The Press. — London, England, 1858-11-06 00:00:00

THE PRE S S, NOVEMBER 6, 1858. 1088 than horror at the knowledge. Her bosom friend Armida, a young lady of her own social Position, on receiving the ghastly confidence, " flings open the door, and, stopping both her "ears, flies horror-stricken (fugge inorridita) " from the room." To the honour, however, of female heroism, Armida conquers his first na tural impulse, and returns to her unhappy friend, to whom, after long reflection, she recommends, as an infallible remedy for all her ills, a visit to the venerated Suora Angelica, in whom reside perfect piety and perfect wisdom : " Relate to her," she says, " your whole case, and give heed, give earnest heed, to everything she says. Garner up every word, every accent, because in these words all that you are dying to know will be hidden. Do not lose a single syllable of them. Long experience has demon strated that her predictions are infallible. I could tell you instances which would fill you with amazement. But, first of all, I want you to promise me that, whatever may be the issue of this last attempt, ynu will at least keep yourself calmer during the interval." " I calm ? Well, I'll say nothing, Arnaida. I'll keep all buried here!" exclaitued Filowena, with a deep sigh, pressing her hand to her heart. The pious nun, Suora Angelica, is evidently meant for a sort of counterpart, in petticoats, of Manzoni's Fra Cristoforo. Exemplary and pure, however, as the author represents her, the Suora possesses nothing of that elevation and enlighten ment of views with which the poet-novelist has delighted to invest the most congenial of his creations. Not on that account, however, is the picture before us the less truthful of the two; and we will venture to believe Filomena's inter view with the nun much nearer the type of such holy conferences than Renzo's with the monk. Here are some specimen fragments of this curious dialogue, which is carried on, bien entendu, through the grating of the " Parlatorio " " Yon have desired to sae me (it is the Suora who speaks), and here I am. Manifest your thoughts—tell me what you wish—in order that, sinner though I be, I may recommend you to the Lord." Filomena remained for some time lost in reftectirn. She tried to put together a few sentences as best she cou'Al. She panted to speak about Hencen knows how many things, but wai wercome by the ilea which domi- nated her, and by the uncontrollable impetuosity of her passionate nature. " What do you want?" repeated the Snore. . . " I want "'y replied she ; and then, terrified by her own boldness, hid her face in her hands and was silent. "But who is this William? In the name of Heaven begin at the beginning, if you wish me to understand you. You are young, poor e'Lild; I know it by your voice, and better still by the vehemence of your words. Who is this youth ?" " Ah !" exelaims'Filomens to herself, " yol do not know William ! You do not know him !—sod how [hen," she adds, becoming more and more bewildered, "how, their, will she understand my paroxysms? How shall 1 de scribe him to her?" Urged on, however, by the impulse which swayed her even at those moments when she was most on her guard, she replied—" William is a young man —not a young man like the rest. William is beautiful ; he's an angel among meg, He is so beautiful—so beautiful, that I believed him to be good. Everything about him seemed charming to me, and the moment / saw him i P-11 in love with him. As soon as I learnt his mime I intro duced it into my prayers ; as soon as I heard hie voice my heart re-echoed it, as my heart re-echoes it sell!. 1 know no sleep, no peace, since I have lost him. I loved him es those love who place in one sole being every thought an every hope. Suora Angelica, I loved him as yoa love fatal ! Do you understand me now r " Child!" crieda voice of severe admonition from within. " Can there be any peace for me who have lost him ? D►o you know that for him 1 would have given up my mother, my father—everything? Do you know that fur him I would have perinea my very soul?" " Aliserere lilies, Dons. secumluin megrim misericox• diam tuain !" murmured the nun fervently from within. No, no ! Listen still—l must tell you all. i must open my whole heart to you. It would he Vain to use deceit with you. You kuow, of course, my secret " " What misapprehension is this?"— " Oh, you know it; but I wish to humble myself by con fessing it, that the Lord may ut least take coreps,..sion upon me." And here, with bated voice, as if unwilling to bear the words which are to reveal her own thoughts, and yet at the same time with a difttincteesa of articulation meant to bring into relief the enormity of her sit), " For him, Snore Angelica, for him," she whispered, " I have invoked the Demon himself!" A faint gcoan from within was the answer to this oonfession. Fitment( heard It not, and, giving constantly increased rapidity as wJ M increase I disorder to her narration, "Yes," she col:finned, "I in voked him on that fearful night. My Relied feet waded in a torrent of ice, but V i 'Vesuvius was n ivy brain and in my heart. f celled him! My voice rose above the peal of the thunder find the eras* of the tempest. I called him, but he was Wee to Lis promise, and the oilier, my William, did not ooze. Jibe had come, think you I should be here, inspiring you with horror now?" A fi.,od of tears poured at this point front the poor girl's eyes; and no would leached her ear save a deep moan, which appeared to come from afar. A long offence followed, Bemenv bering at that moment the terror dispnyed by Arran's, " And she, too, flies me !" exclaimed Filomens, imagining herself alone. " Then I am indeed condemned to per— dition !" cried the desperate girl. • " No, no, my child--tuy daughter!" replied the nun. with an accent of maternal grief, from within—" No ; hear me, look at me ! Oh, why do not all these barriers placed between us fall now ! You would then see—you would feel—with what ad'eotion, my daughter, my sister, I would press yon in my arms !" • • • • " Render thanks to Heaven (continues the Suura, after a couple of pages of earnest counsel ),—render thanks to Heaven for having rescued you from greater exoesbes. Magnify the Lord with me, oh my daughter, and let us together exalt liia name." " And will He give me my William afterwards? Answer me, Suora Angelica—l have suffered too much—l pine to be happy." " Pray, then, my child, that the spirit of God may illumine your mind, and give efficacy to my feeble coun sels... " / pray !—Always prayers !—I have no more force to pray. Pray, you, for a miserable sinner. Tell the Madonna, gocd Snore Angelica—Listen," she continued, in suppliant tones, "tell her to do this little kindness, in charity, for poor Filomena. Tell her f shall die if she doesn't make me my William's wife. Oh! if she grants my prayer,"— she exclaimed iu a transport of gratitude, her face all radiant with pleasure—" I will dedicate to her this whole braid of my hair! " And, forgetting that the nun was unable to see her," Look," she continued, " how thick it is—no hair shorter or longer Olen the other—look ! it reaches down to my feet !" So saying she unloosed the superb mass of her raven tresses, which descended, like a cloak, over her rounded shoulders and down to her very ankles. And the enamoured girl, with awakened vanity, pressed oloser to the gritting. How beautiful she looked in that childish contemplation ! " Now do you not think that there is a chance of my prayer being granted ?" she asked. " I would not cut them off for any earthly treasure—but for my William—for the Madonna, I would cut them willingly. Poor mamma! They have cost her so much trouble I—Poor thing !—she looks at them with such pleasure !" and, absorbed in these vein thoughts, bile smoothed them amorously down, and, with a melancholy smile, rearranged them as best she could. Perhaps the most remarkable feature in the whole of this " diabolic " episode, is the entire absence from it of that ludicrous element which, among us benighted heretics, scepticism fatally mixes up with all similar stories. Even our author herself —who speaks out boldly enough on some occa sions—keems quite to take the credulous and orthodox view here. And when we say " ortho dox," we say it advisedly—for (and the fact may not be uninteresting) the Roman Church autho ritatively inculcates, among its ministers and its children, the belief in a possible direct and per sonal intercourse with the Devil ; * as it also indirectly inculcates (although only in connec tion with financial questions) the belief in dreams. From such premises, witches of course follow as a natural and a fortiori conclusion—so that the Signora Virginia's introduction of witches and demons among the agents of her plot, is as true to orthodox Catholicity as it is, to our certain knowledge, true to Italian humanity. We had marked for translation another passage, in which a still more widely spread superstition—that of the " Evil Eye "—is brought upon the scene. But the decreasing number of the " virgin pages " placed at our disposal warns us that we must abandon this extract for the consecrated phrase, " We refer the reader to the work itself." Indeed we may think ourselves lucky if we can contrive to get in a few critical words of peroration—just to save professional appearances. Taking " Carlo Guelfi " on its literary merits alone, we have less to say in its favour than we mould wish. Manzoni, Eugene Sue, and Balzac are, we should judge, Virginia Pulli-Filotico's models for composition. At any rrte she has con trived to reproduce the peculiar defects of these three writers. Like the " Promessi Sposi," " Carlo Guelfi " is so overlaid with episodes, so over crowded with prominent characters, that the thread of the main plot is constantly disappearing, and the reader is almost at a loss to decide on which figures of the action his interest is meant to be concentrated. fn the wearisome minute ness and slow developments of the author's cha racters we recognize the pernicious influences of the " Scenes de la Vie Priv6e," and of " Eugenie Grandet," without any of that wondrous psycho logical profundity which, in Balzac, outweighs these artistic defects; while the tendency to dis- • In, we belkve, tll Catholic books on the Confessional, this commerce, "etas Demonic) sive ineubo aut suocubo in humeni formit apparent., aut attain invisituliter operaute." is mentioned as one of the eubjects for interrogation. A recent work now before us (Beccari," Pratica del Confessionale," Firenze, 1338) allows that such an idea may possibly be, in the penitent, en effect of disordered imagination, but adds that the thing really happens occasional!, Isaccecie peni, ykalchivolta): dragging verbosity cursive dissertation and the suggest a probable admiration for the "My • - which the authoress is herself responsible de Paris" and the " J uif Errant." Faultsigeirr ponderous dialogue, superabundant b so le ll ( a i r g e-- and an improbability of incident forced humour, to for . almost puerile. That convenient indiu, i dual, ent indeed, the Deus ex machind, is called into such frequent . requisition that the poor fellow at 1- gets . quite bewildered and really seems his " cue,' coming on the stage occasionally utif i , he is more a hindrance than a help. We nu, protest, too, against the redundance of broken heart to which the fair Virginia tr ea t s us. E very . character in the story, not superann ua t e d, b rea k s his or her heart at one period or other o f • a ction. The heroine-in-chiefs youn g l uxur i ous life is made a burden to her by this fatal malady the subordinate heroine goes mad with the same complaint; and the hero, deliberately and most elaborately, dies thereof. With all these drawbacks, the book has remarkable merit, already intimated, of placing before us in singularly faithful colours the social state of the middle classes in Italy at the present day. Filomena, her father Don Francesco, ' mother Donna Giroloma, and the moth " gossip " Donna Antonia, are all drawn wi, skill which proves that, when more practised, the creative hand may do much better than it has yet done. For those who read light books with graver aim " Carlo Guelfi " will present special interest. It may serve as an illustrated commentary upon Italian history, past present. And, if they are theologically inclim it will give them a far more accurate idea of practical working of Catholicism, where Cat licism has had the best opportunities for free velopment, than the dissertations of Father Newman or the lectures of Cardinal. Wiseman. But in conceding to this novel a space in cess, it must be allowed, of its intrinsic deserts, our special object has been to break ground the more important task of winning for modo. Italian literature a recognition which is, among us, almost entirely denied it. We wished to call the attention of the reading world in general, of young ladies in particular, to the fact that .._ literature may supply more novel and original subjects tbr conversation than conventional tures anent the " Diving Comedia " and " Promessi Sposi." The prevailing idea modern Italy's intellectual impotence has ( a comparative, certainly not an absolute, ti If in Naples the throttling grasp of despotism chokes all utterance—if Rome is relapsing lethargy as the re-innoculated poison again culates through and curdles her blood,—Tuscan) at least still gives signs of life—nay, even Mu' . can boast a spasmodic vitality, while Sardinia breathes and moves with the regularity and , sion of sound, self-conscious health. Of this will hope to lay before our readers convincing evidence from time to time. Meanwhile, for' benefit of those who pursue Italian studies a higher aim than that of " being able to say have read Dante," we will enumerate a few temporary writers whose works will well ret perusal and help to a juster estimate of the rary movement to which they belong. In field of Romance (rendered remarkably barren causes we cannot here examine) the names , Rossini, of Massimo d'Azeglio, and of Cesare Canal, stand in the van, while the pleasing story-tellers Adimollo and Giulio Carcano bring up the rear. In Lyric Poetry the Milanese . chet, the Venetian Carrer, and, above all, brilliant, versatile Prati, whose recent " Rodolfo " roused such a stormy conflict .of plause and censure through the whole Pe nult merit special attention. Nor must we om it Florentine Guisti, in whose polished product we admire the rare union of sparkling nit,l satire, and deep poetic feeling. The graver of History has, for obvious reasons, been sparely cultivated. Nevertheless, Cesare tam "Storm di cento anni" (1750-1850) must I high, no less for richness of matter than breadth of views; and the histories of . recen Italian revolutions by Rai-mill, are all more or less valuable. We could lengthen this list to almost any reasonable Farini, Gualteno - tent, but we feel that it is already too long the superficial student, and quite long . enc even for those who may wish to profit b; suggestions. We shall return, however, to subject at more convenient time osity tkre s ta for .re-- guy, dent dual, such last wget vhen must aken ,very 'eaks the rious adY ; same most s the icing social esent , her :her's ith a tised, lan it mks ;eta a rated and lined, f the atho- e de- athet an. a ex- !seas, ad in odern mong o call 1, and It this iginal l rap- tiat ea I only truth. ootism into cir- 'scan) Milan rdinip dcci its we incing Dr the s with y they r con- repay a lite- n the 'en by les of .:esare easing bring Ber- 1, the epos If ap- nsula, it the etions keen r field L but int'u's rank n for 'scent and could e est- ig for by Its o the