“Sulpizia's powerful nature chafed in the narrow
bounds of the convent discipline. But her religious
education assured her that that discipline was so
much the more necessary, and she struggled with
the sirens of worldly desire. The other sisters were
shocked and surprised, at one moment by her surpassing
fervor, at another by her bold and startling
protests against their miserable bondage.

“Often, at vespers, in the dim twilight of the
chapel, she flung back her cape and hood, with the

[figure description] Page 220.[end figure description]

tears raining from her eyes and her voice gushing
and throbbing with the melancholy music, while
the nuns paused in their singing, appalled by the
religious ecstasy of Sulpizia. She was so sweet and
gentle in her daily intercourse that all of them loved
her, bending to her caresses like grain to the breeze;
but they trembled in the power of her denunciation,
which shook their faith to the centre, for it
seemed to be the voice of a faith so much profounder.

“While she was yet young she was elected abbess
of the convent. It was a day of triumph for her
powerful family. Perhaps the Count Balbo may
have sometimes regretted that solemn vow, but he
never betrayed repentance. Perhaps he would
have been more secretly satisfied by the triumphant
worldly career of a woman like his daughter, but
he never said so.

“Sulpizia knew that my brother loved her. I
think she loved him—at least I thought so.

“The nuns were not jealous of her rule, for the
superior genius which commanded them also consoled
and counselled; and her protests becoming
less frequent, her persuasive affection won all
their hearts. They saw that the first fire of youth
slowly saddened in her eyes. Her mien became
even more lofty; her voice less salient; and a

[figure description] Page 221.[end figure description]

shadow fell gently over her life. The sisters
thought it was age; but Sulpizia was young.
Others thought it was care; but her duties could not
harass such a spirit. Others thought it was repentance;
but natures like hers do not early repent.

“It was resolved that the portrait of the abbess
should be painted, and the nuns applied to her
parents to select the artist. They, in turn, consulted
my brother Camillo, who was the friend of the
family, and for whom the Count Balbo would, I believe,
have willingly unvowed his vow. Camillo had
left Venice as the great door of the convent closed
behind his life and love. He fled over the globe.
He lost himself in new scenes, in new employments.
He took the wings of the morning, and
flew to the uttermost parts of the earth,* and there
he found—himself. So he returned an older and a
colder man. His love, which had been a passion,
seemed to settle into a principle. His life was
consecrated to one remembrance. It did not dare
to have a hope.

“He brought with him a friend whom he had met
in the East. Together upon the summit of the
great pyramid they had seen the day break over
Cairo, and on the plain of Thebes had listened for

[figure description] Page 222.[end figure description]

Memnon to gush with music as the sun struck him
with his rod of light. Together they had travelled
over the sea-like desert, breaking the awful silence
only with words that did not profane it. My
brother conversing with wise sadness—his friend
Luigi with hope and enthusiasm.

“Luigi was a poor man, and an artist. My brother
was proud, but real grief prunes the foolish side of
pride, while it fosters the nobler. It was a rare
and noble friendship. Rare, because pride often
interferes with friendships among men, where all
conditions are not equal. Noble, because the two
men were so, although only one had the name and
the means of a nobleman. But he shared these
with his friend, as naturally as his friend shared his
thoughts with him. Neither spoke much of the
past. My brother had rolled a stone over the
mouth of that tomb, and his friend was occupied
with the suggestions and the richness of the life
around him. If some stray leaf or blossom fell
forward upon their path from the past, it served to
Luigi only as a stimulating mystery.

“`This is my memory,' he would say, touching
his portfolio, which was full of eastern sketches.
`These are the hieroglyphics Egypt has herself
written, and we can decipher them at leisure upon
your languid lagunes.'

[figure description] Page 223.[end figure description]

“It was not difficult for my brother to persuade
Luigi to return with him to Venice. I shall not
forget the night they came, as long as I remember
anything.”

The Marchesa paused a moment, dreamily.

“It was the eve of the Purification,” she said, at
length, pausing again. After a little, she resumed:

“We were ignorant of the probable time of
Camillo's return; and about sunset my mother, my
younger sister Fiora, and I, were rowing along the
Guidecca, when I saw a gondola approaching, containing
two persons only beside the rowers, followed
by another with trunks and servants. I have
always watched curiously new arrivals in Venice,
for no other city in the world can be entered with
such peculiar emotion. I had scarcely looked at
the new comers before I recognized my brother,
and was fascinated by the appearance of his companion,
who lay in a trance of delight with the
beauty of the place and the hour.

“His long hair flowed from under his slouched
hat, hanging about a face that I cannot describe;
and his negligent travelling dress did not conceal
the springing grace of his figure. But to me,
educated in Venice, associated only with its silent,
stately nobles; a child, early solemnized by the
society of decay and of elders whose hearts were

[figure description] Page 224.[end figure description]

never young, to me the magnetic charm of the
young man was his youth, and I gazed at him
with the same admiring earnestness with which he
looked at the city and the scene.

“The gondolas constantly approached. My brother
lay lost in thoughts which were visible in the
shadow they cast upon his features. His head
rested upon his hand, and he looked fixedly toward
the island on which the convent stands. A light
summer cloak was drawn around him, and hid his
figure entirely, except his arm and hand. His cap
was drawn down over his eyes. He was not conscious
of any being in the world but Sulpizia.

“Suddenly from the convent tower the sound of
the vesper bell trembled in throbbing music over
the water. It seemed to ring every soul to prayer.
My brother did not move. He still gazed intently
at the island, and the tears stole from his eyes.
Luigi crossed himself. We did the same, and murmured
an Ave Maria.

“`Heavens! Camillo!' cried my mother, suddenly.
He started, and was so near that there was
a mutual recognition. In a moment the gondolas
were side by side, and the greetings of a brother
and sisters and mother long parted, followed.
Meanwhile, Camillo's companion remained silent,
having respectfully removed his hat, and looking as

[figure description] Page 225.[end figure description]

if he felt his presence to be profane at such a
moment. But my brother turned, and taking him
by the hand, said:

“`Dear mother, I might well have stayed away
from you twice as long, could I have hoped to find
a friend like this.'

“His companion smiled at the generosity of his
introduction. He greeted us all cordially and
cheerfully, and the light fading rapidly, we rowed
on in the early starlight. The gondolas slid side by
side, and there was a constant hum of talk.

“I alone was silent. I felt a sympathy with
Camillo which I had never known before. The
tears came into my eyes as I watched him gently
conversing with my mother, turning now and then
in some conversation with Luigi and my younger
sister. How I watched Luigi! How I caught the
words that were not addressed to me! How my
heart throbbed at his sweet, humorous laugh, in
which my sister joined, while his eyes wandered
wonderingly toward mine, as if to ask why I was so
silent. I tried to see that they fastened upon me with
special interest. I could not do it. Gracious and
gentle to all, I could not perceive that his manner
toward me was different, and I felt a new sorrow.

“So we glided over the Lagune into the canal,
and beneath the balconied palaces, until we reached

[figure description] Page 226.[end figure description]

our own. The gondolas stopped. Luigi leaped out
instantly upon the broad marble pavement, and
assisted my mother to alight, then my sister. Then
I placed my hand in his, and my heart stood still.
It was a moment, but it was also an age. The
next instant I stood free upon the step. Free—but
bound forever.

“We were passing up the staircase into the
palace, Luigi plucked an orange bud and handed it
to me. I was infinitely happy!

“A few steps further, and he broke an acacia for
my sister: ah! I was miserable!

“We ascended into the great saloon, and a cheerful
evening followed. Fascinated by these first
impressions of Venice, Luigi abandoned himself to
his abundant genius, and left us at midnight,
mutually enchanted. Youth and sympathy had
overcome all other considerations. We had planned
endless days of enjoyment. He had promised to
show us his sketches. It was not until our mother
asked of my brother who he was, that all the
human facts appeared.

“`Heavens!' shouted my younger sister, Fiora,
laughing with delight, `think of the noble Marchese
Cicada, who simpers, per Bacco, that the day is
warm, and, per dieci, that I am lovelier than ever.
Viva Luigi! Viva O il pittore.'

[figure description] Page 227.[end figure description]

“`My daughter,' said my grave, cautious mother,
`you are very young yet—you do not understand
these things. Good night, my child!'

“Fiora kissed her on the brow, and darted out of
the room as if she were really alive.

“When she had gone, Camillo smiled in his cold,
calm way, and turning to me, asked how I liked
Luigi. I answered calmly, for I was of the same
blood as my brother. I did not disguise how much
superior I thought him to the youth I knew. I
was very glad he had found such a friend, and
hoped the young man would come often to see us,
and be very successful in his profession.

“Then I was silent. I did not say that I had
never lived until that evening. I did not say how
my heart was chilled, because, in leaving the room,
Luigi's last glance had not been for me, but for
Fiora.

“Camillo did not praise him much. It was not
his way; but I felt how deeply he honored and
loved him, and was rejoiced to think that necessity
would often bring us together; only my mother
seemed serious, and I knew what her gravity meant.

“`Do not be alarmed, dear mother,' I said to her,
as I was leaving the room.

“`My daughter,' she answered, with infinite
pride, `it is not possible. I do not understand

[figure description] Page 228.[end figure description]

you. And you, my daughter, you do not understand
yourself nor the world.”

“She was mistaken. Myself I did understand;
the world I did not.”

Again the Marchesa was silent and tears stood in
her eyes. She was seventy years old. Yes, but in
love's calendar there is no December.

“The days passed, and we saw Luigi constantly.
He was very busy, but found plenty of time to be
with us. His paintings were full of the same kind
of power I felt in his character. He never wearied
of the gorgeous atmospheric effects of which
Titian and Paul, Giorgione and Tintoretto were the
old worshippers. They touched him sometimes
with a voluptuous melancholy in which he found
a deeper inspiration.

“Every day I loved him more and more, and
nobody suspected it. He did not, because he was
only glad to be in my society when he wanted
criticism. He liked me as an intelligent woman.
He loved Fiora as a bewitching child.

“My mother watched us all, and soon saw there
was nothing to fear. I sought to be lively—to
frequent society; for I knew if my health failed I
should be sent away from Venice and Luigi. He
had given me a drawing—a scene composed from
our first meeting upon the Lagune. The very soul

[figure description] Page 229.[end figure description]

of evening repose brooded upon the picture. It
had even an indefinable tone of sadness, as if he
had incorporated into it the sound of the vesper
bell. It had been simply a melancholy sound to
him. To the rest of us, who loved Camillo, it was
something more than that. In his heart the mere
remembrance of the island rang melancholy vespers
forever.

“This drawing I kept in a private drawer. At
night, when I went to my chamber, I opened the
drawer and looked at it. It lay so that I did not
need to touch it; and as I gazed at it, I saw all his
own character, and all that I had felt and lived
since that evening.

“At length the day came, on which the parents
of Sulpizia came to my brother to speak of her
portrait. Camillo listened to them quietly, and
mentioned his friend Luigi as a man who could
understand Sulpizia, and therefore paint her portrait.
The parents were satisfied. It was an
unusual thing; but at that time, as at all times, a
great many unusual things could be done in
convents, especially if one had a brother, who
was Cardinal Balbo.

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