ity to mystical dreaming. A book then fell into my hands, the
effect of which, on my whole being, seemed perfectly inexplicable, even
to myself. I mean that strange story of Cazotte's, which is known in a
German translation as 'Teufel Amor' (The Devil Love). My natural
bashfulness, nay, a kind of childish timidity, had kept me from the
society of ladies, while the particular direction of my mind resisted
every ebullition of rude passion. Now, for the first time, was a
sensual tendency revealed in me which I had never suspected. My pulse
beat high, a consuming fire coursed through nerves and veins, as I went
through those scenes of the most dangerous, nay, most horrible love,
which the poet had described in the most glowing colours. I saw, I
heard, I was sensible to nothing but the charming Biondetta. I sank
under the pleasing torments, like Alvarez----"

"Stop, stop!" interrupted Albert, "I have no very clear remembrance of
Cazotte's 'Diable Amoureux;' but, so far as I recollect, the whole
story turns upon the circumstance that a young officer of the guards,
in the service of the King of Naples, is tempted by a mystical comrade
to raise the devil in the ruins of Portici. When he has uttered the
formula of exorcism, a hideous camel's head, with a long neck, thrust
itself towards him out of a window, and cries, in a horrible voice,
'Che vuoi.' Alvarez--so is the young officer named--commands the
spectre to appear in the shape of a spaniel, and then in that of a
page. This happens; but the page soon becomes a most charming, amorous
girl, and completely entangles the enchanter. How Cazotte's pretty
story concludes has quite escaped me."

"That is at present quite immaterial," said Victor; "but you will
perhaps be reminded of it by the conclusion to my story. Attribute it
to my propensity to the wonderful, and also to something mysterious
which I experienced, that Cazotte's tale soon appeared to me a magic
mirror, in which I could discern my own fate. Was not O'Malley to me
that mystical Dutchman who decoyed Alvarez by his arts?

"The desire which glowed in my heart, of achieving the terrible
adventure of Alvarez, filled me with horror; but even this horror made
me tremble with unspeakable delight, such as I had never before known.
Often did a wish arise within me, that O'Malley would return and place
in my arms the hell-birth, to which my entire self was abandoned, and I
could not kill the sinful hope and dee