The Italian | Page 8

anxiety and sincerity than is usual on such occasions. It was not a
sanction of his own opinion that he required, but the impartial judgment
of another mind. Bonarmo, however little he might be qualified for the
office of an adviser, did not scruple to give his advice. As a means of
judging whether Ellena was disposed to favour Vivaldi's addresses, he
proposed that, according to the custom of the country, a serenade

should be given; he maintained, that, if she was not disinclined towards
him, some sign of approbation would appear; and if otherwise, that she
would remain silent and invisible. Vivaldi objected to this coarse and
inadequate mode of expressing a love so sacred as his, and he had too
lofty an opinion of Ellena's mind and delicacy, to believe, that the
trifling homage of a serenade would either flatter her self-love, or
interest her in his favour; nor, if it did, could he venture to believe, that
she would display any sign of approbation.
His friend laughed at his scruples and at his opinion of what he called
such romantic delicacy, that his ignorance of the world was his only
excuse for having cherished them. But Vivaldi interrupted this raillery,
and would neither suffer him for a moment to speak thus of Ellena, or
to call such delicacy romantic. Bonarmo, however, still urged the
serenade as at least a possible means of discovering her disposition
towards him before he made a formal avowal of his suit; and Vivaldi,
perplexed and distracted with apprehension and impatience to terminate
his present state of suspense, was at length so far overcome by his own
difficulties, rather than by his friend's persuasion, that he consented to
make the adventure of a serenade on the approaching night. This was
adopted rather as a refuge from despondency, than with any hope of
success; for he still believed that Ellena would not give any hint, that
might terminate his uncertainty.
Beneath their cloaks they carried musical instruments, and, muffling up
their faces, so that they could not be known, they proceeded in
thoughtful silence on the way to the villa Altieri. Already they had
passed the arch, in which Vivaldi was stopped by the stranger on the
preceding night, when he heard a sudden sound near him, and, raising
his head from the cloak, he perceived the same figure! Before he had
time for exclamation, the stranger crossed him again. "Go not to the
villa Altieri," said he in a solemn voice, "lest you meet the fate you
ought to dread."
"What fate?" demanded Vivaldi, stepping back; "Speak, I conjure you!"
But the monk was gone, and the darkness of the hour baffled
observation as to the way of his departure.

"Dio mi guardi!" exclaimed Bonarmo, "this is almost beyond belief!
but let us return to Naples; this second warning ought to be obeyed."
"it is almost beyond endurance," exclaimed Vivaldi; "which way did he
pass?"
"He glided by me," replied Bonarmo, "and he was gone before I could
cross him!"
"I will tempt the worst at once," said Vivaldi; "if I have a rival, it is best
to meet him. Let us go on."
Bonarmo remonstrated, and represented the serious danger that
threatened from so rash a proceeding. "It is evident that you have a
rival," said he; "and your courage cannot avail you against hired
bravos." Vivaldi's heart swelled at the mention of a rival. "If you think
it dangerous to proceed, I will go alone," said he.
Hurt by this reproof, Bonarmo accompanied his friend in silence, and
they reached without interruption the boundary of the villa. Vivaldi led
to the place by which he had entered on the preceding night, and they
passed unmolested into the garden.
"Where are these terrible bravos of whom you warned me?" said
Vivaldi, with taunting exultation.
"Speak cautiously," replied his friend; "we may, even now, be within
their reach."
"They also may be within ours," observed Vivaldi.
At length, these adventurous friends came to the orangery, which was
near the house, when, tired by the ascent, they rested to recover breath,
and to prepare their instruments for the serenade. The night was still,
and they now heard, for the first time, murmurs as of a distant
multitude; and then the sudden splendor of fireworks broke upon the
sky. These arose from a villa on the western margin of the bay, and
were given in honour of the birth of one of the royal princes. They

soared to an immense height, and, as their lustre broke silently upon the
night, it lightened on the thousand up-turned faces of the gazing crowd,
illumined the waters of the bay, with every little boat that skimmed its
surface, and shewed distinctly the whole sweep of its rising shores, the
stately city