VILLASANTELLE.

A ROMANCE.

VILLASANTELLE;

OR

THE CURIOUS IMPERTINENT.

A ROMANCE.

BY

CATHERINE SELDEN,

AUTHOR OF

THE ENGLISH NUN, COUNT DE SANTERRE, SERENA, VILLA NOVA,

GERMAN LETTERS, &c. &c.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR

A.K. NEWMAN AND CO. LEADENHALL-STREET.

1817.

PREFACE.

WHEN an Author begins to write a Preface, it is generally with a view of apologizing for the defects of a first work, or for repeated intrusions on the public; but as this is not my first production, the former cannot be my design, nor is the latter in the least my intention. Those who read novels and romances, do it, I imagine, rather for their own amusement, than from any compliment to the authors of them; and though the names of SMITH, BURNEY, RATCLIFFE, or ROBINSON, being prefixed to a work, may induce many persons to turn over those pages that they otherwise would not, yet it will most commonly be found to arise from a fear of their taste being impeached, if WALSINGHAM, CLARENTINE, &c. were unknown to them, than from any other motive. VILLASANTELLE must therefore take his chance in the world into which I am about to usher him; and may the errors of his historian be treated with the same lenity that his have been in these pages. They are alike those of youth, and an imagination perhaps ill regulated, but not, I hope, those of principle or intention.

I wish, however, to excuse myself from a charge of plagiarism, that I doubt not will be brought against me, from the similarity of character and circumstances of one female personage of my drama to the Miss BURCHALL, of the incomparable SIDNEY BIDDULPH. But, however I may admire the writings of Mrs. SHERIDAN, I should not certainly wish to pilfer that part of it which pleases me the least; and any person who will take the trouble of investigating the matter, will see that I have not done so. Yet, as it will, I dare say, be thought an unreasonable request to a Novel Reader, I shall just hint that FALKLAND was not the seducer of Miss BURCHALL: he took no pains to gain her affections, or pervert her principles; and was, surely, for an error that could scarcely be called a voluntary one, too severely punished, in the bitterness of that fate, which to a man of any delicacy or honour, is the most dreadful of all others. Between Sir GEORGE BIDDULPH and VILLASANTELLE, no parallel can, I think, be drawn: I only fear that the fault into which both were drawn, by an artful woman, is so common in life, that it will be esteemed unworthy of the dignity of a Romance; under which title, however, the Memoirs of Villasantelle, or the Curious Impertinent, is presented to the Encouragers of Invention.

By

Their most obedient Servant,

C.S.

VILLASANTELLE.

HENRIQUEZ de Villasantelle, the only son of the Count de Villasantelle, was a native of the city of Seville, where he resided, with his parents and a sister two years older than himself, till he had attained the age when the young men of Spain are in general sent to Salamanca, or some other of the universities.

It was then, that Henriquez accepted the invitation of the Marquis Cambusca, (who had lately married his sister) to accompany them to the mansion of that nobleman, in the territory of the republic of Venice, there to pass the time that must intervene before he commenced his studies at Salamanca.

To the Marquis, a man in middle age, sensible and penetrating, fond of developing characters (particularly in people at an early time of life, when the unrestrained emotions of the heart, and sallies of the imagination, and the propensities inherent in the mind, devoid of all constraint from the watchful prudence of worldly caution, give an energy to the character and sentiments that at a later period of life is too often lost in the apathy attending palled enjoyment, and the wary reserve of a mind inured to frequent disappointment,) the young Henriquez proved a uniform subject for observation, study, and almost constant admiration. His disposition ardent and fiery, yet tractable when treated with reasonable indulgence; his imagination lively, vivid, ready to receive every impression, yet accompanied by a strength of mind that led him closely to investigate their truth, and willing to abandon them the moment he became sensible of their fallacy; his conduct and opinions were frequently wrong, but error was never persisted in, nor its adoption defended.

With an understanding uncommonly acute, and a judgment above his years, the warmth of his passions and his heart often led him into dangers and difficulties, from which his sense and courage could scarcely extricate him.

His person, (though he was not yet twenty-one) was manly and dignified, and in his intelligent countenance were seen such marked traits of gaiety and sweetness as rendered the regularity of his features little attended to.

During their journey through Spain, Henriquez, (in whose character curiosity the most boundless, though never obtrusive or impertinent, was one of the most striking traits,) was particularly inquisitive on the subject, the manners, and customs of the country they were about to enter; and as the Marquis with simplicity and truth described them, his remarks were such as at once to charm and astonish that nobleman.

Henriquez, above the meanness of nationality, and with a mind fond of novelty, quick in its decisions, and ardent in the pursuit of information, freely declared his sentiments upon what he heard. Pride, jealousy, and revenge were too much the characteristics of his own countrymen for them to excite much surprise on finding them also prevalent amongst the Italians; but to the account of their superior activity in the pursuit of science and the arts, he lent a pleased attention, at the same time feeling emulation rising in his bosom.

One day that Henriquez and the Marquis were conversing on this subject, the former, with the vehemence incidental to youth of a lively capacity and quick perceptions, began to form an imaginary plan for the reform of the indolence and haughty ignorance of his countrymen, and in a few moments transformed the proud, the poor, and lazy hidalgo into something strongly resembling an English yeoman. The Marquis, smiling, interrupted him, saying,

“My dear Henriquez, all this does very well in conversation; it is the bold and visionary scheme of a young man of strong intellect, but who has formed erroneous conclusions. Age and experience will shew you the fallacy of your present ideas, and convince you how impossible it is for this change to be effected.”

“What should prevent it, Sir?” returned Henriquez. “Would some few men in our universities but think rightly, and communicate their ideas to the public through the channel of literature, it is impossible but that the Spaniards (by no means a dull or incomprehensive class of people) would shake off their ancient habits and become at once more rational, more prosperous, and more happy.”

“All this is very plausible:” said the Marquis, “but you revert not to the difficulties that must render it impracticable. You forget, that to succeed, you must teach your hidalgos to read the works of your students: you must eradicate from stubborn and uncultivated minds every prejudice they have been accustomed to cherish: you must endow them with activity and discernment: you must give to some a taste for the arts: others you must convince, that to toil under a burning sun is preferable to reclining under the shade of cork trees, because more useful to others, (whom the hidalgo has never been accustomed to consider) and because tending to improve the kingdom, and enrich the individual.”

Henriquez was a little staggered by the review of difficulties thus held up to him; but still willing to defend his own system, chimerical as it began to appear, he returned:

“The difficulties that strike you, my Lord, are such as I must admit the justice of; but they are, nevertheless, not insurmountable. Let some few men of distinguished abilities, with acuteness, patience, and perseverance, attempt the work,——”

“And,” interrupted the Marquis, “I grant you they may effect this work of wonders. But you would find, that a plan so almost hopeless of success, and so difficult in the execution, will only be undertaken by young men of ardent imaginations, and romantic singularity of opinions; and that such will grow weary of the enterprise long before any benefit can arise from it.”

“I see,” said Henriquez, with a good-humoured smile, “that you mean a more direct allusion to myself in your censure than you avow: but as the friendship you have always manifested for me does not permit me to suppose you mean to insult my understanding, or sneer at my instability in particular, I must conclude that you have a contemptible opinion of youth in general.”

“Very far from it, my dear Henriquez. I think that age may often receive improvement from attending to the fire and genius of youth; but I think that its judgment is seldom correct and its conclusions generally erroneous, and that young people should therefore never form decisions, since they cannot do so with caution.”

“For once, Marquis, let me deviate from your rule, and say, that I decisively think you wrong. In matters of opinion, you must permit me to support, that an intelligent person of any age is as likely to be right as a person of long experience: and I do not see why I should be discouraged from enquiring into the causes of what I observe; and when I have discovered them judging of their truth. Experience may teach us, that such things are; but it is reason, and reason alone can inform us, why they are? and thence instruct us how to remedy or change.”

The Marquis shook his head in silence: though stedfast in his own opinion, he was pleased with the acuteness he discovered in his young friend; and was not so eager to make converts as not to perceive that to attempt further arguments might hurt the cause, and estrange Henriquez’s heart; thus the conversation terminated here.

With a mind so active, so energetic as was that of Henriquez, it is not astonishing, that finding the Marquis and Marchioness (after spending two months at their villa on the shore of the Adriatic) about to remove to Naples, he resolved to accompany them; unwilling to forego the pleasure of seeing so much more of Italy, though the time was nearly expired when his absence from Salamanca would be permitted.

As the Marquis proposed staying several months in Naples (which was the birth-place of his mother) it was not long before he established himself in an elegant palace on the terrace which overhangs the Bay: and the Marchioness had soon an extensive acquaintance amongst the nobility. Her beauty, her sweetness and vivacity rendered her generally admired, and the palazzo of the Marchesa di Cambusca became a fashionable resort of the politest and most distinguished persons.

But, in the ceremonious circles that almost every evening assembled in the apartments of his sister, Henriquez took no pleasure: and they became particularly disagreeable when the Countess Miranda, not long a widow, placed her daughter in a convent to be educated, and came to reside in the house and under the protection of the Marquis de Cambusca, her brother.

This lady, proud, unfeeling, and imperious, vain of her beauty now visibly in its wane, thinking herself a wit, because possessing a genius for the most illiberal and malevolent satire, and a talent for embellishing the scandalous tales her prying disposition and persevering ill nature led her to discover; fond of admiration (though extorted by the fear of falling under the lash of her tongue) attached herself to Henriquez; imagining that his youth and inexperience would easily lead him to put on her chains, at the same time that his sense of the honor she did him, by accepting his attentions, would render him submissive to her caprices. In this, however, she was mistaken, and had soon the mortification to find, that Henriquez preferred a solitary ramble in the streets of Naples, or its environs, to being her partner in the dance, or sitting next to her at play, listening to her spiteful animadversions on others, or her disgusting flattery of himself.

One evening as Henriquez was sauntering carelessly under the colonnade that runs along the front of the church of St. Theresa, the sweet accents of a female voice speaking to some person within the church drew his attention, and the next instant, a lady whose figure was grace and elegance itself issued from one of the side doors of the great entrance close to him. At the moment that she stepped into the colonnade, a sudden breeze wafted her veil, (which seemed to have been hastily thrown on) to some distance. Henriquez flew to catch it; and presenting it to her, was surprised to see her very beautiful face pale, and bearing evident traces of tears. She reached forth her hand for her veil; but unable to throw it over her head, or to thank him for restoring it, she remained for some moments the mute image of extreme agitation and distress, which almost amounted to desperation. Henriquez not conceiving that her emotion was occasioned by the untoward accident of her veil, and observing that she trembled excessively, offered his arm to lead and support her back to the St. Theresa. The sound of his voice roused her from her torpor; she clasped her hands together, and raising them to her forehead with an air of distraction, exclaimed in a voice equally disturbed with her looks,

“My God! what will now become of me?”

“I hope you are in no danger, Lady.” said Villasantelle soothingly. “From me you have nothing to apprehend; and from others I will with my life defend innocence and beauty.”

“Noble Stranger,” returned the Lady more composedly, “I thank you for your kindness; but she has nothing to fear who is already undone!”

With these words she was departing, when Henriquez exclaimed,

“Already undone!—Tell me, I conjure you——”

“I can tell you nothing:” interrupted the fair unknown: “but conjure you to suffer me to depart unmolested.”

So saying, she sprang to the end of the colonnade, and descending the steps with a rapidity that baffled all pursuit, disappeared.

It was at the abrupt turning of the street of St. Theresa, that Henriquez entirely lost sight of the fair stranger: certain that she had gone that way, he looked up and down the street, but could see no female, except a few of those mean-looking women who sell their humble wares in marble and glass to the idle passenger.

The form of the stranger, tall, light, and graceful, was not one to be confounded with the common herd; and Henriquez, disappointed in his desire of pursuing her, returned slowly through the colonnade, and entered the church of St. Theresa. As he crossed its broad aisle, the brilliant effect of the setting sun, blazing on the stained glass of the west window, struck his fancy, and he remained for some time gazing on it. While he did so, he distinguished the commencement of the vesper service of the convent adjoining. The voices of many of those who joined in the hymn were soft and melodious; the organ was remarkably fine, and with a view of listening to harmony so enchanting to him, Henriquez abandoned his intention of going home directly. But the music did not so entirely take up his attention as to prevent his mind from dwelling on the fair stranger, and forming a thousand wild conjectures concerning her, rendering him scarcely sensible of the cessation of the vesper service, and the approach of night, till suddenly starting he observed that it was nearly dark. He was, however, leaving the place, when the sound of footsteps very near him induced him to look around, and the obscurity of the church scarcely permitted him to discover two persons habited in long dark cloaks walking up and down one of the side aisles, and from the earnestness of their voices, when he could now and then catch a word, appearing deeply engaged in conversation.

Henriquez paused to observe them; and, as they slowly passed him, he heard one of them say, “My blood runs cold at the very thought of that last eventful interview; I still feel the cold languor of death——”

The speaker quickened his pace (as one is apt to do when wishing to escape from disagreeable recollections, and the body partaking of the agitation of the mind, we think that change of place will lessen our feelings of pain, though our lips still dwell on their cause) and was soon out of hearing: as they both returned from the farther end of the church, they stopped close to the pillar, in the shade of which Henriquez was concealed from discovery, and the same person who had before spoken, said,

“Think me not a coward for allowing my mind to be affected by the gloom of the hour, and the still solemnity of this place: I cannot talk more at present; but an hour earlier in the evening of to-morrow I will meet you here. Or,” he added, “can you join me at that hour in some place less liable to observation?”

“You forget,” returned his companion, the deep and hollow tones of whose voice startled Villasantelle, “you forget that this is my sanctuary, and I must not leave it. Here then you will find me to-morrow; but bring a little more courage with you to the conference, since desperate deeds call for a spirit of desperation.”

“Then, vengeance, pride, and love assist me!” exclaimed the other with vehemence.

“Hush!” said his companion, “and I will cross the church with you.”

Henriquez, now perceiving that he would be discovered, hastily left his station and walked down the great aisle. He was seen by the person who had declared himself in sanctuary, and who now, saying to his companion that they were discovered, called aloud, “Who goes there?”

“A friend!” replied Henriquez, and passed on. But footsteps as quick as his own seemed to pursue him, and turning his head, he perceived the two strangers so close behind him that their garments touched his. Alarmed, but not terrified, Henriquez stopped, and the same person who had before addressed him, said, “Good even!” and turned another way, accompanied by the other stranger. Henriquez watched their shadowy forms retreating till they descended into the north cloister, and then quitted the church.

He had passed the colonnade, and was proceeding homewards, when, as he passed a small door of the south aisle of the St. Theresa, a man (who, the light of a lamp hanging in the porch enabled him to see was one of the persons he had left in the church) came out of it, and on Henriquez repeating “Good even!” enquired, “Who greets the passenger?”

“Henriquez de Villasantelle!” he replied: for an idea struck him that he had heard the voice before this evening. The stranger, however said no more, and Henriquez returned home.

When he reached the palace of the Marquis de Cambusca, his mind was in a state of such disturbance, from the tenor of his contemplations from the time he left the St. Theresa, that without considering whither he was going, he went into the saloon, where the Marchioness sat surrounded by a number of persons of both sexes, amongst whom he soon distinguished the Countess Miranda, who beckoned to him to advance to a seat next her’s.

As he did so, the Marchioness affectionately chid him for abandoning the society of her friends, and demanded where he had been?

“Attending vespers in the church of St. Theresa,” replied Henriquez, unaccustomed to prevaricate, though almost certain of meeting the ridicule it drew on him, from the Countess Miranda, who said in a sneering tone,

“Father Henriquez has derived peculiar sanctity from the exercises of the evening, and would doubtless be an eligible confessor.”

“I fear,” said he gaily, “that my veneration for the fair sex would make me too lenient to their offences: but will you try me, Madam, and confess to me this moment?”

“But confessions are not made in public, Signor,” returned the Countess.

“Your’s may,” said Henriquez with an air of gallantry, which his inclinations so ill seconded, that he scarcely attended to the Countess, who saying “I, however, shall reserve my shrift till we meet in private,” rose from her seat and quitted the saloon. She had been sitting next to his sister, and Villasantelle took possession of the place she had left.

“Our sister Miranda is less gay than usual,” remarked the Marchioness.

“She is rather less polite,” returned Henriquez pointedly, though coldly.

“Did she not offer you the charge of her conscience, brother?” said the Marchioness smiling; yet surprised at the petulance of Henriquez: a sentiment that was not diminished by his replying, “It is a charge I desire not to undertake.”

“My dear Henriquez are you not well? or has any thing disturbed you?” enquired his sister in a voice of sympathizing softness, and laying her hand on his.

“No, my Julia. But we spoke of the Countess Miranda——.”

“I have forgot what I would have said,” said Julia, and the conversation was no more revived.

“Signor de Villsantelle,” said a Neapolitan nobleman, advancing to Henriquez, “you have no doubt heard that the old Baron de Grijalva, being taken ill, will prevent his son accompanying you on your journey to-morrow.”

Henriquez now, for the first time for many hours, recollected that the following day had been appointed for his commencing his journey to Salamanca with Don Lopez de Grijalva, who was also to become a student of that university; and felt by no means afflicted to find, that their departure from Naples was thus unavoidably delayed. He, however, in due politeness, replied,

“I am extremely concerned to hear of the indisposition of the Baron. Pray how long has he been ill?”

To this enquiry a satisfactory answer was returned, and after some conversation of this subject with the noble Neapolitan, Henriquez internally resolved to repair on the following evening to the church of St. Theresa, in the hope of gaining some information of the designs of the mysterious strangers. That they were desperate, one of the persons had declared; and his curiosity to know more was so strong, as to make him ardently wish for the time to arrive when he might hope to receive some satisfaction on this point.

Had Henriquez known more of Italy and the manners of its inhabitants, it is more than probable that a consideration of his own safety would have prevented him from forming such a project as that of watching these unknown persons, who, should they discover his design, or even suspect it, were but too likely to punish it. But the inquisitive disposition of de Villasantelle had never been accustomed to receive the slightest check from any consideration of a prudential nature, and more particularly where caution might seem like a deficiency of courage, and would not now permit him to attend to those whispers of the imagination, that at some moments represented to him that the gratification of his curiosity in the St. Theresa was pregnant with danger.

During the course of the night, which Henriquez spent without sleep, the beautiful stranger whom he had seen, but so suddenly lost in the colonnade of the St. Theresa, was frequently present to his imagination. Her youth, her extreme loveliness, her agitation, the touching accents of her melodious voice, and above all a veil of mystery that seemed to hang over her, interested not only his curiosity but a thousand nobler passions and sentiments. The words which she had pronounced had made an indelible impression on his memory, and he now a hundred times repeated them, not more with a view of discovering their meaning, than, if possible, to catch the tone in which they were uttered; a tone of such exquisite sensibility and softness as had penetrated his heart. His waking dreams continually presented her to his enraptured imagination, and ere the night had passed, Henriquez had formed for the fair unknown a history the most romantic, and plans for again seeing her, the wildest and most impracticable.

The morning came, but Henriquez repaired not, as was his custom, to the library of the Marquis, on the contrary he left not his chamber till a much later hour than ordinary, and when he did so, immediately went out of the house.

After a short walk, however, the heat obliged him to return to the house, and having enquired for his sister, and heard she was in her dressing room, he repaired thither.

To reach this apartment, it was necessary that he should pass through a long gallery or corridor, where, during the hottest days in summer, the Marchioness frequently chose to sit, on account of its coolness. Henriquez had just reached this corridor, when he perceived the Countess Miranda walking up and down in it, and though nothing could be more repugnant to him than to meet her, but particularly alone, he proceeded rather hastily till she spoke to him, and after the salutations of the morning had been interchanged, she said, “You seem to have forgotten my promised confession, Signor.”

“I have rather recollected that I am unworthy to hear it,” returned Henriquez bowing and going to proceed on his way to the Marchioness’s apartment.

“As you do not pretend to high dignities in the church, Signor,” resumed the Countess, “these disqualifying speeches are superfluous.”

As she said this, she carelessly put her arm within his, and as they had at that moment reached the end of the corridor, Henriquez found himself compelled to take a turn with her.

“You appear grave and look ill at ease. Again,” resumed the Countess with an air of the tenderest anxiety, “dear Henriquez, tell me what it is that afflicts you?”

“It is too great a condescension in the Countess Miranda, to concern herself on the subject,” replied Villasantelle in a manner he designed should appear grateful, but which was in reality of the most frigid reserve.

The Countess had, however, not sufficient delicacy, or was too much determined to carry her point, to observe the repelling coldness of his manner, and said,

“Where an object we love is concerned, no consideration appears trivial.”

Henriquez knew not what to reply to this; to take it as pointed to himself, must have looked like the most arrogant vanity; yet to affect to misunderstand her, was, he saw plainly, to provoke her to render herself more intelligible, than, (feeling for her only contempt and detestation) he would find agreeable: he therefore, to elude both, assumed a gay air, saying, “Your confession, Madam, is still unmade.”

“I will reserve it till we meet in the church of St. Theresa, Signor. It is your favourite haunt; is it not?”

Henriquez, who conceived she meant nothing more than a malicious reference to the declaration he had made of attending vespers in that church the evening before, readily replied,

“Only once have I been within its walls.”

“And that once, Signor——”

“I heard vespers there.”

“It is a scene for mysteries,” resumed the Countess, without heeding his reply.

“Do you know it to be such,” exclaimed Henriquez, eagerly.

“You, at least, do,” returned the Countess, adding

“Do you forget the stranger, Signor?”

“Santa Maria! Know you aught of them, or their designs?” cried the young Spaniard with emotion.

“I am well aware of them,” answered the Countess, going towards the door of the Marchioness’s apartment.

“I conjure you,” said Henriquez, seizing her hand, “to tell me what they are.”

“Why do you desire to know?” demanded she.

Henriquez blushed deeply as he said

“If they militate against my peace, I must be on my guard.”

“Be on your guard,” returned the Countess, with solemnity, as she disengaged her hand.

“For heaven’s sake, tell me, why am I to be wary, when I know not that I have an enemy?”

“You have many enemies!” returned the lady, with yet increasing energy.

“But this one, Madam! This mysterious stranger,—What is the design on foot against me?”

“To penetrate your heart!” she replied, in an accent that so much dismayed her hearer, that he could not make any effort to detain her, and she passed him to enter the dressing room of the Marchioness.

Villasantelle, perfectly aware that it would be to no purpose to question the Countess farther, in the presence of his sister, now, instead of following her, returned to his own chamber, where he gave himself up entirely to the consideration of the little intelligence he had gained concerning the mysterious strangers of the St. Theresa.

At once he determined to take the first opportunity of seeking, from the Countess, to obtain some more satisfactory information; but recollecting that that opportunity might probably not offer till the time of the appointment was passed, and that he might learn more from their conversation than the Countess would chuse to tell him, he abandoned that design entirely; resolving, however, not to attend the disclosure of their schemes, without a resolute companion.

For this office of friendship, he knew none so proper as Don Lopez de Grijalva, his countryman, who was now with the Baron, his father, at Naples.

Don Lopez, equally ardent and impetuous, but less inquisitive, and not so easily fired by every new occurrence as Henriquez, seemed a person well fitted to join him in such an enterprise, and Villasantelle experienced a sensation of surprise, when, having related to his friend the whole of his observations and suspicions, he manifestly declined taking any part in it, saying

“I perceive, my dear Henriquez, that nothing will ever cure you of giving way to your curiosity, till it has drawn you into some difficulty, from which you will find it impossible to extricate yourself. To what purpose is it that you desire to know what is said in a private conference between two total strangers to you? Besides, are you aware of the danger into which you are going to precipitate yourself?”

“If the consultation of those strangers relates to myself,” said Henriquez, “it certainly concerns me to hear it; and if it does not, there can be no danger in my gratifying my desire of knowledge.”

“Your desire of knowledge,” replied Don Lopez, sarcastically, “may, perhaps, be safe to indulge; but you seem determined to justify, though you cannot render it justifiable.”

“How comes it, Don Lopez de Grijalva,” resumed Henriquez, a little resentfully, “that I find you disposed to take upon you the office of censor of my actions?”

“I have taken upon me the office of your friend, many years since, but I perceive that you have too little relish for the virtue of sincerity, to return my esteem as I feel it, and upon any other terms, I scorn it,” replied Grijalva warmly.

“Excuse me, my dear Lopez,” said Henriquez, instantly sensible of his error, “you did not, I am certain, mean to wound me, by your stricture; but perhaps my proposal appears to you in a preposterous light.”

“I confess it does,” said his friend.

“We then differ in opinion,” returned Villasantelle; “but I had hoped that, knowing me to be determined to brave the event, and thinking there was danger, you would have afforded me the support of your admirable courage and self-command.”

“And I do assure you, my dear Henriquez,” cried Grijalva, clasping his hand as he spoke, “that I require all my self-command to resist your wishes; but,— ”

“Oh! pardon me,” interrupted his generous friend, “for being a moment unmindful of the pious duty you have to perform! No, my Lopez, you must not endanger a safety so precious to a tender, and now enfeebled parent. I will go alone.”

“Rather,” eagerly exclaimed Grijalva, “rather let me prevail on you not to go at all! You throw yourself into the way of peril; you court your own destruction, and seek to make me miserable.”

Henriquez pitied the emotion and visible distress of his friend, which, however, he thought less manly than might be expected from one of the true old Christians, and assuring him he would be careful of himself, departed, more firmly resolved than ever, to penetrate the mystery of the St. Theresa.

At the hour he had heard appointed for the conference, the young Villasantelle repaired to the church, and in the dim twilight of evening, and the distance, easily discovered the two figures already pacing up and down the aisle; he was advancing silently but hastily to them, when an indistinct noise that struck his ear, made him stop.

Whatever caused the noise seemed to be nearer to him than the strangers, for the sound of their footsteps was not distinguishable, and this was plainly so. Henriquez looked round him, but saw no person near him; no shadowy form broke in upon the uniformity of the long aisle, except a confessional of an uncouth shape, that was placed against the wall, but few yards from where Henriquez stood.

On this he fixed his eyes, to see if any thing moved within it, and in a few moments beheld the tall slender form of a female issue from it, repeating in a low harmonious tone, “Alphonso! Beloved Alphonso!”

Henriquez started; he heard the touching voice; he beheld the fascinating form of the young unknown, who had, during the last twenty-four hours, taken up so much of his thoughts.

At the same instant she discovered him, and, springing back, took refuge in the confessional.

Henriquez hesitated a moment; the flight of the stranger was an unequivocal proof that she wished to avoid him; and the pathetic repetition of the name of Alphonso, equally proved that she expected someone else, whom his presence might prevent approaching her; but his curiosity, which in this instant he fancied was only his pitying desire to be of service to the fair and unhappy unknown, prevailed, and he, hastily advancing, ascended the two steps into the confessional; but the confessional was empty and he encountered only a damp, chill, current of air, for which he could no more account than for the disappearance of the lady.

Villasantelle, whose mind easily expanded to receive every new impression, which constantly, for a time at least, effaced the last, now forgot the two men in the farther end of the church, to pursue the enquiry that thus presented itself, and in spite of the gloomy obscurity that surrounded him, his quick and penetrating eye soon discovered a narrow door in the back of the confessional. Burning with an ardent curiosity, he threw himself against it with such violence, that the door, which required but little force to unloose it, burst open, and it was not without an effort, that Henriquez saved himself from falling headlong down a flight of winding steps that descended, without any landing-place, from the confessional into what appeared to be a subterraneous passage: but when he reached the bottom of the stairs, and proceeded a few paces, he was convinced that he was within the dreary confines of a sepulchral vault. The floor was simply of earth, so humid as to receive the impression of every foot that passed over it, and from the roof unwholesome dews dropped slow but incessantly, while seven or eight feeble lamps, placed in niches in the raised tombs that seemed to distinguish the most illustrious of the buried dead, cast a faint and misty ray over the extent of this sad receptacle of mortality, and scarcely disclosed another of its outlets on the side opposite that where Henriquez had entered.

Villasantelle, unappalled by those gloomy appearances, still advanced till he trod on something, which, as it crashed beneath his foot, returned a hollow sound! He paused, stooped down to distinguish it more clearly, and beholding the fragments of a human skull, shuddered with a sort of instinctive horror.

It was not that Henriquez felt that impressive awe which reflection would stamp on most minds in discovering such a spectacle; for, like many other young men, had he met with it in any other place, he would scarcely have regarded it more than if it had belonged to an animal of the brute creation, but there was a solemn and almost terrific character in this mansion of death that forced itself on the most careless nature.

Unknown, even to himself, the young adventurer felt a reluctance to proceed, in the dread of meeting some similar memento of death; and casting his eyes anxiously around, he perceived an open grave within a few feet of where he stood, and almost at the same moment discovered that it contained a considerable quantity of white drapery. Henriquez again paused, again moved onwards, and after another pause of deliberation, approached the grave, and looking into it, perceived that a burial dress only remained in it, the body that had evidently enwrapped it being gone.

The moment in which Henriquez made this observation, was one of the most impatient anxiety; and determined to be convinced that his eyes did not deceive him, he took up a part of the dress, when something rustled within it, and he drew a crumpled paper from its folds.

Anxiety for his own safety, horror at what he beheld, and a superstitious terror that he had before felt stealing over his senses, now gave place to his excessive curiosity, and being in the full gleam of one of the sepulchral lamps, he began to peruse the paper; his hands trembled with eagerness as he endeavoured to smooth the creases, and his agitation was so great, that he could scarcely decypher the following lines:

“Victoria!—cold, senseless, and pale, given to the grave!—Impossible!—Nay, by heaven it shall not be!—Say no more that her disastrous fate renders that the only possible termination of her sorrows!—That by consigning Victoria to the tomb, her peace alone can be ensured! My soul shudders at the very idea of such an escape from the misfortunes that alike pursue Victoria and Alphonso.—Is there no alternative?—Alas, none!—And Victoria must be confined in a shroud, or in that fatal veil which condemns its wearer to a living death! Which puts fetters on the person and her manners, whilst the soul is left to range in a wide expanse of misery—

“Victoria!—My love!—You must be free, and the northern confessional——”

Henriquez had only read thus far, when the heavy sound of slow footsteps descending stairs, roused his attention to the consideration of his own danger; his right hand firmly grasped his sword, which he now drew from its scabbard; and dropping the paper from his left, he seized the lamp that had assisted him to read a part of it, waiting with a beating heart for the approach of the intruder.

He came, and Henriquez perceived that he was a monk, shrouded in his cowl, who, advancing a few paces from the outlet opposite, turned into one which Villasantelle had not before observed, and he heard him ascending steps.

Henriquez now followed, and being arrived at the low arch through which the monk had passed, beheld, by the light of the lamp he still held, two flights of stairs leading different ways: without a moment’s consideration he sprang up the one which led to the right, and just as he reached the summit he saw a form gliding away to the further end of the long passage that now opened on his view; but instead of the dark garments of a monk, it was robed in white; and where Henriquez expected to see the clumsy figure of the recluse, he beheld the graceful proportions of the fair unknown.

Animated by the sight, Henriquez wanted no other incentive to pursuit, and he darted forwards just as the unknown disappeared; and when he arrived at the spot where he had lost her, he was again perplexed by two passages: he again turned to the right, and having traversed a considerable extent of the passage, he suddenly perceived a faint light flash from a small grating close to where he stood, and the next moment a face, from which the unbecoming dress of a nun could not take its dignified sweetness, and, though pale, its beauty was presented to his view. As the nun looked through the grating, she perceived Henriquez, and in a tone of earnestness and agitation, exclaimed,

“In the name of the holy Virgin, who are you?”

“A guiltless stranger!” the youth replied, “And my name is Henriquez de Villasantelle!”

“That title bespeaks you a Castilian, Signor,” said the nun with quickness.

“It does. Spain contains my birthplace.”

“Then Signor,” returned the recluse, with a voice and manner of peculiar and encreasing agitation, “you are not unknown to me. But it is past,” she added, “and, without a miracle, your friend is lost beyond your power to save him.”

“Merciful God!” exclaimed Henriquez, stung with the idea that through his means any person should be undone, though he knew them not, “perhaps I may yet be of service.”

“Only by absenting yourself from hence,” said the nun mournfully. “Victoria is destroyed! Alphonso taken! and should you be found here, the bitterest vengeance of earth and Heaven will fall on me!”

“Oh!” cried the half distracted youth, “shew me the means by which I can escape so dreadful a catastrophy.”

“Go then;” the nun answered: “Fly from this passage, and when you reach the termination, turn to the right, and ascending some steps ¾¾¾”

At this moment the increasing light within the grating rendered it scarcely necessary for Henriquez to hear the name of Agnes repeated, to convince him they were interrupted:

The nun waved her hand, and Henriquez retreated a little, but not too far to hear the intruder say,

“Wait you at the grate for father Philippo, daughter?” By which he was assured the speaker must be the abbess of the convent to which the nun probably belonged.

A trembling affirmative had been scarcely given, when the abbess exclaimed “Ha! Is not that the gleam of steel?” and immediately her hideous and forbidding countenance was placed close to the bars.

But the obscurity baffling her endeavours to discover who was there, Henriquez, by the gingling sound he heard, was convinced that she was unlocking a door, and dreading what might be the consequences to the gentle Agnes, fled with such haste that he entirely forgot her unfinished directions for his escape, and hastily passing through the sepulchral vault and the confessional, found himself in the northern aisle of the church.

Here he stopped to recover his breath and recollection, of which the precipitancy of his flight had almost bereft him: and here he soon began to repent having made so hasty a retreat, particularly when he recollected that he had left behind him unread the momentous paper, which, (as it was now beyond his reach) he fancied would have elucidated the whole of the mysterious circumstances which now perplexed his mind. In this persuasion he was just going to return to the vault, the descent into which was divested of its danger by the lamp that he had taken from the tomb, which he was now first aware that he still held in his left hand: but a sentiment of his native generosity impelled him to forbear what might injure another; and with the rapidity natural to him he resolved instantly to extinguish the lamp, that he concealed amongst the projecting ornaments of the confessional, and passed across the church to the narrow aisle where the two strangers had been conversing.

Only one, however, whom by his air Henriquez knew to be him who was in the sanctuary, remained in the church, and he was now with a tardy step pacing its length¾now resting against one of the pillars that supported the roof. Henriquez continued to observe him for some time, and could not help noting the air of dignity that accompanied his motions, and even shewed itself when his person was in temporary repose.

He was tall, above the common size, and the cloak which was wrapped round him could not conceal that his figure tho’ athletic, was not large above proportion, and his hat, entirely concealing his face, was of that form usually worn by persons in a military capacity.

Villasantelle now no longer doubted that the stranger was a person of some consequence, and became instantly sensible of the impropriety of watching him as he had hitherto done, to learn what it was evidently his desire, and it was probable was important to him, to keep concealed.

It is thus, that almost unconsciously we are influenced by rank and fortune, even to forego that which we most ardently desire: not, perhaps, that we imagine the affairs of those of a meaner order of less consequence, but that we are accustomed to respect the feelings of those of an equal rank with ourselves.

In pursuance of this impulse, Henriquez was quitting the church, when just in the entrance he encountered his friend Don Lopez de Grijalva: he was wrapped in one of the capolas of his own country, and his mien was disordered as he was hastily brushing past Henriquez, but the latter stopped him.

Don Lopez, now seeming to lose all guard over himself, exclaimed,

“Then all is discovered!”

“What mean you, Lopez?”

“Have you not seen Miranda?” returned Grijalva.

“Which way?” enquired Henriquez impatiently.

“Pacing the cloister.”

“No human being is there but the mysterious stranger! But, wherefore came you hither? I thought you occupied by your attendance on the Baron?”

“I came,” replied Don Lopez with hesitation, “to acquit myself of a sacred ¾¾¾.”

“I understand you:” interrupted the noble Henriquez: “Go, my friend, perform your pious duty, and Heaven restore an honoured parent to your prayers.”

Saying this with an affectionate pressure of the hand of Don Lopez, he quitted the church, though in doing so he felt a strong reluctance to abandoning all hope of elucidating the mystery of the fair Victoria and the unfortunate Alphonso.

As he slowly proceeded homewards, he perplexed himself with a thousand vague conjectures respecting those unknown personages, and was more than once on the point of returning to the St. Theresa, in the determination of seeking Agnes, in order to question her about them.

Whilst Henriquez was yet at some distance from his home, the last faint rays of evening light had entirely faded from the sky, and the streets were involved in total darkness except where they intersected each other, in which places the yet feeble ray of the rising moon gleamed obliquely on the pavement.

It was at the turning of the Strada del —— where the pillars of a magnificent colonnade cast lengthened shadows across the street, that Henriquez observed a female form glide swiftly along, till, coming quite close to him, it turned abruptly, and the next moment disappeared in the obscurity of a shadowy lane; but its white garment, as it waved, caught the ray of the moon, and enabled Henriquez to follow where it went.

The darkness in which both were now involved seemed unfavourable to the flight of the pursued person, for after following the sound of steps about ten paces, Henriquez caught hold of her robe, which she in vain endeavoured to disengage from his grasp.

Villasantelle, after having several times conjured the stranger to speak, now made a sudden spring, and, quitting the robe, thought to encircle the lady in his arms, but she had unaccountably escaped, and he could not even hear her departing footsteps.

Astonishment held him rooted to the spot for some moments; he then prepared to recommence the pursuit, but at the first step he stumbled, and receiving a violent blow on the head, he sunk motionless on the pavement.

The street in which this accident happened was a retired one, and no passengers coming that way, it was so long before Henriquez recovered the use of his faculties, that the moon had risen to such a height as to direct her beams full on the spot where he lay.

He raised himself a little, and though his head throbbed with intense pain, immediately observed the cause of his misfortune.

The escape of the stranger had been owing to her leaving her garment in his hands, at the very moment when he attempted to catch her in his arms, and it then falling, his feet, on his moving, were entangled in it, and he fell against a pillar of a portico that jutted out just before him.

Henriquez, now perceiving the garment of the stranger on the ground, took it up to examine it: it was of a thin white persian silk, in make very much resembling the cloaks with loose sleeves worn by the Turkish ladies: but this had a large hood, which being drawn over the head, was of a length to reach to the knees, in the fashion of a veil. A slight pattern, with some Turkish characters embroidered in gold, went entirely round its edges, and an embroidered belt, with a gold clasp, confined it at the back, but left the front entirely loose.

Henriquez now debated whether or not he should carry it home with him: nothing deterred him from doing so but the idea that the loss of it would distress the owner: however, as she had suffered so long a time to elapse without returning to seek it, he thought it highly improbable that she would now do so, and concealing it as well as he could with his cloak, he proceeded to the palazzo di Cambusca.

When Villasantelle reached his chamber, his first care was to deposit his prize in a place of safety, and then feeling the contusion on his forehead extremely painful, summoned his servant to apply such remedies as could be had without the observation of the family.

To his own attendant, Philippo, Henriquez gave a strict charge not to mention his accident, which he said had been owing to a porter running against him, and dismissed him for the night, with directions to inform the Marchioness that he intended to set out at break of day on a short excursion.

This was really his serious design, and the meaning of his adopting a resolution apparently so extraordinary was simply this:

He knew the penetration of the Marquis was not to be imposed on by such a story to account for his swelled forehead as he had just told to Philippo, and he was well aware that that nobleman, guessing that he had met with the accident in the pursuit of some plan prompted by what he called a childish curiosity, would take occasion to point the severest ridicule against its indulgence.

Till, in the present instance, conscious that his thirst for developing every thing that looked like mystery (which had often no existence but in his own imagination) had carried him much beyond all bounds of propriety, Henriquez had never been ashamed of his inquisitive disposition, nor had the Marquis de Cambusca though he endeavoured to check, ever condemned it.

But his judgment was so clear, and his sense of honor almost so romantic, that Villasantelle well knew that he would make no allowance for the impetuosity of youth in pursuing a favourite plan, and that reprehension would probably be added to ridicule when he should know the whole.

It was true, that could Henriquez stoop to deception he might escape the censures of the Marquis: but he preferred making a short excursion till the marks of his adventure should be worn off, to descending to a meanness equally repugnant to his principles and his inclination; and, accordingly, at the dawn of day, he embarked in a small vessel bound for the coast of Calabria; the master of which offered to land him on the nearest part of the island of Caprea, designing to carry the ship to the town or rather village of ——— .

In adopting this measure, Henriquez had only consulted his desire of being absent from Naples; but his voyage was scarcely begun, when the beauty of the scenes that unfolded themselves to his view gave him reason to rejoice in the chance that had led him to embark even in a dirty and inconvenient vessel.

To Henriquez, the Bay of Naples, with the rising sun diffusing its radiance over it, and the volumes of black smoke rising from Vesuvius far above the light mist which the morning ray had not sufficient power to disperse, presented the most interesting picture he had ever seen: he was a passionate admirer of the beauties of nature, at the same time that the works of art afforded him the most delightful contemplations! He had ascended the Mountserrat; the Alhambra of Grenada had, as well as the Escurial, come under his observation, yet the Bay of Naples and the superb palaces of the city appeared to him to surpass them all; and when the vessel, stretching out to sea, displayed the various and ever changing forms of the rocks and promontories of Caprea, he allowed the scenery to be most perfectly romantic and picturesque.

But no object could for an instant engage the attention of Henriquez, from the moment that he heard the low soft voice of the fair stranger of the St. Theresa pronounce “Ah, Ahphonso! my heart sinks within me, and I feel all the weak terrors of my sex, when I reflect on the dangers I have to encounter. Even when I look back upon those that are past, I shudder unconsciously at the retrospect, and look forward with yet keener foreboding to the dark scene of my future destiny! Alas! happy had it been for the wretched Victoria, had she died in her infancy, and not lived to involve her beloved Alphonso in her misery!”

The sound of this melodious voice, which ascended from the little cabin of the ship, threw Henriquez into such confusion as entirely to prevent him from attending to the answer of Alphonso, and brought on a train of reflections which absorbed every idea, till he was called upon to enter the fishing bark that was to convey him on shore: he then perceived that another boat similar to that in which he was to go had already put off from the ship with two passengers, one of whom was evidently a female.

Henriquez delighted to observe this circumstance, kept his eye steadily fixed on the little bark till the cavalier and his companion landed, which was almost at the same moment that he was himself put on shore, and he was immediately convinced that he had been mistaken.

The female to whom his regards were first directed was of a size and form extremely unlike the slender and elegant Victoria. Her figure, aukward, masculine, and clumsy, far above the common standard of women, was rendered still more striking by a gait between striding and shuffling, as she marched along the beach attended by the cavalier.

This personage was admirably adapted to contrast the athletic graces of the lady he accompanied. His diminutive figure was rendered completely disproportionate by an enormous paunch, and his shoulders bore a hump of such di