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Monaldi: A Tale
Primarily a painter, this tale is Allston's only work of fiction. It was published in August 1841, "not with the pretension of a Novel," as Allston says in the Introductory Note, "but simply as a Tale." The story was written in 1822 for THE IDLE MAN, Richard Henry Dana's short-lived periodical which, after a few issues, creased publication before Allston's tale could be published. "It is a story of jealousy, envy, and revenge, after the manner of Mrs. Radcliffe, whom Allston especially admired." - DAB.
"A Gothic novel of passion, jealousy, revenge, deceit, erotic villainy, insanity, and betrayal, MONALDI also offers psychological profundity in its probing of the hazards of the imaginative life and the artistic self's vulnerability to his own repressed forces. The painter-hero Monaldi is deceived by his villainous friend, Maldura, when both men fall in love with Rosalia Landi. Maldura plots to drive Monaldi mad with the delusion of Rosalia's seduction. Monaldi stabs his beloved but she recovers and attempts to reveal Maldura's plot. Now insane, Monaldi believes that Rosalia has returned from death to torment him, but this delusion leads to his creation of a painting of ghastly beauty, his masterpiece. In Allston's Gothic fable, the imagination becomes a demon far more appalling than any external ghost." - Barron (ed), Fantasy and Horror (1999) 1-7.
"... an Italianate romance full of fatal Gothic passions operating in a lurid atmosphere of revenge and erotic villainy." - Tymn, Horror Literature 2-4.
"Alliston's Gothic novel of passion, jealousy, insanity, and betrayal has serious qualities and genuine psychological depth. It explores the hazards of the imaginative life lived too intensely and moves toward a high minded order of American Gothic in its portrait of the artist as madman. Allston was a painter, a romantic theorist, and an explorer of the hazards of the artistic life, all of which figure into the violent fabric of MONALDI." - Frank, Through the Pale Door: A Guide To and Through the American Gothic 013.
"A Gothic novel of passion, jealousy, revenge, deceit, erotic villainy, insanity, and betrayal, MONALDI also offers psychological profundity in its probing of the hazards of the imaginative life and the artistic self's vulnerability to his own repressed forces. The painter-hero Monaldi is deceived by his villainous friend, Maldura, when both men fall in love with Rosalia Landi. Maldura plots to drive Monaldi mad with the delusion of Rosalia's seduction. Monaldi stabs his beloved but she recovers and attempts to reveal Maldura's plot. Now insane, Monaldi believes that Rosalia has returned from death to torment him, but this delusion leads to his creation of a painting of ghastly beauty, his masterpiece. In Allston's Gothic fable, the imagination becomes a demon far more appalling than any external ghost." - Barron (ed), Fantasy and Horror (1999) 1-7.
"... an Italianate romance full of fatal Gothic passions operating in a lurid atmosphere of revenge and erotic villainy." - Tymn, Horror Literature 2-4.
"Alliston's Gothic novel of passion, jealousy, insanity, and betrayal has serious qualities and genuine psychological depth. It explores the hazards of the imaginative life lived too intensely and moves toward a high minded order of American Gothic in its portrait of the artist as madman. Allston was a painter, a romantic theorist, and an explorer of the hazards of the artistic life, all of which figure into the violent fabric of MONALDI." - Frank, Through the Pale Door: A Guide To and Through the American Gothic 013.
253 pages, Hardcover
Published January 1, 1841
About the author
Washington Allston
36 books1 followerRomantic works, such as Elijah in the Desert, of American painter Washington Allston often depict religious subjects.
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June 7, 2025
Had any one but Maldura beheld this piteous object, and then looked on her betrayer, and surveyed his elegant, yet muscular limbs, his fresh black hair and his smooth forehead; he would have shrunk from him with horror, and turned for relief even to his wretched companion.
"Monaldi- your frankness.. "
"Can you forgive it?"...
" I will do more, Monaldi, I will return it."
She held out her hand to him; but her strength failed her, and he caught her on his bosom..
"You must go to bed," said Fialto.
She assented by an inclination of her head; and he was supporting her to her chamber, when she caught a glimpse of Maldura.
"There! there he is again!" she screamed.
"Ay, I dare say she has heard that I carry a rosary of broken hearts, strung like beads, about my neck; and that I count them every night before a taper of brimstone."
Among his many seductions, the most notorious, and the one for which he was most dreaded, was that of a Nun.
"You certainly have the credit of a free chart."
Fialto's evil genius here touched the right chord: for nothing makes vengeance so indiscriminate as the consciousness of being generally hated.
" 'Tis all a dream then!" said Monaldi, turning away.
" Is the devil in you, Monaldi, in good sooth; or are you only playing the part of one, like our worthy friars at an auto da fè?”
" If you had said a hell, I should answer Yes,— but I lack a devil."
Such were his thoughts when, entering a thick wood, his companion desired him to dismount.
"What folly is this?" said Monaldi.
"Part those bushes," replied his companion.
"You are metaphysical, sir."
Fialto affected to cough.
'Tis of a piece," thought Monaldi, " with his usual forwardness; he wants to talk and has nothing to say."
"You don't know me," replied Fialto, endeavouring to force a laugh; but the sound only rattled in his throat.
And for the first time in his life, Monaldi became conscious of suspicion; but of whom, or of what, he could not tell.
And on what did he ground his suspicion ? On a coincidence which a hundred accidents might innocently occasion.
A maid-servant at that instant came in to tell her mistress that, as the night was damp, she had shut her chamber windows, though without orders.
"Thank God!" said Monaldi, as he heard this explanation. "Away - away for ever, infernal thoughts!"
A FEW days after this, Monaldi received a message from the worker in mosaic, requesting to speak with him.
But even from that he shrank.
"Horrible!" said he, turning away with a suffocating feeling. Then, pressing his hand to his brain, Monaldi rushed from his house. Whither he was going he knew not; yet it seemed as if motion gave him the power of enduring what he could not bear at rest; and he continued to traverse street after street, till, quitting the city, he had reached Ponte Molle, where, exhausted by heat and fatigue, he was at length compelled to stop.
Misery was new to Monaldi; he had now endured it for more than two hours.
"Good heaven! Monaldi - what is the
matter?"
" I do not know," said Monaldi, his lip quivering as he spoke. "My head is dizzy. I cannot talk;" then, throwing himself, or rather sinking into a chair, he relapsed into silence.
At that moment the door opened and Giuseppe entered. "Wretch!" cried Monaldi, seizing him by the throat.
" I beg pardon," said the man, trembling.
It was at this very moment that what may happen beyond the grave became, for Monaldi, no matter of indifference; and though his reason had seemed to have proven that death is a final end, the question came: what did his reason know of death?
Finally, the little word, IF, swollen to a fearful size, stood at the outlet of his theories, like a relentless giant, ready to demolish his conclusions.
"Leave me, fiend! Blasted be the hour that brought us together."
"Thou shalt have thy wish," said Fialto, turning contemptuously towards the door.
But we close the scene; for we cannot describe that which no tears relieved, even that blessed dew, which, in most other cases, softens agony.
"Monaldi- your frankness.. "
"Can you forgive it?"...
" I will do more, Monaldi, I will return it."
She held out her hand to him; but her strength failed her, and he caught her on his bosom..
"You must go to bed," said Fialto.
She assented by an inclination of her head; and he was supporting her to her chamber, when she caught a glimpse of Maldura.
"There! there he is again!" she screamed.
"Ay, I dare say she has heard that I carry a rosary of broken hearts, strung like beads, about my neck; and that I count them every night before a taper of brimstone."
Among his many seductions, the most notorious, and the one for which he was most dreaded, was that of a Nun.
"You certainly have the credit of a free chart."
Fialto's evil genius here touched the right chord: for nothing makes vengeance so indiscriminate as the consciousness of being generally hated.
" 'Tis all a dream then!" said Monaldi, turning away.
" Is the devil in you, Monaldi, in good sooth; or are you only playing the part of one, like our worthy friars at an auto da fè?”
" If you had said a hell, I should answer Yes,— but I lack a devil."
Such were his thoughts when, entering a thick wood, his companion desired him to dismount.
"What folly is this?" said Monaldi.
"Part those bushes," replied his companion.
"You are metaphysical, sir."
Fialto affected to cough.
'Tis of a piece," thought Monaldi, " with his usual forwardness; he wants to talk and has nothing to say."
"You don't know me," replied Fialto, endeavouring to force a laugh; but the sound only rattled in his throat.
And for the first time in his life, Monaldi became conscious of suspicion; but of whom, or of what, he could not tell.
And on what did he ground his suspicion ? On a coincidence which a hundred accidents might innocently occasion.
A maid-servant at that instant came in to tell her mistress that, as the night was damp, she had shut her chamber windows, though without orders.
"Thank God!" said Monaldi, as he heard this explanation. "Away - away for ever, infernal thoughts!"
A FEW days after this, Monaldi received a message from the worker in mosaic, requesting to speak with him.
But even from that he shrank.
"Horrible!" said he, turning away with a suffocating feeling. Then, pressing his hand to his brain, Monaldi rushed from his house. Whither he was going he knew not; yet it seemed as if motion gave him the power of enduring what he could not bear at rest; and he continued to traverse street after street, till, quitting the city, he had reached Ponte Molle, where, exhausted by heat and fatigue, he was at length compelled to stop.
Misery was new to Monaldi; he had now endured it for more than two hours.
"Good heaven! Monaldi - what is the
matter?"
" I do not know," said Monaldi, his lip quivering as he spoke. "My head is dizzy. I cannot talk;" then, throwing himself, or rather sinking into a chair, he relapsed into silence.
At that moment the door opened and Giuseppe entered. "Wretch!" cried Monaldi, seizing him by the throat.
" I beg pardon," said the man, trembling.
It was at this very moment that what may happen beyond the grave became, for Monaldi, no matter of indifference; and though his reason had seemed to have proven that death is a final end, the question came: what did his reason know of death?
Finally, the little word, IF, swollen to a fearful size, stood at the outlet of his theories, like a relentless giant, ready to demolish his conclusions.
"Leave me, fiend! Blasted be the hour that brought us together."
"Thou shalt have thy wish," said Fialto, turning contemptuously towards the door.
But we close the scene; for we cannot describe that which no tears relieved, even that blessed dew, which, in most other cases, softens agony.
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