excursions, he learned by the letter of a
friend that the object of his first love had proved unfaithful, and been
united in marriage to another. This event, though it had no connexion
whatever with his former cause of uneasiness, threw a new gloom over his
imagination, in the midst of which the figure of Lucifer, dilating, like
an image in the mists of the desert, to superhuman dimensions, stood up
to scare and torment him afresh.

The unhappy young man, wounded in his feelings, and haunted by the
shadow of his own idea, now fled to Beatrice for relief; and her tone
of thinking, which had in it something of the Stoic cast, united with
a manner at once playful and dignified, delighted him exceedingly. They
conversed together on many occasions for whole hours; and the trains of
thought which at such times swept like glorious pageants through his
mind, followed too rapidly to allow of the existence of melancholy.
Sometimes, indeed, Spinello would observe that when he gazed in rapture,
rather than in passion, upon the face of Beatrice, a certain something,
like a ray of light, or a spark of fire fallen upon an altar, would
penetrate his soul, and kindle a sudden and fierce pain; but it usually
passed quickly away, and was forgotten. By degrees, however, its
recurrence became more frequent, and the pain it inflicted more intense;
and consequently there soon mingled a considerable portion of uneasiness
in his intercourse with his fair and beautiful friend.

At length the picture was completed, and placed in the church of St.
Angelo, above the altar; and Spinello felt relieved, as if the weight of
the whole universe had been removed from his spirit. He now chatted with
Bernardo, or with his pupil, and the other young artists of Arezzo; or
enjoyed the passionate and almost solemn converse of Beatrice, who from
a lively, laughing girl, had now been transformed, by some hidden
process of nature, into a lofty-minded, commanding woman.

His constant and almost devotional application to his great picture
had considerably shattered his nerves, and he felt his natural
susceptibility so much increased, that, although it was now summer, the
horrible idea which had so long haunted him soon returned; and a cloud
spread itself over his imagination, which all the hurricanes that vex
the ocean could not have blown away. To dissipate this unaccountable
sadness, he wandered forth alone, or with Beatrice, over the sunny
fields; but he felt,