Yesterday, I remained at home, as I had rashly promised the doctor not

to leave my room till he gave his consent. He said that the honour of

science was at stake, if I brought to naught the opinion he had

pronounced, by my reckless enterprizes. It is also necessary for our

friend he added.

This morning he came to see me. God be praised Morrik it seems,

improves rapidly. I dared not ask him if he had inquired for me, had

missed me. It appears that he eats and sleeps a good deal.

Rain and snow help me to endure my imprisonment. I shall probably

remain at home for the whole of this week. I do not wish to meet

anyone. I feel a strange uncertainty and anxiety till the answer from

my friend arrives.

I shall not know what face to put on when I meet my fellow creatures.

Shall I appear to them as one who after a short rest among them will

suddenly take up his staff again, or as one who has changed his mind

and is determined to remain. I feel restless and unsettled since that

conversation with Morrik's doctor. My home is neither in this world,

nor in the next; my mind is uneasy. I fancy that every one looks at me

suspiciously, as the police looks on a vagabond whose passport is not

in proper order, and who cannot state from whence he comes nor whither

he is going. And I shall have to pass another week in this disagreeable

state of bewilderment before I can receive an answer, even if he wrote

by return of post.

To-day I ought to write to my father but I cannot bring myself to touch

a pen--my feelings are in such a sad state of confusion, often it

appears to me that my body and soul cry out to me "you _cannot_ live;"

then suddenly the blood flows again so warmly and vigorously through my

veins, that it seems to mock my aching heart, and worn out nerves. In

those moments I take out my drawing as if it were a sure bill of

exchange for a better world, but the doctor treated it with so little

respect, that even this paper has lost its tranquillizing power.

Formerly I was so sure that Death like grim Shylck would insist on the

acquittance of his bond, but now I begin to fear that favour, instead

of justice, will be shown me, but is it a favour to be restored to

captivity?

The 15th.

Still no decision! This cold foggy weather continues. The only ray of

light in my gloomy existence are the daily tidings my landlady brings

me that Morrik's nights are good, and that he is gaining strength

rapidly.

I must here confess a foolish action I have been guilty of. I have

bought a new dress, and a silk neckerchief, just as any other girl

might do. To be sure they were brought up to my room by a grey haired,

half blind pedlar; who came in with his packages dripping with the cold

damp fog. I pitied him when he resignedly tied them up again, after I

had told him that I should hardly wear out the dress I had on. But

could I not have given him some money, as a compensation for his

useless trouble. It is a very pretty summer dress. I wonder who will

enjoy all the blessings and riches of summer in it?

The 1st February.

I have slept on it, and yet have not gained more composure. When the

letter arrived yesterday, I trembled so with excitement that I could

hardly open it, and then at first all the lines danced before my eyes.

When I had perused it all my ideas were in such a state of tumultuous

confusion that I thought I was going mad. Was it pleasure? was it

dread? was it self pity? No it was the certainty that we poor mortals

can have no firm and steadfast support in this unstable world. I

believed that I had at least one faithful, honest, intrepid friend; and

he too has deceived me. I fancied that at least my own unbiassed

instincts, and presentiments could not mislead me, and I find that they

too had conspired against me.

But the more I read this letter the less angry I feel with him. I will

destroy the answer I had begun in the first impulse of my

disappointment. He meant it well, and has done his duty as a doctor but

I always come back to my old maxim, that all of them are bad physicians

for the soul. Did he consider before trying this energetic cure

whether, though it might succeed with the body, it might not do

irreparable mischief to the soul; or had he kept some "heroic remedy"

as he calls it, also for that case. He knows me well--could he not have

known me somewhat better? He is right in saying that without this

deception I never would have consented to leave my home, my family; and

never would have freed myself from those depressing bonds which wore

out my life, never have allowed myself the rest which was so necessary

for my recovery.

Was it not principally to spare my dear father, who already has so many

cares, the additional one of seeing me die without the possibility of

saving me, that induced me to leave him.

I would certainly have forced myself to look happy, and to submit to my

destiny till I had, made myself ill beyond human aid. He knew what

suited my character when he deceived me in this cruel way. I have ever

preferred the most dreadful certainty to a hopeful uncertainty. If

peace and quiet were the only remedies which could strengthen my

suffering nerves, and ward off the menacing disease from my oppressed

chest, then I could only be saved by the firm belief that I was doomed.

And the undecided wavering hope of life would only have aggravated my

illness.

How artfully the crafty, malicious, cruel friend brought about what he

thought good for me. This drawing, with what seeming reluctance he put

it in my hands, in order that I might have impressed on my mind a fixed

tangible vision of my danger, that I might be well armed against all

rising hopes, all glimmering wishes. Then his exhortation not on any

account to consult a doctor who would certainly only seek to delude me,

to spare my feelings, in the way all medical men treated their

patients. His emotion when I left, his praise of my firmness and

self-command--Still I cannot bear him ill-will. He does not know what

sort of life it was, he sought to give back to me, by this stratagem.

After having resigned it, it appears so paltry and valueless; how

painful it is to me to begin anew with all the trifles of this world to

which I had already become dead, and to bear what now seems doubly

odious to me after having lived in a higher and nobler sphere; to fall

back into the dreary drudgery of a girl's life; to be once more tied

down to the narrow, commonplace customs and prejudices of a small town;

to be observed, judged and pitied by one's so-called friends, who know

so little of the characters of their acquaintances, that they

invariably mistake their good qualities for their bad ones.

I must cease! my thoughts are lost in the deep gloom of a sunless

future, in which the dear faces of my father and Ernest are the only

bright spots.

What radiance streamed from the open gate, the entrance of which was

guarded by the angel of death.

February the 3rd.

The doctor has just left me. He has taken the letter with him, as he

thinks it very remarkable, and says he has not yet met with such a

thorough physiologist as my old friend. Perhaps he wishes to show the

letter to Morrik. From him not a word; I did not like to question the

doctor, as I had heard in the morning, that he was getting on well, and

yesterday for the first time, enjoyed the warm sunshine on his balcony.

To-day I fancied the doctor was very absent hurried, and mysterious; I

had to ask him if he permitted me to walk out. He nodded, and said;

"Mind you do not agitate yourself by any exciting conversation." With

whom should I speak?

So I must begin life again, where, and under what circumstances? I

should like to keep a school; but here the people are all Roman

Catholics.

Leave these dear mountains, and return to that dull town to look again

on the monotonous faces of its inhabitants with their air of self

importance, the obtrusiveness of which disturbs my very dreams. However

I cannot leave my father. Fortunately he has not been duped as I have

been. He agreed to the stratagem of our malicious friend.

It appears strange that Morrik should not have made the slightest

inquiry, or sent any friendly greeting to me. He probably feels that

there must be some change in our relations to each other, as it is

decided that we are both to live. But some acknowledgement of our

former friendship.... or does he not feel the pain and bitterness of

having found each other, only to lose one another again for ever.

The doctor says that so severe a crisis often changes the whole nature,

and so his soul which has risen renewed, and invigorated from the

paroxysm of fever, has probably kept no remembrance of his companion on

the road to death. Well I must submit to it.

Let him forget me; I will always remain to him what I have been.

The 5th--Morning.

Received a letter from my father congratulating me. I shed tears over

it. Whilst every one was condoling with me I felt happy, and now that I

am again given back to life, and ought to rejoice I feel wretched.

These desolate winter-days, the sun shining with the heat of spring,

make me feel miserable in body and soul; it is but a sterile....

February the 6th.

Yesterday amidst all my hopelessness, a spark of courage kindled within

me. I left my writing and walked to the window. I felt heartily ashamed

of my cowardice, my grief, and my ingratitude towards God.

What had become of the sentence which I had once so valiantly used as

the theme for a sermon? "For I was made man; and that means that I have

striven."

The wings of angels which I had expected are not to be mine yet. I must

still be up and doing, and if necessary, must work my way through the

world with these mortal arms of mine, and be thankful if some day I

should be able to twine them round a dear friend and there find rest.

The remembrance that I had once approached a higher sphere and had

learnt to know it, or at least to anticipate it, will always remain

with me for good and for evil. For good, as I carry away with me an

everlasting treasure of golden thoughts; for evil, as many things which

formerly I should have deemed riches, will now appear insufficient to

me. Yet I would not spare the past.

I have written to my old friend this morning and have reconciled myself

with him; and now I will try to be reconciled to myself, for I was

justly angry with my own weakness. Must I not be at peace with myself,

before I can once again engage in the battle of life.

The 8th February.

And where is the free and happy mortal who is permitted to glide

through life as on wings, whose forehead reaches the clouds, who can

say that the dust on the road of life has not touched his soul, no

barrier hemmed in his steps, or obstructed his sight, that every hour

he feels within him an eternal bliss and freedom. To few mortals has

fate awarded such a lot as awaits Morrik after his heavy trials. My

heart beats with joy when I think of the brilliant future that lies

before him. How little I grudge him his happiness; I rejoice in it. It

seems strange to me, that only a fortnight has passed since I stood

beside his bed. How much has occurred since then! When he hears my

name, he will perhaps look up wonderingly, and try to recollect where

he met me.

Here I sit thinking and planning for his future, like an old woman who

after many long years is told that a friend of her youth has thriven

and prospered in life, and who says: "He has well deserved it; his

character was noble and generous; I knew him well when I was young!"

The 12th February.

The wisest thing I now can do is honestly to confess my folly and then

have a good laugh at myself. How long is it since I again resolved to

be a true combatant? And now? What a heroic achievement to lay down my

arms and run away without having even the courage to desert, but to

lose heart when half way, and turn back again. Well done brave warrior!

If I did not look on the whole thing from a ludicrous point of view, I

should feel deeply ashamed of myself.

Well this afternoon the air was so warm and springlike that the sun

drove me from my customary lonely walk on the Kuechelberg. Not a breeze

stirred, little lizards whisked about as gaily as in summer, and there

is no foliage to afford shade; the tendrils which were formerly trained

into cooling bowers have probably a good reason of their own for not

budding as yet.

I turned back, and for the first time for many days ventured on the

Wassermauer, which was not much frequented.

My heart beat as though everyone already knew that I had slipped into

the society of the doomed, under false colours, and had been sent back

with a protest.

I tried to find a ready answer in case anybody should ask me; "and so

you have changed your mind, and are not going to die?" All the small

sins I had committed in the belief that it was pardonable to gratify

every wish, as the wish of one dying, rose in array against me. How

impolite, how regardless of giving offence I had been to every one for

whose good opinion I did not care. There is that stout old gentleman

with a small thermometer in his button-hole, who fastens or unfastens

one of the buttons of his overcoat at every degree more or less of

cold. At first he had lectured me about my health, and I had not only

continued my imprudent courses but even, when I once met the fat

philanthropist, unconsciously let down my veil, to his great

astonishment. There is that young girl, with whom I never exchanged

another word, because after the first quarter of an hour of our

acquaintance she kissed me, and read aloud a poem which her brother had

composed. There is that lady with her two big mustachioed sons, who

with great foresight, had cautioned me against any flirtation with

them, and after all was much offended when I followed her advice and

turned my back on them; and above all the poor little chronicler of

scandal, who can now only come out by means of an arm-chair, but still

has strength enough left to rejoice over the weaknesses of her fellow

creatures. What a character she will give me, when she arrives in the

next world before me! Well I hope He who judges up yonder will be more

lenient than the good people here below. I was thinking over all this,

and feeling very much provoked at my own paltry cowardice which seemed

to flourish again and prevented me from attaining the indifference and

disdain with which I had formerly looked down on the life here, when I

reached the Winter garden, and glancing along the benches and arbours,

what I saw there put the finishing stroke on my remaining courage.

There sat bolt upright, and expanding around her the skirts of a

dazzling toilette, the lady without nerves, and beside her, silently

looking on the ground, and perfectly restored--Morrik! She was eagerly

talking to him, and he listened patiently, a kind smile even

brightening his face. I grudged her that smile, as I would have done to

no one else. I cannot express the misery I felt, the longing to be

away, never to see, or be seen of them again; never to be forced to

speak indifferently to those with whom, in the presence of death, I had

exchanged words full of weal or woe.

I fled across the bridge, and along the highroad which leads through

the beautiful valley of the Adige, and after passing several villages

reaches Botzen sixteen miles off. I soon left the first village of

Untermais behind me, and then sat down on a bench, and there collected

my thoughts sufficiently to devize a plan, which though wiser than the

rest was still exceedingly foolish. If I walk on for several hours, I

thought, I shall reach Botzen to-day, and probably some carriage or

omnibus may overtake me, and give me a lift. Once at Botzen, I can

write to the people with whom I lodged, and apprize them that I was

forced to leave suddenly, send them some money, and beg them to pack my

things and forward them to me. By so doing, I should never again see

them all, and should avoid the trials and pain of leave taking in case

anyone should care about my departure--at least it will not trouble

_my_ rest. And who will care? Perhaps the doctor, and I can write to

him. I need not be uneasy about _him_ whom I once called my friend. He

must have _quite_ recovered, if he can sit beside the lady without

nerves, and smile when she speaks to him in her shrill voice. When I

had taken this resolution, I felt quite satisfied, at least I fancied

that I was so; so I walked bravely on towards the south, and tried to

enjoy the fine scenery around me; the green meadows, the bare rugged

mountains with the snow glittering on their summits, the picturesque

houses of the peasants, the vineyards, the rushing streams which I

passed on my way, and above all, I tried to rejoice in the thought that

I had now put an end to all my doubts and cares, and had depended on no

one but myself. It seemed quite a relief to return home, and to hide my

broken wings. They had been too weak to soar aloft, and had not borne

the test of freedom. Is not that a common misfortune among caged birds?

The sun had now set. I had passed a village the name of which I did not

know, and had there drunk a small glass of wine as, I was shivering in

my light cloak. The air was sharper than was agreeable to a patient

spoiled by the warm sun of Meran. I became more and more uneasy as I

wandered alone, along the highroad, in the twilight. I often looked

back to see if nothing was coming that might give me a lift. An omnibus

passed me, but it was crowded with smoking peasants, and did not look

inviting.

After having walked on for another hour, nearly famished, and with no

shelter in view, the brave heroine who had formed such daring projects,

sat down on a stone by the way-side, and had a good cry, like any other

baby which had strayed from its home. Truly death is easy, and life is

hard!

Heaven knows what would have become of me had not a lucky chance, no,

it was kind Providence, taken compassion on me. Suddenly I heard the

rolling of a light cart, and the crack of a whip, and looking up I

recognized in the charioteer, my friend of the Kuechelberg, Ignatius.

After scanning the lonely figure, with sharp eyes he pulled up. A

touching scene of recognition took place, which ended by Ignatius

lifting me into his cart, and driving me homewards. He had concluded

some wine business in Vilpian and was in high spirits. He was quite

satisfied with my declaration, that lost in thought, I had walked on

and so strayed far from Meran. There I sat wrapped up in coverings, and

conveyed home as speedily as possible. Fortunately we did not approach

Meran before dark, and did not meet anyone except the doctor, who came

out of a house just as we were passing through Untermais, and who

little suspected who was hiding from him in that cloak and veil. During

the drive, kind Ignatius gave me a detailed description of his conjugal

felicity, with a freedom of expression which I had to pardon on account

of the wine of Vilpian which had loosened his tongue. "Certainly," he

remarked, "Liesi still had her old propensity for setting down and

knowing better; but he had at last come to the conclusion that she

really _did_ know better. A single person did so many foolish things,

but when two kept house together all was quite different. Where one was

at fault, the other succeeded, and two pair of eyes saw just twice as

sharp as a single pair could do. Then his Liese was so handy and clever

in every respect, just as he had always wished his wife to be. She

always had a kind word for him, in short, life seemed a paradise to him

since his marriage." Once he asked after the gentleman who had been

with me at Schoenna. When I told him that he had quite recovered his

former health, he hummed a song, and nodded and winked at me so

mischievously that I got quite angry.

The good people with whom I lodge, stared in astonishment when I told

them how far I had wandered. I then informed them that I would leave

after another week. I have been told that the passage over the Brenner

is now free from snow and the cold is not very keen. I must take

advantage of this early, and probably transient, spring for my passage

over the Alps....

I now make a solemn vow that to-morrow I will do public penance for my

childish flight of to-day. I will walk on the Wassermauer, speak to my

few acquaintances, and tell them how marvellously I have recovered my

health. I will confront even the lady without nerves, and see if I

cannot be restored to her favour. It would have been really too

disgraceful if I had reached Botzen. To run, away like a rogue who

dares not look an honest man in the face. Then I quite forgot too that

this diary would have remained here, and who knows into whose hands it

might have fallen.

The next day--Spring has burst forth.

Can one write down what the heart can neither seize, nor comprehend? I

will try.

When I rose in the morning I did not in the least fear all the trials

which this day would bring me, all the tests of courage I would have to

undergo in front of the enemy. Had I known what bliss was awaiting me,

I should have perhaps run away overpowered by its greatness. Yesterday

I wrote that life was hard to bear; but hardest of all for a poor weak

heart to bear, is great happiness when it has never before tasted it

from youth upwards, and is then suddenly crushed and overpowered by its

weight. It cannot cease to ask itself, "Will it not be taken from me

before my strength is equal to it?" There is one comfort however in

this, that no true happiness has to be borne alone. This deep and

heartfelt bliss can only be given us by a fellow creature, who in

bestowing it on us, shares it with us. There lie the first violets they

too bear witness to the spring which has this day come to me. I had a

refreshing rest after my long wandering of yesterday; softly rocked to

sleep by a conscience which had grown quite easy since I had firmly

resolved not to be ashamed before the world of the crime I had

committed in returning to life.

When I rose the day was far advanced. While dressing my hair before the

glass I perceived that my colour was returning, and when I put on my

dress, I remarked that I could no longer wear my funereal clothes; they

have become much too tight for me and confine my chest. The old hoary

headed pedlar came in good time! It is long since I have had a fit of

vanity. But if one is to live, why not do like other women? When I had

done plaiting my hair, I came to the conclusion that after all, I did

not look so very old. I do not know how it happened, but my thoughts

then suddenly turned to the young Pole, and I began to consider what

charm was attached to me, that anyone could fall in love with, at ten

paces distance. Probably it is all a matter of taste.

For the first time I was ashamed of my old-fashioned clothes, and when

putting on my hat, determined to have a new ribbon for it, before I

ventured out on my thorny walk among the strangers. And so it came to

pass that as I was going to leave my room, my head filled with finery

like that of a silly Miss in her teens, the door opened and in walked

Morrik. I verily believe that he had forgotten to knock. I was somewhat

startled, but he did not seem to notice it. He was quite absent and

shy.

He did not even sit down, but walked at once to the window, and admired

the view; then examined the writing-table, and talked about rococo

furniture with the air of a connoisseur. All at once he burst forth,

and begged my pardon for the liberty he had taken in calling on me, but

that he was starting for Venice tomorrow morning, and wished to take

leave of me. He wanted also to excuse himself to me and to thank me.

I sat down on the little sofa, and could find no word in reply but:

"Won't you sit down." I still had my hat on which did not appear very

hospitable but he seemed to think of nothing but how to express in

words, what weighed on his mind.

"What must you have thought of me," he at last said, "when you neither

saw nor heard anything of me, after that night when you, and the doctor

watched by my bedside. But I am not quite so bad, so heartless, so

ungrateful, as you must have supposed me. The truth is that I can

recollect no more of what happened during my illness than I can

remember of an uneasy dream. I certainly fancied that I had seen you at

my bedside, that I had received the medicines from your hands, and that

it was you who had arranged my pillows. I had also a vague impression

of some strange scene between you and my bete noire, the lady without

nerves. But when I had considered it all, it appeared to me, so strange

that I quickly banished it from my mind. Had I not received the letter

from you, in which you so seriously and decidedly bade me farewell. To

be sure your landlady came daily to inquire for me, but then many other

persons did the same. Why should you not have been civil, though

everything was at an end between us. So I feared to act against your

stringent orders, by trying once more to approach you. I even doubted

whether you would not consider it as an offence if I were to write a

line to you before leaving, and send you a bouquet as is customary in

this country. You will now understand my astonishment when having

accidentally met the life preserver, I heard from her that all that had

seemed to me a dream, had actually taken place; that you had really

been my deliverer and faithful guardian, and with noble generosity, had

taken pity on my sufferings and not resented all that had estranged us,

and had so suddenly put an end to the bright and happy days of yore.

Now I can hardly thank you sufficiently. I feel quite unhappy, and

bewildered when I think of the past. I wished to tell you so yesterday,

and to clear up all that must have seemed incomprehensible to you, but

you were out when I called. Were you not told that I had been here

twice? Perhaps you would rather leave everything unexplained, as it was

before; quite without, my knowledge and will. Your interest was only

for the dying man. Now that it is decided that I am to live, I am

perhaps quite as much estranged from you as when I rashly uttered the

words that pained you so much. Well, I am to leave Meran to-morrow, and

you will be freed from the constraint which my presence has caused

you."

What I answered; what he said, when he spoke again; how it came that

his hand held mine, and that he again called me "Marie," as he formerly

had done, how can I tell?

The air seemed suddenly filled with intoxicating music, my eyes were

dazzled with the rays of heavenly light which appeared to stream

through the room. How long this ecstasy lasted I know not; all I know

is that Eternity opened before me. I had died happy and without agony,

and now I was awakened to a new life, in heaven and yet in this world;

dead to all the small cares and fainted-heartedness of human life, and

arisen to the full glory of peace, everlasting trust, and the eternal

knowledge of the truth.

"Come," he said at last, "you are ready for a walk; let us make our

bridal visits."

I took his arm, and he first led me across the passage into the

workshop of my landlord, where the good old Meister and his apprentices

stared at us, and the Fran Meisterin hearing the news, rushed into the

room, with a frying pan, which she was just going to put on the fire,

still in her hand; she loudly sang my praises, and congratulated Morrik

on having secured such a treasure as a wife, till I at last burst out

laughing through my tears. Then we walked through the town, and he now

and then entered a shop, and bought most useless things only for the

pleasure of saying, "Send it to the lodgings of my betrothed, you know

the house of the tailor, three stairs high, next door to heaven," and

he said it all with perfect gravity.

When we arrived on the Wassermauer, all the strangers were assembled as

if by appointment. The band was playing, and for the first time, it

seemed to me, that the instruments were in tune, and the musicians

keeping time.

At first I felt rather embarrassed, as all eyes were upon me, but that

soon passed off, and I was infinitely amused to see how amiable and

friendly every one had suddenly become, and how pleased I was with

them. We first turned to the life preserver, and actually something

like a tear glistened in her small unmeaning eyes when Morrik kissed

her hand and told her she was as yet the only woman who had made me

jealous. This speech procured me a gracious kiss on the forehead and

the assurance that my behaviour was to be overlooked in consideration

of my jealousy, and weak nerves. Then came the lady with her two smart

sons, the sister with her brother the poet and even the fat gentleman

with the thermometer at his button-hole. From them all we received

congratulations, and they all assured us that they had known it long

ago; to which Morrik answered that in that case they had known more

than we ourselves had done; he even joked with the little _chronique

scandaleuse_, who alone persisted in treating me with icy coldness. To

a child who offered me a bunch of violets he gave his whole purse. The

sun shone, the trumpets seemed to call the spring from its winter

sleep. And yonder in the churchyard where I had chosen a sunny little

corner for my grave, the flowers were blooming, as if after having

taught us to live, death had disappeared for ever.

After that, we sat together for a long time and only took leave of each

other when the sun was setting.

"Darling," he said, "I have solemnly promised our tyrant the doctor,

not to see you again before next spring. Nothing he says is so

pernicious to the health of convalescents as a long betrothal between

two solitary young people. That was the reason he would never speak out

about your nursing me in my fever; although I several times very

plainly alluded to it. But you have learned how to write as I know to

my own cost, and so we shall still be united. How I shall rejoice at

the first letter from you which does not speak of leave taking but of

meeting, never to be parted again; not of death, but of a life full of

happiness."

We were standing on the stairs in the twilight. We clasped each other's

hands and promised to bear this last trial cheerfully. I pressed him

once more to my heart before I had to surrender him again; but we both

firmly trusted that He who had granted us this happiness would also

grant us a future to enjoy it. We shall not in vain have passed from

death to life....

I now close this journal: I will send it to you to-day, my dearest

friend, perhaps it may amuse you to peruse it on your lonely journey

when your thoughts are with me. Is not all I possess, are not all my

thoughts yours for ever? The pages contain your name more than once.

May it be a clear mirror in which our united images are reflected. I

lay this poem between the leaves, I have copied it for you, and have

placed beside it one of the violets you gave me to-day. When they bloom

again, we shall be once more united, if God permits it--and He _will_

permit it.--

Thou shall't not weep but gladdened be

And bless thyself at noon, at night,

When free thy soul with wond'ring glee

Shall joyful taste love's deep delight.

Of life, the tumult all is o'er;

No sounds to us from earth can soar,

As heav'nward now our eyes we raise,

And on the glorious stars we gaze.

Softly the waves of peace shall flow

O'erwhelming every grief at last;

And to our senses the bright glow

Of endless love o'er all is cast.

BEATRICE.

BEATRICE.

Night was far advanced and yet we three sat together in the cool

summer-house, conversing over some bottles of wine from Asti, which we

had discovered by a lucky chance, and were now emptying to the health

of our friend who had just returned from Italy. He was, by several

years, our senior, and had reached man's estate, when we first met him

twelve years ago, on our southern journey. His manly, appearance, the

nobility of his demeanour, and a certain pensive charm in his smile had

attracted us from the first. His conversation, his universal knowledge,

and the unassuming way in which he displayed it, confirmed us in our

first impressions, and at the end of the three weeks, which we passed

together in Rome, we were united in as firm a friendship as ever

existed between men of such different ages. Then he suddenly left us;

he was summoned back to Geneva, where he was at the head of a large

commercial establishment.

During the succeeding years we never missed an opportunity of meeting

again, so he had not hesitated this time to take the longer route

through our town for the sake of spending twenty-four hours in our

company.

We found him unchanged in his outward appearance; he was still a

handsome man, his hair was hardly sprinkled with grey; his high

forehead was white and smooth, but he was more silent than formerly.

Sometimes he was so absent that he did not hear our questions, but

apparently absorbed in his own thoughts gazed at the wine-bubbles in

his glass, or holding a lump of ice to the candle watched it slowly

melting. We hoped to render him more communicative by making some

inquiries respecting his last journey, but finding that even this

favourite theme could not arouse him we left him to himself, and kept

up the conversation between us, happy to have him at least in the body

with us, and patiently waiting for the time when his spirit also should

return.

In the meantime I poured forth all the ideas which had lately occupied

my mind. They were crude and superficial and would at any other time

have provoked a contradiction from our friend who was a sharp and keen

logician. The condition of the Italian theatre had given occasion to

this discussion. I maintained that it was not in any way surprising if

the Italians, in spite of all their pathos and passion, could not equal

the dramatic literature of Greece, England, and Germany; nor does it

stand higher in France and Spain, formerly so renowned for dramatic

glory. The temperament of the Latin races, their nature and

cultivation, are so restrained by conventionalities that the tragic

element which consists in concentrating all our interest in one single

individual is quite unintelligible to them. Nor do they venture to

liberate themselves from the trammels of form and give free course to

the spontaneous accents of nature which can alone awaken a tragic awe

in our hearts.

Like every conversation on elevated subjects which does not blindly

grope on the surface of a question, so the present one soon led us to

the discussion of the most mysterious depths of human nature.

Whilst Amadeus drew figures with his silver pencil in the spilt wine,

Otto warmly defended the conventionalism I had; condemned, and

maintained that even fiction should be subjected to strict moral laws.

My proposition that the drama should deal with individual, and

exceptional cases, rather than with generalities, and exalt natural

laws above social ones, seemed to him pernicious and full of danger,

for, he said, the conception of a dramatic crime would then be like the

harbouring of a demon in our bosom, instigating to the contempt and

intolerance of every thing that clashed with our individual feelings

and passions. You would thereby destroy the whole social system, which

after all must have some reason for existing, in favour of the

boundless liberty of the individual. The only merit you appear to

recognize in poetry is that which is beyond the pale of every law. I

tried to, make him understand that the point in question did not only

apply to the collision of the drama with outward forms; in a word that

heroic and noble souls were wont to solve the problems of duty,

otherwise than those timorous and commonplace formalists who are always

regained by petty customs and considerations. Highly gifted natures,

who set an example proportionate to their inward strength and

greatness, extend by their actions the limits of the moral sphere; and

just so, the artist of genius breaks through, or at least extends the

limits that confine his art.

If those noble souls are often actuated by pride and excessive

self-reliance, do they not atone for it by their tragical end? at least

in the eyes of those formalists who regard life as the most precious of

gifts, and who for that reason will never engage in any action, or be

led away by any opinion, which according to the laws of society must

end in death. Such, however, as are capable of understanding the

thoughts and feelings by which those noble natures are impelled, will

never resign the right of exalting them, for they cannot be meted with

the common measure of morality. They who condemn as immoral, what in

our wretched and deficient social organisation ought only to be

considered as the sacred self-defence of free and strong characters,

will never be sensible of the beautiful, or sympathize with what is

generous, they will only discern what is profitable.

Thus had I spoken when suddenly Amadeus looked up from his reverie and

stretched out his hand to me across the table.

"Thank you," he said, "for these true and noble words you have spoken;

they have pleased me much. Amongst us there can be no difference of

opinion as to the fact that custom is not the true standard of

morality, and that the mission which poetry fulfils lies beyond the

pale of human ordinances. I only protest against your assertion that

the deficiency of great tragical poets in Italy is to be accounted for

by the conventional fetters which restrain the character of the nation.

As if capacity of mind, fancy, morality, and the sense of the beautiful

must necessarily be equally developed; as if the one did not often

outstrip the other.

"If a great tragic genius, such as they once possessed in Alfieri were

to be born again to the Italians, the spirit of the nation would not be

slow to welcome him, and academic prejudices of style, could no more

keep their ground, than enforced conformity to the law can oppose the

rights and duties of a free born soul.

"No," he continued, visibly moved, and the tears glistening in his

eyes, "the hollow pathos of their tragedies is not the touchstone by

which we can judge the soul of that noble nation. I cannot hear you

say this without protesting against it, for if ever there existed a

self-dependent character, in feelings, and actions; that character was

my wife's, and she was an Italian."

He paused, while we sat mute and breathless with surprise. Though we

had always presumed ourselves to be well acquainted with him, and all

related to him, we now heard for the first time that he had been

married to a woman he so highly esteemed, and yet whose existence he

had concealed as one conceals a wrong. He rose and paced the narrow and

now dusky room, and we did not disturb him either by questions or

inquiring looks.

At last he stood still, and began in his deep and mellow voice: "I

never told you this because the remembrance of it has always

overpowered me, and the mere recalling of these events caused me a

fever which laid me prostrate for a week. Still it always seemed to me

as if I were wronging you, when I used jestingly to evade your

railleries on my bachelorhood. Believe me, it was principally to

redress this wrong, that I sought your society when I this time

returned from my yearly visit to her grave. Let me therefore simply

tell you all that my heart dictates to me; but first I must open this

casement; the air here is so oppressive that I breathe with difficulty.

So, now, go on with your cigars and your wine, while I walk up and

down.

"A quarter of a century has passed since those events, yet they are as

present to my memory as if they had happened only yesterday; they will

not let me rest."

What he confessed to us in that night, till the day dawned--and even

then we could not part--I wrote down the following day, keeping as much

as possible to his own words. Then I little thought that they were to

be his last ones, his last bequest. He had rightly judged of the power

these recollections still exercised over him; they brought on a fever,

which clung to him during his homeward journey, and was aggravated by

his exertions during a night conflagration, and a few weeks after our

meeting the news reached us that we had then seen him for the last

time.

The following record is now doubly precious to me, and I can with

difficulty bring myself to allow indifferent eyes to peruse his secret.

Then again I feel it a duty to bring to light the strange fate of those

two hearts. Are not the expressions of noble and generous souls the

rightful property of humanity?...

* * * * *

I had reached my twenty-fifth year when my father died. Standing at his

death-bed, after witnessing his painful agony, it seemed to me that ten

years had passed over my head. My only sister who was very dear to me,

had shortly before married a young agent of our establishment, a

Frenchman, whose family had long ago settled at Geneva, and who now

entered into partnership with our firm.

He was like a brother to me, and so when he and my sister urged me to

travel for several months with the hope of rallying my depressed

spirits, I took their advice in this, as in all things, and set out on

my journey, the more readily that I felt how necessary to me was some

outward diversion to my thoughts.

The change of scene soon realized the hopes of my relations. Youth and

vitality were restored. I was again able to enjoy the beauties of

nature, and my taste for the fine arts, which had been awakened by my

former journeys through France and Germany and now found ample food in

Venice and Milan, whither I at first directed my steps, intending to

proceed southwards by slow journies.

Above all I was impatient to reach Florence. The marvels I expected to

find there caused me to look with indifference on the many beauties of

art which I met with on my way thither. Thus I reserved only one day

for Bologna, where I took a hasty survey of the churches and galleries

in the morning, and in the afternoon I drove out to the old convent of

St. Michele at Bosco, in order to quiet my conscience by obtaining a

complete view of the wonderful old town from the summit of the hill.

It was one of the hottest days in midsummer, and though I am generally

little affected by any temperature, yet the suffocating air on that

occasion completely overpowered and exhausted me. The road which leads

from St. Michele back to the town was entirely deserted. Above the

walls of the gardens the trees and bushes projected their dusty boughs.

The wheels of the carriage sank deeply into the burning sand. The

coachman drowsily nodded on his seat, and with difficulty kept his

balance. The tired horse crawled with drooping head and ears along the

edge of the road, in the hope of enjoying the scanty shade which now

and then was cast across it by a villa, or a garden-wall. I had

stretched out my weary limbs along the back seat of the carriage, and

after forming a tent above my head by means of my umbrella I fell into

a dose.

Suddenly I was roused from my repose by a rough blow on my face, as if

some overhanging bough had grazed me as I passed. I started up, and

looking around, discovered a blooming spray of pomegranate lying beside

me. Evidently it had been thrown at me over the neighbouring wall. The

movement I had made seemed to be a signal to the horse to stop. The

coachman quietly slept on, so I had ample leisure to examine the spot

from whence the branch had been thrown at me. I did so all the more

carefully that I had heard from behind the high garden wall a

suppressed girlish titter at the success of the merry trick. I was not

deceived; after waiting a few moments, standing upright in the

carriage, and stedfastly gazing at the wall, I perceived a curly head

shaded by a large florentine straw hat, arise from behind it. A pair of

dark eyes, sparkling with fun underneath the solemn eyebrows, turned

towards me, and seemed, to regard me as some strange animal. But when I

raised the sprig of pomegranate, and pressing it to my lips, waved it

towards the young waylayer, a deep blush suffused her face, and in the

next moment the fair vision had disappeared, so that without the branch

in my hand I should probably have believed it to be a dream. I left the

carriage and pensively walked along the side of the wall, till I

reached a high trellised gate which closed the entrance to the garden.

Between the old iron bars of massive mediaeval workmanship, I could

perceive a part of the grounds of the house which stood with closed

Venetian blinds among groups of elm-trees and acacias. I shook the lock

of the gate, but it would not open; my hand had already grasped the

bell rope, when I was seized with sudden shyness at the thought of

entering these strange premises. What a figure I should cut were I

asked the reason of my intrusion. So I contented myself with patiently

waiting for several minutes in the hope of once more seeing the

youthful thrower of sprigs. In the meantime I scanned the house, which

was in no way remarkable, as attentively as if I had intended to draw

it from memory. At last the heat of the sun became unbearable, and I

returned to my umbrella tent. This roused the coachman, he jerked the

reins and away we crawled; I with my head still turned backwards,

though no trace of the fair one was to be discovered.

When I reached the hotel of the three pilgrims, a heavy shower

freshened the oppressive air, and during the night the streets were so

deliciously cool and damp, that I never wearied of sauntering through

the long arcades, now stopping to drink a glass of iced water at some

coffee house; now admiring the portal of some church in the dim light

of the lamps. But in spite of the fatigue caused by this continual

walking and standing, I could find no rest till the morning dawned. I

would not believe that it was the fair young face that kept me awake,

though it continually rose before my eyes; I had always considered it a

fable that the spark from a single glance could set fire to the heart,

so I believed my restlessness to be caused by overstrained nerves.

The next morning however when my hotel bill which I had ordered the

evening before was brought to me, I perceived, now that departure was

at hand, how painful it was to tear myself, away. I became pensive;

then I suddenly recollected that a friend of our firm lived in Bologna

whom I ought to visit. Generally my conscience was not over sensitive

in these matters, but now it seemed to me that this civility was of

great importance. I also reproached myself for the superficial way in

which I had looked at Raphael's St. Cecilia, not to mention several

other sins of omission. I discovered that Bologna was a most remarkable

town, and that after all Florence would always remain within reach.

I finally succeeded in persuading myself that the pretty thrower of

flowers had not the slightest share in this sudden change in my plans.

Strange to say the outlines of her face, when I tried to recall them

vanished more, and more from my mind, and at last I could only remember

the expression of her eyes. During the day time while I fulfilled my

duties as a tourist, I did not feel any particular agitation, but when

the intense heat had subsided, and I directed my steps towards the

villa, as though it were a matter of course, I felt a strange

uneasiness, and I can even now recollect the songs which I sang to

raise my spirits.

I soon reached the spot and found everything just as I had seen it

yesterday. The house looked more cheerful, now that the Venetian blinds

were drawn up, and on the balcony stood a little dog, who when he saw

me stop at the gate, barked furiously. I could not muster courage to

ring the bell. It seemed as if a secret presentiment warned me, and I

almost wished never to see that fair face again, and to depart early

next morning with an unscathed heart. Nevertheless I once more walked

round the boundary wall which extended for some distance, and was

bordered on the further side by some peasants' huts, and a few fields

of maize, nowhere a living creature was to be seen. I had now reached a

point where a low hedge touched the garden wall; I could easily climb

upon it, and from thence overlook the garden. As nobody appeared. I

boldly ventured. The bough's of a large evergreen oak-tree projected

beyond the wall, and I hastily scrambled up and clung to the lowest

branch for support. I could not have chosen a better place; at a

distance of hardly fifty paces I saw on the parched up lawn which now

lay in the shade, two young girls who were playing at battle door and

shuttle cock quite unconscious of being watched. One of them wore a

white dress and the broad brimmed straw hat which I had remarked the

day before. She was of middle height with a figure as straight and

slender as a young poplar tree. She moved like a bird with a graceful

agility such as I fancied that I had never before seen. Her black hair

loosened by her lively movements, flowed freely over her shoulders. The

face was very pale, only lighted up by the eyes and teeth. Suddenly the

shuttlecock was thrown awkwardly, and she burst into a merry laugh

which made my heart throb violently, and the hedge appeared to tremble

under my feet. Her play fellow was dressed like her; only with less

elegance; she seemed to be of an inferior rank.

I hardly noticed her, I was wholly engrossed by her charming companion.

The way in which she lifted her arm to throw the shuttlecock, the eager

look in her eyes when she raised them to await the coming one, her

delight when the shuttlecock described a circuit in the air, the shake

of her head at any failure, every gesture was in itself a picture of

youthful charm and vigour.

I clearly felt that my fate was sealed, and for the first time in my

life I surrendered myself to the sensations which overpowered and

ensnared me. In the midst of this rapture, I considered how I could

draw nearer to her without startling her, when chance--no auspicious

fate--came to my aid. The shuttlecock, which had been sent up high into

the air, flew over the top of the oak-tree under which I was concealed,

and fell at some distance into the neighbouring fields. She looked

anxiously after it. I do not know whether she then perceived me, but

when I instantly sprang after it and re-appeared on the wall with it, I

noticed that her dark eyes turned towards the place where I had stood

with an astonished and displeased expression. The other girl shrieked,

and ran up to her, whispering something which I did not understand, but

I could see by her gestures that she urged her to immediate flight. The

fair creature however did not listen to her, but waited quietly till it

should please the stranger to restore her property. When I delayed,

quite absorbed in my admiration, her face assumed a haughty and defiant

look, and she turned coldly from me. I held up the shuttlecock and with

a hasty gesture entreated her to remain. Then I took from my neck a

velvet ribbon, to which was attached a gold locket in the shape of a

heart containing my sister's hair, fastened them carefully to the

feathered ball, and threw it towards her. Fortunately it fell just at

her feet, and lay on the light gravel of the walk.

She took a few steps with a most stately air, and picked up the

shuttlecock; and noticing the locket she darted a quick and flashing

glance at me which pierced me to the very narrow.

Her companion approached her, and seemed to make some inquiry. She did

not answer, but silently put the shuttlecock and the trinket into her

pocket, and then with inimitable dignity, waved the shuttlecock which

she held in her hand towards me thanking me, as a princess might, for

an homage due to her.

Then she turned and walked slowly towards the house without once

looking back.

I now had no further pretext for remaining perched on the wall, and I

dared not make another attempt to see her again on that day; and then

what would have been the use of it, had I not gained my point for the

present. She had evidently recognized me. My reappearance sufficiently

expressed my feelings. I had laid my heart at her feet; she had

accepted it, and it was now in her possession. Ought I not to leave her

time to think over all this. I was so agitated that had I met her then,

I should only have been able to stammer out some confused words like a

person in a fever.

That night I slept but little, but in the course of my life I never

again lay awake and counted the hours with so much pleasure.

At day break I rose, entered the picture gallery as soon as it was open

and remained sitting before the St. Cecilia for full two hours. There I

searched my inmost soul as before a clear mirror. I felt that the spark

which had reached my heart was of the true heavenly fire, and not a

transitory illusion of the senses. Those two hours were wonderfully

sweet. It was an anticipation of future bliss and at the same time an

exceeding happiness as if she were sitting close to me, and I felt her

heart beating against mine. The St. Cecilia before me, her eyes calmly

turned heavenwards, could not have had a purer foretaste of the

celestial joys than I had that morning. Again I waited till the time

for the siesta had passed, before I turned my steps towards the villa.

But this time I did not content myself with merely looking through the

bars of the gate. I boldly pulled the bell and was not even startled by

the endless jingle it produced. The little dog rushed, barking

furiously, on the balcony, and out of a small side door, which was next

a larger glass one, issued a little man with enormous grey moustachios

which gave him a ridiculously martial appearance. He approached the

gate with evident astonishment at the unexpected visit. I repeated the

sentence without faltering which I had rehearsed previously; I was a

stranger and intended to publish a book about Italy, and amongst the

rest I wished to introduce a chapter on the country houses of Bologna.

So it was of great importance to me to be allowed to examine this

house. Particularly as it was built in the old style, and was in many

respects remarkable.

The old man did not seem to understand this. "I am very sorry sir," he

replied, "but I cannot admit you. The villa belongs to General

Alessandro T.... under whose command I served. I know your country

well, sir, I marched through Switzerland under Bonaparte. Afterwards

when all was at an end and my wounds became troublesome, my general

transferred me to this quiet post; and when he married for the second

time, he entrusted his daughter to my care, for you well know sir, how

it is when the daughter is handsomer than the young step-mother. So we

live here in great retirement, but the Signorina wants for nothing, for

her papa sends her some handsome present nearly every week; the best

masters, come to teach her singing and languages, and my own daughter

is an excellent companion for her. Only she never goes up to town, her

step-mother does not care to have her there, but that does not distress

her, so long as her father is allowed to come and see her, once a

month. Every time he comes, he enjoins me over and over again to keep

his child as the apple of my eye. And on the Sundays when she goes to

hear mass, Nina and I accompany her and never lose sight of her. What

do you expect to see in this old house? I assure you it does not differ

in any respect from other villas, and nothing remarkable grows in the

garden. There is no need to put us in some book; what would my master

say to it. Possibly I might lose my situation notwithstanding my old

age."

I tried to appease him, and succeeded if not with words, at least by

pressing a gold piece into his hand.

"I see," he resumed, "you are an honest young man, and would not be the

ruin of an old soldier. If you persist in your wish, I will lead you

through the house, so that you may satisfy your curiosity. I can do so

the more easily, that the Signorina is just now at her singing lesson,

so she will not know that I have admitted a stranger."

He unlocked the gate with a heavy key and preceded me towards the

house. The ground floor partly consisted of a large cool hall, from

which the sun was shut out by closed Venetian blinds, and heavy

curtains. True to my assumed character, I begged him to let in some

light so that I might see the different paintings which hung on the

walls. They were all family portraits of little value; only one of them

which hung above the chimney piece engrossed my attention. "This is the

mother of the Signorina," said the old man, "I mean the real mother,

who has been dead these fifteen years. She was a handsome woman; the

people here called her the beautiful saint. Her daughter is very like

her, only she is more cheerful. She resembles a bird, who always merry,

hops up and down in its cage."

"She seems to possess the voice of a bird, as well," I remarked, with

all the indifference I could assume, "if that is hers which we now hear

above us."

"You are right," said the old man. "The director of the Opera in town

comes here twice a week. When her papa (_il babbo_ he called him) pays

her his monthly visit, he always stays many hours, and she sings all

her new songs to him, and then the poor old gentleman feels as happy as

if he were in Paradise. He has not many joys, and without that child he

were better in another world."

"What is the matter with him," I asked, "is he ill?"

"As you take it;" replied the old man, with a shrug of his shoulders;

"I for my part would prefer death to such a life. For those who knew

him when he was still in the army--the giant of Giovanni de Bologna on

the market-place, does not look more high spirited, and chivalrous,

than did my general--And now! it breaks lay heart to think of it. The

whole day long he sits in his arm-chair by the window, and cuts out

pictures or plays at dominoes--It seems as if he neither heard nor saw,

but when his wife speaks to him, he looks up timidly and nods

acquiescence to everything she says. Only with regard to the Signorina

he has remained the same, and is not easily to be deceived. Those who

attempted it would soon perceive that the old lion's paws have still

some strength left in them although his claws have been cut."

"But how came he to sink into that melancholy condition?"

"No one knows. Many things have occurred in this house but the outer

world only whispers them. My belief is, that, that woman; I mean to say

her Excellency, the young Signora struck his heart a deadly blow and he

has never recovered from it. So he drags on the burden with which he

has loaded himself, as a resolute old soldier bears hunger and thirst

though he should dwindle to a shadow. Well, well, these are old stories

now, and cannot be altered."

During this conversation we had ascended the stair, and were

approaching the room from which the singing proceeded. The voice had a

crude inflexible sound; it was a high youthful even boyish soprano. It

seemed as if she sang only to give utterance to her thoughts perfectly

careless of the sound.

"What is the Signorina's name?" I asked, when we had reached the top of

the stairs.

"Beatrice. We call her 'Bicetta.' Oh what a priceless heart is hers! My

Nina often says to me, 'Father,' she says, 'if the Signorina is to wait

for a husband worthy of her she will remain unmarried.' See here, Sir;

this is her sitting-room. There are her books. She often sits up half

the night, Nina says, and reads them in many languages. Adjoining is

the little bedroom where the two girls sleep. That picture there, above

her bed, represents my poor master in his General's uniform as he used

to lead us into action. That small figure in the background who

brandishes his musket is me, says the Signorina, and she has lately

added the grey moustachioes to give it more resemblance. But come away

Sir, there is noting remarkable in here, the furniture is old. The

General once wanted to furnish it anew, but the child would not hear of

it because everything had been left just as it was when her deceased

mother passed the first summer of her married life in this house. There

on the balcony she used of an evening to sit rocking her child's

cradle, and waiting for the return of her husband when he had gone to

town on business."

I stept out strangely moved and stooped to caress the little dog who

wagged his tail and licked my hand. Every word which the faithful old

man spoke added fuel to the fire which burnt in my breast, and the

voice in the adjoining room fanned the flame with its breath.

Fearing to betray myself, I talked of the way in which the grounds were

laid out, about the inlaid table of mosaic work, which stood in the

middle of the room; of the faded fresco painting on the ceiling. I

could not tear myself away though my guide grew impatient.

Suddenly the singing ceased; the door was thrown open, and she appeared

on the threshold, holding a sheet of music in her hand. She had never

been so near me, yet I did not discern her features more distinctly

than I had done before.

Everything seemed to dance before my eyes I only remarked at the first

glance that she wore my locket round her neck.

The old man started back at her appearance and stammered out some

clumsy excuse, at the same time stealthily pulling at my coat.

"Never mind, Fabio," she said, "you can shew the gentleman all over the

house, and through the grounds, if he cares to see them." Then turning

to her companion, who sat on a low chair with some embroidery in her

hand; "You can go with them, Nina. But stay I will first tell you

something." She whispered some words to her, her eyes always fixed on

me, and then bowed gracefully, to me, who could not utter a word. In so

doing she pressed her right hand as if involuntarily on her locket,

then returned to her singing-master, who had watched this interlude

with curious eyes, and the lesson was quietly resumed whilst we three

ascended the next flight of stairs. The old man's daughter walked

before us and at every turn of the steps, she examined me with a

pensive look but did not speak a word. Only when we had entered the

garden, she said to her father: "Bicetta charged me to pluck two

oranges for the gentleman. She thought he might be thirsty after his

long walk. We will pass by the fountain where they are ripest." I

followed them as if in a trance, and looked up at the house towards the

window from whence we could still hear her voice. The blind was

partially drawn up, so I could perceive her standing in the apartment.

I fancied that she turned, and followed me with her eyes. Nina also

looked up, and then at me. I did not care to hide my feelings from her,

I even wished to make them known to her. But as her father was present

I could only whisper to her, when we reached the gate and she gave me

the oranges: "Express my thanks to the Signorina, and tell her that she

will hear more of me. Give back one of these oranges to her, and tell

her when she eats it...."

But before I could finish the sentence the old man came close to us. He

took leave of me with much less amiability than he had admitted me.

I repeated my promise not to betray him, but another suspicion seemed

to weigh on his mind, for his honest face remained gloomy.

I passed the night in writing a long letter in which I disclosed to

her the state of my feelings and placed my future happiness in her

hands. Even in those moments of absorbing passion the step which I was

blindly taking appeared to me somewhat wild and romantic, but I took up

the orange which lay beside me on the table, pressed it to my lips, and

closing my eyes represented her to my imagination as she stood on the

threshold, gave me that long and loving look, and bowed laying her hand

on the locket.

After having written the letter I slept very quietly, and only awoke

when it was broad daylight. I again waited for the approach of evening

before I took the decisive walk as my own letter carrier.

Fortune smiled on me. I had composed a most impressive speech, with

which I hoped to persuade the old man in case he refused to deliver the

letter. But this time Nina came to open the gate. The intelligent girl

did not seem the least astonished at my reappearance. She took the

letter unhesitatingly, but when I asked her if she thought the

Signorina would send an answer, she assumed a diplomatic tone, and

said: "Who can tell?" I told her that I would return to-morrow at the

same hour, and begged her to await me at the gate, so that I need not

ring the bell and let her father into the secret.

"My father!" she exclaimed laughingly. "We are not afraid of him.

Bicetta need only smile on him and then she can twist him round her

little finger in spite of his savage air--Come somewhat later

to-morrow; we have our drawing lesson just at this hour, and cannot

send away the master for your sake. Will you do so?"

A carriage now rapidly approached the gate. I had just time to whisper

"yes" to the girl before she silently vanished. Then I hastened away

for I did not wish to be seen before that gate.

The carriage drew up before the house and my greybearded friend, the

steward, jumped from his seat beside the coachman and assisted a tall

white haired old gentleman to descend from the carriage. I recognized

him at once to be Beatrice's father from the resemblance of their

features. He walked with unsteady steps, stooping forward, and rubbing

his hands, while a delighted smile overspread his countenance. A

footman took a basket of flowers, and several parcels from the

carriage, and carried them after him. I pressed close to the wall so

that I escaped notice, and at the same time could watch the whole

scene. Before the bell had been rung, the door flew open, and the

slender white figure of Bicetta clung to her father, who threw his arms

round her neck with a touching tenderness, and partly walking partly

carried by him she disappeared into the house with the old gentleman.

The others followed, and with a pang of envy I saw the gate close

behind them. How the remaining hours of that day, and the following

night passed I know not. It seemed to me that a constant twilight

surrounded me, a sweet lethargy overpowered me, and a celestial harmony

filled my soul. Strange to say though I generally felt little assurance

in my intercourse with women notwithstanding my reputation as a good

looking young fellow, this time I confidently awaited the decision of

my fate, no more doubting that I possessed her heart than I doubted

that the sun would rise on the morrow. Only the hours that must pass

before I could hear it from her own lips, appeared endless to me. I

must here mention an adventure which I had next day in one of the

churches. As I roved about the streets hoping by continual movement to

restrain my impatience, almost unconsciously I entered a church.

Neither paintings, nor pillars, nor the people who knelt before the

altars could awaken any interest in me at that moment. My thoughts were

far away, and I even forgot to tread softly though mass was going on,

till the angry mutterings of an old woman made me aware of my unseemly

behaviour. So I stood still behind a pillar, and listened to the music

of the organ and the tinkling of the bells, and inhaled the smoke of

the incense.

As I absently surveyed the kneeling multitude--I, the son of a rigid

calvinist, of course abstained from that devout practice.--I remarked

on one of the more retired chairs, just in front of me, a pair of dark

blue eyes, underneath a white brow, surrounded by auburn curls. Those

eyes were fastened on me, and never changed their direction during the

whole service.

I confess that at any other time I would have replied to that mute

appeal, but on that morning I was perfectly insensible to any

allurement, and should probably have left the church, if I had not

feared to cause a second disturbance. When mass was ended, the handsome

woman hastily rose, drew her lace veil over her head, and walked

straight up to me. Her figure was faultless, perhaps somewhat too

plump, but the agile grace of her movements gave her a very youthful

appearance. In the white ungloved hand which held her veil together,

she carried a small fan with a mother of pearl handle. When she was

close to me, she partly opened this fan, and moved it carelessly,

whilst her eyes were fixed on mine with a quiet but significant gaze.

When I appeared not to understand her, she tossed up her head, smiled

haughtily, so that her white even teeth glittered, and rustled past me.

A moment later I had forgotten this interlude; yet all my joy had

suddenly vanished. As the evening approached, I felt more and more

uneasy, and when the appointed hour struck I dragged myself towards the

villa like a criminal who is to appear before his judge. I started back

when instead of Nina, whom I had expected I found her father waiting

for me at the gate. But the old man though he looked very morose,

nodded when I appeared and beckoned to me to approach. "You have

written to the Signorina," he said, with a shake of his head, "why have

you done so? If I had thought you would do such a thing you should

never with my consent have entered the house. Oh, my poor dear

Master--after all my promises to him--and who knows what will be the

end of it. I dare not think of it all."

"Dear old friend," I replied, "nothing shall be done behind your back.

Had you been at home yesterday, I would certainly have given you the

letter, and as for that, you could have read it and convinced yourself

that my intentions are most honourable. But tell me, for heaven's

sake?" ....

"Come now," he interrupted, "do not let us waste our time. You are an

honourable young man, and besides, how can such a poor old fool as I

am, prevent these things, even if I tried it. Believe me, sir, she is

the mistress, in spite of her youth. When she says: 'I will!' no one

can resist her. Now, she will see you; she wishes to speak to you

herself."

All my senses reeled at these words; I had hardly dared to hope for a

letter and now this!--

The old man himself seemed moved when I impetuously pressed his hand.

He led me towards the house, and as on the previous occasion we entered

by the side-door into the large hall on the groundfloor. This time all

the curtains and jalousies were opened, to let in the red glow of the

setting sun; two chairs stood opposite the chimney, and from one of

them the figure of the girl, so dear to me, arose and took a few steps

towards me. She held a book in her hand and between its leaves I saw my

letter. Her abundant hair was tied up this time and a black ribbon was

twined through it. On her neck I again noticed my locket.

"Fabio," she said, "open the door towards the garden, and wait on the

terrace in case I should have some orders for you."

The old man bowed respectfully, and obeyed. In the meantime we stood

motionless beside each other, and my heart beat so violently that I

could not utter a word. Her eyes were fixed on mine with a grave

expression partly of inquiry, and partly of wonder.

A last she regained her full composure, and appeared to understand what

a moment before had been unintelligible to her. She stretched out her

hand which I eagerly seized, but dared not press to my lips.

"Come and sit down beside me," she said, "I have much to tell you. Do

you see this portrait before us? It is my mother's; she died long ago.

When I got your letter I sat down before her and asked her what answer

I ought to give you. It seemed to me that she assented to nothing but

the truth. And the truth is, that from the moment I saw you in the

carriage, all my thoughts went with you, and there they will remain

till I die." I cannot express what I felt at these simple words. I fell

on my knees before her, seized both her hands and covered them with

kisses and tears.

"Why do you weep," she asked and tried to raise me, "Are you not happy?

I am full of joyfulness. I have suffered much, but now all is blotted

out. Now I only know that we are firmly united and I can never again be

unhappy."

She rose, I sprang up. Intoxicated with joy, I tried to press her to my

heart, but she gently stepped back.

"No, Amadeus," she said, "that must not be. You now know that I am

yours, and will never be taken from you by any other man; but let us be

calm. I have considered the matter during the long night that has

passed. You cannot come here any more. I have promised it to poor

Fabio. This is the first, and the last time that we meet here. If you

repeated your visit I should soon have no other will but yours, and I

will never dishonour my father's name. Listen, you must go to him, you

will find no difficulty in introducing yourself in his house, so many

young men," she added with a sigh, "even perfect strangers are received

there. When he knows you more intimately, and has given you his

confidence, then demand my hand. You may also tell him that we know

each other and that I will never marry any other than you. All the rest

leave to me, and above all promise not to speak of this to my

stepmother; she does not love me, does not wish me to be happy. Oh,

Amadeus, is it possible that you can love me as much as I love you? Did

you not feel the first time we met, as if a flash of lightning had

fallen from heaven, as if the earth trembled and the trees and bushes

were on fire! I do not know how it occurred to me to throw a branch of

blossoms on the stranger who slept underneath his umbrella. I could not

even see your face; it was a childish trick, and I repented if it a

moment later; yet an irresistible impulse made me look once more over

the wall, and then when I saw you standing in the carriage and waving

the branch of pomegranate blossoms towards me, I was seized as with a

fever and from that moment you have always been before me whatever I

do."

I had led her back to her chair, and holding her hand in mine, I told

her how I had passed the last few days. She did not look at me while I

spoke so that I could only see her fair profile. Every part of her

face, even the pure and spiritual palor of her complexion, and the

violet shade under her eyes, were full of expression. Then I too became

silent, and felt the warm blood, rush through the delicate veins of the

small hand that lay clasped in mine.

Old Fabio discreetly looked in, and asked if we wished for some fruit.

"Later," she replied, "or are you now thirsty, Amadeus?"

"To drink from your lips," I whispered.

She shook her head, and looked grave, as she knit her finely pencilled

eyebrows.

"You do not love me," I said.

"Far too well," she replied with a sigh.

Then she rose. "Let us walk round the garden," she said, "before the

sun is quite set. I will pluck some oranges for you. This time I need

not bid Nina do so."

So we walked on, and she holding fast by my hand, asked me about my

country, my parents, and if the hair in the locket were my own. When I

told her that my sister had given it to me, she enquired after her. "We

will go and see her," she said, "she must love me, for I already love

her. But we cannot stay there. My father cannot live without me, I am

his only joy. You will come to Bologna with me, will you not?" I

promised all she desired. Nothing seemed impossible to me now that one

miracle had been performed, and she looked upon me with the eyes of

love. After that she became exceedingly merry, and we laughed and

chatted as happy as children, and ended by throwing oranges at each

other. "Come," she said, "let us have a game at battledore and

shuttlecock. Nina shall play with us, though she almost makes me

jealous, by constantly speaking of you. See, how she slips away, as if

she feared to disturb us. Might not heaven, and earth, and all mankind

listen to what we say?"

She called her companion, and the good girl came up to us, gave me her

hand and said: "I hope, you will deserve your happiness. I would have

grudged her to any man but you. If you do not make her happy, Signor

Amadeo, then beware!"

This menace was accompanied by so vehement and tragic a gesture that we

both laughed, and she herself joined us.

On the lawn, where I had seen the girls at their play, we now all three

threw the feathered balls, and were soon as much engrossed with our

game, as if we had never had any more serious thought in our lives, and

had not decided on all our future happiness an hour before.

Papa Fabio did not appear again. When the shade grew deeper the two

girls accompanied me to the gate. I was dismissed without a kiss from

those dear and lovely lips. I could only seize her hand through the

bars and press a parting kiss on it.

What an evening! what a night! The people of the hotel probably thought

I was somewhat crackbrained, or an Englishman, which in their eyes

comes much to the same thing.

On my way back I bought a large basket full of flowers which was

carried after me by the flower-girl. These I strewed about my room. I

ordered several bottles of wine, and threw a five franc-piece to a

violin-player in the street. Then I went to sleep in the refreshing

night air which entered by the open windows. I still remember the

sensations I had during my sleep, as if the vibration of the

terrestrial globe as it proceeded on its aerial course were re-echoed

by the pulsations of my heart.

Not till the following morning did I remember that some obstacles had

to be surmounted before I could take possession of what was already

mine. I must get introduced to her father; and would he confide in me

with the same readiness that his daughter had done? Whilst I sauntered

through the arcades of Bologna considering these matters, propitious

fortune again came to my aid. I met the correspondent of our firm whom

I had visited the second day after my arrival; he was greatly

surprised, as he did not expect to find me still in Bologna. I alleged

some news I had received from my brother-in-law, as an excuse for my

prolonged stay. I said that a plan had been formed to found a branch

establishment of our business in Italy, with particular reference to

Bologna. My departure was necessarily delayed for an indefinite period,

and in the meantime it was my duty to form acquaintances in town.

Amongst the names of other distinguished families, I mentioned the

General's. Our friend did not know him personally, but a young cousin

of his, a priest was a frequent visitor at his house, and would

willingly introduce me. "But beware of the dangerous eyes of the lady

of the house," he continued, "for though she has not the reputation of

treating her admirers with much cruelty, yet your attentions would be

wasted, for the young count her present adorer, does not seem at all

inclined to relinquish his conquest."

I joined in this bantering as well as I could, and we then made

arrangements for an introduction.

In the evening of the same day I met the young priest by appointment at

one of the Cafes, and he then accompanied me to the general's house

which was situated in a very quiet street. It was a Palazzo of very

unpretending exterior, but furnished most luxuriously within. Thick

carpets covered the corridors through which we passed to reach the

apartment where every night a small circle of habitues assembled.

Prelates of every rank, military men, several patricians, but only men,

formed the society. The young abbate never tired of expatiating on the

happiness of the fortunate mortals who were admitted to the intimacy of

that house. "What a woman," he sighed. He seemed to hope that his turn

would also come some day.

When I entered I first perceived the old General. He sat in an

arm-chair, and opposite to him an old canon; between them stood a small

table on which they were playing at dominoes. On a low stool beside the

general lay a pair of scissors and some sheets of paper, on which were

depicted little soldiers; these he cut out, when he could not find a

partner for his game. A lamp hung above him, and in the full light, I

again remarked the astonishing likeness of his features to those of

Beatrice. I had hardly spoken a few polite words to the old gentleman,

who responded to them with a childish and good-natured smile, when my

companion hurried me away. I followed him into a small boudoir, where

the lady of the house was reclining on a couch, while a tall much

adorned young coxcomb sat on a rocking chair by her side; they both of

them seemed rather bored by this tete-a-tete. He was languidly turning

over the leaves of an album, and the fair lady embroidering some many

coloured cushion, and now and then she caressed with the point of her

brocaded slipper a large Angora cat which lay at her feet.

By the subdued light of the sconces, reflected by numberless mirrors, I

did not at first recognize in the lady before me the fair devotee of

that morning in church, although the same mother of pearl fan lay on a

table near her.

She was more quick sighted than I, and started up so vehemently at my

approach, that she lost her comb and her abundant hair fell over her

shoulders. The cat awoke and purred, the tall young man cast a

piercing look at me, and I myself was so startled as I recognized her,

that I was most thankful for my little companion's volubility. She

remained silent for a while, and looked at me with that same stedfast

gaze--which had made me feel uncomfortable in the church.

Only when she observed the rudeness of the count, who tried to ignore

my presence, her face grew more animated. In a low caressing voice,

which was the most youthful part of her, she invited me, after

dislodging the cat, to sit down beside her. Then turning towards the

young man; "You can look over the music which I received to-day from

Florence, count, I will sing afterwards and you can accompany me."

The young exquisite seemed inclined to rebel, but a severe look from

her blue eyes subdued him, and we soon heard him strike some accords on

the piano in the outer saloon.

The young abbate was employed in cutting the leaves of some new French

novel, so I alone was left to court our fair hostess. Heaven knows I

envied them, and above all the old canon at his game of dominoes. From

the first words I exchanged with this woman, I felt an invincible

dislike to her, which increased in proportion to the efforts she made

to attract me. I had to summon all my prudence to keep up an appearance

of politeness, and to listen attentively to her remarks. My thoughts

were far away in the saloon of the villa, and between those glib and

clever words, I still heard the soft voice of my darling and saw her

eyes fixed on mine with a sad expression.

In spite of this absence of mind and heart, the fair lady did not

appear to be displeased with my first attempt. She probably imputed my

embarrassment to a very different cause, and the fact that I had sought

to be introduced in her house, she certainly construed in her favour.

She praised my fluency in the Italian language, but remarked that I had

a Piemontese accent, that I could not find a better opportunity of

correcting this, than by frequently joining her friendly circle. Then

she begged me to consider her house as my own, provided my evenings

were not otherwise engaged. She had melancholy duties to perform, she

said with a sigh, and a glance towards the adjoining room, from whence

was heard the good natured laughter of the old gentleman as he had won

his game. Her life, she continued, only began with the evening hours; I

certainly was very young, and the society of a sad woman, grown grave

before her time, would hardly attract me. But so sincere a friend as I

should find in her was worth some sacrifice. I greatly resembled one of

her brothers, who had been very dear to her, and whom she had early

lost. She had noticed this likeness in the church, and for this reason,

she warmly thanked me for my present visit. She cast down her eyes with

well assumed embarrassment and then with a smile stretched out her hand

to me which I slightly touched with my lips. "As a pledge of

friendship," she said in an undertone.--Fortunately some new arrivals

spared me an answer which could not have been sincere. The new comers

were dignitaries of the church, men of the world, who treated me, as

they would an old acquaintance. The count also returned and whispered a

few words to her. She arose and we all followed her into the saloon

where the piano stood. She sang the new airs and her Cicisbeo

accompanied her.

Her fine voice poured forth trills and cadences and I could remark that

between times she glanced towards the dark corner where I leaned

against the wall, and mechanically joined in the general applause, at

the end of every song.

My thoughts wandered to the villa where I had heard another voice so

dear to me. Liveried servants entered noiselessly, and offered ices and

sorbets on small silver trays; the music ceased and an animated

conversation commenced. The old general now appeared leaning on his

stick, and seemed delighted at having won six games consecutively. He

asked me if I, ever played at dominoes, and on my replying in the

affirmative, he invited me to return next evening, and try my luck with

him. He then called his valet as it was his usual hour for retiring to

rest. This was the signal for departure. I obtained a significant smile

from the lady of the house, and I hastened to leave the rooms before

the rest of the company. I longed for solitude to shake off the

unpleasant impressions of the evening. Yet I could not get rid of these

sensations till next day at dusk, when I again directed my steps

towards the villa. I well knew that I should not be admitted, but I

hoped, between the bars of the gate, to catch a glimpse of her dress or

of the ribbon on her straw-hat.

I found her on the balcony alone, and her eyes were turned towards the

road as if she expected me. For a short while we were contented to

express our feelings by looks and gestures. Then she signalled to me

that she would come down, and a moment later she issued from the

lateral door, and approached me blushing with love and happiness. She

gave me her hand between the bars, but when I asked her if she would

not admit me, she shook her head gravely, and laying her hand on her

heart, she said, "Are you not here, nevertheless?" We were soon engaged

in exchanging sweet and childish words of love, till I told her of my

yesterday's visit to her father. When I spoke affectionately of him,

she suddenly seized my hand, and before I could prevent it had pressed

it to her lips. I did not mention his wife, and her unseemly behaviour.

She understood my silence. "Return to him," she said, "and do all you

can to please him; he cannot fail to love you." Finally, when I begged

her for a kiss, she approached her cheek to the bars, but hearing the

trot of a horse coming down the road, she speedily fled. So I had to

leave her with an unsatisfied longing in my heart. I confess that for

the first time I doubted the strength of her love. I knew how strictly

girls in Italy keep back their feelings, only to give them more free

course when they are once married. But why grudge me a kiss from her

lips even when separated by the bars of a gate. Then again I thought of

all she had said to me, and of the looks which had accompanied her

words and felt tranquilized.

Of course in the evening I punctually appeared in the General's rooms,

and he ordered me at once to the dominoe table. The company was much

less numerous than the day before. The old canon when I took his place

retired to a niche near the window, and was soon snoring comfortably.

This time the lady of the house did not remain in the boudoir, but sat

on a sofa not far from our table, greatly to the annoyance of her

adorer who sat sulkily opposite to her. She had given him a novel, and

she bade him read to her. He made many blunders, and at last threw down

the book with an oath, common in this country but certainly not fit for

drawing room society.

The lady then rose and beckoned to him to follow her into the next

room, where a passionate but whispered dispute took place. We heard

that she threatened never to receive him in her house again unless he

altered his behaviour.

The old gentleman who had been very happy at his success in the game,

listened for a moment. "What can be the matter?" he asked. I shrugged

my shoulders. A strangely anxious look passed over his face. He sighed,

and for a moment seemed irresolute as to whether or not he ought to

interfere. Then he sank back in his chair, and appeared to be lost

in dreams. The canon awoke, took a pinch of snuff and offered his

snuff-box to the General; this restored his equilibrium, and we resumed

our game. When I at last rose to depart, he begged me to return soon;

he preferred me as a partner, to the old canon. These words were spoken

in a most amiable tone and accompanied by a cordial pressure of the

hand. Altogether in spite of his weaknesses, he still retained the

manners of a gentleman of the old school. His wife dismissed me more

coldly than the night before, but this seemed to me to be only for the

count's sake with whom in the meantime a reconciliation had taken

place.

I was right. The following evening, when the count was prevented by

some excursion from appearing at his usual post, her efforts to lure me

into her nets were redoubled. I assumed the character of an

unsuspecting young man who from sheer respect neither hears, nor sees,

nor understands anything, but she was evidently not duped by it.

Probably the unsuccessfulness of her efforts provoked her, and incited

her to conquer at any price my real or feigned coldness. She was so

carried away by her vexation that she lost all command of her feelings,

and could not master them even when the count returned. Of course all

the rest of the company noticed how matters stood. The correspondent of

our house did not neglect to inform me of the rumours which were

current in the town. He congratulated me on my good fortune, and little

guessed how uncomfortable I felt at his words. I perceived that I must

no longer delay in declaring my real intentions.

A conversation I had with the young count precipitated this decision.

One evening when I returned to my hotel I found him waiting for me. He

saluted me with frigid politeness and requested me in a curt, and

concise manner either to discontinue my visits at the General's house,

or to expect an encounter of a different nature. Being a stranger I was

probably unacquainted with the customs of the country, otherwise he

would not have taken the trouble of giving me warning.

I begged him to wait twenty-four hours, and he would then perceive how

absurd was any idea of rivalry between us. He looked surprised, but as

I did not give any further explanation, he bowed and departed.

Early the next morning, for I knew the old gentleman was up betimes, I

asked for an interview with him, and was ushered into his bed-room,

where he sat smoking a long Turkish pipe. He was rummaging in several

card boxes in which all his treasures consisting of cut out pictures

lay around him. When he saw me he stretched out his hand with evident

pleasure, thanked me for visiting him in the morning, and offered me a

pipe. When I declined this he pressed me to accept as a token of

remembrance several cut out soldiers on which he set particular store.

I felt heavy at heart when I reflected that my future happiness

depended on this poor old man. But to my astonishment the expression of

his face completely changed when I mentioned his daughter. He became

grave and silent, and only the intent look in his eyes betrayed, that

even on this theme, he could with difficulty collect his thoughts. I

concealed nothing from him. Beginning with our first meeting, I related

every circumstance up to the last hours. He now and then nodded

acquiescence, and when I told him of my love for her his eyes glistened

and he raised them heavenward with a deep emotion which shed a sort of

glory over his features.

Then I spoke to him of my circumstances and expressed the very natural

wish to take my young wife--provided he should entrust his child to

me--to my own home; assuring him however, that I was quite willing to

remain in his neighbourhood for several years, as I could never tear

her from him. He seized both my hands when I said this, and pressed

them with more vigour than I could have believed possible in so weak

and worn out an old man. Then he drew me into his arms, and without a

word kissed me till his strength failed him, and he sank back into his

chair. After remaining so for a few moments he made a sign to me to

help him to rise, and when he had regained his feet, he said: "I

entrust this treasure to you my son, and thank my God, that I have

lived to see this day. Come we will go and tell it to my wife. From the

first moment I saw you I felt sure that you had a kind heart. If I had

ten daughters I could not see them better provided for. But did you

ever see such a naughty child? Fie, fie, Bicetta! meeting a lover when

your old babbo's back is turned, but they are all alike when love is in

question, and where their heart is concerned they are not to be

trusted, no, not one!"

He sighed and his face took an expression partly of anxiety, partly of

sorrow. Perhaps some recollection troubled his mind. A moment after he

again embraced me, pulled my hair, called me a traitor and a hypocrite,

and finally seizing my hand, he drew me towards his wife's apartment,

which was situated at the other side of the house.

In the ante-room a maid advanced to meet us; she looked at me with

wondering eyes, and only admitted the General to her mistress' room,

after having first announced him. She then begged me to wait as her

mistress was not yet dressed for receiving. I heartily rejoiced at

this, though the time I had to wait seemed interminable.

I could not distinguish what was said in the adjoining room, but the

General spoke in a louder and more commanding tone than I had ever

heard from him before. A long and hurried whispering followed, till at

last the door opened, and the General issued forth erect, and

triumphant as if he had won a battle.

"Beatrice is yours my son, the affair is decided. My wife sends her

best wishes to you! At first she made some ridiculous objections. You

see a cousin of ours, a young fop who is now in Rome, said to her

before he left. 'Keep Bicetta for me, I will marry her on my return.'

This was only in fun, but you and I, we are in earnest, so you shall

have her Amadeo. It is true," he continued, with a sigh, "that I let

many things take their course, I am an old man, and the reins often

drop from my hands, but on some occasions Amadeo, I take up arms again

and then I am not to be daunted. I now solemnly promise you that

Beatrice shall be yours. Come back this evening; you will find her

here. Embrace me my son, make her happy; she deserves to be rewarded a

thousand fold for the love she bears her old father."

He only left me at the top of the stairs after folding me once more in

his arms.

When I returned in the evening, I found the house brilliantly

illuminated. In the ante-room many people were assembled who eyed me

with curiosity. In the drawing-room the old General sat in his usual

place, and the Canon opposite to him, but to-day the dominoes lay

untouched on the marble table, for on her father's knees sat his

daughter, simply dressed, without any ornaments, only pomegranate

blossoms in her hair. Her arms were twined round the old man's neck as

if she felt uneasy in this society, and took refuge with her only

friend. When she saw me enter, she glided from her seat and stood

motionless as a statue before me till I took her hand. She cast a rapid

glance at the sofa where her step-mother sat, brilliantly attired, her

hair flowing over her beautiful bare shoulders, her round white arm

reclining on a crimson cushion. She evidently intended to outshine the

slender maidenly beauty of the young girl. At her side sat the tall

young count, who had now recovered the phlegmatic insolence of a

supreme sovereign. He nodded to me with a gracious condescension.

When I turned towards them holding my betrothed by the hand, I noticed

a sudden palor on the woman's face, but she greeted, and congratulated

me with a most winning smile; offered me her hand to kiss, and then

embraced Bicetta who submitted to it with an impassive face; only the

trembling of her hand told me what she felt.

After this we had to receive the congratulations of the company, and I

admired my darling who stood the flow of shallow words with which she

was overwhelmed with perfect calmness. The General contemplated her

with an expression of great delight. He bade us sit down in the

embrasure of one of the windows, where two chairs had been placed near

each other, and then he proceeded to his game with Don Vigilio.

Bicetta and I soon forgot all around us. The hum of conversation did

not reach us. The dim light of a lamp which swung on a chain across the

street was bright enough for me to drink the deep draught of love from

the eyes of my beloved, and from her enchanting smile. On that evening

the company dispersed later than usual. Champagne was drunk, and an old

archbishop who was passing through the town on one of his pastoral

tours proposed the health of the betrothed. The venerable old man was

particularly affectionate to me. He made me take a seat in his carriage

and insisted on driving me back to my hotel. But hardly had we been a

moment alone together, when the reason for this remarkable

condescension appeared. "You are a Lutheran?" he asked. I assented, and

he continued with a benign smile; "You will not remain so. The great

earthy happiness you have found here, will lead you to a higher bliss.

Come to see me to-morrow, and we can talk more about this."

I did not fail to appear, but he could not force me one step from the

path which I had traced for myself. I demanded the same liberty of

faith which I conceded to my wife. With regard to the children, she

might decide for them, till they had reached the age when they could

judge for themselves what was necessary to the welfare of their souls.

The artful old priest seemed well pleased with this beginning, and to

rely on the future.--As he was forced to leave the town, he committed

me to the care of a younger keeper of souls; a member of a religious

order, who set about the affair much more vehemently and clumsily so

that to prevent further unpleasantness, I broke off all intercourse

with him. This, I could perceive in the faces of certain of the

frequenters of my future parent's house, was greatly taken amiss, but

as the General's cordial manner remained the same, and the mistress of

the house continued to shew me a cool amiability, I bore it with great

equanimity.

My betrothed, who was aware of my feelings, fully coincided in my

desire to cut short any further attempt of this kind. "What can they

mean by it?" she said. "There is only one heaven and one hell for us;

is it not so Amadeo? If I entered Paradise and found you not there, my

soul would turn back, and not rest till it had found yours." When she

spoke thus it seemed to me that I saw heaven open before me, and I

could not believe that any danger threatened our future happiness, or

even that any delay was possible.

The wedding was fixed for October. I had made up my mind to bear this

interval of two months with all the patience I could muster. Only one

thing made me uneasy; I had announced my betrothal to my sister, and

brother-in-law, and had not received one line in return.

I knew them too well to fear any objection on their part; only some

illness or some sorrow which they wished to keep from me could account

for this silence. So in spite of the happiness which smiled upon me, I

grew more and more uneasy. At last after three weeks of feverish

impatience, the longed for letter from my brother-in-law arrived. He

wrote that my sister Blanche had been dangerously ill after her

confinement, and that the state of her health was still so precarious

that he had not ventured to agitate her by the news of my engagement.

If it were possible, it would greatly relieve him if I could come home

for a short while.

"You must go," said Bicetta when I had silently handed her the letter.

"You must leave this to-morrow. I will try and bear your absence as

well as I can. But you must write to me when you arrive, write to me as

often as you are able. How I long to go with you. But of course that is

impossible. Give my love to Blanche; tell her that she already lives in

my heart, and give her this kiss from her sister."

She passionately threw her arms round my neck and pressed her lips to

mine. It was the first kiss she had granted me. Even when I had met her

alone, and entreated her both jestingly and earnestly not to be so

cruel, she had always remained inexorable. How often had I not felt

hurt at this reserve, but then she had only to speak a word, or to

stretch out her hand with that indescribable smile of hers, and my

doubts and displeasure vanished.

I departed with the full persuasion that I should find nothing changed

on my return. The old general took leave of me with evident distress;

he could not cease to press me in his arms. His wife shewed great

interest in the illness of my sister, and so completely deceived me

that on my way home, I reproached myself for my former injustice

towards her, and mentally begged her pardon.

Part of my luggage remained at the villa which had been my habitation

during the last weeks of my betrothal; Old Fabio and my friend Nina

faithfully ministering to my wants. I felt sure of returning in less

than a month, and hoped to bring back with me my sister and her husband

to the wedding. Nina in the meantime went up to town to keep Beatrice

company.

Everything seemed to be arranged for the best, and this short

separation to be a sacrifice to the jealous gods before I was allowed

to enjoy complete happiness.

At home I found matters better than I had imagined during the anxious

hours of my long journey. Blanche was out of danger, and it seemed as

if the pleasure of seeing me again and the joyful news I brought her,

hastened her recovery. Their accompanying me to Bologna however was

out of the question. My sister could not leave her child, and my

brother-in-law was detained by our business which had lately so much

increased that we could not both be spared. Yet they hastened my

departure, and indeed as matters stood my visit caused them more

anxiety than pleasure, for in spite of our firm resolve to write to

each other as often as we could, and though I faithfully adhered to my

promise of never missing a single post, yet not a line had reached me

from Bologna. During the first week of my stay I was inexhaustible in

finding some natural cause for her silence. But when I had remained a

fortnight at Geneva without a word either from my betrothed or any

member of her family, I was tormented with anxiety. My only comfort was

that no great misfortune could have happened to her without our

correspondent in Bologna informing me of it, but then again, how could

I know that he had not left Bologna, and should any letters have been

lost or intercepted, might not his too have been among the number?

I felt that I must start for Bologna if I did not wish to go mad. The

state of my feelings as I travelled day and night is not to be

described. As I saw my face in the glass when I stopped to arrange my

disordered toilet before entering Bologna, I started back. It was

certainly not the face of a happy bridegroom, such as I had hoped to

return.

It was early in the morning when my travelling carriage dashed along

the well known road. I called to the postillion to pull up at the

trellised gate, of the villa. I jumped out with tottering knees, and

rang the bell violently. Some time elapsed before my dear old friend

Fabio appeared at the door. When he recognised me he started and

without taking time to button his old waistcoat across his naked chest,

he rushed to meet me with so disturbed a face that I called out in an

agony: "She is dead!"

He shook his head and hastily unlocked the gate, but the fright had

completely taken away his breath, so that I could only draw out word by

word, a scanty unconnected explanation from him. He observed my pale

face and worn out looks, and wished to spare me, instead of which he

only cruelly tormented me by his dilatoriness. With many things which

had been schemed in the dark, he was unacquainted, for he had only

learnt the main points from Nina, I who well knew the actors never for

a moment doubted who had taken the principal parts in this fiendish

intrigue. Hardly had I left Bologna when that cousin from Rome

appeared, and brought forward his imaginary claim to the hand of my

bride.

Had he come by order, or would he have arrived of his own accord even

had I not been absent I never knew. He cut a sorry figure Fabio said. A

life of gambling, revels, and adventures had considerably reduced his

fortune, but being the nephew of a cardinal, and of the old nobility,

he was still considered a good match. Bicetta had always disliked him.

He (Fabio) remembered that she had once boxed his ears for having

ventured to kiss his little cousin. Upon which he had laughingly vowed

to make her pay for it once she was his wife. Now the time had arrived

when he hoped to realize his threat. The step-mother and all those who

had most authority were on his side. They had frightened the poor old

general by predicting for him all the torments of hell, if he married

his only child to a heretic, till they had subdued and silenced him.

But whenever he looked at Bicetta his eyes filled with tears, and he

would sit for hours in his arm-chair, and sob like a child. He never

spoke to his wife for he knew that she was at the bottom of it all.

"And Beatrice?" I asked, half maddened with rage and pain.

"Ah Bicetta," replied the old man, "who can understand her! At first

when they urged her to renounce her heretic lover, she had answered: 'I

have pledged my faith to him in the sight of God, and I will keep it

though I should die for it;' so they could not persuade her. Then when

her cousin had come to pay his court to her, she had calmly told him:

'Don't trouble yourself Richino it is perfectly useless; even had I

never seen Amadeo I should never have loved you.' Then when he

attempted to take her hand and to play the gallant to her, she drew

herself up and said in the hearing of Nina: 'Miserable coward to lay

hands on another's property! Go I despise you.' She would not see him

after that yet she never sheds a tear though the marriage is decided

on, and she has quite left off begging and entreating her father, her

step-mother, or any one, even God I dare say. She no more received your

letters, than you did hers which I posted myself. It seems that the

officials at the post-office know what is expected of them when the

nephew of a cardinal wishes to carry off the bride of a foreigner.

Still it is surprising that she should have resigned herself so quickly

for she cannot possibly doubt your fidelity. Nina told me that they

threatened to shut her up in a convent if she did not marry her cousin,

and certainly a convent is not the proper place for our Bicetta, yet I

should have thought it preferable to a marriage with that man, when her

whole heart belongs to you. I for my part cannot make her out, and my

daughter too is in a perpetual state of amazement."

So the good old man rambled on without venturing to look at me, whilst

I lay completely stunned on one of the chairs opposite the chimney. It

was the same in which we had sat our hands clasped in one another's the

first evening of our betrothal. I was quite incapable of thought; every

feeling even of love or of hate seemed paralyzed within me and all

vitality to have ceased, as the movement of a watch stops when a blow

has broken the spring. After a long pause I recovered my composure

sufficiently to ask when the marriage was to take place. "This

afternoon," replied the old man in a timid voice. Then I started up,

brought to my senses by the nearness of this fearful and decisive

event. Old Fabio seized my hands, and looked anxiously into my face.

"Merciful heavens!" he exclaimed, "what are you doing. You know not how

powerful they are. If you were to appear openly in the streets, who

knows whether you would outlive the night."

"I will go in disguise, I will stand face to face with this scoundrel,

and tell him that one of us must die. You surely have a pair of

trooper's pistols in good condition. They are all I shall want. Leave

me now."

"First you must shoot me with them," he said, and clung so firmly to my

arm, that I saw no possibility of freeing myself from his grasp without

using force. "Think of Bicetta," he continued, "what would she say to

it." "You are right," I replied, and felt as if I were again deprived

of all energy. "I know not what she would say, but I _will_ know, or I

shall go mad. Let go my arm, and give me my hat. I will go to her; I

will burst open the doors which keep her from me, and when once I have

seen her then come what may."

But he would not let me go. He led me back to my chair and said, "you

must surely be persuaded that no one so sincerely desires yours, and

the Signorina's, and the old general's welfare as old Fabio, so you

must listen to his advice, and not rush headlong to your own

destruction. If you imagine that you can reach her apartment, you are

greatly mistaken. The house is filled with servants on account of the

wedding, and you would fare ill if you desired to see the bride with

this face. Let me go to her; they cannot forbid me the entrance,

although the Signora does not regard me with favourable eyes. If it

should come to the worst, I can always send for my daughter; so if you

will write a few lines I promise to deliver them, and they will

certainly reach their destination with more safety than by the papal

posts. Sit down here by this window and write a few lines and if I am

not greatly mistaken in our Bicetta she will answer them. He ran to

fetch me writing materials, but I was in such a wretched state that I

could not even hold a pen, and the fury which raged within me drowned

every thought.

"Never mind," said the old man, "there is no need to write. Is it not

sufficient that she hears you have come? If she then still consents to

this marriage, hundreds of letters would be of no avail."

With this he left me, but first I had to give him my word that I would

not leave the house, which was now completely deserted, and that I

would open the door to no one but him.

By this time day had dawned, and after bringing me some wine to

strengthen me, the old man departed, and I remained alone in the

death-like stillness of the house--I could not rest; I dragged myself

into the garden, to the orange-tree of whose fruit she had given me,

and to the pomegranate the blossoms of which had been her first love

token to me. She was always before me, and the more clearly she

appeared to me the less could I understand her apparent oblivion.

Though I was greatly exhausted by my night's journey, yet I could not

swallow a morsel of bread nor drink the wine, but I sucked the juice of

an orange, and felt so revived that I seemed to have imbibed hope and

comfort with it. Then I returned to the house, ascended the stairs and

slowly walked through all the apartments. In her little room all

remained as she had left it; even the book which she had last read was

still open on the table. I began to read from the same page where she

had left off. It was an edition of the "Canzone di Petrarca" and I felt

soothed and refreshed by their gentle harmony. I shoved a low chair

into the balcony (it was the same on which she had sat as a child while

playing with her dolls), and threw myself into it with the book in my

hand. But after each verse my eyes wandered along the road in the hope

of seeing a messenger appear. I had grown calmer however, and no longer

dreaded the decision of my fate, yet I started wildly when the old man

appeared.

"What news do you bring me," I called to him. But I knew all when I saw

his sorrowful countenance, as he turned towards me, and I rushed down

the stair case with trembling knees. "Read this," he said; "perhaps you

will understand what it all means."

I tore the paper from his hand. On it were hastily scrawled these

words: "My own dear love, what I am going to do, had to be done; do not

try to prevent it, only trust in me. I shall never be another's. You

will understand all when we meet again, and perhaps that may be before

long. Whatever happens I am yours only for ever and ever." On the edge

of the paper was added, "Remain concealed. If you are found out, all is

lost."

Whilst I continued to stare at these few lines, the old man told me

that he had not seen her himself. Nina had been the messenger between

them; but even from her, he could not find out what he wanted to hear.

She only told him that the Signorina had not shown the least

astonishment at the news of my return. "I have long expected him," was

all she said; and while her maid was bringing in her bridal attire, she

had written the note quickly, standing at the window. Then she had

charged Nina to enjoin the greatest secrecy on her father, and to tell

him to take care of me. After that she quietly proceeded to unfasten

her hair which had to be dressed for the wedding. "She wrote these

lines," Nina added, "with the calmness of a person who is unable to

live any longer for the very agony of his pain, and writes down his

dying wish." She had always thought she knew her as well as she knew

herself, but in these last days she was a perfect mystery to her.