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Updated: June 21, 2025
Not far from thence is the ruin of a prison for debt, where it is said a fine trait of filial piety was displayed, which is pretty generally known. It was also in this place that Clelia and her companions, prisoners of Porsenna, crossed the Tiber in order to rejoin the Romans.
Clelia sat between locked doors and darkened windows, feeling colder to the brothers she had been reared with than to all other men upon the earth. They sent for her after a lapse of hours. Her old nurse was kneeling at their feet. Rinaldo asked for the name of her lover. She answered with it.
"Neither you nor I can do aught. He is of age to judge for himself," said Don Silverio; "but, like you, I do not think a woman is the cause of his absence." "Can you not speak to him, sir?" "I have spoken. It is useless. He is moved by a motive stronger than any argument we can use. In a word, good Clelia, this coming seizure of the water is suffering so great to him that he loses his reason.
The cousins seldom met in after-life, but preserved a tender affection for each other, which served to avert a lawsuit and rupture that threatened to grow out of a business disagreement between the two branches of the family. In 1852, Clélia came to Paris to be present at Alfred's reception by the French Academy.
Other folks have gone through it before you, an' other folks will again. It's a kind of a sickness there's goin' to be as long as the earth turns round. You've got to bear it." Her voice struck sharply, and Clelia, called momentarily out of herself, glanced at her with a sudden interest. For the first time since their intimacy, Sabrina looked her age.
I would have you read one volume of "Cleopatra," and one of "Clelia"; it will otherwise be impossible for you to form any idea of the extravagances they contain; but God keep you from ever persevering to the twelfth.
A poet, my dear, would not have gone to work for an Angelica, without giving her her Violetta, her Cleante, her Clelia, or some such pretty-named confidant an old nurse at the least. I read to my mother several passages of your letters. But your last paragraph, in your yesterday's quite charmed her. You have won her heart by it, she told me.
It's over. He got up and walked out of the room. He turned at the door. 'It's over, Clelia, says he. 'Don't you ever call me back, for I sha'n't come. And he won't. He ain't that kind." "Oh, me! oh, me!" moaned Sabrina. She, too, knew he was not that kind.
"Mother," cried Adone, "my father would not have given up his land as meekly as a sheep yields up her life." "No," said Clelia Alba; "whether he came from those war-lords of old I know not, but he would have fought as they fought." The autumn and winter passed without more being heard in the Valdedera of the new invasion.
Clelia Alba was now a woman of forty-one years old, and he, her only son, was twenty-four; they had named him Adone; the beautiful Greek Adonais having passed into the number of the saints of the Latin Church, by a transition so frequent in hagiology that its strangeness is not remembered save by a scholar here and there.
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