# The Italian (Radcliffe)/Volume 1/Chapter 6

CHAP. VI.
Ellena, on thus suddenly losing her aunt, her only relative, the friend of her whole life, felt as if left alone in the world. But it was not in the first moment of affliction that this feeling occurred. Her own for­lorn situation was not even observed, while affection, pity, and irresistible grief for Bianchi, occupied her heart.
Bianchi was to be interred in the church belonging to the convent of Santa Maria della Pieta. The body attired according to the custom of the country, and decorated with flowers, was carried on an open bier to the place of interment, attended only by priests and torch-bearers. But Ellena could not endure thus lightly to part with the re​liques of a beloved friend, and being restrained by custom from following the corpse to the grave, she repaired first to the convent, to attend the funeral service. Her sorrow did not al­low her to join in the choral symphonies of the nuns, but their sacred solemnity was soothing to her spirits, and the tears she shed while she listened to the length­ening notes, assuaged the force of grief.
When the service concluded she withdrew to the parlour of the lady Abbess, who mingled with her consolations many entreaties that Ellena would make the convent her present asylum; and her affliction re­quired little persuasion on this subject. It was her wish to retire hither as to a sanctuary, which was not only suitable to her particular circumstances, but espe­cially adapted to the present state of her spirits. Here she believed that she should sooner acquire resignation and regain tranquility, than in a place less consecrated to religion; and, before she took leave of the Abbess it was agreed, that she should be received ​as a boarder. To acquaint Vivaldi with her intention was, indeed, her chief motive for returning to the villa Altieri, after this her resolution had been taken. Her affection and esteem had been gradual in their progress, and had now attained a degree of strength, which promised to de­cide the happiness or misery of her whole life. The sanction given by her aunt to this choice, and particu­larly the very solemn manner in which, on the even­ing preceding her death, she bequeathed Ellena to his care, had still endeared him to her heart, and imparted a sacredness to the engagement, which made her con­sider Vivaldi as her guardian and only surviving pro­tector. The more tenderly she lamented her deceased relative, the more tenderly she thought of Vivaldi; and her love for the one was so intimately connected with her affection for the other, that each seemed strengthened and exalted by the union.
When the funeral was over, they met at Altieri.
​He was neither surprized or averse to her with­drawing awhile to a convent; for there was a propri­ety in retiring, during the period of her grief, from a home where she had no longer a guardian, which de­licacy seemed to demand. He only stipulated, that he might be permitted to visit her in the parlour of the convent, and to claim, when decorum should no longer object to it, the hand, which Bianchi had resigned to him.
Notwithstanding that he yielded to this arrange­ment without complaining, it was not entirely without repining; but being assured by Ellena of the worthi­ness of the Abbess of the Santa Maria della Pieta, he endeavoured to silence the secret murmurs of his heart with the conviction of his judgment.
Meanwhile, the deep impression made by his un­known tormentor, the monk, and especially by his pre­diction of the death of Bianchi, remained upon his mind, and he once more determined to ascertain, if pos­​sible, the true nature of this portentous visitant, and what were the motives which induced him to haunt his footsteps and interrupt his peace. He was awed by the circumstances which had attended the visitations of the monk, if monk it was; by the suddenness of his appearance, and departure; by the truth of his pro­phecies; and, above all, by the solemn event which had verified his last warning; and his imagination, thus elevated by wonder and painful curiosity, was prepar­ed for something above the reach of common conjec­ture, and beyond the accomplishment of human agen­cy. His understanding was sufficiently clear and strong to teach him to detect many errors of opinion, that prevailed around him, as well as to dispise the common superstitions of his country, and, in the usual state of his mind, he probably would not have paused for a moment on the subject before him; but his pas­sions were now interested and his fancy awakened, and, though he was unconscious of this propensity, he would, perhaps, have ​been somewhat disappointed to have descended suddenly from the region of fearful sublimity, to which he had soared—to the world of terrible shadows—to the earth, on which he daily walked, and to an explanation simply natural.
He designed to visit again, at midnight, the fortress of Paluzzi, and not to watch for the appearance of the stranger, but to carry torches into every recess of the ruin, and discover, at least, whether it was haunted by any other human beings than himself. The chief difficul­ty which had hitherto delayed him, was that of finding a person, in whom he could confide, to accompany him in the search, since his former adventure had warned him never to renew it alone. Signor Bonarmo per­sisted absolutely, and, perhaps, wisely, to refuse his request on this subject; and, as Vivaldi had no other acquaintance, to whom he chose to give so much ex­planation of the affair as might induce compliance, he at length determined to take with him Paulo, his own servant.
​On the Evening, previous to the day of Ellena's departure to the Santo della Pieta, Vivaldi went to Altieri, to bid her adieu. During this interview his spirits were more than usually depressed; and, though he knew that her retirement was only for a short period, and had as much confidence in the con­tinuance of her affection, as is, perhaps, possible to a lover, Vivaldi felt as if he was parting with her for ever. A thousand vague and fearful conjectures, such as he never till this moment admitted, assailed him, and amongst them, it appeared probable, that the arts of the nuns might win her from the world, and sacri­fice her to the cloister. In her present state of sorrow this seemed to be even more than probable, and not all the assurances which Ellena gave him, and in these parting moments she spoke with less reserve than she had hitherto done, could entirely re-assure his mind. "It should seem, Ellena, by these boding fears," said he, imprudently, "that I am parting with you for e­ver; I feel a weight upon ​my heart, which I cannot throw off. Yet I consent that you shall withdraw awhile to this convent, convinced of the propriety of the step; and I ought, also, to know that you will soon return; that I shall soon take you from its walls as my wife, never more to leave me, never more to pass from my immediate care and tenderness. I ought to feel assured of all this; yet so apt are my fears that I cannot confide in what is probable, but rather ap­prehend what is possible. And is it then possible that I yet may lose you; and is it only probable that you may be mine for ever? How, under such circumstan­ces, could I weakly consent to your retirement? Why did I not urge you to bestow immediately those in­dissoluble bands, which no human force can burst asun­der? How could I leave the destiny of all my peace within the reach of a possibility, which it was once in my power to have removed! Which it was in my power!—It is, perhaps, still in my power. O Elle­na! let the severities of custom yield to the security of ​my happiness. If you do go to the Santa Maria, let it be only to visit its altar!"
Vivaldi delivered this expostulation with a rapidity, that left no pause for Ellena to interrupt him. When, at length, he concluded, she gently reproached him for doubting the continuance of her regard, and endea­voured to sooth his apprehensions of misforune, but would not listen to his request. She represented, that not only the state of her spirits required retire­ment, but that respect to the memory of her aunt de­manded it; and added gravely, that if he had so little confidence in the steadiness of her opinions, as to doubt the constancy of her affection, and for so short a peri­od, unless her vows were secured to him, he had done imprudently to elect her for the companion of his whole life.
Vivaldi, then ashamed of the weakness he had be­trayed, besought her forgiveness, and endeavoured to appease apprehensions which passion only made plau­sible, and which reason reproved; notwithstanding which, he ​could recover neither tranquillity nor confidence; nor could Ellena, though her conduct was supported and encouraged by justness of sentiment, entirely remove the oppression of spirits she had felt from almost the first moment of this interview. They parted with many tears; and Vivaldi, before he finally took his leave, frequently returned to claim some promise, or to ascertain some explanation, till Ellena remarked with a forced smile, that these resembled eternal adieus, rather than those of only a few days; an observation which renewed all his alarm, and furnished an excuse for again delaying his departure. At length he tore himself away, and left the villa Altieri; but as the time was yet too early to suit his purposed enquiry at Paluzzi, he returned to Naples.
Ellena, meanwhile, endeavouring to dissipate melancholy recollections by employment, continued busied in preparation for her departure on the following day, till a late hour of the night. In the prospect of quitting, though only for so short a period, ​the home where she had passed almost every day since the dawn of her earliest remembrance, there was something mel­ancholy, if not solemn. In leaving those well-known scenes, where, it might be said, the shade of her de­ceased relative seemed yet to linger, she was quitting all vestige of her late happiness, all note of former years and of present consolation; and she felt as if going forth into a new and homeless world. Her affection for the place encreased as the passing time diminished, and it seemed as if the last moment of her stay would be precisely that, in which the villa Altieri would be most valued.
In her favourite apartments she lingered for a con­siderable time; and in the room where she had supped on the night immediately preceding the death of Sig­nora Bianchi, she indulged many tender and mournful recollections, and probably would have continued to indulge them much longer, had not her attention been withdrawn by a sudden rustling of the foliage ​that sur­rounded the window, when on raising her eyes, she thought she perceived some person pass quickly before it. The lattices had, as usual, been left open to admit the fresh breeze from the bay below, but she now rose with some alarm to close them, and had scarcely done so when she heard a distant knocking from the portico, [Page 89] and in the next instant the screams of Beatrice in the hall.
Alarmed for herself, Ellena, had, however, the cou­rage to advance to the assistance of her old servant, when, on entering the passage leading to the hall, three men, masked and muffled up in cloaks, appeared, ad­vancing from the opposite extremity. While she fled, they pursued her to the apartment she had quit­ted. Her breath and her courage were gone, yet she struggled to sustain herself, and endeavoured to ask with calmness what was their errand. They gave no reply, but threw a veil over her face, and seizing her arms, led her almost unresisting but supplicating, to­wards the portico.
​In the hall, Ellena perceived Beatrice bound to a pillar; and another ruffian, who was also masked, watching over and menacing her, not by words, but gestures. Ellena's shrieks seemed to recall the almost lifeless Beatrice, for whom she supplicated as much as for herself; but entreaty was alike unavailing for each, and Ellena was borne from the house and through the garden. All consciousness had now forsaken her. On recovering, she perceived herself in a carriage, which was driven with great rapidity, and that her arms were within the grasp of some persons, whom, when her recollection returned more fully, she believed to be the men, who had carried her from the villa. The darkness prevented her from observing their figures, and to all her questions and entreaties a death-like silence was observed.
During the whole night the carriage proceeded rapidly, stopping only while the horses were changed, when Ellena endeavoured to interest by her cries the com​passion of the people at the post-houses, and by her cries only, for the blinds were closely drawn. The postillions, no doubt imposed on the credulity of these people, for they were insensible to her distress, and her [Page 90] immediate companions soon overcame the only means that had remained by which she could make it known.
For the first hours, a tumult of terror and amaze­ment occupied her mind, but, as this began to subside, and her understanding to recover its clearness, grief and despondency mingled with her fears. She saw herself separated from Vivaldi, probably for ever, for she apprehended that the strong and invisible hand which governed her course, would never relinquish its grasp till it had placed her irrecoverably beyond the reach of her lover. A conviction that she should see him no more, came, at intervals with such over­whelming force, that every consideration and emoti­on disappeared before it; and at these moments she lost all anxiety as to the place of her ​destination, and all fear as to her personal safety.
As the morning advanced and the heat encreased, the blinds were let down a little to admit air, and El­lena then perceived, that only two of the men, who had appeared at the villa Altieri, were in the carriage, and that they were still disguised in cloaks and visors. She had no means of judging through what part of the country she was travelling, for above the small open­ings which the blinds left she could see only the tower­ing tops of mountains, or sometimes the veiny preci­pices and tangled thickets, that closely impended over the road,
About noon, as she judged from the excessive heat, the carriage stopped at a post-house, and ice-water was handed through the window, when, as the blind was lowered to admit it, she perceived herself on a wild and solatary plain, surrounded by mountains and woods. The people at the door of the post-house seemed "unused to pity or be pitied." The lean and sallow coun​tenance of poverty stared over their gaunt bones, and habitual discontent had fixed the furrows of their cheeks. They regarded Ellena with only a [Page 91] feeble curiosity, though the affliction in her looks might have interested almost any heart that was not corroded by its own sufferings; nor did the masked faces of her companions excite a much stronger atten­tion.
Ellena accepted the cool refreshment offered her, the first she had taken on the road. Her companions having emptied their glasses drew up the blind, and, notwithstanding the almost intolerable heat of noon, the carriage proceeded. Fainting under its oppression, Ellena entreated that the windows might he open, when the men, in compliance with their own necessity rather than with her request, lowered the blinds, and she had a glimpse of the lofty region of the mountains, but of no object that could direct her conjecture con­cerning where she was. She saw only pinnacles and vast precipices of various-tinted marbles, ​intermingled with scanty vegetation, such as stunted pinasters, dwarf oak and holly, which gave dark touches to the many-coloured cliffs, and sometimes stretched in sha­dowy masses to the deep vallies, that, winding into ob­scurity, seemed to invite curiosity to explore the scenes beyond. Below these bold precipices extended the gloomy regions of olive-trees, and lower still other rocky steeps sunk towards the plains, bearing terra­ces crowned with vines, and were often the artificial soil was propped by thickets of juniper, pomegranates and oleander.
Ellena, after having been so long shut in darkness, and brooding over her own alarming circumstances found temporary, though feeble, relief in once more looking upon the face of nature; till, her spirits be­ing gradually revived and elevated by the grandeur of the images around her, she said to herself, "If I am condemned to misery, surely I could endure it with more fortitude it scenes like these, than amidst the ta­mer ​landscapes of nature! Here, the objects seem to impart somewhat of their own force, their own sublimity, to the soul. It is scarcely possible to yield to the pressure of misfortune while we walk, as with the Deity, amidst his most stupendous works!"
But soon after the idea of Vivaldi glancing athwart her memory, she melted into tears; the weakness however was momentary, and during the rest of the journey she preserved a strenuous equality of mind.
It was when the heat and the light were declining that the carriage entered a rocky defile, which shewed, as through a telescope reversed, distant plains, and mountains opening beyond, lighted up with all the purple splendor of the setting sun. Along this deep and shadowy perspective a river, which was seen descending among the cliffs of a mountain, rolled with impetuous force, fretting and foaming amidst the dark rocks in its descent, and then flowing in a limpid lapse to the brink of other precipices, whence again it fell with thundering strength to the ​abyss, throwing its misty clouds of spray high in the air, and seeming to claim the sole empire of this solitary wild. Its bed took up the whole breadth of the chasm, which some strong convulsion of the earth seemed to have formed, not leaving space even for a road along its margin. The road, therefore, was carried high among the cliffs, that impended over the river, and seemed as if suspend­ed in the air; while the gloom and vastness of the precipices, which towered above and sunk below it, together with the amazing force and uproar of the falling waters combined to render the pass more terri­fic than the pencil could describe, or language can ex­press. Ellena ascended it, not with indifference but with calmness; she experienced somewhat of a dread­ful pleasure in looking down upon the irresistible flood; but this emotion was heightened into awe, when she perceived that the road led to a slight bridge, [Page 93] which, thrown across the chasm at an immense height, united two opposite cliffs, between which ​the whole cataract of the river descended. The bridge, which was defended only by a slender railing, appeared as if hung amidst the clouds. Ellena, while she was cros­sing it, almost forgot her misfortunes. Having reach­ed the opposite side of the glen, the road gradually descended the precipices for about half a mile, when it opened to extensive prospects over plains and towards distant mountains—the sunshine landscape, which had long appeared to bound this shadowy pass. The tran­sition was as the passage through the vale of death to the bliss of eternity; but the idea of its resemblance did not long remain with Ellena. Perched high a­mong the cliffs of a mountain, which might be said to terminate one of the jaws of this terific gorge, and which was one of the loftiest of a chain that surround­ed the plains, appeared the spires and long terraces of a monastry; and she soon understood that her journey was to conclude there,
​At the foot of this mountain her companions alight­ed, and obliged her to do the same, for the ascent was too steep and irregular to admit of a carriage. El­lena followed unresistingly, like a lamb to the sacri­fice, up a path that wound among the rocks, and was coolly over-shadowed by thickets of almond trees, figs broad-leaved myrtle, and ever-green rose bushes, in­termingled with the strawberry tree, beautiful in fruit and blossoms, the yellow jasemine, the delightful aca­cia mimosa, and a variety of other fragrant plants. These bowers frequently admitted glimpses of the glowing country below, and sometimes opened to ex­pansive views bounded by the snowy mountains of Abruzzo. At every step were objects which would have afforded pleasure to a tranquil mind; the beau­tifully varigated marbles, that formed the cliffs imme­diately above, their fractured masses embossed with [Page 94] mosses and flowers of every vivid hue that paints the rainbow; the elegance of the shrubs that tufted, and the ​majestic grace of the palms which waved over them would have charmed almost any other eye than Elle­na's, whose spirit was rapt in care or than those of her companions, whose hearts were dead to feeling. Par­tial features of the vast edifice she was approaching, appeared now and then between the trees; the tall west window of the cathedral with the spires that over­topped it; the narrow pointed roofs of the cloisters; angles of the insurmountable walls, which fenced the garden from the precipices below, and the dark portal leading into the chief court; each of these, seen at in­tervals beneath the gloom of cypress and spreading cedar, seemed as if manacing the unhappy Ellena with hints of future suffering. She past several shrines and images half hid among the shrubs and the cliffs; and, when she drew near the monastery, her companions stopped at a little chapel which stood beside the path, where, after examining some papers, an act ​which she observed with surprise, they drew aside, as if to con­sult respecting herself. Their conversation was de­livered in voices so low, that she could not catch a single tone distinctly, and it is probable that if she could, this would not have assisted her in conjecturing who they were; yet the profound silence they had hi­therto observed had much encreased her curiosity, now that they spoke.
One of them soon after quitted the chapel and pro­ceeded alone to the monastery, leaving Ellena in the custody of his comrade, whose pity she now made a last, though almost hopeless, effort to interest. He re­plied to all her entreaties only by a waving of the hand, and an averted face; and she endeavoured to meet with fortitude and to endure with patience, the evil which she could neither avoid nor subdue. The spot where she awaited the return of the ruffian, was not of a cha­racter to promote melancholy, except, indeed, that lux­urious and solemn kind of melancholy, which a view ​of stupendous objects inspires. It overlooked the whole, extent of plains, of which she had before caught partia scenes, with the vast chain of mountains, which seem­ed to form an insurmountable rampart to the rich land­scape at their feet. There towering and fantastical sum­mits, crowding together into dusky air, like flames ta­pering to apoint, exhibited images of peculiar grandeur, which each minuter line and feature withdrawing, at this evening hour from observation, seemed to resolve itself into the more gigantic masses, to which the du­bious tint, the solemn obscurity, that began to pre­vail over them, gave force and loftier character. The silence and deep repose of the landscape, served to im­press this character more awfully on the heart, and while Ellena sat rapt in the thoughtfulness it promoted, the vesper-service of the monks breathing softly from the cathedral above, came to her ear; it was a music which might be said to win on silence, and was in per­fect unison with her feelings; ​solemn, deep, and full, it swelled in holy peals, and rolled away in murmurs, which attention pursued to the last faint note that melted into air. Ellena's heart owned the power of its high minstrelsy; and while she caught for a mo­ment the sweeter voices of the nuns mingling in the chorus, she iudulged a hope that they would not be wholly insensible to her sufferings, and that she should receive some consolation from sympathy as [...]oft as these tender-breathing strains appeared to indicate.
She had rested nearly half an hour on the turfy slope before the chapel, when she perceived thro' the twi­light, two monks descending from the monastery to­wards the spot where she sat. As they drew near, she distinguished their dress of grey stuff, the hood, the shaven head, where only a coronet of white hair was left, and other ensigns of their particular Order. On [Page 96] reaching the chapel they accosted her companion, with whom they retired a few paces, and conversed. El­lena heard, for the first ​time the sound of her con­ductor's voice, and though this was but faintly, she marked it well. The other ruffian did not appear, but it seemed evident that these friars had left the con­vent in consequence of his information; and some­times when she looked upon the taller of the two, she fancied she saw the person of the very man whose ab­sence she had remarked, a conjecture which strength­ened while she more accurately noticed him. The portrait had certainly much resemblance in height and bulk; and the same gaunt awkwardness, which even the cloak of the ruffian had not entirely shrouded, ob­truded itself from under the folded garments of the re­cluse. If countenance, too, might be trusted, this same friar had a ruffian's heart, and his keen and cun­ning eye seemed habitually upon the watch for prey. His brother of the order shewed nothing strongly characteristic either in his face or manner.
After a private conversation of some length, the fri­ars approached Ellena, and ​told her, that she must accompany them to the convent; when her disguised conductor, having resigned her to them, immediately departed and descended the mountain.
Not a word was uttered by either of the party as they pursued the deep tract leading to the gates of this se­cluded edifice, which were opened to them by a lay-brother, and Ellena entered a spacious court. Three sides of this were closed by lofty buildings, lined with ranges of cloisters; the fourth opened to a garden, shaded with avenues of melancholy cypress, that ex­tended to the cathedral, whose fretted windows and ornamented spires appeared to close the perspective. Other large and detached buildings skirted the gar­dens on the left, while, on the right, spacious olive grounds and vineyards spread to the cliffs that formed [Page 97] a barrier to all this side of the domain of the convent.
The friar, her conductor, crossed the court to the north wing, and there ringing a bell a door was open­ed by a nun, into ​whose hands Ellena was giv­en. A significant look was exchanged between the devotees, but no words; the friar departed, and the nun, still silent, conducted her through many solitary passages, where not even a distant foot-fall echoed, and whose walls were roughly painted with subjects indicatory of the severe superstitions of the place, tend­ing to inspire melancholy awe. Ellena's hope of pi­ty vanished as her eyes glanced over these symbols of the disposition of the inhabitants, and on the counte­nance of the nun characterised by a gloomy malignity, which seemed ready to inflict upon others some porti­on of the unhappiness she herself suffered. As she glided forward with soundless step, her white drapery, floating along these solemn avenues, and her hollow features touched with the mingled light and shadow which the partial rays of a taper she held occasioned, she seemed like a spectre newly risen from the grave, rather than a living being. These passages ter­minated in the parlour of the Abbess, where ​the nun paused, and turning to Ellena, said, "It is the hour of vespers; you will wait here till our lady of the con­vent leaves▪ the church; she would speak with you."
"To what saint is the convent dedicated," said El­lena, "and who, sister, presides over it?
The nun gave no reply, and after having eyed the forlorn stranger for a moment, with inquisitive ill-nature, quitted the room. The unhappy Ellena had not been le [...]t long to her own reflections, when the Abbess appeared; a stately lady, apparently occu­pied with opinions of her own importance, and pre­pared to receive her guest with rigour and supercilious haughtiness. This Abbess, who was herself a wo­man of some distinction, believed that of all possible [Page 98] crimes, next to that of sacrilege, offences against per­sons of rank were least pardonable. It is not surpri­sing, therefore, that supposing, Ellena a young wo­man of no family, to have sought clandestinely to u­nite herself with the noble house of Vivaldi, ​should feel for her, not only disdain, but indignation, and that she should readily consent, not only to punish the offender, but at the same time, to afford means of pre­serving the ancient dignity of the offended.
"I understand," said the Abbess, on whose appear­ance the alarmed Ellena had arisen, "I understand," said she, without making any signal for her to be seat­ed, "that you are the young person who is arrived from Naples,"
"My name is Ellena di Rosalba," said her auditor, recovering some degree of courage from the manner which was designed to depress her.
"I know nothing of your name," replied the supe­rior; "I am informed only that you are sent here to acquire a knowledge of yourself and of your duties. Till the period shall be passed, for which you are given into my charge, I shall scrupulously observe the obli­gations of the troublesome office, which my regard for the honor of ​a noble family, has induced me to un­dertake."
By these words, the author and the motives of this extraordinary transaction were at once revealed to El­lena, who was for some moments almost overwhelmed by the sudden horrors that gathered in her mind, and stood silent and motionless. Fear, shame, indignati­on, alternately assailed her; and the sting of offended honor, on being suspected, and thus accused of having voluntarily disturbed the tranquility, and sought the alliance of any family, and especially of one who dis­dained her, struck forcibly to her heart, till the pride of conscious worth revived her courage and fortified her [...] and she demanded by whose will she had [Page 99] been torn from her house, and by whose authority she was now detained, as it appeared, a prisoner.
The Abbess, unaccustomed to have her power op­posed, or her words questioned, was for a moment too indignant to reply; and Ellena observed, but no long­er with ​dismay, the brooding tempest ready to burst over her head. "It is I only who am injured," said she to herself, "and shall the guilty oppressor triumph, and the innocent sufferer sink under the shame that belongs only to guilt! Never will I yield to a weak­ness so contemptible. The consciousness of deserving well, will recall my presence of mind, which permit­ting me to estimate the characters of my oppressors by their actions, will enable me also to dispise their power."
"I must remind you," said the Abbess, at length, "that the questions you make are unbecoming in your situation; and that contrition and humility are the best extenuations of error. You may withdraw."
"Most true," replied Ellena, bowing with digni­ty to the Superior; "and I most willingly resign them to my oppressors."
Ellena forebore to make further▪ enquiry or remon­strance, and perceiving that reproach would not only be useless, but de​grading to herself, she immediately obeyed the ma [...]ate of the Abbess, and determined since she must suffer, to suffer if possible, with firm­ness and dignity.
She was conducted from the parlour by the nun who had admitted her, and as she passed through the refactory where the nuns, just returned from vespers, were assembled, their inquisitive glances, their smiles and busy whispers, told her, that she was not only an object of curiosity, but of suspicion, and that little sym­pathy could be expected from hearts, which even the offices of hourly devotion had not purified from the [Page 100] malignant envy, that taught them to exalt themselves upon the humiliation of others.
The little room to which Ellena was led, and where, to her great satisfaction, she was left alone, ra­ther deserved the denomination of a cell than of a chamber; since, like those of the nuns, it had only one small lattice; and a mattress, one chair, and a ta­ble, with a prayer-​book were all its furniture. Elle­na, as she surveyed her melancholy habitation, sup­pressed a rising sigh, but she could not remain unaf­fected by recollections, which, on this view of her al­tered state, crowded to her mind: nor think of Vival­di far away, perhaps for ever, and probably, even ig­norant of her distination, without bitter tears. But she dried them, as the idea of the Marchesa obtruded on her thoughts, for other emotions than those of grief possessed her. It was to the Marchesa that she especially attributed her present situation; and it now appeared that the family of Vivaldi had not only been reluctant, but absolutely averse to a connection with hers, contrary to the suggestions of Signora Bianchi, who had represented, that it might be supposed only, from their known character, that they would disap­prove of the alliance, but would of course be reconcil­ed to an event, which their haughtiest displeasure ne­ver could revoke. This discovery of their absolute rejection awakened all the proper pride, ​which the mistaken prudence of her aunt, and her affection for Vivaldi had lulled to rest; and she now suffered the most acute vexation and remorse, for having yielded her consent to enter clandestinely into any family. The imaginary honors of so noble an alliance vanish­ed, when the terms of obtaining them were consider­ed; and now, that the sound mind of Ellena was left to its own judgment, she looked with infinitely more pride and preference upon the industrious means, [Page 101] which had hitherto rendered her independent, than on all distinction which might be reluctantly conferred. The consciousness of innocence, which had supported her in the presence of the Superior, began to falter. "Her accusation was partly just!" said Ellena, "and I deserve punishment, since I could even for a mo­ment, submit to the humiliation of desiring an alli­ance, which I knew would be unwillingly conferred. But it is not yet too late to retrieve my own esteem by asserting my independence, and resigning Vi​valdi for ever. By resigning him! by abandoning him who loves me,—abandoning him to misery! Him, whom I cannot even think of without tears,—to whom my vows have been given,—who may claim me by the sacred remembrance of my dying friend,—him, to whom my whole heart is devoted! O! miserable al­ternative!—that I can no longer act justly, but at the expence of all my future happiness! Justly! And would it then be just to abandon him who is willing to resign every thing for me,—abandon him to cease­less sorrow, that the prejudices of his family may be gratified?"
Poor Ellena perceived that she could not obey the dictates of a just pride, without such opposition from her heart as she had never experienced before. Her affections were now too deeply engaged to permit her to act with firmness, at the price of long-suffering. The consideration of resigning Vivaldi was so very grievous, that she could scarcely endure to pause up­on it for a mo​ment; yet, on the other hand, when she thought of his family, it appeared that she never could consent to make a part of it. She would have blamed the eroneous judgment of Signora Bianchi, whose persuasions had so much assisted in reducing her to the present alternative, had not the tenderness with which she cherished her memory, rendered this impossible. All, that now remained for her, was to endeavour pa­tiently [Page 102] to endure present evils which she could not conquer; for, to forsake Vivaldi as the price of liber­ty, should liberty be offered her on such terms, or to accept him in defiance of honorable pride, should he ever affect her release, appeared to her distracted thoughts almost equally impracticable But, as the probability of never being able to discover her abode, returned to her consideration, the anguish she suffered told how much more she dreaded to lose then to accept Vivaldi, and that love was, after all, the most power­ful affection of her heart.