A Sicilian Romance

'bout a quarter of a league from the walls we stopped, and I assumed
the habit in which you now see me. My own dress was fastened to some
heavy stones, and Caterina threw it into the stream, near the almond
grove, whose murmurings you have so often admired. The fatigue and
hardship I endured in this journey, performed almost wholly on foot,
at any other time would have overcome me; but my mind was so occupied
by the danger I was avoiding that these lesser evils were disregarded.
We arrived in safety at the cottage, which stood at a little distance
from the village of Ferrini, and were received by Caterina's parents
with some surprise and more kindness. I soon perceived it would be
useless, and even dangerous, to attempt to preserve the character I
personated. In the eyes of Caterina's mother I read a degree of
surprise and admiration which declared she believed me to be of
superior rank; I, therefore, thought it more prudent to win her
fidelity by entrusting her with my secret than, by endeavouring to
conceal it, leave it to be discovered by her curiosity or discernment.
Accordingly, I made known my quality and my distress, and received
strong assurances of assistance and attachment. For further security,
I removed to this sequestered spot. The cottage we are now in belongs
to a sister of Caterina, upon whose faithfulness I have been hitherto
fully justified in relying. But I am not even here secure from
apprehension, since for several days past horsemen of a suspicious
appearance have been observed near Marcy, which is only half a league
from hence.'

Here Julia closed her narration, to which madame had listened with a
mixture of surprise and pity, which her eyes sufficiently discovered.
The last circumstance of the narrative seriously alarmed her. She
acquainted Julia with the pursuit which the duke had undertaken; and
she did not hesitate to believe it a party of his people whom Julia
had described. Madame, therefore, earnestly advised her to quit her
present situation, and to accompany her in disguise to the monastery
of St Augustin, where she would find a secure retreat; because, even
if her place of refuge should be discovered, the superior authority of
the church would protect her. Julia accepted the proposal with much
joy. As it was necessary that madame should sleep at the village where
she had left her servants and horses, it was agreed that at break of
day she should return to the cottage, where Julia would await her.
Madame took all affectionate leave of Julia, whose heart, in spite of
reason, sunk when she saw her depart, though but for the necessary
interval of repose.

At the dawn of day madame arose. Her servants, who were hired for the
journey, were strangers to Julia: from them, therefore, she had
nothing to apprehend. She reached the cottage before sunrise, having
left her people at some little distance. Her heart foreboded evil,
when, on knocking at the door, no answer was returned. She knocked
again, and still all was silent. Through the casement she could
discover no object, amidst the grey obscurity of the dawn. She now
opened the door, and, to her inexpressible surprise and distress,
found the cottage empty. She proceeded to a small inner room, where
lay a part of Julia's apparel. The bed had no appearance of having
being slept in, and every moment served to heighten and confirm her
apprehensions. While she pursued the search, she suddenly heard the
trampling of feet at the cottage door, and presently after some people
entered. Her fears for Julia now yielded to those for her own safety,
and she was undetermined whether to discover herself, or remain in her
present situation, when she was relieved from her irresolution by the
appearance of Julia.

On the return of the good woman, who had accompanied madame to the
village on the preceding night, Julia went to the cottage at Farrini.
Her grateful heart would not suffer her to depart without taking leave
of her faithful friends, thanking them for their kindness, and
informing them of her future prospects. They had prevailed upon her to
spend the few intervening hours at this cot, whence she had just risen
to meet madame.

They now hastened to the spot where the horses were stationed, and
commenced their journey. For some leagues they travelled in silence
and thought, over a wild and picturesque country. The landscape was
tinted with rich and variegated hues; and the autumnal lights, which
streamed upon the hills, produced a spirited and beautiful effect upon
the scenery. All the glories of the vintage rose to their view: the
purple grapes flushed through the dark green of the surrounding
foliage, and the prospect glowed with luxuriance.

They now descended into a deep valley, which appeared more like a
scene of airy enchantment than reality. Along the bottom flowed a
clear majestic stream, whose banks were adorned with thick groves of
orange and citron trees. Julia surveyed the scene in silent
complacency, but her eye quickly caught an object which changed with
instantaneous shock the tone of her feelings. She observed a party of
horsemen winding down the side of a hill behind her. Their uncommon
speed alarmed her, and she pushed her horse into a gallop. On looking
back Madame de Menon clearly perceived they were in pursuit. Soon
after the men suddenly appeared from behind a dark grove within a
small distance of them; and, upon their nearer approach, Julia,
overcome with fatigue and fear, sunk breathless from her horse. She
was saved from the ground by one of the pursuers, who caught her in
his arms. Madame, with the rest of the party, were quickly overtaken;
and as soon as Julia revived, they were bound, and reconducted to the
hill from whence they had descended. Imagination only can paint the
anguish of Julia's mind, when she saw herself thus delivered up to the
power of her enemy. Madame, in the surrounding troop, discovered none
of the marquis's people, and they were therefore evidently in the
hands of the duke. After travelling for some hours, they quitted the
main road, and turned into a narrow winding dell, overshadowed by high
trees, which almost excluded the light. The gloom of the place
inspired terrific images. Julia trembled as she entered; and her
emotion was heightened, when she perceived at some distance, through
the long perspective of the trees, a large ruinous mansion. The gloom
of the surrounding shades partly concealed it from her view; but, as
she drew near, each forlorn and decaying feature of the fabric was
gradually disclosed, and struck upon her heart a horror such as she
had never before experienced. The broken battlements, enwreathed with
ivy, proclaimed the fallen grandeur of the place, while the shattered
vacant window-frames exhibited its desolation, and the high grass that
overgrew the threshold seemed to say how long it was since mortal foot
had entered. The place appeared fit only for the purposes of violence
and destruction: and the unfortunate captives, when they stopped at
its gates, felt the full force of its horrors.

They were taken from their horses, and conveyed to an interior part of
the building, which, if it had once been a chamber, no longer deserved
the name. Here the guard said they were directed to detain them till
the arrival of their lord, who had appointed this the place of
rendezvous. He was expected to meet them in a few hours, and these
were hours of indescribable torture to Julia and madame. From the
furious passions of the duke, exasperated by frequent disappointment,
Julia had every evil to apprehend; and the loneliness of the spot he
had chosen, enabled him to perpetrate any designs, however violent.
For the first time, she repented that she had left her father's house.
Madame wept over her, but comfort she had none to give. The day
closed--the duke did not appear, and the fate of Julia yet hung in
perilous uncertainty. At length, from a window of the apartment she
was in, she distinguished a glimmering of torches among the trees, and
presently after the clattering of hoofs convinced her the duke was
approaching. Her heart sunk at the sound; and throwing her arms round
madame's neck, she resigned herself to despair. She was soon roused by
some men, who came to announce the arrival of their lord. In a few
moments the place, which had lately been so silent, echoed with
tumult; and a sudden blaze of light illumining the fabric, served to
exhibit more forcibly its striking horrors. Julia ran to the window;
and, in a sort of court below, perceived a group of men dismounting
from their horses. The torches shed a partial light; and while she
anxiously looked round for the person of the duke, the whole party
entered the mansion. She listened to a confused uproar of voices,
which sounded from the room beneath, and soon after it sunk into a low
murmur, as if some matter of importance was in agitation. For some
moments she sat in lingering terror, when she heard footsteps
advancing towards the chamber, and a sudden gleam of torchlight
flashed upon the walls. 'Wretched girl! I have at least secured you!'
said a cavalier, who now entered the room. He stopped as he perceived
Julia; and turning to the men who stood without, 'Are these,' said he,
'the fugitives you have taken?'--'Yes, my lord.'--'Then you have
deceived yourselves, and misled me; this is not my daughter.' These
words struck the sudden light of truth and joy upon the heart of
Julia, whom terror had before rendered almost lifeless; and who had
not perceived that the person entering was a stranger. Madame now
stepped forward, and an explanation ensued, when it appeared that the
stranger was the Marquis Murani, the father of the fair fugitive whom
the duke had before mistaken for Julia.

The appearance and the evident flight of Julia had deceived the
banditti employed by this nobleman, into a belief that she was the
object of their search, and had occasioned her this unnecessary
distress. But the joy she now felt, on finding herself thus
unexpectedly at liberty, surpassed, if possible, her preceding
terrors. The marquis made madame and Julia all the reparation in his
power, by offering immediately to reconduct them to the main road, and
to guard them to some place of safety for the night. This offer was
eagerly and thankfully accepted; and though faint from distress,
fatigue, and want of sustenance, they joyfully remounted their horses,
and by torchlight quitted the mansion. After some hours travelling
they arrived at a small town, where they procured the accommodation so
necessary to their support and repose. Here their guides quitted them
to continue their search.

They arose with the dawn, and continued their journey, continually
terrified with the apprehension of encountering the duke's people. At
noon they arrived at Azulia, from whence the monastery, or abbey of St
Augustin, was distant only a few miles. Madame wrote to the Padre
Abate, to whom she was somewhat related, and soon after received an
answer very favourable to her wishes. The same evening they repaired
to the abbey; where Julia, once more relieved from the fear of
pursuit, offered up a prayer of gratitude to heaven, and endeavoured
to calm her sorrows by devotion. She was received by the abbot with a
sort of paternal affection, and by the nuns with officious kindness.
Comforted by these circumstances, and by the tranquil appearance of
every thing around her, she retired to rest, and passed the night in
peaceful slumbers.

In her present situation she found much novelty to amuse, and much
serious matter to interest her mind. Entendered by distress, she
easily yielded to the pensive manners of her companions and to the
serene uniformity of a monastic life. She loved to wander through the
lonely cloisters, and high-arched aisles, whose long perspectives
retired in simple grandeur, diffusing a holy calm around. She found
much pleasure in the conversation of the nuns, many of whom were
uncommonly amiable, and the dignified sweetness of whose manners
formed a charm irresistibly attractive. The soft melancholy impressed
upon their countenances, pourtrayed the situation of their minds, and
excited in Julia a very interesting mixture of pity and esteem. The
affectionate appellation of sister, and all that endearing tenderness
which they so well know how to display, and of which they so well
understand the effect, they bestowed on Julia, in the hope of winning
her to become one of their order.

Soothed by the presence of madame, the assiduity of the nuns, and by
the stillness and sanctity of the place, her mind gradually recovered
a degree of complacency to which it had long been a stranger. But
notwithstanding all her efforts, the idea of Hippolitus would at
intervals return upon her memory with a force that at once subdued her
fortitude, and sunk her in a temporary despair.

Among the holy sisters, Julia distinguished one, the singular fervor
of whose devotion, and the pensive air of whose countenance, softened
by the languor of illness, attracted her curiosity, and excited a
strong degree of pity. The nun, by a sort of sympathy, seemed
particularly inclined towards Julia, which she discovered by
innumerable acts of kindness, such as the heart can quickly understand
and acknowledge, although description can never reach them. In
conversation with her, Julia endeavoured, as far as delicacy would
permit, to prompt an explanation of that more than common dejection
which shaded those features, where beauty, touched by resignation and
sublimed by religion, shone forth with mild and lambent lustre.

The Duke de Luovo, after having been detained for some weeks by the
fever which his wounds had produced, and his irritated passions had
much prolonged, arrived at the castle of Mazzini.

When the marquis saw him return, and recollected the futility of those
exertions, by which he had boastingly promised to recover Julia, the
violence of his nature spurned the disguise of art, and burst forth in
contemptuous impeachment of the valour and discernment of the duke,
who soon retorted with equal fury. The consequence might have been
fatal, had not the ambition of the marquis subdued the sudden
irritation of his inferior passions, and induced him to soften the
severity of his accusations, by subsequent concessions. The duke,
whose passion for Julia was heightened by the difficulty which opposed
it, admitted such concessions as in other circumstances he would have
rejected; and thus each, conquered by the predominant passion of the
moment, submitted to be the slave of his adversary.

Emilia was at length released from the confinement she had so unjustly
suffered. She had now the use of her old apartments, where, solitary
and dejected, her hours moved heavily along, embittered by incessant
anxiety for Julia, by regret for the lost society of madame. The
marchioness, whose pleasures suffered a temporary suspense during the
present confusion at the castle, exercised the ill-humoured caprice,
which disappointment and lassitude inspired, upon her remaining
subject. Emilia was condemned to suffer, and to endure without the
privilege of complaining. In reviewing the events of the last few
weeks, she saw those most dear to her banished, or imprisoned by the
secret influence of a woman, every feature of whose character was
exactly opposite to that of the amiable mother she had been appointed
to succeed.

The search after Julia still continued, and was still unsuccessful.
The astonishment of the marquis increased with his disappointments;
for where could Julia, ignorant of the country, and destitute of
friends, have possibly found an asylum? He swore with a terrible oath
to revenge on her head, whenever she should be found, the trouble and
vexation she now caused him. But he agreed with the duke to relinquish
for a while the search; till Julia, gaining confidence from the
observation of this circumstance, might gradually suppose herself
secure from molestation, and thus be induced to emerge from
concealment.