ested in me, as to lay a short
extract or two before the reader--not merely as matters of curiosity,
but on account of the strong evidence they afford of the struggle
between passion and a sense of right that now agitated him.

"You are," he says, "and ever will be, my first thought. But, at this
moment, I am in a state most dreadful, not knowing which way to
decide;--on the one hand, fearing that I should compromise you for ever,
by my return to Ravenna and the consequences of such a step, and, on the
other, dreading that I shall lose both you and myself, and all that I
have ever known or tasted of happiness, by never seeing you more. I pray
of you, I implore you to be comforted, and to believe that I cannot
cease to love you but with my life." [61] In another part he says, "I go
to save you, and leave a country insupportable to me without you. Your
letters to F * * and myself do wrong to my motives--but you will yet see
your injustice. It is not enough that I must leave you--from motives of
which ere long you will be convinced--it is not enough that I must fly
from Italy, with a heart deeply wounded, after having passed all my days
in solitude since your departure, sick both in body and mind--but I must
also have to endure your reproaches without answering and without
deserving them. Farewell! in that one word is comprised the death of my
happiness." [62]

He had now arranged every thing for his departure for England, and had
even fixed the day, when accounts reached him from Ravenna that the
Contessa was alarmingly ill;--her sorrow at their separation having so
much preyed upon her mind, that even her own family, fearful of the
consequences, had withdrawn all opposition to her wishes, and now, with
the sanction of Count Guiccioli himself, entreated her lover to hasten
to Ravenna. What was he, in this dilemma, to do? Already had he
announced his coming to different friends in England, and every dictate,
he felt, of prudence and manly fortitude urged his departure. While thus
balancing between duty and inclination, the day appointed for his
setting out arrived; and the following picture, from the life, of his
irresolution on the occasion, is from a letter written by a female
friend of Madame Guiccioli, who was present at the scene:--"He was ready
dressed for the journey, his gloves and cap on, and even his little cane
in his hand. Nothing was now waited for but his coming down
stairs,--his boxes being already all on b