Part II.

That irrevocable passion which sprung up between Marco Da Vinci and Valeria, during the hours of mutual communion which they enjoyed while preparations were in progress for the annual exhibition at the Academy of Arts, was not destined to wither in its infancy.

Scarcely had the portrait been finished, when notice was conveyed to the candidates to send in their productions; and of course my anxiety was great to ascertain what impression my daughter’s beauty should make in public. Completely blinded by those deep and damning schemes which have proved my ruin, I meantime suspected nothing of what was in progress between the young and ardent lovers. They were bound heart and soul to each other; but except by those involuntary signs, which none but the victims of passion can understand, their love was unuttered. Hourly was this misplaced flame acquiring an increasing degree of vigor, from the very means taken to suppress it. I saw not, in my blindness, that in spite of the respectful and irreproachable conduct of Da Vinci toward the idol of my mercenary dreams, his tender flame, his ill-disguised sentiments of admiration, his involuntary devotion, were all returned in the same manner by Valeria.

In due time the exhibition took place. A week of thrilling excitement passed away. On the evening the premiums were to be awarded, I sallied out to await the decisions, persuaded that Valeria’s beauty, and not the skill of Marco Da Vinci, must make serious impressions in favor of the portrait. How describe my delight, when the premium was bestowed on the limner of my daughter’s charms! Her fame, I well knew, would now rapidly spread, and my fortune was sure!

In the excitement of the moment, I hurried from the Academy, and sought to drown my feeling in deep potations. While under the influence of an unusual quantity of the stimulant, the time flew rapidly past; and it was late in the night before I recovered myself sufficiently to stagger home. To account for the sight which there paralyzed my eyes, it is necessary to touch upon what happened during my inebriation.

Marco Da Vinci, on learning the decision made in favor of his work, proceeded with haste to pour out his feelings of gratitude to Valeria, whom he regarded as the instrument of his success. In the passionate eloquence of his temperament, he dwelt upon all, save that which was consuming his vitals, and which he dared not avow. They who pass any portion of their time in a state of beatitude, can alone say how swiftly it flies. Valeria and Da Vinci, entranced with their own dreamy visions of future happiness and of present joy, noted not that the hour of midnight had approached. At length the “iron tongue” of the town clock warned them to part; and with a deep sigh Valeria murmured a request that Da Vinci would visit the house again and frequently.

“My determination,” said Marco, “can no longer be suppressed.” In a voice of the deepest agitation he proceeded: “I had hoped, Valeria, that we might part without a word of regret on either side; but your kindness and friendship toward me, render it a duty that I should make some explanations in defence of my refusal of your hospitable invitation. I must speak, whatever be the penalty. Your beauty and charms of person—your mental fascination—render it too dangerous for me to continue my visits! We must part—forever!”

In a hurried and agitated manner the young painter rushed toward the door.

“Stay!” cried Valeria, in whom the struggle between love and duty was for a moment so violent as to deprive her of her faculties, “Da Vinci, why must we part thus? Why are we never again to meet? I am sure it is no harm for us to enjoy the pleasure of each other’s society.”

This was said in a voice of such warmth and artlessness, that, for a moment, he was unnerved in his resolution. The danger, however, was too great; and he resisted the temptation.

“Valeria,” said Marco Da Vinci, endeavoring to answer calmly, “I am an outcast—a beggar!”

“But I do not think less of you for that!” cried Valeria, passionately.

“Hear me!” cried Da Vinci, in a hurried and choaking voice, “you know me not! I have dared—I still dare—to love you!”

Valeria might have suspected, and probably did suspect, that this declaration was inevitable; but there is a great deal of deceit in the female heart; and she evinced much astonishment at the words of her lover. She endeavored to frown—to look serious—to speak of my authority—but love was the conqueror!

That resource which woman is ever prone to make use of, was at hand; and Valeria wept. Her beauty had always been a subject of dangerous interest to Marco Da Vinci: it was now heightened in his mind by the consciousness that she loved him. No longer able to control those feelings, which from the moment of their meeting, had taken possession of Da Vinci’s heart, the enthusiastic lover sprang forward and clasped Valeria to his bosom. He pressed her lips to his own, and imprinted on them the burning kiss of first-love.

At this critical moment I entered. Unable to believe my senses, I stood gasping for breath, and transfixed with doubt and astonishment. Convinced at length that I was not deceived, I sprang forward to wreak my vengeance on the villain who had so basely abused my confidence.

“Monster!” cried Da Vinci, confronting me face to face, and darting from his fine expressive eyes the most deadly hatred, “Monster! you are known! whatever obligations I may have formerly considered myself under to you, I now look upon them as entirely cancelled by your hypocrisy toward myself, and your base conduct toward your daughter. Know, hoary villain, that no later than to day, I received a letter from Don Ferdinand Ruzzina, warning me to be on my guard in any of my transactions with you. Nor was this all! He openly exposed your villainy, and revealed the unnatural and cruel schemes you have concerted for the disposal of your daughter’s honor. Behold, wretch, in me her protector! You have forfeited the title, and by the God that made me, your baseness shall not triumph!”

So struck was I at this change in the conduct of Da Vinci, that for several moments I stood transfixed to the spot. Still stupified with rage and shame, I staggered back, and flung myself on a bench. Valeria, with that filial affection, which I had never known her to violate, sprang toward me in an agony of remorse; and kneeling at my feet, earnestly avowed her determination to remain forever obedient to my will; and craved forgiveness for her instrumentality in causing me such shame and misery. Already goaded to desperation by the taunts of young Da Vinci, and the reproaches of my own conscience, I was not prepared for this act of unmerited constancy. In the bitterness of my own self-detestation, I rushed from the room, striking my temples with my clenched hands, and uttering imprecations on those who gave me life. I hastily mounted the ladder, leading to my miserable garret; and darting through the trap-door, threw myself head-long on the squalid and tattered pallet.

Ruzzina had not forgotten me! Awed by the unconquerable virtue of my daughter, he had no desire to renew visits which he well knew were alike useless and unwelcome. But I had exacted large sums from him. He was my dupe! Even in that, there was a pleasure. Aye, such a pleasure as a miser can feel when avarice triumphs over conscience, and vice over virtue!

Early on the following morning, I indited a note to Don Ferdinand, which, in the plenitude of my craft, I looked upon as relieving me from all claims whatever on his part. It ran thus:

“If you have any intention of consummating your designs on my daughter’s virtue—a thing which I regard as a mere misnomer—you must do so immediately. The advance-money hitherto received from you, I consider fairly my own; and if you think proper to neglect the chance I now give you of achieving your wishes, I am sure it is your own fault.

“Be so good as to let me have a definite answer, when it suits your convenience; and believe me,

Catruccio Faliri.”

It afforded me much gratification to anticipate the wrath and indignation Ruzzina should evince on reading this. To gloat over the dark traits of men’s characters, has ever been my choicest amusement; and I well knew that he would either make a desperate attempt to retrieve his imprudence by recovering the money, or desist altogether and keep silent to avoid the shafts of satire and ridicule.

I suffered much uneasiness, and had much to fear on account of the ardent and fiery temperament of Valeria. The passion she had betrayed for Marco Da Vinci was no childish fancy; but a deep-rooted, irrevocable love, which nothing could eradicate or assuage. Her pure Italian blood permitted no medium between passion and indifference. She loved him once, and was destined to love, or hate him forever after. Of this I quickly had a most satisfactory proof.

Enraged one day at the obstinate manner in which she rejected the advances of every suitor I thought proper to introduce into my house, I bitterly reproached her for her disobedience; and in the excess of my anger, struck her a violent blow. Her proud spirit was instantly up.

“Father,” said she, “you have struck me for the first, and for the last time. In defiance of your cruel and unnatural machinations for the disposal of my honor, you shall never reproach me with their success. I have hitherto mildly resisted your iniquitous designs; and I now boldly put myself out of your power. This roof shall never more shelter your daughter!”

In scarcely any gradation of human depravity is man totally callous to the qualms of conscience. I have before remarked that I anticipated with joy the hour of death; but this was merely a fiendish delirium, wrought by the recollection of past iniquities: a kind of bravo, which, in the hour of cool contemplation, would be regarded with fear and horror.

I confess I was much staggered at the justice of Valeria’s reproaches, and the firmness and dignity of her demeanor. Whatever might have been the nature of my former conduct toward her, I did feel, at that moment, a sense of my baseness. Her fine, expressive eyes were eloquent with determination; and her beautiful figure, as she glided steadily from my presence, seemed to acquire a queenliness from passion and indignation. She spoke no more; and I was too relentless to excuse myself, or break the silence. I had pride—ay, the pride of a demon. I would not humble it by confessing my cruelty, or soliciting her forgiveness. Thus originated a disunion, which was soon destined to lead to the most tragical effects.

I follow, for a moment, the fortunes of Valeria.

During her residence in that part of Venice, in which we had latterly lived, she had, by the merest accident, become acquainted with the daughter of a neighboring officer, and had cultivated the society of this young lady, more from a natural fondness for association with the educated of her sex, than from any particular liking to her new acquaintance. Signora Almeda—the lady’s name—was not unusually prepossessing in her person or manners; but she had a vigorous and masculine mind, and possessed no small share of sound knowledge, both literary and scientific. She had, from the beginning, regarded my daughter with peculiar favor. Their acquaintance had latterly become quite intimate; and on the strength of this intimacy, and the dependance of her situation, Valeria resolved to claim the hospitality of her friend, until fortune should place it in her power to earn a livelihood by her own exertions. Signora Almeda accepted, with pleasure, the proposition of her accomplished acquaintance.

For several months a sisterly harmony was observed between the friends. Though Valeria steadily refused to enter into society, yet it soon became obvious to her entertainer that she had the ascendency in the social circle. Of all stings prone to penetrate the female heart, none is so poisonous or painful as that which wounds vanity. Signora Almeda was piqued to discover that the suitors, who had before paid her the utmost devotion, now eagerly transferred their addresses to her guest. From learning to view her as a rival, she presently looked upon her as an ungrateful and disagreeable dependant. Every opportunity was now taken advantage of, both publicly and privately, by Signora Almeda, to vent her envy toward Valeria. The innocent cause of this disquietude, meantime wondered at the change. It was true, her entertainer still continued to treat her with formal hospitality; but all intimacy and friendship were at an end. This state of things was destined to be speedily brought to a close.

Signora Almeda had among other suitors, one who really admired her, and for whom she had evinced much respect. This gentleman, inspired by the superiority of Valeria, physically if not mentally, forgot for a moment his promises and devotions toward Signora Almeda. The blow was not to be borne. A proud Italian spirit was roused. Revenge was now the sole subject of her thought.

Valeria one evening, soon after this, retired to her chamber to enjoy a few moments of solitude. In searching a small drawer for some article of habiliment, she accidentally discovered a note, directed to herself and handsomely sealed. It was inscribed in a bold, masculine hand; and ran thus:—

“Bewitching girl!—In accordance with your repeated desire, I shall to-night gently tap at your chamber-window. O raptures! how I shall—but why anticipate.

“Votre roturiex

“Caius Pazzio.”

Astonished and indignant, Valeria was about to tear this insulting epistle to atoms, when the door gently opened; and Signora Almeda glided in.

“Ah! my charming guest,” she whispered, with forced friendship, “what now? Mercy, you seem like one who had just caught sight of an apparition! Dear me! what’s the matter?”

“Matter!” cried Valeria, fired with shame and indignation, “read!—but no—the insult must not be known!”

“Heavens! a letter—Ah, I guess the contents!” She snatched it playfully, and read with apparent surprise—what she had herself written!

The result was such as might be expected. Valeria was peremptorily forbidden the house. Her character was blasted—her happiness destroyed!

In this melancholy situation, Marco Da Vinci found her, when after a long and indefatigable search, he succeeded in tracing her to the residence of Signora Almeda. With all the ardor and sincerity of his character, Da Vinci had determined on bringing his fate to a speedy close, either by wedding the object of his affection, or by bidding her farewell forever. The critical situation in which he found her, immediately determined him to adopt the former course, if possible. He had, since his triumph at the Academy of Arts, attained some eminence; and his circumstances were now in a favorable condition.

Valeria had many objections to the course proposed; but on the one hand poverty—perhaps beggary would be her lot; while on the other the importunities of Da Vinci were so urgent as to remove most of the remaining obstacles. After much hesitation she consented to acquiesce in his wishes. The young and loving couple were immediately united. I now return to my own narrative.

Nearly a year had elapsed since I was left alone and desolate; when one evening I was astonished to see a female, closely muffled, enter my house. My mind had that day been peculiarly embittered against my daughter, and she was even now the subject of my thoughts. Great, indeed, was my astonishment, when the apparent stranger flung herself in a kneeling posture before me, and casting off her disguise revealed to my sight the faded lineaments of Valeria!

“Father!” she cried, “forgive me!—forgive the partner of my misery! We are ruined by a reverse of fortune—we are beggars! Distress has deprived us of pride! We seek your pardon!”

“Curse you!” I shouted, spurning her with my foot, “you demand pardon do you? Begone! Pardon, eh? Begone!” I thundered; and I pushed her violently toward the door. She fell. Her head struck a bureau; and the warm blood spouted from the gash. Had I reflected on the delicacy of her situation, it is probable I might have felt compassion enough to let her pass unmolested; but the deed was done. I did not regret it. My vengeance for the series of disappointments she had caused me was satiated.

(To be Continued.)

Louisville, Kentucky, February, 1841.