ion assailed me with gypsum bullets, and that not sparingly. I seized fast hold of the cane in order to extinguish the lights; the cane broke in my hand, and the brilliant bouquet fell to the earth amid the shouting of the people.

"Fie, Antonio!" cried the flower-girl. It pierced me through bone and marrow; for it was Annunciata's voice. She threw all her confits at my face, and the basket into the bargain. In my astonishment I leaped down, and the carriage rolled on. I saw, however, a nosegay of flowers thrown to me as a token of reconciliation. I caught at it in the air, and would have followed them, but it was impossible to slip out; for the carriages were all entangled, and there was the utmost confusion, although some turned to one side and some to the other. At length I escaped into a side street; but when I was able to breathe more freely I perceived a heavy weight at my heart. "With whom was Annunciata driving?"

That she wished to enjoy this, the last day of the carnival, seemed to me very natural; but the gentleman in the dressing-gown? Ah, yes, my first conjecture was certainly correct: it must be Bernardo! I determined to convince myself of it. I ran in haste through the cross streets, and came to the Piazza Colonna, where Annunciata lived, and posted myself by the door to await her arrival. Before long the carriage drove up, and, as if I had been the servant of the house, I sprang towards it. Annunciata skipped out without seeming to notice me. Now came the gentleman in the dressing-gown ; he descended too slowly to be Bernardo. "Thanks, my friend!" said he; and I heard that it was the old lady-friend, and saw, by her feet and her brown gown, which hung below the dressing-gown, as she stepped out, how I had erred in my conjecture.

"Felissima notte, Signora !" cried I aloud in my joy.

Annunciata laughed, and said jestingly that I was a bad man, and that she therefore would set off to Florence; but her hand pressed mine.

Happy, and with a light heart, I left her, and shouted aloud the wild cry, "Perish every one who carries not a taper!" and all the while had not one myself. I thought in the mean time only on her and the good old woman, who had donned

the dressing-gown and night-cap in order to enjoy the carnival fun, for which she did not seem created. And how beautiful and natural it was of Annunciata, that she had not gone driving about with strangers, and had not given a seat in her carriage to Bernardo, nor even to the chapel-master! That I, the moment I recognized her, had become jealous of the night-cap, was a something which I would not acknowledge. Happy and merry as I was, I resolved to spend in pleasure the few hours which yet remained before the carnival had passed like a dream.

I went into the Festino. The whole theatre was decorated with garlands of lamps and lights - all the boxes were filled with masks, and strangers without masks. From the pit a high broad step led to the stage, covering in the narrow orchestra, and was decorated with drapery and garlands for a ball-room. Two orchestras played alternately. A crowd of quaqueri and vetturini masks danced a merry ring-dance around the Bacchus and Ariadne. They drew me into their circle; and, in the gladness of my heart, I made my first dancing essay, and found it so delightful that it did not remain the last. No! for as, somewhat late at night, I hastened home, I danced about yet once more with the merry masks, and cried with them, "The happiest night after the most beautiful carnival!"

My sleep was only short. I thought in the lovely morninghour on Annunciata, who now, perhaps, at this moment left Rome - thought upon the merry carnival days, which seemed to have created a new life for me, and which now, with all their exultation and tumult, were vanished forever. I had no rest I must out into the free air. Everything was all at once changed all doors and shops were closed- but few people were in the streets — and in the Corso, where yesterday one could hardly move for the joyous throng, there were now to be seen only a few slaves in their white dresses with the broad blue stripes, who swept away the comfits, which lay upon the streets like hail; while a miserable horse with its hay bundle, from which it kept eating, hanging by its side, drew along the little car into which the litter of the street was thrown. vetturino drew up at a house, then fastened at the top of his

A

coach trunks and bandboxes, drew a great mat over the whole, and then hooked the iron chain fast around the many boxes that were put behind. From one of the side streets came another similarly laden coach. All went hence. They went to Naples or Florence. Rome would be as if dead for seven long weeks, from Ash-Wednesday till Easter.

LENT. ALLEGRI'S

ness.

VISIT TO BERNARDO. -ANNUNCIATA.

TILL and deathlike slid on the weary day. In thought I

spectacle of carnival, and

the great adventure of my own life, in which Annunciata played the chief part. And day as it succeeded to day brought with it again this uniformity and this gravelike stillI was conscious of an emptiness which my books could Bernardo had formerly been everything to me; now it was as if there lay a gulf between us. I felt myself constrained in his presence, and it became more and more clear to me that Annunciata alone occupied me.

not fill.

For some moments I was happy in this consciousness; but there came also days and nights in which I thought on Bernardo, who had loved her before I had done so. He indeed it was, also, who had introduced me to her. I had assured him that it was admiration, and nothing more, which I felt for her him, my only friend - him, whom I had so often assured of my heart's fidelity towards him. I was false and unjust. There burned in my heart the fire of remorse, but still my thoughts could not tear themselves from Annunciata. Every recollection of her, of my most happy hours spent with her, sunk me into the deepest melancholy. Thus contemplate we the smiling image, beautiful as life, of the beloved dead and the more lifelike, the more kindly it smiles, the stronger is the melancholy which seizes us. The great struggle of life, of which I had so often been told at school, and which I had fancied was nothing more than the difficulties of a task, or the ill-humor or unreasonableness of a teacher, I now, for the first time, began to feel. If I were to overcome this passion which had awoke within me, would not my former peace cer

d;

tainly return? To what, also, could this love tend? Annunciata stood high in her art; yet the world would condemn me if I forsook my calling to follow her. The Madonna, too, would be angry; for I had been born and brought up as her servant. Bernardo would never forgive me; and I did not know, either, whether Annunciata loved me. That was at the bottom the bitterest thought to me. In vain I cast myself, in the church, before the image of the Madonna; in vain I besought her to strengthen my soul in my great struggle, for even here my sin was increased - the Madonna was to me like Annunciata. It seemed to me that the countenance of every beautiful woman wore that intellectual expression which existed in that of Annunciata. No; I will rend these feelings out of my soul ! I will never again see her!

I now fully comprehended what I never could understand before why people felt impelled to torture the body, that by the pain of the flesh they might conquer in the spiritual combat. My burning lips kissed the cold marble feet of the Madonna, and for the moment peace returned to my soul. I thought upon my childhood, when my dear mother yet lived; how happy I had then been, and what many delights even this dead time before Easter had brought me.

And all, indeed, was just the same as then. In the corners and the squares stood, as then, the little green huts of leaves, ornamented with gold and silver stars; and all round still hung the beautiful shields like signs, with their verses, which told that delicious dishes for Lent were here to be obtained. Every evening they lighted the gay-colored paper lamps under the green boughs. How had I, as a child, delighted myself with these things! how happy had I been in the splendid booth of the bacon-dealer, which in Lent glittered like a world of fancy! The pretty angels of butter danced in a temple, of which sausages, wreathed with silver, formed the pillars, and a Parmesan cheese the cupola! My first poem, to be sure, had been about all this magnificence; and the bacondealer's lady had called it a Divina Commedia di Dante ! Then I had heard not Annunciata, but neither did I know any singer. Would that I could forget Annunciata!

I went with the procession to the seven holy churches of