Before the Dawn. A tale of Italy

Preface

. Early in the year 1852, while yet a very young singer, the Authoress of this Work made her first appearance at Drury Lane Theatre, as the Princess Isabella in Meyerbeer's Opera of " Robert the Devil." She was received by a kind and indulgent public with the warmest demon strations of approbation. Aster four months of continued encouragement, she left England and proceeded to Milan, with a view of qualifying her self to appear at the Italian Opera House, on her return to England. Soon aster her arrival in Italy, however, a dangerous fever so impaired her vocal powers as to compel her to relinquish a profession which had been so auspiciously commenced. Under these circumstances, she decided to

PREFACE.

. devote her attention to literature, and thus seek a vocation which had been denied to her on the Stage. During her stay in Milan, an insurrection oc curred in that city, which terminated in the most heart-rending scenes, a description of which, with other real incidents that came under her notice, she has attempted to introduce into a tale for the purpose of giving some illustrations of the condition of the people of Italy " Before the Dawn," of that happier future which she anxiously hopes has broken forth over a land so full of the grandest associations of the past. Gower Street, December 21st. 1859.

Chapter I. Early Sunshine

Upon the fertile plains of Lombardy, amidst the fresh and bright green verdure, there rose a vast picturesque palace. No house was to be seen near to it; there alone, in solitary grandeur, its strong walls on which time had laid a soft yellow mellow tint, defied alike the storm and blasting winds. Many a flash of vivid lightning had shot across it, from out the thick black masses rolling along the sky ; many a whirling wind had beaten against its large hard stones, still there it stood firm, and rugged. Time and storms might per haps have broken away here and there a piece of the venerable pile, yet it rose up into the blue firmament with an unshaken foundation, strong in its old age. VOL. I. B Far away beyond this building, the eye may travel across fields, whose green pastures are divided by the silver lines of running waters ; past waving masses of golden corn ; along vineyards with their endless poles, up which the plants are twin ing, and from which hangs down the heavy pur ple clusters of fruit ; thence over swampy ground where grows the tender rice plant.

Past all these, the sight may glance and fix itself upon that long chain of mountains, seventy miles and more away. Clearly those Alpine peaks rise up, with their sharp white tops, seeming almost as if one could stretch out one's hand and touch them ; while lower down, beneath the perpetual snowy mantles wrapped around their summits, they change into a deep violet tint, above which the vast curtain of brilliant azure stretches itself through immeasur able space. No mist intervenes between the vision, not one fleecy cloud floats across the great canopy above ; there, in the far distance, one may gaze upon the summit of Mount Rosa with its gigantic circle of peaks towering high above the rest, and from thence distinctly follow the lower ranges of moun tains both right and lest, that bound the view across the plains.

Let us leave the distance, to view more mi nutely the objects of the foreground. Along the front of the palace runs a terrace, EARLY SUNSHINE. 3 with steps on either side, conducting downward to two broad walks ; sweet perfumes rise up from innumerable flowers, and from above, the hot rays of an Italian sun pour down upon the landscape, far and near, such a blaze of light that the sight is quite dazzled by its intensity. An old man has just reached the end of the terrace, and is preparing to descend the steps. He is in haste, and from his uncovered brow, his white locks are blown back by the air. He walks down the stairs, and, turning to the right, passes on to a cool spot, hidden, sheltered from the fiery rays of the great orb of day, by the thick hanging branches of the trees that line it along one side, and which twining themselves to gether, stretch out far overhead towards a clear running stream of water flowing onwards by the other side, a mirror on whose bright surface the blue sky and the green trees are distinctly re flected.

Upon a bench, some half way down the walk, sit two figures, but they are so far off they seem like little children in the distance. The old man proceeds quickly towards them, they neither see nor hear him, even the cracking sound of the gravel beneath his feet as he steps upon it, does not warn them of the approach of a third party, so interested are they in their conversation. b He draw's nearer and nearer, and he has reached the place where they are sitting before they be come aware of his presence ; but as he pauses in front of the bench, two smiling upturned faces greet him. The one a man's, full of freshness and vigour, his black eyes sparkling, the rich blood mantling beneath his clear olive skin ; the other a girl's, fairer, younger, gentler, looking like some graceful lily. " Papa do you want us ?" asked the latter.

" Not you Helena, only Victor ; the notary is here, and requires his signature to certain papers directly, or all the necessary formalities will not be completed by to-morrow — come with me at once my son." He called him by a name, which though not his by right would yet be so on the morrow, for Helena Guelfi the old man's daughter would then become his young bride. Victor turned to see if Helena would accompany them, but she reading his looks, answered, " No, leave me here to dream ; I hate to have business mixed up in the matter." " Dream !" murmured the old man, " would it were so to me !" She was the youngest, the dearest, the only unmarried child of that wifeless old man. To him all was but too real, and thus impressed, he had spoken almost with bitterness. EARLY SUNSHINE. 5 In a moment, the child's affection brought her to his side.

" Father, it is not yet too late — I ought not to leave you — it pains you too much — " Pride, as well as love brightened the old man's eyes, at the sacrifice she was preparing to make. " Child," interrupted he, " your father was selfish for an instant, don't remind him of his failings — come, Victor, come." He turned away, and sauntered back again down the walk. The young lover, who for a moment had feared that he might lose his bride, before he followed Helena's father, turned to her with the fire of his southern blood circulating through his veins ; he took her to his heart and kissed her with a passionate energy, which brought a blush like the softest tint of the rose upon her downy cheek. Thus they parted — he hastening on to join the old man, she remaining on the bench, to dream as she had said.

Chapter II. Fears Arise Out Of

A GAY SCENE. But a few hours — a span of time, and the dream was turned into a reality. The sun, risen once more in all its glory, shone on a countless crowd of wealth and beauty thronging the terrace of the old palace ; noble guests they were who had been collected together to witness the nuptials of the last fair daughter of the house of Guelfi, with a young son of the equally exalted family of Montara. Helena, the youthful bride of barely eighteen summers, arrayed in white robes, the emblem of her purity, stood by her father's side. A fair and lovely flower she was that he was going to bequeath, a precious gift that thousands would have prized ; not only for the graceful form, dark speaking eyes, and faultless features, but for the bright gems that lay closed within the beauteous casket.

A loving heart, a generous open nature, an exalted mind, and a spirit of firm endurance rendered Helena Guelfi as much the object of esteem to those who knew her, as she was of admiration to all who beheld her. Victor Montara, her chosen husband; not merely the partner who had been selected for her, (as is too often the case in marriages on the continent) possessed not only a fine com manding form, and features on which intellect and goodness could be traced — but honesty and strength of purpose stamped upon his lofty brow, like some noble bark which defies all storms that rise up about it, and is well fitted for a tender plant to twine around its loving branches. The nuptial ceremony took place within the small chapel adjoining the chateau, with a pomp and magnificence worthy of the noble families it was intended to join together; and after its performance, the blushing bride was led by her happy spouse to the sumptuous banquet that had been prepared in honour of the occasion.

Here congratulations and prayers for their welfare poured forth from every side, while relations and friends, old and young, all seemed to vie with each other in their earnest expressions of joy. It was a future glowing with brilliant colours which appeared to open before them; for the relations on both sides were satisfied, the young couple deeply attached; and Victor Montara, although a younger son, inherited from his mother a handsome fortune ; sufficient, not only to satisfy all the wants, but all the luxuries of life. Even the father of the bride, when he remembered that he must soon be parted from his favourite child; and knew he should no longer see the cherished form continually hovering about his steps, which his dying wife had given into his hands, a living likeness of the departed one ; even he, with his eyes dimmed with emotion, felt comforted and soothed by the recollection of the many fine qualities he had observed, in him to whom his child had given her heart.

There is ever, even with the most brilliant pros pects for happiness, a feeling of gloom in quitting the home of our youth, in leaving the individuals with «whom we have lived, and the objects with which we have been surrounded. A thousand little incidents which happened to us in well known places, come crowding on our minds. Each kindness we have received starts up fresh upon the page of memory, and seems to fix a hold upon the heart, that renders the parting more sad and difficult. But when the close links that join parent and child must also receive a shock, when those ties whose fibres have clung so long, and so firmly around us, must be loosened to admit another into the foremost place, pain will mingle with those new joys which have risen within us, however deep and intense they may be.

It must not be believed then, that the pearly drops which fell thick and fast down the bright cheeks of Helena, as her husband led her from the home of her childhood, were caused by any regret. No, if she could have chosen again, her decision would have been the same. It was the claims, of nature, recalling to her recollection all the associations and habits to be laid aside, that drew from her a parting tribute, which she paid with her tears, as she left them to pursue another path in life, new and strange to her with all its troubles and its joys as yet untried. The leave-taking of a bride is almost always retarded ; friends cluster around for a parting embrace — a last pressure of the hand. Some favourite sister, or cherished companion seeks to arrest her steps, and asks, with her looks, when far away, for one thought of the happy time they had passed together.

And lastly comes the severing of the parents, from that being whom they had guarded from infancy ; until the time when, like a long watched plant, it grew up by their tender care to the perfection of those beauties which God had given it. A scene somewhat hke this which we have drawn, attended the farewell of Helena to all the dear familiar objects before her ; but one or two low whispered words from him for whom she willingly left all, gave her strength for the trial that lay before her. Many a blessing followed the steps of the young couple ; and kind words greeted them at every turn on their way to the door. Here the father clasped his child to his heart with one convulsive strain, murmured a prayer for her welfare, and then tore himself away from the object of his pride and joy. In the hall they were met by all the domestics, who flocked around to take a last parting look of that gentle being, whom some had carried in their arms, a playful child ; and whom all of them had seen the life and soul of that place, which would so soon cease to be brightened, by her presence.

Then at the porter's lodge, the honest old man with his good wife, both remembering many kindnesses received at her hands, stood ready as she passed, to speak their hearty good wishes for her welfare ; which, if more simply expressed, were not less warmly felt than those she had heard before. This last adieu over — the gates left behind — the carriage out of sight — and Victor Montara, with his newly acquired treasure, was soon many miles along the road towards the picturesque scenery of Switzerland. There we will not follow, but leave them to wander alone amongst those wild, romantic spots, forgetting in each other's love all else the world contained. Some months passed away ; and after clam bering over rocks and crags, gazing down deep precipices, where the little winding stream below almost made the head giddy to look upon; after wandering through peaceful valleys, and sitting together hand in hand, watching the rushing water-falls, the happy travellers began to re member that they had a home, and to think of turning their steps towards it.

Milan being the birth-place of Victor Montara, and containing many of his friends, in that city the young couple took up their residence. For ten years their life flowed on in one bright stream, calm and unruffled; and a beautiful boy, who joined to his father's firm and noble character, much of his mother's tenderness, drew yet more closely together those bonds, which to them had proved so great a blessing. At the end of this time, a little girl came to gladden her mother's heart. So with every earthly wish accomplished, truly all was sunshine to Victor and Helena ; no speck disturbed the fair expanse that hung above their heads ; and as near as perfect bliss can be attained upon this earth, with wealth and happiness within themselves, and living amongst those who loved and esteemed them, that lot was theirs.

Over this period — twelve years — we shall pass, and take up the thread of events from the expiration of that time. It was in the winter of the year 18 — , during the season of the carnival, that Count Felino, a wealthy nobleman, gave a grand entertainment to his acquaintances. Victor Montara being one of his chosen friends, he was of course present with his wife; and we shall pause to see what change time has wrought upon them, as they make their way along the gay and glittering throng. Victor, who numbered some seven or eight years more than his wife, was at this time about eight-and-thirty . He had lost nothing of his noble and commanding form, and the face was open and ingenuous as before. Yet on the brow, there was a look of care, an anxious expression which gave a deep, grave cast to his face, such as had been foreign to it before.

Helena was altered even more than her husband, but it was the change from the graceful girl to the beautiful woman, with every charm brought to perfection. There was also so much sweetness, such contentment hanging over the countenance, without being disturbed by any troubled look, that she appeared even younger than she was, and still held the palm of beauty long since accorded to her — a rare thing with her countrywomen, who at her age so often lose the freshness of youth. Helena was dressed in plain black velvet, with diamond ornaments, and a small tiara of the same precious stones bound round her dark luxuriant tresses. As she passed along, leaning on her husband's arm, it would have been difficult to say whether she had been more lovely when last we saw her, clothed in spotless white a youthful bride.

The newly arrived guests had not taken many steps along a princely hall, on which art and wealth had been freely lavished, before they were met by the gay and handsome giver of the feast. " Most welcome, my friends !" said the Count, extending a hand to each. " What a brilliant scene you have to-night !" exclaimed Helena, as her eyes wandered round the hall. " Now it is graced by your presence, fair lady ! but let me lead you into the next room, which, perhaps, you will like even better," and with these words, Count Felino offered his arm to his friend's beautiful wife. The saloon of which he spoke was decorated with light silver hangings, and rose-coloured draperies; each end was supported by handsome white marble pillars, which had been left, with much good taste, unadorned. Aurora, in her car, looking fresh and gay, smiled down from the vaulted ceiling on the world below her; and in the distance, there could be seen a grotto of spars sparkling with all manner of hues, and ending in a conservatory of cool green shades, amidst which numerous fountains sent up their clear bright drops.

With all this, joined to the floating dresses of many colours, with the numerous lights shining down upon them, it looked almost an enchanted scene. " Well, this is most gay !" said Signora Mon tara when they entered. " Why, you will make us forget we are dwellers on the earth, and delude us into the belief that we are beings of some fairy region." " I am charmed that my efforts have gained the approbation of one so skilled in matters of taste, as we all know Signora Montara to be." " Which I am here to attest," cried a pretty little lively lady, who came up to them at that moment. " Ah ! my sister has not been long I see, in finding out the prize I bring." " To be sure not," replied the lively lady, shaking back a profusion of light curls, from off a very merry face. " Does not Signora Montara quickly make her presence felt amongst us !"

Then with a little playful wave of the hand to PEARS ARISE. her brother, she continued, " we shall now dismiss you from our service, prince of the feast; so go to fulfil your office." And, turning again to Signora Montara, she said with the same gay air, " I think we can easily find our way down to the other end of the room, and there we will hold our court, and call our knights together to hear our royal pleasure." " Well ! I am lest deserted !" exclaimed Count Felino laughing, as they moved away. Just then he was met by a tall, grave personage, who whispered something in his ear. In an instant his whole manner changed, and with an alarmed glance he looked anxiously about him on every side. His fears, however, appeared to pass quickly away ; for after a few moments, grave mistrust gave place to the same cheerful air which had before marked his outward bearing, as he replied to him by whom he had been addressed, " Oh no, there is nothing to fear, rest assured all is safe," and then continuing on in the same direction, he walked away without waiting for a reply.

The tall figure looked after Count Felino, as if he would have followed him, but his intention changed, and with a deep drawn sigh he turned in a contrary direction, where he was soon lost in the crowd that thronged the place. The night wore on — the scene became even more gay and lively ; while the increasing numbers rendered it at each moment more difficult to move along. Helena Montara, (who had been during the evening the centre of many an admiring group, as much attracted by the sweet sound of her soft voice, as by her personal charms) became at last fatigued by the lights, and the heat of the rooms. Wishing for some relief, she found her way into the conservatory, whence a person could see the festive scene he had left behind him, while enjoying the coolness and repose of that shady place.

It was there Signora Montara met a much valued acquaintance, whom she had not seen be fore that evening, and as her eye caught sight of her, she exclaimed, " Why has Signora Litta been hiding here all the night, that I have not been able to find her before ?" " No, my dear Helena, I arrived only a short time ago, and I had not taken more than a turn or two round yonder crowded halls, when seeing this inviting nook, I desired my brother (who came with me to-night) to leave me here, instead of proceeding with him to the Countess Cagliano's. I have though promised to follow him shortly, as he is anxious to introduce me to that lady's niece, whom I have not yet seen, and to whom he is engaged to be married as you know — but how did you contrive to escape ? Bright as the scene is, they can ill spare your happy face from amongst them."

" Oh," said Signora Montara. smiling, " I found my way here easily enough, and Victor, when he had discovered me in this delightful retreat, started off to seek a friend to whom he had something to say ; after which I expect he will rejoin me, as I told him I did not wish to stay here much longer." The conversation then turned on different subjects, and as they were interested, they did not notice how quickly time was passing, until Signora Litta, hearing a clock strike the hour, started up in surprise, declaring she ought to have left some time ago. " Then let Victor take you to your carriage, for I see him coming this way, and I can wait until he returns." " Thank you, dear friend, but you wish to go away yourself — pray do not let me be the means of detaining you." " Oh, a few minutes more or less will make no difference to me," replied Helena, " we have no other engagement for to-night."

Then turning to her husband who had entered, and was addressing Signora Litta, she requested that he would conduct her friend to her carriage, as she was desirous of leaving at once. vol. i. c " Certainly, with all the pleasure in the world," replied Victor. Signora Litta then thanked her friend's husband, took his offered arm, and they left the conservatory together. Helena had been but a few moments alone in the conservatory, when her attention became at tracted by hearing a slight breathing close to her. She turned suddenly, and by her side was stand ing that tall erect figure, whom the reader will remember had addressed Count Felino during a former part of the evening. He had glided softly from an entrance at the back of the conservatory, so that Signora Montara had not at first been aware of his presence, which somewhat startled her.

Let it not be judged from this, that there was anything in his face to create alarm ; for benevolence was its most striking feature. It was the general expression, so ill according with mirth and festivity ; a something almost solemn in the dark-looking figure, and the keen black eyes appearing to shine more brightly, from their contrast with the iron grey locks that hung in profusion over the shoulders, which caused Helena to look slightly disturbed by the figure before her. The stranger first broke thc silence, his look softening as he spoke, from its former inquiring expressions, to one of deep sympathy — though with his lips, he simply asked the question, " Have I not the pleasure of speaking to Sig nora Montara ?" Surprised at hearing herself addressed by name, by a person of whom she had no recollection, Helena looked more scrutinizingly at the stranger ; and then she remembered having seen some one resembling him some years before, whom Count Felino had introduced to her as his cousin Count Ernesto.

Never meeting him any more, as he rarely ever came to Milan (for from ill health and much sorrow, that had weighed heavily upon him in his younger days, he felt unequal to its gaieties) Helena had almost forgotten having seen him. Her second glance, however, proving to her the truth of her supposition, she quickly recovered her surprise, apologized for not remembering him at first, and made some casual remark on the lively scene before them. " Yes, it looks very bright and sparkling !" replied her companion, " I almost wish it were less so." " Indeed ! why it has caused numbers to pass some very happy hours, and I am sure to your cousin it must be very gratifying, to see how well his kind efforts to entertain this vast crowd have succeeded." " Ah, I see that a life of undisturbed happiness has made Signora Montara view everything in its most cheerful light, through the mirror of her c own mind ; but I who have known much grief, and whose days are chiefly spent in a gloomy castle, with little that is enlivening in the remem brance of the past, or the prospects of the future, I see something beyond what lies yonder before us.

I remember that bright as it looks, it is not real ; that by the morrow it will all be changed, and what now seems so dazzling, will present only a faded appearance, as the morning light breaks in upon it." " Oh," exclaimed Signora Montara, with one of her soft sunny smiles, "we expect all this Count Ernesto. We know it is nothing more than a delusion got up for a few short hours ; yet surely that need not prevent our enjoying its brightness for the moment." " Yes, truly you are right ; such thoughts, I know, must give an idea of feelings that have become morbid, and unable to derive pleasure from the happiness of others. Still, do not judge me thus ; I assure you no occupation is more pleasing to me, than to watch the innocent joyous face of youth, looking like a beauteous work, new, bright and fresh from the hand of God.

But while I gaze upon those many smiling countenances there before us, a thought will come that some may cover a mind ill at ease; and others may be playing a dangerous game, where they are trem bling on the brink of a precipice." " I do not quite understand your allusions ; there must be some hidden meaning, Count Ernesto, in what you say — I trust you have no cause to fear any misfortune to yourself or others." " Yes, Signora, I have fears — time alone can shew if they be idle fancies, or too true realities* Now, take a general view of that scene, and nothing can be more gay," he continued, as he stretched out his hand in its direction. " Look at it again, more in detaiL Let the eye wander from those laughing groups, to that httle knot in the corner. Observe how grave and earnest they are, and how much their conversation appears to engage their whole attention.

From these, turn to the other side, and see if there be not others collected in the same way. Glance by that cluster of merry young girls, into whose good graces those gay cavaliers are endeavouring to ingratiate themselves ; just behind them you may see one solitary figure with a sinister expression of countenance, moving stealthily along, avoiding observation, and turning his wicked eyes in all directions. Signora Mon tara our country appears to be in peace ; the spirit of dissatisfaction, however, is smouldering, and only waits for something to be thrust against it to burst forth with fury. Yet should it do so, it will be extinguished. There is not fuel to keep it burning, and those who may hght it will be consumed with it. I had hoped to warn some of those who are hastening on to their ruin ; I have failed !

They were too confident to heed my words ! Your looks so untouched by sorrow, your amiable qualities so well known and appreciated, have made me anxious, if possible, to meet you alone to-night, that in case you had any friend likely to be concerned in the storm I dread to be rising, you might then prepare for. . . ." The speaker paused — looked earnestly at Helena, and then continued. " Yet I may be wrong — it may be avoided even now ; so should you hear nothing more of this to-morrow, think the danger past ; dismiss it from your mind, and along with it the gloomy figure who came to warn you," and with a hasty adieu, he left his listener stunned at the words he had uttered. Never had anyone been less prepared for such a communication then Helena Montara. Living in a happy home, surrounded by objects which claimed most of her time and thoughts, although she knew her countrymen to be irritated by the iron rule held over them, such a disaster as the one foretold to her so lately, had never entered her mind.