The Heir of Mondolfo [pp. 12-23]

APPLETOVNS' JOURNAL.
THE HEIR OF MONIDOLFO.
BY MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT SHELLEY,'
AUTHOR OF " FRANKENSTEIN," ETC.
N the beautiful and wild country near Sorrento, in
the kingdom of Naples, at the time it was governed by monarchs of the house of Anjou, there
lived a territorial noble, whose wealth and power
overbalanced that of the neighboring nobles. His
castle, itself a stronghold, was built on a rocky eminence, toppling over the blue and lovely Mediterranean. The hills around were covered with ilexforests, or subdued to the culture of the olive and
vine. Under the sun no spot could be found more
favored by Nature.
If at eventide you had passed on the placid wave
beneath the castellated rock that bore the name of
Mondolfo, you would have imagined that all happiness and bliss must reside within its walls, which,
thus nestled in beauty, overlooked a scene of such
surpassing loveliness; yet if by chance you saw its
lord issue from the portal, you shrunk from his frowning brow, you wondered what could impress on his
worn cheek the combat of passions. More piteous
sight was it to behold his gentle lady, who, the slave
of his unbridled temper, the patient sufferer of many
wrongs, seemed on the point of entering upon that
only repose "where the wicked cease from troubling
and the weary are at rest." The Prince Mondolfo
had been united early in life to a princess of the regal family of Sicily. She died in giving birth to a
son. Many years subsequently, after a journey to the
northern Italian states, he returned to his castle, married. The speech of his bride declared her to be a
Florentine. The current tale was that he married
her for love, and then hated her as the hinderance
of his ambitious views. She bore all for the sake
of her only child-a child born to its father's hate;
a boy of gallant spirit, brave even to wildness. As
he grewv up, he saw with anger the treatment his
mother received from the haughty prince. He dared
come forward as her defender; he dared oppose his
boyish courage to his father's rage: the result was
natural-he became the object of his father's dislike.
Indignity was heaped on him; the vassals were
taught to disobey him, the menials to scorn him,
his very brother to despise him as of inferior blood
and birth. Yet the blood of Mondolfo was his; and,
though tempered by the gentle Isabel's more kindly
tide, it boiled at the injustice to which he was a
victim. A thousand times he poured forth the overflowings of his injured spirit in eloquent complaints
to his mother. As her health decayed, he nurtured
the project, in case of her death, of flying his paternal castle, and becoming a wanderer, a soldier of
1 This posthumous story by Mrs. Shelley has not before appeared in print. It was found among the unpublished papers
of Leigh Hunt, and is authenticated by S. R. Townshend Mayer, Esq., editor of Sit. ames's Magazine, London. —ED. JOURNAL.
fortune. He was now thirteen. The Lady Isabel
soon, with a mother's penetration, discovered his secret, and on her death-bed made him swear not to
quit his father's protection until he should have attained the age of twenty. Her heart bled for the
wretchedness that she foresaw would be his lot; but
she looked forward with still greater horror to the
picture her active fancy drew of her son at an early
age wandering forth in despair, alone and helpless,
suffering all the extremities of famine and wretchedness; or, almost worse, yielding to the temptations
that in such a situation would be held out to him.
She extracted this vow, and died satisfied that he
would keep it. Of all the world, she alone knew
the worth of her Ludovico-had penetrated beneath
the rough surface, and become acquainted with the
rich store of virtue and affectionate feeling that lay
like unsunned ore in his sensitive heart.
Fernando hated his son. From his earliest boyhood he had felt the sentiment of aversion, which,
far from endeavoring to quell, he allowed to take deep
root, until Ludovico's most innocent action became
a crime, and a system of denial and resistance was
introduced that called forth all of sinister that there
was in the youth's character, and engendered an active spirit of detestation in his father's mind. Thus
Ludovico grew, hated and hating. Brought together through their common situation, the father and
son, lord and vassal, oppressor and oppressed, the
one was continually ready to exert his power of inflicting evil, the other perpetually on the alert to resist even the shadow of tyranny. After the death
of his mother, Ludovico's character greatly changed.
The smile that, as the sun, had then often irradiated
his countenance, now never shone; suspicion, irritability, and dogged resolution, seemed his masterfeelings. He dared his father to the worst, endured
that worst, and, prevented from flying by his sacred
observance of his vow, nurtured all angry and even
revengeful feelings till the cup of wrath seemed
ready to overflow. He was loved by none, and loving none his good qualities expired, or slept as if
they would never more awaken.
His father had intended him for the Church; and
Ludovico, until he was sixteen, wore the priestly
garb. That period past, he cast it aside, and appeared habited as a cavalier of those days, and in
short words told his parent that he refused to comply with his wishes; that he should dedicate himself
to arms and enterprise. All that followed this declaration-menace, imprisonment, and even ignominy
-he bore, but he continued firm; and the haughty
Fernando was obliged to submit his towering will to
the firmer will of a stripling. And now, for the
first time, while rage seemed to burst his heart, he
felt to its highest degree the sentiment of hatred;
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