The Italian | Page 7

he sought the dangerous pleasure of seeing Ellena, since her
family was of such a condition as rendered the consent of his parent to
a marriage with her unattainable.
He was lost in revery on this subject, sometimes half resolved to seek
her no more, and then shrinking from a conduct, which seemed to strike
him with the force of despair, when, as he emerged from the dark arch

of a ruin, that extended over the road, his steps were crossed by a
person in the habit of a monk, whose face was shrouded by his cowl
still more than by the twilight. The stranger, addressing him by his
name, said, "Signor! your steps are watched; beware how you revisit
Altieri!" Having uttered this, he disappeared, before Vivaldi could
return the sword he had half drawn into the scabbard, or demand an
explanation of the words he had heard. He called loudly and repeatedly,
conjuring the unknown person to appear, and lingered near the spot for
a considerable time; but the vision came no more.
Vivaldi arrived at home with a mind occupied by this incident, and
tormented by the jealousy to which it gave rise; for, after indulging
various conjectures, he concluded with believing the notice, of which
he had been warned, to be that of a rival, and that the danger which
menaced him, was from the poniard of jealousy. This belief discovered
to him at once the extent of his passion, and of the imprudence, which
had thus readily admitted it; yet so far was this new prudence from
overcoming his error, that, stung with a torture more exquisite than he
had ever known, he resolved, at every event, to declare his love, and
sue for the hand of Ellena. Unhappy young man, he knew not the fatal
error, into which passion was precipitating him!
On his arrival at the Vivaldi palace, he learned, that the Marchesa had
observed his absence, had repeatedly enquired for him, and had given
orders that the time of his return should be mentioned to her. She had,
however, retired to rest; but the Marchese, who had attended the King
on an excursion to one of the royal villas on the bay, returned home
soon after Vincentio; and, before he had withdrawn to his apartment, he
met his son with looks of unusual displeasure, but avoided saying any
thing, which either explained or alluded to the subject of it; and, after a
short conversation, they separated.
Vivaldi shut himself in his apartment to deliberate, if that may deserve
the name of deliberation, in which a conflict of passions, rather than an
exertion of judgment, prevailed. For several hours he traversed his suit
of rooms, alternately tortured by the remembrance of Ellena, fired with
jealousy, and alarmed for the consequence of the imprudent step, which

he was about to take. He knew the temper of his father, and some traits
of the character of his mother, sufficiently to fear that their displeasure
would be irreconcilable concerning the marriage he meditated; yet,
when he considered that he was their only son, he was inclined to admit
a hope of forgiveness, notwithstanding the weight which the
circumstance must add to their disappointment. These reflexions were
frequently interrupted by fears lest Ellena had already disposed of her
affections to this imaginary rival. He was, however, somewhat
consoled by remembering the sigh she had uttered, and the tenderness,
with which she had immediately pronounced his name. Yet, even if she
were not averse to his suit, how could he solicit her hand, and hope it
would be given him, when he should declare that this must be in secret?
He scarcely dared to believe that she would condescend to enter a
family who disdained to receive her; and again despondency overcame
him.
The morning found him as distracted as the night had left him; his
determination, however, was fixed; and this was, to sacrifice what he
now considered as a delusive pride of birth, to a choice which he
believed would ensure the happiness of his life. But, before he ventured
to declare himself to Ellena, it appeared necessary to ascertain whether
he held an interest in her heart, or whether she had devoted it to the
rival of his love, and who this rival really was. It was so much easier to
wish for such information than to obtain it, that, after forming a
thousand projects, either the delicacy of his respect for Ellena, or his
fear of offending her, or an apprehension of discovery from his family
before he had secured an interest in her affections, constantly opposed
his views of an enquiry.
In this difficulty he opened his heart to a friend, who had long
possessed his confidence, and whose advice he solicited with somewhat
more