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 bsolell(airge--
and an improbability of incident
forced humour,
to for
.almost puerile. That convenient indiu, idual,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 utifi,
he is more a hindrance than a help. We nu,
protest, too, against the redundance of broken
heart to which the fair Virginia treats us. Every
.character in the story, not superannuated, breaks
his or her heart at one period or other of •
a
ction. The heroine-in-chiefs young luxurious
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 Penult
merit special attention. Nor must we omit
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