The Italian

The Italian
or the Confessional of the Black Penitents.
A Romance.
by Ann Radcliffe
* * *
eBooks@Adelaide
2004
This web edition published by eBooks@Adelaide.
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The University of Adelaide Library
University of Adelaide
South Australia 5005
* * *

About the year 1764, some English travellers in Italy, during one of
their excursions in the environs of Naples, happened to stop before the
portico of the Santa Maria del Pianto, a church belonging to a very
ancient convent of the order of the Black Penitents. The magnificence
of this portico, though impaired by time, excited so much admiration,
that the travellers were curious to survey the structure to which it
belonged, and with this intention they ascended the marble steps that
led to it.
Within the shade of the portico, a person with folded arms, and eyes
directed towards the ground, was pacing behind the pillars the whole
extent of the pavement, and was apparently so engaged by his own
thoughts, as not to observe that strangers were approaching. He turned,
however, suddenly, as if startled by the sound of steps, and then,
without further pausing, glided to a door that opened into the church,
and disappeared.
There was something too extraordinary in the figure of this man, and
too singular in his conduct, to pass unnoticed by the visitors. He was of
a tall thin figure, bending forward from the shoulders; of a sallow
complexion, and harsh features, and had an eye, which, as it looked up
from the cloke that muffled the lower part of his countenance, seemed
expressive of uncommon ferocity.
The travellers, on entering the church, looked round for the stranger,
who had passed thither before them, but he was no where to be seen,
and, through all the shade of the long aisles, only one other person
appeared. This was a friar of the adjoining convent, who sometimes
pointed out to strangers the objects in the church, which were most
worthy of attention, and who now, with this design, approached the
party that had just entered.
The interior of this edifice had nothing of the shewy ornament and
general splendor, which distinguish the churches of Italy, and
particularly those of Naples; but it exhibited a simplicity and grandeur
of design, considerably more interesting to persons of taste, and a
solemnity of light and shade much more suitable to promote the
sublime elevation of devotion.

When the party had viewed the different shrines and whatever had been
judged worthy of observation, and were returning through an obscure
aisle towards the portico, they perceived the person who had appeared
upon the steps, passing towards a confessional on the left, and, as he
entered it, one of the party pointed him out to the friar, and enquired
who he was; the friar turning to look after him, did not immediately
reply, but, on the question being repeated, he inclined his head, as in a
kind of obeisance, and calmly replied, 'He is an assassin.'
'An assassin!' exclaimed one of the Englishmen; 'an assassin and at
liberty!'
An Italian gentleman, who was of the party, smiled at the astonishment
of his friend.
'He has sought sanctuary here,' replied the friar; 'within these walls he
may not be hurt.'
'Do your altars, then, protect the murderer?' said the Englishman.
'He could find shelter no where else,' answered the friar meekly.
'This is astonishing!' said the Englishman; 'of what avail are your laws,
if the most atrocious criminal may thus find shelter from them ? But
how does he contrive to exist here! He is, at least, in danger of being
starved?'
'Pardon me,' replied the friar; 'there are always people willing to assist
those, who cannot assist themselves; and as the criminal may not leave
the church in search of food, they bring it to him here.'
'Is this possible!' said the Englishman, turning to his Italian friend.
'Why, the poor wretch must not starve,' replied the friend; 'which he
inevitably would do, if food were not brought to him! But have you
never, since your arrival in Italy, happened to see a person in the
situation of this man ? It is by no means an uncommon one.'

'Never!' answered the Englishman, 'and I can scarcely credit what I see
now!'
'Why, my friend,' observed the Italian, 'if we were to shew no mercy to
such unfortunate persons, assassinations are so frequent, that our cities
would be half depopulated.'
In notice of this profound remark, the Englishman could only gravely
bow.
'But observe yonder confessional,' added the Italian, 'that beyond the
pillars on