which my life has taken. Had it not been for him she would have loved me; and her love would have given to my mind a great strength and development. Had I at once followed her, and come forward as improvisatore, my triumph, perhaps, would have united itself to hers; all might have been so different then! Care would not then have furrowed her brow!

CHAPTER XXVII.

POGGIO. ANNUNCIATA. MARIA.

POGGIO visited me, and inquired the reason of my de

pression of mind; but I could not tell him the cause ;

could tell it to no one.

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I

"Thou lookest really," said he, as if the bad sirocco blew upon thee! Is it from the heart that this hot air comes? The little bird within there may be burned; and, as it is no phoenix, it may not be benefited thereby. It must now and then have a flight out, pick the red berries in the field, and the fine roses in the balcony, to get itself right. My little bird does so, and finds itself all the better for it; has excellent spirits, sings merrily into my blood and my whole being. And it is that which gives me the good-humor that I have! Thou must do the same also, and shalt do so! A poet must have a a sound, healthy bird in his breast a bird which knows both roses and berries, the sour and the sweet, the cloudy heavens and the clear ether!"

"That is a beautiful idea about a poet," said I.

"Christ became a man like the rest of us," said he, "and descended even down into hell to the damned! The divine must unite itself to the earthly, and there will be produced therefrom a mighty result of― But it is really a magnificent lecture which I am beginning. I ought, sure enough, to give one; I have promised to do so; but I fancy it was on another subject. What is the meaning of it, when a gentleman all at once forsakes his friends; for three whole days has never been to the Podesta's house? That is abominable. very abominable of him! The family is also very angry. This very day thou must go there, and, kneeling, like another Frederick Barbarossa, hold the stirrup. Not to have been for three days at the Podesta's house! I heard that from Signora Rosa. What hast thou been doing with thyself?"

"I have not felt well; have not been out."

"No, dear friend," interrupted he, "one knows better than that! The evening before last thou wentest to the Opera 'La Regina di Spagna,' in which the little Aurelia appears as a knight— that is, a little Orlando Furioso! But the conquest need not bring gray hairs to anybody; it cannot be so difficult. However, be that as it may, thou goest with me to dine at the Podesta's. There are we invited, and I have given my hand to take thee with me."

"Poggio," said I, gravely, "I will tell thee the reasons why I have not been there, — why I shall not go there so frequently."

I then told him what the banker's wife had whispered to me; how Venice talked about its being my design to obtain the beautiful Maria, who had a fortune and an estate in Calabria.

"Nay," cried Poggio, "I would be very glad, indeed, if they would say that of me; and so thou wilt not go for that reason? Yes truly, people do say so, and I believe it myself, because it is so natural. But whether we are right or wrong, that is no reason why thou shouldst be uncivil to the family. Maria is handsome, very handsome, has understanding and feeling, and thou lovest her too,— that I have seen all along plainly enough."

"No, no," exclaimed I, "my thoughts are a very long way from love! Maria resembles a blind child whom I once saw, a child which wonderfully attracted me, as a child only could. That resemblance has often agitated me in Maria, and has riveted my eye upon her."

"Maria also was once blind!" said Poggio, in a somewhat serious tone; "she was blind when she came from Greece; her uncle, the physician in Naples, performed an operation on her eyes which restored her sight."

"My blind child was not Maria,” said I.

Thy blind child!" repeated Poggio, merrily; "it must be a very wonderful person, however, that blind child of thine which could set thee a-staring at Maria, and finding out a likeness! Yes, that is only speaking figuratively; it is the little blind Love with whom, once upon a time, thou madest acquaintance, and he has made thee look at Maria. Now con

fess it thyself! Before we ourselves are aware of it, the nuptials will be announced, and you drive off from Venice."

I

"No, Poggio," I exclaimed, "you affront me by talking in this way; I shall never marry. My love's dream is over. never think of such a thing— never can. By the eternal heavens and all the saints, I neither will nor can!"

"Silence silence!" cried Poggio, interrupting me, "let's have no oath about it. I will believe thee, and will contradict everybody that says thou art in love with Maria, and that you are going to be married. But don't go, and swear that you never will marry; perhaps the bridal is nearer than you imagine, even within this very year it is quite possible."

"Thine, perhaps," replied I, "but mine never!"

66 Nay, so thou thinkest, then, that I can get married?" exclaimed Poggio; "no, dear friend, I have no means of keeping a wife; the pleasure would be much too expensive for me."

"Thy marriage will take place before mine," replied I. "Perhaps even the handsome Maria may be thine, and whilst Venice is saying it is to me that she will give her hand, it is to thee."

"That would be badly done," replied he, and laughed; "no, I have given her a far better husband than myself. Shall we lay a wager," continued he, "that thou wilt be married, either to Maria or some other lady; that thou wilt be a husband, and I an old bachelor? Two bottles of champagne we will bet, which we will drink on thy wedding-day."

"I dare do that," said I, and smiled.

I was obliged to go with him to the Podesta's. Signora Rosa scolded me, and so did the Podesta. Maria was silent; my eye rested upon her: Venice said, actually, that she was my bride! Rosa and I touched glasses.

"No lady may drink the health of the improvisatore," said Poggio; "he has sworn eternal hatred against the fair sex ; he never will be married!"

"Eternal hatred!" returned I; "and what if I do not marry, cannot I honor and value still that which is beautiful in woman, that which more than anything else elevates and softens every relation of life?"

"Not be married!" cried the Podesta; "that were the most miserable thought which your genius ever gave birth to ; nor either is it handsome behavior in a friend," said he, jestingly, turning to Poggio, "to reveal it."

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Only to make him ashamed of it ! returned Poggio. "He might otherwise so easily get enamored of this his only bad thought, and, because it is so remarkably brilliant, might mistake it for an original one, and regularly attach himself to it."

They jested with me, made fun of me: I could not be other than cheerful. Exquisite dishes and glorious wine were set before me. I thought upon Annunciata's poverty, and that, perhaps, she was now famishing.

"You promised to send us Silvio Pellico's works," said Rosa, when we separated. "Do not forget it, and come, like a good creature, every day to us; you have accustomed us to it, and nobody in Venice can be more grateful than we are." I went — I went right often; for I felt how much they loved

me.

About a month had now passed since my last conversation with Poggio, and I had not been able to speak about Annunciata; I was, therefore, obliged to trust to chance, which often knits up the broken thread.

One evening as I was at the Podesta's, Maria seemed to me singularly thoughtful; a vivid suffering seemed impressed upon her whole being. I had been reading to her and her aunt, and even during this her mind seemed abstracted. Rosa left the room; never had I until now been alone with Maria; a strange, inexplicable presentiment, as if of approaching evil, filled my breast. I endeavored to begin a conversation about Silvio Pellico, about the influence of political life upon the poetical mind.

"Signor Abbé," said she, without appearing to have heard a word of my remarks, for her whole thoughts seemed to have been directed to one only subject. "Antonio," continued she, with a tremulous voice, whilst the blood mantled in her cheeks, "I must speak with you. A dying person has made me give her my hand that I would do so.'

She paused, and I stood silent, strangely agitated by her words.