Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1838-06-22

Whlcn VestaI COuI0 scarce nave listened
to uomoved. Splnola stepped back and
| laid his hand upon his sword but changing
| bis thought, he took lamp from the wall
within, and crept noseessly to his daugh.
ter's chamber. She lay within her silken
curtains, with her hands crossed on her
bosom, ard from her parted lips came the
| low breath Of innocent and troubled sleep.
Reassured, the Count closed her window
and extiDgushed his lamp; and, when the
guitar was no longer heard echoing from
the old palace walls, and the rich voice of
the serenader had died away with his
footsteps. the lord of the Palazzo Splaola
betook himself to sleep with heart some~
what relieved Of It's burden.
On the following day, the Count pleaded
the early coming heats of summer; and,
with slight preparation, left Florence for
his summer palace in the Apprentices
When Francesca joined him cheerfuIly,
and even gaily in his sudden plan, he threw
aside the jealous fears that had haunted his
breast. and forgot the stranger and his
barcatole. The old trees of his maison de
pldisance were heavy with the leaves Of the
Italian May the statues stood cool in the
shade the mountain rivulets forgot their
birth in the rocky brooks, and ran over
channels of marble, and played up through
cactus leaves and sea shells, and nerelds'
horns, all carved by The co,emporar!es of
DonatelIo. And here thought the proud
noble. Il am q reccart of the designs of
adventures, and the temptations and dam
gers of gaiety, and the child Of my hopes
will refresh her beauty and her innocence.
under the wachiul eye, ever present, of
my love-
Francesca Spinola was one of those
Italian natures of which it is difficult for
| I he inhabitants of other cllmes to conceive.
She had no feelings. She had passions.
She could love-but it spranc in an instant
to its fullest power--and maidenly reserve
and hesitation were incompatible with It's
existence. She had listened, unmoved TO
| a j the adulation Of the Dukes court and
had been amused with the devotion Of all
around her-but never touched. The
voice Of the stranger at the fete Of the
Boboli-the daring words he had addressed
to her-had arrested her attention; and it
needed scarce the hour-which flew like
moment at his side-to send new sensa-
ton. like a tempest, through her heart.
She reasoned upon nothing-asked no.
thing; but, while she gave up her soul
wholly to passion hitherto unfeIt, the
deep Discrimination which seems natural
part Of the love of that burning cline,
prompted her. by an unqnestIoned impulse,
to conceal it entirely from her father. She
had counterfei,ed sleep when nearly sur.
prlsed in listening to the baracole, and she
had little need to counterfeit joy at her
departure for the mountains.
The long valley of the Arno lay marked
out upon the landscape by n wreath OF
vapor. stealing up as if enamonred of he
fading colors of the clouds; and far away,
like silver bar on the rim Of the horizon,
shone the long line of the Mediterranean.
The mountain sides lay balhed in azure {;
and. echoing from the nearest, came the
vesper bells of Vallombrosa. Peace and
purity were stamped upon the hour.
My child said the softened Count.
drawing francesca to his bosom, as they
STOOD looking off upon this scene from the
flowcry terrace beneath the portico docs
my child love me p
francesca placed her hands upon his
i feel impeled.' he continued, to talk to
you while this beautiful honr is around US,
Of an affection that resembles it,
Resembles the sunset, my father ?
Yes Shall tell YOU how? BY affect.
ing with it's soft influence every object
under he bend of the sky My Francesca
there are parents who love their children.
and love them well. and yet find feelings
for other attachments, and devotion for
every other interest in life. Not so mine |!
My love for my child is whole existence
poured into hers Look at me, Francesca
am not old. am capable, perhaps, of
other love than a parents. There are
those among the Young and beautiful who
have looked on me with favOrlng eyes.
My blood runs warm yet, and my step is as
full of manhood-perhaps my heart as
prompt to be gay-as ever. mean TO say,
that am not too old for a lover. Does
my daughter think so ?
i have been long vain of your beauty
dear father said francesca, threading
her hand in his dark curls.
There are other things that might share
your empire in my heart-poll!ics, play,
the arts--a hundred passions which possess
themselves of men whose fortune or posi-
ton gives them means and leisure. Now
listen, my daughter ! You have supplanted
all these You have filled my hear, with
yourself. ! am tempted to love-my heart
is my daughters. am asked to play
my thoughts are with my child ! have
neither time for politics, nor attention for
the arts-my being breathes through my
child. am incapable of all else. Do
you hear me, francesca ?
Il do, dear father!'
Then, one moment more! l cannot
conceal my thoughts from you, and you
will pardon love like mine for ungrounded
fears. liked not the stranger at the
Dukes palace
a,olo cu;cL looL ho,