A fresh clamour burst forth.

"Shameful subterfuge!" cried the Ghibellines; "this is a Guelph plot; the Donati are deep in it." "Insult," "treachery," "inconstancy," ran from tongue to tongue.

"The sword should teach that Guelph his duty," cried Oderigo Fifanti.

"Do you threaten?" exclaimed Buondelmonte, angrily.

"Ay, and more than threaten," replied the Uberti. "We will show you that we are not to be insulted with impunity."

Buondelmonte, darting among the Ghibellines, cried fiercely"Come forward who dares! I crouch to no man. I will not deign to justify myself now that I could do so amply."

Shame, shame, my sons," said the aged Padre, advancing between the enraged Florentines. "Respect this sacred place; profane it not with factious brawls."

"I bow to your sanctity, father," replied Buondelmonte. "Forgive me if in the distractions of this hour I have forgotten the respect due to the church."

"Let me be a peacemaker," interposed Mosca Lamberti, who now perceived the Widow Donati's scheme, and who, accordingly, was anxious to thwart her, and marry Buondelmonte to Amidea regardless of the feelings of either; "let me be a peacemaker. Buondelmonte has expressed concern for his involuntary error; what more can he do? My cousin Amidea is generous and reasonable; she will forgive him for the sake of Florence that has so earnestly desired the union. Besides, it is not for our honour that our kinswoman should return home a half-wedded bride."

"Hear me once more," said Amidea; "Florence can never ask a daughter of one of its noblest houses to trample on all womanly feeling, and become the compelled bride of any man after a scene of such public scandal. Of my own free-will I seek to dissolve my engagement with Giovanni Buondelmonte; and I wave every claim upon him in favour of Imma Donati. I forgive him the occurrences of this day, and I entreat my countrymen, as a boon to my wounded feelings, to forgive him also."

Buondelmonte sunk on his knee before her. "Noble, generous Amidea! what atonement can I offer?"

"I require none," she replied. "Leave me, I pray you, to return home in peace."

He took her reluctant hand and pressed it to his lips. She passed on surrounded by her kinsmen; and Buondelmonte, obeying a signal from Carlo Donati, followed him into the sacristy, leaving the body of the church still filled with confusion; all the Ghibellines exclaimed against Buondelmonte, some of the Guelphs endeavouring to exculpate him, and others censuring him without

reserve.

At length the discussion warmed into a regular political quarrel,

and the factious hate of Guelph and Ghibelline blazed out in full fury before the efforts of Padre Severino and the attendant clergy could induce the disputants to leave the church. At the gate they mounted their horses and galloped off in different directions to spread discord through the city.

Great was the amazement of the populace, instead of seeing an orderly procession returning in peace and happiness, to behold disorderly groups of rapid riders, scattered retainers, banners hurried off here and there, ladies without an escorting cavalier, the bridegroom nowhere to be discovered, and the great banner still folded round its staff on the top of the church.

Buondelmonte, in the meanwhile, was in the sacristy, hanging over the now recovered Imma, and surrounded by the Widow, Carlo, and a few others of the Donati.

"Imma," cried he, as he clasped her hand, "Imma, you are mine! mine at last! bought with public confusion, public blame. But oh! not too dearly bought; no price is too high to pay for you."

"But your contract?" she murmured.

"It is broken; I am free as air. Amidea has rejected me; she has given me full liberty to offer you my hand.”

"And the Amidei ?" said Imma, in a low voice.

"What of them? the Buondelmonti and the Donati overmatch them."

"But Florence?" persisted Imma to her lover.

you.

"All Florence cannot unite the Buondelmonti and the Amidei after what has passed. Forgive me, dearest, if I regret that a violent scene has been the means of leaving me free for I would not willingly affront the noble Amidea; I knew not what I did. Ah! how much would you have saved us all had you but accepted me when first I entreated you to do so. I could then have obtained my freedom from Amidea with some show of decency."

The Widow looked aghast. "What means this? Did he offer himself to you before?"

Imma was silent, but Buondelmonte explained. The Widow was angry and agitated.

"Infatuated girl! with your convent notions of romance and generosity! What have you done? Brought about a crisis of public disorder, which might have been avoided had you dutifully confided in your mother. You deserve that I should betroth you to Mosca Lamberti, to keep the peace by a mixed marriage." "Oh, mother!" cried the shrinking Imma.

"Fear nothing, Imma," said her lover; "I have won my prize too hardly to surrender it but with life."

And Imma, terrified at the idea of Mosca, no longer hesitated; but gave her hand to Buondelmonte with a look that compensated

him for all the agitations of the day. They both rose, and standing before the few witnesses present, they plighted their faith to each other; and Buondelmonte placed on Imma's finger the ring that had been intended for Amidea's. Imma trembled as she looked at it, and whispered to her lover

"Ah! I fear the tears I have wrung from Amidea will be repaid tenfold in my own."

"Rather," said Buondelmonte, "shall it be in drops of blood from my heart."

And both spoke prophetically.

They left the church. Imma and her mother entered their litter, and Buondelmonte, mounted on his splendid white horse, rode beside them to the Palazzo Donati. By this time the populace had learned the occurrence in the church, and all were greatly incensed at the insult offered to a highly-esteemed lady. As soon as Buondelmonte appeared in the street, he was assailed by a general shout of execration, which was agony to the ears of Imma, who deeply reproached herself as the cause; and it sounded very disagreeably to the Widow, who would have prided herself on the popularity of her son-in-law. The party hurried on amid hootings and revilings, and filled with painful feelings, the first-fruits of La Donati's unprincipled schemes.

That morning had hours of deep emotion for one without Florence for Brunetto. He felt an uncontrollable interest in the fate of Amidea, for which he accounted to his comrades as caused by her having been so nearly connected with Florestan, his unhappy friend. He wandered away from Valdo and Antonio, and ascended a rising ground whence he could distinguish the church in which he knew the marriage was to take place, and he sat down to indulge his thoughts.

"So all is over, and she who was once pledged to Florestan is now the bride of Buondelmonte." He sunk his head upon his hand, and his mind became filled with images of Florestan and Amidea, as they were when at Arezzo, and his ears seemed to ring with lovers' vows. Then passed rapidly before him the accusation and trial of Florestan, the anguish of the prisoner when pronounced guilty; then thoughts of wandering, of privations, of degradation, of deep regret, of hopeless love, and the noise and carnage of the battle of Bouvines, the closing scene of Florestan's "Con

career.

"I cannot accuse her of broken vows," he murmured. stancy to the degraded would have been weakness; resistance to the wish of her country, rebellion. And perhaps she has had a painful struggle, and only yielded to the will of her kinsmen as a positive duty. Poor Amidea! But I wish it may not be so. No! may she be happy, and may no thought of Florestan cross her mind this day. But I marvel I do not hear the shouts of the 2 F

August, 1845.-VOL. XLIII.—NO, CLXXII.

people, nor the joyful trumpet-blast; perhaps it is not yet over. But it is late, and I do not see any object like the waving banner. Can anything have occurred to prevent the marriage?" He found suspense becoming insupportable, and seeking his comrades proposed to them to enter Florence.

They found the city in commotion. Groups of the lower classes were collected at the corners of the streets and on the bridges; mounted retainers were galloping from palace to palace; persons were hastily entering the court-yards; moving figures seen glancing by the windows within showed that members of the different factions and families were assembling. They listened to the conversation of the different crowds, and found that party rage had broken out to a great extent. They saw that party symbols were now universally assumed, but they remarked with pleasure that the Ghibelline badge was the most generally worn; for an insult to a lady by a Guelph had determined all the hitherto neutral Florentines to the Ghibelline side, and had converted some wavering Guelphs. By listening to the conversation of the most respectable groups, and by Valdo asking some leading and connecting questions, the Glee-singers learned the transactions of that interesting day.

The three comrades then hastened to a retired quarter of the city to debate upon the advantage they might take of the recent events, and to arrange a song for the occasion. Brunetto was so deeply agitated, that he devolved the task of composition upon Valdo, who hastily improvised a few stanzas, and adapted them to a familiar air, while Brunetto remained absorbed in thoughts of deeper interest to his own feelings.

When Valdo prepared to teach Antonio his part, the former became greatly perplexed between his previous habits of considering the young mourner as a rational being, and the lately conceived idea of his insanity.

“ Now, Antonio, observe the next line; prehend me, my poor lad? San Pietro! looks."

but can you comhow abstracted he

"Good Valdo," replied the boy, smiling sadly," when have you found me deficient in comprehension?

"True, boy, true. But thou dost talk so wildly at times." "But really I am not mad; I speak truth, not ravings." "Ay," thought Valdo, "so say all maniacs; but I must not cross him. Well, my pretty bird, warble to me, and let me hear if you are perfect."

Antonio, again faintly smiling, repeated what Valdo wished, and the bass-singer muttered to himself" I know not what to make of the lad—so clear in memory and comprehension, so wild in his words. Come, Brunetto, we are ready."

Brunetto, starting as from a dream, went with them into the

populous parts of the city, but was only able to give a slight accompaniment to the following

SONG.

Love weeps to see the ruin wrought
By him whom honour could not bind;
Who rent the ties by Hymen brought,
And cast them to the reckless wind.

Love weeps to see the ruin-now
His torch extinguish'd burns no more;
All broken lie his darts and bow;
Alas! the power of love is o'er.
The blushing rose, affection's flower,
The tender myrtle, both are dead;
To fragments crush'd in evil hour-
Alas! the sweets of love are fled.

Guelphs! hear the tale, and blush for shame!
And you, ye gallant Ghibellines,

Rejoice that your unsullied fame

Still bright in love and honour shines.

CHAPTER XX.

Such welcome and unwelcome things at once
'Tis hard to reconcile.

Macbeth.

Amidea on her return home had requested to be left in peace, and retired immediately to her own apartment, where she gave vent to that variety of contending feelings which she had successfully combatted in the church. Her desire of solitude was respected by her friends; till towards evening the Padre Severino went to visit her, and offer her consolation.

66

As soon as she saw him enter she burst into a passion of weeping. The Padre knew that tears were a relief to the burdened heart, and remembering the Italian proverb,* “ Picciola pioggia fa cessar gran vento," he suffered her to weep unrestrained, only occasionally uttering a word of sympathy. At length she recovered her voice, and sobbed

"Twice-twice-"

"What means twice, my daughter?" inquired the old man. "Twice deceived, twice betrayed, twice abandoned," she replied. "First by Florestan, now by Buondelmonte."

"Your fate may seem peculiarly unfortunate," said the Padre, "but we cannot comprehend past, present, and future at one glance: we cannot penetrate to the bottom of every event the moment it occurs. That which we term unfortunate may prove

A little rain lulls a high wind.