"Thus sang th' unletter'd swain to th' oaks and rills,
While the still morn went forth with sandals gray.
And now the sun had stretch'd out all the hills,
And now was dropt into the western bay."--
MILTON.
From the summit of a mountain, the morning light shewed the travellers
the distant lake of Celano, gleaming at the feet of other lofty
mountains of the Apennine, far in the south. Thither Vivaldi judged
it prudent to direct his course, for the lake lay so remote from the
immediate way to Naples, and from the neighbourhood of San Stefano,
that it's banks promised a secure retreat. He considered, also, that
among the convents scattered along those delightful banks, might easily
be found a priest, who would solemnize their nuptials, should Ellena
consent to an immediate marriage.
The travellers descended among olive woods, and soon after were
directed by some peasants at work, into a road that leads from Aquila
to the town of Celano, one of the very few roads which intrudes among
the wild mountains, that on every side sequester the lake. As they
approached the low grounds, the scent of orange blossoms breathed upon
the morning air, and the spicy myrtle sent forth all its fragrance from
among the cliffs, which it thickly tufted. Bowers of lemon and orange
spread along the valley; and among the cabins of the peasants, who
cultivated them, Vivaldi hoped to obtain repose and refreshment for
Ellena.
The cottages, however, at which Paulo enquired were unoccupied, the
owners being all gone forth to their labour: and the travellers, again
ascending, found themselves soon after among mountains inhabited by the
flocks, where the scent of the orange was exchanged for the aromatic
perfume of the pasturage.
"My Signor!" said Paulo, "is not that a shepherd's horn sounding at a
distance? If so, the Signora may yet obtain some refreshment."
While Vivaldi listened, a hautboy and a pastoral drum were heard
considerably nearer.
They followed the sound over the turf, and came within view of a cabin,
sheltered from the sun by a tuft of almond trees. It was a dairy-cabin
belonging to some shepherds, who at a short distance were watching
their flocks, and, stretched beneath the shade of chestnuts, were
amusing themselves by playing upon these rural instruments; a scene of
Arcadian manners frequent at this day, upon the mountains of Abruzzo.
The simplicity of their appearance, approaching to wildness, was
tempered by a hospitable spirit. A venerable man, the chief shepherd,
advanced to meet the strangers; and, learning their wants, conducted
them into his cool cabin, where cream, cheese made of goat's milk,
honey extracted from the delicious herbage of the mountains, and dried
figs were quickly placed before them.
Ellena, overcome with the fatigue of anxiety, rather than that of
travelling, retired, when she had taken breakfast, for an hour's
repose; while Vivaldi rested on the bench before the cottage, and
Paulo, keeping watch, discussed his breakfast, together with the
circumstances of the late alarm, under the shade of the almond trees.
When Ellena again appeared, Vivaldi proposed, that they should rest
here during the intense heat of the day; and, since he now considered
her to be in a place of temporary safety, he ventured to renew the
subject nearest his heart; to represent the evils, that might overtake
them, and to urge an immediate solemnization of their marriage.
Thoughtful and dejected, Ellena attended for some time in silence to
the arguments and pleadings of Vivaldi. She secretly acknowledged the
justness of his representations, but she shrunk, more than ever, from
the indelicacy, the degradation of intruding herself into his family;
a family, too, from whom she had not only received proofs of strong
dislike, but had suffered terrible injustice, and been menaced with
still severer cruelty. These latter circumstances, however, released
her from all obligations of delicacy or generosity, so far as concerned
only the authors of her suffering; and she had now but to consider
the happiness of Vivaldi and herself. Yet she could not decide thus
precipitately on a subject, which so solemnly involved the fortune
of her whole life; nor forbear reminding Vivaldi, affectionately,
gratefully, as she loved him, of the circumstances which withheld her
decision.
"Tell me yourself," said she, "whether I ought to give my hand, while
your family--your mother"----she paused, and blushed, and burst into
tears.
"Spare me the view of those tears," said Vivaldi, "and a recollection
of the circumstances that excite them. O, let me not think of my
mother, while I see you weep! Let me not remember, that her injustice
and cruelty destined you to perpetual sorrow!"
Vivaldi's features became slightly convulsed, while he spoke; he rose,
paced the room with quick steps, and then quitted it, and walked under
the shade of the trees in front of the cabin.
In a few moment, however, he commanded his emotion and returned. Again
he placed himself on the bench beside Ellena, and taking her hand, said
solemnly, and in a voice of extreme sensibility, "Ellena, you have
long witnessed how dear you are to me; you cannot doubt my love; you
have long since promised--solemnly promised, in the presence of her
who is now no more, but whose spirit may even at this moment look down
upon us--of her, who bequeathed you to my tendered care, to be mine
for ever. By these sacred truths, by these affecting recollections! I
conjure you, abandon me not to despair, nor in the energy of a just
resentment, sacrifice the son to the cruel and mistaken policy of the
mother! You, nor I, can conjecture the machinations, which may be
spread for us, when it shall be known that you have left San Stefano.
If we delay to exchange our vows, I know, and I feel--that you are lost
to me for ever!"
Ellena was affected, and for some moments unable to reply. At
length, drying her tears, she said tenderly, "Resentment can have no
influence on my conduct towards you; I think I feel none towards the
Marchesa--for she is your mother. But pride, insulted pride, has a
right to dictate, and ought to be obeyed; and the time is now, perhaps,
arrived when, if I would respect myself, I must renounce you."----
"Renounce me!" interrupted Vivaldi, "renounce me? And is it, then,
possible you could renounce me?" he repeated, his eyes still fixed upon
her face with eagerness and consternation. "Tell me at once, Ellena, is
it possible?"
"I fear it is not," she replied.
"You fear! alas! if you _fear_, it is too possible, and I have lost you
already! say, O! say but, that you _hope_ it is not, and I, too, will
hope again."
The anguish, with which he uttered this, awakened all her tenderness,
and, forgetting the reserve she had imposed upon herself, and every
half-formed resolution, she said, with a smile of ineffable sweetness,
"I will neither fear nor hope in this instance; I will obey the
dictates of gratitude, of affection, and will _believe_ that I never
can renounce you, while you are unchanged."
"Believe!" repeated Vivaldi, "only believe! And why that mention
of gratitude; and why that unnecessary reservation? Yet even this
assurance, feebly as it sustains my hopes, is extorted; you see my
misery, and from pity, from _gratitude_, not affection, would assuage
it. Besides, you will neither fear, nor hope! Ah, Ellena! did love ever
yet exist without fear--and without hope? O! never, never! I fear and
hope with such rapid transition; every assurance, every look of yours
gives such force either to the one, or to the other, that I suffer
unceasing anxiety. Why, too, that cold, that heart-breaking mention of
gratitude? No, Ellena! it is too certain that you do not love me!--My
mother's cruelty has estranged your heart from me!"
"How much you mistake!" said Ellena, "You have already received sacred
testimonies of my regard; if you doubt their sincerity, pardon me, if I
so far respect myself as to forbear entreating you will believe them."
"How calm, how indifferent, how circumspect, how prudent!" exclaimed
Vivaldi in tones of mournful reproach. "But I will not distress you;
forgive me for renewing this subject at this time. It was my intention
to be silent till you should have reached a place of more permanent
security than this; but how was it possible, with such anxiety pressing
upon my heart, to persevere in that design. And what have I gained by
departing from it?--increase of anxiety--of doubt--of fear!"
"Why will you persist in such self-inflictions?" said Ellena. "I cannot
endure that you should doubt my affection, even for a moment. And how
can you suppose it possible, that I ever can become insensible of
your's; that I can ever forget the imminent danger you have voluntarily
incurred for my release, or, remembering it, can cease to feel the
warmest gratitude?"
"That is the very word which tortures me beyond all others!" said
Vivaldi; "is it then, only a sense of obligation you own for me?
O! rather say you hate me, than suffer me to deceive my hopes with
assurances of a sentiment so cold, so circumscribed, so dutiful as that
of gratitude!"
"With me the word has a very different acceptation," replied Ellena
smiling. "I understand it to imply all that is tender and generous in
affection; and the sense of duty which you say it includes is one of
the sweetest and most sacred feelings of the human heart."
"Ah Ellena! I am too willing to be deceived, to examine your definition
rigorously; yet I believe it is your smile, rather than the accuracy of
your explanation, that persuades me to a confidence in your affection;
and I will trust, that the gratitude _you_ feel is thus tender and
comprehensive. But, I beseech you, name the word no more! Its sound is
like the touch of the Torpedo, I perceive my confidence chilled even
while I listen to my own pronunciation of it."
The entrance of Paulo interrupted the conversation, who advancing with
an air of mystery and alarm, said, in a low voice,
"Signor! as I kept watch under the almond trees, who should I see
mounting up the road from the valley yonder, but the two bare-footed
Carmelites, that overtook us in the pass of Chiari! I lost them again
behind the woods, but I dare say they are coming this way, for the
moment they spy out this dairy-hut, they will guess something good is
to be had here; and the shepherds would believe their flocks would all
die, if"----
"I see them at this moment emerging from the woods," said Vivaldi, "and
now, they are leaving the road and crossing this way. Where is our
host, Paulo?"
"He is without, at a little distance, Signor. Shall I call him?"
"Yes," replied Vivaldi, "or, stay; I will call him myself. Yet, if they
see me"----
"Aye, Signor; or, for that matter, if they see me. But we cannot help
ourselves now; for if we call the host, we shall betray ourselves, and,
if we do not call him, he will betray us; so they must find us out, be
it as it may."
"Peace! peace! let me think a moment," said Vivaldi. While Vivaldi
undertook to think, Paulo was peeping about for a hiding place, if
occasion should require one.
"Call our host immediately," said Vivaldi, "I must speak with him."
"He passes the lattice at this instant," said Ellena.
Paulo obeyed, and the shepherd entered the cabin.
"My good friend," said Vivaldi, "I must entreat that you will not admit
those friars, whom you see coming this way, nor suffer them to know
what guests you have. They have been very troublesome to us already,
on the road; I will reward you for any loss their sudden departure may
occasion you."
"Nay for that matter, friend," said Paulo, "it is their visit only that
can occasion you loss, begging the Signor's pardon; their departure
never occasioned loss to any body. And to tell you the truth, for my
master will not speak out, we were obliged to look pretty sharply about
us, while they bore us company, or we have reason to think our pockets
would have been the lighter. They are designing people, friend, take my
word for it; banditti, perhaps, in disguise. The dress of a Carmelite
would suit their purpose, at this time of the pilgrimage. So be pretty
blunt with them, if they want to come in here; and you will do well,
when they go, to send somebody to watch which way they take, and see
them clear off, or you may lose a stray lamb, perhaps."
The old shepherd lifted up his eyes and hands, "To see how the world
goes!" said he. "But thank you, Maestro, for your warning; they shall
not come within my threshold, for all their holy seeming, and it's the
first time in my life I ever said nay to one of their garb, and mine
has been a pretty long one, as you may guess, perhaps, by my face. How
old, Signor, should you take me to be? I warrant you will guess short
of the matter tho'; for on these high mountains"----
"I will guess when you have dismissed the travellers," said Vivaldi,
"after having given them some hasty refreshment without; they must be
almost at the door, by this time. Dispatch, friend."
"If they should fall foul upon me, for refusing them entrance," said
the shepherd, "you will come out to help me, Signor? for my lads are at
some distance."
Vivaldi assured him that they would, and he left the cabin.
Paulo ventured to peep at the lattice, on what might be going forward
without. "They are gone round to the door, Signor, I fancy," said he,
"for I see nothing of them this way; if there was but another window!
What foolish people to build a cottage with no window near the door!
But I must listen."
He stepped on tip-toe to the door, and bent his head in attention.
"They are certainly spies from the monastery," said Ellena to Vivaldi,
"they follow us so closely! If they were pilgrims, it is improbable,
too, that their way should lie through this unfrequented region, and
still more so, that they should not travel in a larger party. When my
absence was discovered, these people were sent, no doubt, in pursuit of
me, and having met the devotees whom we passed, they were enabled to
follow our route."
"We shall do well to act upon this supposition," replied Vivaldi, "but,
though I am inclined to believe them emissaries from San Stefano, it is
not improbable that they are only Carmelites returning to some convent
on the lake of Celano."
"I cannot hear a syllable, Signor," said Paulo. "Pray do listen
yourself! and there is not a single chink in this door to afford one
consolation. Well! if ever I build a cottage, there shall be a window
near----"
"Listen!" said Vivaldi.
"Not a single word, Signor!" cried Paulo, after a pause, "I do not even
hear a voice!--But now I hear steps, and they are coming to the door,
too; they shall find it no easy matter to open it; though," he added,
placing himself against it. "Ay, ay, you may knock, friend, till your
arm aches, and kick and lay about you--no matter for that."
"Silence! let us know who it is," said Vivaldi; and the old shepherd's
voice was heard without. "They are gone, Signors," said he, "you may
open the door."
"Which way did they go?" asked Vivaldi, when the man entered. "I cannot
say, as to that, Signor, because I did not happen to see them at all;
and I have been looking all about, too."
"Why, I saw them myself, crossing this way from the wood yonder," said
Paulo.
"And there is nothing to shelter them from our view between the wood,
and this cottage, friend," added Vivaldi; "What can they have done with
themselves?"
"For that matter, gone into the wood again, perhaps," said the shepherd.
Paulo gave his master a significant look, and added, "It is likely
enough, friend; and you may depend upon it they are lurking there for
no good purpose. You will do well to send somebody to look after them;
your flocks will suffer for it, else. Depend upon it, they design no
good."
"We are not used to such sort of folks in these parts," replied the
shepherd, "but if they mean any harm, they shall find we can help
ourselves." As he concluded, he took down a horn from the roof and
blew a shrill blast that made the mountains echo; when immediately the
younger shepherds were seen running from various quarters towards the
cottage.
"Do not be alarmed, friend;" said Vivaldi, "these travellers mean you
no harm, I daresay, whatever they may design against us. But, as I
think them suspicious persons, and should not like to overtake them
on the road, I will reward one of your lads if you will let him go a
little ways towards Celano, and examine whether they are lurking on
that route."
The old man consented, and, when the shepherds came up, one of them
received directions from Vivaldi.
"And be sure you do not return, till you have found them," added Paulo.
"No master," replied the lad, "and I will bring them safe here, you may
trust me."
"If you do, friend, you will get your head broke for your trouble. You
are only to discover where they are, and to watch where they go," said
Paulo.
Vivaldi, at length, made the lad comprehend what was required of him,
and he departed; while the old shepherd went out to keep guard.
The time of his absence was passed in various conjectures by the party
in the cabin, concerning the Carmelites. Vivaldi still inclined to
believe they were honest people returning from a pilgrimage, but Paulo
was decidedly against this opinion. "They are waiting for us on the
road, you may depend upon it, Signor," said the latter. "You may be
certain they have some _great design_ in hand, or they would never have
turned their steps from this dairy-house when once they had spied it,
and that they did spy it, we are sure."
"But if they have in hand the great design you speak of, Paulo," said
Vivaldi, "it is probable that they have spied us also, by their taking
this obscure road. Now it must have occurred to them when they saw a
dairy-hut, in so solitary a region, that we might probably be found
within--yet they have not examined. It appears, therefore, they have
no design against us. What can you answer to this, Paulo? I trust the
apprehensions of Signora di Rosalba are unfounded."
"Why! do you suppose, Signor, they would attack us when we were safe
housed, and had there good shepherds to lend us a helping hand? No,
Signor, they would not even have shewn themselves, if they could have
helped it; and being once sure we were here, they would skulk back to
the woods, and lurk for us in the road they knew we must go, since, as
it happens, there is only one."
"How is it possible," said Ellena, "that they can have discovered us
here, since they did not approach the cabin to enquire."
"They came near enough for their purpose, Signora, I dare say; and, if
the truth were known, they spied my face looking at them through the
lattice."
"Come, come," said Vivaldi, "you are an ingenious tormentor, indeed,
Paulo. Do you suppose they saw enough of thy face last night by
moonlight, in that dusky glen, to enable them to recollect it again at
a distance of forty yards? Revive, my Ellena, I think every appearance
is in our favour."
"Would I could think so too!" said she, with a sigh.
"O! for that matter, Signora," rejoined Paulo, "There is nothing to be
afraid of; they should find tough work of it, if they thought proper to
attack us, lady."
"It is not an open attack that we have to fear," replied Ellena, "but
they may surround us with their snares, and defy resistance."
However Vivaldi might accede to the truth of this remark, he would not
appear to do so; but tried to laugh away her apprehensions; and Paulo
was silenced for a while, by a significant look from his master.
The shepherd's boy returned much sooner than they had expected, and he
probably saved his time, that he might spare his labour, for he brought
no intelligence of the Carmelites. "I looked for them among the woods
along the road side in the hollow, yonder, too," said the lad, "and
then I mounted the hill further on, but I could see nothing of them
far or near, nor of a single soul, except our goats, and some of them
do stray wide enough, sometimes; they lead me a fine dance often.
They sometimes, Signor, have wandered as far as Monte Nuvola, yonder,
and got to the top of it, up among the clouds, and the crags, where I
should break my neck if I climbed; and the rogues seemed to know it,
too, for when they have seen me coming, scrambling up, puffing and
blowing, they have ceased their capering, and stood peeping over a crag
so sly, and so quiet, it seemed as if they were laughing at me; as much
as to say, 'Catch us if you can.'"
Vivaldi, who during the latter part of this speech had been consulting
with Ellena, whether they should proceed on their way immediately,
asked the boy some further questions concerning the Carmelites;
and becoming convinced that they had either not taken the road to
Celano, or, having taken it, were at a considerable distance, he
proposed setting out, and proceeding leisurely, "For I have now little
apprehension of these people," he added, "and a great deal lest night
should overtake us before we reach the place of our destination, since
the road is mountainous and wild, and, further, we are not perfectly
acquainted with it."
Ellena approving the plan, they took leave of the good shepherd, who
could, with difficulty be prevailed with to accept any recompence
for his trouble, and who gave them some further directions as to the
road; and their way was long cheered by the sound of the tabor and the
sweetness of the hautboy, wafted over the wild.
When they descended into the woody hollow mentioned by the boy, Ellena
sent forth many an anxious look beneath the deep shade; while Paulo,
sometimes silent, and at others whistling and singing loudly, as if to
overcome his fears, peeped under every bough that crossed the road,
expecting to discover his friends the Carmelites lurking within its
gloom.
Having emerged from this valley, the road lay over mountains covered
with flocks, for it was now the season when they had quitted the
plains of Apulia, to feed upon the herbage for which this region is
celebrated; and it was near sun-set, when, from a summit to which the
travellers had long been ascending, the whole lake of Celano, with its
vast circle of mountains, burst at once-upon their view.
"Ah Signor!" exclaimed Paulo, "what a prospect is here! It reminds me
of home; it is almost as pleasant as the bay of Naples! I should never
love it like that though, if it were an hundred times finer."
The travellers stopped to admire the scene, and to give their horses
rest, after the labour of the ascent. The evening sun, shooting
athwart a clear expanse of water, between eighteen and twenty leagues
in circumference, lighted up all the towns and villages, and towered
castles, and spiry convents, that enriched the rising shores; brought
out all the various tints of cultivation, and coloured with beamy
purple the mountains which on every side formed the majestic background
of the landscape. Vivaldi pointed out to Ellena the gigantic Velino
in the north, a barrier mountain, between the territories of Rome and
Naples. Its peaked head towered far above every neighbouring summit,
and its white precipices were opposed to the verdant points of the
Majella, snow-crowned, and next in altitude, loved by the flocks.
Westward, near woody hills, and rising immediately from the lake,
appeared Monte Salviano, covered with wild sage, as its name imports,
and once pompous with forests of chestnut; a branch from the Apennine
extended to meet it. "See," said Vivaldi, "where Monte-Corno stands
like a ruffian, huge, scarred, threatening, and horrid!--and in the
south, where the sullen mountain of San Nicolo shoots up, barren and
rocky! From thence, mark how other overtopping ridges of the mighty
Apennine darken the horizon far along the east, and circle to approach
the Velino in the north!"
"Mark too," said Ellena, "how sweetly the banks and undulating plains
repose at the feet of the mountains; what an image of beauty and
elegance they oppose to the awful grandeur that overlooks and guards
them! Observe, too, how many a delightful valley, opening from the
lake, spreads its rice and corn fields, shaded with groves of the
almond, far among the winding hills; how gaily vineyards and olives
alternately chequer the acclivities, and how gracefully the lofty palms
bend over the higher cliffs."
"Ay, Signora!" exclaimed Paulo, "and have the goodness to observe how
like are the fishing boats, that sail towards the hamlet below, to
those one sees upon the bay of Naples. They are worth all the rest of
the prospect, except indeed this fine sheet of water, which is almost
as good as the bay, and that mountain, with its sharp head, which is
almost as good as Vesuvius--if it would but throw out fire!"
"We must despair of finding a mountain in this neighbourhood, so
_good_ as to do that, Paulo," said Vivaldi, smiling at this stroke of
nationality; "though, perhaps, many that we now see, have once been
volcanic."
"I honour them for that, Signor, and look them with double
satisfaction; but _our_ mountain is the only mountain in the world. O!
to see it of a dark night! what a blazing it makes! and what a height
it will shoot to! and what a light it throws over the sea! No other
mountain can do so. It seems as if the waves were all on fire. I have
seen the reflection as far off as Capri, trembling all across the gulf,
and shewing every vessel as plain as at noon day; ay, and every sailor
on the deck. You never saw such a sight, Signor."
"Why you do, indeed, seem to have forgotten that I ever did, Paulo, and
also that a volcano can do any mischief. But let us return, Ellena, to
the scene before us. Yonder, a mile or two within the shore, is the
town of Celano, whither we are going."
The clearness of an Italian atmosphere permitted him to discriminate
the minute though very distant features of the landscape; and on an
eminence rising from the plains of a valley opening to the west, he
pointed out the modern Alba, crowned with the ruins of its ancient
castle, still visible upon the splendor of the horizon, the prison
and tomb of many a Prince, who, "fallen from his high estate," was
sent from Imperial Rome to finish here the sad reverse of his days;
to gaze from the bars of his tower upon solitudes where beauty or
grandeur administered no assuaging feelings to him, whose life had
passed amidst the intrigues of the world, and the feverish contentions
of disappointed ambition; to him, with whom reflection brought only
remorse, and anticipation despair; whom "no horizontal beam enlivened
in the crimson evening of life's dusty day."
"And to such a scene as this," said Vivaldi, "a Roman Emperor came,
only for the purpose of witnessing the most barbarous exhibition;
to indulge the most savage delights! Here, Claudius celebrated
the accomplishment of his arduous work, an aqueduct to carry the
overflowing waters of the Celano to Rome, by a naval fight, in which
hundreds of wretched slaves perished for his amusement! Its pure and
polished surface was stained with human blood, and roughened by the
plunging bodies of the slain, while the gilded gallies of the Emperor
floated gaily around, and these beautiful shores were made to echo with
applauding yells, worthy of the furies!"
"We scarcely dare to trust the truth of history, in some of its traits
of human nature," said Ellena.
"Signor," cried Paulo, "I have been thinking that while we are taking
the air, so much at our ease, here, those Carmelites may be spying at
us from some hole or corner that we know nothing of, and may swoop upon
us, all of a sudden, before we can help ourselves. Had we not better go
on, Signor?"
"Our horses are, perhaps, sufficiently rested," replied Vivaldi, "but,
if I had not long since dismissed all suspicion of the evil intention
of those strangers, I should not willingly have stopped for a moment."
"But pray let us proceed," said Ellena.
"Ay, Signora, it is best to be of the safe side," observed Paulo.
"Yonder, below, is Celano, and I hope we shall get safe housed there,
before it is quite dark, for here we have no mountain, that will light
us on our way! Ah! if we were but within twenty miles of Naples,
now,--and it was an _illumination_ night!"--
As they descended the mountain, Ellena, silent and dejected, abandoned
herself to reflection. She was too sensible of the difficulties of her
present situation, and too apprehensive of the influence, which her
determination must have on all her future life, to be happy, though
escaped from the prison of San Stefano, and in the presence of Vivaldi,
her beloved deliverer and protector. He observed her dejection with
grief, and, not understanding all the finer scruples that distressed
her, interpreted her reserve into indifference towards himself. But he
forbore to disturb her again with a mention of his doubts, or fears;
and he determined not to urge the subject of his late entreaties, till
he should have placed her in some secure asylum, where she might feel
herself at perfect liberty to accept or to reject his proposal. By
acting with an honour so delicate, he unconsciously adopted a certain
means of increasing her esteem and gratitude, and deserved them the
more, since he had to endure the apprehension of losing her by the
delay thus occasioned to their nuptials.
They reached the town of Celano before the evening closed, when Vivaldi
was requested by Ellena to enquire for a convent, where she might be
lodged for the night. He left her at the inn, with Paulo for her guard,
and proceeded on his search. The first gate he knocked upon belonged
to a convent of Carmelites. It appeared probable, that the pilgrims of
that order, who had occasioned him so much disquietude, were honest
brothers of this house; but as it was probable also, that if they were
emissaries of the Abbess of San Stefano, and came to Celano, they would
take up their lodging with a society of their own class, in preference
to that of any other, Vivaldi thought it prudent to retire from their
gates without making himself known. He passed on, therefore, and soon
after arrived at a convent of Dominicans, where he learned, that there
were only two houses of nuns in Celano, and that these admitted no
other boarders than permanent ones.
Vivaldi returned with this intelligence to Ellena, who endeavoured to
reconcile herself to the necessity of remaining where she was; but
Paulo, ever active and zealous, brought intelligence, that at a little
fishing town, at some distance, on the bank of the lake, was a convent
of Ursalines, remarkable for their hospitality to strangers. The
obscurity of so remote a place, was another reason for preferring it
to Celano, and Vivaldi proposing to remove thither, if Ellena was not
too weary to proceed, she readily assented, and they immediately set
off.
"It happens to be a fine night," said Paulo, as they left Celano, "and
so, Signor, we cannot well lose our way; besides, they say, there is
but one. The town we are going to lies yonder on the edge of the lake,
about a mile and a half off. I think I can see a gray steeple or two, a
little to the right of that wood where the water gleams so."
"No, Paulo," replied Vivaldi, after looking attentively. "I perceive
what you mean; but those are not the points of steeples, they are only
the tops of some tall cypresses."
"Pardon me, Signor, they are too tapering for trees; that must surely
be the town. This road, however, will lead us right, for there is no
other to puzzle us, as they say."
"This cool and balmy air revives me," said Ellena; "and what a soothing
shade prevails over the scene! How softened, yet how distinct, is every
near object; how sweetly dubious the more removed ones; while the
mountains beyond character themselves sublimely upon the still glowing
horizon."
"Observe, too," said Vivaldi, "how their broken summits, tipt with the
beams that have set to our lower region, exhibit the portraiture of
towers and castles, and embattled ramparts, which seemed designed to
guard them against the enemies, that may come by the clouds."
"Yes," replied Ellena, "the mountains themselves display a sublimity,
that seems to belong to a higher world; their besiegers ought not to be
of this earth; they can be only spirits of the air."
"They can be nothing else, Signora," said Paulo, "for nothing of this
earth can reach them. See! lady, they have some of the qualities of
your spirits, too; see! how they change their shapes and colours, as
the sun-beams sink. And now, how gray and dim they grow! See but how
fast they vanish!"
"Every thing reposes," said Vivaldi. "Who would willingly travel in the
day, when Italy has such nights as this!"
"Signor, that _is_ the town before us," said Paulo, "for now I can
discern, plain enough, the spires of convents, and there goes a light!
Hah, hah! and there is a bell, too, chiming from one of the spires! The
monks are going to mass; would we were going to supper, Signor!"
"That chime is nearer than the place you point to, Paulo, and I doubt
whether it comes from the same quarter."
"Hark! Signor, the air wafts the sound! and now it is gone again."
"Yes, I believe you are right, Paulo, and that we have not far to go."
The travellers descended the gradual slopes, towards the shore; and
Paulo, some time after, exclaimed, "See, Signor, where another light
glides along! See! it is reflected on the lake."
"I hear the faint dashing of waves, now," said Ellena, "and the sound
of oars, too! But observe, Paulo, the light is not in the town, it is
in the boat that moves yonder."
"Now it retreats, and trembles in a lengthening line upon the waters,"
said Vivaldi. "We have been too ready to believe what we wish and have
yet far to go."
The shore they were approaching formed a spacious bay for the lake,
immediately below. Dark woods seemed to spread along the banks, and
ascend among the cultivated slopes towards the mountains; except where,
here and there, cliffs, bending over the water, were distinguished
through the twilight by the whiteness of their limestone precipices.
Within the bay, the town became gradually visible; lights twinkled
between the trees, appearing and vanishing; like the stars of a cloudy
night; and, at length was heard the melancholy song of boatmen, who
were fishing near the shore.
Other sounds soon after struck the ear. "O, what merry notes!"
exclaimed Paulo, "they make my heart dance. See! Signora, there is a
group, footing it away so gaily on the bank of the lake, yonder, by
those trees. O, what a merry set! Would I were among them! that is, I
mean, if you, _Maestro_, and the Signora were not here."
"Well corrected, Paulo."
"It is a festival, I fancy," observed Vivaldi. "These peasants of the
lake can make the moments fly as gaily as the voluptuaries of the city,
it seems."
"O! what merry music!" repeated Paulo. "Ah! how often I have footed it
as joyously on the beach at Naples, after sun-set, of a fine night,
like this; with such a pleasant fresh breeze to cool one! Ah! there are
none like the fishermen of Naples for a dance by moonlight; how lightly
they do trip it! O! if I was but there now! That is, I mean, if you,
_Maestro_, and the Signora were there too. O! what merry notes!"
"We thank you, good Signor Paulo," said Vivaldi, "and I trust we shall
all be there soon; when you shall trip it away, with as joyous an heart
as the best of them."
The travellers now entered the town, which consisted of one street,
straggling along the margin of the lake; and having enquired for the
Ursaline convent, were directed to it's gates. The portress appeared
immediately upon the ringing of the bell, and carried a message to the
Abbess, who as quickly returned an invitation to Ellena. She alighted,
and followed the portress to the parlour, while Vivaldi remained at
the gate, till he should know whether she approved of her new lodging.
A second invitation induced him, also, to alight; he was admitted
to the grate, and offered refreshment, which, however, he declined
staying to accept, as he had yet a lodging to seek for the night. The
Abbess, on learning this circumstance, courteously recommended him to
a neighbouring society of Benedictines, and desired him to mention her
name to the Abbot.
Vivaldi then took leave of Ellena, and, though it was only for a few
hours, he left her with dejection, and with some degree of apprehension
for her safety, which, though circumstances could not justify him in
admitting, he could not entirely subdue. She shared his dejection, but
not his fears, when the door closed after him, and she found herself
once more among strangers. The forlornness of her feelings could not
be entirely overcome by the attentions of the Abbess; and there was a
degree of curiosity, and even of scrutiny, expressed in the looks of
some of the sisters, which seemed more than was due to a stranger. From
such examination she eagerly escaped to the apartment allotted for her,
and to the repose from which she had so long been withheld.
Vivaldi, meanwhile, had found an hospitable reception with the
Benedictines, whose sequestered situation made the visit of a stranger
a pleasurable novelty to them. In the eagerness of conversation, and,
yielding to the satisfaction which the mind receives from exercising
ideas that have long slept in dusky indolence, and to the pleasure
of admitting new ones, the Abbot and a few of the brothers sat with
Vivaldi to a late hour. When, at length, the traveller was suffered
to retire, other subjects than those, which had interested his host,
engaged his thoughts; and he revolved the means of preventing the
misery that threatened him, in a serious separation from Ellena. Now,
that she was received into a respectable asylum, every motive for
silence upon this topic was done away. He determined, therefore, that
on the following morning, he would urge all his reasons and entreaties
for an immediate marriage; and among the brothers of the Benedictine,
he had little doubt of prevailing with one to solemnize the nuptials,
which he believed would place his happiness and Ellena's peace, beyond
the influence of malignant possibilities.