is about to die!" — he faltered, descending once more to 
 the abject position of a suppliant. But the captain replied only 
 by a glance of ironical compassion. It was now his turn to re- 
 main silent ! 
 
 " Nay, then," cried Charney, in a sort of frenzy, " since it must 
 needs be sacrificed, it shall die by no hand but mine !" 
 
 "I forbid you to touch it!" exclaimed the commandant; and, 
 extending his cane before Charney, as if to create a barrier 
 between the prisoner and his idol, he renewed his orders to 
 Ludovico; who, seizing the stem, was about to uproot it from 
 the earth. 
 
 The Count, startled into submission, stood like an image of 
 despair. 
 
 Near the bottom of the stem, below the lowest branches, 
 where the sap had got power to circulate, a single flower, fresh 
 and brilliant, had just expanded ! — Already, all the others were 
 drooping, withered, on their stalks; but this single one retained 
 its beauty, as yet uncrushed by the rude hand of the gaoler. 
 Springing in the midst of a little tuft of leaves, whose verdure 
 threw out in contrast the vivid colours of its petals, the flower 
 seemed to turn imploringly towards its master. He even fancied 
 its last perfumes were exhaling towards him; and, as the tears 
 rose in his eyes, seemed to see the beloved object enlarge, disap- 
 pear, and at last bloom out anew. The human being and the 
 flower, so strangely attached to each other, were interchanging an 
 eternal farewell ! 
 
 If, at that moment, when so many human passions were called 
 into action by the existence of an humble vegetable, a stranger 
 could have entered, unprepared, the prison-court of Fenestrella, 
 where the sky shed a sombre and saddening reflection, the aspect
 
 P I C C I L A . ] 09 
 
 of the officers of justice, invested in their tri-coloured scarfs — of 
 ihe commandant, issuing his ruthless orders in a tone of au- 
 thority — would naturally have seemed to announce some frio-htful 
 execution ; of which Ludovico was the executioner, and Charney 
 the victim, whose sentence of death had just been recited to him. 
 And see, they come! — strangers are entering the court; — two 
 strangers, the one, an aide-de-camp of General JMenon, the other, 
 a page of the Empress Josephine. The dust with which their 
 uniforms were covered, attests with what speed they have per- 
 formed their journey to the fortress; yet a minute more, and they 
 had been too late ! 
 
 At the noise produced by their arrival, Ludovico, raisino- his 
 head, relaxed his grasp of Picciola, and confronted Charney face 
 to face. Both the gaoler and the prisoner were pale as death ! 
 
 The commandant had now received from the hands of the aide- 
 de-camp an order, the perusal of which seemed to strike him with 
 astonishment ; but after taking a turn or two in the courtyard, to 
 compare in his mind the order of to-day with that of the day pre- 
 ceding, he assumed a more courteous demeanour, and, approach- 
 ing the Count de Charney, placed in his hands the missive of 
 General Menon. Trembling with emotion, the prisoner read as 
 follows : — 
 
 " His majesty, the Emperor and King, deputes me, sir, to in- 
 form you, that he grants the petition forwarded to him by the 
 prisoner Charney, now under your custody in the fortress of Fe- 
 nestrella, relative to a plant growing among the stones of one of its 
 pavements. Such as are likely to be injurious to the flower must 
 be instantly removed ; for which purpose you are requested to 
 consult the wishes and convenience of your prisoner." 
 
 " Long live the Emperor !" cried Ludovico. 
 
 " Long live the Emperor !" murmured another voice, which 
 seemed to issue from the adjoining wall ; and while all this was 
 proceeding, the commandant stood leaning on his cane, by way 
 of keeping himself in countenance; the two officers of justice, 
 completely puzzled, were trying in vain to connect the new turn 
 of affairs with the plot which their imagination had created ; while 
 the aide-de-camp and page, secretly wondered what could be the 
 motive of the haste which had been so urgently recommended to 
 them. The latter now addressed Charney, to inform him that the 
 letter contained a postscript in the handwriting of the Empress; 
 and the Count, turning over the page, read aloud as follows: 
 
 " I earnestly recommend Monsieur the Count de Charney to 
 the good offices of Captain Morand ; to whom I shall feel person 
 ally obliged for any acts of kindness by which he may be enablea 
 to alleviate the situation of his prisoner. Josephine." 
 
 10
 
 HO PICC IOL A. 
 
 " Long live the Empress !" cried Ludovico. Charney said not 
 a word. His feelings could not be satisfied with less than raising 
 to his lips the precious signature of his benefactress. The letter, 
 held for some minutes in silence before his eyes, served to conceal 
 his face from the curiosity of the spectators. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The commandant of Fenestrella was now unrelaxing in his 
 courtesies towards the protege of her majesty the Empress Queen. 
 There was no further mention of a transfer to the northern bas- 
 tion ; and Charney was even authorized to reconstruct his fences 
 for the defence of Picciola; who, feeble and delicate after her 
 recent transplantation, had more than ever occasion for protection. 
 So completely indeed had Captain Morand's irritation of feeling 
 against the prisoner and plant subsided, that every morning Lu- 
 dovico appeared with a message of inquiry from the commandant 
 after the wants and wishes of the Count, and the health of his 
 pretty Picciola. 
 
 Profiting by these favourable dispositions, Charney obtained 
 from his munificence an allowance of pens, ink, and paper, where- 
 with to commemorate the sequel of his studies and observations 
 on vegetable physiology ; for the letter of the Governor of Turin 
 did not go so far as to cancel the confiscation which had taken 
 place of his former lucubrations. The two judiciary sbirri, after 
 carrying off his cambric archives, and submitting them to the 
 most careful examination, admitted their incompetency to discover 
 a key to the cipher, and transmitted the whole to the minister of 
 police in Paris, that more able decipherers might be employed to 
 search out the root of the mystery. 
 
 But Charney had now to deplore a far more important privation. 
 The commandant, resolved to visit upon Girardi, the only victim 
 within his reach, the reprimand originally addressed to him by 
 General Menon, had consigned the venerable Italian to a stronger 
 part of the fortress, secure from all communication with the exte- 
 rior; and the Count could not refrain from bitter self-reproaches, 
 when he reflected upon the miserable isolation of the poor old 
 man.
 
 PICCIOLA. HI 
 
 The greater portion of the day, his eyes remained mournfully 
 fixed upon the grating in the wall, the little window of which was 
 now closed up. In fancy he still beheld Girardi extending his 
 arm through the bars, and trying to bestow upon him a friendly 
 pressure of the hand ; nay, he still seemed to see his precious 
 memorial to the Emperor, fluttering against the wall and gradually 
 drawn up from his own hands to those of Girardi, — thence to pro- 
 ceed to the hands of Teresa and the Empress. The very glance 
 of pity and pardon cast down upon him by Girardi in his moment 
 of anguish, seemed to shine ineffaceably on the spot ; and often 
 did he hear again the cry of exultation which burst from the win- 
 dow on the arrival of Picciola's reprieve. That very sentence of 
 pardon is in fact the gift of Girardi and Girardi's daughter : and 
 though solely serviceable to himself, has become the fatal origin 
 of their separation and the sorrows of the parent and his child. 
 
 Even the countenance of Teresa was restored, by the efforts of 
 his imagination, to the spot where alone it had been momentarily 
 revealed to his eyes, at the close of the uneasy dream which he 
 now believed to have foreshown the approaching perils of his 
 plant. Inseparably united in his mind with the Picciola of his 
 dreams, it was always under her form and features, that the living 
 Teresa Girardi was revealed to him. 
 
 One day, as, with his eyes upraised towards the grating, the 
 prisoner stood indulging in these and similar illusions, the dim 
 and dusty window was flung open, and a female form appeared 
 behind the grating. But the new-comer was a swarthy, savage- 
 looking woman, with rapacious eyes, and an enormous goitre, in 
 whom the Count soon recognised the wife of Ludovico. 
 
 From that moment, Charney never cast his eyes towards the 
 window. The charm was broken. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Relieved from all constraint, imbedded in new earth, and capa- 
 ciously framed in the wide pavement, Picciola seemed to rise tri- 
 umphantly from her tribulations. She had, however, survived her 
 summer blossoms ; with the exception of that single flower, the 
 last to open and the last to fall. 
 
 Charney already foresaw important discoveries to be deduced 
 from the seed, which was swelling and ripening in the calyx. He 
 promised himself the triumph of the Dies Seminalis, or Feast of 
 the Sowers. For space was no longer wanting for his experi-
 
 112 PICCIOLA. 
 
 ments : Picciola has more than enough room for her own expan- 
 sion. She has every facility to hecome a mother, and shelter her 
 uprising children under the shadow of her hranches. 
 
 While waiting this important event, the Count becomes eager 
 to ascertain the real name of the fair companion, to whom he is 
 indebted for so many happy hours. 
 
 " Shall I never be able," thought Charney, " to bestow upon 
 my foundling, my adopted child, the name she inherits from 
 science, in common with her legitimate sisters of the plain or 
 mountain V 
 
 And at the first visit paid by the commandant to his charge, the 
 Count admitted his desire to procure an elementary botanical 
 work. Morand, unwilling either to refuse or to take upon him- 
 self the vast responsibility of compliance, thought proper to sig- 
 nify the demand in punctilious form to the governor of Pied- 
 mont. But from General Menon, the protege of the Empress 
 was now safe from a refusal ; and a botanical dictionary soon ar- 
 rived at the fortress, accompanied by all the folios treating of 
 botany which could be obtained from the Royal Library of 
 Turin. 
 
 " I have the honour," wrote General Menon, " to facilitate to 
 the utmost the wishes of the Sieur Charney; for her Majesty the 
 Empress-Queen, a proficient in botanical science, (as in many 
 others,) will doubtless be glad to learn the name of a plant in 
 whose welfare she has deigned to evince an interest." 
 
 When Ludovico made his appearance with the piles of books, 
 under the enormous weight of which his back was breaking, 
 Charney could not resist a smile. 
 
 " How !" cried he, " all this heavy artillery, to compel a poor 
 helpless flower to give up her name?" 
 
 Nevertheless, it afforded him satisfaction to look once more upon 
 a book. In turning over the leaves, his heart thrilled with plea- 
 sure, as in former days, when the attainment of knowledge was 
 his chief delight in life. What months had now elapsed since 
 printed characters were before his eyes! Already a plan of sage 
 and sober study was concocting in his excited mind. 
 
 " If ever I am released from captivity," thought he, " I will 
 certainly become a botanist. Instead of scholastic and pedantic 
 controversies, which serve only to bewilder the human intellect, I 
 will devote myself to a science where nature, ever varying, yet 
 still the same, dispenses immutable laws to her disciples." 
 
 The books forwarded for the use of the Count de Charney. 
 consisted of the Species Plantariim, of Linnseus; the Imtitu- 
 tiones rei Herbaria of Tournefort; the Theatnan Botanicum of 
 Bauhin ; and the Phytogrciphia, Denclrologia, and Agrostogra- 
 phia of Plukenet, Aldrovandus, and Scheuchzer ; besides half a
 
 PICCIOLA. U3 
 
 hundred works of minor classicality, in the French, English, and 
 Italian languages. 
 
 Though somewhat startled by so formidable an array of learn- 
 ing, the Count was not discouraged ; and, by way of preparation 
 for the worst, opened the thinnest volume of the collection, and 
 began to examine the index in search of the most euphonous 
 titles afforded by botanic nomenclature. He longed to appropri- 
 ate to his purpose some of the softer saints of the floral calendar ; 
 such as Alcea, Alisma, Andryala, Bromelia, Celosia, Coronilla, 
 Euphrasia, Helvelia, Passiflora, Primula, Santolina, or some other, 
 equally soft to the lip, and harmonious to the ear. 
 
 And, now, for the first time, he began to tremble, lest his pretty 
 favourite should inherit some quaint or harsh patronymic. A mas- 
 culine or neuter termination would put to flight all his poetical 
 vagaries concerning his gentle friend. What, for instance, would 
 become of his ethereal Picciola, if her earthly prototype were to 
 be saluted as Rumex obtusifolius, Satyrium, Hoscyamus, Gossy- 
 pium, Cynoglossum, Cucubalus, Cenchrus, Bums ; or, worse still, 
 and in more vulgar phrase, as Old Man, Dogtooth, Houndstongue, 
 Cuckoo-flower, Devil-in-a-bush, Hen and Chickens, or Spider- 
 wort ! How should he support such a disenchantment of his 
 nympholeptic imagination ! No! — better not to risk the vexation 
 of such an ordeal. 
 
 Yet, in spite of himself, he found it impossible to resist the 
 temptation of opening every successive volume, — led on from 
 page to page by the developement of the mighty mysteries of nature, 
 but irritated by the love of system prevailing among the learned, 
 by whom so charming a science has been rendered the harshest, 
 most technical, and most perplexed, of all the branches of natural 
 history. 
 
 For a whole week he devoted himself to the analysis of his 
 flower, with a view to classification, but without success. In the 
 chaos of so many strange words, varying from system to system, — 
 bewildered by the vast and ponderous synonymy, which, like the 
 net of Vulcan, overspreads the beauties of botany, overpowering 
 them by its weight, he soon gave up the attempt; having consulted 
 each author in succession, for a clew, wandering from classes to 
 orders, from orders to tribes, from tribes to families, from families 
 to species, from species to individuals; and losing all patience with 
 the blind guides, ever at variance among themselves with respect 
 to the purpose and denomination of the parts of organization in 
 vegetable life. 
 
 At the close of his investigations, the poor little flower, the last 
 
 upon the tree, examined petal by petal, and to the very depth of 
 
 her calyx, suddenly fell off one day into the hand of the operator, 
 
 bearing- with it Charney's hopes of inquiry into the progress of the 
 
 ~10*
 
 114 PICCIOLA. 
 
 seed, the reproduction of his favourite, the maternity of the lovely 
 Picciola ! 
 
 " She shall have no other title than Picciola !" cried Charney. 
 " Picciola, the flower of the captive. What do I want to know 
 more of her name or nature? To what purpose this idle thirst 
 after human knowledge?" 
 
 In a moment of petulance, Charney even threw down the vast 
 heap of folios which had served to perplex him ; when, from one 
 of the volumes, came fluttering forth a slip of paper, on which 
 had been recently inscribed, in the handwriting of a woman, the 
 following verse, purporting to be a quotation from the Holy Scrip- 
 tures : 
 
 " Hope, and bid thy neighbour hope : for, behold, I have not 
 forsaken ye, and a day of consolation is at hand." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Charney perused and re-perused a hundred times a sentence 
 which he could not but believe to have been especially addressed 
 to himself. His correspondent was evidently a woman ; but it 
 grieved him to reflect that the only one to whom he was indebted 
 for real acts of service, the only woman who had ever devoted her- 
 self to his cause, was still so imperfectly known to him, that he 
 was ignorant of the very sound of her voice, and by no means 
 sure of recognising her person, should she present herself before 
 him. 
 
 But by what means had Teresa contrived to evade the vigilance 
 of his Argus in the transmission of her letter? 
 
 Poor girl ! Afraid to compromise her father by the mere men- 
 tion of his name! Unhappy father! — to whom he is unable to 
 afford consolation by the sight of the handwriting of his child ! 
 
 Often, indeed, had Charney's nights been rendered sleepless by 
 the idea of the solitary old man, to whom he had been the inno- 
 cent cause of such irreparable injury, when one night, as he was 
 lying awake, absorbed in these afflicting recollections, his ear was 
 struck by an unaccustomed sound in the chamber above his own, 
 which had remained uninhabited during the whole period of his 
 confinement at Fenestrella. 
 
 Next morning, Ludovico entered his apartment, his countenance 
 full of meaning, which he vainly attempted to compose to its usual 
 vacuity of expression.
 
 P I C C I O L A 
 
 115 
 
 "What is the matter?" demanded the Count; "has any thins; 
 unusual occurred in the citadel?" 
 
 "Nothing particular, Signor Conic ; nothing of any conse- 
 quence, only we have had a sudden influx of prisoners; and the 
 chambers of the northern and southern turrets being full, the com- 
 mandant is under the necessity of placing another state prisoner 
 in this part of the fortress, who must share with you the use of the 
 court-yard. But this need be no hindrance to your pursuits. We 
 receive at Fenestrella only gentlemen of high consideration, — that 
 is, I mean we have no thieves or robbers among our prisoners. 
 But stay, here is the new-comer, waiting to pay you his visit of 
 inauguration." 
 
 Charney half rose at this announcement, scarcely knowing 
 whether to grieve or rejoice at the intelligence; but, on turning 
 to do the honours to his unexpected guest, what was his amaze- 
 ment to behold the door open for the admission of — Girardi ! 
 
 After gazing upon each other for a moment in silence, as if 
 still doubtful of the reality of their good fortune, the hands of the 
 two prisoners were suddenly pressed together in mutual gratu- 
 lations. 
 
 "Well and good," cried Ludovico, with a cordial smile; "no
 
 |16 PICC10LA. 
 
 need, I see, of a master of the ceremonies between you; the ac- 
 quaintance has been quickly made :" and away he went, leaving 
 them to the enjoyment of each other's society. 
 
 " To whom are we indebted, I wonder, for this happy meeting?" 
 was Chamey's first exclamation. 
 
 " To my daughter — doubtless to my daughter," replied Girardi. 
 " Every consolation of my life reaches me through the hands of 
 my Teresa." 
 
 " Do you know this handwriting?" inquired Charney, drawing 
 from his casket the slip of paper he so dearly treasured. 
 
 "It is Teresa's!" cried Girardi; "it is the writing of my 
 child ! She has not neglected us ; nor have her promises been 
 tardy in their accomplishment. But how did this letter reach 
 your hands?" 
 
 The Count related all the circumstances, then carelessly put 
 forth his hand to receive back the slip of paper ; but, perceiving 
 that the poor old man silently detained it, perusing it word by 
 word, letter by letter, and raising it a thousand times, with trem- 
 bling hands, to his lips, he saw that the pledge was lost to him for 
 ever ; and experienced a regret at the loss, which appeared almost 
 unaccountable. 
 
 After the first moments passed in conjectures, concerning 
 Teresa and the spot where she was likely to have taken refuge, 
 Girardi began to examine the lodgings of his new friend; and 
 gravely proceeded to decipher the inscriptions on the wall. Two 
 among them had been already modified; and the old man could 
 readily discern, in this recantation, the influence exercised by 
 Picciola over her votary. One of the maxims of Charney ran as 
 follows: — " Mankind maintain, upon the surface of the earth, the 
 position they will one day hold below it — side by side, without a 
 single bond of union. Physically considered, the world is a mob, 
 where millions meet and jostle together: morally speaking, it is a 
 solitary wilderness." 
 
 To this withering sentence, the hand of Girardi added, "Unless 
 to him who has a friend." Then, turning to his young companion, 
 the old man extended his arms towards him, and a mutual embrace 
 sealed between them a compact of eternal friendship. 
 
 Next day, they dined together in the camera of the Count; — 
 Charney seated upon the bed, and his venerable guest upon the 
 chair, — the sculptured table between them being covered with 
 double rations, viz : a fine trout from the lake of Avigliano, cray- 
 fish from the Cenise, a bottle of excellent Mondovi wine, and a 
 piece of the celebrated Millesimo cheese, known over Italy under 
 the name of rubiola. The feast was a noble one for a prison; but 
 Girardi's purse was richly replenished, and the commandant will- 
 ing to sanction every accommodation which Ludovico could atfurd
 
 PICCIOLA. 117 
 
 to the two prisoners, within the letter of his instructions from head- 
 quarters. 
 
 Never had Charney more thoroughly enjoyed the pleasures of 
 the table. The happiest spirit of social intercourse was already 
 established between them. If exercise, and the waters of the 
 Eurotas, imparted a zest to the black broth of the Lacedaemonians, 
 how much more the presence and conversation of a friend to the 
 flavour of the choice viands of Piedmont ! 
 
 Their hearts expanded with the sense of enjoyment. Without 
 scruple, without preamble, but as if in fulfilment of the sacred en- 
 gagements conveyed in their promises of friendship, Charney began 
 to relate the presumptuous studies and idle vanities of his youth; 
 while Girardi, by way of encouragement to this candour, did not 
 hesitate to avow the early errors of his own. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Girardi was a native of Turin; in which city his progenitors 
 had established a considerable manufactory of arms. From time 
 immemorial, Piedmont has afforded a medium for the transmission 
 of opinions and merchandise from Italy to France, and a medium 
 for the transmission of merchandise and opinions from France to 
 Italy; some portion of each, of course, being detained on the 
 road. The breezes of France had breathed on Girardi's father, 
 who was a philosopher, a reformer, a disciple of Voltaire: the 
 breezes of Italy upon his mother, who was a zealot to the utmost 
 extent of bigotry. The boy, loving and respecting both parents, 
 and listening to both with equal confidence, participating in both 
 their natures, became, of necessity, an amphibious moralist and 
 politician. A republican, as well as a devotee, he was incessantly 
 projecting the union of Liberty and Religion; — a holy alliance 
 which he purposed to accomplish after a manner of his own. For 
 Girardi was but twenty ; and at that period, people were young at 
 twenty years of age. 
 
 The enthusiastic youth was soon compelled to give pledges on 
 both sides. The Piedmontese nobility retained certain nobiliary 
 privileges, — such as an exclusive right to appear in a box at the 
 theatre, or to dance at a public ball ; and dancing was held to be 
 an aristocratic exercise, in which the middle classes must content 
 themselves with the part of spectators. 
 
 At the head of a band of young people of his own age, Gia- 
 corao Girardi chose, however, one day to infringe the national rule
 
 118 PICCIOLA. 
 
 established by his betters; and at a public ball, headed a quadrille 
 of untitled dancers, in the very face of the aristocratic portion of 
 the assembly. The patrician dancers, indignant at the innovation, 
 would fain have put a stop to the attempt; but vociferous cries 
 of "Amusement for all alike, — daneing for high and low," were 
 raised by the plebeians; and to this outbreak of sedition succeeded 
 other cries of a liberal nature. In the tumult that ensued, twenty 
 challenges were given and refused, not from cowardice, but pride; 
 and the imprudent Giacomo, carried away by the impetuosity of 
 his age and character, ended with inflicting a blow upon the 
 proudest and most insolent of his adversaries. 
 
 The unpremeditated insult proved of serious moment. The 
 influential family of San Marsano swore that it should not pass 
 unpunished; the knights of St. Maurice, of the Annunciation, all 
 the chivalry and nobility of the country (which an infringement 
 of privilege is sure to render unanimous), affected to resent the 
 offence, both individually and collectively. At his father's sug- 
 gestion, the young man took refuge with one of his relations, vicar 
 of a small village in the principality of Masserano, in the environs 
 of Bielle, and, in consequence of his flight, Girardi was condemned, 
 as contumacious, to five years' banishment from Turin. 
 
 The dignity to which the whole business was rashly elevated by 
 all this notoriety, investing a boyish affray with the importance 
 of a conspiracy, imparted considerable consequence to Giacomo 
 Girardi in the eyes of his fellow-countrymen. Some saluted him 
 as champion of the liberties of the people; others as one of those 
 dangerous innovators who still dreamed of restoring the inde- 
 pendence of Piedmont; but while, at the court of Turin, the in- 
 solent chastiser of nobility was denounced as a leading member 
 of the democratic faction, the poor little partisan was quietly 
 ministering to the performance of a village mass, after the fervent 
 fulfilment of his own religious duties! 
 
 This stormy commencement of a life which had seemed pre- 
 destined to peace and tranquillity, exercised a powerful influence 
 over the fortunes of Giacomo Girardi. In his old age, he was 
 fated to pay a severe penalty for the follies of his boyhood, for, 
 upon his arrest on the groundless charge of having attempted the 
 life of the First Consul, his accusers did not fail to recur to his 
 early disorders, as an evidence of his dangerous tendency as a 
 disturber of the public peace. But from the moment of quitting 
 Turin, and during the whole period of his exile, Giacomo, indif- 
 ferent to the love of equality instilled into him by his father, re- 
 signed himself to the influence of the religious principles derived 
 from his mother. He even carried them to excess; and his rela- 
 tive, the worthy priest, whose faith was sincere, but whose capacity 
 narrow and uncultivated, instead of checking the exalted fervour
 
 PICCIOLA. 119 
 
 of the young enthusiast, excited it to the utmost, in the hope that 
 the loveliness of Christian humility would impose a check upon 
 the impetuosity of his character. But in the sequel, the worthy 
 vicar repented the rashness of his calculations ; for Giacomo would 
 hear of nothing now but embracing the sacerdotal profession. 
 The wild, hot-headed young man insisted on becoming a priest 
 of the altar. 
 
 In the hope of arresting a measure which would deprive them 
 of their only son, his father and mother got him recalled home; 
 and by the utmost eloquence of parental tenderness, prevailed 
 upon him to resign his projects, and acquiesce in their own. In 
 a few months, Giacomo Girardi was married to a beautiful girl, 
 selected for him by his family. But, to the great astonishment of 
 his friends, the young fanatic not only persisted in regarding his 
 lovely bride as an adopted sister, but exercised over her mind so 
 strong an influence as to persuade her to retire into a convent, 
 while he returned to his pious calling in the neighbourhood of 
 Bielle. 
 
 At a short distance from his favourite village, rose the last 
 branch of the Pennine Alps — a vast and towering chain of moun- 
 tains ; the highest peak of which, Monte Mucrone, overshadowed 
 a gloomy little valley; — shaggy with overhanging rocks, obscured 
 by mists, bordered by awful precipices, and appearing at a distance 
 to imbody all the horrors with which Dante and Virgil have in- 
 vested the entrance to the infernal regions. But on drawing 
 nearer to the defile, the impending rocks were found to be clefted 
 with verdure; the precipices to be relieved by gentle slopes, where 
 flowering shrubs afforded a beautiful ladder of vegetation, inter- 
 spersed with natural bowers and thickets ; while the mists, vary- 
 ing in hue according to the reflections of the sun, after becoming 
 white, pink, or violet, evaporated altogether under the influence 
 of the noontide radiance. It was then that, deep in the lovely 
 valley, a lake of about five hundred feet in length became ap- 
 parent, alimented by crystal springs, and giving rise to the little 
 river called the Oroppa, which at some distance farther encircled 
 and formed into an island one of the verdant hillocks of the val- 
 ley, on which the piety of the inhabitants has erected, at great 
 cost, and consecrated to the Holy Virgin, one of the most re- 
 markable churches in the country. If the legend is to be be- 
 lieved, St. Eusebius himself, on his return from a pilgrimage to 
 the Holy Land, deposited there a wooden statue of the Virgin, 
 carved by a hand no less holy than that of St. Luke the Evan- 
 gelist, which he was desirous of securing from the profanations 
 of the Arians. 
 
 In this sequestered vale, on the banks of this lonely lake, sur- 
 rounded by the shrubby rocks and gentle precipices, — in this
 
 120 PICCIOLA. 
 
 church, and at the foot of the miraculous statue, did Giacomo 
 Girardi dream away five years of his young existence — rejecting 
 the adoration of his lovely bride for that of the wooden lady of 
 Oroppa ! 
 
 Incapable of distinguishing between credulity and faith, una- 
 ware that superstition may degenerate into idolatry, that all extremes 
 are unacceptable to God, he little suspected that it was not the 
 Mary of Scripture — the mother of the Redeemer — to whom he 
 dedicated his prayers; but a divinity of his own, — the tutelary 
 genius of the place. Before the miraculous image, he passed his 
 nights and days, in prayers and tears, praying for a higher spirit- 
 ualization, and weeping over imaginary faults. His heart was that 
 of a child, — his mind, that of a fanatic. In vain did the vicar, his 
 worthy relative, labour to repress this unnatural fervour, and bring 
 him back to reason. In vain, to distract his thoughts from one 
 fixed and dangerous idea, did he suggest a pilgrimage to other 
 spots of peculiar sanctity, dedicated to the worship of the Virgin. 
 Giacomo would not hear of our Lady of Loretto, or the Saint 
 Mary of Bologna or of Milan. He was infatuated by the pretended 
 virtue of a material image, a piece of black and worm-eaten wood ; 
 and pronounced all homage to its celestial prototype. 
 
 The sentiments of the enthusiast, if they eventually lost in depth, 
 gained only in extent. The Virgin of Oroppa was surrounded by 
 a whole court of saints and saintesses ; — and to each of these, the 
 infatuated Giacomo assigned some peculiar duty of intercession. 
 From one, he implored the dispersion of the clouds charged with 
 hail-showers, which, from the heights of Monte Mucrone, some- 
 times rattled down upon his beloved valley. To another, he 
 assigned the task of comforting his mother for his absence, and 
 sustaining the spiritual weakness of his young wife. A third, he 
 implored to watch over him in sleep, — a fourth, to defend him 
 against the temptations of Satan. His devotion, by this means, 
 degenerated into an impure polytheism, and Mount Oroppa into a 
 new Olympus, where every divinity but the one Almighty God 
 was honoured with a shrine. 
 
 Subjecting himself to the severest discipline, the most painful 
 privations, he continued to macerate himself, to fast, to remain 
 whole days without nourishment; and the exhaustion that ensued 
 was qualified with the name of divine ecstacy ! He saw visions, 
 he heard revelations. After the delusions of the Quietists, he fan- 
 cied that, by subjugating his physical nature, he could develope 
 and render visible his soul. But, while resigning himself to this 
 chimera, and holding imaginary discourse with his immaterial 
 nature, Girardi's health gave way, and his reason became dis- 
 ordered. 
 
 One day, a voice seemed to address him from on high, com-
 
 PIC CI OLA. JO] 
 
 manding him to go and convert the heretic Waldenses, remnants 
 of which persecuted sect still exist in the Valais. He accordingly 
 set off, traversed the country adjoining the river Sesia, attained 
 the summit of the Alps, near Monte Rosa, and there, suddenly 
 arrested in his course by the snow of an early winter, found him- 
 self under the necessity of passing several months in a chalet. 
 
 This place of general refuge, designated, in the language of the 
 country, las strablas, or the stables, consisted in a vast shed, five 
 hundred feet square, open towards the south, but carefully closed 
 in all other directions, by strong pine logs, filled in with moss and 
 lichens, cemented into a mass by resinous gums. Here, in incle- 
 ment weather, men, women, children, flocks, and herds, united 
 together, as in a common habitation, under the control of the 
 oldest member of the tribe. A large hearth, constantly supplied 
 with fuel, sparkled in the centre of the dwelling; over which was 
 suspended an enormous boiler, in which, alternately or together, 
 the food of the community was prepared, — consisting of dried 
 vegetables, pork, mutton, quarters of chamois, or cutlets of the 
 flesh of the marmot; eaten afterwards at a general meal, with 
 bread made of chestnut-meal, and a fermented liquor made from 
 cranberries and whortleberries. 
 
 Occupations were not wanting in the chalet. The children and 
 flocks were to be attended to; the winter cheeses to be made; the 
 spinning, which was incessantly at work; and instruments of hus- 
 bandry, in progress of manufacture, to force into cultivation, during 
 the short summer season, the shallow soil of the adjacent rocks. 
 Garments of sheep-skin were also manufactured ; baskets of the 
 bark of trees ; and a variety of elegant trifles, carved in sycamore, 
 or larchwood, for sale in the nearest towns. The population of 
 the chalet, cheerful and laborious, suffered not an hour to pass 
 unimproved; and songs and laughter intermingled with the strokes 
 of the axe, and busy murmur of the wheel. Labour scarcely ap- 
 peared a task; and study and prayer were accounted the duty and 
 recreation of the day. Harmonious and well-practised voices 
 united in chorus for the daily execution of pious canticles : the 
 elder shepherds instructed the young in reading and arithmetic ; 
 — nay, even in music, and a smattering of Latin ; for the civiliza- 
 tion of the Higher Alps, like its vegetation, seems to be preserved 
 under the snow ; and it is no uncommon thing to see, at the return 
 of spring, school-masters and minstrels descend from the chalets, 
 to diffuse knowledge and hilarity among the agricultural villages 
 of the plain. 
 
 The worthy hosts of Giacomo proved to be Waldenses. The 
 opportunity was an auspicious one for the young apostle; but, 
 scarcely had he let fall a word of the purport of his mission, when 
 the octogenarian chief of the community, high in the renown, se- 
 ll
 
 122 P I C C I L A . 
 
 cured, among these humble peasants, by a life of industry and 
 virtue, cut short his expectations. 
 
 "Our fathers," said he to the young man, "endured exile, per- 
 secutions, death, — rather than subscribe to the image-worship 
 practised among your people. Hope not, therefore, that your feeble 
 powers will effect what centuries of persecution failed to accom- 
 plish. Stranger ! you have found shelter under our roof, and 
 therein, for your own safety, must abide. Pray, therefore, to God, 
 according to the dictation of your own conscience, as we do ac- 
 cording to ours; but be advised by the experience of a gray-beard, 
 and take part in the labours proceeding around you ; or, in this 
 solitude, remote from the rumours and excitements of social life, 
 want of occupation will destroy you. Be our companion, our 
 brother, so long as the winter snows weigh upon your existence 
 and our own; and, at the return of spring, leave us, unquestioned, 
 as you came ; without so much as bestowing your benediction on 
 our hearth : — nay, without even turning back upon your path, to 
 salute, by a farewell gesture, those by whose fire you have been 
 warmed, and at whose frugal board, nourished. For, having shared 
 their industry, you will owe them nothing. The fruit of your own 
 labour will have maintained you ; and, should any debt be still 
 owing, the God of mercy will repay us a thousand-fold for our 
 hospitality to the son of the stranger." 
 
 Forced to submit to a proposition so reasonable, Giacomo re- 
 mained five months an inmate of the chalet, and an eye-witness 
 of the virtuous career of its inhabitants. Night and morning, he 
 heard their prayers and thanksgivings offered up to the throne of 
 grace, — to the throne of the one omnipresent God; and his mind, 
 no longer excited by the objects which had wrought its exaltation, 
 became gradually composed to a reasonable frame. When the 
 prison of ice, constructed for him by nature, ceased to hold him 
 captive, and the sun, shining out with the return of spring, de- 
 veloped before his eyes all the beauty and majesty of the moun- 
 tain-scenery by which he was surrounded, the idea of the Al- 
 mighty Lord of the universe seemed to manifest itself powerfully 
 to his mind, and resume its fitting influence on his heart. 
 
 The geniality of the weather, reviving all nature around him, 
 with her swarming myriads of birds and bees hovering over the 
 new-born flowers, starting anew to life from beneath their winter 
 mantle of snow, awoke in his bosom correspondent transports of 
 love and joy. It were vain to dilate on the expansion of human 
 feeling which gradually enlarged his perceptions. The good old 
 chief had begun to entertain an affection for him; and, though 
 unlearned in pedantic lore, had stored up, in the course of his 
 long existence, an infinity of facts and observations, which, joined 
 to those inherited from the lessons of his fathers, inspired him
 
 PIC CIO LA. 123 
 
 with knowledge of the Creator through the wisdom of his works. 
 In a word, the presumptuous youth, who had entered that humble 
 asylum for the purpose of converting its people to his opinions, 
 eventually quitted it, himself converted to their own ! — nay, the 
 industrious habits he had acquired, and the examples of domestic 
 happiness he had witnessed, had brought him to a due sense of 
 his error in neglecting the happiness and duties with which Pro- 
 vidence had endowed his existence. 
 
 Giacomo's first visit after quitting Monte Rosa, was to the con- 
 vent in which his wife was immured. A whole romance might 
 be developed in the history of his wooing, and the difficulties with 
 which his courtship was beset. Suffice it, that after many months 
 devoted to the obliteration of the lessons he had himself incul- 
 cated, Girardi, aided by the influence of his parents, succeeded in 
 removing his wife from the cloistral seclusion to which he had 
 devoted her ; and became, in the sequel, the happiest of husbands 
 and of fathers. 
 
 1 ne errors of his youth were now redeemed by years of wis- 
 dom and of virtue. Established in his native city of Turin, in 
 the enjoyment of a handsome fortune, the thriving speculations in 
 which he was engaged might have rendered it colossal, but for the 
 systematic benevolence which rendered the opulence of Girardi a 
 second providence to the poor. To do good was the occupation 
 of his life; his favourite recreation was the study of animated 
 nature. Girardi became a proficient in natural history; and as 
 Gon is greatest in the least of his works, entomology chiefly en- 
 gaged his attention. It was this interest in the organization and 
 habits of insects, which had obtained for him from Ludovico, in 
 the earlier stages of his imprisonment, the appellation of "The 
 Fly-catcher." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The two prisoners had no longer any secrets from each other ! 
 After glancing rapidly over the history of their several lives, they 
 returned to the various incidents of each, and the emotions to 
 which they had given rise. They sometimes spoke of Teresa; 
 but at the very mention of her name, a vivid blush overspread the 
 face of Charney, and the old man himself grew grave and sad. 
 Any allusion to the absent angel was sure to be followed by an 
 interval of mournful silence. 
 
 Their discourse usually turned upon the discussion of some
 
 124 P I C C I L A . 
 
 point of morality; or comments upon the eccentricities of human 
 nature. Girardi's philosophy, mild and benevolent, invested the 
 happiness of man in the love of his fellow-creatures; nor could 
 Charney, though half converted to his opinions, understand by 
 what means this spirit of tenderness and indulgence could sur- 
 vive the injuries which the philosopher had endured from man- 
 kind. 
 
 "Surely," said he, "you must have bestowed your malediction 
 on those who, after basely calumniating you, tore you from the 
 bosom of domestic happiness, — from the arms of your daugh- 
 ter?" 
 
 " The offence of a few," replied Girardi, " was not to subvert 
 my principles of action towards the whole. Even those few, 
 blinded by political fanaticism, fancied they were fulfilling a duty. 
 Trust me, my young friend, it is indispensable to survey even the 
 injuries we receive through a medium of pardon and pity. Which 
 of us has not required forgiveness for faults? Which of us has 
 not, in his turn, mistaken error for the truth ? St. John bequeathed 
 to us the blessed axiom that God is love ! True and beautiful 
 proposition ! — since by love alone the soul re-elevates itself to its 
 celestial source, and finds courage for the endurance of misfor- 
 tune! Had I entered into captivity with a particle of hatred in 
 my soul against my fellow-creatures, I should have expired in my 
 imbittered loneliness. But Heaven be praised, I have never been 
 the prey of a single painful reflection. The recollection of my 
 good and faithful friends, whose hearts I knew were suffering with 
 every suffering of my own, served to stimulate my affection to- 
 wards mankind ; and the only unlucky moment of my captivity 
 was that in which I was debarred the sight of a fellow-creature." 
 
 " How !" cried Charney, " were you ever subjected to such a 
 deprivation ?" 
 
 "At my first arrest," resumed Girardi, " I was transported to a 
 dungeon in the citadel <>f Turin ; so framed as to render commu- 
 nication impossible even with my gaoler. My food was conveyed 
 to me by a turning box inserted in the wall ; and during a whole 
 month not the slightest sound interrupted the stillness of my soli- 
 tude. It needs to have undergone all I then experienced, fully 
 to comprehend the fallacy of that savage philosophy which denied 
 society to be the natural condition of the human species. The 
 wretch condemned to isolation from his kind is a wretch indeed ! 
 To hear no human voice, — to meet no human eye, — to be denied 
 the pressure of a human hand, — to find only cold and inanimate 
 objects on which to rest one's brow, — one's breast, — one's heart: 
 — is a privation to which the strongest might fall a victim ! The 
 month I thus endured weighed like years upon my nature; and 
 when, every second day, I discerned the footsteps of my gaoler in
 
 P I C C I L A . 125 
 
 the corridor, coming to renew my provisions, the mere sound 
 caused my heart to leap within me. While the box was turning 
 round, I used to strain my eyes in hopes to catch, at the crevice, 
 the slightest glimpse of his face, his hand, his very dress; and my 
 disappointment drove me to despair. Could I have discerned a 
 human face, even bearing the characters of cruelty or wickedness, 
 1 should have thought it full of beauty ; and had the man extended 
 his arms towards me in kindness, have blessed him for the con- 
 cession ! But the sight of a human face was denied me till the 
 day of my translation to Fenestrella; and my only resource con- 
 sisted in feeding the reptiles which shared my captivity, and in 
 meditating upon my absent child !" 
 
 Charney started at the allusion : but his venerable companion 
 was himself too much distressed to notice the emotion of his young 
 friend. 
 
 "At length," said he, after a long pause, which served to re- 
 store him to his usual serenity, " a favourable change befel me 
 even in my dungeon. I discovered, by means of a straggling ray 
 of light, a crevice produced by the insertion of an iron cross by 
 way of support into the walls of my dungeon : which, though it 
 enabled me to obtain only an oblique glimpse of the opposite wall, 
 became a source of exquisite enjoyment. My cell happened to be 
 situated under the keep of the citadel ; and one blessed day, I 
 noticed for the first time the shadow of a man distinctly reflected 
 upon the wall. A sentinel had doubtless been posted on the plat- 
 form over my head ; for the shadow went and came, and I could 
 distinguish the form of the man's uniform, the epaulet, the knap- 
 sack, the point of his bayonet, — the very vacillation of his feather! 
 
 " Till evening extinguished my resource, I remained at my 
 post; and how shall I describe the thrill of joy with which I ac- 
 knowledged so unexpected a consolation ! I was no longer alone ; 
 — I had once more a living companion ! — Next day and the days 
 succeeding, the shadow of another soldier appeared; the sentinels 
 were ever changing, but my enjoyment was the same. It was 
 always a man, — always a fellow-creature I knew to be near me; — 
 a living, breathing follow-creature, — whose movements I could 
 watch, and whose dispositions conjecture. When the moment 
 came for relieving guard, I welcomed the new-comer, and bade 
 good-by to his predecessor. I knew the corporal by sight; I 
 could recognise the different profiles of the men; nay, (dare I 
 avow such a weakness!) some among them were objects of my 
 predilection. The attitude of their persons, or comparative vi- 
 vacity of their movements, became so many indications of charac- 
 ter, from which their age and sentiments might be inferred. One 
 paced gaily along, turning lightly on his heel, balancing his mus- 
 ket in sport, or waving his head in cadence to the air he was 
 11*
 
 126 PICCIOLA. 
 
 whistling; he was doubtless young and gay, cheered by visions of 
 happiness and love. Another paced along, with his brow inclining, 
 pausing often, and leaning with his arms crossed upon his mus- 
 ket, meditating mournfully, perhaps, upon his distant village, his 
 absent mother, his childhood's friends. He passed his hand ra- 
 pidly over his eyes — perhaps to dash away the tears gathered by 
 these tender retrospections! 
 
 " For many of these shadows I felt a lively interest, an inex- 
 plicable compassion ; and the balm thus called into existence 
 within my bosom shed its soothing influence over my fate. Trust 
 me, my good young friend, the truest happiness is that we derive 
 from our sympathy with our fellow-creatures." 
 
 " Why did I not become earlier acquainted with you, excellent 
 man?" cried Charney, deeply affected. "How different, then, 
 had been the tenor of my life ! But what right have I to com- 
 plain ? Have I not found in this desolate spot all that was denied 
 me amid the splendour of the world ? — a devoted heart — a noble 
 soul — an anchor of strength ! — virtue and truth — Girardi and 
 Picciola?" 
 
 For among all these effusions of the heart, Picciola was not for- 
 gotten. The two friends had constructed a more capacious seat 
 beside her ; where, side by side, and facing the lovely plant, they 
 passed hour after hour together, all three in earnest conversation. 
 Charney had given to this new seat the name of " The Bench of 
 Conference." 
 
 There did the simple-minded Girardi aspire for once to elo- 
 quence : for without eloquence in the expositor, no conviction. 
 Nor were the eloquence or conviction wanting. 
 
 The bench had become the rostrum of a professor; a professor, 
 though less learned than his scholar, infinitely wiser and more 
 enlightened. The professor is Giacomo Girardi, the pupil the 
 Count de Charney, and the book in process of exposition — Pic- 
 ciola ! 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 As autumn approached, Charney could not forbear expressing 
 to his friend, as they sat together on the Bench of Conference, his 
 regret at losing all hopes of Picciola's second flowering, and his 
 lamentations over her last blossom. 
 
 Girardi immediately attempted to supply the loss by a disserta- 
 tion on the fructification of plants, and the evidence thereby af- 
 forded of the intervention of an all-wise Providence.
 
 P I C C I L A . 1-27 
 
 Girardi first alluded to the winged form of the seeds of certain 
 plants, whose foliage, large and complicated, would oppose their 
 dispersion, but for the feathery tuft attached to each, which causes 
 them to float in the atmosphere; and described the elastic pods in 
 which others are enclosed, which, opening by a sudden spring, at 
 the moment of maturity, discharge the seed to a distance. " These 
 wings, these springs," observed the old man, " are hands and feet 
 bestowed upon them by the Almighty, that they may reach their 
 destined place, and germinate in the sunshine. What human eye, 
 for instance," said he, " is able to follow, in their aerial flight, 
 the membranous seeds of the elm, the maple, the pine, the ash — 
 circling in the atmosphere amid volumes of other seeds, rising by 
 their own buoyancy, and apparently flying in search of the birds, 
 of which they are to form the nourishment?" 
 
 The old man next proceeded to explain the phenomena of 
 aquatic plants ; how the seeds of those destined for the adornment 
 of brooks, or the banks of lakes or ponds, are endowed with a 
 form enabling them to float upon the water, so as to deposit them- 
 selves in various parts of the beach, or cross from one bank to 
 another; while such as are intended to take root in the bed of the 
 river fall at once by their own weight to the bottom, and give birth 
 to reeds and rushes, or those beautiful water-lilies, whose roots are 
 in the mud beneath, while their large green shining leaves, and 
 snow-white blossoms, float in pride and glory upon the bosom 
 of the waters. The vallisneria was not forgotten; the male and 
 female plants of which being disunited, the former uncoils her 
 long spiral peduncle, to raise her flower above the surface of the 
 stream, while the male, unpossessed of a similar faculty, breaks 
 its fragile flower-stalk, and rises spontaneously to the surface, to 
 accomplish the act of fecundation. 
 
 " How is it," cried Charney, " that men remain insensible to 
 the existence of these wondrous prodigies of nature?" 
 
 And the old man rejoiced at the exclamation, as a proof that 
 his lessons were not shed upon a barren and ungrateful soil. 
 
 " Tell me," demanded the Count, " has the insect creation, to 
 which your studies have been peculiarly addressed, furnished you 
 with facts as curious as those for which I am indebted to my Pic- 
 ciola?" 
 
 " So curious," replied Girardi, " that you will not fully appre- 
 ciate even the marvels of Picciola till you have become acquainted 
 with the hosts of animated beings which hover over her verdant 
 branches. You will then learn to admire the secret laws which 
 connect the plant with the insect, the insect with the plant; and 
 perceive that ' order is Heaven's first law,' and that one vast in- 
 telligence influences the whole creation." 
 
 Girardi was proceeding to enlarge upon the harmony of the
 
 128 PICCIOLA. 
 
 universe, when, pausing suddenly, he pointed out to his compa- 
 nion a brilliant and beautiful butterfly, poised on one of the twigs 
 of his plant, with a peculiar quivering of the wings. "See!" 
 cried he, " Picciola hastens to expound my theory ! An engage- 
 ment has just been contracted between her and yonder insect, 
 which is now consigning its posterity to her guardianship." 
 
 And when the butterfly flew away, Charney verified the asser- 
 tion by examining a little group of eggs, attached by a viscous 
 substance to the bark. 
 
 " Do you imagine," inquired Girardi, " that it is by chance the 
 butterfly has proceeded hither, to intrust to Picciola this precious 
 deposit? On the contrary, Nature has assigned to every plant 
 analogies with certain insects. Every plant has its insect'to lodge, 
 its insect to feed. Admire the long chain of connexion between 
 them ! This butterfly, when a caterpillar, was nourished on the 
 substance of a plant of the same species as Picciola; and after 
 undergoing its appointed transformations, and become a butterfly, 
 it fluttered faithless from flower to flower, sipping the sweets of a 
 thousand different nectaries. But no sooner did the moment of 
 maturity arrive for a creature that never beheld its mother, and 
 will never behold its children, (for its task fulfilled, it is now 
 about to die,) than, by an instinct surer than the best lessons of 
 experience, it flew hither to deposit its progeny on a plant similar 
 to that by which, under a different form and in a different season, 
 it was fed and protected. Instinctively conscious that little ca- 
 terpillars will emerge from its eggs, it forgets, for their sake, the 
 habits it has acquired as a butterfly ! 
 
 " Who taught her all this? Who endowed her with memory, 
 powers of reasoning, and recognising the peculiarities of a vege- 
 table, whose present foliage bears no resemblance to that which 
 it bore during the spring? The most experienced botanist is 
 often mistaken — the insect, never !" 
 
 Charney involuntarily testified his surprise. 
 
 "You have still more to learn," interrupted -Girardi. "Exa- 
 mine the branch selected by the insect. It is one of the largest 
 and strongest on the tree; not one of the new shoots, likely to be 
 decayed by frost during the winter, or broken by the wind. All 
 this has been foreseen by the insect. Whence did it derive such 
 prescience 1" 
 
 " Do you not in some degree deceive yourself, my dear friend ?" 
 demanded Charney, unwilling to avow how much he was con- 
 founded by these discoveries. 
 
 " Peace, sceptic, peace !" replied the old man, with an accusing 
 smile. " You will admit, at least, that seeing is believincr! Pic- 
 ciola has now her part to play. The foresight of the insect is not 
 greater than that with which Nature endows the plant towards the
 
 P I C C I L A . 129 
 
 legacy bequeathed by the butterfly ; at the return of spring we 
 will verify the prodigy together. The moment the plant puts 
 forth its leaves, the tiny eggs will break, and emit the larvae they 
 contain : a law of harmony regulates the vegetation of the plant 
 in common with the vitality of the insect. Were the larva? to ap- 
 pear first, there would be no food for them ; were the leaves to 
 precede them, they would have acquired too firm a consistency 
 for their feeble powers. But Nature, provident over all, causes 
 both plant and insect to develope themselves at the same moment, 
 to grow together, and together attain their maturity ; so that the 
 wings and flowers of each are simultaneous in their display of 
 beauty." 
 
 "Another lesson derived from my gentle Picciola!" murmured 
 the astonished Charney ; and conviction entered into his soul ! 
 
 Thus passed the days of the captives, in mutual solace and in- 
 struction ; and when, every evening, the hour arrived for retreat- 
 ing singly into the camera of each, to wait the hour of rest, the 
 same object unconsciously occupied their meditations; for Char- 
 ney thought of Teresa, and Girardi of his daughter, exhausting 
 their minds in conjecture as to her present destiny. 
 
 The young girl herself, meanwhile, was not inactive on their 
 behalf. Her first impulse had been to follow the Emperor to .Mi- 
 lan ; where Teresa soon discovered that it is as difiicult to pene- 
 trate through the antechamber of royalty as through the ranks of 
 an army. The friends of Girardi, however, roused by her efforts, 
 renewed their applications, and haviDg undertaken to procure, at 
 no remote period, the liberation of the captive, his daughter, some- 
 what reassured, returned to Turin, where an asylum was offered 
 her in the house of a near relation. 
 
 The husband of this relative happened to be the librarian of the 
 city; and to him did Menon address himself, to select the botani- 
 cal works destined for the use of the prisoner of Fenestrella. It 
 was no difficult matter for Teresa to infer from the nature of the 
 study to whom these books were destined ; and she accordingly 
 managed to slip into one of the volumes the mysterious despatch, 
 which, even if discovered by the commandant, was not of a nature 
 to compromise either her relation or the prottgt in whose behalf 
 she had already ventured so largely. She was still ignorant that 
 her father and Charney no longer resided in each other's neigh- 
 bourhood ; and when the news of their separation was brought 
 back by the messenger employed to convey the books to Fenes- 
 trella, it became her first object to accomplish the reunion of the 
 two captives. 
 
 After addressing letter after letter on the subject, to the governor 
 of Piedmont, she continued to interest in her behalf some of the 
 chief inhabitants of Turin, and, through them, the wife of Menon,
 
 130 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 till the general, having strong motives for desiring to conciliate 
 his influential petitioners, ended by granting the prayer of Teresa 
 Girardi. And when, under the auspices of Madame Menon, she 
 came to offer her grateful thanks to the general, the veteran, 
 touched by the devotedness of her filial tenderness, laying aside 
 for a moment the harshness of his nature, took the young girl 
 kindly by the arm, as he addressed her. 
 
 " You must come and visit my wife from time to time," said 
 he. " In about a month's time she may have good news to tell 
 you." 
 
 And Teresa, nothing doubting that the good news would consist 
 in an order for her readmission into the fortress of Fenestrella, to 
 pass a portion of every day with her father, threw herself at the 
 feet of the general with a countenance bright with joy, loading 
 him with grateful acknowledgments. 
 
 While all this was proceeding undreamed of by the two cap- 
 tives, Charney and Girardi sat enjoying on their bench a glorious 
 October sunshine, restoring, or rather forestalling around them, 
 the warmth and promise of spring. Both were pensive and silent, 
 leaning severally on the opposite arms which closed in the rustic 
 seat. They might have passed for estranged or indifferent to each 
 other, but for the wistful looks cast from time to time by Charney 
 upon his companion, who was absorbed in a profound reverie. It 
 was not often that the countenance of Girardi was overshadowed 
 by sadness — no wonder, therefore, that the Count should mistake 
 the motives of his depression. 
 
 " Yes !" cried he, replying, as he fancied, to the looks of his 
 friend; "captivity is, indeed, a purgatory! To be imprisoned 
 for an imaginary offence, — to live apart from all we love." 
 
 But ere he could proceed, Girardi, raising his head, gazed with 
 surprise upon the Count. "True, my dear friend!" he replied; 
 "separation is one of the severest trials of human fortitude !" 
 
 "I your friend !" interrupted Charney, with bitterness. " Have 
 you the charity to bestow such a name upon me — upon me, who 
 am the cause of your being parted from her ? for it is of your 
 daughter you are thinking! Deny it not! Teresa is the object 
 of these mournful meditations; and, at such a moment, how odious 
 must I be in your sight !" 
 
 " Believe me, you are mistaken in your conjectures," mildly 
 interrupted the venerable man. " Never was the image of my 
 daughter invested with such consolatory associations as to-day. 
 For Teresa has written to me : — I have received a letter from my 
 child." 
 
 " Written to you, — you have a letter from her, — they have suf- 
 fered it to reach your hands !" cried Charney, insensibly drawing
 
 PICCIOLA. 131 
 
 nearer to his companion. Then checking his exultation, he added, 
 " But you have, doubtless, learned some afflicting tidings'?" 
 " Far from it, I assure you." 
 " Wherefore, then, this depression?" 
 
 "Alas! my dear friend, such is the frailty of human nature; 
 such is the mingled yarn of human destiny ! A regret is sure to 
 embitter our sweetest hopes. The happiness of this life casts its 
 shadow before, and it is by the shadow that our attention is first 
 attracted. You spoke of separation from those we love. Here 
 is my letter ! — read it, and learn what considerations depress my 
 spirits while seated by your side." 
 
 Charney took the letter, and for some moments held it unopened 
 in his hand : — his eyes fixed on the countenance of Girardi, he 
 seemed desirous of reading there the intelligence it contained. 
 On examining the address he recognised with emotion the hand- 
 writing of his precious billet; and at length unfolding the paper, 
 attempted to read aloud the contents. But his voice faltered, — 
 the words expired upon his lips; and stopping short, he concluded 
 the letter almost inaudibly to himself. , 
 
 " Dearest father," wrote Teresa, " bestow a thousand kisses 
 upon the paper you hold in your hands ; for a thousand and a 
 thousand have I impressed upon it, as harvest for your venerated 
 lips ! 
 
 " What joy for us both, this renewal of correspondence! It is 
 to General Menon we are indebted for the concession ; — he it is 
 who has put an end to a silence which, even more than distance, 
 seemed to keep us asunder. Blessings be upon him ! Now, dear 
 father, our thoughts, at least, may fly towards each other ; — / shall 
 communicate my hopes to sustain your courage ; you, your griefs, 
 in weeping over which I shall fancy I am weeping in your pre- 
 sence ! But if a greater happiness, dearest father, were in reserve 
 for us ! For a moment, I beseech you, lay aside my letter, and 
 summon your strength to hear the sudden joy I am about to excite 
 in your bosom. Father ! If I were once more permitted to be 
 with you ! — to approach you, — to listen to your instruction, — to 
 surround you with my attentions! Throughout the two years in 
 which we enjoyed this alleviation of our affliction, captivity seemed 
 to sit lightly on your spirits; and I entertain the hope, — yes, the 
 earnest, earnest hope, that the favour will be again vouchsafed 
 me; — that I shall be once more permitted to enter your prison !" 
 " Teresa about to visit you ! — here in the fortress !" cried Char- 
 ney, wild with joy. 
 
 " Read on!" — replied the old man, in a melancholy tone, — 
 " read on !" 
 
 " I shall be once more permitted to enter your prison," resumed 
 Charney, repeating the last sentence. " Are you not happy in
 
 132 PICCIOLA. 
 
 such a prospect? Are you not overjoyed?" continued Teresa. 
 " Pause a moment, to consider the good tidings I have thus an- 
 nounced ! Do not hurry on towards the conclusion of my letter. 
 Violent emotions are sometimes dangerous. Have I not already 
 said enough? Were an angel to descend from heaven, charged 
 with the accomplishment of our wishes, you would not presume 
 to require more; but I, your child, might venture, ere he re- 
 ascended to his native skies, I might be tempted to implore your 
 liberation from captivity. At your age, father, it is a cruel thing 
 to be denied the sight of your native country. The banks of our 
 beloved Doria are so beautiful ; and in our gardens on the Col- 
 lina, the trees planted by my poor mother and brother have 
 acquired surprising growth during your absence. There, more 
 than on any other spot, survives the precious memory of those we 
 have lost. 
 
 "Then, father, there are your friends; — the friends who have 
 supported, by their generous efforts, my applications to govern- 
 ment. I am sure you regret your absence from them ; I am sure 
 you would delight in seeing them again. Oh! father, father! the 
 pen seems to burn in my hand ! My secret is about to escape me ! 
 It has, probably, already escaped me ! You have, doubtless, sum- 
 moned all your courage to learn definitively that, in a few days, I 
 am about to rejoin you, not to lend my aid in softening your cap- 
 tivity, but to announce its termination ; not to be with you at 
 stated hours, and within the walls of a prison ; but to carry you 
 away with me in triumph from Fenestrella; — free, proud, — ay, 
 proud ! — for you have now a right to resume your pride. Your 
 faithful friends, Cotenna and Delarue, did not rest till they ob- 
 tained, not your pardon, but your justification. Yes, your inno- 
 cence is fully recognised by the imperial government. 
 
 " Farewell, dearest and best of fathers. How I love you ! how 
 happy do I feel at this moment! and how much happier shall I be 
 when again folded in your arms ! Your own 
 
 " Teresa." 
 
 The letter did not contain a single word in reference to Char- 
 ney. That word — that hoped-for word — how eagerly did he seek 
 for it in every page and line ! — how eagerly, and how vainly. Yet, 
 notwithstanding his disappointment, it was a cry of joy that burst 
 from the lips of the Count, when he concluded the letter. 
 
 " You will soon be free !" cried he ; " soon able to rest under 
 the shadow of green trees, and behold the rising of the sun!" 
 
 "Yes!" replied the old man. "But I am also about to leave 
 you! Such is the shadow which precedes my happiness to-day, to 
 prevent my joy from falling into excess." 
 
 " Think not of me, I beseech you !" cried Charney; proving, by
 
 PICCIOLA. 133 
 
 his generous transports, and forgetfulness of self, how truly he 
 deserved the friendship of which he was the object. "At last, you 
 will be restored to her arms ! At last, she will cease to suffer from 
 the consequence of my rashness ! You will be happy, and I no 
 longer oppressed by the heaviness of remorse. During the last few 
 hours that remain for us to be together, we may at least talk of 
 her unreservedly." 
 
 And, as he uttered these last incoherent words, the Count de 
 Charney threw himself into the arms of his venerable friend. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The knowledge of their approaching separation seemed only to 
 augment the tender affection existing between the two friends. 
 Seldom an hour apart, both seemed eager to continue till the last 
 moment their conferences on the bench of the little court. 
 
 There was a solemn subject, to which Girardi often endeavoured 
 to lead the way; but Charney invariably evaded the discussion. 
 The old man was, however, too deeply interested in sounding the 
 opinions of the Count to be easily discouraged ; and one day an 
 occasion unexpectedly presented itself for the accomplishment of 
 his wishes. 
 
 " How unaccountable the chance," cried Charney, after a short 
 silence, "which united us in this place; naturally divided as we 
 are by difference of birth-place, of languages, of faith, of pre- 
 judices ! Yet, in spite of all these obstacles, we have met at 
 Fenestrella, to unite in the same religious principles, the same 
 adoration of the one supreme Being." 
 
 " On that point, give me leave to differ with you," said Girardi, 
 with a smile. " To lose sight of, is not to deny. Our views have 
 never been the same." 
 
 " Certainly not. But which of the two, the bigot or the scep- 
 tic, was most mistaken? — which the most deserving pity?" 
 
 "Yourself!" replied the old man, without hesitation, — "yes, 
 my dear young friend, yourself! All extremes are dangerous; but 
 in superstition, there is faith, passion, vitality ; and in scepticism, 
 universal night, — universal death. Superstition is the pure stream 
 diverted from its natural channel, which inundates, submerges, 
 and displaces the vegetable soil ; but conveys it elsewhere, and 
 repairs, farther on its course, the injuries it has produced ; while 
 scepticism is drought, dearth, sterility ; burning and scorching up, 
 transmuting earth to sand, and rendering the mighty Palmyra a 
 12
 
 134 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 ruin of the desert. Not content with placing an eternal bar be- 
 twixt us and the Creator, incredulity relaxes the bonds of society, 
 and destroys the ties of kindred and affection. In depriving man 
 of his importance as a being eternally responsible, it creates around 
 him isolation and contempt. He is alone in the world, — alone 
 with his pride ; or, as I said before, alone as a ruin in the desert." 
 
 "Alone with his pride!" murmured Charney, reclining his 
 elbow on the arm of the bench, and his face upon his hand. 
 "Pride! — of what! — of knowledge? — of science? Oh! why 
 should man labour to destroy the elements of his happiness, by 
 seeking to analyze them, or to sound their depths? Even if in- 
 debted for his joys to a deception, why seek to raise the mask, 
 and accelerate the disenchantment of his future life? Is truth so 
 dear to him? Does knowledge suffice the desires of his ambition? 
 Madman ! — such was my own delusion. ' I am but a worm,' said 
 I to myself, ' a worm destined to annihilation :' then, raising my- 
 self in the dust where I was crawling, I felt proud of the dis- 
 covery, — vain of my helpless nakedness. I believed neither in 
 virtue nor happiness; but, at the thought of annihilation, I stop- 
 ped proudly short, and accorded my unlimited faith. My degra- 
 dation appeared a triumph to me, — for it was assured by a dis- 
 covery of my own. Was I not justified in my estimation of a 
 theory, for which I had given in exchange no less than my regal 
 mantle, — the countless treasure of my immortality?" 
 
 The old man extended his hand encouragingly towards his com- 
 panion. 
 
 " Be judged by your own image of the worm," said Girardi. 
 " The worm, after crawling its season on the earth, fed with bitter 
 leaves, condemned to the slime of the marsh, or the dust of the 
 road, constructs his own chrysalis, a temporary coffin; from which 
 to emerge, transformed, purified, — to flutter from flower to flower, 
 and feed upon their precious perfumes. On two radiant wings, 
 the new creature takes its flight towards the skies, even as man, 
 the image of his Creator, rises to the bosom of his God." 
 
 Charney replied by a negative movement of the head. 
 
 " Your disease was more deeply rooted than my own," observed 
 Girardi, with a mournful smile, " for your convalescence, I see, 
 will be more tedious. Have you already forgot the lessons of 
 Picciola?" 
 
 "Not one of them !" replied Charney, in a tone of deep emo- 
 tion. " I believe in God. I believe in a first cause. I believe 
 in an omniscient Power, the eternal Controller of the universe. 
 But your comparison of the worm supposes the immortality of the 
 soul ; and by what is it demonstrated to my reason ?" 
 
 " By the instincts of the human soul, which irresistibly impel 
 us to look forward with hope and joy. Our life is a life of expec-
 
 PIC CIO LA. 135 
 
 tation. From infancy to old age, hope is the dominating pole of 
 our destinies. In what savage nation of the earth has not the doc- 
 trine of a future state been found existent ? And why should not 
 the hope thus conceded be accomplished? Is the power of God 
 more infinite than the mind of his creatures? I do not invoke the 
 authority of revelation and the Holy Scriptures. All convincing 
 to myself: for you they possess no authority. The breeze which 
 impels the ship, is powerless to move the rock : for the rock has 
 no expanding sails to receive its impulse, and its feet are buried 
 in the ponderous immobility of earth. Shall we believe in the 
 eternity of matter, and not in that of the intelligence which 
 serves to regulate our opinions concerning matter? Or are we to 
 suppose that love, virtue, genius, result from the affinity of certain 
 terrestrial molecules? Can that which is devoid of thought enable 
 us to think ? Can brute matter be the basis of human intelli- 
 gence, when human intelligence is able to direct and govern 
 matter ? Why then do not stocks and stones think and feel as 
 we do?" 
 
 " Locke, the great English metaphysician, was inclined to sup- 
 pose that matter might be endowed with ideas," observed Char- 
 ney " There was contradiction, indeed, in his theory, since he 
 rejected the doctrine of innate ideas, and seemed to admit the 
 possibility of intuitive knowledge." Then interrupting himself 
 with a laugh, the Count exclaimed, " Have a care, my kind in- 
 structor ! I see you would fain involve me once more in the 
 quicksand of doubt, or plunge me into the bottomless pit of meta- 
 physics !" 
 
 " I have no knowledge of metaphysics," said Girardi, gravely. 
 
 " And I but little," observed Charney ; " not, however, for want 
 of devoting my time to the study. But let us drop a subject un- 
 profitable, and, perhaps, injurious. You believe, — rejoice in your 
 belief! Your faith is dear to you ; and if, perchance, I should 
 shake its foundations" — 
 
 "I defy you to the contest!" cried Girardi. 
 
 " What have you to gain by the result?" 
 
 " Your conversion ; nothing less, my dear young friend, than 
 your conversion. Just now you quoted Locke. Of that eminent 
 philosopher I know but a single trait; — that through life, and 
 even on his death-bed, he asserted the true happiness of mankind 
 to consist in purity of conscience, and hope in eternal life." 
 
 " I perfectly comprehend the consolation to be derived from 
 such a creed ; but my better reason forbids me to accept it. I 
 entreat you, let us drop the subject," said the Count de Charney. 
 
 And a constrained silence ensued. 
 
 Soon afterwards, something which had been circling over- 
 head, suddenly alighted on the foliage of the plant: a greenish
 
 136 PIC CI OLA. 
 
 insect, of which the narrow corslet was undulated with whitish 
 stripes. 
 
 " Sir !" cried Charney, " behold in good time a new text en- 
 abling you to enlarge upon the mysteries of creation." 
 
 Girardi took the insect with due precaution : examined it care- 
 fully ; paused for reflection ; and suddenly an expression of tri- 
 umph developed itself in his countenance. An irresistible argu- 
 ment seemed to have fallen from heaven in his hands. Com- 
 mencing in his usual professional tone, he gradually assumed a 
 more sublime expression, as the secret object of his lesson pene- 
 trated through his language. 
 
 " Mere fly-catcher as I am," he began with an arch smile, " I 
 must restrict myself to my humble attributions, and not presume 
 to affect the pedantry of the scholar." 
 
 " The most enlightened mind," said Charney, " the mind which 
 has profited most largely by the acquirement of knowledge, is that 
 which soonest discovers the limitation of its own powers, after 
 vainly attempting to penetrate into the hidden mysteries of things. 
 Genius itself breaks its wings against such obstacles, without 
 having extracted from the wall of flints, by which it is obstructed, 
 one spark of the light of truth." 
 
 " We ignoramuses," observed Girardi, " arrive sooner at our 
 object, by taking the most direct road. If we do but open our 
 eyes, God deigns to reveal himself in the august sublimity of his 
 works." 
 
 " On that point we are agreed," interrupted Charney. 
 
 " Proceed we then in our course. An herb of the field sufficed 
 to prove to you the existence of a Providence ; a butterfly, the law 
 of universal harmony : the insect before us, of which the organi- 
 zation is of a still higher order, may lead us still farther towards 
 conviction." 
 
 Charney, at the instance of his friend, proceeded to examine 
 the little stranger with curious attention. 
 
 " Behold this insignificant creature," resumed Girardi. "All 
 that human genius could effect, would not add one tittle to an 
 organization, perfectly adapted to its wants and necessities. It 
 has wings to transport it from one place to another ; elytra to in- 
 case and secure them from the contact of any hard substance. 
 Its breast is defended by a cuirass, its eyes by a curious network 
 that defies the prick of a thorn or the sting of an enemy. It pos- 
 sesses antennae to interrogate the obstacles that present themselves, 
 — feet to attain its prey, — iron mandibles to assist in devouring it, 
 in digging the earth for a refuge, or a depository for its food or 
 eggs. If a dangerous adversary should approach, it has in reserve 
 an acrid and corrosive fluid, by discharging which it defies its 
 enemies. Instinct teaches it to find its food, to provide its lodg-
 
 PICCIOLA. 137 
 
 ing, and exercise its powers of offence and defence. Nor is this 
 a solitary instance. Other insects are endowed with similar deli- 
 cacy of organization ; — the imagination recoils with wonder from 
 the multiplicity and variety of provisions invented hy nature for 
 the security of the apparently feeble insect tribe. We have still 
 to consider this fragile creature as demonstrating the line of de- 
 marcation between mankind and the brute creation. 
 
 " Man is sent naked into the world, — feeble, helpless, — unen- 
 dowed with the wings of a bird, the swiftness of the stag, the tor- 
 tuous speed of the serpent; without means of defence against the 
 claws or darts of an enemy, nay, against even the inclemency of 
 the weather. He has no shell, no fleece, no covering of fur, nor 
 even a den or burrow for his hiding-place. Yet by force of his 
 natural powers, he has driven the lion from his cave, — despoiled 
 the bear of his shaggy coat for a vestment, and the bull of his 
 horn to form a drinking-cup. He has dug into the entrails of the 
 earth, to bring forth elements of future strength; the very eagle, 
 in traversing the skies, finds itself struck down in the midst of 
 its career to adorn his cap with a trophy of distinction. 
 
 "Which of all the animal creation could have supported itself 
 in the midst of such difficulties and such privations? Let us for 
 a moment suppose the disunion of power and action, — of God 
 and nature. Nature has done wonders for the insect before us; 
 for man, apparently nothing. Because man, an emanation from 
 God himself, and formed after his image, was created feeble and 
 helpless as regards the organization of matter, in order to demon- 
 strate the divine influence of that ethereal spark, which endows 
 him with all the elements of future greatness." 
 
 " Explain to me, at least," interrupted Charney, " the peculiar 
 value of this precious gift, bestowed, you say, exclusively upon 
 the human species; — superior in many points to the animal crea- 
 tion, surely we are inferior in the majority. This very insect, 
 whose wondrous powers you have expounded, inspires me with a 
 sense of inferiority and profound humiliation." 
 
 " From time immemorial," replied Girardi, " animals have dis- 
 played no progress in their powers of operation. What they are 
 to-day, such have they ever been; what to-day they know, they 
 have known from the beginning of the world. If born so lavishly 
 endowed, it is because they are incapable of improvement. They 
 live not by their own will, but by the impulse imparted to them 
 by nature. From the creation until now, the beaver has con- 
 structed his lodge upon the same plan; the caterpillar and spider 
 woven their cocoons and tissues of the same form ; the bee pro- 
 jected his cell of the same hexagon ; the lion-ant traced, without a 
 compass, its circles and arches. The character of their labours 
 is that of exactitude and uniformity; that of man, diversity, — for 
 12*
 
 138 PICCIOL A. 
 
 human labour arises from a free and creative faculty of mind. 
 Judge therefore between them! — Of all created beings, man 
 alone possesses the idea of duty, of responsibility, of contempla- 
 tion, of piety. Alone of all the earth he is endowed with insight 
 into futurity, and the knowledge of life and death." 
 
 " But is this knowledge an advantage? is it a source of happi- 
 ness?" demanded the Count. " Why has God bestowed upon us 
 reason by which we are led astray, and learning which serves but 
 to perplex us? With all our superiority, how often are we forced 
 to despise ourselves! — Why is the exclusively privileged being 
 the only one liable to error ? Is not the instinct of animals pre- 
 ferable to our glimmering reason ?" 
 
 " Both species were not created for the same end. God re- 
 quires not virtue of the brute creation. Were they endowed with 
 reason, with liberty of choice as regards their food and lodgment, 
 the equilibrium of the world would be destroyed. The will of 
 the Creator decided that the surface of the globe, and even its 
 depths, should be filled with animated beings, — that life should 
 pervade the universe; in pursuance of which, plains, valleys, 
 forests, from the mountain top to the lowest chasms, — trees, rocks, 
 rivers, lakes, oceans, from the sandy desert to the marshy swamp, 
 — in all climates and latitudes, — from^one pole to the other, — all 
 is peopled, — all instinct with life, all blended in one vast sphere 
 of existence. Whether sheltered in the depths of the wilderness, 
 or behind a blade of grass, the lion and the pismire are alike at 
 the post assigned them by nature. Each has his part to play, his 
 place to guard, his predestined line of action; each is enchained 
 within his proper bound ; for every square of the infinite chess- 
 board was from the first appropriately filled. Man alone is free to 
 range over all, to traverse oceans and deserts; — pitch his tent on 
 the sand, or construct a floating palace on the waters; to defy the 
 Alpine snows or the fervours of the torrid zone : — 
 
 " ' The world is all before him, where to choose 
 His place of rest, and Providence his guide !' " 
 
 " But if Providence indeed exert such influence, from whence 
 the crimes arising in all human communities, and the disasters 
 which overwhelm mankind?" cried Charney. "I sympathize in 
 your admiration of all created things; my reason is overwhelmed 
 when I examine the mighty whole, but on descending to the his- 
 tory of the human species — " 
 
 " My friend," interrupted Girardi, "arraign not. the wisdom of 
 the Almighty because of the errors of mankind, the devastations 
 of a hurricane, or the eruptions of a volcano ! Immutable laws 
 are imprinted upon matter; and the work of ages is accomplished, 
 whether a vessel founder in a storm, or a city disappear beneath
 
 P I C C I O L A . 139 
 
 the surface of the earth. Of what account in the sight of the 
 Almighty a few human existences more or less? Does the Su- 
 preme Being believe in the reality of death, the darkness of the 
 grave ? 
 
 "No! But He has conferred on our souls the power of self- 
 government, and this is proved by the independence of our pas- 
 sions. I have portrayed animals submitted to the irresistible influ- 
 ence of instinct, — possessing only blind tendencies, and the 
 qualities inherent in their several species. Man alone is the pa- 
 rent of his virtues and his vices ; man alone is endowed with free 
 agency; because for him this earth is a place of probation. The 
 tree of good and evil which we cultivate here, is to bear its fruits 
 in a higher or a lower region. Do you imagine the omniscient 
 God so unjust as to leave the afflictions of the virtuous unrewarded ? 
 Were this world the limit of our reward and punishment, the man 
 who dies by a stroke of lightning ought to be accounted a male- 
 factor, and the fortune of the prosperous should suffice as a certi- 
 fication of excellence !" 
 
 Charney listened in silence : impressed by the simple eloquence 
 of his instructor, his eyes were fixed upon the noble countenance 
 on which the excitement of a mind innately pious was imprintincr 
 an almost august character of inspiration. 
 
 " But why," at length murmured the Count, " why has not God 
 vouchsafed us the positive certainty of our immortality?" 
 
 " Doubt was perhaps indispensable," replied the venerable man, 
 rising and placing his hand affectionately on the shoulder of his 
 youthful companion, " to repress the vanity of human reason. 
 What is the merit of virtue, if its rewards be assured beforehand ? 
 What would become of free will? The soul of man is expansive, 
 but not infinite; — vast in its power of apprehending its own dis- 
 tinctions, and of appreciating the Creator by the mightiness of his 
 works ; yet so limited as to render it profoundly sensible of its 
 dependence upon Providence. Man is permitted a glimpse of his 
 destinies — Faith must effect the rest. 
 
 "Oh! mighty and all-seeing God !" cried Girardi, — suddenly 
 interrupting himself, and clasping his hands in all the fervour of 
 supplication, "lend me the strength of thine arm to upraise from 
 the dust this man who is struggling with his human weakness and 
 the desire to reach thy fountains of light! Lend me thy wisdom 
 to direct the aspirations of this longing and bewildered soul ! 
 Lend eloquence to the words of my lips, that they may be endued 
 with the strength and power of the faith that is in me ! The hum- 
 blest of thy creations — a flower, and an insect — have startled the 
 sceptic in his self-security ; give grace to these, O Lord ! if not 
 to me, to perfect the work thine infinite mercy has begun ; and if
 
 140 
 
 PIC CIOLA. 
 
 not by me, by the humble plant before us, be the miracle of thy 
 holiness accomplished!" 
 
 The old man was silent. An ecstacy of prayer had taken pos- 
 session of his soul ; and when, at the close of his unuttered devo- 
 tions, he turned towards his companion, Charney was bending his 
 head upon his hands, clasped together upon the back of the bench 
 where they were sitting. On raising his head, his countenance 
 bore traces of the most devout meditation. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 In the purified heart of Charney, the blood now flowed more 
 calmly: in his expanded mind, mild and consolatory ideas suc- 
 ceeded each other in gentle gradation. Like the wise Pied- 
 montese, his friend, he was fully alive to the conviction that hap- 
 piness connects itself indissolubly with love of our fellow-creatures; 
 and in striving to people his imagination with those to whom he 
 was bound by ties of gratitude; the Empress, Girardi, and Ludo- 
 vico, presented themselves first to his mind. But at length, two 
 female shadows became perceptible at either extremity of this
 
 PIC CIO LA. 141 
 
 rainbow of love, expanding after the storm, just as we see in altar- 
 pieces, two seraphim, with brows inclined, and half-closed wings, 
 supporting the arch of the picture. 
 
 One of these shadows was the fairy of his dreams, — the maiden 
 Picciola, emanating, fresh, fair, and blooming, from the perfumes 
 of his flower; the other, the guardian angel of his prison, — his 
 second providence, — Teresa Girardi. 
 
 By a singular inconsistency, the former, whose existence was 
 purely ideal, haunted his memory in a fixed, distinct, and positive 
 form; he could discern the varying expression of her brow, the 
 glittering of her eye, the smile of her lips; — such as she had once 
 appeared to him in his dreams, such was she ever manifested. 
 Whereas Teresa, on whom he had never fixed his eyes, or only 
 while still under the influence of a waking dream, under what 
 traits could he summon her to his remembrance? In her instance, 
 the countenance of the seraph was veiled ; and when Charney, in 
 despair, attempted to raise the veil, it was still the face of Picciola 
 that smiled upon him : of Picciola, multiplying herself as if for 
 the purpose of interrupting the homage he would fain have offered 
 to her rival. 
 
 One morning, the prisoner of Fenestrella, though wide awake, 
 fancied himself alarmingly deminated by this strange hallucination. 
 The day was dawning. Having risen from his cheerless bed, he 
 was musing upon Girardi, who, prepared for his speedy release 
 from prison, had infused such tenderness into his adieu of the 
 preceding night, that the Count had been kept all night sleepless 
 by the impression of their approaching separation. After pacing 
 his room for some time in silence, he looked out from his grated 
 window upon the bench of conference, where, only the evening 
 before, he had been engaged with Girardi in conversation relative 
 to his daughter; and lo ! through the gray-hued mists of autumn, 
 he fancied he could discern a woman, — the figure of a young and 
 graceful woman, — seated on the spot. She was alone, and in an 
 inclining attitude; as if engaged in contemplation of the flower 
 before her. 
 
 Recalling to mind the probability of Teresa's arrival, Charney 
 naturally exclaimed — "It is herself! Teresa is arrived! lam 
 about to see her for a moment, and then behold her face no more ; 
 and in losing her, I shall also be deprived of my venerated com- 
 panion." 
 
 As he spoke, the figure turned towards his window; and the 
 countenance revealed to him by the movement was no other than 
 the face of his dream-love — of Picciola, — still and always, Pic- 
 ciola ! 
 
 Stupified by the discovery, he passed his hand over his brow, 
 his eyes, his garments, the cold iron bars of his window — in order
 
 142 PICCIOLA. 
 
 to be satisfied that he was awake, and that this time, at least, it 
 was not a dream. 
 
 The young woman rose, moved a few paces towards him, and 
 smiling and blushing, addressed him a confused gesture of saluta- 
 tion ; but Charney made no acknowledgment, either of the smile 
 or the gesture by which it was accompanied. He kept his eye 
 fixed upon the graceful form which traversed the misty court; a 
 form in every point resembling that with which his ideal Picciola 
 was invested in the dreams of his solitude. Fancying himself 
 under the influence of delirium, he threw himself on the bed, in 
 hopes of recovering his composure and presence of mind. Some 
 minutes afterwards, the door opened, and Ludovico made his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 "Oime! oimi! — Sad news and great news, cccellcnza!" cried 
 he. " One of my birds is about to take flight — not over the walls, 
 indeed, but over the drawbridge. So much the better for him, 
 and the worse for you." 
 
 "Is it to be to-day, then?" demanded Charney, in a tone of 
 emotion. 
 
 " I hardly know, Signor Conte ; but it can't be far off; for the 
 act of release has been already signed in Paris, and is known to 
 be on its way to Turin ; at least, so the young lady just now told 
 her father in my hearing." 
 
 "How!" cried Charney, starting from his reclining attitude. 
 "She is arrived, then — she is here!" 
 
 "At Fenestrella, eccellenza, since yesterday evening, and pro- 
 vided with a formal order for her admission into the fortress. But 
 there is a special injunction against letting down the drawbridge 
 after hours, for a female; so she was obliged to put off her visit 
 till this morning, Capo di Dio ! I knew she was there, but kept 
 the secret as close as wax. Not a syllable did I let fall before the 
 poor old gentleman, or he would not have had a wink of sleep. 
 The night would have seemed as long as ten, had he known that 
 his child was so near. This morning she was up before the sun ; 
 and waited for admittance at the gates of the citadel, in the morn- 
 ing fogs, — like a good soul and good daughter, as she is." 
 
 "And did she not wait some time in the courtyard, — seated 
 yonder on the bench?" cried Charney, confounded by all he was 
 hearing. And, rushing to the window, he cast an inquiring glance 
 anew upon the little court, adding, in an altered voice, " But she is 
 gone, I see ! she is there no longer !" 
 
 " Of course not, — noiv ; but she was there half an hour ago," 
 replied the gaoler. "She stayed in the court while I went up 
 stairs to prepare her father for the visit; for the poor young lady 
 had heard that people may die of joy. Joy, you see, excellenza, is 
 like spirituous liquors; — a thimblefull, now and then, does a man
 
 P I C C I O L A . 143 
 
 a power of good; but, let him toss off a whole gourd, and there's 
 an end of him at once. Now, bless their poor hearts, they are 
 together; and, seeing them so happy, per Bacco, I found myself 
 suddenly all of a no-how ; which made me think of your excel- 
 lency, and how you were about to be deprived of your friend ; 
 and so I made off to remind you that Ludovico will still be left 
 you, — to say nothing of Picciola. To be sure, poor thing, she is 
 losing her beauty; — scarce a leaf left. But that is the natural 
 effect of the season. You must not despise her for that." 
 
 And the gaoler quitted the room, without waiting the reply of 
 Charney; who, deeply affected, vainly tried to explain to himself 
 the mysteries of his vision. He was now almost persuaded that 
 the sweet figure by which his dreams were haunted, to which he 
 had assigned the name of Picciola, was the creature of remi- 
 niscence ; — that, absorbed by interest in his plant, he had cast his 
 eyes on Teresa Girardi, as she stood at the grated window, and 
 unwittingly received an impression eventually reproduced by his 
 dreams. 
 
 While he was thus reasoning, the murmur of two voices reached 
 him from the stairs; and, in addition to the well-known steps of 
 the old man, gliding over the stones, he could distinguish the light, 
 airy foot of one who scarcely seemed to touch the steps as she de- 
 scended. At length, the measured sound ceased at his door. He 
 started. But Girardi made his appearance alone. 
 
 " My daughter is here," said the old man. " She is waiting for 
 us beside your plant." 
 
 Charney followed in silence. He had not courage to articulate 
 a syllable. A consciousness of pain and constraint chased every 
 feeling of pleasure from his heart. 
 
 Was this the consequence of being about to present himself be- 
 fore a woman to whom he was so largely indebted, and towards 
 whom it was impossible for him to discharge the obligation ; or of 
 shame for his ungraciousness of the morning, in neglecting to re- 
 turn her smile and salutation? As the time of separation from 
 Girardi approached, were his fortitude and resignation forsaking 
 him? No matter what the motive of his embarrassment in pre- 
 senting himself before Teresa Girardi, no one could have dis- 
 cerned, in his language or demeanour, traces of the brilliant and 
 popular Count de Charney: — the ease of the man of the world, 
 the self-possession of the philosopher, had given place to an awk- 
 wardness, a hesitation, which called forth, in the answers of Teresa, 
 a correspondent tone of coldness and circumspection. 
 
 In spite of all Girardi's exertions to place his daughter and his 
 friend on an agreeable footing, their conversation turned only 
 upon indifferent subjects, or trite remarks upon the dawning 
 hopes of all parties. Having in some degree recovered from his
 
 144 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 emotion, Charney read, in the features of the lovely Piedmontese, 
 only the most complete indifference ; and persuaded himself that 
 the services she had rendered him had been instigated by the 
 impulses of a generous disposition ; or, perhaps, by the commands 
 of her father. 
 
 Charney began almost to regret that the interview had taken 
 place; for lie felt that he could never more invest her, in his reve- 
 ries, with her former fascinations. While all three were seated on 
 the bench, Girardi, wrapt in contemplation of his daughter, and 
 Charney giving utterance to a few cold, incoherent remarks, there 
 escaped, from the folds of Teresa's dress, as she was drawn sud- 
 denly forward, by the tender embrace of her father, a medallion 
 of gold and crystal. On stooping to pick it up, Charney could 
 readily discern that one side was occupied by a lock of her father's 
 gray hair ; and the other by a withered flower. He looked again ; 
 he gazed anxiously ; he could not mistake it. The hidden trea- 
 sure was the identical flower of Picciola which, he had sent her 
 by Ludovico. 
 
 Teresa had kept his flower, then — had preserved it — treasured 
 it with the gray hairs of her father — the father whom she adored ! 
 The flower of Picciola no longer adorned the raven tresses of the 
 young girl, but rested upon her heart! This discovery produced 
 an instantaneous revolution in the sentiments of Charney. He 
 began to reconsider the charms of Teresa, as if a new personage 
 had offered herself to his observation — as if he had seen her meta- 
 morphosed by enchantment before his eyes. 
 
 The Count now perceived that, as she turned her expressive 
 looks towards her father, the two-fold character of tenderness and 
 placidity impressed upon her beauty, was analogous with that of 
 Raphael's Madonnas; — that she was lovely with the loveliness of 
 a pure and perfect soul. Charney retraced, with deliberate admi- 
 ration, her animated profile — her countenance, expressive of the 
 union of strength and softness, energy and timidity. It was long 
 since he had looked upon a new human face; — how much longer 
 since he had contemplated, in combination, youth, beauty, and 
 virtue ! The spectacle seemed to intoxicate his senses ; and, after 
 a glance at the graceful form and perfect symmetry of Teresa 
 Girardi, his wandering eyes fixed themselves once more on the 
 medallion. 
 
 "You did not disdain my humble offering, then!" faltered the 
 Count; and faint as was the whisper in which the words were 
 conveyed, they roused the pride of Teresa ; who, advancing her 
 hand to receive the trinket, replaced it hurriedly in her dress. 
 But at that moment she was struck by the change of expression 
 visible in the features of the Count; and both their faces became 
 suffused with blushes.
 
 PIC CI OLA. 145 
 
 "What is the matter, my dear child?" demanded Girardi, no- 
 ticing her confusion. 
 
 "Nothing!" she replied, with emotion. Then, as if ashamed 
 of playing the hypocrite with her parent, suddenly added, " This 
 medallion, father, contains a lock of your hair." Then, as she 
 turned towards Charney, — "And this flower, sir, is the one you 
 sent me by Ludovico. I have preserved it, and shall keep it fur- 
 ever." 
 
 In her words, — in the sound of her voice, — in the intuitive 
 modesty which induced her to unite her father and the stranger 
 in her explanations, there was at once so much ingenuousness and 
 purity of feminine instinct, that Charney began for the first time 
 to appreciate the true merits of Teresa Girardi. 
 
 The remainder of that happy day elapsed amid effusions of 
 mutual friendship, which every moment seemed to enhance. In- 
 dependent of the secret power which attracts us towards another, 
 the progress of friendship is always rapid in proportion to the 
 time we know to be allowed us for the cultivation of dawning par- 
 tiality. This was the first day that Charney and Teresa had con- 
 versed together; but they had had occasion to think so much of 
 each other, and so few hours were assigned them to be together, 
 that a mutual acquaintance was speedily accomplished ; so that, 
 when Charney, impelled by good breeding and good feeling, 
 would fain have retired, in order to afford an opportunity to the 
 father and daughter, so long separated, to converse together alone, 
 Girardi and Teresa alike opposed the movement of retreat. 
 
 "Are you about to leave us!" said the latter. " Do you, then, 
 consider yourself a stranger to my father, or to me ?" added the 
 young girl in a tone of gentle reproach. And, in order to make 
 him fully apprehend how little restraint was imposed upon her 
 by his presence, Teresa began to detail to her father all that 
 had befallen her from the moment of her departure from Fenes- 
 trella, and the means she had employed to bring together the two 
 captives; addressing, at the conclusion of her narrative, a request 
 to Charney, to relate all the little events of the citadel, and the 
 progress of his studies connected with Picciola. After this ap- 
 peal, the Count did not hesitate to confess the history of his early 
 miseries, — the tedium of his captivity, — and the blessing vouch- 
 safed him in the arrival of his plant: while Teresa, gay and naive, 
 stimulated his confession, by the liveliness of her inquiries and 
 repartees. 
 
 Seated between the two, and holding a hand of each, — of the 
 daughter thus restored to him, and the friend he was about to 
 leave, — the venerable Girardi listened to their discourse with an 
 air of mingled joy and sadness. At one moment, when, by a 
 spontaneous movement, he was about to clasp his hands, those 
 13
 
 146 PIC CIO LA. 
 
 of Charney and Teresa were brought almost into contact, the two 
 young people appeared startled, touched, embarrassed, and, though 
 silent, communicated their emotion to each other hy a rapid 
 glance. But, without affectation or prudery, Teresa soon disen- 
 gaged her hand from that of her father; and, placing it affection- 
 ately on his shoulder, looked smilingly towards the Count, as if 
 inviting him to resume his narrative. 
 
 Enchanted and emboldened by so much grace and candour, 
 Charney described the reveries produced by the emanations of 
 his plant. How could he forbear allusion to that which consti- 
 tuted the great event of his captivity? He spoke of the fair being 
 whom he had been induced to worship as the personification of 
 Picciola; and, while tracing her portrait with warmth, — or rather 
 transport, — the smiles of Teresa gradually disappeared, and her 
 bosom swelled with agitation. 
 
 The narrator was careful to assign no name to the soft image 
 he tried to call up before their eyes ; but when, in completing the 
 history of the disasters of his plant, he reached the moment when, 
 by order of the commandant, the dying Picciola was on the eve 
 of being torn up before his eyes, Teresa could not refrain from a 
 cry of sympathy. 
 
 " My poor Picciola !" cried she. 
 
 " Thine !" reiterated her father, with a smile. 
 
 "Yes, mine! Did I not contribute to her preservation?" per- 
 sisted Teresa. 
 
 And Charney, in confirming her title to the adoption, felt as if, 
 from that moment, a sacred bond of community were established 
 between them for evermore. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Gladly would the Count de Charney have renounced his liberty 
 for the remainder of his days, could he have secured the sentence 
 of passing them at Fenestrella, between Teresa Girardi and her 
 father. He no longer deceived himself. He felt that he loved 
 Teresa as he had never loved before. A sentiment to which his 
 breast had hitherto been a stranger, now penetrated into its depths, 
 impetuous and gentle, sweet and stimulating, like some acid fruit 
 of the tropics, at once sweet and refreshing. His new passion re- 
 vealed itself not only by transports hitherto unknown, but by the 
 serene glow of a holy tenderness, embracing universal nature; 
 nay, the great Lord and Creator of nature and nature's works.
 
 PIC CI OLA. 147 
 
 His brain, his heart, his whole existence, seemed to dilate, as if to 
 embrace the new hopes, projects, and emotions, crowding on his 
 regenerate existence. 
 
 Next day, the three friends met again beside Picciola ; Girardi 
 and the Count occupying their bench, and Teresa a chair of state, 
 placed opposite them by the gallantry of Ludovico. She had 
 brought with her some task of woman's work, some strip of deli- 
 cate embroidery, over which her soft countenance inclined, her 
 graceful head following the movements of her needle ; and every 
 now and then raising her eyes and suspending her work, to inter- 
 pose some playful remark in their grave dissertations. At length 
 suddenly rising, she crossed over towards her father, threw her 
 arms round his neck, and pressed her lips repeatedly to his re- 
 verend locks. 
 
 The conversation between the two disputants was not renewed : 
 for Charney was already absorbed in profound meditation. He 
 could not forbear inquiring of himself whether he were beloved 
 in return by Teresa! — a question which produced two conflicting 
 sentiments in his bosom. He feared to believe — he trembled to 
 doubt. The flower — his gift — so carefully preserved, — the emotion 
 evinced when their hands were accidentally united on the knees 
 of the old man, — the tremor with which she had listened to the 
 recital of his impassioned dreams, — all this was in his favour. But 
 the words breathed with so tender an inflexion of voice had been 
 pronounced in the presence of her father; what sense, therefore, 
 dared he assign to her tokens of compassion, her deeds of kind- 
 ness and devotion ? Had she not afforded proofs of the same good- 
 will before they had even met — before even an interchange of looks 
 and words had taken place between them? What right has he to 
 interpret in his favour, the indications of feeling he has since de- 
 tected in her deportment? 
 
 No matter: of his own attachment, at least, he is certain. He 
 not only loves Teresa, but has sworn within his heart of hearts to 
 love her through life and death; substituting for an ideal image, 
 henceforward superfluous, one of the most charming realities of 
 human nature. 
 
 But the attachment of which he is thus conscious is a secret to 
 be preserved in the inmost archives of his soul : it would be a 
 sin, a crime, to invoke the participation of Teresa in his passion. 
 What right has he to imbitter the happy prospects other life? 
 Are they not destined to live apart from each other? she, free, 
 happy, in the midst of a world which she embellishes, and where 
 she will doubtless soon confer happiness on another in the bosom 
 of domestic life: while hr, in his solitary prison, must consecrate 
 himself to eternal solitude and eternal regrets for his momentary 
 happiness.
 
 148 P I C C I L A . 
 
 No ! his passion shall be sedulously concealed. He will assume 
 towards Teresa Girardi the demeanour of a person wholly indif- 
 ferent, or satisfy himself with the calm demonstrations of a pru- 
 dent and equable friendship. It would be too deep a misfortune 
 for him — for both — were he to succeed in engaging her affections. 
 
 Full of these fine projects for the future, the first sounds that 
 meet his ear on the cessation of his reverie, were the following 
 sentences interchanged between Teresa and her father, the former 
 of whom was exerting all her eloquence to persuade the old man 
 that the moment of his liberation was at hand ; while Girardi 
 persisted in expressing a conviction that the remainder of the 
 year would expire without producing any material change in his 
 destinies. " I know the dilatoriness of public functionaries," 
 said he; "I know the vacillations of government. So little suf- 
 fices as a pretext for the suspension of justice, and the cooling of 
 a great man's mercy !" 
 
 " If such is your opinion," cried Teresa, " I will return to-mor- 
 row to Turin, to hasten the fulfilment of their promises." 
 
 " What need of so much haste?" demanded her father. 
 
 " How, dear father !" she replied, " is it possible that you prefer 
 your mean and narrow chamber, and this wretched court, to your 
 beautiful villa and gardens on the Collina?" 
 
 This seeming anxiety on the part of Teresa to leave Fenes- 
 trella ought to have convinced Charney that he was beloved, and 
 that the danger that he dreaded for the object of his romantic 
 attachment was already consummated. But the part he had in- 
 tended to play was now wholly frustrated. Instead of affecting 
 indifference, tranquillity, or even the reserve of a prudent friend- 
 ship, he manifested only the petulance of a lover. Teresa, how- 
 ever, remained apparently unconscious of his fit of perversity ; and 
 was not deterred by his resentment from repeating, that if the 
 decree of her father's liberation should be again delayed, it was 
 her duty to set off for Turin, and renew her solicitations to 
 General Menon ; nay, even for Paris, for a personal application to 
 the Emperor. Usually so reserved and mild, the fair Piedmontese 
 seemed excited on the present occasion to unusual vivacity. 
 
 " I scarcely understand you this morning," said her father, 
 amazed to observe the gaiety of her deportment in presence of 
 the poor prisoner whom they were about to abandon to his mis- 
 fortunes ; and if her father found something to regret in her de- 
 meanour, how much rather the grieved and disappointed Char- 
 ney ! 
 
 The same reflections which had perplexed his mind the pre- 
 ceding night had, in fact, been passing also through the mind of 
 Teresa. She had discovered, not the arrival of Love in her bo- 
 som, but that it had long resided there an unsuspected inmate :
 
 PIG CIO LA. 149 
 
 and though, like Charney, she would willingly have accepted, as 
 regarded her own happiness, the perils and privations with which 
 it was accompanied, like Charney she was reluctant that all these 
 should be inflicted upon another. The delight of loving, the dread 
 of being loved, threw her into a state of mental contradiction, and 
 produced the garrulity in which she sought refuge from herself. 
 
 Soon, however, all this constraint, all these efforts to disguise 
 their real sentiments, were suddenly dropped on both sides. After 
 listening attentively to the information imparted by Girardi, who 
 mentioned frequent instances where the pardon of prisoners, though 
 publicly announced, had not been suffered to take effect for many 
 succeeding months, the young people allowed themselves to be 
 convinced ; and with mutual and unconcealed delight, began form- 
 ing projects for the morrow and succeeding days, as if, hencefor- 
 ward, the fortress of Fenestrella were to be the home of their hap- 
 piness and choice. Restored to the society of Teresa, their 
 guardian angel, the two captives appeared to have but a single 
 earthly misfortune to apprehend, the liberation of one of them to 
 disunite the little party. 
 
 Already, the philosophers were resuming their arguments, and 
 Teresa her embroidery. The pale rays of the sun, partially illu- 
 minating the little court, fell lightly on the countenance of Gi- 
 rardi's daughter, while a refreshing breeze played amid the folds 
 of her drapery and the floating ribands by which it was confined. 
 At length, excited by the freshness of the atmosphere, she threw 
 aside her work, rose from her seat, shook out the ringlets of her 
 raven hair, rejoicing in the return of hope and sunshine, when 
 suddenly the postern-door was thrown open, and Captain Morand, 
 accompanied by Ludovico and a municipal officer, made his ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 They came to signify to Giacomo Girardi the act of his enlarge- 
 ment. He was to quit Fenestrella without delay ; a carriage was 
 in waiting at the extremity of the glacis to convey him and his 
 daughter to Turin. 
 
 At the moment of the commandant's arrival, Teresa was stand- 
 ing beside her father, but she instantly sank backward in her 
 chair, resumed her needlework, and, had Charney ventured a look 
 towards her, he would have been startled, on perceiving how in- 
 stantaneously the hues of life and health had faded from her cheek. 
 But Charney neither stirred nor raised his eyes from the ground, 
 while Girardi was receiving from the hands of the officers those 
 papers and documents which were to restore him, with an unble- 
 mished reputation, to his station in society. All was now com- 
 plete ; and there was no longer an excuse for prolonging the libe- 
 rated prisoner's preparations for departure. 
 
 Ludovico had already brought down from Girardi's chamber 
 13*
 
 150 PICCIOLA. 
 
 the solitary trunk containing his effects; — the officers waited to 
 escort him back to Turin; — the hour of parting had irrevocably 
 struck. Rising once from her seat, Teresa began deliberately to 
 put up her working materials, and arrange the scarf upon her 
 shoulders ; she even tried to put on her gloves, but her hands 
 trembled too much to effect her purpose. 
 
 Charney stood for a moment paralysed by the blow. Then, 
 arming himself with courage, he exclaimed, as he threw himself 
 into the arms of Girardi — 
 
 "Farewell, my dearest father!" 
 
 "Farewell, my son! farewell, my beloved son," faltered the 
 good old man. " Be of good cheer. Rely upon our exertions in 
 your behalf; rely on the steadiness of our affection. Adieu, 
 adieu !" 
 
 For some moments longer Girardi held him pressed to his heart ; 
 then, by a sudden effort, relinquishing his warm embrace, turned 
 towards Ludovico, and, by way of concealing his own emotion, 
 affected to busy himself by giving in charge to the gaoler the 
 friend he was about to leave ; to which the poor fellow, perfectly 
 comprehending the old man's motives, replied only by offering the 
 support of his arm to conduct his faltering steps to the carriage. 
 
 Charney, meanwhile, drew near to Teresa for the purpose of a 
 last farewell. Leaning with one hand on the back of her chair, 
 her eyes fixed on the ground, she stood motionless, speechless, as 
 if there were no question of quitting the place. Even when the 
 Count advanced towards her, she remained for some moments 
 without speaking, till, irresistibly moved by his paleness and agi- 
 tation, she exclaimed, "I call our Picciola to witness that" — 
 But Teresa was not able to complete the sentence ; her heart was 
 too full to utter another syllable. One of her gloves at that mo- 
 ment escaped her trembling hands, which Charney picked up; 
 and, ere he restored it, raised it silently to his lips. 
 
 " Keep it !" said she, while tears streamed down her cheeks , 
 " keep it till we meet again." 
 
 Another moment, and she was following her father. They 
 were gone ! All was dark in the destinies of the Count de Char- 
 ney. After watching the closing of the postern-door, he stood like 
 one petrified, with his eyes fixed on the spot where they had dis- 
 appeared ; his hand still grasping convulsively the parting pledge 
 bestowed upon him by Teresa.
 
 P I C C I L A . 151 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 A philosopher has remarked that greatness must be renounced 
 before it can be appreciated ; the same thing might have been 
 said of fortune, happiness, or any mode of enjoyment liable to be- 
 come habitual. 
 
 Never had the poor captive of Fenestrella so venerated the 
 wisdom of Girardi, the charms and virtues of his daughter, as 
 after the departure of his two companions ! Profound sadness 
 succeeded to this momentary elation. The efforts of Ludovico, 
 the attentions required by Picciola, were unsufficient to divert his 
 attention from his sorrows. But at length, the sources of conso- 
 lation he had derived from the study of nature brought forth their 
 fruit; and the depressed Charney gradually resumed his strength 
 of mind. 
 
 His last stroke of affliction had perfected the happy frame of 
 his feelings. His first impulse had been to bless the loneliness 
 which afforded his whole leisure to muse upon his absent friends ; 
 but eventually he learned to behold with satisfaction a new guest 
 seated in the vacant place of the old man. 
 
 His first and most assiduous visiter was the chaplain of the 
 prison : even the worthy priest whom during his illness he had so 
 harshly repulsed. Apprised by Ludovico of the state of despair 
 to which the prisoner was reduced, he made his appearance, for- 
 getful of the past, to offer his good offices, which were received 
 with courtesy and gratitude. More amicably disposed than for- 
 merly towards mankind, the Count soon became favourably, nay, 
 even affectionately disposed towards the man of God ; and the 
 rustic seat became once more the bench of conference. The 
 philosopher loved to enlarge upon the wonders of his plant, the 
 wonders of nature, and repeat the lessons of the excellent Gi- 
 rardi ; while the priest, without bringing forward a single dogma 
 of religion, contented himself, in the first instance, with reciting 
 the sublime moral lessons of Christianity : grounding their strength 
 upon the principles already imbibed by the votary of natural re- 
 ligion. 
 
 The second visiter was the commandant; and Charney now 
 discovered that Morand was essentially a good sort of man, 
 whose heart was militarily disciplined ; that is, disposed to tor- 
 ment the unfortunate beings under his charge no farther than he 
 was necessitated by the letter of government instructions. So 
 just, too, did he show himself in his appreciation of the merits of
 
 152 P I C C I O L A . 
 
 the two prisoners recently released, as almost to put Charney into 
 good humour with petty tyranny. 
 
 But all this was soon to end ; and it became Charney's turn to 
 bid adieu to the priest and the captain. One fine day, when least 
 prepared for the concession, the gates of his prison opened, and 
 he was set at liberty ! 
 
 On Napoleon's return from Austerlitz, incessantly importuned 
 by Josephine, (who had probably some person besetting her in turn 
 with supplications in favour of the prisoner of Fenestrella,) the 
 Emperor caused an inquiry to be made into the nature of the 
 papers seized among the effects of the Count de Charney. The 
 cambric manuscripts were accordingly forwarded to the Tuileries, 
 from the archives of the police, where they had been deposited; 
 and, attracted by the singularity of their appearance, Napoleon 
 himself deigned to investigate the indications of treason contained 
 in their mysterious records. 
 
 " The Count de Charney is a madman," exclaimed the Emperor, 
 after most deliberate examination; " a visionary and a madman ; 
 but not the dangerous person represented to me. He who could 
 submit his powers of mind to the influence of a sorry weed, may 
 have in him the making of an excellent botanist, but not of a con- 
 spirator. He is pardoned ! Let his estates be restored to him, 
 that he may cultivate there, unmolested, his own fields, and his 
 taste for natural history." 
 
 Need it be added that the Count did not loiter at Fenestrella 
 after receiving this welcome intelligence; or that he did not quit 
 the fortress alone? but, transplanted into a solid case, filled with 
 good earth, Picciola made her triumphal exit from her gloomy 
 birthplace; — Picciola, to whom he owed his life — nay, more than 
 life, — his insight into the wondrous works of God, and the joys 
 resulting from peace and good-will towards mankind ; — Picciola, 
 by whom he has been betrayed into the toils of love ; — Picciola, 
 through whose influence, finally, he is released from bondage ! 
 
 As Charney was about to cross the drawbridge of the citadel, a 
 rude hand was suddenly extended towards him. " Eccellenza /" 
 said Ludovico, repressing his rising emotion, " give us your hand ! 
 we may be friends now that you are going away ; — now that you 
 are about to leave us; — now that we shall see your face no more! 
 — Thank Heaven, we may now be friends!" 
 
 Charney heartily embraced him. " We shall meet again, my 
 good Ludovico," cried he ; "I promise you that you do not see 
 me for the last time." And, having shaken both the hands of the 
 gaoler again and again with the utmost cordiality, the Count quit- 
 ted the fortress. 
 
 After his carriage had traversed the esplanade, and left far behind 
 the mountain on which the citadel is situated, crossed the bridge
 
 PIC CIO LA. 153 
 
 over the Clusone, and attained the Suza road, a voice still conti- 
 nued crying aloud from the ramparts — "Addio, Si'gnor Conte ! 
 Addio, addio, Picciola!" 
 
 Six months afterwards, a rich equipage stopped at the gate of 
 the state prison of Fenestrella ; from which alighted a traveller in- 
 quiring for Ludovico Ritti : the former prisoner was come to pay a 
 visit to his gaoler ! A young lady, richly attired, was leaning ten- 
 derly upon his arm, — Teresa Girardi, now Countess de Charney. 
 Together, the young couple visited the little court, and the mise- 
 rable camera, so long the abode of weariness, scepticism, and 
 despair. Of all the sentences which had formerly disfigured the 
 wall, one only had been suffered to remain ; — 
 
 " Learning, wit, beauty, youth, fortune, are insufficient to con- 
 fer happiness upon man." 
 
 To which the gentle hand of Teresa now added, " if unshared 
 by affection :" — and a kiss, deposited by Charney upon her lovely 
 cheek, seemed to confirm her emendation. 
 
 The Count was come to request Ludovico would stand god- 
 father to his first-born child, which was to make its appearance 
 before the close of the year: and, the object of their mission ac- 
 complished, the young couple proceeded to Turin, where, in his 
 beautiful villa, Girardi was awaiting their return. 
 
 There, in a garden closely adjoining his own apartment, in the 
 centre of a rich parterre, warmed and brightened by the beams of 
 the setting sun, Charney had deposited his beloved plant, out of 
 reach of all danger or obstruction. By his especial order, no hand 
 but his own was to minister to her culture. He alone was to watch 
 over Picciola. It was an occupation, a duty, a tax eternally 
 adopted by his gratitude. 
 
 How quickly — how enchantingly did his days now glide along ! 
 In the midst of exquisite gardens, on the banks of a beautiful 
 stream, under an auspicious sky, Charney was the happiest of the 
 human kind! Time imparted only additional strength to the ties 
 in which he had enchained himself; as the ivy cements and con- 
 solidates the wall it embraces. The friendship of Girardi, the 
 tenderness of Teresa, the attachment of all who resided under his 
 roof, conspired to form his happiness, perfected at the happy mo- 
 ment when he heard himself saluted as a father. 
 
 Charney's affection for his son soon seemed to rival that he 
 bore his young and lovely wife. He was never weary of contem- 
 plating and adoring them ; and could scarcely make up his mind 
 to lose sight of them for a moment. And lo ! when Ludovico 
 Ritti arrived from Fenestrella, to fulfil his promise to the Count,
 
 154 P I C C I L A . 
 
 and proceeded to visit, in the first instance, his original god- 
 daughter, — the god-daughter of the prison, — he found that, amid 
 all this domestic happiness, — all these transports of joy and 
 affection, — all the rapture and prosperity brightening the home 
 of the Count and Countess de Charney, Picciola had been for- 
 gotten : — La povcra Picciola had died of neglect, unnoticed and 
 unlamented. The appointed task was over. The herb of grace 
 had nothing farther to unfold to the happy husband, father, and 
 believer! 
 
 THE END.
 
 CATALOGUE 
 
 OF 
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S 
 
 PUBLICATIONS. 
 THE AMERICAN ENCYCLOPAEDIA. 
 
 BROUGHT UP TO 1847. 
 
 THE ENCYCLOPEDIA AMERICANA: 
 
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 LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND, 
 
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 IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY AND BEGINNING OF THE SEVENTEENTH, 
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 HISTORY OP THE REPOHWATION IN GERMANY, 
 
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 DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA, 
 
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 never was a book which better deserved the compliment. It is one of greatly superior merit to 
 Paul and Virginia, and we believe it is destined to surpass that popular work of St. Pierre in popu- 
 larity. It is better suited to the advanced ideas of the present age, and possesses peculiar moral 
 charms in which Paul and Virginia is deficient. St. Pierre's work derived its popularity from its 
 bold attack on feudal prejudices; Saintine's strikes deeper, and assails the secret infidelity which 
 is the bane of modern society, in its stronghold. A thousand editions of Picaola wdl not be too 
 many for its merit." — Lady's Booh. 
 
 " This is a little gem of its kind — a beautiful conceit, beautifully unfolded and applied. The style 
 and plot of this truly charming story require no criticism ; we will only express the wish that those 
 who rely on works of fiction for their intellectual food, may always find those as pure in language 
 and beautiful m moral as Picciola." — New York Review. 
 
 " The present edition is got up in beautiful style, with illustrations, and reflects credit upon lha 
 publishers. We recommend to those of our readers who were not fortunate enough to meet with 
 Picciola some years ago, when it was first translated, and for a season all the rage" to lose no time 
 in procuring it now — and to those wlm read it then, but do not possess a copy, to embrace the op- 
 portunity of supplying themselves from the present very excellent edition." — Saturday Evening Post. 
 
 "A new edition of this exquisite story has recently been issued by Messrs. Lea <fc Blanchard, 
 embellished and illustrated in the most elegant manner. We understand that the work was com- 
 pletely out of print, and a new edition will then be welcomed. It contains a delightful letter from 
 the author, giving a painful insight into the personal history of the characters who figure in tha 
 story." — Evening Bulletin. 
 
 "The most charming work we have read for many a day." — Richmond Enquirer. 
 
 LOVER'S RORY O'MORE. 
 
 ROSY O'MORE-A NATIONAL RG3IANCE, 
 
 BY SAMUEL LOVER. 
 A new and cheap edition, with Illustrations by the Author. Price only 25 cents. 
 Also, a beautiful edition in royal 12rno., price 50 cents, to match the following. 
 "A truly Irish, national, and characteristic story." — London Literary Gazette. 
 " Mr. Lover has here produced his best work of fiction, which will survive when half the Irish 
 sketches with which the literary world teems aro forgotten. The interest we take in the varied 
 adventures of Rory is never once suffered to abate. We welcome him with high delight, and 
 part from him with regret." — London Sun. 
 
 LOVER'S IRISH STORIES. 
 
 LEGENDS AND STORIES OF IRELAND, 
 
 BY SAMUEL LOVER. 
 
 In one very neat 12mo. volume, fine paper, extra cloth or fancy paper, 
 
 With Illustrations by the Author. 
 
 LOVER'S SONGS AND BALLADS, 
 
 INCLUDING THOSE OF THE "IRISH EVENINGS." 
 
 In one neat 12mo. volume, price 25 cents. 
 
 MARSTON, 
 
 OR THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN AND SOLDIER 
 
 BY THE REV. GEORGE CROLY, 
 Author of " Salathiel," " Angel of the World," <tc. 
 In one octavo volume, paper, price fifty cents. 
 "A work of high character and absorbing interest."— New Orleans Bee.
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BIOGRAPHY AND POETICAL REMAINS 
 
 OF THE LATE 
 
 MAEGAEET MILLSS DAVIDSON. 
 BY WASHINGTON IRVING. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, REVISED. 
 
 POETICAL REMAINS 
 
 OF TIIE LATE 
 
 LUCEETIA 2S.A2i.ZA. DAVIDSON. 
 
 COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY HER MOTHER, WITH A BIOGRAPHY BY 
 MISS SEDGWICK 
 
 A NEW EDITION, REVISED. 
 
 SELECTIONS FROM THE 
 
 WRITINGS OF MRS. MARGARET M. DAVIDSON, 
 
 THE MOTHER OF LCCRETIA AND MARGARET. 
 
 WITH A PREFACE BY MISS SEDGWICK. 
 The above three works are done up to match in a neat duodecimo form, fancy paper, price fifty 
 cents each ; or in extra cloth. 
 
 THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS, 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIVE POETRY; TO WHICH ARE NOW ADDED THE 
 CALENDAR OF FLOWERS, AND THE DIAL OF FLOWERS. 
 
 SEVENTH AMERICAN, FROM THE NINTH LONDON EDITION. 
 
 Revised by the Editor of the "Forget-Me-Not." 
 In one very neat 18mo. volume, extra crimson cloth, gilt. With six colored Plates. 
 
 CAMPBELL'S POETICAL WORKS, 
 
 THE ONLY COMPLETE AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR BY IRVING, AND AN 
 ESSAY ON HIS GENIUS BY JEFFREY. 
 
 In one beautiful crown octavo volume, extra cloth, or calf gilt : with a Portrait and 12 Plates. 
 
 KEBLE'S CHRISTIAN YEAR, 
 
 EDITED BY THE RIGHT REV. BISHOP DOA1JE. 
 Miniature Edition, in 32mo., extra cloth, with Illuminated Title. 
 
 RELIGIO MEDICI, AND ITS SEQUEL, CHRISTIAN MORALS, 
 
 BY SIR THOMAS BROWNE, KT„ 
 
 WITH RESEMBLANT PASSAGES FROM COWPER'S TASK. 
 In one neat 12mo. volume. 
 
 HEMANS'S COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS, 
 
 IS SF.VEX VOLUMES, ROYAL 12MO., PAPER OR CLOTH. 
 
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 ILLUSTRATED, 
 IN ONE IMPERIAL OCTAVO VOLUME, EXTRA CLOTH OR WHITE CALF.
 
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 AS FOLLOWS: 
 
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 OLIVER TWIST, 1 vol. 8vo., paper, price 25 cents. 
 SKETCHES OF EVERY-DAY-LIFE, 1vol. 8vo., paper, price 37£ cents. 
 NICHOLAS NICKLEBY, 1 large vol. 8vo., paper, price 50 cents. 
 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, 1 vol. 8vo., paper, with many Cuts, 
 
 price 50 cents. 
 BARNABY RUDGE, 1 vol. 8vo., with many Cuts, price 50 cents. 
 MARTIN CHUZZLEW1T, 1 vol. 8vo., with plates, price 50 cents. 
 CHRISTMAS STORIES.— The Carol, The Chimes, The Cricket on 
 
 the Hearth, and The Battle of Life — together with Pictures from 
 
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 cents each. 
 Forming a neat and uniform Edition of these popular works. Any work sold separately. 
 
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 A UNIFORM AND CHEAP EDITION OF 
 
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 PRICE FOR THE WHOLE, ONLY THREE DOLLARS AND SEVENTY-FIVE CENTS. 
 
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 extended sale. It is printed on fine white paper, with good type, and forms three large volumes, 
 averaging about seven hundred and fifty pages each, done up in various styles of extra cloth, making 
 a beautiful and portable edition.— Some of the works are illustrated with Wood Engravings. 
 
 This Edition comprehends the first seven parts, and will be completed with the issue of the 
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 taining that work, the " Christmas Stories," and " Pictures from Italy." Purchasers may thus rely 
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 THIS EDITION CONTAINS: 
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 OF AN ATOM, AND SELECT POEMS. Price twenty-five cents. 
 
 Or, the whole done up in one very large octavo volume, extra cloth. 
 
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 BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, 
 
 AND AN ESSAY ON HIS LIFE AND GENIUS, 
 
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 THIS EDITION CONTAINS : 
 TOM JONES, OR THE HISTORY OF A FOUNDLING. Price fifty cents. 
 THE ADVENTURES OF JOSEPH ANDREWS, AND HIS FRIEND MR. ABRAHAM ADAMS. 
 
 Price fifty cents. 
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 THE SPY— THE WATERWITCH— HEIDENMAUER— PRECAUTION— HOMEWARD BOUND 
 —HOME AS FOUND— '['HE LAST OF THE .MOHICANS— THE HEADSMAN— THE TWO 
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 THE WISH-TON-WISH— MERCEDES OF CASTILE— THE MONIKINS— THE BRAVO— 
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 DOTTE, OR THE HUTTED KNOLL; AND THE TRAVELING BACHELOR. 
 
 ALSO, NED MYERS; OR, A LIFE BEFORE THE MAST, 
 
 In one 12mo. volume. Price twenty-five cents. 
 
 ALSO, COOPER'S SEA TALUS, 
 
 In six neat volumes, royal 12mo., extra clotli. 
 
 COOPER'S LEATHER STOCKING TALES, 
 In five neat volumes, royal 12mo., extra cloth.
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 BOY'S TREA SURY OF SPORTS. 
 THE BOY'S TREASURY OF SPORTS, PASTIMES AND RECREATIONS. 
 
 WITH FOUR HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 BY SAMUEL WILLIAMS. 
 
 IS NOW READY. 
 
 In one very neat volume, bound in extra crimson cloth; handsomely printed and 
 illustrated with engravings in the first style of art, and containing 
 
 about six hundred and fifty articles. A present for all seasons. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 This illustrated Manual of" Sports, Pastimes, and Recreations," has been prepared with especial 
 regard to the Health, Exercise, and Rational Enjoyment of the young readers to whom it is ad- 
 dressed. 
 
 Every variety of commendable Recreation will be found in the following pages. First, you have 
 the little Toys of the Nursery ; the Tops and Marbles of the Play-ground ; and the Balls of the 
 Plav-room, or the smooth Lawn. 
 
 Then, you have a number of Pastimes that serve to gladden the fireside ; to light up many faces 
 right joyfully, and make the parlour re-echo with mirth. 
 
 Next, come the Exercising Sports of the Field, the Green, and the Play-ground ; followed by 
 the noble and truly English game of Cricket. 
 
 Gymnastics are next admitted; then, the delightful recreation of Swimming ; and the healthful 
 sport of Skating. 
 
 Archery, once the pride of England, is then detailed ; and very properly followed by Instructions 
 in the graceful accomplishment of Fencing, and the manly and enlivening exercise of Riding. 
 
 Angling, the pastime of childhood, boyhood, manhood, and old age, is next described ; and by 
 attention to the instructions here laid down, the lad with a stick and a string may soon become an 
 expert Angler. 
 
 Keeping Animals is a favourite pursuit of boyhood. Accordingly, we have described how to rear 
 the Rabbit, the Squirrel, the Dormouse, the Guinea Pig, the Pigeon, and the Silkworm. Along 
 chapter is adapted to the rearing of Song Birds ; the several varieties of which, and their respective 
 cages, are next described. And here we may hint, that kindness to Animals invariably denotes an 
 excellent disposition ; for, to pet a little creature one hour, and to treat it harshly the next, marks 
 a capricious if not a cruel temper. Humanity is a jewel, which every boy should be proud to wear 
 in his breast. 
 
 We now approach the more sedate amusements — as Draughts and Chess ; two of the noblest 
 exercises of the ingenuity of the human mind. Dominoes and Bagatelle follow. With a know- 
 ledge of these four games, who would pass a dull hour in the dreariest day of winter ; or who 
 would sit idly by the fire ? 
 
 Amusements in Arithmetic, harmless Legerdemain, or sleight-of-hand, and Tricks with Cards, 
 will delight many a family circle, when the business of the day is over, and the book is laid aside. 
 
 Although the present volume is a book of amusements, Science has not been excluded from its 
 pages. And why should it be? when Science is as entertaining as a fairy tale. 'The changes we 
 read of in little nursery-books are not more amusing than the changes in Chemistry, Optics, Elec- 
 tricity, Magnetism, &c. By understanding these, you may almost become a little Magician. 
 
 Toy Balloons and Paper Fireworks, (or Fireworks without Fire.) come next. Then follow In- 
 structions for Modelling in Card-Board; so that you may huild for yourself a palace or a carriage, 
 and, in short, make for yourself a little paper world. 
 
 Puzzles and Paradoxes, Enigmas and Kiddles, and Talking with the Fingers, next make up plenty 
 of exercise for " Guess," and " Guess again." And as you have the " Keys" in your own hand, you 
 may keep your friends in suspense, and make yourself as mysterious as the Sphynx. 
 
 A chapter of Miscellanies — useful and amusing secrets— winds up the volume. 
 
 The "Treasury" contains upwards of four hundred Engravings ; so that it is not only a collection 
 of "secrets worth knowing," but it is a book of pictures, as full of prints as a Christmas pudding 
 is of plums. 
 
 It maybe as well to mention that the "Treasury" holds many new games that have never 
 before been printed in a hook of this kind. The old games have been described afresh. Thus it 
 is, altogether, a new book. 
 
 And now we take leave, wishing you many hours, and days, and weeks of enjoyment over these 
 pages; and we hope that you may be as happy as this book is brimful of amusement.
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 POPULAR SCIENCE. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY IN SPORT, MADE SCIENCE IN EARNEST, 
 
 BEING AN ATTEMPT TO ILLUSTRATE THE FIRST PRIN 
 
 CIPLES OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY, BY THE 
 
 AID OF THE POPULAR TOYS AND 
 
 SPORTS OF YOUTH. 
 
 FROM THE SIXTH AND GREATLY IMPROVED LONDON EDITION. 
 
 In one very neat royal 18mo. volume, with nearly one hundred illustrations on wood. 
 Fine extra crimson cloth. 
 
 " Messrs. Lea & Blanchard have issued, in a beautiful manner, a handsome book, called ' Philoso- 
 phy in Sport, made Science in Earnest.' This is an admirable attempt to illustrate the first prin- 
 ciples of Natural Philosophy, by the aid of the popular toys and sports of youth. Useful informa- 
 tion is conveyed in an easy, Graceful, yet dignified manner, and rendered easy to the simplest under- 
 standing. The book is an admirable one, and mast meet with universal favour." — N. Y. Evening 
 Mirror. 
 
 ENDLESS AMUSEMENT. 
 
 JUST ISSUED. 
 
 ENDLESS AMUSEMENT, 
 
 A COLLECTION OF 
 
 NEARLY FOUR HUNDRED ENTERTAINING EXPERIMENTS 
 IN VARIOUS BRANCHES OF SCIENCE, 
 
 INCLUDING 
 
 ACOUSTICS. ARITHMETIC, CHEMISTRY, ELECTRICITY, HYDRAULICS, HYDROSTATICS, 
 
 MAGNETISM, MECHANICS, OPTICS, WONDERS OF THE AIR PUMP, ALL THE 
 
 POPULAR TRICKS AND CHANGES OF THE CARDS, &c, <fcc. 
 
 TO WniCH IS ADDED, 
 
 A COMPLETE SYSTEM OF PYROTECHNY, 
 
 OR THE ART OF MAKING FIRE-WORKS: 
 
 THE WHOLE SO CLEARLY EXPLAINED AS TO BE WITHIN REACH 
 
 OF THE MOST LIMITED CAPACITY. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 FROM THE SEVENTH LONDON EDITION. 
 
 In one neat royal 18mo. volume, fine extra crimson cloth. 
 
 This work has Ion? supplied instructive amusement to the rising generations in England, and 
 will doubtless be hailed with pleasure by those of this country who like (and what boy does not} 
 the marvellous tricks and changes, experiments and wonders afforded by the magic of science and 
 jogglery. 
 
 CHEMISTRY OF THE FOUR SEASONS, 
 
 SPRING, SUMMER, AUTUMN, AND WINTER. 
 
 AN ESSAY, PRINCIPALLY CONCERNING NATURAL PHENOMENA, ADMITTING OF 
 
 INTERPRETATION BY CHEMICAL SCIENCE, AND ILLUSTRATING 
 
 PASSAGES OF SCRIPTURE. 
 
 BY THOMAS GRIFFITHS, 
 
 PROFESSOR OF CHEMISTRY IX THE MEDICAL COLLEGE OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S HOSPITAL, ETC. 
 
 In one large royal 12mo. volume, with many Wood-Cuts, extra cloth. 
 
 " Chemistry is assuredly one of the most useful and interesting of the natural sciences. Chemical 
 changes meet us at every step, and during every season, the winds and t lie rain, the heat and the 
 frosts, each have their peculiar and appropriate phenomena. And those who have hitherto re- 
 mained insensible to ttiese changes and unmoved amid such remarkable, am! often startling re- 
 sults, will lose their apathy upon reading the Chemistry of the ' Four Seasons.' and be prepared to 
 enjoy the highest intellectual pleasures. Conceived in a happv spirit, and written with t:iste and 
 elegance, the essav of Mr. Griffiths cannot fail to receive the admiration of cultivated minds ; and 
 those who have looked less carefully into nature's beauties, will find themselves led on step by 
 step, until they realize a new intellectual being. Such works, we believe, exert a happy influence 
 over society, and hence we hope that the present one may be extensively read." — The Western 
 Zjaacet.
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 POP ULAR SCIE NCE. 
 K1RBY AND SPENCE'S E NTOMOL OGY, FOR POPULAR USE, 
 
 AN INTRODUCTION TO ENTOMOLOGY; 
 
 OR, ELEMENTS OF THE NATURAL HISTORY OP INSECTS; COMPRISING AN ACCOUNT 
 
 OF NOXIOUS AND USEFUL INSECTS, OF THEIR METAMORPHOSES, FOOD, 
 
 STRATAGEMS, HABITATIONS, SOCIETIES, MOTIONS, NOISES, 
 
 HYBERNATION, INSTINCT, <tc, <tc. 
 
 With Plates, Plain or Colored. 
 
 BY WILLIAM KIRBY, M.A.,r.R.S., AND WILLIAM SPENCE,ESQ.,F.R.S. 
 
 FROM THE SIXTH LONDON EDITION, WHICH WAS CORRECTED AND CONSIDERABLY ENLARGED. 
 
 In one large octavo volume, extra cloth. 
 
 " We have been greatly interested in running over the pages of this treatise. There is scarcely, in 
 the wide range of natural science, a more interesting or instructive study than that of insects, or 
 one than is calculated to excite more curiosity or wonder. 
 
 " The popular form of letters is adopted by the authors in imparting a knowledge of the subject, 
 which renders Ihe work peculiarly fitted for our district school libraries, which are open to ail ages 
 anil classes."— .HunCs Merchants' Magazine. 
 
 ANSTEITS^ANCIENT WORLD. 
 
 JUST ISSUED. 
 
 THE ANCIENT WORLD, OR, PICTURESQUE SKETCHES OF CREATION, 
 BY D. T. ANSTED, M.A., F.R.S., F.G.S., &c. 
 
 PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY IN KING'S COLLEGE, LONDON. 
 
 In one very neat volnme, fine extra cloth, with about One Hundred and Fifty Illustrations. 
 
 The object of this work is to present to the general reader the chief results of Geological investi- 
 gation in a simple and comprehensive manner. The author has avoided all minute details of gec- 
 losrical formations and particular observations, and has endeavoured as far as possible to present 
 striking views of the wonderful results of the science, divested of its mere technicalities. The 
 work is got up in a handsome manner, with numerous illustrations, and forms a neat volume for the 
 centre table. 
 
 GEOLOGY AND MINERALOGY, 
 
 WITH INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE QUALITATIVE ANALYSIS OF MINERALS. 
 
 BY JOSHUA TRIMMER, F. G. S. 
 
 With two Hundred and Twelve Wood-Cuts, a handsome octavo volume, bound in embossed cloth. 
 
 This is a systematic introduction to Mineralogy, and Geology, admirably calculated to instruct 
 
 the student in those sciences. The organic remains of the various formations are well illustrated 
 
 by numerous figures, which are drawn with great accuracy. 
 
 NEW AND COMPLETE MEDICAL BOTANY. 
 
 NOW READY. 
 
 MEDICAL BOTANY, 
 
 OR, A DESCRIPTION OF ALL THE MORE IMPORTANT PLANTS USED IN MEDICINE 
 AND OF THEIR PROPERTIES, USES AND MODES OF ADMINISTRATION. 
 
 BY R. EGLESFELD GRIFFITH, M.D., &c, <&c. 
 
 In one large octavo volume. With about three hundred and fifty Illustrations on Woo£. 
 
 A POPULrSTiilr^^ 
 
 PUBLISHED UNDER THE AUSPICES OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE PROMOTION OP 
 
 POPULAR INSTRUCTION; WITH NUMEROUS WOOD-CUTS. 
 
 BY W. B. CARPENTER. 
 
 In one volume, 12mo., extra cloth. 
 
 A TREATISE ON COMPARATIVE ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY, 
 
 BY W. B. CARPENTER. 
 
 REVISED AND MUCH IMPROVED BY THE AUTHOR. WITH BEAUTIFUL STEEL PLATES. 
 (Now preparing.) 
 
 CARPENTER'S ANIMAL PHYSIOLOGY, 
 
 WITH ABOUT THREE HUNDRED WOOD-CUTS. 
 (Preparing )
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HUMAN HEALTH: 
 
 OR, THE INFLUENCE OF ATMOSPHERE AND LOCALITY, CHANGE OF AIR AND 
 CLIMATE, SEASONS, FOOD, CLOTHING, BATHING, MINERAL SPRINGS, 
 EXERCISE, SLEEP, CORPOREAL AND MENTAL PUR- 
 SUITS, &c., &M., ON HEALTHY MAN, 
 
 CONSTITUTING ELEMENTS OF HYGIENE. 
 
 BY ROELEY DTJNGLISON, M.D., &c., to. 
 In one octavo volume. 
 %* Persons in the pursuit of health, as well as those who desire to retain 
 it, would do well to examine this work. The author states the work has 
 been prepared "to enable the general reader to understand the nature of 
 the actions of various influences on human health, and assist him in adopt- 
 ing such means as may tend to its preservation: hence the author has 
 avoided introducing technicalities, except where they appeared to him indis- 
 pensable." 
 
 REMARKS ON THE INFLUENCE OF MENTAL EXCITEMENT, 
 
 AND MENTAL CULTIVATION UPON HEALTH. 
 
 BY A. BRIGHAM, JVI.D. 
 
 Third edition ; one volume, 18mo. 
 
 A TREATISE ON 
 
 CORNS, BUNIONS, TH3 DISEASES OF THE NAIZ.S, 
 
 AND THE GENERAL MANAGEMENT OF THE FEET. 
 
 BY LEWIS DURLACHER, 
 
 BDEGEON CHIROPODIST TO THE Q.UEEN. 
 
 Ill one duodecimo volume, cloth. 
 BEIDGEWATER TREATISES. 
 
 The whole complete in 7 vols. 8vo., various bindings, 
 
 CONTAINING : 
 
 ROGETS ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY, in 2 vols., with many cuts. 
 KIRBY ON THE HISTORY, HABITS AND INSTINCT OF ANIMALS, 1 vol., with plates. 
 PROUT ON CHEMISTRY— CHALMERS ON THE MORAL CONDITION OP MAN-WHEWELL 
 
 ON ASTRONOMY— BELL ON THE HAND— KIDD ON THE PHYSICAL CONDITION OF 
 
 MAN, 2 volumes. 
 BUCKLAND'S GEOLOGY', 2 vols., with numerous plates and maps. 
 
 Roget, Buckland, and Kirby are sold separate. 
 
 THE DOMESTIC MANAGEMENT OF THE SICK ROOM, 
 
 NECESSARY, IN AID OF MEDICAL TREATMENT, FOR TILE CURE OF DISEASES. 
 
 BY A. T. THOMSON, M. D., &c. &c. 
 
 First American, from the Second London Edition. Edited by R. E. Griffith, M. D. 
 
 In one royal limo. volume, extra eloth, with cuts. 
 
 "There is no interference with the duties of the medical attendant, but sound, sensible, and 
 
 clear advice what to do, and how to act, so as to meet unforeseen emergencies, and co-operate 
 
 with professional skrlL" — Literary Gazette. 
 
 THE MILLWRIGHT AND MILLER'S GUIDE. 
 
 BY OLIVER EVANS. 
 
 THE ELEVENTH EDITION, 
 WITH ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS, BY THE PROFESSOR OF MECHA- 
 NICS IN THE FRANKLIN INSTITUTE OF PENNSYLVANIA, 
 AND A DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPROVED MERCHANT FLOUR MILL. 
 
 WITH ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 BY C. & O. EVANS, ENGINEERS. 
 This is a practical work, and has had a very extended sale.
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 JOHNSON AND LANDRETH ON FRUIT, KITCHEN, 
 AND FLOW ER GA RDENING. 
 
 A DICTIONARY OF MODERN GARDENING, 
 
 BY GEORGE WILLIAM JOHNSON, ESQ. 
 Author of the " Principles of Practical Gardening," " The Gardener's Almanac," <Stc. 
 
 WITH ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY WOOD-CCTS. 
 
 EDITED, WITH NUMEROUS ADDITIONS, BY DAVID LANDRETH, OF PHILADELPHIA. 
 
 In one large royal duodecimo volume, extra cloth, of nearly Six Hundred and Fifty 
 double columned Pages. 
 This edition has been greatly altered from the original. Many articles of little interest to Ameri- 
 cans have been curtailed or wholly omitted, and much new matter, with numerous illustrations, 
 added, especially with respect to the varieties of fruit which experience has shown to be peculiarly 
 adapted to our climate. Still, the editor admits that he has only followed in the path so admirably 
 marked out by Mr. Johnson, to whom the chief merit of the work belongs. It has been an object 
 with the editor and publishers to increase its popular character, thereby adapting it to the larger 
 class of horticultural readers m this country, and they trust it will prove what they have desired it 
 to be, an Encyclopaedia of Gardening, if not of Rural Affairs, so condensed and at such a price as to 
 be within reach of nearly all whom those subjects interest. 
 
 " This is a useful compendium of all that description of information which is valuable to the 
 modem gardener. It quotes largely from the best standard authors, journals, and transactions of 
 societies; and the labours of the American editor have fitted it for the United States, by judicious 
 additions and omissions. The volume is abundantly illustrated with figures in the text, embracing 
 a judicious selection of those varieties of fruits which experience has shown to be well suited to the 
 United States. — Silliman's Journal. 
 
 " This is the most valuable work we have ever seen on the subject of gardening ; and no man of 
 taste who can devote even a quarter of an acre to horticulture ought to be without it. Indeed la- 
 dies who merely cultivate flowers uithin-doors, will find this book an excellent and convenient 
 counsellor. It contains one hundred and eighty wood-cut illustrations, which give a distinct idea 
 of the fruits and garden-arrangements they are intended to represent. 
 
 " Johnson's Dictionary of Gardening, edited by Landreth, is handsomely printed, well-bound, and 
 gold at a price which puts it within the reach of all who would be likely to buy it. — Evergreen. 
 
 THE COMPLETE FLORIST. 
 
 A MANUAL OF GARDENING, 
 
 CONTAINING PRACTICAL INSTRUCTION FOR THE MANAGEMENT OF GREENHOUSE 
 
 PLANTS, AND FOR THE CULTIVATION OF THE SHRUBBERY— THE FLOWER 
 
 GARDEN, AND THE LAWN— WITH DESCRIPTIONS OF THOSE PLANTS 
 
 AND TREES MOST WORTHY OF CULTURE IN EACH 
 
 DEPARTMENT. 
 
 WITH ADDITIONS AND AMENDMENTS, 
 
 ADAPTED TO THE CLIMATE OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 In one small volume. Price only Twenty-five Cents. 
 
 THE COMPLETE KITC HEN A ND FRUIT GARDENER. 
 
 A SELECT MANUAL OF KITCHEN GARDENING, 
 
 AND THE CULTURE OF FRUITS, 
 
 CONTAINING FAMILIAR DIRECTIONS FOR THE MOST APPROVED PRACTICE IN EACH 
 
 DEPARTMENT. DESCRIPTIONS OF MANY VALUABLE FRUITS, AND A 
 
 CALENDAR OF WORK TO BE PERFORMED EACH 
 
 MONTH IN THE YEAR. 
 
 THE WHOLE ADAPTED TO THE CLIMATE OF THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 In one small volume, paper. Price only Twenty-five Cents. 
 
 IiANDRETEPS RURAL REGISTER AND ALMANAC, FOR 1848, 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 STILL ON HAND, 
 A FEW COPIES OF THE REGISTER FOR 1847, 
 
 WITH OVER ONE HUNDRED WOOD-CUTS. 
 
 This work has 150 large 12mo. pages, double columns. Though published annually, and contain- 
 ing an almanac, the principal part of the matter is of permanent utility to the horticulturist and 
 farmer.
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 YOUATT AND SKINNER'S 
 
 STANDARD WORK ON THE HORSE. 
 
 THE HORSE. 
 
 BY WILLIAM YOUATT. 
 
 A NEW EDITION, WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 TOGETHER WITH A 
 
 GENERAL HISTORY OF THE HORSE; 
 
 A DISSERTATION ON 
 
 THE AMERICAN TROTTING HORSE; 
 
 HOW TRAINED AND JOCKEYED. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF HIS REMARKABLE PERFORMANCES; 
 
 AND 
 
 AN ESSAY OCT THE ASS AND THE MULE. 
 
 BY J. S. SKINNER, 
 
 Assistant Post-Master-General, and Editor of the Turf Register. 
 
 This edition of Youatt's well-known and standard work on the Manage- 
 ment, Diseases, and Treatment of the Horse, has already obtained such a 
 wide circulation throughout the country, that the Publishers need say no- 
 thing to attract to it the attention and confidence of all who keep Horses or 
 are interested in their improvement. 
 
 " In introducing this very neat edition of Youatt's well-known book, on ' The Horse,' to our 
 readers, it is not necessary, even if we had time, to say anything to convince them of its worth ; it 
 has been highly spoken of, by those most capable of appreciating its merits, and its appearance 
 under the patronage of the ' Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge,' with Lord Brougham 
 at its head, affords a full guaranty for its high character. The book is a very valuable one, and we 
 endorse the recommendation of the editor, that every man who owns the ' hair of a horse,' should 
 have it at his elbow, to be consulted like a family physician, ' for mitigating the disorders, and pro- 
 longing the life of the most interesting and useful of all domestic animals.' "—Farmer's Cabinet. 
 
 " This celebrated work has been completely revised, and much of it almost entirely re-written 
 by its able author, who, from being a practical veterinary surgeon, and withal a great lover and 
 excellent judge of the animal, is particularly well qualified to write the history of the noblest of 
 quadrupeds. Messrs. Lea and Blaiichard of Philadelphia have republished the above work, omitting 
 a few of the first pages, and have supplied their place with matter quite as valuable, and perhaps 
 more interesting to the reader in this country ; it being nearly 100 pages of a general history of the 
 horse, a dissertation on the American trotting horse, how trained and jockeyed, an account of his 
 remarkable performances, and an essay on the Ass and Mule, by J. S. Skinner, Esq., Assistant Post- 
 master-General, and late editor of the Turf Register and American Farmer. Mr. Skinner is one 
 of our most pleasing writers, and has been familiar with the subject of the horse from childhood, 
 and we need not add that he has acquitted himself well of the task. He also takes up the import- 
 ant subject, to the American breeder, of the Ass, and the Mule. This he treats at length and con 
 amore. The Philadelphia edition of the Horse is a handsome octavo, with numero'vs wood -cuts."— 
 American Agriculturist.
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 YOUATT ON THE PIG. 
 
 THE PIG; 
 
 A TREATISE ON THE BREEDS, MANAGEMENT, FEEDING, 
 - AND MEDICAL TREATMENT OF SWINE, 
 
 WITH DIRECTIONS FOR SALTING PORK, AND CURING BACON AND HAMS. 
 BY WILLIAM YOUATT, V.S. 
 
 Author of •' The Horse," " The Dog," " Cattle," " Sheep," <tc, tec. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS DRAWN FROM LIFE BY WILLIAM HARVEY. 
 
 In one handsome duodecimo volume, extra cloth, or in neat paper cover, price 50 cents. 
 This work, on a subject comparatively neglected, must prove of much use to farmers, especially 
 in this country, where the Pig is an animal of more importance than elsewhere. No work has 
 hitherto appeared treating fully of the various breeds of swine, their diseases and cure, breeding, 
 fattening, <fcc , and the preparation of bacon, salt pork, hams, ic, while the name of the author of 
 " The Horse," "The Cattle Doctor," tec, is sufficient authority for all he may state. To render it 
 more accessible to those whom it particularly interests, the publishers have prepared copies in 
 neat illustrated paper covers, suitable for transmission by mail j and which will be sent through 
 the post-office on the receipt of fifty cents, free of postage. 
 
 CLATER AND YOUATT'S CATTLE DOCTOR. 
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN CATTLE DOCTOR: 
 
 CONTAINING THE CAUSES, SYMPTOMS AND TREATMENT OF ALL 
 DISEASES INCIDENT TO OXEN, SHEEP AND SWINE; 
 
 AND A SKETCH OF THE 
 
 ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY OF NEAT CATTLE. 
 
 BY FRANCIS CLATER. 
 
 EDITED, REVISED AND ALMOST RE-WRITTEN, BY 
 
 WILLIAM YOUATT, AUTHOR OP "THE HORSE." 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS ADDITIONS, 
 
 EMBRACING AN ESSAY ON THE USE OF OXEN AND THE IMPROVEMENT IN THE 
 
 BREED OF SHEEP, 
 
 BY J. S. SKINNER. 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS CUTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 In one 12mo. volume, cloth. 
 "As its title would import, it is a most valuable work, and should be in the hands of every Ame- 
 rican farmer; and we feel proud in saying, that the value of the work has been greatly enhanced 
 by the contributions of Mr. Skinner. Clater and Youatt are names treasured by the farming com- 
 munities of Europe as household-gods ; nor does that of Skinner deserve to be less esteemed in 
 America." — American Farmer. 
 
 CLATER'S FARRIER. 
 
 EVERY MAN HIS OWN FARRIER: 
 
 CONTAINING THE CAUSES, SYMPTOMS, AND MOST APPROVED METHODS OF CURE 
 OF THE DISEASES OF HORSES. 
 
 BY FRANCIS CLATES, 
 
 Author of " Every Man his own Cattle Doctor," 
 
 AND HIS SON, JOHN CLATER. 
 
 FIRST AMERICAN FROM THE TWENTY-EIGHTH LONDON EDITION. 
 
 WITH NOTES AND ADDITIONS, 
 
 BY J. S. SKINNER. 
 
 In one 12mo. volume, cloth.
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 HAWKER AND P ORTER ON SHOOTING. 
 
 INSTRUCTIONS TO YOUNG SPORTSMEN 
 
 IN ALL THAT RELATES TO GUNS AND SHOOTING. 
 BY LIEUT. COL. P. HAWKER. 
 
 FROM THE ENLARGED A>'D IMPROVED NINTH LONDON EDITION, 
 
 TO WHICH IS ADDED THE HUNTING AND SHOOTING OF NORTH AMERICA, WITH 
 
 DESCRIPTIONS OF ANIMALS AND BIRDS, CAREFULLY COLLATED 
 
 FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES. 
 
 B Y W. T. PORTER, ESQ,* 
 
 EDITOR OF THE N". T. SPIRIT OF THE TIMES. 
 
 In one large octavo volume, rich extra clolh, with numerous Illustrations. 
 
 " Here is a book, a bawl-book, or rather a text-hook — one that contains the whole routine of the 
 science. It is the Primer, the Lexicon, and the Homer. Everything is here, from the minutest 
 portion of a gun-lock, to a dead Buffalo. The sportsman who reads this book understanding^, may 
 pass an examination. He will know the science, and may give advice to others. Every sportsman, 
 and sportsmen are plentiful, should own this work. It should be a " vade mecum." He should 
 be examined on its contents, and estimated by his abilities to answer. We have not been without 
 treatises on the art, but hitherto they have not descended into all the minutite of equipments and 
 qualifications to proceed to the completion. This work supplies deficiencies, and completes the 
 sportsman's library.' - — U. S. Gazette. 
 
 " No man in the country that we wot of is so well calculated as our friend of the ' Spirit' for the 
 task he has undertaken, and the result of his labours has been that he has turned out a work which 
 should be in the hands of every man in the land who owns a double-barrelled gun." — N. O. Picayune. 
 
 " A volume splendidly printed and bound, and embellished with numerous beautiful engravings, 
 which will doubtless be in great demand. No sportsman, indeed, ought to be without it, while the 
 general reader will find in its pages a fund of curious ami useful information." — Richmond Whig. 
 
 Y O U A ^^y^^^^FHE^OOG^ 
 
 THE I?OG, 
 
 BY WILLIAM YOUATT, 
 
 Author of " The Horse," ic. 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS AND BEAUTIFUL ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 EDITED BY E. J. LEWIS, M.D. &c. &c. 
 
 In one beautifully printed volume, crown octavo. 
 
 LIST OF PLATES. 
 
 Head of Bloodhound — Ancient Greyhounds — The Thibet, Dog — The Dingo, or New Holland Dog — 
 
 The Danish or Dalmatian Dog — The Hare Indian Dog — The Greyhound — The Grecian Greyhound 
 
 — Blenheims and Cockers — The Water Spauiel — The Poodle — The Alpine Spaniel or Bcniardine 
 
 Do? — The Newfoundland Dog— The Esquimaux Dog — The English Sheep Dog — The Scotch Sheep 
 
 Dog— The Beasle — The Harrier — The Foxhound — Plan of Goodwood Kennel — The Southern 
 
 Hound— The Setter— The Pointer— The Bull Dog— The Mastiff— The Terrier— Skeleton of the 
 
 Dog — Teeth of the Dog at seven different ages. 
 
 '• Mr. Youalt's work is invaluable to the student of canine history; it is full of entertaining ant 
 instructive matter for the general reader. To the sportsman it commends itself by the larsre amount 
 of useful information in reference to his peculiar pa embodies— information which, 
 
 lie cannot find elsewhere in so convenient and accessible a form, and with so reliable an authority 
 to entitle it to his consideration. The modest preface wliich Dr. Lewis has made to the American 
 edition of this work scarcely does justice to the additional value he has imparted to it; and the 
 publishers are entitled to great credit for the handsome manner in which they have got it up." — 
 North American. 
 
 T33E SPOSTsilFs LI3HAR7, 
 
 OR HUNTS ON HUNTERS, HUNTING, HOUNDS, SHOOTING, GAME, DOGS, GUNS, 
 
 FISHING. COiniSING, Ac. &c. 
 
 BY JOHN MILLS, ESQ., 
 
 Author of " The Old English Gentleman," &.c. 
 
 In one well printed royal duodecimo volume, extra Sloth. 
 
 STABLE TALE AETD TABLE TALK, 
 
 OR SPECTACLES FOR YOUNG SPORTSMEN. 
 
 BY HARRY HIEOVER. 
 
 In one very neat duodecimo volume, extra cldli. 
 
 "These lively sketches answer to their title very well. Wherever Nimrod is welcome, there 
 
 should be cordial greeting for Harry Hieover. His book is a very clever one, and contains many 
 
 instructive hints, as well as much light-hearted reading." — Examiner. 
 
 THS BOG AND THE SPORTSMAN, 
 
 EMBRACING THE USES. BREEDING. TRAINING, DISEASES, ETC.. OF DOGS. AND AN 
 
 ACCOUNT OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF GAME. WITH THEIR HABITS. 
 
 Also, Hints to Shooters, with, various useful Recipes, <fcc, &c. 
 
 BY J. S. SKINNER. 
 
 Willi Plates. In one very neat l2mo. volume, "itra cloth
 
 LEA AND BLANCHARD'S PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 FRANCATELLI'S MO DERN FRENCH COOKERY. 
 
 THE MODERN COOK, 
 
 A PRACTICAL GUIDE TO THE CULINARY ART, IN ALL ITS BRANCHES, ADAPTED AS 
 
 WELL FOR THE LAK'IKST ESTABLISHMENTS AS EOR THE USE 
 OK PRIVATE KAMII.1KS. 
 
 BY CHARLES ELME FRANCATELLI, 
 
 Pupil of the celebrated Careme, and late Maitre D'Hotel and Chief Cook to her Majesty the Queen. 
 In one large octavo volume, extra cloth, with numerous illustrations. 
 
 " It appears to he the honk of hooks on cookery, being a most comprehensive treatise on that art 
 preservative and conservative. The work comprises, in one large and elegant octavo volume, 1447 
 recipes fori king dishes and desserts, with numerous illustrations ; also hills of fare and direc- 
 tions lor dinners for every month in the year, for Companies of six persons to twenty-eight. — Nat. 
 Intelligencer. 
 
 " The ladles who read our Magazine, will thank us for calling attention to this great work on the 
 noble science of cooking, in Which everybody, who has any taste, feels a deep and abiding interest. 
 I'nnieatelh is Hie I'lalo, Ihe Sim k speai e, or the Napoleon pf Ills department; or perhaps the l.a 
 
 Place, for his performance bears the same relation to ordinary conk hooks that the Mecanique 
 
 Celeste does lo I i.il.oll s Ant I -lie. It is a large octavo, profusely illustrated, anil contains every- 
 thing on the philosophy of making dinners, suppers, etc., thai is worth knowing — llrahmn's Magazine. 
 
 IvHiTAiT^N^To^C IK E rT 
 
 MODERN COOKERY IN ALL ITS BRANCHES, 
 
 REDUCED TO A SYSTEM OF EASY PRACTICE, FOE THE DSE OF PRIVATE FAMILIES. 
 
 IN A SERIES OF PRAC1 ICAL RECEIPTS, ALL OF WHICH ARE GIVEN 
 
 WITH THE most MINUTE EXACTNESS. 
 
 BY ELIZA ACTON. 
 
 WITH NUMEROUS WOOD-CUT ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 TO WHICH IS ADDKD, A TABLK OF WEIGHTS AND MEASURES. 
 THE WHOLE REVISED AND prepared Foil American iiouskkkepers. 
 BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE. 
 From the Second London Edition. In one large 12mo. volume. 
 " Miss Eliza Acton may congratulate herself on having composed a work of frreat utility, and one 
 liial is speedily finding its way to every 'dresser' in the kingdom. Her Cookery hook is unques- 
 tionably the most, valuable compendium of the ari thai has yel been published. It strongly incul- 
 cates economical principles, and points out how good things may be concocted without that reck- 
 less extravagance which good cooks have been wont to imagine the best evidence they can give of 
 skill in their profession."— London Morning Post. 
 
 TFe^TFmpT^e^co?^ 
 
 PLAIN AND PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS FOR COOKING AND HOUSEKEEPING, 
 
 WITH UPWARDS OF SEVEN HUNDRED RECEIPTS, 
 
 Consisting of Directions for the Choice of Meat and Poultry, Preparations for Cooking; Making of 
 
 Broths and Soups ; Boiling, Roasting, Baking and Frying of Meats, Fish, Ac. •. Seasonings, 
 
 Colonics, Cookms: Vegetables; 1'ieparuiK Salads; Clarifying; Making of Pastry, 
 
 Puddings, Gruels, Gravies, Garnishes, ice, >Vc., anil with general 
 
 Directions for making W nies. 
 
 WITH ADDITIONS AND ALTERATIONS. 
 
 BY J. M. SANDERSON, 
 
 OF THE FRANKLIN HOUSE. 
 
 Injone small volume, paper. Price only Twenty-five Cents. 
 
 THE MMPiETE CONFECTIONE R, PAST RY COOK AW BAKER. 
 
 I'f.AIN AND PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS 
 
 FOR MAKING CONFECTIONARY AND PASTRY, AND FOR BAKING. 
 
 WITH UPWARDS OF FIVE HUNDRED RECEIPTS, 
 
 Consisting of Directions for making all sorts of Preserves, Sugar Boiling', Comfits, Lozenges, 
 
 Ornamental Cakes, hats, Liqueurs, Waters, Gum Paste Ornaments, Syrups, Jellies, 
 
 Marmalades, Compotes, Bread Baking, Artificial Yeasts, fancy 
 
 Biscuits, i lakes, Rolls, Muffins, Tarts, Pies, etc., <Sx. 
 
 WITH ADDITIONS AND ALTERATIONS. 
 BY PARKINSON, 
 
 PRACTICAL CONFECTIONER, CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
 In one small volume, paper. Price only Twenty-five Cents.
 
 I imtTMU of ( alilomu I ihr.iiA 
 
 I OS A Unfits 
 
 I"hu book u DUH on the last date stamped below. 
 
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