circumstance which came to light during his stay; and at the same time that it may serve to prove our fair appreciation of his talent, it gives a true picture of the morality and Catholicity of Italy in 1828. They have since undergone little change:

"Flavia Orsini governed with prudence and firmness the noble convent of Catanzara, situated in the extreme south of Italy. She discovered that one of her nuns, the proud Lucretia Frangimani, carried on an intrigue with a young man of Forli, whom she introduced nightly into the convent. Lucretia belonged to one of the first families of the States of the Church, and the Abbess was therefore obliged to extreme caution. Clara Visconti, niece to the abbess, and professed but a few months before, was Lucretia's intimate friend. Clara was considered the loveliest person of her convent. She was an almost perfect model of that Lombardian beauty which Leonard de Vinci has immortalized in his heads of Herodias. Her aunt desired her to represent to her friend that the intrigue which she carried on was known, and that for her honour's sake it must come to a close.

"You are yet but a timid child,' replied Lucretia; 'you have never loved: if once your hour arrives you will understand that one look of my lover has more power over me than all the commands of the abbess, and the worst punishments she can inflict upon me. And these punishments I dread little; I am a Frangimani!'

"The abbess failing by gentleness tried severity; Lucretia answered her reprimands by confessing her fault, but proudly. She said that her high birth placed her above common rules.

My excellent relatives,' she added with a bitter smile, 'forced me to terrible vows at an age when I could not comprehend to what I bound myself-they enjoy my fortune; their tenderness may save from oppression a daughter of their name, since it will cost them nothing!'

She

"Shortly after this scene, which was one of violent nature, the abbess knew with certainty that the young man from Forli had passed six and thirty hours in the garden of the convent. menaced to denounce Lucretia to the bishop and legate, which would have led to exposure and dishonour. Lucretia replied proudly, that it was not thus one of her race could be treated; and that if the affair were carried before Rome, the abbess might recollect that the family of Frangimani possessed there a natural protector in the person of Mon

signor (a high personage at the papal court.) The abbess, indignant at her assurance, yet felt all the value of this last word, and renounced the idea of suppressing by legal means the intrigue which dishonoured her convent. Flavia Orsini, herself high born, was possessed of great influence; she learned that Lucretia's lover, a very imprudent young man, was violently suspected of Carbonarism. Imbued with the study of the sombre Alfieri, fired with the servitude of Italy, he passionately longed to travel to America, that he might see, he said, the only republic. Want of money was the obstacle to this journey; he was wholly dependant on an avaricious uncle. Soon after, this uncle, obedient to his confessor, desired his nephew to quit the country, and provided means for travelling. Lucretia's lover did not dare to meet her again: he crossed the mountain which parts Forli from Tuscany, and the news came that he had embarked at Leghorn for America. To Lucretia his departure was a mortal blow. She was then a woman of twentyseven or twenty-eight, of rare beauty, but of a most changeful physiognomy. In her serious moments her majestic features and large eyes, dark and piercing, might announce too much her habits of command over those who surrounded her; at other times, sparkling with wit and vivacity, she forestalled the idea of those with whom she conversed. From the day she lost her lover she grew pale and taciturn. Some time after she formed an intimacy with several nuns who professed to hate the abbess, and lent her genius to the aversion which till then had been powerless and inactive. The abbess placed the most perfect confidence in the lay sister who attended on her person: Martina was a simple creature, habitually melancholy, She prepared herself the food served at the abbess' table, always very plain on the plea of her health, but, in reality, from more serious reasons. Lucretia said to her new friends, 'We must at any price win over Martina, and first discover if she is concerned in no intrigue outside.'

"After months of patience they found she had a lover, a veturino of the neighbouring town of Catanzara; he was generally on the road, but each time he came to Catanzara never failed to find a pretext for seeing Martina. Lucretia and several of her friends had inherited jewels; these were sold at Florence. The brother of one of their attendants, pretending business in another part of Italy, travelled in the carriage of Martina's lover, became his friend, and one day said carelessly,

that a lay sister of the convent, called Martina, had secretly inherited money from a nun lately dead, who thus recompensed her care for her. The veturino just then was nearly ruined by a confiscation and a three months' imprisonment suffered at Verona. He was returning to Catanzara with hired horses, his own having been sold; he did not fail to ask money of Martina, who in fact was poor; and in despair from his reproaches and threat of never seeing her again, the poor girl fell ill, and Lucretia went to see her often. One evening sitting by her side she spoke of the abbess. She has,' she said, 'too violent a disposition; she should take opium to calm it; she would torment us less with her daily reprimands. When I myself am too much inclined to impatience I have recourse to opium; since my misfortune, often.'

"Emboldened by this allusion to an event well known in the convent, Martina confided with tears to the powerful sister Frangimani that she was so unhappy as to love a man in the adjoining town, who was now about to desert her because he thought her rich and had asked assistance she could not give. Lucretia wore that day a small diamond cross beneath the dress of her order; she forced Martina to accept it. A few days afterwards, recurring to the same idea, she advised giving opium to the abbess to calm her fits of passion; but although the proposal was prudently made, the fatal thought of poison struck Martina in all its horror. 'What do you mean by poison?' said Lucretia indignantly. Every third or fourth day you may drop a little opium in her food. I will take myself before you, in my coffee, the same quantity from the same phial.'

She gave

"Martina was simple and confiding. She adored her lover-he had received the cross with gratitude, and showed her more affection than ever. the abbess what was called opium, and was perfectly re-assured by seeing Lucretia let fall into her own coffee a few drops of the same liquor. Another species of seduction was employed to decide Martina. The nuns of the noble chapter of Catanzara have the privilege, at the end of five year's profession, of filling the office of portress of the convent-each in her turn, and during twenty-four hours. Lucretia told Martina, that when she or her friends should be so placed, the iron bar which secured the door near the kitchen would be forgotten. It was by this small door that provisions were brought into the convent. Martina understood she might on those nights admit her lover.

"Almost a year had passed since the

abbess' fatal interference with Lucretia Frangimani. During this interval a young Sicilian, accused as a Carbonaro in his own country, had taken refuge under the protection of his uncle, who was confessor of the convent. Roderic Landriani lived perfectly retired in a small house of the suburb of Catanzara. His uncle advised that he should call no attention on him. It gave Roderic no trouble to obey. Of a generous and romantic disposition, but very pious, the persecutions endured since the revolution of 1821 had increased the melancholy natural to him. His uncle counselled him to pass some hours of every day in the convent church. You may carry there the works of history I will lend you from my library.'

In Roderic's opinion so worldly a study in such a place would have been a profanation-he read books of piety. The lay sisters who had the care of the church remarked the handsome young man, whose attention nothing distracted. His male beauty and military air, in their eyes, contrasted strangely with the extreme reserve of his manners. Made acquainted with this exemplary conduct, the abbess invited to dine in her private parlour the nephew of so important a personage as was the confessor of the convent. Landriani had thus rare opportunities of speaking to Clara Visconti. By order of the director of her conscience Clara passed whole hours in contemplation behind the curtain which se parates the nuns' choir from the rest of the church. Once Roderic known to her, she remarked his constant attendance; he read attentively, and at the tolling of the Angelus laid down his book to kneel and pray. Landriani, who in Sicily had lived in society, reduced to that of an uncle, sombre and despotic, by degrees fell into the habit of visiting the abbess every other day. Clara was always with her aunt; she replied to the observations he addressed to her in few words, and with a manner which was sad and shy. Roderic, who had formed no project, became less unhappy, but soon the day spent without seeing Clara appeared to him insupportably long. Observing on this to the young nun undesignedly and scarcely conscious that he did so, she replied that her duty summoned her almost every day to the nuns' choir, whence she could perfectly distinguish him reading in the nave. It happened after this mutual confidence that sometimes Clara leaned her head against the curtain and the bars of the grate, so as to mark the place she occupied. One day while Roderic gazed intently on this curtain which separated him from Clara, she had the imprudence

to draw it a little aside. They were near enough to have spoken to each other easily, but it was proved in the trial that at this time they never had done so. A few weeks of illusion passed over, Roderic became wretched; he could not deny to himself that he loved Clara; but she was a nun, her vows registered in heaven, and the love was a fearful crime. As he told her every thing, he said this to her also-it was the first time he had so spoken. She received the declaration very ill; but his strange mode of making it perhaps gave him more interest in her eyes. All this took place during the year which Lucretia employed in plotting her black intrigue with Martina. It was the end of August; for many months the only happiness of Clara had consisted in seeing Roderic-one day in the parlour, the next in the church. An exemplary nun and the favourite niece of the abbess, she was allowed an unusual liberty, and often, when during the excessive heats she could not sleep, she descended to the garden. The 29th of August, about two in the morning, as it was proved on the trial, she slowly quitted it to return to her cell. As she passed before the little door by which the convent servants entered, she noticed that the transversal bar, which passing through a ring fixed in the door and two others sealed in the wall closed the former, was not in its place; she walked on a step or two, but a faint gleam which found its way through, showed her the door was not even locked. She pushed it gently, and beheld the pavement of the street. This sight startled and agitated her. The most extravagant idea took possession of her mind; suddenly she detached her veil, rolling it round her head as a sort of turban, arranged her wimple as a cravat, the long floating robe of her order became a species of man's cloak, she opened the door, reclosed it, and she was in the streets of Catanzara on her way to visit Roderic Landriani. She knew his house, and had gazed at it often from the terrace on the convent roof. She knocked with a trembling hand, and heard Roderic's voice waking his servant. The latter came and openedthe blast of the door extinguishing the just lighted lamp, he paused to re-light it, and Roderic called from the next chamber Who is there, who wants me?' "It is a warning which concerns your safety,' said Clara, changing her voice.

"The lamp was lit again, and the servant conducted to his master the young bearer of this warning. Clara found Roderic dressed and armed, but

seeing a youth who trembled all over and looked like a seminarist he laid down the musket he held. The lamp burned faintly, and the intruder was too agitated to speak. Roderick took it from the table and holding it to Clara's features suddenly recognised her. He pushed his servant into the adjoining room, and exclaimed 'Great God! what brings you here? Is the convent burned down?'

"This question robbed the poor nun of her remaining courage. She saw

the extent of her madness. Overcome by the pain of such a reception from a man whom she adored, though she had never confessed it, she sank down in a chair, and Roderic repeating his words, she pressed her hand on her heart, rose up, as if to go, and her strength failing she fell to the ground wholly senseless. By degrees she came to herself; Roderic was speaking to her. At last, from her prolonged silence, he understood her extraordinary action. 'Oh, Clara,' he said, what have you done?'

"He supported her in his arms, placed her drooping form in a chair, and said firmly, You are the bride of heaven, Clara; you cannot be mine; repent of your sin; to-morrow morning I quit Catanzara for ever.'

"At this dreadful word she burst into tears. Landriani allowed her to weep, and flung a cloak over his shoulders.

"How did you leave the convent ?' he asked her.

666

By the small door near the kitchen, which I found open by chance-oh, only by chance.'

666

'Enough, I intended conveying you to my uncle.'

"He offered her his arm, and led her back without adding a word. They found the door as Clara had left it three quarters of an hour before. They entered gently, but Clara could no longer support herself; Roderic asked with more tenderness than before the way to her chamber.

"There,' she said, in an expiring voice; she pointed to the first floor dormitory. Fearing his contempt, feeling she spoke to him for the last time, as she strove to ascend the stair, Clara again fainted on the steps. There was a lamp burning before a distant Madonna, which lighted this scene faintly. Landriani

understood that his duty commanded him to abandon the nun, henceforth in the convent, but he had not the courage to obey. Her convulsive sobs, as she came slowly to life, threatened suffocation.

of the nuns,' said Roderic to himself; and my presence here dishonours her.' "But to leave her in this state was impossible. She could neither walk nor stand, so raising her in his arms, he once more sought the door by which he had entered, and which he knew must be near the garden. Treading a few steps along the corridor near this door, still bearing Clara, he perceived it just before him, and stopped only at its extreme end, where he was farthest from the convent buildings, placed her on a stone bench hid among trees and low thick shrubs. But he had held her to his heart too long; arrived beneath these trees he had no longer strength to leave her, and at last his religion was forgotten in his love. When day dawned, Clara parted from him, having first heard him swear a thousand times never to leave Catanzara. She came alone to open the door which she found unclosed, and watched from a distance the retreat of her lover. The following day he saw her in the parlour; he passed the night hidden in the street, but Clara strove to open to him in vain ; the nights succeeding she found it locked and barred. The sixth, after that which decided her fate, Clara, concealed near, saw Martina noiselessly approaching, An instant after, the door opened and a man entered, but it was carefully closed again. Clara and her lover waited his departure, which did not take place till break of day. Their

sole consolation lay in their letters.

"The man they had seen enter,' Roderic said, was the veturino Silva.' But he implored her not to make a confidant of Martina. Henceforth, forgetful of all religious scruples, Landriani proposed to climb the convent wall. Clara trembled at the danger. Built in the middle ages to defend the nuns against the landing of the Saracens, it was forty feet high at its lowest part. A rope ladder was indispensable; fearing to compromise her by buying cords in the neighbourhood, Landriani went

to Florence; four days after he was in Clara's arms. But by a strange coincidence that same night the unhappy abbess Flavia Orsini breathed her last sigh. She said with her dying breath to the confessor, I die by poison for having essayed to put a stop to the misconduct of my nuns; perhaps this very night the cloister has been violated.'

"Struck by these words, the abbess had scarcely expired when the confessor executed the rule of the order with the utmost exactitude. All the convent bells announced the event which had taken place. The peasants rose in haste, and assembled before the gates; Roderic had escaped at the first stroke of the bell. The veturino Silva was, however, seen to go forth, and was arrested. It was known that this man had sold a diamond cross; he confessed he had it from Martina, who also avowed that she owed it to Lucretia's generosity. Accused of sacrilege, Martina sought to find safety for herself by implicating the confessor's nephew. She said, 'that the sister Visconti opened this door to Roderic Landriani.'

"The confessor, aided by three priests, sent by the Archbishop R-, interrogated Clara; declaring on quitting the convent, that the next day she should be confronted with Martina. It appears that that same night Roderic penetrated to the cell in which Clara was confined, and spake to her through the door. The following morning Lucretia Frangimani, who at this time was perfectly unsuspected, but who feared the confrontation of Clara and Martina, probably caused poison to be mixed in the chocolate carried to both. At seven o'clock, when the archbishop's delegates arrived to carry on the inquiry, they were told that Clara Visconti and the lay sister Martina were no longer of the living. Roderic behaved with heroism; but no one was punished, and the whole affair was hushed up. Woe to whom mention it!

"Mai 29th, 1828."