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During one of their walks a poor cot in the foldings of a
vale attracted their notice as being singularly disconsolate, while the
number of half-clothed children gathered about it spoke of penury in
its worst shape. One day, when my father had gone by himself to Milan,
my mother, accompanied by me, visited this abode. She found a peasant
and his wife, hard working, bent down by care and labour, distributing
a scanty meal to five hungry babes. Among these there was one which
attracted my mother far above all the rest. She appeared of a
different stock. The four others were dark-eyed, hardy little
vagrants; this child was thin and very fair. Her hair was the
brightest living gold, and despite the poverty of her clothing, seemed
to set a crown of distinction on her head. Her brow was clear and
ample, her blue eyes cloudless, and her lips and the moulding of her
face so expressive of sensibility and sweetness that none could behold
her without looking on her as of a distinct species, a being
heaven-sent, and bearing a celestial stamp in all her features. The
peasant woman, perceiving that my mother fixed eyes of wonder and
admiration on this lovely girl, eagerly communicated her history. She
was not her child, but the daughter of a Milanese nobleman. Her mother
was a German and had died on giving her birth. The infant had been
placed with these good people to nurse: they were better off then.
They had not been long married, and their eldest child was but just
born. The father of their charge was one of those Italians nursed in
the memory of the antique glory of Italy--one among the schiavi ognor
frementi, who exerted himself to obtain the liberty of his country. He
became the victim of its weakness. Whether he had died or still
lingered in the dungeons of Austria was not known. His property was
confiscated; his child became an orphan and a beggar. She continued
with her foster parents and bloomed in their rude abode, fairer than a
garden rose among dark-leaved brambles. When my father returned from
Milan, he found playing with me in the hall of our villa a child fairer
than pictured cherub--a creature who seemed to shed radiance from her
looks and whose form and motions were lighter than the chamois of the
hills. The apparition was soon explained. With his permission my
mother prevailed on her rustic guardians to yield their charge to her.
They were fond of the sweet orphan. Her presence had seemed a blessing
to them, but it would be unfair to her to keep her in poverty and want
when Providence afforded her such powerful protection. They consulted
their village priest, and the result was that Elizabeth Lavenza became
the inmate of my parents' house--my more than sister--the beautiful and
adored companion of all my occupations and my pleasures.

Everyone loved Elizabeth. The passionate and almost reverential
attachment with which all regarded her became, while I shared it, my

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