 Chapter 6 On the following morning, Lorena entered the bed-chamber of her daughter, and after some slight conversation informed her in a tone of affected surprise of the departure of Berenza. The intelligence, for an instant, gave to the haughty bosom of Victoria a pang of acute mortification. But this emotion was speedily succeeded by one of violent and uncontrolled rage. Looking fiercely at her mother, she said, Il Kant Berenza went not willingly from hence, at whose instigation was he driven to depart? Not at the instigation of any one, Victoria, mildly but falteringly replied Lorena. Victoria withdrew her keen eyes from the countenance of her mother, and an amusing but stern voice said, If Il Kant Berenza departed voluntarily, he will rest passive and take no measures to see me. But if he was impelled hence, then he will write to me and inform me of the truth. Thus, even at all events, will the mystery be cleared up? And in the meantime, cruel girl, said Lorena, who had been accurately tutored by Ardolf, and in the meantime, we, to amuse ourselves, will plan an excursion somewhere from the era of innocence so well assumed by Lorena, the unbending Victoria almost believed real. She relaxed into a smile, and half-soothed, half-angry, she suffered her mother to take her hand. When are we depart, and with her are we to go? she heartily inquired. We shall depart, if you do not object my love, almost immediately. Mildly returned Lorena, and it is the wish of Count Ardolf that we should first pay a visit to the Senora de Medina at her delightful retreat, El Bosco, near Treviso. What? To that forbidding formal old creature? Selonly muttered Victoria. Come, my love. She is a relation, you know. There, however, we need only remain a few days, and afterwards our little tour shall be prescribed by Victoria. Victoria dained a haughty smile. Her mother tenderly pressed the hand she still held, and rising said, Adu, for the present my love, prepare as I am going to do for our departure. Not unpleasing was this request to Victoria for her wounded pride now again usurping the place of regret and love. Surely, thought she, had Lorenzo really loved me, he would not so coolly, so suddenly have departed without leaving even a line. No, perhaps he began to imagine that by persevering in the plan he had intended, he might become involved in some embarrassment or inconvenience. Therefore, if even his departure was not voluntary, no doubt he readily embraced the slightest hint to disentangle himself from his engagement with me. Can he then be worthy of regret? And yet I may wrong him, perhaps, some combined artifice, some circumstances of which I am not aware, but I will not reflect, let time, for only time, can convince me. With an unsettled mind and a heart ill at ease, Victoria began to arrange a few things for her departure. She was not suffered by the Count or Lorena to remain long in solitude, but nursed too often of dangerous reflection. They entered her chamber together, and in a gay, unembarrassed tone, Ardolf inquired if she was ready. I am, was the laconic answer of Victoria. Then so are we, said he, and took her hand to lead her from the room. With coolness, but without anger, the proud girl withdrew her hand and followed them in silence from the apartment. Ardolf, who resolved that no danger should arise from delay, had caused everything to be prepared. They embarked, therefore, immediately for Traviso, on the terra firma, and Victoria, though she little dreamt it at the time, bade along a dew to Venice. Every attempt at conversation was for some time baffled by the sullen taciturnity of Victoria, but by degrees, perhaps from a feeling of shame at the idea of being bought to regret a man who, after all, might have voluntarily abandoned her, her sullenness relaxed, and she determined to assume a cheerfulness that she was far from feeling. This changed delighted Lorena, so powerfully indeed did it affect her misguided heart that she even began to repent the precipitancy of her contact, and to feel some pangs at the idea of emuring, in a disgusting solitude, a young creature who but for the mischievous tenancy of her own example might have been rendered to society a value and an ornament. Ardolf read in her eyes the increasing softness of her heart, and that her purpose wavered. She even ventured to cast towards him a look expressive of her feelings, but he, whose aim it was to remove every barrier to his continued possession of Lorena, instantly by a stern look of the most unshaken resolution, convinced her every attempt would be vain to alter his purpose. Lorena sighed, for the eyes of Ardolf had told her there was nothing to hope. She sunk into painful thought, and it now became the task of Victoria to rally her mother and to shoe, vain girl, how far she could conquer her feelings and become mistress of herself. Her every endeavor, however, but added to the compunction of mind experienced by the unhappy Lorena. As they had departed from Venice at a late hour, it was dusk when they reached Treviso, and arrived at El Bosco, which was so named from its situation in the midst of a wood, its gloomy appearance, however, did not depress Victoria, who was by this time absolutely in spirits. The mother's heart was rived. She knew it was the intention of Ardolf. After her relation should be instructed as to the conduct, it was his wish she should pursue towards Victoria, laying infinite stress upon the levity and freedom of her principles, to abandon her solely to the guardianship of this person, with whom even Lorena herself had never been much in the habit of associating. She therefore ardently longed to alter the severe resolution of the unyielding Ardolf, but the effort she knew would be vain. With him she could achieve nothing when not under the immediate apprehension of losing her. Divested of that, he became stern, unrelenting, and inaccessible, which was indeed his natural character. To have obtained from him a remission of the sentence she should have begun earlier before even her departure from Montabello, now, having gone so far, to suppose he would retract was supposing impossibilities. In vain she anxiously examined his countenance. She saw there nothing but a complacent, cool expression, the result of a settled purpose in the mind. The senora, Dima Dina, welcomed Count Ardolf with all the warmth she could command. Lorena anxiously examined her countenance to see if she could augur ought of kindness or gentleness to reconcile her to her guardianship of her daughter. But in the frigid features of this forbidding female, nothing was discernable, but the austere pride of ungracious virtue, with an awkward attempt at condescending kindness, would shoot how much it cost her to assume. Acquainted with the unhappy misconduct of Lorena, and likewise that it had lost her her place in society, she, with the irrigated superiority of little minds, ever triumphing in the falls of others, contented herself with a solemn curtsy towards her, while on Victoria she scarcely daint a glance. The senora, Dima Dina, as has already been observed, was distantly related to Lorena. She was not more repulsive in person than in character. A long yellow visage, small grey eyes, and a stiff unbending meager figure constituted the former. She was proud, fastidious, and possessed of a mercenary soul. From her youth, alarmed at the idea of conventional seclusion, yet being portionless as the daughters of the Italian nobility frequently are, she preferred residing in occasional dependent in such noble families as would permit her length in visits where she would act alternately the overseer, the companion, the governess, or the servant. By these and other winding paths, by flattery, speculation, and hypocrisy, she had actually amassed, as the friendless period of age approached, sufficient to make it pass with comfort, though not with affluence, and to recompense herself for the contempt she had in her early life experienced, becoming, as far as she could, the torment and scourge of all who were miserable enough to be subject to her control. No man, even in the best of her days, had ever glanced toward her with an eye of admiration, much less attempted to solicit her in marriage, and for this reason her bitterness against all females who could attract, or dare to yield, to the regards of the other sex, knew no bounds, and they could hope from her no mercy. Such was a senora de Medina, whose self-interest would not permit her to quarrel with Lorena, because, though she had never much associated with her, she had often proved herself a generous friend towards her. Still, her wretched affectation and rancorous envy would not suffer her to display much warmth. No such reason, however, operated in her conduct to Ardolf. Of him she was desirous to make a friend, and hence her mercenary homage was directed towards him, and she paid him chiefess court. He had not, therefore, entirely justed when he had remarked to Lorena the courtesy of the senora toward him on a former visit. Nothing, however, could excite into him a desire to prolong his stay beyond what was necessary under her roof. He, therefore, presuming upon her uncommon deference towards him, requested an early supper that Victoria might then retire, and he might be enabled to enter at once upon the grand object of their visit. Supper was at length announced, and the unsuspecting Victoria detesting the very looks of the old senora, which had already succeeded in damping her spirits, requested to be shown her chamber as soon as it was concluded. Beneath her stern and scrutinizing regard, her haughty mind felt a sentiment of impatient disgust, and an oppression never known before to the buoyant carelessness of her disposition. On bidding her mother good night, she felt impelled from the very uneasiness she experienced through through her arms around her neck, with unusual affection, and whispered to her that she hoped they would not long remain under so gloomy and ungenial a roof. Scarcely could the anguished mother reply. Her heart smote her for her deception, and conscience whispered to her truths that brought the blood into her cheeks. She, however, pressed the hand of Victoria and faltered out good night, while the reflection that it might be, perhaps for the last time, filled her bosom with acute pain and her eyes with tears. Victoria left the room almost reproaching herself for having ever pained a heart of such fond sensibility as her mother's. She was scarcely gone ere the impatient Ardolf, turning towards the senora Di Medina, and turned abruptly upon the business he was most desirous of accomplishing. Will you, senora? he began. Allow me to say a few words to you. The senora stiffly bowed, endeavoring to smile graciously, but succeeding only in a ghastly distortion of feature. The well-bred Ardolf, however, took it for a smile of acquiescence, and thus proceeded. Your courtesy and politeness to me, senora, and above all the high opinion I entertain of your character, induced me to place in you a confidence I could not certainly repose in any other female. I am to inform you, then, that the young girl who has just left the apartment, I am desirous to commit for a certain period to your care. Naturally, evilly disposed of all mighty and audacious temper, she has been nearly by flattery and indulgence destroyed. Her ideas are entirely corrupted, and child, as you may think her, for she is scarcely eighteen, there have not been wanting those of the other sex who have sought to undermine her principles. Here the senora heaved a loud, tremulous sigh, and turning up her eyes to heaven made the sign of the cross. The count with external gravity and secret contempt proceeded. What I would therefore presume to request of you is that you will condescend to keep over this proud and forward girl so strict to watch as scarcely to suffer her ever from your sight. But do not, do not treat her severely, dear cousin, interrupted Lorena in a faltering voice. The immaculate senora replied only by a cool, half-scornful look, and scarcely seemed proud of the appellation which Lorena had given her, though once it was the chief boast of her little mind. She now fought herself superior to the fallen wife of Lourdonny. I should have you, senora, continued Ardolf, endeavoring to call back her attention to himself. I would have you confine her, if it be necessary, to the solitude of her chamber for a short time. Oh, Ardolf! cried Lorena, unable to command her feelings. You are too cruel! There can be no occasion for such harshness! Another look from the unbending senora chilled her into silence, who then turned again with the utmost deference towards the count. Lorena, you are no judge, coldly observed Ardolf. The senora will only act as circumstances may require. To her conduct and discretion you may safely commit your daughter, when by a due course, he pursued, looking towards the senora, of restraint and privation of every incitement to evil. A change for the better shall be perceptible in her disposition. We will withdraw her hence, and you, Lorena, may again receive her. Meantime, senora di Medina, it is my intention to depart early tomorrow morning from this place, leaving Victoria still asleep. When she arises, astonished at not seeing us, she will inquire of you, respecting us. You will then gently disclose to her the truth, and her own destination for the present. By degrees you will, I doubt not, reconcile her to what she will perceive to be inevitable. Dane to act in this affair, senora, with that zeal and punctuality, which your piety will teach you to exert for the salvation of a soul, and with that prudence which is hitherto appeared so eminently to distinguish your own conduct in life. In which case, allow me to add, you shall not find me ungrateful. Again a smile which appeared hideous because it seemed unnatural to the hard features it dilated, was the return of the last significant remark of the counts. He had skillfully touched the spring, the only spring upon which any feeling or any principle of the senora hung. Interest. She found, as she had all along imagined, that it was her interest to court and to oblige the count. She therefore determined to yield to whatever he could require, fondly promising herself in return some splendid renumeration. Be assured, my lord count, she said in a grating, discordant voice, intended to be gentle and conciliating. I will observe your wishes to the uttermost, and ask for you, senora Lorena, looking towards her with a pitying air. For all I intend to observe, my lord counts wishes, you shall not have any reason to complain of the treatment your daughter will receive. At these words the grateful Lorena flew towards her and, ceasing her hand when she fervently pressed, she said, Oh, you have no child, my dear senora, yet pity the feelings of another, and be kind to mine. She has never, no never been opposed, nor treated with harshness. Hastily, and with a look almost amounting to horror, the pure and dignified senora withdrew her hand as from the touch of pollution, then rising and retreating three steps, stretching out her arm at full length to prevent the nearer approach of so sinful and impure a being. She said, I will do the duty of a good Catholic towards your child. I shall study the preservation of her soul and more her spiritual interest than her temporal vanities. The conscious and abashed Lorena turned aside with shame, even from the shoe of virtue, in its most ungraceful form, pride and affectation. There appears no occasion for further discourse, observe Ardolf coldly. We shall rely upon the proper tenor of your conduct towards Victoria. When we think that time and reflection have shown her her faults and taught her to amend them, we will visit you again. If we find her sufficiently improved in her character, we shall receive her once more. Meantime, cousin Di Medina, good night, have the goodness to direct that we may be awakened early for the purpose of commencing our journey homeward before sunrise, and that you may bear us in mind till our return, deign to accept this ring as a small token of the respect we cherish towards you. So saying, Ardolf took from his finger a magnificent ring, which he placed on one of the senoras, whose half-closed eyes had more than once been riveted upon it, then, gallantly bowing on her withered hand, he withdrew, leaving her in admiration at his singular politeness, at her own dexterity, as she thought, and having turned him already to such good account. Pursuant to his determination, long ere the sun had risen, Ardolf, with his weeping and remorseful companion, were far from the villa al Bosco, perceiving, however, that Lorena was not yet reconciled to the prompt and severe measures he had so obstinately pursued. He forebore for the present to touch upon the subject, though his heart exalted to think that what he had willed, he executed, and that nothing could now intervene to deprive him of a woman whom his pride, equally at least with his love, made him so desirous of retaining, had no obstacles existed to his possession of her, and even to his retaining her afterwards, the depraved and cruel Ardolf had either never sought or long since have disdained her, but his passion and his pride, kept in continual alarms, gave a renewed vividness to feelings which, but for such excitements, would have sunk into apathy or disgust. Such was the vitiated mind of Ardolf, but he could taste no delight that possessed not the poignant zest of having caused misery or destruction to others. Innocent and easily acquired pleasures suited not his profligate soul. Beauty to him was but a slight attraction, if not surrounded with difficulty and shielded either by the doting fondness of a husband, or cherished as the glory of an admiring family. Such had been the situation when he first beheld her of the unfortunate and degraded Lorena, of her whom he beheld himself, as he proudly thought in the future undisturbed possession even till she should outlive, if such could be, his present love and admiration of her. If such could be, oh then Lorena, in bitterness of heart might as thou curse the hour when first outward seen by the cruel and insensible Ardolf. These feelings so base, yet not unparalleled in the nature of man, were actuated in the mind of Ardolf, gave an elation to his spirits, which dispensed itself in a brilliant animation over his fine features and ever fascinating manners. Without alluding to the cause of Lorena's grief, he contrived by the most gentle and tender blandishments gradually to dispel it, such a seducing influence did he still possess over her ruined mind that there were moments when she literally forgot there was a being in the world but himself. When she listened to his attractive converse, and gazed on the dignified beauty of his form, she felt rising in her breast a sentiment of that vanity which had already proved her destruction. She even conceived towards him, such was her infatuation, an increase of love and gratitude when she reflected that it was the unbounded ardor of his attachment to her, which had induced him to act with such severity towards anyone who had sought to embitter it. Thus, even the sacrifice of her child sacrificed at the shrine of her errors and her crimes by him who had been the cause of all. She began to contemplate with emotions of less poignant regret. Scarcely could she grieve in earnest at anything which bound closer to her the object of her idolatrous love. It seemed as if every occurrence which should have made her view him with sentiments of horror, but increased the delusion of her soul. Each moment that carried her further from the child she had abandoned, it faced more and more her image from her mind. Her ideas became more strongly riveted upon him, whose artifices had rendered her an infamous wife and a cruel mother, while himself was the exclusive charm of her unhappy existence. Let us leave, then, for a time, this guilty pair to enjoy the society of each other, and return to the deserted Victoria. When she awakened and looked around the large and desolate chamber, which the ill light afforded by a lamp on the preceding night had prevented her from viewing, the first feeling of her mind was renewed disgust against the owner of the mansion, and an impatient hope but the count and her mother would not prolong their stay under a roof so hateful. Finding, however, that no one attended to call her, and imagining she must have slept many hours, the morning appeared to be far advanced. She arose and dressing herself hastily to send it from her chamber, and entered the garden. Here she had not been long, before she beheld advancing towards her a short muscular-looking girl, habitant in the costume of a peasant. She approached Victoria and informed her that Signora de Medina desired her company at breakfast. With a haughty supercilious air and a smile of decision on her features, Victoria glanced over the figure of the humble girl, and without dating or reply proceeded her into the house. Entering the apartment where breakfast was laid, she saw there seated alone, at the table, the old Signora, in unbending state. Without even offering to her the customary salutations of the morning, the haughty Victoria inquired impatiently if Count Ardolf and her mother still slept. I think it improbable. Coolly returned the Signora. Why are they not here then? pursued the offended girl in a quick tone. Because, answered the Signora with malicious and ill-disguised exultation, they must by this time, I imagine, be gone some way on their journey from hence. Gone? almost shrieked Victoria. Did you say gone? I said so. With unaltered countenance carelessly returned the Signora, is there anything so dreadful, young lady, in being compelled to remain with me for a while? Come, be charitable. She tauntingly proceeded. I have been very long solitary, and you will be noble company for me, I think. The rage of Victoria knew no bounds. She gazed wildly round the apartment. The whole truth rushed through her mind at once, the base, the unpardonable artifice that had been used. She struck her head violently with her clenched hand, and passionately exclaiming, I am deceived and entrapped, rushed from the room before the Signora was aware of her intention. And reaching the apartment where she had slept, she secured the door. There, casting herself upon the floor, her passion vented itself in a violent paroxysm of tears, but becoming suddenly ashamed of yielding, as she thought it, to a weakness so ignoble, and angry with herself that the ill treatment of anyone should have power to excite in her either grief or lamentation. She checked a rising gush, while rage and the most deadly hatred against those who had thus dared to dupe and to portray her took possession of her swelling heart. An ardent desire of revenge followed, and thus from the conduct, misjudging and inexcusable, that had been pursued towards her, did every violent and evil propensity of her nature become increased and aggravated. No sooner had Victoria called to her aid the loftier and more dangerous passions than she became to appearance calm. And though now and then, when reflecting upon the deception of her mother and cold, deliberate artifice of Ardolf, her eyes shot fire, and the pulsation of her heart increased. Yet, in her general aspect, there were no longer traces of grief, but, on the contrary, a superior and dignified expression, which would have done honour to a nobler motive. Her head no longer drooped and rising hastily from the floor, on which, after her first paroxysm, she had remained sitting. With firm and measured step, she traversed the apartment to and fro. In the course of her cooler reflection, it occurred to her that Ulcan's Berenza must have been impelled by Artifice and not his own desire to quit Montabello. This idea soothed the sovereign pride of her bosom. She felt that her charms had not been slighted, and at some future period she did not yet despair of convincing him that the separation was neither on her side nor voluntary. But then she recurred to her present situation. Was it intended she should remain forever a prisoner in this gloomy abode? Again she yielded for a moment to the influence of circumstance, and her heart became chilled at the idea. Yet she determined to observe minutely, to make no enquiries, to betray no vexation, but to act precisely as events might shoe necessary. Soothed and calmed by these mental arrangements, and by the victory which reason, as she conceived, had obtained over her weaker feelings, she resolved, as evening drew on, to quit the solitude of her chamber, and breathe for a short space the air of the garden. For the whole of the day she had not tasted food, and though she heeded not the calls of hunger, she became sensible of the privation. The cold and unfeeling senora, happy to have a human being, and above all, an ardent and high-spirited creature to tyrannize over, resolved that no refreshment should be offered her till she herself came, and with proper apologies for her conduct, requested it. But of this Victoria performed not the remotest intention, and it is probable that rather than have done so, she would have fallen a victim to the pangs of hunger. Fortunately for her, however, though infinitely to the regret of the tantalizing senora, she was not put to this trial. Having walked for a while in the garden and refreshed her wearied faculties with the dewy fragrance of the atmosphere, she entered the house and proceeded, though unintentionally, to the very apartment where supper was prepared. There quietly seating herself opposite to the old senora she partook without ceremony of what was before her. She even made some attempt at conversation, but foiled in her proposed plan of ungenerous mortification. The senora de Medina was too vexed to make any reply. She had hoped to have found her inmates stubborn, refractory, and violent, giving fine scope thereby to her favorite art of tormenting. How grieved and disappointed then was she to find the fury of the morning sunk into calm, and as it appeared, patient submission. Victoria, perceiving the senora, determined upon silent silence, requested permission to withdraw for the night in a tone of the utmost politeness. The only answer she obtained was a stiff inclination of the head. More determined than ever at this that she should not have the gratification of provoking her. She coolly rose and wishing her with the profound curtsy, good night, left the room. When she was gone, this worthy and pious Catholic began to reflect that by means like these Victoria would escape from all the arrangement she had been making to punish and mortify her. This will never do, she cried, while ruminating how best she might vex and harass the mind of her unfortunate guest. She has become reconciled to her situation without any attempt on my side to render her so, but she shall not escape thus. I will break that proud spirit and make her submit afterwards, such were the reflections of the charitable devotee. And with these thoughts at work in her brain for the comfort and happiness of others, she said a long prayer, during which she frequently struck her breast and retired to repose. Victoria, after sitting for an hour at the window, with the mind still persevering and the resolution to be firm, sought likewise her bed, and soon forgot the vexations of the day in slumber. On the following morning, she awakened at an early hour, and after having dressed herself, she prepared to pass from her chamber into the garden. Trying her door, she found it was fastened on the outside, and discovering soon that a wreathe had done her part to shake it must be ineffectual, she opened the window and stationed herself beside it. In about half an hour the door was unlocked, and the young muscular girl, already mentioned, entered the room with a bowl of milk and a slice of coarse bread. These she laid upon the table and was retiring. Come back, imperiously cried Victoria. The girl suddenly turned half-round. I choose to walk in the garden, she pursued. The senora will not permit it, gruffly returned the girl. Will not permit? Repeated Victoria? No, leconically answered the girl, again laying her hand upon the lock of the door. Why do you leave these things behind you? cried Victoria, smothering the rage she felt rising in her breast. It is your breakfast, replied the girl, quitting the room and locking the door after her. So, then I am made a prisoner, muttered Victoria, and her cheeks assumed a crimson dye, as she endeavored faintly to smile at the impotent malice of the senora. How have I incurred this, not surely by my conduct of yesterday? But the malevolent disposition of the tyrant devotee became evident to the haughty girl, and she deemed her a being too insignificant to excite a moment's pain. This cannot last forever, thought she, and when the wretches weary of confining me, she will, for variety, set me at liberty. Meantime, I must amuse myself the best I can. She searched her trunk, which, on the night of her arrival, had been brought into this chamber. Here she found some drawing materials, the surrounding scenery, beautifully romantic, furnished ample employment for her pencil, and with mixed sensations contending in her bosom, she seated herself by an open window and endeavored by occupation to banish reflection. This unworthy procedure and system of torment on the part of the senora continued in full force for some days, till want of exercise and inferior food began, though the proud Victoria disdain to complaint, to have a visible effect upon her health. At this, the senora, who was informed of the circumstance by the young girl who attended her, began to be slightly alarmed, and to apprehend likewise that she might overstep by such measures the limits that had been prescribed her and render herself amenable for any ill consequence that might arise, such, for example, as the sickness of Victoria, which, by distressing and aggrieving Lorena, might bring her into disfavor with the count, perhaps as he appeared so tenderly to love Lorena, even excite his anger against her for such unauthorized severity. For though Ardolf had said she might, if necessary, confine Victoria to her chamber, he had not bid her do so without cause, much less deprive her of her accustomed food, and give her only a skinty portion even of the worst. Under these considerations, therefore, she determined to relax a little, and Victoria, from being confined the whole of the day, and visited only twice in the course of it by Catau, her attendant, with a small quantity of bad bread and milk, was suffered, accompanied, however, by Gavin, to walk an hour in the garden morning and evening. To attempt to describe the indignant feelings of Victoria at this treatment, or the struggle it caused her, amounting almost a frenzy, to subdue the expression of the violent rage that fermented in her bosom, would be indeed vain, yet she bore all, and was determined, sooner to die, then betray the smallest symptom of vexation or impatience. But desire of revenge, deep and implacable, was nurtured in her heart's core, and gave to her character an additional shade of harshness and ferocity. Thus she became like the untameable hyena, that confinement renders only more fierce. A few days after this comparative liberty had been allowed her, the senora by Catau requested her presence in the drawing room. In strict pursuance of the conduct she had prescribed herself, she instantly obeyed, and regretted only that her pallid cheek, and sunken eyes, were evidence of suffering beyond her power to conceal, and regrettify as she feared the malignity of her tyrant. She entered the apartment, however, with an air neither of sullen reserve, nor acknowledged resentment, but placid, cool, and unembarrassed. Thus too did she learn the most refined artifice, which by practice became imbued into the mass of her other evil qualities. The senora, somewhat discomfited by the unexpected demeanor of Victoria, having previously arranged her hard features for the intended expression of severe reprimand, knew not for the moment how to receive her. At length, she said, Be seated, child. With secret scorn and hate Victoria obeyed, it is not my intention, solemnly, and in a labored accent, began the senora, to revert at present to your violent and improper conduct when first you became an inmate under this roof, nor upon account of what is past to punish you further. I merely wish to evince to you that softness, humility, and obedience are indispensable requisites here, and that nothing can be tolerated that shoes an overbearing, haughty, or ferocious spirit. You are by this time, I trust, properly convinced of your error. The heart of Victoria rose in her bosom. It swelled with indignation to reply, but again she conquered her emotions, and the only evidence of them was a momentary rush of the blood into her cheeks. The senora proceeded, Under this impression, I am deem it no longer necessary to confine you. You will not, however, be suffered to go beyond the walls of this mansion. The garden, at all events, must be the extent of your wanderings, and your only society, Catau, and at mealtimes, myself. How the pride of Victoria battled for vent, society for Catau, but still she spoke not. I shall likewise expect that you peruse such religious books as I put in your hands, and which I humbly hope will tend to amend the stubbornness of your proud heart. More ever, that you abjure the vanities of dress, and meekly comply with every requisition, that, as a good and pious Catholic, anxious for the salvation of your soul, I shall think my duty to make of you. The senora now paused for breath. Victoria still remained silent, as not seeming to suppose an answer was required. The senora then resumed, How much ought you to thank heaven, proud child, that has caused you to be placed under my care, that has rescued you from the abode of vice and abomination, and placed you beneath the roof of purity and virtue? Count Ardolf even tells me, unhappy girl, that young as you are, you have already suffered your corrupt imagination to wander after man. Oh, Santa Maria, that ever I should live to speak the word, continued the devotee, turning up her eyes and making the sign of the cross. Teach me to bear with patience, admitting to my present one of passions and propensity so vile, and whose mother has already trespassed before her, beyond redemption in the paths of sin. You may retire, child, she said, changing her tone of rhapsody into one of haughty severity. Retire and seek a towel. She is a meek companion for the contaminated offspring of one who is immersed many fathoms deep in guilt and shame. This last, bitter, illiberal, and uncalled-for reproach tingled with burning heat through every vein of the insulted Victoria. A mother, cruel mother, shimp faintly murmured and hastened from the room. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of Zephluya. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Neela, Iowa City, Iowa. Zephluya, by Charlotte Dacre, Chapter 7. It would be endless to dwell on the varied and unworthy artifices which the pious Senora Demondina had recourse to for the torment and annoyance of her unhappy charge. Suffice it to say that in time their effect became blunted and despised, and the whole thoughts of Victoria turned to the possibility of escaping from such vulgar tyranny. For long she revolved in her mind even the remotest probability, but in vain. She could never penetrate farther than the allotted garden, and knew not even the precise path or door that might lead beyond it. Even were that difficulty obviated, she was ignorant of the means of getting to Venice. With her, could she but once escape, she was determined to hasten. Under these circumstances the image of Katal presented itself to her mind, confined as she was almost wholly to the society of this untaught girl. She had leisure to remark in her, certain traits of decility and good nature, ill-concealed beneath the sullen sternness she had evidently been commanded to assume. Katal was a peasant of Switzerland, short and thick in her person, hard-favored of rude and vacant features, ignorant and inured to labour. She had been selected by the Senora to attend and watch Victoria, first to mortify her by the careless clumsiness of her manner, and the inferiority of her station, and secondly from an idea that Victoria would despise her too much to endeavor to corrupt or make a friend of her. Should she even make the attempt, the Senora presumed the extreme stupidity of Katal would render it abortive. But here for once the infallible Senora, as she believed herself, was mistaken in her fancied penetration. Katal was not only not so stupid as she was supposed, but was possessed of a certain shrewdness and power of combining ideas which, hidden beneath an habitual silence and placidity of disposition, had drawn upon her the mistaken imputation of heaviness and insensibility. Katal could think, and what was more, she could feel, yes, infinitely beyond those who so proudly sat in judgement upon her character, to return however to Victoria. No sooner had the remotest glimmerings of a possible attempt beamed upon her mind than instantly she determined by every means in her power to attach Katal to her interests. Time and experience had already made her so far acquainted with the malevolent and tormenting spirit of the Senora de Medina, that she well knew one great step towards the scheme in embryo was not by any means to appear reconciled to the society of Katal, but on the contrary to seem to shun and despise her, for it was sufficient for this worthy Catholic to be aware of the particular circumstance that could yield a moment's satisfaction to anyone, instantly to reverse it, and continued with unweary perseverance in that line of conduct which appeared to give most pain and uneasiness. Therefore, when she seemed to dislike being accompanied by Katal in the garden, which she often did purposely, the Senora, with a distorted smile of fancy triumph, would tell Katal to take her arm and lead her thither, thinking by that to inflict on the proud heart of her charge the deepest mortification. But here again the Senora was fallible, for no sooner was Victoria out of her sight than she smiled on Katal with an air that said, There is no other way of preserving your attendance. This smile would penetrate the heart of her humble companion, and she would feel so gratified and affected that, perhaps at those moments Victoria might have made an attempt not destitute of success. Such, however, was not her plan. She had not yet sufficiently arranged it, and she resolved to do nothing from crude, undigested ideas. She was but now in the infancy of her attempt, sounding the disposition of Katal, and her mailed heart was not to be thrown off its guard by any effusions of softness or feeling attributable to the effect of the moment alone. It so happened that one evening they perambulated to a part of the garden which was yet unknown to Victoria. It was a beautiful, close avenue, the sides and roof of which were interwoven branches of vine and honeysuckle. The entrance was almost concealed by a thick shrubbery, which it required no slight ingenuity to penetrate, and from the serpentine direction of the path it appeared wholly impossible to ascertain its extent. Still, having made their way through, they proceeded, Victoria with a vague and indefinable feeling of hope and fear, and Katal merely with that vacant curiosity incident to vulgar minds. At length, after walking for near half an hour, they only reached the extent of the garden, bounded by the high circular wall, which had so often, since the comparative liberty she had enjoyed, filled the mind of Victoria in contemplating it with a despondency almost hopeless. The winding path they had traversed had alone deceived her as to the imagined distance, and as she gloomily surveyed the strong and lofty enclosure, she almost doubted if any outlet whatever existed. Surely, thought she, there is only an entrance to the garden from the house and no outlet from the garden itself. While thus she ruminated, walking slowly along by the side of the wall, she became convinced as she proceeded that the precise part of the garden in which she now found herself she had never seen before. At length a small wooden door formed in the wall and secured by two rusty bolts and a heavy iron lock presented itself to her eager view. She instantly called to Katow to approach and, pointing to the door, inquired of her if she knew with her it led, Katow readily applied an eye to the keyhole. It leads into the wood, Signora, which surrounds this house, but unless we were outside, it cannot tell the exact spot. The first part of her reply fixed the breathless attention of Victoria. Into the wood, repeated she mentally, and applied her eye likewise to the keyhole. And is there no way, Katow, said she, of opening this door? None that I know of, Signora, replied Katow. And even if there was, you know, Signora, she added an hesitating voice. You know that, I understand you, Katow, answered Victoria, but you know there could be nothing wrong in rambling now and then about the wood, and supposing the Signora has forbidden it, how could it ever come known? Why, that is true, replied Katow thoughtfully. I must own, it is a hard thing to be so confined. Holy Jezu, Signora, we could never open this door. Oh, Katow, said Victoria, in a gentle voice. Nothing is impossible to those who are willing. You could easily procure the key under some pretense or another, and think then how delightful it would be for us to be quite out of reach of the horrible Signora. Ho-ho, cried Katow with quickness, as if suddenly awaking from a reverie. I have a thought. To make any inquiries about the key belonging to the door, Signora, would only make us suspected. I now remember that when before you came, the Signora used to send me to Ambrosio, the gardener, that I have seen hanging up under the little shed where he keeps his tools a large bunch of rusty keys. I think, Signora, I could lay my hand blindfold upon the very spot where they hang. Well, cried Victoria, her natural impatience breaking forth through her assumed gentleness and forbearance. Well, hasten then, fetch them, and let us try them all immediately. No, Signora, answered Katow, with genuine mildness. That will not do. The evening is drawing in. The Signora has already begun to miss us. By this hour, Ambrosio, too, has most likely returned home, and maybe in the very place I speak of, tomorrow, when he shall be in a distant part of the garden, I will watch the moment when no one is near, and slip through his little cottage to the spot. For I must pass through Ambrosio's residence, Signora, to get at it. Shall then whip down the keys as quick as lightning, and if you will promise, Signora, if you will promise not to betray me, nor to stay out too long, I would do all I can to oblige you. I do not bing, she continued. This door has been opened for a long time. Perhaps the very key that belongs to it may be in the sponge. Victoria was fearful to appear too eager, and ardently as she longed to penetrate beyond the unvaried precincts prescribed by the Signora, she acquiesced with apparent readiness to the arrangements of Katow, and reluctantly agreed to bend her steps homeward. The whole of the night was passed in giving way alternately to trembling hope and the deepest despair. The perpetual ferment of her brain, and above all, the violent restraint she imposed upon her feelings and natural disposition, scarcely ever suffering herself to be provoked for an instant. From the cool and systematic conduct she prescribed herself, had begun long since to have a visible effect upon her personal appearance. She had become thin and pallid, but still her eyes burnt with an ardent, though melancholy flame, that bespoke the tremelled, unsubdued ferocity of her soul. About noon the following day, Katow, who had been absent since she had risen, for she occupied the same apartment as Victoria, rushed suddenly into the room, and first carefully securing the door, drew from her pocket a huge bunch of rusty keys. At this sight, Victoria's eyes sparkled, and the orient tint revisited momentarily her pallid cheek. She devoured them with eager look, and in fancy applied them in turn to the lock of the door. It was, however, as yet too early to venture forth, for they might be tempted to remain longer absent than would be prudent, and suspicion might be excited. They therefore agreed to defer till evening their destined trial. Now, in all this active conduct of the simple Katow, there was absolutely not the smallest intention of aiding or abetting Victoria to escape. She would, on the contrary, have shuddered at the idea. But though in obedience to the orders of the Senora, she had, in the commencement, treated her with sulling coldness, yet in a little time, as is natural for a young, uncorrupted mind, she had become weary of this assumed character, and returned to the kind, gentle, and respectful conduct, more consonant to her feelings, besides which the involuntary awe with which Superior Rink inspired her was not to be done away, for Superior Rink, if accompanied with any dignity, makes resuseless impression on the vulgar mind. Victoria, who beheld with pleasure this gradual change of conduct, divested herself as much as possible of her natural ha-tour, and, having a point to carry, she behaved towards Katow with the utmost condescension, now and then bestowing on her such trifles as were still within her power, for of the greatest part of her little possessions, clothes, and etc., the Senora had deprived her, under the pretense of curing her of a sinful vanity, detrimental to the good of her soul, under the pretense of curing her of a sinful vanity, detrimental to the good of her soul. But what Victoria could, she did, and the trifles which, with grace, she pressed upon Katow, were acceptable and had their desired effect, for vulgar minds are almost always mercenary. Therefore, as far as she could, in return, she enlarged the slender sphere of Victoria's comforts, and her solitary, unvaried amusements, thus in procuring for her the keys, she had it merely in contemplation to obtain for her, if possible, a few moments of satisfaction, early in the evening they descended to the garden, and hastened to the avenue already described, strong anxiety winged the feet of Victoria, and soon she reached the door which had already excited in her mind, ideas so various and confused. Snatching the keys from Katow, who had toiled after her, she applied them in turn, with trembling impatience, to the lock, one at length appeared to suit the best, she assayed to turn it, but in vain. It was reserved for the sinewy hand of Katow to triumph over the united strength of rust and iron. She wrenched the key with violence, it turned in the lock. She applied her force to the bolts alternately, with her hand and a stone, which she had picked up. The door at length yielded to her perseverance, and flew open. Happy and joyous sight for the imprisoned Victoria! She darted like a wild bird, newly escaped from its wiry tenement, into the beautiful and romantic wood that presented itself to her ravished view. The cautious and less ardent Katow closed the door after them and followed. Victoria looked wistfully around. She beheld no boundaries, nothing to retard her should she affect her escape. For a moment she ruminated, then calling Katow towards her, she said in a careless tone. Katow, can't thou tell now in which direction lies the city of Venice? Venice, senora, answered Katow, pausing and gazing around. Venice lies there, pointing with her finger. Then, said Victoria, clapping her hands while her cheeks crimson with rage. Montabello, pointing contemptuously toward the left, must be on that side. Reflections too bitter and too strong to be endured rush through her mind. She turned abruptly away, and with a look that seemed to say, accursed be the quarter where I was deceived and duped, and accursed every breeze that is wafted thence, but far, far different sensations actuated her when she cast her eyes forwards. There, thought she, is Venice itself, and there dwells Lorenza, distance, like death, always magnifies to the imagination the charms of those who were beloved, together with the deception that had been used to separate her from him, induce her to think of him with a tenderness that, but for those circumstances, perhaps she had never felt in so powerful a degree. Ah, dear Lorenza, she mentally continued, might I but hope to see thee once more. She turned towards Catow, anxious to rally her thoughts, and taking her arm, she walked on with her in silence. A thousand unconnected ideas still floated in her mind, time past unheeded, so Catow, respectfully reminding her that it would be expedient to return, roused her from her visions of the future, and she readily acquiesced in the propriety of the movement. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 It may be naturally presumed that the mind of Victoria remained bent upon escape, not a day past that she did not induce Catow to extend their walks farther and farther from the outlet. An outlet the signora little thought they would ever discover, much less dream of attempting. Every day, too, did she contrive to make silent, though accurate observations, as to the direct course it would be most proper for her to pursue. At length, unable to bear continued procrastination, she determined to put in execution the plan that had been so long arranging in her brain. Accordingly, on the following evening, when the unsuspicious Catow had been lured by her kind and condescending manner to accompany her far, infinitely farther than they had ever yet ventured, she suddenly stopped short, and thus addressed the astonished girl. Catow, I will never more return to Il Bosco. My term of slavery is over now. I shall bend my course whether I please to the east, the west, the north, or the south. Listen, therefore, to what I have to propose. Exchange instantly your apparel for mine, and, by your prompt acquiescence, merit this diamond ring, which has been concealed from the old signora, and which I will, in that case, immediately bestow upon you. You can easily, as we have hitherto done, return into the house unperceived, and array yourself in some of your usual attire. Should you be questioned as to my escape, swear what will be true, that you was not privy to it. Should you be questioned as to whether I am gone, swear what is true, that you cannot tell. If, even after all of this, the signora should think fit to discharge you, I do not see that you will have anything to regret. And with regard to any advantage you might think you lost, this ring, which is extremely valuable, will more than indemnify you. Now, these are the pacific terms which I propose to you. If you refuse them, I am equally determined to fly. And if nothing but violence will avail to oppose my strength to yours, my strength, it is true, may not equal yours, but you may find to your cost, Cato, she added, with meaning in her eyes, that victory may not always depend upon that alone. Cato trembled like a leaf in the gale. The firmness and decision with which she had been addressed left her not the power of reply. Victoria, marking her consternation, began calmly to take off her robe, and in that gentle tone, she knew so well how to assume, thus went on. I see, Cato, that you have the good sense to feel the propriety of my resolution and the kindness to wish to assist me in it. Come, my good girl, prepare to undress. Oh, Signora uttered out, Cato, at length involuntarily taking at the same time the first step to divest herself of her attire. Oh, Signora, what are you about to do? To leave a tyrant, answered Victoria with quickness, her eyes darting fire. And I wish you, Cato, speedily the same good fortune. Come, hasten your movements. She proceeded, handing her the robe she had now taken off. Poor Cato mechanically proceeded to do as she was ordered, hurried in her naturally slow conceptions, yet in the naive goodness and simplicity of her heart, seeing something in the conduct of Victoria which she could not blame, for who, more than the poor drudge Cato, had reason to hate the tyrannical and never satisfied Signora. She went on, but not so quickly as Victoria desired, to exchange with her gradually every necessary external part of her dress to render the disguise complete. Though the imperious and altered Victoria had acquired by assumed gentleness the love of the humble Cato, yet had she still the power of inspiring her with awe, conscious of that, and knowing that her weak mind must, in the present case, be taken by surprise and subdued by the force of language, she had preferred this mode to that of attempting sudden flight. Such an act would have roused her drowsy faculties, and, once impelled, it was possible she might have excelled in her swiftness afoot, which would have delayed, perhaps destroyed, her entire project. Besides, it was infinitely more politic to make Cato a friend than, by apparent ingratitude and want of confidence, render her perhaps an enemy. The transformation was at length completed, when Victoria, presenting Cato with the promised ring, slightly pressed her hand and said, my good, my honest Cato, if you possibly can, return to the house unseen, and enter the chamber we have usually occupied, secure the door. Should this ignore us, see nothing of us for the night, she will conclude that, supperless, we have tired to bed, and will not have the foolish good nature to disturb us, perfectly satisfied to have saved a meal. We are never in the habits of seeing her till late in the day. I shall then be safe from the reach of tyranny, at least, I hope so, and should we ever meet again, you will have no cause to repent the day you have acted. Adieu, my kind girl, for time flies, adieu, return homewards, and do not attempt to follow me. Oh, signora, signora, sobbed Cato, while the tears streamed copiously over cheek, resembling the full-blown damasque rose. If you really love me, Cato, said the calm Victoria, who felt not a shadow of regret at leaving her faithful companion, if you really love me, detain me no longer, but turn at once and let me behold you on your return. Cato, with a violent burst of tears and sobs, seized the hand of Victoria, and impressed on it a kiss, forcible in proportion to the affection it was meant to convey. She then turned hastily away, and, without power to speak a word, proceeded towards the house with a speed almost sufficient to satisfy the impatience of Victoria. She remained, however, upon the spot, thinking every moment and age, till the poor girl was out of sight, who, unconsciously, however, turned frequently round to obtain a last look of her, she so much regretted to leave. At these periods Victoria, though with a feeling of vexation and anger, would hastily wave her hand as if to say, I see thee, but pray thee go on. At length some trees intervening, excluded entirely from her view the object she desired to lose sight of, then hastily turning from the spot, she bent her steps forward, fondly congratulating herself that every step she took brought her nearer and nearer to Venice. The sun had set about an hour. Victoria, who had walked, or rather ran, with the utmost celerity, from the moment that she beheld Cato no longer, had hoped in a short time to have penetrated the wood. She, however, found herself mistaken, for the wood was of extensive dimensions, and ignorant of its windings, she had not taken the shortest way to emerge from it. Though she continued her speed with unabated eagerness, night to her confusion began to draw in, and still she was wandering in its mazes. As it grew darker, the necessity of abstaining from her journey became evident. And with her can I seek for shelter tonight, she mentally ejaculated, casting her eyes around. A small white shed, embosomed at a distance among the trees, caught her view. She felt an emotion of gladness, and was hastening towards it, but suddenly recollecting that when her flight should be discovered, it was not improbable, but the very road she had taken might be searched, and then, in such case, this shed being liable to the observations of others, as well as herself, might undergo some scrutiny. She determined instantly to avoid, as much as possible, the habitations of man, and to pursue the path that appeared the most unfrequented. Sooner than incurred the smallest risk of being traced, the firm-minded Victoria decided on passing the night in common with the race of animal nature, beneath no other canopy than the star-sprinkled heavens. In pursuance of this resolve, she turned from the path that led, as she now perceived, to various scattered seclusions of humble life, and beneath the umbrageous shade of a self-formed bower, composed of jessamine and the luxurious vine, overhanging and intertwining from a wild hedge on one side of the forest, she cast herself for repose. Here, thought she, may not I enjoy a few hours of more refreshing rest than hitherto I have obtained on more luxuriant beds. I am safe, too, in doing so, for this ignore will not even hear of my escape till noon tomorrow. Thus reflecting, sleep stole gradually over her senses, fatigued by the unusual exertions of the day, for some hours she enjoyed undisturbed repose, nor till the sunbeams playing through the tender branches upon her closed eyelids, and the carol of the birds, exhilarated by the divine rays of the morning, burst melodiously forth, did she awaken. She no sooner opened her eyes than, starting upon her feet, she again commenced her journey with the utmost speed. A few Naples biscuits, which she had the day before thought of securing, served her for breakfast, and she ate them as she proceeded. Her chief desire was now to leave behind her the wood. For this, she increased her speed, and, after two hours walking, found herself in a kind of path that she hoped would give her some unerring clue to proceed by. Eager with this idea, she swiftly measured its winding way. It terminated at length, in a lonely canal, bordered on each side by poplars and acacias, and Victoria beholding this cast herself almost hopeless close to its edge. Oh! she cried, how deeply must I have wandered! On this melancholy canal, no gondola, most likely ever passes, to retrace my steps, would be certain destruction to my hopes. Here, then, may I as well remain and die. She had thrown herself upon her face, and despondently leaned her forehead upon her clasped hands. The soft gale sighed among the trace. No human being seemed nigh to interrupt the solitude. The melody of the birds among the lofty poplars and the spreading acacias alone broke the heavenly silence of the scene, and Victoria, indifferent to these wild beauties, so hostile to her wishes, remained prostrate and in despair. At length, a low distant sound struck upon her ear. She started. Did it not resemble the remote noise of oars, dipping at measured intervals in the canal? No, no, it was but the breeze agitating the leaves of the trees. And again she reclined her head. Presently the sound returned, but with increased effect. It was accompanied, most joyous conviction, by a rough voice, singing a song common among the gondoliere. In an instant Victoria was upon her feet. She bent eagerly over the canal and described a gondola, most leisurely approaching, and containing only a single roar, who was coasting coolly along the edge of the lake. Oh! thought Victoria, on that careless being depends my fate, how slowly he approaches, while I burn with impatience. Without increasing and iota in speed, by degrees the gondola came near. Victoria eagerly hailed it. Whether go, you friend, she asked, to Venice, Victoria's heart leaped. Wilt thou permit me, she asked, to enter thy gondola? Can't thou pay, my pretty one? asked the gondoliere in return. Victoria was silent. All she had possessed, her ring she had given to Cato. The gondolier was silent likewise, and her hopes began again to fade. At length she cast her eyes upon the countenance of the gondolier. Though coarse and brawny, she perceived that he was a young man. Alas, she said, I have no money, friend, but I have a lover in Venice, and if thou wilt convey me thither, the blessed virgin will ever send thee luck. The gondolier, in turn, cast his eyes upon Victoria. He beheld, beneath her peasant's hat, that she was beautiful. He conceived her, from her garb, to be a peasant in reality, and readily believed that she had no money. The gondolier himself had a mistress that he loved, but on account of his poverty her parents refused the match, and he saw her by stealth alone. He conceived a fellow feeling then for Victoria, and towing his gondola close to the edge of the lake, he stretched forth his hand to her, which she joyfully seized, and vaulted into the gondola. Who can describe the sensations of Victoria? She could not speak. A thousand gay anticipations reveled in her mind, and their enjoyment was too sweet to be unnecessarily interrupted. The gondolier, however, thinking he had at least a right to her conversation for his kindness, did not long permit her to indulge. But how, my pretty one, he began, could ever you think of meeting a gondola where I found you perched? It is not once in a century that any of us pass hereabouts, except indeed at an odd time or so. Why, if it had not been a cavalier that I took up this blessed morning, he, for the heats began, to carry him to a pretty villa that he has close almost to the borders of the canal. And between you and I carried a pretty signora along with him, his reason no doubt for setting off at such an hour, so private, you know. Well, if it had not been for that, I say, which is no business either of mine or yours, I was well enough paid, the devil a gondola you might have caught that way these six days. So you see, my pretty rogue, how lucky you are, and to get such luck for nothing too. Victoria, who had long ceased to attend to the long-winded dissertation of the gondolier, catching only his last words, most cordially assented to them, at the same time expressing her gratitude for his good nature. To this the gondolier made no other reply than a broad, significant grin, winking at the same time one eye, alluding, as Victoria supposed, to the lover she had told him of, and then began again with the song he had been singing before she hailed him. Soon, to her infinite joy, Victoria beheld the towers and domes of stately Venice, rising proudly from the Adriatic, and circled round by its green arms. It was the time of the carnival. Multitudes of gay and splendid gondolas appeared upon the lake as they drew near. They were now upon the point of landing at St. Mark's. Victoria turned to thank the gondolier for his kindness. He nodded and smiled, and helped her out of the gondola, whispering in her ear that he should never at any time object to do so pretty a girl a service. Once more at liberty and at her own disposal, secure too in her disguise, Victoria, without trepidation, mixed with the gay crowd of St. Mark's place in the faint hope, perhaps, of discovering among them one to whom her heart involuntarily pointed. Fatigued at length by exertion and want of food, for she had tasted nothing but a few biscuits since the preceding evening, and evening again was now far advanced, she quitted St. Mark's place to seek a spot less thronged and confused. As she proceeded, as sudden faintness, the consequence of exhaustion overcame her so far that, to prevent falling in the street, she hastened beneath a lofty portico, and seated herself upon one of its steps. Leaning her swimming head upon her hand, she remained for some moments unable to move. Her heart palpitated, and she began to fear that mind might not always prove omnipotent over matter. By degrees, however, the faintness went off. She raised her head. The gay appearance of the streets and the canals, every window illuminated, and the splendid apparel of the masks, ill and overpowered as she felt, yielded her a sensation of the highest delight. She could remember only that she had escaped from a dreary solitude and the most abominable tyranny, and every feeling of sickness vanished at the idea. As still she continued sitting, her symmetrical figure habited in her homely garb, and those strong marked features shaded by a large and simple hat amid the gay and hurrying crowd that still continued to pass, a group of masqueraders caught her attention. Among them was one of a tall and noble figure, far surmounting the rest. He wore a domino of blue silk wrapped carelessly round him, so that his left shoulder with part of his vest was displayed, which sparkled with jewels. On his head he wore a Spanish hat of black velvet surmounted by a lofty plume of snow-white feathers, confined in it by a diamond loop. Upon this attractive figure her eyes fixed, as he passed with a sort of confused recollection of having before seen it. The hasty glimpse she had caught, however, was insufficient to ascertain where, and involuntarily she started up to have a better view of his person. As she did so, he turned round. True, he was masked, but conviction flashed upon her senses. Sudden and irresistible was the impulse. She flew towards him, and laying her hand upon his arm, exclaimed, Berenza! Yes, oh yes, in a low but eager voice, answered the mask, pressing her hand upon his arm. Mark me, but retire. Victoria drew back. The mask rejoined the group he had a moment separated from, and was soon lost in the crowd. Bitter was the vexation and disappointment of Victoria. By happy accident was thus discovered, and in the same moment lost, him on whom her chief hopes depended. But still the splendid illusion of the scene remained. The mind of Victoria was supremely elastic, and she consoled herself with the reflection that she was still in Venice, and at liberty. She continued mechanically moving along, till at length she found herself in a more retired part of the city, where resided some of the inferior inhabitants. From this place she hastened, but everywhere at the brilliancy of the scene began now to fade. The night was considerably advanced. The gay crowd, visibly diminishing, had entered their houses to carouse, and the splendid light decreasing assumed the appearance of a twilight gilded by the last rays of the setting sun. The adventurous Victoria now began to perceive the possibility there existed of passing another night without shelter. The reflection was unwelcome to her feelings, but she preferred it to the remotest risk of discovery by seeking out any of her former acquaintances or dependents. Again therefore, seating herself beneath a portico, she leaned her head upon her hand, and gave way to reflections of a gloomy tendency. She was hungry and fatigued, and these circumstances added to the depression of her spirits. Suddenly a voice sounded in her ear. Follow me! She raised her head, but perceived no one. Again therefore she covered her eyes with her hand, and endeavored to resume her train of thought. Rise! said the same voice again. She started and instinctively arose. The portico at which she had seated herself was the first in the street. A tall figure darted, as it were, from behind her. It appeared enveloped in a dark cloak, and retreating swiftly to such a distance as to render its actual presence dubious beckoned in an inclining attitude to Victoria. Glad even of so mysterious, perhaps dangerous, a mandate she hastened to obey, as fast as her enfeebled limb would allow. The stranger perceiving that she did so, again retreated, but still continuing to invite. Victoria still pursued. At length, in a deserted part, he stopped. Victoria approached. He encircled her waist, and drawing aside his cloak, she discovered the spangled habit and the figure of Berenza. Hush, he hastily exclaimed, perceiving she was about to express her joy. Then again, withdrawing himself, he proceeded towards a small door in the street, at which he gave three distinct knocks. It opened cautiously. He put forth his hand and beckoned Victoria. She drew near. He seized her arm, and conducted her into the house. The door closed. They had not walked many paces through a dark, narrow entry before Berenza stopped, and, taking a hinkkerchief from his pocket, bound it lightly over the eyes of Victoria, saying to her, in a low voice, fear not, this shall not be for long. Victoria only smiled, and did not answer. At length they ascended some stairs, and appeared to enter an apartment. The Conte pressed the hand of Victoria, and bade her take the bandage from her eyes. She did so, and instantly uttered an exclamation of pleasure and surprise, for a sumptuous and brilliantly illuminated chamber struck upon her dazzled sight. The walls were covered with large, resplendent mirrors that variously reflected her simply attired but graceful figure. Berenza appeared for a moment to enjoy her surprise. Then, fervently pressing her in his arms, he said, Here my lovely and beloved Victoria will be so mistress she will no more fly from the man who more than life adores her. Fly, repeated Victoria, I never fled from thee, Berenza. Dits thou not, my love? Much then requires explanation, but not at this juncture. You look pallid and fatigued, rest here a while till some slight refreshment is procured. So saying, he gently seated Victoria upon a superb sofa, and for a few moments left her to herself. The most pleasing ideals now took possession of her mind. As in a recumbent posture she awaited the return of Berenza. Her fatigues, her difficulties, even her imprisonment, all was forgotten in her present prospect of long desired happiness. Now then, cruel and ungenerous mother, she exclaimed, Thou canst no longer deprive me of a happiness similar to that which thou so selfishly enjoyest. A happiness which, but for thee, my awakened fancy had never conceived, nor my soul coveted. Ah, mother, mother, thou dits deceive and betray me, but I shall still live to thank thee for teaching me the path to love and joy. As she concluded this wild expression of her misguided sentiments, Berenza entered. He had heard what she had uttered, and pleased, as he undoubtedly was, that chance had thrown in his way the girl he had admired and loved, yet his delicate and refined mind experienced a sensation of regret at the avowed freedom of her principles. Yet still more severe were his reflections against the authors of this mischief, the parent, whose example and conduct had corrupted the sentiments of her daughter, and the wretch whose seductions had corrupted the parent. But mentally he promised himself to restrain and correct the improper bias of Victoria's character. For Berenza, though a refined voluptuary, possessed a noble virtuous and philosophic soul. He seated himself by the side of Victoria, and gently took her hand. It was dry and feverish. You have undergone considerable exertion this day, he said, gazing on her countenance. Have you not, my sweet Victoria? Victoria smiled, and great was the dismay of Berenza when he learned that for upwards of twenty-four hours she had not tasted food. He instantly forbade her to utter another word till the nature was recruited, and the moment a collation he had ordered made its appearance, he tenderly pressed her to eat. Nor till he thought her sufficiently refreshed would he reply to the most pressing of her eager interrogatories, respecting the real cause of his precipitate departure from Montebello. At length, when he explained to her this circumstance and his conviction at the time of having acted expressly consonant to her own wishes, nothing could exceed the rage she evinced at the deception which had been practiced, and unwilling, as was Berenza, to countenance or encourage the undue violence of her disposition, he could scarcely avoid participating in the expression of her sentiments. The gross unworthiness of the parental duplicity had surprised and disgusted him, and if for a moment before he had been disposed to lament the effect of her daughter's flight upon the mind of Lorena, he now felt that compassionate sentiment give way to one of pleasure that Victoria had escaped and escaped to him. It appeared to, in the course of his explanation to Victoria, that surprised at not receiving from her the smallest intelligence for a length of time, though according to the intimation in the note he was taught to expect he might shortly hear from her, he had, impatient at the delay, presented himself uncalled at Montebello. There had he learned that by her own desire his fair mistress had taken her departure from Thence and had expressly required that he should be kept in ignorance of her retreat. For that reflection having convinced her of the impropriety of encouraging his attentions, she had determined to endeavor at least to overcome it, and therefore conceived that absence was the most likely, nay, the only mode of forwarding so desirable a point. I confess pursued Conte Berenza from the knowledge I possessed of your character. I thought such sudden variation of sentiment almost incompatible with it, but having no alternative, for I felt I had no right to request an explanation from your mother or the Count, you, according to the law of things appertaining rather to them than me, and urged by the cool looks I received, I took my departure, secretly hoping that time would bring me some satisfactory elucidation of a circumstance that I could not help considering as somewhat mysterious. ere their mutual explanations had ceased, the night was far advanced, the history of Victoria's sufferings at the Signora de Modena's, the mode of her escape, her difficulties, her precautions to avoid being traced, all, all must be detailed and expiated on ere she would think of retiring. Berenza at length ventured to recur to the necessity there was for her taking some rest, and willingly, at his delicate solicitation, she agreed to do so. When summoning some female attendants, he ordered them to show her to the chamber which had been hastily prepared for her. No sooner had Victoria reached her apartment than she requested her attendants to withdraw, for she was desirous of indulging alone the influx of her ideas. Delight and pleasure had such complete possession of her that scarce could her trembling hands perform the office of disrobing herself. Long, too, after she had entered her elegant bed, which rose in the form of a dome, bordered with deep gold fringe, did her buoyant spirits drive sleep from her pillow. At length, however, her ardent imagination became overpowered. She fell asleep, and brilliant fantasies gambled before her in the dreams of the night. Berenza, too, retired to repose, but his reasoning mind, though in such recent attainment of a desired good, was placid and unruffled. The images which occupied it were devoid of the romantic trappings of fancy. He beheld Victoria, such as she really was, unembellished, unornimented. His keen eye that perceived her beauties discerned likewise her defects. He appreciated her character. He beheld at once her pride, her stubbornness, her violence, her fierté. Can I, asked himself, be rationally happy with a being imperfect as she now is? No, unless I can modify the strong features of her character into the nobler virtues, I feel that all her other attractions will be insufficient to fill up my craving heart. Pursuing these reflections Berenza fell asleep. Victoria, beneath his roof, voluntarily in his power, he had leisure to retire and amplify on those errors, which, while she seemed unattainable, struck him in a point of view infinitely less momentous. Such is the nature of man. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org, recording by Dion Jones, Salt Lake City, Utah. Zafloia by Charlotte Docher Chapter 9 The sun had risen far above the horizon when Victoria awakened. She hastily arose and perceived that the peasant scarbe had been exchanged for habiliments more resembling those she had till now been accustomed to wearer. This she with justice attributed to the delicate attention of Berenza. Dressing herself, she summoned attendance and was informed that Ilcante Berenza had been long awaiting breakfast for her and desired them to conduct her to the apartment where he was. She found him sitting upon a sofa with breakfast things before him. On her entrance he rose and conducted her to sit beside him. His demeanor towards her was rather that of a sincere and a tender friend than of an ardent lover. For the mind of Berenza, ever aiming at perfection, felt that ere he could avare himself the latter, he must himself new model the object. During breakfast he conversed upon indifferent subjects, but more sedulously and more anxious than ever did he scrutinize her, as though in her air and in her eyes he would read every movement of her soul. Yet true it was that Berenza was a voluptuary, but a philosophical, delicate, and refined voluptuary. It was not the perfection of body only that he required, but the perfection also of mind. Victoria perceived that embarrassment clouded the manners of the Cante. She sought by every means to draw him from his apparent abstraction, and again taking his hand she said, Berenza, why are you not cheerful? You were want to tell me that I should constitute your happiness, if once I became yours. Now, then, that fortune has united us, you appear less happy than when you disparate of gaining me. Nay indeed, dear Berenza, almost indifferent to her you so professed love. Berenza rose during the speech of Victoria. A new idea had taken possession of his mind. It was the tormenting, the useless reflection, that perhaps he was not particularly distinguished by the confidence of Victoria. That perhaps she had flown to him merely as a refuge from discomfort and oppression, and that had another addressed her she would equally have flown to him. This suggestion struck a pang to the heart of the refining philosopher. Suppressing his emotion, however, and taking the hand of Victoria, he only said, You have often, my love, known me abstracted and thoughtful, without any particular reason occurring at the moment. Heed me not, and I shall speedily be my self again. Then I will withdraw to my chamber, my lord, said Victoria, secretly peaked and disgusted, that her present should not be a talisman against every species of uneasiness. Do so, my love, consider yourself here as mistress, and all I have at your disposal. Make such arrangements as you may think fit without hesitation. Employ yourself a few hours apart from me. We will meet at dinner, and in the evening repair to the Laguna, where my Victoria will be the fairest. Victoria withdrew, but her air was indignant, and Lorenza observing it, sighed as he gazed after her, mentally exclaiming, Victoria, how imperfect thou art, full that I was, he continued, I never possessed either the heart or the mind of this girl. Circumstances only have impelled her towards men. Oh, could I but penetrate her thoughts? Could I but discover her actual feelings? My mind would be at rest. Were I only convinced of her love, I could easily new model her character, because the precepts and the wishes of those we love sink deep into the heart. But no matter, I will be the friend, the brother, the protector of the girl who has thrown herself into my arms. I will love her too, but never, no, never willingly take advantage of a fortuitous circumstance. I will be convinced of her affection, her absolute, her exclusive affection, and till I am thoroughly convinced, I will be her friend, and not her lover. Such was the determination of the reasoning philosopher whose delicate and fastidious mind made its own food, and took forever a pleasure in repining upon itself. At dinner they again met, and when the heat of the day was succeeded by the cooling breezes of evening, Lorenzo led his fair charge to St. Mark's Place, along which multitudes of gay venetians were flocking to get into their gondolas. The Conte assisted Victoria into his, which was splendid and gaily accoutered. Happy was the vain Victoria to find herself thus in the myths of the gay world. The Laguna was covered with an innumerable quantity of gondolas, soft music sounded from every side, and sweet female voices sometimes accompanied the strains. The scene elevated her spirits. She blessed the moment when she had escaped from the tyranny of a discontented bigot. She cast her eyes around, and she perceived that she had excited that attention and admiration that she so much loved to obtain. She even fancied that the Venetian bells viewed her with an air of envy. The idea was doubly pleasing, and her animation increased. But she did not for a moment suppose that this envy was excited on account of the companion who sat beside her. Lorenzo was indeed accounted the most accomplished cavalier in Venice, the very phoenix of grace and elegance. His opinions, his taste, his approbation, formed the standard of fashion. For though no one knew or appreciated the dignity and delicacy of his mind, yet was he considered the most graceful and fascinating of men. His society was universally courted, even by the women, though they well knew his refined and superior judgment. His was not the heart of a sensualist, if indeed a sensualist hath a heart. He could not gaze and raptured on the accurate formation of a limb, waste his hours in contemplating incessantly a beautiful form, or resign his independence while admiring some harmonious combination of feature or complexion. Even his most irrational hours were never spent at the feet of a simpering coquette. No, it was necessary that Lorenzo's beauties should be polished, that they should possess the talisman of mind. Well was this general trait in his character understood, yet his society and his notice were eagerly courted by females, since to attach him would indeed have been triumph, who then could forbear the attempt. Victoria excited, therefore, universal envy in one sex, and she likewise excited universal admiration in the other. The notice she attracted filled her vain, ambitious heart with exultation, and it was with infinite regret she left the gay-covered lake to return to the palazzo of her lover. Flattered by the attention she had excited, the philosophic Lorenzo viewed her involuntarily with a feeling of increased approbation. For true it is, man is too apt to be guided in his estimate of things by the degree of estimation they may obtain from others, and to be influenced in his opinion by the standard, often depraved, of public taste. Supper being prepared for them, the comtebe began wholly to relax from the restraint he had imposed upon his manner. He seated himself with a smiling air by the delighted Victoria, who instantly availed herself of the gaiety and unreserve of his manner to ask an explanation of what had more than once obtruded itself upon her mind. Looking somewhat archly in his countenance, she said, Tell me, Berenza, if the question be not improper, why with so much caution and mystery you first acknowledged your recognition of me, and conducted me hither, yet now carelessly exhibit yourself with me in public? Oh, woman, curious woman, said the comte, laughing, but I will tell the Victoria. Frederick Alvarez, a friend of mine, and a Spanish nobleman of high rank, had a mistress called Magdalena Strozzi. By birth a Florentine. Of this mistress he was passionately fond and often pressed me to be introduced to her, but having many other engagements I always declined. At length one day he succeeded in securing me, and I was reluctantly dragged into the presence of his siren. Mark the untoward result. On the honor of a Venetian I solemnly assure you I paid her no extraordinary attention, nor any whatever of a nature that could be considered dishonorable towards my friend. Yet she exerted her utmost artifice. She used every blandishment to allur me. Magdalena was beautiful. She was beside elegant and accomplished. I am not, as I think, either a philosopher or a stoic, but a man refining on my own sensations. I yielded I own to the witcheries of Magdalena and felt no compunctious visitings from a consciousness of treacherous conduct toward my friend. I had not attempted to seduce his mistress. It was she, on the contrary, who had so powerfully addressed my feelings and my senses. That was in the fullest acceptation of the term the seductress. At length, however, the jealous Alvarez discovered the infidelity of her, to whom he was devoted heart and soul. He sought me out, foaming with rage and outraged love, and gave me my choice to meet him in honorable combat, or be passively run through the body. Breathing death and vengeance, it was vain to reason with him. I therefore preferred the former offer and we met. Fury rendered his hand unsteady, and when I succeeded in drawing a little blood from his arm, some of our mutual friends, who were privy to the affair, endeavored to explain to Alvarez the folly of fighting for an abandoned wanton. He heard them with a gloomy air, but appeared convinced by their arguments. I offered him my hand, but he refused it with rage, and soon after left Venice. Since that period I have occasionally visited Magdalena, but never could I prevail upon myself to consider her as a mistress from the very obvious and unerring reflection that a female who could abandon a sincere and doting lover for me would as readily abandon me for any other who might attract her wandering eye. Still, however, the jealous, the alternate fits of love and resentment, which she thought proper to exhibit, whenever I presented myself before her, have long been a source of extreme unpleasantness to me. She has frequently sworn, with a frantic air, that though she hears with my insulting indifference towards her, that should she ever have reason to attribute my coldness to regard for another, my death alone would satiate her vengeance. Thus, though I know the irregularity of her life, and that her undisciplined passions hurry her into the most abject excesses I do not wish, insolent and unjustifiable, as such conduct would be, to induce her frenzied attacks against my life or peace, I therefore, in my research after you, used all possible precaution. Nor did I, though you saw me not, even for once lose sight of you. My reason for placing a fillet over your eyes was merely to enjoy your astonishment when it should be removed, for I introduced you by a private way into my house. I believe fair Victoria pursued the Conte, smiling, and taking her hand, I have now explained all that may have appeared mysterious to you. You have, my lord, answered Victoria, but you still, still visit Megalina then, she pursued, while her jealous eyes wandered. I have, as I said, replied the Conte, smiling, then accustomed to visit her. And, and you still intend, my lord Lorenza? My future intentions, replied Lorenza, seriously, will be considerably influenced by you. But my lord, said the artful Victoria, with an air of innocence, unwilling to proceed too far, you love me too well, I hope, to think of another while I am with you. Sweet Victoria, exclaimed Lorenza, that is spoken like yourself. The Signora Megalina must now be tranquil. She must, for she will see us together, and it will be beyond her power to separate us. Yesterday I had visited at her house. She knew the color of my habit for the carnival. Her eyes, no doubt, followed me everywhere, and had she perceived my attention attracted to you, she would either have had you entrapped, and conveyed out of my reach, or have followed me even into my apartment like a vengeful fury. Therefore it was I conveyed you into the Palazzo by a secret way, wholly unknown even to her. But let us dismiss this unworthy subject. Once for all, Victoria, be assured, it is not in the power of a Megalina to attract me from thee. I have known her, tis true, she has been the companion of my looser hours, but she was never the mistress, the beloved, acknowledged friend of Lorenza. No, it is not enough for me that my mistress should be admired by men. They must envy me in their hearts the possession of her. She whom Lorenza can love must tower above her sex. She must have nothing of the tittering coquette, the fastidious prude, or the affected idiot. She must abound in the graces of mind as well as of body. For I prize not the woman who can yield only to my arms a lovely insipid form, which the various bore in nature can enjoy in as much perfection as myself. My mistress, too, must be mine exclusively, heart and soul. Others may gaze and sigh for her, but must not dare approach. It is she, too, who, while her beauty attracts, must have dignity sufficient to repel them. If she forfeit for a moment her self-possession, I cast her forever from my bosom. But if he added, with increasing energy, it be within the verge of possibility that she forfeit her honor, then, oh, then, her blood alone can wash out her offence. Victoria, grasping her hand, dust thou mark me, hast thou courage, hast thou firmness to become the friend, the mistress of Lorenza? Victoria smiled with ineffable dignity. She laid her hand upon the arm of Lorenza and said, Yes, I have courage to become everything to you. Why these doubts, these stipulations, Lorenza? She pursued with a serious error. But thou must love me, Victoria, me alone, said Lorenza, fixing his eyes upon her countenance. And do I not, my lord, love you alone, she said? Not certainly, not enough, he replied. Thou art a stranger to the turnings and windings of thine own heart, mentally added he. Then, rising hastily, he took the hand of Victoria. Retire, he said, in a gentle voice. Retire to repose, and to-morrow we shall meet again. He led her to the door and saluted her hand. How few in character resemble Lorenza! Yet in such perfection are some minds regulated, ultimately enhancing, by their forbearance, the pleasures they obtain.