----"For here have been
Some six or seven, who did hide their faces
Even from darkness."
SHAKESPEARE.
Ellena, on thus suddenly losing her aunt, her only relative, the friend
of her whole life, felt as if left alone in the world. But it was not
in the first moments of affliction that this feeling occurred. Her own
forlorn situation was not even observed, while affection, pity, and
irresistible grief for Bianchi, occupied her heart.
Bianchi was to be interred in the church belonging to the convent of
Santa Maria della Pieta. The body, attired according to the custom of
the country, and decorated with flowers, was carried on an open bier
to the place of interment, attended only by priests and torch-bearers.
But Ellena could not endure thus lightly to part with the reliques of
a beloved friend, and being restrained by custom from following the
corpse to the grave, she repaired first to the convent, to attend the
funeral service. Her sorrow did not allow her to join in the choral
symphonies of the nuns, but their sacred solemnity was soothing to her
spirits, and the tears she shed while she listened to the lengthening
notes, assuaged the force of grief.
When the service concluded, she withdrew to the parlour of the lady
Abbess, who mingled with her consolations many entreaties that Ellena
would make the convent her present asylum; and her affliction required
little persuasion on this subject. It was her wish to retire hither,
as to a sanctuary, which was not only suitable to her particular
circumstances, but especially adapted to the present state of her
spirits. Here she believed that she should sooner acquire resignation,
and regain tranquillity, than in a place less consecrated to religion;
and, before she took leave of the Abbess, it was agreed, that she
should be received as a boarder. To acquaint Vivaldi with her
intention was, indeed, her chief motive for returning to the villa
Altieri, after this her resolution had been taken. Her affection and
esteem had been gradual in their progress, and had now attained a
degree of strength, which promised to decide the happiness or misery
of her whole life. The sanction given by her aunt to this choice,
and particularly the very solemn manner in which, on the evening
preceding her death, she bequeathed Ellena to his care, had still
endeared him to her heart, and imparted a sacredness to the engagement,
which made her consider Vivaldi as her guardian and only surviving
protector. The more tenderly she lamented her deceased relative, the
more tenderly she thought of Vivaldi; and her love for the one was so
ultimately connected with her affection for the other, that each seemed
strengthened and exalted by the union.
When the funeral was over, they met at Altieri.
He was neither surprized or averse to her withdrawing awhile to a
convent; for there was a propriety in retiring, during the period
of her grief, from a home where she had no longer a guardian, which
delicacy seemed to demand. He only stipulated, that he might be
permitted to visit her in the parlour of the convent, and to claim,
when decorum should no longer object to it, the hand, which Bianchi had
resigned to him.
Notwithstanding that he yielded to this arrangement without
complaining, it was not entirely without repining; but being assured by
Ellena of the worthiness of the Abbess of the Santa Maria della Pieta,
he endeavoured to silence the secret murmurs of his heart with the
conviction of his judgment.
Meanwhile, the deep impression made by his unknown tormentor, the
monk, and especially by his prediction of the death of Bianchi,
remained upon his mind, and he once more determined to ascertain, if
possible, the true nature of this portentous visitant, and what were
the motives which induced him thus to haunt his footsteps and interrupt
his peace. He was awed by the circumstances which had attended the
visitations of the monk, if monk it was; by the suddenness of his
appearance, and departure; by the truth of his prophecies; and, above
all, by the solemn event which had verified his last warning; and
his imagination, thus elevated by wonder and painful curiosity, was
prepared for something above the reach of common conjecture, and beyond
the accomplishment of human agency. His understanding was sufficiently
clear and strong to teach him to detect many errors of opinion, that
prevailed around him, as well as to despise the common superstitions
of his country, and, in the usual state of his mind, he probably
would not have paused for a moment on the subject before him; but his
passions were now interested and his fancy awakened, and, though he was
unconscious of this propensity, he would, perhaps, have been somewhat
disappointed to have descended suddenly from the region of fearful
sublimity, to which he had soared--the world of terrible shadows--to
the earth, on which he daily walked, and to an explanation simply
natural.
He designed to visit again, at midnight, the fortress of Paluzzi, and
not to watch for the appearance of the stranger, but to carry torches
into every recess of the ruin, and discover, at least, whether it was
haunted by other human beings than himself. The chief difficulty,
which had hitherto delayed him, was that of finding a person, in whom
he could confide, to accompany him in the search, since his former
adventure had warned him never to renew it alone. Signor Bonarmo
persisted absolutely, and, perhaps, wisely, to refuse his request
on this subject; and, as Vivaldi had no other acquaintance, to whom
he chose to give so much explanation of the affair as might induce
compliance, he at length determined to take with him Paulo, his own
servant.
On the evening, previous to the day of Ellena's departure to the Santa
della Pieta, Vivaldi went to Altieri, to bid her adieu. During this
interview his spirits were more than usually depressed; and, though
he knew that her retirement was only for a short period, and had as
much confidence in the continuance of her affection, as is, perhaps,
possible to a lover, Vivaldi felt as if he was parting with her for
ever. A thousand vague and fearful conjectures, such as he had never
till this moment admitted, assailed him, and amongst them, it appeared
probable, that the arts of the nuns might win her from the world, and
sacrifice her to the cloister. In her present state of sorrow this
seemed to be even more than probable, and not all the assurances which
Ellena gave him, and in these parting moments she spoke with less
reserve than she had hitherto done, could entirely re-assure his mind.
"It should seem Ellena, by these boding fears," said he, imprudently,
"that I am parting with you for ever; I feel a weight upon my heart,
which I cannot throw off. Yet I consent that you shall withdraw awhile
to this convent, convinced of the propriety of the step; and I ought,
also, to know that you will soon return; that I shall soon take you
from its walls as my wife, never more to leave me, never more to
pass from my immediate care and tenderness. I ought to feel assured
of all this; yet so apt are my fears that I cannot confide in what
is probable, but rather apprehend what is possible. And is it then
possible that I yet may lose you; and is it only probable that you may
be mine for ever? How, under such circumstances, could I weakly consent
to your retirement? Why did I not urge you to bestow immediately those
indissoluble bands, which no human force can burst asunder? How could
I leave the destiny of all my peace within the reach of a possibility,
which it was once in my power to have removed! Which it _was_ in my
power!--It is, perhaps, still in my power. O Ellena! let the severities
of custom yield to the security of my happiness. If you do go to the
Santa Maria, let it be only to visit its altar!"
Vivaldi delivered this expostulation with a rapidity, that left no
pause for Ellena to interrupt him. When, at length, he concluded, she
gently reproached him for doubting the continuance of her regard, and
endeavoured to sooth his apprehensions of misfortune, but would not
listen to his request. She represented, that not only the state of her
spirits required retirement, but that respect to the memory of her aunt
demanded it; and added gravely, that if he had so little confidence
in the steadiness of her opinions, as to doubt the constancy of her
affection, and for so short a period, unless her vows were secured to
him, he had done imprudently to elect her for the companion of his
whole life.
Vivaldi, then ashamed of the weakness he had betrayed, besought her
forgiveness, and endeavoured to appease apprehensions which passion
only made plausible, and which reason reproved; notwithstanding which,
he could recover neither tranquillity nor confidence; nor could
Ellena, though her conduct was supported and encouraged by justness of
sentiment, entirely remove the oppression of spirits she had felt from
almost the first moment of this interview. They parted with many tears;
and Vivaldi, before he finally took his leave, frequently returned
to claim some promise, or to ascertain some explanation, till Ellena
remarked with a forced smile, that these resembled eternal adieus,
rather than those of only a few days; an observation which renewed all
his alarm, and furnished an excuse for again delaying his departure.
At length he tore himself away, and left the villa Altieri; but as the
time was yet too early to suit his purposed enquiry at Paluzzi, he
returned to Naples.
Ellena, meanwhile, endeavouring to dissipate melancholy recollections
by employment, continued busied in preparation for her departure on
the following day, till a late hour of the night. In the prospect of
quitting, though only for so short a period, the home where she had
passed almost every day since the dawn of her earliest remembrance,
there was something melancholy, if not solemn. In leaving these
well-known scenes, where, it might be said, the shade of her deceased
relative seemed yet to linger, she was quitting all vestige of her late
happiness, all note of former years and of present consolation; and she
felt as if going forth into a new and homeless world. Her affection for
the place encreased as the passing time diminished, and it seemed as if
the last moment of her stay would be precisely that, in which the villa
Altieri would be most valued.
In her favourite apartments she lingered for a considerable time; and
in the room where she had supped on the night immediately preceding
the death of Signora Bianchi, she indulged many tender and mournful
recollections, and probably would have continued to indulge them much
longer, had not her attention been withdrawn by a sudden rustling of
the foliage that surrounded the window, when, on raising her eyes,
she thought she perceived some person pass quickly from before it. The
lattices had, as usual, been left open to admit the fresh breeze from
the bay below, but she now rose with some alarm to close them, and had
scarcely done so when she heard a distant knocking from the portico,
and in the next instant the screams of Beatrice in the hall.
Alarmed for herself, Ellena had, however, the courage to advance to the
assistance of her old servant, when, on entering the passage leading
to the hall, three men, masked and muffled up in cloaks, appeared,
advancing from the opposite extremity. While she fled, they pursued
her to the apartment she had quitted. Her breath and her courage were
gone, yet she struggled to sustain herself, and endeavoured to ask with
calmness what was their errand. They gave no reply, but threw a veil
over her face, and, seizing her arms, led her almost unresisting, but
supplicating, towards the portico.
In the hall, Ellena perceived Beatrice bound to a pillar; and another
ruffian, who was also masked, watching over and menacing her, not by
words, but gestures. Ellena's shrieks seemed to recall the almost
lifeless Beatrice, for whom she supplicated as much as for herself; but
entreaty was alike unavailing for each, and Ellena was borne from the
house and through the garden. All consciousness had now forsaken her.
On recovering, she perceived herself in a carriage, which was driven
with great rapidity, and that her arms were within the grasp of some
persons, whom, when her recollection returned more fully, she believed
to be the men, who had carried her from the villa. The darkness
prevented her from observing their figures, and to all her questions
and entreaties a death-like silence was observed.
During the whole night the carriage proceeded rapidly, stopping only
while the horses were changed, when Ellena endeavoured to interest by
her cries the compassion of the people at the post-houses, and by
her cries only, for the blinds were closely drawn. The postilions,
no doubt, imposed on the credulity of these people, for they were
insensible to her distress, and her immediate companions soon overcame
the only means that had remained by which she could make it known.
For the first hours, a tumult of terror and amazement occupied her
mind, but, as this began to subside, and her understanding to recover
its clearness, grief and despondency mingled with her fears. She saw
herself separated from Vivaldi, probably for ever, for she apprehended
that the strong and invisible hand which governed her course, would
never relinquish its grasp till it had placed her irrecoverably beyond
the reach of her lover. A conviction that she should see him no more
came, at intervals, with such overwhelming force, that every other
consideration and emotion disappeared before it; and at these moments
she lost all anxiety as to the place of her destination, and all fear
as to her personal safety.
As the morning advanced and the heat encreased, the blinds were let
down a little to admit air, and Ellena then perceived, that only two of
the men, who had appeared at the villa Altieri, were in the carriage,
and that they were still disguised in cloaks and visors. She had no
means of judging through what part of the country she was travelling,
for above the small openings which the blinds left she could see only
the towering tops of mountains, or sometimes the veiny precipices and
tangled thickets, that closely impended over the road.
About noon, as she judged from the excessive heat, the carriage stopped
at a post-house, and ice-water was handed through the window, when,
as the blind was lowered to admit it, she perceived herself on a wild
and solitary plain, surrounded by mountains and woods. The people at
the door of the post-house seemed "unused to pity or be pitied." The
lean and sallow countenance of poverty stared over their gaunt bones,
and habitual discontent had fixed the furrows of their cheeks. They
regarded Ellena with only a feeble curiosity, though the affliction in
her looks might have interested almost any heart that was not corroded
by its own sufferings; nor did the masked faces of her companions
excite a much stronger attention.
Ellena accepted the cool refreshment offered her, the first she had
taken on the road. Her companions having emptied their glasses drew up
the blind, and, notwithstanding the almost intolerable heat of noon,
the carriage proceeded. Fainting under its oppression, Ellena entreated
that the windows might be open, when the men, in compliance with their
own necessity rather than with her request, lowered the blinds, and she
had a glimpse of the lofty region of the mountains, but of no object
that could direct her conjecture concerning where she was. She saw only
pinnacles and vast precipices of various-tinted marbles, intermingled
with scanty vegetation, such as stunted pinasters, dwarf oak and holly,
which gave dark touches to the many-coloured cliffs, and sometimes
stretched in shadowy masses to the deep vallies, that, winding into
obscurity, seemed to invite curiosity to explore the scenes beyond.
Below these bold precipices extended the gloomy region of olive-trees,
and lower still other rocky steeps sunk towards the plains, bearing
terraces crowned with vines, and where often the artificial soil was
propped by thickets of juniper, pomegranate and oleander.
Ellena, after having been so long shut in darkness, and brooding over
her own alarming circumstances, found temporary, though feeble, relief
in once more looking upon the face of nature; till, her spirits being
gradually revived and elevated by the grandeur of the images around
her, she said to herself, "If I am condemned to misery, surely I could
endure it with more fortitude in scenes like these, than amidst the
tamer landscapes of nature! Here, the objects seem to impart somewhat
of their own force, their own sublimity, to the soul. It is scarcely
possible to yield to the pressure of misfortune while we walk, as with
the Deity, amidst his most stupendous works!"
But soon after the idea of Vivaldi glancing athwart her memory, she
melted into tears; the weakness however was momentary, and during the
rest of the journey she preserved a strenuous equality of mind.
It was when the heat and the light were declining that the carriage
entered a rocky defile, which shewed, as through a telescope reversed,
distant plains, and mountains opening beyond, lighted up with all
the purple splendor of the setting sun. Along this deep and shadowy
perspective a river, which was seen descending among the cliffs of a
mountain, rolled with impetuous force, fretting and foaming amidst
the dark rocks in its descent, and then flowing in a limpid lapse to
the brink of other precipices, whence again it fell with thundering
strength to the abyss, throwing its misty clouds of spray high in
the air, and seeming to claim the sole empire of this solitary wild.
Its bed took up the whole breadth of the chasm, which some strong
convulsion of the earth seemed to have formed, not leaving space even
for a road along its margin. The road, therefore, was carried high
among the cliffs, that impended over the river, and seemed as if
suspended in air; while the gloom and vastness of the precipices, which
towered above and sunk below it, together with the amazing force and
uproar of the falling waters, combined to render the pass more terrific
than the pencil could describe, or language can express. Ellena
ascended it, not with indifference but with calmness; she experienced
somewhat of a dreadful pleasure in looking down upon the irresistible
flood; but this emotion was heightened into awe, when she perceived
that the road led to a slight bridge, which, thrown across the chasm at
an immense height, united two opposite cliffs, between which the whole
cataract of the river descended. The bridge, which was defended only by
a slender railing, appeared as if hung amidst the clouds. Ellena, while
she was crossing it, almost forgot her misfortunes. Having reached the
opposite side of the glen, the road gradually descended the precipices
for about half a mile, when it opened to extensive prospects over
plains and towards distant mountains--the sunshine landscape, which had
long appeared to bound this shadowy pass. The transition was as the
passage through the vale of death to the bliss of eternity; but the
idea of its resemblance did not long remain with Ellena. Perched high
among the cliffs of a mountain, which might be said to terminate one
of the jaws of this terrific gorge, and which was one of the loftiest
of a chain that surrounded the plains, appeared the spires and long
terraces of a monastery; and she soon understood that her journey was
to conclude there.
At the foot of this mountain her companions alighted, and obliged
her to do the same, for the ascent was too steep and irregular to
admit of a carriage. Ellena followed unresistingly, like a lamb to
the sacrifice, up a path that wound among the rocks, and was coolly
overshadowed by thickets of almond trees, figs, broad-leaved myrtle,
and ever-green rose bushes, intermingled with the strawberry tree,
beautiful in fruit and blossoms, the yellow jasmine, the delightful
_acacia mimosa_, and a variety of other fragrant plants. These bowers
frequently admitted glimpses of the glowing country below, and
sometimes opened to expansive views, bounded by the snowy mountains of
Abruzzo. At every step were objects which would have afforded pleasure
to a tranquil mind; the beautifully variegated marbles, that formed the
cliffs immediately above, their fractured masses embossed with mosses
and flowers of every vivid hue that paints the rainbow; the elegance
of the shrubs that tufted, and the majestic grace of the palms which
waved over them, would have charmed almost any other eye than Ellena's,
whose spirit was wrapt in care, or than those of her companions, whose
hearts were dead to feeling. Partial features of the vast edifice she
was approaching, appeared now and then between the trees; the tall
west window of the cathedral with the spires that overtopped it; the
narrow pointed roofs of the cloisters; angles of the insurmountable
walls, which fenced the garden from the precipices below, and the dark
portal leading into the chief court; each of these, seen at intervals
beneath the gloom of cypress and spreading cedar, seemed as if menacing
the unhappy Ellena with hints of future suffering. She passed several
shrines and images half hid among the shrubs and the cliffs; and,
when she drew near the monastery, her companions stopped at a little
chapel which stood beside the path, where, after examining some papers,
an act which she observed with surprise, they drew aside, as if to
consult respecting herself. Their conversation was delivered in voices
so low, that she could not catch a single tone distinctly, and it
is probable that if she could, this would not have assisted her in
conjecturing who they were; yet the profound silence they had hitherto
observed had much encreased her curiosity, now that they spoke.
One of them soon after quitted the chapel and proceeded alone to the
monastery, leaving Ellena in the custody of his comrade, whose pity she
now made a last, though almost hopeless, effort to interest. He replied
to all her entreaties only by a waving of the hand, and an averted
face; and she endeavoured to meet with fortitude and to endure with
patience, the evil which she could neither avoid nor subdue. The spot
where she awaited the return of the ruffian, was not of a character
to promote melancholy, except, indeed, that luxurious and solemn
kind of melancholy, which a view of stupendous objects inspires. It
overlooked the whole extent of plains, of which she had before caught
partial scenes, with the vast chain of mountains, which seemed to form
an insurmountable rampart to the rich landscape at their feet. Their
towering and fantastic summits, crowding together into dusky air, like
flames tapering to a point, exhibited images of peculiar grandeur,
while each minuter line and feature withdrawing, at this evening hour
from observation, seemed to resolve itself into the more gigantic
masses, to which the dubious tint, the solemn obscurity, that began to
prevail over them, gave force and loftier character. The silence and
deep repose of the landscape, served to impress this character more
awfully on the heart, and while Ellena sat wrapt in the thoughtfulness
it promoted, the vesper-service of the monks breathing softly from the
cathedral above, came to her ear; it was a music which might be said to
win on silence, and was in perfect unison with her feelings; solemn,
deep, and full, it swelled, in holy peels, and rolled away in murmurs,
which attention pursued to the last faint note that melted into air.
Ellena's heart owned the power of this high minstrelsy; and while she
caught for a moment the sweeter voices of the nuns mingling in the
chorus, she indulged a hope that they would not be wholly insensible
to her sufferings, and that she should receive some consolation from
sympathy as soft as these tender-breathing strains appeared to indicate.
She had rested nearly half an hour on the turfy slope before the
chapel, when she perceived through the twilight, two monks descending
from the monastery towards the spot where she sat. As they drew near,
she distinguished their dress of grey stuff, the hood, the shaven head,
where only a coronet of white hair was left, and other ensigns of their
particular order. On reaching the chapel they accosted her companion,
with whom they retired a few paces, and conversed. Ellena heard, for
the first time, the sound of her conductor's voice, and though this
was but faintly, she marked it well. The other ruffian did not yet
appear, but it seemed evident that these friars had left the convent
in consequence of his information; and sometimes, when she looked upon
the taller of the two, she fancied she saw the person of the very
man whose absence she had remarked, a conjecture which strengthened
while she more accurately noticed him. The portrait had certainly much
resemblance in height and bulk; and the same gaunt awkwardness, which
even the cloak of the ruffian had not entirely shrouded, obtruded
itself from under the folded garments of the recluse. If countenance,
too, might be trusted, this same friar had a ruffian's heart, and his
keen and cunning eye seemed habitually upon the watch for prey. His
brother of the order shewed nothing strongly characteristic either in
his face or manner.
After a private conversation of some length, the friars approached
Ellena, and told her, that she must accompany them to the convent;
when her disguised conductor, having resigned her to them, immediately
departed and descended the mountain.
Not a word was uttered by either of the party as they pursued the
steep tract leading to the gates of this secluded edifice, which were
opened to them by a lay-brother, and Ellena entered a spacious court.
Three sides of this were enclosed by lofty buildings, lined with ranges
of cloisters; the fourth opened to a garden, shaded with avenues of
melancholy cypress, that extended to the cathedral, whose fretted
windows and ornamented spires appeared to close the perspective. Other
large and detached buildings skirted the gardens on the left, while, on
the right, spacious olive-grounds and vineyards spread to the cliffs
that formed a barrier to all this side of the domain of the convent.
The friar, her conductor, crossed the court to the north wing, and
there ringing a bell, a door was opened by a nun, into whose hands
Ellena was given. A significant look was exchanged between the
devotees, but no words; the friar departed, and the nun, still silent,
conducted her through many solitary passages, where not even a distant
foot-fall echoed, and whose walls were roughly painted with subjects
indicatory of the severe superstitions of the place, tending to inspire
melancholy awe. Ellena's hope of pity vanished as her eyes glanced
over these symbols of the disposition of the inhabitants, and on the
countenance of the nun characterised by a gloomy malignity, which
seemed ready to inflict upon others some portion of the unhappiness she
herself suffered. As she glided forward, with soundless step, her white
drapery, floating along these solemn avenues, and her hollow features
touched with the mingled light and shadow which the partial rays of a
taper she held occasioned, she seemed like a spectre newly risen from
the grave, rather than a living being. These passages terminated in the
parlour of the Abbess, where the nun paused, and, turning to Ellena,
said, "It is the hour of vespers; you will wait here till our lady of
the convent leaves the church; she would speak with you."
"To what saint is the convent dedicated," said Ellena, "and who,
sister, presides over it?"
The nun gave no reply, and after having eyed the forlorn stranger for
a moment, with inquisitive ill-nature, quitted the room. The unhappy
Ellena had not been left long to her own reflections, when the Abbess
appeared; a stately lady, apparently occupied with opinions of her
own importance, and prepared to receive her guest with rigour and
supercilious haughtiness. This Abbess, who was herself a woman of some
distinction, believed that of all possible crimes, next to that of
sacrilege, offences against persons of rank were least pardonable. It
is not surprising, therefore, that, supposing Ellena, a young woman
of no family, to have sought clandestinely to unite herself with the
noble house of Vivaldi, she should feel for her, not only disdain, but
indignation, and that she should readily consent, not only to punish
the offender, but at the same time, to afford means of preserving the
ancient dignity of the offended.
"I understand," said the Abbess, on whose appearance the alarmed Ellena
had arisen, "I understand," said she, without making any signal for
her to be seated, "that you are the young person who is arrived from
Naples."
"My name is Ellena di Rosalba," said her auditor, recovering some
degree of courage from the manner which was designed to depress her.
"I know nothing of your name," replied the Superior; "I am informed
only that you are sent here to acquire a knowledge of yourself and of
your duties. Till the period shall be passed, for which you are given
into my charge, I shall scrupulously observe the obligations of the
troublesome office, which my regard for the honour of a noble family,
has induced me to undertake."
By these words, the author and the motives of this extraordinary
transaction were at once revealed to Ellena, who was for some moments
almost overwhelmed by the sudden horrors that gathered on her mind, and
stood silent and motionless. Fear, shame, and indignation, alternately
assailed her; and the sting of offended honour, on being suspected,
and thus accused of having voluntarily disturbed the tranquillity, and
sought the alliance of any family, and especially of one who disdained
her, struck forcibly to her heart, till the pride of conscious worth
revived her courage and fortified her patience, and she demanded by
whose will she had been torn from her home, and by whose authority she
was now detained, as it appeared, a prisoner.
The Abbess, unaccustomed to have her power opposed, or her words
questioned, was for a moment too indignant to reply; and Ellena
observed, but no longer with dismay, the brooding tempest ready to
burst over her head. "It is I only, who am injured," said she to
herself, "and shall the guilty oppressor triumph, and the innocent
sufferer sink under the shame that belongs only to guilt! Never will
I yield to a weakness so contemptible. The consciousness of deserving
well will recall my presence of mind, which, permitting me to estimate
the characters of my oppressors by their actions, will enable me also
to despise their power."
"I must remind you," said the Abbess, at length, "that the questions
you make are unbecoming in your situation; and that contrition and
humility are the best extenuations of error. You may withdraw."
"Most true," replied Ellena, bowing with dignity to the Superior; "and
I most willingly resign them to my oppressors."
Ellena forbore to make further enquiry or remonstrance, and perceiving
that reproach would not only be useless, but degrading to herself, she
immediately obeyed the mandate of the Abbess, and determined, since she
must suffer, to suffer, if possible, with firmness and dignity.
She was conducted from the parlour by the nun who had admitted her, and
as she passed through the refectory where the nuns, just returned from
vespers, were assembled, their inquisitive glances, their smiles and
busy whispers, told her, that she was not only an object of curiosity,
but of suspicion, and that little sympathy could be expected from
hearts, which even the offices of hourly devotion had not purified
from the malignant envy, that taught them to exalt themselves upon the
humiliation of others.
The little room, to which Ellena was led, and where, to her great
satisfaction, she was left alone, rather deserved the denomination of a
cell than of a chamber; since, like those of the nuns, it had only one
small lattice; and a mattress, one chair, and a table, with a crucifix
and a prayer-book were all its furniture. Ellena, as she surveyed her
melancholy habitation, suppressed a rising sigh, but she could not
remain unaffected by recollections, which, on this view of her altered
state, crowded to her mind; nor think of Vivaldi far away, perhaps for
ever, and probably, even ignorant of her destination, without bitter
tears. But she dried them, as the idea of the Marchesa obtruded on her
thoughts, for other emotions than those of grief possessed her. It was
to the Marchesa that she especially attributed her present situation;
and it now appeared, that the family of Vivaldi had not only been
reluctant, but absolutely averse to a connection with hers, contrary
to the suggestions of Signora Bianchi, who had represented, that it
might be supposed only, from their known character, that they would
disapprove of the alliance, but would of course be reconciled to an
event, which their haughtiest displeasure never could revoke. This
discovery of their absolute rejection awakened all the proper pride,
which the mistaken prudence of her aunt, and her affection for Vivaldi
had lulled to rest; and she now suffered the most acute vexation and
remorse, for having yielded her consent to enter clandestinely into any
family. The imaginary honours of so noble an alliance vanished, when
the terms of obtaining them were considered; and now, that the sound
mind of Ellena was left to its own judgment, she looked with infinitely
more pride and preference upon the industrious means, which had
hitherto rendered her independent, than on all distinction which might
be reluctantly conferred. The consciousness of innocence, which had
supported her in the presence of the Superior, began to falter. "Her
accusation was partly just!" said Ellena, "and I deserve punishment,
since I could, even for a moment, submit to the humiliation of desiring
an alliance, which I knew would be unwillingly conferred. But it is not
yet too late to retrieve my own esteem by asserting my independence,
and resigning Vivaldi for ever. By resigning him! by abandoning him
who loves me,--abandoning him to misery! Him, whom I cannot even think
of without tears,--to whom my vows have been given,--who may claim me
by the sacred remembrance of my dying friend,--him, to whom my whole
heart is devoted! O! miserable alternative!--that I can no longer act
justly, but at the expence of all my future happiness! Justly! And
would it then be just to abandon him who is willing to resign every
thing for me,--abandon him to ceaseless sorrow, that the prejudices of
his family may be gratified?"
Poor Ellena perceived that she could not obey the dictates of a
just pride, without such opposition from her heart as she had never
experienced before. Her affections were now too deeply engaged to
permit her to act with firmness, at the price of long-suffering. The
consideration of resigning Vivaldi was so very grievous, that she could
scarcely endure to pause upon it for a moment; yet, on the other
hand, when she thought of his family, it appeared that she never could
consent to make a part of it. She would have blamed the erroneous
judgment of Signora Bianchi, whose persuasions had so much assisted in
reducing her to the present alternative, had not the tenderness with
which she cherished her memory, rendered this impossible. All, that now
remained for her, was to endeavour patiently to endure present evils,
which she could not conquer; for, to forsake Vivaldi as the price of
liberty, should liberty be offered her on such terms, or to accept him
in defiance of honourable pride, should he ever effect her release,
appeared to her distracted thoughts almost equally impracticable. But,
as the probability of his never being able to discover her abode,
returned to her consideration, the anguish she suffered told how much
more she dreaded to lose than to accept Vivaldi, and that love was,
after all, the most powerful affection of her heart.