account of what had passed between him and my father; his letter
concluded as follows: ‘Farewell, I can never love anyone but thee. I
wish thee happiness. Whatever be my fate, as long as we both live,
I will watch over thee.’ I had expected an end of this kind to my
short dream of happiness. And yet the blow was very hard to bear. In
your country, perchance, a lady would have written to her cavalier:
for I understand that there they choose for themselves, and, unless
they are heiresses, marry whom they please. Happy country! But I felt
that that was not for me to do, and I verily believe that Baptisto
himself would not have been pleased had I done so. As for my father,
he said little to me: he blamed me for my want of pride in loving
Baptisto, but said nothing more until one terrible day he informed me
that Prince Mazzapiglio had formally asked for my hand in marriage,
and had been accepted; and that he would that day appear to pay his
respects to me. I retired to my apartment as soon as I was permitted,
in a very whirl of grief and confusion, no thought would stay a moment
together in my brain, and I could not frame any course of conduct. The
prince, Baptisto, marriage, and a thousand other thoughts, mingled
with ideas of a nunnery or death, chased each other through my mind
until I thought that I was going mad. I began a letter to Baptisto,
but I could not write coherently, nor did I know where to find him. I
sat there, apparently in a stupor, until I was summoned to meet the
prince, and I was thankful when I entered the saloon that he was not
yet there. He was soon announced, however, and I just managed to rise
and make my courtesy, and note that he was a man old enough to be my
father, when I lost consciousness and fell on the floor, the blood
gushing out of my mouth and nostrils. There was great confusion, and
I was carried to my chamber; a physician was summoned, who ordained
that I should keep my bed, and warned my parents that they were not to
talk to me of marriage at the present; for if I were to break another
bloodvessel, I should certainly die. Upon this my parents treated me
with the utmost tenderness, and nothing more was said in my hearing
of Prince Mazzapiglio, so that after I had kept my bed for the space
of about a fortnight and commenced to mend, I began to hope that all
that it seemed to me that I had experienced in the last few days was
but a dream of an evil spirit. I soon became convalescent, and was
permitted for the first time since my seizure to walk in the garden
of the palace. My governess was but a few steps before me, talking
to my waiting woman, who was the only other person with me, when
suddenly the bushes parted at my side, and a boy appeared who, laying
his finger on his lips, thrust a note into my hand, and without a
sound vanished. So weak was I that I was startled and gave a scream,
and my governess and woman turning back, just caught me as I swooned.
Fortunately, however, my hand unconsciously closed upon the note, and
when I had collected my thoughts, I hid it in my bosom, so that they
did not perceive it. Then, with the fair excuse that I did not feel
strong enough to remain out any longer, I got back to my apartments,
and dismissing the women, tore open the letter, which was, as my heart
had told me, from my dear Baptisto. In it he informed me that he had
heard of my promised marriage with the Prince Mazzapiglio, who, since
he was in high favour at court, and immensely wealthy, might, from a
worldly point of view, be considered a far more desirable husband for
me than he could be himself. ‘I need not tell you,’ he went on, ‘the
agonies that I suffered, but I would not seem to influence you; for I
would rather see you happy in a father’s love and well to do in the
world, than dragged down to poverty by me with your father’s curse upon
us both. But when I heard (for I take care to learn all that goes on),
when I heard how grievously you took it, I wrote to your father, saying
that I could no longer remain quiet, and that since I was now convinced
that your happiness was bound up with mine, I would henceforward do all
in my power to make you my wife. I will not write, even to you, where I
am, lest this missive fall into the wrong hands, and I should be seized
at the instance of your father; but rest assured that I am always near
you.’ My joy at receiving this from my dear Baptisto was more than I
can tell you; for besides the pleasure of hearing from him, I now felt
that he was actively engaged in watching over me, and would not give me
up to the hateful prince. The roses returned to my cheeks, my strength
waxed, insomuch that in a few days my parents again began cautiously
to speak to me about the marriage; and seeing that the talk did not
affect me so much as before, they were persuaded that I had overcome my
former repugnance, or that at least I had become reconciled to my fate.
Although the prince did not yet himself venture to see me, yet scarce a
day passed without some reminder from him, such as magnificent jewels
and posies, and he even ventured to send me verses. Many of the latter
I recognised as old friends; for he doubtlessly thought that I was as
ignorant as most of us girls are, and knew not, and still less cared,
that besides reading the best authors of my own country, I was mistress
of the Latin and French tongues, and had read some of our ancient
literature as well as some of the French poets. Some he may have
composed himself, or at least have had composed for him; and I will
give you an example which is perhaps better than most of his pieces,
though it is hardly likely to please a young girl, or to displace a
favoured lover:
Why would thy May not wed with my September?
Is it my head is silver-streaked with time?
Though I be near my Autumn, yet remember
A woman’s Autumn falleth in man’s prime.
Youth hath its charms to take a maiden’s fancy:
There’s naught behind it, it is all outside,
’Tis but appearance, subtle necromancy,
A mirror picture that may not abide.
In youth thou never shalt find constancy:
A day he’ll love thee, ever after hate;
He’ll sip thy nectar, like a butterfly,
And then he’ll leave thee, all disconsolate.
Contemn not Autumn, it is calm and fair,
Not hot and stormy as your Summers be;
No fickleness or jealousy is there,
But loving peace and gentle constancy.
Do not by glozing youth deceived be:
He’ll be thy master, thou his servitor;
But give thy sweet and tender heart to me,
That will it keep and cherish evermore!
All this, I say, I made a shift to endure, since I heard nearly every
week from Baptisto. I found that he had gained over my governess,
which was a great solace to me, for I longed for some sympathising
heart to whom I might unbosom myself and through her he sent his
letters to me by divers emissaries. My father somewhat suspected our
correspondence, and many straits were we put to to conceal it. Once, a
boy bringing a letter, perceived some of my father’s servants coming
up, and suspecting that they were going to search him, casting about
to conceal it, hastily entered a blacksmith’s shop that was hard by,
where he thrust the letter into the flames. The servants entered and
searched him, but finding nothing, were obliged to let him go; and
then seeing the smith fall to laughter, in answer to their questions
he told them that if they sought for a paper they might find the ashes
if they wanted them. An other time that an old serving-man in like
case was bringing me a letter, seeing himself followed, he picked up a
stone, and wrapping the letter round it, threw it far into the Arno.
The servants took him, and carried him before my father, but to all his
questions he would answer him nothing. My father threatened him that
he should be whipped, but still he would not confess; until my father,
struck by the faithfulness of the fellow, offered him high wages to
take service with him. But the man only said that though his master was
too poor to give him anything, yet would he serve him as long as he
lived. At length, seeing that he could not stop this correspondence,
and fearing that I should continue to refuse the prince’s hand if I
had the comfort of the letters and sympathy of Baptisto, my father
determined to send me to the convent of Santa Barbara, of which a
sister of his was the Superior.
This convent had been founded by one of our ancestresses, mainly as
a sort of refuge for the females of our family whom it might not be
convenient to dower; and Tomasina di Capellini, being the least
handsome of my father’s two sisters, was placed in the convent when she
was only ten years old, and had been forced to take the veil when she
was eighteen. Although she heard news of what was doing in our society
and family, for my father sometimes visited her, she knew nothing of
the world and its ways; she had been brought up without a mother’s
love, amidst a set of women, all of noble families, indeed, but all
outcasts. Some, like herself, had never seen the world; others had
lived a family life, but on their husbands’ death had retired here;
others, again, had sinned, and either by force or of their own will
had taken the veil. It is not amazing, therefore, that my aunt took a
jaundiced view of the world, and had little sympathy with the softer
side of human nature. The holy Mother Ursula, for that was my aunt’s
name in religion, received me with coldness; and the next day, sending
for me, she held forth in a long discourse upon the sin of opposing the
will of our parents, and finally said that it was my father’s desire
that I should remain there until I had vanquished my obstinacy and had
acquired a proper frame of mind. Should I not consent, she continued,
to give my hand to Prince Mazzapiglio within a reasonable time, I was
to take the veil and stay there for ever, for in that case my father
would have nothing more to say to me. I was thunderstruck. I had hoped
that if I had the strength to hold out against him in this my hour
of trial, my father, who I knew loved me, would give way; but I knew
not the force of that feeling which is derived from a long line of
ancestors. I wrote him a passionate letter of entreaty, assuring him
of my love, reminding him that I had never disobeyed him before, and
begging him to have pity on me. I promised him that if he would not
force me to marry where I could not give my heart, I would never marry
without his consent; and finished a long epistle with these words:--‘If
you deny me my prayer, if you still insist upon my marriage with the
prince, it would be easier for me to take the veil and to end my days
here, for I am persuaded that this prison will not hold me long, and I
shall not have much more to suffer before I am relieved by death.’ In
a short time my aunt Ursula sent for me again, and informed me that my
father was much grieved at my stubbornness, and that he requested me
to hold no further communication with him until I could say that I was
ready to obey him. In deep despair I retired to my cell, thinking of
Baptisto, for I doubted much whether he knew where I was, so suddenly
and so secretly had I been sent away. But even if he did know, what,
indeed, could he do? Could he unbolt these locks, or lull to sleep the
vigilance of the nuns, when it was impossible even to communicate with
me? I wept bitterly, and as day after day passed in the same unvarying
monotony, all hope seemed to die away, I grew listless and subdued, I
seemed to have no soul. What could it matter, I found myself thinking,
what could it matter whom I married? I could never be happy any more,
and at least I could please my parents if I consented to their choice.
Here she broke off, saying that it was now late, and she dared not stay
any longer, lest she be noticed. But, she added, come to this spot
to-morrow night and I will continue my sad story. I assured the lady
of my devotion, and took leave of her; and the next evening was ready
betimes, for her story interested me much, and moved me even, in parts.
Attached to the convent, she resumed, and surrounded by its walls, was
a large garden in which the sisters took the air, and also, when they
felt so inclined, did a little gardening. But the real work was done
by an old man, who as he became aged, had asked and obtained leave to
have the assistance of his son, a young boy, who getting older in due
course was dismissed, and a succession of boys took his place. I was
too listless and too miserable to do any work in the garden, which
perhaps, would have been better for me than my continual brooding. But
I used to walk in it, though always accompanied by a sister; for they
had, as it seems, taken notice of my increasing melancholy, and feared
that I might either make some desperate effort to escape or perchance
attempt my own life. Upon one of these occasions I had my attention
attracted for a moment by hearing the sister say to the gardener,
‘You have a new boy; why did you dismiss the last? He was not old,
and moreover, it seems to me that your new one is somewhat older.’
The gardener replied that the other boy was not dismissed, but that
he was on a visit to some relatives, and the new boy was only taking
his work during his absence; and then we passed on. This boy was busy
at the time in pruning some vines by the side of the walk, and, as I
passed by, methought that I heard him whisper the word ‘Baptisto.’
Instantly I turned my head towards him, for we had already passed,
whereupon he made a sign which showed me he had something to say.
As we came round again, I brushed past him as close as I could, and
with great dexterity he slipped a note into my hand. If I had not had
leisure after I had passed him the first time to compose myself as I
walked round the garden, my agitation might have betrayed me; but as
it was, I was prepared, and hastily concealing the note in my bosom I
presently told the sister that I was fatigued and would retire into
my cell. It was indeed from Baptisto: a letter of passionate love. He
informed me that I could communicate with him in the same way that I
received this; and he even had the forethought to enclose a sheet of
paper and a tiny piece of Indian ink, for whence could I have procured
writing materials without drawing down upon me the suspicion of the
sisters? He further begged me to consent to a secret marriage: if I
would do so he had already arranged a plan for my escape; but since
he could not take me to his own relations for fear of pursuit, so he
could not ask me to fly with him without having the right to protect
me. I was greatly troubled, for it is a terrible thing to marry without
the consent of one’s parents, nay, against their express will; while
on the other hand there was the prospect of the happiness of having
Baptisto ever by my side. I had told my father that I would never
marry without his consent, provided that he would not force me to
marry without my own, and he had not listened to me; so that I now
feared every day that I should be forced into a hateful union with
one I could never love. You who know the world and weak human nature
will guess which way this conflict within me ended: I wrote the words
‘I consent,’ and passed it to the messenger the next day. Perhaps
it was fortunate for me that my anxiety and grief at disobeying my
parents prevented the joy which I should otherwise have felt, and did
in part feel, from manifesting itself in my face; and so without being
suspected by the sisters, who still watched me vigilantly, and every
few days under pretext of cleaning diligently searched my cell, I got
another note full of rapture, and containing instructions concerning
the method of my escape. I kissed it again and again, and fearing lest
it might be discovered, I ate it, for I knew it by heart. Baptisto had
been informed by his messenger of the position of the convent and all
other necessary matters, and he had laid his plans accordingly. Now,
every evening the sister who acted as janitor took her keys into my
aunt’s cell, where they remained until required for matins. These I
was to procure, but the key of the priest’s door which gave access to
the chapel from outside, was at present in the hands of the gardener
in order that he might give the masons access who were at work there,
without troubling the nuns every morning: and this Baptisto was himself
to get. Oh, how I trembled when the appointed night came! for I well
knew that if I failed this time good care would be taken that I never
had the opportunity again. The sisters noticed my agitation, which I
could not conceal, and thinking that I had the fever, I was nearly
prevented from my purpose by being sent to my cell before the evening
meal; but I assured them that I could not sleep, and begged them so
earnestly to let me stay that they gave way. I soon slipped into
the buttery, and there, noting my aunt’s flagon of wine, which was
different from those the sisters used, I put a few drops of opium into
it, which Baptisto had sent me for that purpose. Instead, however, of
feeling sleepy after it, as I had expected her to do, my aunt appeared
to be more lively than usual, and also in a better temper, for she
bantered me on my obstinacy as she called it, and made the sisters
laugh. I was in despair, and still more when, as we were retiring to
our cells after the meal, my aunt called to me and bade me follow her.
For the first time since I had been in the convent, she talked kindly
to me, and put before me the advantage of such an alliance as that with
Prince Mazzapiglio, my duty to my father, and many other things of a
like nature. While she was talking, the janitress brought in the keys,
which I looked at with hungry eyes, for I feared that my aunt might
remain awake the whole night; but to my great relief, after a little
longer her mind seemed to begin to wander, she paused in her talk as
if to gather her thoughts together, and these pauses gradually grew
longer until her head, which she rested on her hands, gradually sank
down upon the table, and she slept. I seized the keys, extinguished
the lamp, and quietly retired to my own cell. There I waited for what
seemed to me ages, until I thought all the sisters were asleep; then
stealing down the corridor, starting at every sound, I picked out the
key of the chapel door without much difficulty, and hurrying through
in an agony of fear lest the marble effigies of my relations should
rise up against me, I made my way to the other door, where I expected
to find Baptisto waiting. I tried it, but found it locked. I listened,
but could hear no sound. In trembling accents I whispered the name
of Baptisto, but there was no reply save the sighing of the wind. I
sank down on the stone floor and wept, for I felt that some untoward
accident must have happened: the gardener had gone out with his key,
Baptisto had been seen, or I knew not what! I only knew that all my
chances were gone; that the hope which had so newly cheered me was
but a bitter mockery; and that henceforward I was doomed to a life
of misery and living entombment. But just as I was on the point of
returning to my cell I heard the key turning in the lock, and with a
cry of joy and relief I found myself in Baptisto’s arms. I could not
restrain my tears, so great was the revulsion of my feelings from the
lowest depths of despair to the height of happiness; but Baptisto,
after a tender embrace, hurried me out, and at a short distance we came
to the horses he had in waiting, and then dismissing the servant we two
rode away alone. It did not take us long to reach San Martino, where
Baptisto had arranged with the priest to marry us and ask no questions.
In his poor chamber, therefore, and at midnight, I was married, the
priest’s housekeeper holding our horses the while; and no power on
earth, not even the Holy Father himself, could undo it. We immediately
mounted again and rode on some distance, carefully avoiding the
larger places, such as Castelfiorentino, where Baptisto was known, and
towards dawn we reached Montajone, a mountain village, where we sought
the hospitality of a cottager. Here we gave our horses a rest; and I,
who was dying with fatigue, not being used to exercise during my long
imprisonment in the convent, after a hasty meal, such as the place
afforded, retired to an inner room and was soon fast asleep. Baptisto,
who seemed to be made of iron, meanwhile looked to the horses, procured
some food to take with us, and made other necessary preparations. In a
couple of hours he awoke me, and we resumed our flight. We felt pretty
sure that we should not be immediately followed, because I should not
be missed until the morning, as I did not usually attend the midnight
mass, and no one saw us depart; nor, unless they inquired of the priest
of San Martino (if they chanced to come there, and he chanced to
break his oath) would they obtain any tidings of the direction which
we had taken; for all the country we had passed through was wrapped
in slumber. For these reasons, and for the sake of our horses, and
perhaps too because we liked to ride hand in hand, we did not urge our
beasts along too fast. We rode the greater part of the day, with but
two hours’ rest at noon in a wood, and were looking out for some place
to halt for the night, when in the neighbourhood of a mountain town
called Chianni, I chanced to see a troop of armed men riding down upon
us. I called to Baptisto to fly, at the same time turning my horse
off the track into a wood, and sped on as fast as I could make my way
among the trees; but Baptisto, who was busier in looking on my face
than in looking out along the road, did not follow quickly. I fled on
some distance, and then halted for Baptisto, but the woods were silent
and I was afraid to cry out. I searched hither and thither, but to no
purpose, and by-and-by the shades of night began to fall and my horse
gave evident signs of being tired out. I dismounted and led it along,
stumbling at every step, and as the darkness fell thick, as it soon did
among those trees, my fears grew stronger. Every shadow methought to be
a wild beast, and the soughing of the wind sounded to me as the nearing
cries of the wolves. Tired as I was, it seemed that I had walked for
hours when at length I saw a light in the distance, for which I made
at once, and found to proceed from a humble cottage. I knocked at the
door, and an old man came out, shading the lamp with his hand, while
his old wife peered over his shoulder. I asked him if it was yet far
to Quirico, for that was the port we had been making for, and whence
we had intended to sail for Sicily. The man appeared to be greatly
amazed at seeing me, and replied that it was a day’s journey from
hence, and now too dark to seek the way, nor was there, he added, any
village in the neighbourhood. I asked him therefore if he would give me
shelter for the night; at which he sighed, and said ‘Alas! this wood
is haunted by bands of evil men, and should they come upon me, as they
often do, they might do thee an injury, and I could not protect thee.’
Thereupon I said, ‘Father, I have no choice; if I go on, I shall lose
my way and perhaps be torn to pieces by wolves, or even meet some of
those bands you fear. If I stay with you, I shall only run one risk,
and moreover, both I and my horse are exhausted: therefore I pray you,
give me food and shelter for this night.’ The old couple then gave
me permission to enter, and the best that their cottage afforded. My
horse was stabled in a little shed, and we retired early to rest. But
my fears for Baptisto and the thought of my misfortunes kept sleep far
from me. How hard had been our lot, and how happy we might have been
but for our absurd Italian pride! I had been nearly driven mad by my
fears lest I should be forced into a marriage that I detested; I had
lost my father’s love, a splendid home, and been banished to the gloomy
imprisonment of the convent; and now, when I thought that some chance
of happiness was dawning for me in my Baptisto’s arms, I had again
lost him: nay, he was perhaps killed, and I had lost him for ever!
Tormented by these thoughts, I tossed about and wooed sleep in vain.
Just as it grew dawn, methought I heard the distant trampling of many
horses and men. Hastily rising, I looked forth, and saw many armed men
coming towards the cottage, which greatly terrified me, and seeking
to save myself, I went out to the yard at the back of the cottage for
concealment if it were possible. There I was fortunate enough to find a
great heap of coarse hay, in which I completely buried myself. Hardly
had I done so, when they entered the cottage, and after looking round,
entered the shed, where they found my horse and saddle; upon which they
asked the old man whom he had with him, and he, not seeing me, declared
that there was no one there saving himself and his wife; but as for the
horse, he said he had found it grazing outside his cottage the evening
before, and for fear lest it might be killed by the wolves, he had
stabled it. They appeared to be satisfied with this explanation, and
said that since the horse had no owner they would give it one and take
it with them. Then they dispersed themselves through the cottage, many
of them coming out into the yard, where building a fire, they cooked
themselves some goatsflesh and other food that they had brought with
them, and producing an abundance of wine, they made merry and grew very
riotous; and had I not then escaped another very great danger which
convinced me that I was under the Divine protection, I should have
been even more terrified than I was. For when the men came out into
the yard, they tossed aside their arms, and one out of very wantonness
threw his spear into the heap of hay in which I lay concealed, and so
close did it pass to my right side that it even tore my gown. I was so
afraid that I nearly cried out, but mercifully was able to restrain
myself; and there I lay a-trembling while they rested and ate and drank
their fill: and it then growing light, they went away, taking my horse
with them. As soon as they were gone, the old man asked his wife if
she knew where I was, for he was troubled concerning me; and I then
came forth and related to them how I had concealed myself and what had
passed, at which they greatly marvelled. Now that it was daylight, the
old man told me that I might safely proceed on my journey. At about
ten miles distance, there was, he told me, a castle to which he would
conduct me, called Castellina Maritima, where I could be safely lodged,
and thither he guided me. After resting there a day, and not getting
any tidings of Baptisto, I proceeded to Quirico, where to my despair I
still could hear nothing of him. And then came the night in which we
were attacked in the manner you wot. While the fighting was going on
and I was watching and praying from my refuge, methought I saw Baptisto
among the few who had stayed and were defending the place from the
Turks; and I have seen him here on board this galley rowing among the
slaves. How relieved, and at the same time how miserable I felt when I
recognised him you will readily imagine: relieved that he had escaped
from the robbers, and miserable that through me, and in my defence, he
should have been condemned to this slavery. I trust in you to help to
communicate with him in order that we may endeavour to form some plan
of escape, and failing that, I am resolved to put an end to this life
which seems destined to be nought but a source of unhappiness to its
owner and to all who come in contact with her.