At Paestum we found the abundance and luxuriance of Sicilian landscape; its Grecian temples and its poverty.  We were surrounded by crowds of half-naked beggars.  One young girl there was, a little away from the others, scarcely more than eleven years old, but lovely as the goddess of beauty.  Modesty, soul, and a deep expression of suffering were expressed in her countenance.  She was blind!  I gave her a scudo.  Her cheeks burned.  She kissed my hand; and the touch seemed to go through my blood.  The guide told us afterwards that her name was Lara, and that she generally sat in the Temple of Neptune.

The ruined temple made a mighty impression upon us; I was requested to improvise in these romantic surroundings.  Deeply moved by my thoughts of the blind girl, I sang of the glories of Nature and art, and of the poor maiden from whom all this magnificence was concealed.  When we left the temple, I lagged behind, and, looking around, I saw Lara on her knees, her hands clasped together.  She had heard my song!  It smote me to the soul.  I saw her pressing my scudo to her lips and smile; I grew quite warm at the sight of it, and pressed a hot kiss upon her forehead.  With a thrilling cry she sprang up like a terrified deer, and was gone.  I felt as if I had committed a sin, and sadly joined my party.

Amalfi, Capri—­I drank the intoxicating beauty of it all.  Then I was prevailed upon to return to Rome with Fabiani and Francesca.  We spent a day at Naples, where I found two letters waiting for me.  The first was a brief note to this effect:  “A faithful heart, which intends honourably and kindly towards you, expects you this evening.”  It gave an address, but no name—­merely “Your old friend.”  The second was from the same hand, and read:  “Come, Antonio!  The terror of the last unfortunate moment of our parting is now well over.  Come quickly!  Delay not a moment in coming!” The letters were obviously from Santa.

My mind was made up not to see her again.  We left for Rome....

The Palazzo Borghese was now my home.  Eccellenza received me with the greatest kindness, but all the family continued to use the old teaching tone and depreciating mode of treatment.  Thus six years went by; but somehow my protectors did not realise that I was no longer a boy, and my dependence gave them the right to make them let me feel the bitterness of my position.  Even my talent as poet and improvisatore was by no means taken seriously at the palace.

Happiness was brought into my life once more by Flaminia, “the little abbess,” who came home to have her last glimpse of the world before taking the veil.  She had grown tall and pale of complexion, with an expression of wonderful gentleness in her features.  She recalled our early friendship, when she used to sit on my knee and make me draw pictures for her and tell her stories.  From her, at any rate, I suffered no humiliation, and from day to day our friendship grew closer.  I told her about