The Italian | Page 6

soothed
than interrupted by the gentle dashing of the waters of the bay below,

and by the hollow murmurs of Vesuvius, which threw up, at intervals
its sudden flame on the horizon, and then left it to darkness. The
solemnity of the scene accorded with the temper of his mind, and he
listened in deep attention for the returning sounds, which broke upon
the ear like distant thunder muttering imperfectly from the clouds. The
pauses of silence, that succeeded each groan of the mountain, when
expectation listened for the rising sound, affected the imagination of
Vivaldi at this time with particular awe, and, rapt in thought, he
continued to gaze upon the sublime and shadowy outline of the shores,
and on the sea, just discerned beneath the twilight of a cloudless sky.
Along its grey surface many vessels were pursuing their silent course,
guided over the deep waters only by the polar star, which burned with
steady lustre. The air was calm, and rose from the bay with most balmy
and refreshing coolness; it scarcely stirred the heads of the broad pines
that overspread the villa; and bore no sounds but of the waves and the
groans of the far-off mountain, -- till a chaunting of deep voices
swelled from a distance. The solemn character of the strain engaged his
attention; he perceived that it was a requiem, and he endeavoured to
discover from what quarter it came. It advanced, though distantly, and
then passed away on the air. The circumstance struck him; he knew it
was usual in some parts of Italy to chaunt this strain over the bed of the
dying; but here the mourners seemed to walk the earth, or the air. He
was not doubtful as to the strain itself; -- once before he had heard it,
and attended with circumstances which made it impossible that he
should ever forget it. As he now listened to the choral voices softening
in distance, a few pathetic notes brought full upon his remembrance the
divine melody he had heard Ellena utter in the church of San Lorenzo.
Overcome by the recollection, he started away, and, wandering over the
garden, reached another side of the villa, where he soon heard the voice
of Ellena herself, performing the midnight hymn to the Virgin, and
accompanied by a lute, which she touched with most affecting and
delicate expression. He stood for a moment entranced, and scarcely
daring to breathe, lest he should lose any note of that meek and holy
strain, which seemed to flow from a devotion almost saintly. Then,
looking round to discover the object of his admiration, a light issuing
from among the bowery foliage of a clematis led him to a lattice, and
shewed him Ellena. The lattice had been thrown open to admit the cool

air, and he had a full view of her and the apartment. She was rising
from a small altar where she had concluded the service; the glow of
devotion was still upon her countenance as she raised her eyes, and
with a rapt earnestness fixed them on the heavens. She still held the lute,
but no longer awakened it, and seemed lost to every surrounding object.
Her fine hair was negligently bound up in a silk net, and some tresses
that had escaped it, played on her neck, and round her beautiful
countenance, which now was not even partially concealed by a veil.
The light drapery of her dress, her whole figure, air, and attitude, were
such as might have been copied for a Grecian nymph.
Vivaldi was perplexed and agitated between the wish of seizing an
opportunity, which might never again occur, of pleading his love, and
the fear of offending, by intruding upon her retirement at so sacred an
hour; but, while he thus hesitated, he heard her sigh, and then with a
sweetness peculiar to her accent, pronounce his name. During the
trembling anxiety, with which he listened to what might follow this
mention of his name, he disturbed the clematis that surrounded the
lattice, and she turned her eyes towards the window; but Vivaldi was
entirely concealed by the foliage. She, however, rose to close the lattice;
as she approached which, Vivaldi, unable any longer to command
himself, appeared before her. She stood fixed for an instant, while her
countenance changed to an ashy paleness; and then, with trembling
haste closing the lattice, quitted the apartment. Vivaldi felt as if all his
hopes had vanished with her.
After lingering in the garden for some time without perceiving a light
in any other part of the building, or hearing a sound proceed from it, he
took his melancholy way to Naples. He now began to ask himself some
questions, which he ought to have urged before, and to enquire
wherefore