place in this prosaic nineteenth century. We have done with those romantic episodes in which the heroes and heroines of Boccaccio, Le Sage and M. Dumas père take part, and

ici, yet, as the past can never become the present, the whole affair was a manifest anachronism. I was inclined to think that I had been the sport of some Ital

d fiction began. Evidently I had sat down upon the stone bench where I was discovered by the peasants, and had there fallen asleep to undergo this extravagant adventure in a vision of the night. In sleep I had dreamed a dream after th

a Vittoria Emanuele at daybreak? The visionary pursuit of the lady of the sepulchre had been a long one, and I certainly could not have walked back such a distance to the Piazza without knowing something about it. But memory ceased at my

they had really occurred or whether I had been the victim of a grotesque nightmare. I had received a letter from the Maestro Angello, saying he could not give me

ality of my adventure. With this idea in my head, I made up my mind to go to the old graveyard and discover, if possible, who was buried in the tomb from which the ghoul had emerged. By finding out the name I might possibly ascertain that of the lady, as there must certainly ha

ble a vile patois which no Englishman can understand without constant practice, and my acquaintance with the modern Latin tongue was not sufficient to warrant my indulging in liberties with it; the other reason was that Peppino

I found Peppino grinning like a small black mo

ting tone, seeing how I leaned on

ell yesterday and hurt myself, so you s

, mounting the box, "the ill of one is

ry near the Po

the old on

ld cem

-seat, and the fiacre made a good deal of noise going over the rugged stone pavement, in addition to the incessant jingling of the bells, I could not questio

lace came into my head. I could not possibly have dreamed that, and I could not possibly have composed the air, so I concluded that I had really heard the song, and, having an excellent musical ear, it had impressed

he Piazza Vittoria Emanuele? It was no use puzzling my brains any more over this mysterious affair, so the wisest plan would be to wait until I found out the name on the tomb, an

ven rapidly along the left bank of the Adige, past the Campo Marzo. We speedily arrived at the old b

one, "tie your horse up somewhere

himself with superstitious reverence.

oward; besides, I wish you

, leading his horse to the wall and fastening him to a heavy stone; "the sta

last person bu

e, last year an illustrious was buried

vault built in su

Trezza. All the signori of his famil

the Rep

es, and

e name of t

ow, Signore

ow so much about one tomb, you will p

me, Ill

e difficulty, and the help of Peppino, I managed to climb over the broken wall, and soon found myself in my old hiding-place. Peppino looked at me with considerable curiosity, as he coul

itecture, and the stern-faced angel guarding the iron door. Advancing through the long grass which grew all round it,

faltering voice, "do n

no. They have all departed," I r

of that, Illustrious.

hat their ghosts must have grown

e ghost of the mad Co

curiosity, "is this the

Illust

Peppino? What

e interest I took in this sepulchre; still, seeing I was in earnes

o, who forgot the mother who bore him; but th

sitting down on a stone near the iron door. "I

elf, went to look for the name, and in a wonderfully short

tomb is that o

Mor

mily of Verona, as great as the cur

o died last year, w

f them. No father, no brother, no ch

thinking of the woman who

t when he died she left Verona for

ly person who would have been able to enter the tomb; although why she did so, unless it was to pray beside the corpse of her late husband, I could not understan

Countess an attach

shrugged h

nte was certainly mad. I saw him at times, and he had the evil

eppino? Have you eve

, that madman. He was old and the Signora was young. Per Ba

his death, would certainly not have taken the trouble to pray at his tomb. No! the unknown lady could not possibly have been the Contessa. Who, then was this mysterious visita

Palazzo Moro

change

w of the Palazzo

re is on

trious! It

ed! No

ere for the last two hundred years. It is shut up for

omb--th

pray you, or the illustrious

to smile at this absurdity, lest I shoul

ll me all about th

Signore, I

e back to th

d, when I was once more in the fi

; "the ghosts can't hear us here,

f on the step of the carriage, began his story. His Italian, as I have said before, was very g

e Visconti. They were Podestas of the city before the Della Scala, and several of them were great Cardinals. One would have been his Holiness himself, but the Borgia asked him to supper and

was an illegitimate desce

orone, and a pleasant life she led him, for she loved all other men but him. Cospetto! he would have strangled her, but he was afrai

ill?" I said, thinking of

t is haunted by the ghos

was

it is true, Illustrious. She found out by her spies that the Marchese loved another, so she asked him to a last feas

her last lover?

ching at the door, and when she had kil

ed her, I

ut of that room again. The friends of the poor Tisi

at becam

in and said nothing, but after that last feast his fi

ino, but it does not explai

o, haunt the palace, and in the Month of May, when the crime was committed, the lovers hold a feast in that secret room while the husband watches at th

ng the very same I had beheld--the terrible Renata, the

s any one ever beheld

re so afraid of the ghosts, that they left altogethe

al banquet seems all imagi

in May and saw the feast through the door, but just as the poisoned cup

id the gho

ed on the Madonna, on which the ghosts all vanished with loud c

zza Vittori

ing on the floor

and that of the Frate should be so similar. It was broad day, I had overcome my superstitious fancies, yet the whole affair was

t is the tr

no doubt the feast takes place every night. You will show me

no in alarm; "the Frate himself, a holy priest, was

atanic Majesty. You are complimentary, Peppino. Ne

rious must

me for this fe

e Signor

lazzo Morone to-morrow; and now drive back to my hotel, as I feel

believe me?" said Peppino

eve your ghostly party can be e