By the mere force of reason and virtuous principle, Gabrielle became
enabled to conquer, or at least repress every personal feeling,
sufficiently to hear without apparent emotion the enraptured praises
which Angelo bestowed upon his mistress, and even frequently to
accompany him to her house. In proportion as his confidence grew less
restrained, he informed Gabrielle, “that his fair Oriana was a female of
birth and reputation, an orphan, and a native of Genoa; that her parents
had left considerable property to herself and a brother, with whom she
resided, and that inclination alone had prompted them to fix their
residence at Naples: consequently,” added Angelo, “as the fair girl has
a severe guardian in her brother, I am under the necessity of timing my
visits, chiefly in his absence, although it was with him that my
acquaintance first, by accident, commenced, and through his means that I
became introduced to his lovely sister. I own, from the first moment I
beheld her, I felt a sensation which, however philosophers may define
it, I know was love; I repeated my visits again and again; her brother
was frequently absent; at length I declared to her the passion with
which she had inspired me; she did not turn from me with disdain, and I
became speedily convinced that I was far from being indifferent to her.
A most tender intercourse ensued, and the secrecy with which it was, and
is still conducted, detracts nothing from its charms; it is most
strictly enforced by Oriana, who has informed me, that independently of
her brother’s vigilance, he has it in firm contemplation to unite her to
a friend of his own, for whom, having been the associate of his youth,
he entertains a decided preference, and who is daily expected from
Genoa.”
“But why,” asked Gabrielle, having betrayed no symptom of her keen
emotions during this recital, “why have you not proposed to her brother
to marry her yourself, since, as you say, the Signora is more attached
to you than to him designed for her?”
Angelo burst into a laugh; “My dear young friend,” he cried, “how very
innocent you are; what! marry the kind creature who gave herself to me
without exacting that serious ceremony!--but, supposing I were even now
to do so--what security could I have for her honor?”
Bitter was the pang conveyed by this observation to the heart of the
humbled Gabrielle “Oh, Heaven!” thought she, “these are then his
sentiments;” and self for a moment intervening, “what then must be his
thoughts of me?--what have I to expect?” Gabrielle little knew, as she
made this reflection, that such are the sentiments of men in general
upon these subjects.
When Angelo visited his mistress, Gabrielle now almost invariably
accompanied him; he had introduced her as a youth for whom he had a
singular regard, and the condescending Oriana treated him in consequence
with the most flattering attention. Gabrielle, whom circumstances had in
some points altered materially from the unsuspicious Gabrielle she once
was, now watchful, reserved, and cautious, suffered nothing to escape
her; she availed herself of the kindness shewn to her by Oriana, to be
frequently at her house when Angelo himself was not there; and in so
doing she besides acted consonantly to the wishes of Angelo, who
considered that while his Eugene was there, he was not himself entirely
separated from his mistress, in as much as one on whom he could rely was
a faithful witness of her actions and conduct, which, by relating to him
afterwards, considerably diminished the pains of absence.
From the circumstance of her having become an admitted and unrestrained
visitor at the house of Oriana, she made certain observations which
convinced her, that the statement of the fair Genoese to her lover was
not strictly correct. The man she represented as her brother, she soon
ascertained to be no other than a favoured and most imperious lover, who
reigned over her with a sway almost despotic. This discovery of a most
gross imposture, while it dismayed Gabrielle at the novel view it
presented of human depravity, yet certainly gave her more pleasure than
if she had discovered a proportionable degree of virtue, for it pointed
out the possibility of disuniting her with Angelo, by unmasking the
deception she was guilty of towards him. Yes, Gabrielle almost exulted,
and with alarm asked of her heart, how it could rejoice at the turpitude
of any human being.
She resolved for the present, however, to keep her knowledge secret;
“For,” thought she, “if the love of Angelo for this female be not of a
nature such as I consider true love to be, that prizes as much the
honor and fidelity of a mistress as her personal charms or attractive
manners, then may he, perhaps, not attach to this conviction of her
infamy all the consequence that I may think it merits. It is evident,
however he may appear to love, that he does not esteem her, and I may
gain nothing by the unwelcome disclosure of what I know but his secret
dislike for having attempted to interrupt him in a pursuit that yielded
him pleasure, and flattered his vanity. No, I will as yet be silent;
time may develope still more, and perhaps some circumstances that may be
less liable to doubt of the effect they may produce.”
The fair Oriana, whose character events will sufficiently delineate,
though affecting to bestow all the love of which her heart was capable
upon Conte D’Albini, yet preferred to him Fiorenza de Vinci, the man by
him supposed her brother, and whom once she had passionately loved. Yet,
although she still cherished for him some sentiments of latent regard,
she liked the society of the young Eugene, and infinitely admired his
person; so far, therefore, from deeming his frequent visits intrusive,
she always welcomed him with the most lively pleasure, and gave him to
understand, she was never more happy than when in his company. Sometimes
she would say to him, with a smile, “Eugene, how handsome you appear; in
spite of the darkness of your complexion, you have the softest and most
beautiful countenance I ever beheld. If D’Albini really loves me,” she
would add laughing, and placing her hand upon his arm, “he should not
send to me so charming a youth as you are.”
Gabrielle speedily perceived, by similar observations and appropriate
conduct, that in her male character the fair Genoese viewed her with no
slight partiality; but although she saw, she would not appear to see it;
and yet did not wholly discourage it, lest she should become obnoxious
to Oriana, and thereby be removed from the field of action.
Some months passed on thus, and nothing material occurred; Gabrielle
kept up with her first and only friend, Madame Bertrand, a regular
correspondence; she informed her of every circumstance that took place,
and confided to her those anguished feelings that otherwise were never
breathed but to her pillow. She confided to her her alternate hopes and
fears, but expressed, along with them, her determination to persevere in
the path she had marked out, uninfluenced by any selfish consideration
of severe trial, or deep humiliation. “A wretch like me,” she would add,
“no circumstances can humiliate to a level with the degradation in which
her own guilt has plunged her; nor can any sufferings expiate the crime
of which she stands convicted. Oh, spirit of my murdered father!
could’st thou look down upon me, perhaps thou would’st be appeased by
the unceasing torments I endure.”
From Madame Bertrand she heard, in return, of the welfare of her child,
of its increasing beauty, and undiminished health; and that the
persevering Boffuet still continued his attentions towards her. Her
letters were usually concluded by entreaties to Gabrielle to return to
her peaceful mountains, and leave for ever the perfidious Angelo to his
worthless and ignoble pursuits. “God,” she wrote, “is all sufficient;
he would look down upon your innocent child, he would be to it father
and protector, and render of no import the neglect of its earthly
parent.” To these suggestions, Gabrielle constantly opposed her duty,
the sacrifices that it ordained her to make for the welfare and security
of the being she had brought into life defenceless and forlorn, and of
the necessity therefore that there existed of remaining firm,
undiscouraged by the present errors or misconduct of Angelo.
Still spell-bound in Naples, the careless Angelo thought not of taking
his departure; the bewitching Genoese continued to engage him; nor as
yet did his love or admiration appear to suffer diminution. Nay it
appeared on the contrary to increase, and to the dismay and anguish of
Gabrielle, had he more than once hinted, that while Oriana continued
attached to him, he would never think of marriage with another, that he
might be at liberty to will her at his death the bulk of his personal
property.
One morning, having indispensibly engaged himself for the day with a
party of friends, and deeming it probable he might not return till the
following morning, he bade Eugene visit his mistress, and present to
her, in his name, a superb bouquet and a basket of the finest fruit that
could be procured; to inform her of his intended absence, and to express
to her, in the strongest terms, his unhappiness at being compelled to
remain away from her so long; adding, that unaccompanied by her, the
charms of convivial society would be lost upon him. Painful and severe
task for the unhappy Gabrielle, but frequent wounds of the same
description had considerably blunted the keenness of her feelings on
these points, and she consoled herself with the reflection that her
humiliation was unknown by any but herself.
She obeyed therefore, in silent sorrow, the injunction of Angelo, to
depart the moment he was gone, and with a heavy heart bent her steps
towards the residence of her rival, loaded, for her, with the delicate
offering of fond affection, selected by him who had once loved her with
equal tenderness. Oh, triumph of powerful Virtue over the weakness of
the heart, if such are the sacrifices thou exactest, few must be the
votaries at thy hallowed shrine! Who, banishing all thought of self,
could unshrinkingly lead a life of penance and affliction, in pursuing
thy rigid laws? But, says the philosophic analist of the human heart,
self predominates throughout nature; it is not banished even here, it
was love which gave to Gabrielle the imagined fortitude of virtue;
moving in the orbit of him she loved, she saw him, she heard him, and
had strength to persevere. Such with ignobler minds might be the
actuating principle, but thus it did not operate with Gabrielle; her
delicate love received daily and hourly the bitterest wounds; had love
alone instigated her, it must thus have become lessened, and her
perseverance enfeebled; it was her love which, so far from diminishing,
increased the _virtue_ of her conduct, which had she hated, had been
less difficult to preserve; love such as her’s threw perpetual torments
in her way, sufficient to have annihilated the most patient affection;
but she shielded herself _against herself_, and bore resolutely her own
pangs for the sake of another.
She arrived at the house of Oriana with her basket, which weighed far
heavier to her than its contents rendered it, and entered without
ceremony the apartment where she usually sat; it was empty, and knowing
that it communicated with a little chamber where sometimes Oriana
retired to enjoy the delightful breezes from the bay on which it looked,
she was approaching the door to open it, when voices from within caused
her to arrest her steps. She listened for a moment, and heard the
authoritative voice of Fiorenza pronounce the name of Angelo; this was
sufficient for Gabrielle, she thought herself fully justified in
attending to what that man could possibly have to observe respecting
Angelo, and she drew closer to the door in order to ascertain, when
distinctly she heard him say, though in an under voice, “If such be the
case, why not consent at once? I repeat, the fool D’Albini must be loved
by you, or you would not hesitate.”
“But, dearest Fiorenza,” replied Oriana, in remonstrating voice, “listen
to reason; though the fool, as you say, did tell me that at his death
all he possessed should be mine, and that he had already taken every
necessary legal step to secure to me, as he expressed himself, all he
possessed; still it may not be exactly so, and he may perhaps have only
prematurely disclosed his intentions; in such case, we should gain
nothing by hastening his _death_; but, on the contrary, lose all by our
precipitancy.”
“But, woman!” cried the despotic Fiorenza, in a stern accent, “though
he is himself but a half-born Italian, he has reason to believe that my
blood is unmixed; he regards me as your brother, he thinks me noble; he
would not presume, therefore, to speak falsely even to you; besides, did
you not long since inform me of his intentions? Did you not
progressively inform me, as he spoke more decisively? and ultimately,
did you not state to me, when he told you that he had completed his
intentions, and that let death overtake him when it might, you would
find yourself mistress of his fortune, as you had been of his heart
during life?”
“It is true, indeed.”
“Well then?”
“Suppose our plan should fail? suppose some discovery--”
“Weak, unsteady woman! your idle objections move my scorn; yet beware
how you offend my pride, by shewing me too clearly that I am loved no
longer.”
“Be not so irritable, Fiorenza, I love you indeed.”
“Love me!” scornfully answered Fiorenza, “you are incapable of love; it
is enough if you prefer me, and that I demand; for remember _my_ claims
are prior to those of any one. Did I not raise you from obscurity? when
you lived in a little hut by the side of the Bonzevere, did I not give
you riches? for I was the means of your obtaining them. Your folly has
disgusted every one but me, and even this half Italian, if you do not
turn him speedily to account, will find his _English_ blood beginning to
cool the half which is Italian, and soberly divesting himself of the
mere atmospheric heat which influences him in this country, return to
his own frigid clime, as indifferent as he left it.”
“Well, Fiorenza, whatever benefits you have been instrumental in
procuring me, you have _shared_,” observed Oriana, without attending to
the latter part of his speech.
“It is clear to me, you love D’Albini,” cried Fiorenza, in his turn not
chusing to notice the remark of Oriana, though secretly commenting on it
with the deepest rage; “nay so wandering and fickle are you, that I do
verily believe you would prefer to me, even the boy Eugene.”
Oriana burst into a loud laugh, exclaiming, “Oh, now indeed, Fiorenza,
you have exactly guessed; how is it you never thought of this before?”
“Come, come, no foolery; do you not love D’Albini?” asked the rude and
jealous Fiorenza.
“I do not love him!” answered the Genoese.
“Then why hesitate?”
“I dislike the mode,--_poison_,” lowering her voice, “is not the safest
expedient.”
Gabrielle scarcely breathed as she listened to the increasing infamy
which the conversation of these two persons developed.
Fiorenza answered with mingled contempt and indignation, “You are
endeavouring to find objections,--you were not thus backward, methinks,
Signora, in the case of il Conte Vincenza, the Venetian.”
“Nor you thus precipitate, Signore; our measures were more deliberately
taken.”
“But deliberation in the present case would lose all; Vincenza was a
true Italian, steady, faithful, to be depended upon; D’Albini partakes
of the hot-headed, but cold-hearted, fickle and deceitful Englishman.
Come, Oriana,” he continued, stretching forth his hand, with a haughty
air; “be reasonable, and let us not waste the time in reflecting on each
other; I love you more than you are loved by any one, spite of your
folly, and bereft of me, you would lose your compass; let us then remain
true to one another, nor suffer aught to intervene between us and our
mutual interests--say then at once--to-morrow night _D’Albini dies_!”
Gabrielle started, and almost fell backwards; her head grew giddy, and
her heart became sick; scarcely had she strength to pay the requisite
attention to what was to follow.--
“Well,--if you absolutely insist,” said Oriana, slowly,----“you will be
present--”
“I will.”
“Will you administer it yourself?”
“The boy, Eugene, will be with us at supper; I shall fill out the wine,
having previously introduced the poison into the glass; I shall present
it to you through the medium of Eugene, who must sit opposite to me,
and between you and D’Albini; he, as usual, with his fond foolery will
desire you to change glasses with him, and Eugene, as he will be
situated, must unconsciously make the transfer; thus, you perceive,
allowing the utmost latitude to your fears, neither of us could possibly
become implicated, because I shall appear to have intended the wine for
you; you will not even present it to D’Albini, consequently suspicion,
if any, must fall on him who will sit between you.”
“Great God! then,” thought the trembling Gabrielle, “it is intended to
make me the murderer of Angelo--of him I adore--of the father of my
child,--oh, be praised Heaven, that directed me hither in such an hour
as this!”
Oriana observed, after a pause, “Well, all that is well enough arranged;
but afterwards--”
“Leave the rest to me; I undertake every thing;--if he hath spoken
truly, his possessions must be your’s;--if not, though by his death we
gain nothing, it is the merited consequence of his presumptuous
falsehood.”
So saying, Fiorenza arose and kissed the forehead of Oriana, who taking
his hand to detain him, said, “Well, but if it be finally determined for
to-morrow night, how shall I be informed which of my glasses to exchange
with D’Albini? I may give him one of pure wine, and drink that which is
destruction myself.”
“To avoid the possibility of so fatal an occurrence,” answered Fiorenza,
“or lest you should not fully interpret my looks, it shall be the
_first_ glass when supper is finished; and,” lowering his voice, “the
_fifth_ round which shall be drank;--therefore take heed, and remember
the _fifth_.”
“The fifth?--very well.”
“Yes, for the Count’s gallantry is never sufficiently roused to make the
tender proposal of exchanging glasses, till after several rounds have
been drank.”
Oriana laughed, and the base Fiorenza who had been formerly one of the
most desperate Bravoes in all Italy, and consequently could plan and
execute the murder of a fellow creature with as much coolness as he
would destroy an insect, stalked deliberately from the room through a
door which opened on a terrace. On hearing this, Gabrielle hurried from
her situation to the further end of the apartment, and seated herself
upon an Ottoman near the window; a large Venetian mirror opposite
reflected to her, her face and figure, and as she felt the blood
curdling round her heart, which had receded from her cheek, she had new
reason to rejoice in the artificial veil that overspread it, and
suffered no trace of paleness to be visible.
In the course of a few moments Oriana entered the room; on beholding her
she slightly started, and exclaimed, “Eugene, have you been here long?”
“Not long, Signora.”
“How long?”
“A few minutes.”
“And sitting so melancholy,” in a re-assured voice,--“why did you not
come into the other room?”
“This basket of fine fruit, Signora,” observed Gabrielle, desirous to
change the conversation, “which il Conte D’Albini has sent you, is not
very light, let me inform you, and I sat down with it, because I
literally felt myself overpowered!”
“Poor boy,” observed Oriana, “you are so delicate--too delicate almost,”
she added, seating herself beside him, and putting back the ringlets
from his forehead.
“Look at these flowers, Signora; are they not beautiful?--and this
fruit, how fine.”
“Indeed, Eugene, I had rather look at you, you appear so handsome
to-day.”
“Signora,” embarrassed, “you flatter me; the Conte desired me to inform
you he cannot have the happiness of seeing you for the whole of this
day.”
“But you are going to remain, Eugene; are you not?”
“I will rest a little longer, Signora, if you will permit!”--Gabrielle
had in effect proposed to remain for the day; but the present unreserved
deportment of Oriana staggered her in her intention.
“You are always so reserved, Eugene, I protest I think you hate me.”
Gabrielle averted her countenance, on which a blush almost pierced
through the covering of art.
“Why do you not answer me, Eugene?” asked Oriana, taking her hand.
“What answer can I make to such an observation, Signora?” asked
Gabrielle in return.
“Do you love me then, Eugene? will you reply to that?”
“As much as I possibly can, Signora;” answered Gabrielle, with truth;
but little aware of the effect these words were calculated to produce on
Oriana, she felt surprise mingled with alarm, when throwing her arms
round her neck, she exclaimed, “And I love you, Eugene, more than I can
express! I love you better than D’Albini, better than Fiorenza,--my
brother,” she added, with slight embarrassment,--“in short, so much that
I would sacrifice them both for you.”
Gabrielle shuddered at such a mixture of depravity and deception; but
the inconstant Oriana did indeed, at this moment, prefer Eugene to
either of her lovers, and the deception was towards them alone. “Come,
Eugene,” she added, fondly, “say something to me; say again that you
love me.”
The embarrassment of Gabrielle was momentarily increasing; she was at a
loss how to reply, while Oriana, attributing her confusion to the
timidity of youthful innocence, still gazed with tenderness upon her
downcast countenance. Suddenly the door opened, and Fiorenza entered the
room; he cast a suspicious look upon his mistress, and one of scorn on
the supposed Eugene, who felt overwhelmed with horror at being in the
presence of so dark an assassin, and scarcely considered safe the
trembling life that she held while near him. Availing herself, however,
of the seasonable interruption his entrance had occasioned to the
unequivocal language of Oriana, she arose to depart, when Oriana,
seizing her by the hand, exclaimed, “You must not go indeed, Eugene, you
must remain with me to-day, I know D’Albini wishes that you should.”
“Let the youth depart, Signora,” cried the fierce Fiorenza, in a voice
that shewed he would be obeyed, though he spoke without passion; “do you
not perceive that he has not an inclination to remain?”
“Indeed, Signore, it is impossible for me to remain,” said Gabrielle,
“but I shall accompany the Conte here to-morrow night,” he added,
turning to Oriana.
“You are certain the Conte intends to honor us with his company to
supper to-morrow night then?” observed Fiorenza.
“Such I know to be his intention, Signore, and I shall take care to be
of the party.”
“I shall be most happy,” replied Fiorenza; “inform him I have been long
anxious to see him, and hope he will not fail.”
“I will, Signore;--Signora, farewell!”
“You are very unkind to-day, Eugene,” cried Oriana, reproachfully.
“Fool!” muttered Fiorenza, looking on her with an eye of jealous rage,
as the object of her regard closed the door.