Zicci | Page 4

by indolence and that worldly and

selfish habit of thought which frivolous companionship often engenders,
and which is withering alike to stern virtue and high genius. The
luxuriance of his fancy was unabated; but the affections, which are the
life of fancy, had grown languid and inactive. His youth, his vanity, and
a restless daring and thirst of adventure had from time to time involved
him in dangers and dilemmas, out of which, of late, he had always
extricated himself with the ingenious felicity of a clever head and cool
heart. He had left England for Rome with the avowed purpose and
sincere resolution of studying the divine masterpieces of art; but
pleasure had soon allured him from ambition, and he quitted the
gloomy palaces of Rome for the gay shores and animated revelries of
Naples. Here he had fallen in love--deeply in love, as he said and
thought--with a young person celebrated at Naples, Isabel di Pisani.
She was the only daughter of an Italian by an English mother. The
father had known better days; in his prosperity he had travelled, and
won in England the affections of a lady of some fortune. He had been
induced to speculate; he lost his all; he settled at Naples, and taught
languages and music. His wife died when Isabel, christened from her
mother, was ten years old. At sixteen she came out on the stage; two
years afterwards her father departed this life, and Isabel was an orphan.
Glyndon, a man of pleasure and a regular attendant at the theatre, had
remarked the young actress behind the scenes; he fell in love with her,
and he told her so. The girl listened to him, perhaps from vanity,
perhaps from ambition, perhaps from coquetry; she listened, and
allowed but few stolen interviews, in which she permitted no favor to
the Englishman it was one reason why he loved her so much.
The day following that on which our story opens, Glyndon was riding
alone by the shores of the Neapolitan sea, on the other side of the
Cavern of Pausilippo. It was past noon; the sun had lost its early fervor,
and a cool breeze sprang voluptuously from the sparkling sea. Bending
over a fragment of stone near the roadside, he perceived the form of a
man; and when he approached he recognized Zicci.
The Englishman saluted him courteously. "Have you discovered some
antique?" said he, with a smile; "they are as common as pebbles on this

road."
"No," replied Zicci; "it was but one of those antiques that have their
date, indeed, from the beginning of the world, but which Nature
eternally withers and renews." So saying, he showed Glyndon a small
herb with a pale blue flower, and then placed it carefully in his bosom.
"You are an herbalist?"
"I am."
"It is, I am told, a study full of interest."
"To those who understand it, doubtless. But," continued Zicci, looking
up with a slight and cold smile, "why do you linger on your way to
converse with me on matters in which you neither have knowledge nor
desire to obtain it? I read your heart, young Englishman: your curiosity
is excited; you wish to know me, and not this humble herb. Pass on;
your desire never can be satisfied."
"You have not the politeness of your countrymen," said Glyndon,
somewhat discomposed. "Suppose I were desirous to cultivate your
acquaintance, why should you reject my advances?"
"I reject no man's advances," answered Zicci. "I must know them, if
they so desire; but me, in return, they can never comprehend. If you ask
my acquaintance, it is yours; but I would warn you to shun me."
"And why are you then so dangerous?"
"Some have found me so; if I were to predict your fortune by the vain
calculations of the astrologer, I should tell you, in their despicable
jargon, that my planet sat darkly in your house of life. Cross me not, if
you can avoid it. I warn you now for the first time and last."
"You despise the astrologers, yet you utter a jargon as mysterious as
theirs. I neither gamble nor quarrel: why then should I fear you?"
"As you will; I have done."

"Let me speak frankly: your conversation last night interested and
amused me."
"I know it; minds like yours are attracted by mystery."
Glyndon was piqued at those words, though in the tone in which they
were spoken there was no contempt.
"I see you do not consider me worthy of your friendship be it so. Good
day."
Zicci coldly replied to the salutation, and as the Englishman rode on,
returned to his botanical employment.
The same night Glyndon went, as usual, to the theatre. He was standing
behind the scenes watching Isabel, who was on the