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would not favour any one of them in particular; but, confining himself to admitting them to the concerts and balls which he frequently gave, this good parent allowed Rosalba to remain absolute mistress of her choice.

Rosalba was long undecided. She was naturally tender, lively, impassioned like a Sicilian; but she was only sixteen, and her heart, which already began to speak, had not yet declared itself for any one. Her eyes, however, had singled out the young Duke of Castellamare. A tall and graceful stature, a handsome figure, wit, valour, a great name, and the age of nineteen, gave the duke the advantage over rivals wiser than himself. Deprived of his parents when he was in the cradle, the liberty which he had prematurely enjoyed might serve as an apology for the deviations of impetuous youth. Besides, those deviations were not known, and the Count de Scanzano, who at first had disliked to see him seeking the hand of Rosalba, no sooner heard that he was preferred, than he himself preferred him. He first spoke of the duke; he bestowed on him a warm panegyric; and on this occasion, as he had long been accustomed to do, he gave his daughter such advice as he perceived would be most pleasing for her to follow.

The marriage was soon concluded. The Count de Scanzano celebrated it by magnificent entertainments. The young duchess was introduced at the court of the viceroy, of which she became the fairest ornament.— Nothing was talked of but her charms; and the duke was universally envied. The blissful Rosalba gave herself up to the pleasures of every kind which employed and varied all her moments. Young, beautiful, rich, adored, she saw before her a long career of felicity. Her husband lived but to love her; and her old father, transported with joy, loudly returned thanks to heaven, embraced his son-in-law, gazed on his daughter, and congratulated himself on the certainty of his quitting existence before any event could occur to disturb the happiness which he felt.

Six months after the marriage, that happiness no longer existed. The duke, led astray by his dangerous friends, the corrupters of his youth, once more gave

himself up to those lamentable pleasures which he had quitted, but not renounced. He abandoned his wife, for the sake of worthless rivals. At first he carefully concealed the outrages which he offered to love; but soon, throwing off all restraint, he lavished his treasures on the vile objects of his transient flames; he himself made public his excesses, and seemed to be vain of the trouble which he took to procure his own degradation.

The unfortunate Rosalba had no need of information from those officious persons who take a pleasure in lacerating the hearts of deserted wives. She loved the duke, and perceived the change as soon as he himself did. Repressing her tears in silence, and hiding her grief from every eye, she was particularly solicitous to conceal it from her father, and to spare the tender old man a sorrow which would have sunk him to the tomb. Feigning before him that she was happy, and smiling when the tears were stifling her, she framed excuses for the frequent absences of the duke, whenever the count complained of them; assigned motives for them; and invented pretexts to account for her own profound solitude, and for the state of her health, which was every day declining. This good father did not believe her, but he pretended to believe; he hid from her bis alarms, his disquietude, and both of them, fearing to disclose what passed in their minds, were induced, by the delicacy of their feelings, to deceive each other.

Rosalba had but one friend, to whom she confided her secrets. This friend, who was named Laura, was her most faithful domestic. Better informed than her mistress of the libertinism of the young duke, and despairing ever to see him return to his wife, Laura had often endeavoured to extinguish, or at least to weaken, the fondness of the duchess. She had exhorted her to live at last for herself, for her father, for friendship. Rosalba could not follow this advice. The want which she felt of loving, the delicious pleasure of being able to reconcile her duty and her inclination, the involuntary gratitude which an innocent young female feels towards the man who first taught her to love; all conspired to inflame the heart of Rosalba, all rendered dear to her a guilty husband. She attributed to herself the cause of her misfortune; she reproached herself with

having believed that always to love would be sufficient to make her always sure of being loved; and likewise with having, since her marriage, neglected those talents of which she was little vain, but which seduce, captivate, and often retain more strongly than constancy, the lover whose pride they gratify. Rosalba now dressed more elegantly; she found the secret of appearing more lovely; she returned to her harp and her songs, and drew tears from the eyes of her father, by singing the beautiful verses of Tasso, in which Rinaldo is recalled by Armida. Her efforts were fruitless: her sweetness of temper, her patience, her tender attentions, had no effect upon her husband. Yielding himself up to the most shameful profligacy, passing the days and nights far from his home, far from the duchess, scarcely did he see her for a few moments, scarcely did he hear, from others, to what a height of perfection she had brought those enchanting talents which she cultivated for him alone.

At length, driven to despair, Rosalba prayed for death, and Laura began to fear that grief would indeed put an end to her existence. "My dear mistress," said she to her one day, "since it is not in your power to cure yourself of a fatal passion, which is sinking you to the grave; since, to bring back an ingrate, you have exhausted the strongest and the tenderest means that love and virtue can employ, other means must be used, rather than you shall be suffered to perish. I know an old Jewess, who has lived at Palermo for these two years, who is celebrated for her magical skill, and particularly for the love-potions which she makes. Our pretended free-thinkers make game of the wonders which she performs, and refuse to put any faith in them; but for my part, thank heaven! I believe every thing, and I cannot doubt what I have seen with my own eyes. You remember the young Elizabeth who came last winter to shew you some gauzes, and in whom you seemed to take an interest. She was no less prudent than handsome. She resided with my sister, who has a thousand times told me that she was an example to all the neighbourhood. A young nobleman saw her at church, and had the boldness to talk to her of love. Elizabeth would not listen to him; she sent back his

letters unopened, and avoided coming in his way. The rejected lover hastened to beg the assistance of the old Jewess, informed her of his attachment, and made her a large present. The sorceress gave him a small green taper, which she told him to light whenever he was desirous of seeing the object of his affections. Whether he lighted the candle that very evening I cannot say, but I know that, since that time, Elizabeth goes every night alone to her lover, and does not leave him till break of day. My sister, having ascertained this fact, was beginning to reproach her, but the poor Elizabeth disarmed her, by telling her that as soon as she is asleep, she gets up, dresses herself by some supernatural power, quits the house without wishing to do so, and, in spite of herself, seeks the young nobleman, for whom she has not the least affection. 'There,' says she, 'is a green taper which burns without being cousumed, and which goes out with a noise as soon as the day appears. Then I recover my reason, I seem to wake from a terrible dream, and I return to my home, bathed in tears.'

"By this story, my dear mistress, which is but too true, you may form an idea how powerful are the enchantments of this Jewess. Why not consult her? If you do not wish to be known, dress in my clothes; if you are afraid of going to her, I will undertake to bring her here."

The duchess heard Laura with a melancholy smile. She rejected her offer, unwilling to apply to a remedy which her understanding and her reason represented to her as being completely ridiculous. But understanding and reason have no great influence when we love, and nothing appears foolish which seems likely to assist in rendering us attractive. Rosalba meditated upon the Jewess. Her imagination, naturally ardent, was still more enflamed by love. Credulous, because she was tender, she paid to the customs of her country that tribute of superstition which every Sicilian owes to them; she was now utterly hopeless; and Laura every day related to her some new miracle which had been performed by the sorceress. Rosalba at length made up her mind, and gave permission to Laura to go in search of the Jewess,

The old woman did not come till night. She was privately introduced into a secret apartment, which was scantily lighted. The duchess immediately entered, accompanied only by Laura. She was ready to recoil with terror, at the sight of a short figure, bending on a black thorn stick, and dressed in a red gown, which was confined by a yellow girdle. On the head of the sorceress, which kept perpetually shaking, an old hood, drawn forward, scarcely concealed a few grey hairs. A pointed bone, covered with dry skin, which formerly was her nose, nearly joined a similar bone which still served as a chin. Her keen though bloodshot eyes were surmounted by eye-brows of straggling white hairs, and two wrinkled cavities marked the spots which were once her cheeks.

The duchess, having a little recovered from her fright, desired the old sorceress to be seated, and, wishing to disguise nothing from her, "I adore my husband," said she, and at these words tears dropped from her eyes; "I have been beloved by him; yes, I am sure he loved me! Now, he quits me, for vile objects who are unworthy of him. If you can bring him back; if you can restore him to me, such as he was in the days of my bliss, my purse, my jewels, all that I possess, shall be your's.

The sorceress bent her head, knitted her white eye. brows, and rubbed her forehead with her withered hand. After a moment's silence, "Madam," said she, in a hoarse voice, "I have philtres of which the effect is infallible in bringing back wandering lovers; but I know of none strong enough for husbands. I was, however, applied to, last winter, by a young princess, who was in the same situation with yourself. Her husband was enamoured of a Roman singer, who was ordinary enough in person, and declining in years. I tried two magical potions in vain. Astonished at my bad success, I began to suspect that the singer herself dealt in magic, and that she counteracted my charms hy others, which destroyed their effect. Piqued, then, by that spirit of rivalship which is the inspirer of talent, I contrived to procure admission into the house of the singer. I ascended to the garret; it was secured with three locks; you may judge that I had no need

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