Gabrielle returned home in a state of agitation and alarm; the
commixture of events too, in so short a space of time, the conversation
she had overheard, and the subsequent conduct of the Genoese, distracted
and confused her to such a degree, that, for a certain space, she was
unable sufficiently to arrange her ideas to resolve upon the line most
proper to be pursued. She easily perceived, from the observations she
had heard, how much the unguarded Angelo had committed himself with the
base Oriana, in having taught her to anticipate the period of his death
with pleasure and impatience; from this too she saw the extent of his
infatuation, since it could lead him thus far. When one moment,
therefore, she resolved to expose to him the infamous character of the
Genoese, and reveal to him the plot meditated against him, she discarded
that resolution in the next; first, lest her mere assertions should not
obtain unlimited credit; and secondly, from knowing the warmth and
precipitancy of Angelo, lest he should instantly fly to his mistress,
tax her with what he had heard, and thus leave himself open to her
blandishments, by which she might convince him that the whole was an
infamous fabrication; she, in such result, as the supposed incendiary,
might be driven with rage from the presence of Angelo, and these
machinating fiends would ultimately achieve their dreadful purposes.
At length, after long consideration, alternately dwelling upon and
rejecting every idea that presented itself, she determined on preserving
silence towards Angelo, to guard him from the mischief intended, and let
him form his own opinion upon what he should observe.
She passed the day in her chamber, ruminating and reflecting upon the
procedure necessary to be adopted; night came on, and found her still
there, and when the hour of repose arrived, she felt an irresistible
desire to remain up, in case Angelo should arrive, as sometimes he did
at a late hour, that at least she might have the happiness of
ascertaining he was at present in safety. Accordingly, taking a volume
of Lorenzo de Medici, she threw herself upon a sopha to be more at ease,
unfastened her hair, and suffering it to flow loose over her shoulders,
began to enjoy a moment of peace and relaxation from the consuming
cares and agitations of the day; she soon became deeply engaged with the
beauties of her author, and her mind in a degree diverted from the
contemplation of more gloomy images.
A single curtain of silk separated the chamber of Angelo from the
apartment where she was; several hours elapsed; she no longer
entertained an idea of his return, and though she still held the book in
her hand, she fell into a train of musing that completely abstracted all
attention from external objects. It happened, however, that Angelo
having unexpectedly been enabled to make his escape, returned home, and
entered, unheard by Gabrielle, his own apartment, with intent to retire
immediately to bed, little surmising that his companion still remained
from her’s.
He placed his lamp at the further end of his room, when the tender
light that shone through the curtain became visible, and convinced that
his Eugene must be within, none other being permitted to sit in the
apartment adjoining his; being in a sportive mood, he felt inclined to
surprise him, and extinguishing his lamp, softly approached the curtain,
to steal on him by degrees, and not to be heard till he was seen. For a
few moments he remained looking on her in silence, irresistibly
attracted by the sensation of mingled surprise and admiration which he
experienced; carelessly and unconsciously reclining, her hair loosely
flowing, and shading in part her pensive countenance, Gabrielle
presented a figure at once beautiful and interesting.
“How lovely he is!” mentally ejaculated Angelo, as he gazed; “yet though
he appears lovely, how little do those fine and tender features seem to
assimilate with that dark complexion; what delicacy of shape too!--what
elegance!”
As thus he viewed the supposed youth, again he felt the warmest
sensations of affection for him rising in his bosom. “No wonder,” said
he uneasily to himself, “he is formed to inspire friendship and interest
in the coldest heart; whoever sees him must _admire_; whoever knows him
must love.” He looked no longer however, but gently drawing aside the
curtain, he advanced into the room, in an oblique direction, and gliding
behind Gabrielle, when she did not dream of his being in the house, he
placed his hands lightly over her eyes, and cried as he glanced on the
book, “Always reading amatory verse, Eugene, you are certainly in love.”
Gabrielle at first uttered a slight exclamation, but at the soft voice
of Angelo her fears vanished, and gently taking his hands from before
her eyes, she involuntarily drew them to her lips and kissed them,
utterly unable, from sudden thought of the danger that threatened him,
to restrain this impulse of the joy she felt at beholding him in safety.
Angelo was sensibly affected; he gazed on her with tenderness, and while
tears almost started to his eyes, he said, “You are glad to see me, my
dearest Eugene--this is the happiest moment I have had to-day.”
Gabrielle sighed at this observation, but answered with energy, “I am
indeed most happy to see you, my lord, and I even thank you for your
remark.”
“What a formal speech, my dear Eugene, how unlike the tender freedom of
your action; henceforth, I intreat you, call me no more my lord, call me
only Angelo; for I consider you my friend, and regard you as my equal.”
“Ah! what happiness would be mine, if knowing me he spoke thus,” thought
Gabrielle, “but, my lord,” she modestly observed, “it would not be
proper for a poor, unconnected orphan, whom a happy chance alone
introduced beneath your roof, to forget the distance that exists between
us.”
“No more of this language, Eugene, if you love me--call me Angelo, and
forget the imaginary distinction you speak of--the distinction of
fortune merely, in all else you are my superior--ah, my dear young
friend,” he added with animation, “would, if you can wish it, that your
fortune more nearly resembled mine, and my mind your’s; you have a firm
mind, Eugene, and mine is weak and wandering; you have virtue, and I am
full of errors.”
“Ah! heaven bless and aid him,” silently ejaculated Gabrielle; “since he
perceives that he has errors, he will conquer them; his heart is yet
uncorrupted, and I may indulge the fond hope of his reformation.”
“But we are growing too serious,” cried Angelo in a gay tone, “tell me
Eugene,” he added sportively, and twining a lock of her beautiful hair
round his finger, “how is it that you have such luxuriant hair? one
might almost imagine you were a woman; absolutely, you must consent to
part with it.”
For the first moment, Gabrielle remembered the circumstance of her hair
being loose; in the deepest confusion she twisted it round her hand, to
fasten it up as usual, and in an unequal voice said, “it fell down by
accident, I know not how.”
“Well, let it remain so,” cried Angelo, laughing at her confusion, and
withdrawing the hand which confined it, when again it fell loose; “let
it remain so, it looks picturesque and beautiful; but pray, Eugene, I
had almost forgotten--how fares the charming Oriana?”
A pang of waking misery aroused Gabrielle from her fond delusions--she
falteringly answered, “the Signora is well.”
“And as gay, and as fascinating as ever?”
“Quite so.”
“Did she not say aught?”
“She expects you will sup with her and il Signor Fiorenza, to-morrow
night.”
“Most assuredly I will, and you likewise, Eugene; will you not?”
“I would not for worlds be excluded, my lord; will you permit me to
retire?” she added rising.
“Certainly,” Angelo answered abstractedly, for his mind was now engaged
with a new image, and new ideas; Gabrielle moved towards the door, and
her heart swelled with grief. “Good night, my lord,” she said looking
back.
“Good night, Eugene,” cooly returned Angelo.
Gabrielle hastened from the room; she perceived of whom he was thinking,
and felt for the moment indignant. “But I would save him,” said she
mentally, “even though he hated me.” She retired to bed, immersed in
plans for his safety, and meditating on him with tender compassion,
while he retired to his, absorbed in fond fancy of another--that other
conceiving his destruction.
So dangerous and untrue are the blandishments of the wanton, and he who
trusts to them hovers ever on the brink of perdition. On the following
evening the misguided Angelo, accompanied by Eugene, attended punctually
to his appointment at the house of Oriana. She received him with the
false smiles of a Circe, and stretching out her hand, that hand which
was intended to present him ere long with the draught of death, she
softly reproved him for his absence the whole of the preceding day.
Gabrielle shuddered, and shuddered still more when approaching her she
whispered in her ear, “I am angry with you Eugene, nor will I be
reconciled till, unaccompanied by your friend, you come and ask my
forgiveness.” To this she added, unperceived, an emphatic pressure of
the hand, and then exclaimed aloud, “Conte I have been taxing this young
robber with having stolen the finest peach out of the basket yesterday,
to present it to his own mistress; I missed it the moment he was gone.”
Angelo laughed; “Great Heaven, what a mixture of depravity and
deception,” thought Gabrielle, as with horror she looked on Oriana.
Fiorenza now made his appearance; he bowed respectfully to Angelo, and
cordially addressed his pretended sister. Gabrielle glanced towards him,
and trembled; such complicated guilt was new to her, beyond all that
ever her fancy even could have suggested.
With mingled impatience and dread she anticipated the hour of supper,
while almost continually her anxious eyes reverted from Angelo to his
treacherous hosts, marking their every movement; for scarcely could she
be persuaded that for the present moment he was safe. Supper was at
length announced; Gabrielle involuntarily started, and a cold chill
crept through her blood; she followed, however, with seeming composure
to the supper room, and observed, that Fiorenza, seating himself
opposite to Oriana and his unsuspecting guest, took good care to leave
the seat between them vacant, waving his hand to Eugene, as intimating
that he resigned it to him. Gabrielle took the seat, and the supper
commenced.
Fiorenza introduced brisk conversation; Oriana joined, and they
endeavoured, as much as possible, to amuse Angelo, and engage his
attention. Mean time the vigilant eyes of Gabrielle watched with
dreadful solicitude each successive glass of wine. Four rounds had now
been drank,--the supper concluded,--fresh glasses were brought, with
comfits and fruits, and the servants all retired.
Now came the fearful fifth round; Angelo was engaged in conversation
with the treacherous Genoese, and Gabrielle appeared listening to them,
as particularly intent upon the subject which occupied them, though she
did not fail to observe every movement of Fiorenza and remarked that
after placing his hand for a moment in his bosom he glided it under the
table, where he suffered it to remain. Now his dark eyes glanced
scowlingly around, no one seemed looking towards him--he drew his hand
from underneath the table, and taking up the bottle, held it with three
fingers only against the palm of his hand, while as he poured the wine
into the glass, dexterously from between his fore finger and thumb, he
suffered a subtle and almost impalpable powder to fall gradually, and
mingle with the wine, with which it thus seemed to incorporate.
Gabrielle experienced a pang of horror; had she been ignorant of the
plot, so artful had been the management of the villain Fiorenza, that
not the most suspicious observation could have imagined aught; the other
glasses he filled without moving the position of his hand, and pushing
that containing the poison towards Oriana, he said, with a terrific
smile, and slightly inclining his head, “Come, Oriana, since the Conte
will not, your brother will pledge you.”
“No, no,” cried Angelo, “leave your sister to me, Signor,” and lifting
his glass lightly to his lips, he handed it to his mistress, while
fondly he looked in her countenance, and said, “My glass for your’s,
fair Oriana.”
The fair Oriana, with a bewitching smile, held out her glass to exchange
with Angelo, when, “Stop!” exclaimed Gabrielle, “my Lord; a slight
ceremony must first be performed, which alone can render the exchange of
value to you.”
“What is that, Eugene?” cried Angelo, laughing; while rage, forced into
a smile, appeared on the dark visage of Fiorenza.--
“These glasses, my Lord,” pursued Gabrielle, “have been all brought
since supper,--the rosy lips of the Signora have not yet pressed her’s,
if therefore you would exchange with her, she must first touch it with
that lovely mouth, to add honey to the wine, and to render it a valuable
exchange for you.”
“Bravo! my dear Eugene, you know the laws of love and gallantry, I
perceive;--fair Oriana, we must be taught by this youth; deign then to
taste your wine, that my unworthy lips may press the spot where your’s
have touched.”
At this unexpected turn, great was the consternation of the Genoese; she
looked towards Fiorenza, with eyes that said, “Deliver me from this
terrible embarrassment.” Dark red murder glowed on the bronzed cheek of
Fiorenza! detected crime sat on his gloomy brow, his lips quivered with
bitter rage, hate, and fierce disappointment; but he gave no vent to the
tumultuous feelings of his breast.
“Why this timidity, Oriana?” he cried, with the look and smile of a
deceiving Demon,--“you may oblige the Conte, surely; _touch_ the glass
with your lips.”
By the emphasis he laid on the word touch, and by the glance of his eye,
Oriana understood that he wished her in effect to put the glass to her
lips, without drinking any of the wine; but she was too dreadfully
alarmed for herself to make this attempt, even though the keen glance of
Eugene might not have discovered the feint; she therefore still
hesitated, when Gabrielle exclaimed:
“Aye, indeed, Signora, why this timidity?--one should think you were
afraid of being poisoned!” At the same time taking the glass from her
hand, without Oriana’s daring to resist, she held it up towards the
light, and pursued, “I do not so much wonder, indeed, Signora, at your
hesitation,--this wine does not in truth appear most invitingly clear.”
At this moment the animated looks, and gestures of Fiorenza compelling
Oriana into immediate compliance with what they urged, she exclaimed,
with a laugh, “How absurd you are to-night, Eugene; I’ll not remain near
you any longer;” and affecting to rise with heedless haste, she struck,
as if by accident, the raised arm of Gabrielle with her shoulder, when
the glass falling out of her hand, immediately broke, and the fatal
draught intended for Angelo, flowed harmless upon the table.
Angelo had remained silent during this scene; there was something in it
which he did not like, yet he knew not what to think; the words and
manner of Gabrielle excited in his mind a vague suspicion that some
mischief had been intended, yet scarcely could he reconcile this idea
with reason; for so little inclined was he to think amiss of any human
being, that he could not conceive a motive sufficiently black to induce
the wish in any one to deprive him of life.
As the glass fell, his eyes were attracted to the table, it was strewed
with its fragments, upon some of which appeared a roughness, while in
the bottom of the glass, that remained almost entire, a dusky sediment
was clearly discernible. Angelo took it in his hand, looked at it with a
suspicious eye, yet did not speak, for he could not endure to believe
that the whole might not be accidental, or that the tender mistress, who
valued him sufficiently to sacrifice to him her honor, and endanger her
reputation, could in any point of view be so false, or so inconsistent,
as to desire his destruction.
The idea was not more abhorrent than it appeared heterogeneous to him,
and therefore he would not allow himself to express a doubt, well
knowing that if he did, he could never see her more.
Oriana, somewhat recovered, now that she had conquered the terror of
being compelled to touch the poison, took up with seeming indifference
one of the fragments of glass, and looking slightly over it, handed it
to the enraged and defeated Fiorenza, exclaiming with an air of
innocence, “See brother, this glass does look strangely, and observe,”
raising his glass to the light, “your wine appears turbid as mind did;
does it not Eugene? let us not have any more from this bottle, there is
some fault in it.”
Gabrielle made no other reply to her observation, that by an expressive
look, which Fiorenza observing, vowed in the deepest recesses of his
guilty heart, that he would take vengeance on the audacious stripling.
Oriana summoning an attendant, ordered more wine and different glasses,
then filling some for herself, and some for Angelo, she carelessly
observed, “this wine appears excellent; come, my lord, I will with
pleasure pledge you in this,” so saying, she tasted the wine, and with
a seducing smile presented her glass to Angelo, that part towards him
which her lips had touched.
Though Angelo was far from being perfectly at ease, he could not resist
the tender blandishment of his mistress; he took the wine from her hand,
and as he did so, said, fixing his eyes upon her countenance, which bore
the air of the most perfect innocence, “Oriana--I drink to you in all
_sincerity_.”
“Conte D’Albini!” exclaimed the wily Fiorenza, starting up and placing
his hand in his bosom, from which the hilt of his stilletto became
visible, “you lay strange emphases on your words--why that meaning in
your looks? if you suspect there is more than mere accident in what has
occurred, speak openly your doubts, and I will at once satisfy you of
my honor, as you must me for your suspicions.”
“I have not said any thing, Signor Fiorenza, to render this conduct
necessary on your part,” observed Angelo, “your warmth indeed appears
totally uncalled for.”
From the fierce looks of Fiorenza, panting to give some vent to his
dreadful rage, Gabrielle entertained a fear, that foiled in his first
aim, he now desired to provoke Angelo to resent his words, that he might
have an opportunity, in an unguarded moment, of achieving his purpose by
his stilletto. She therefore exclaimed, “Oh, certainly, Signor Fiorenza
you are too precipitate; il Conte D’Albini never gives hints, he always
expresses what he thinks. Why not therefore reserve the vindication of
your honour, till he avows his doubts of it?”
“I perceive, young gentleman,” cried Fiorenza, biting his lips, with a
distorted smile, “you are as prone to teach the laws of honour, as those
of gallantry.”
“Nonsense!” cried Oriana, and with that innocent sportiveness she knew
so well how to assume, she added; “my brother was ever passionate and
hasty from a youth, come, sit down good Fiorenza, no one chuses to
quarrel with you.”
“What, do you condemn me too, Oriana?” cried he, permitting his stern
features to relax; and taking his hand from his bosom, he presented it
to Angelo, saying, “Excuse me Conte if I have been intemperate, but when
an Italian conceives a friendship, he cannot brook the idea that
trifles or accidental circumstances should cause it to be suspected.”
Angelo, impressed for the moment by his words, took his proffered hand,
and Fiorenza re-seating himself, harmony appeared again to be restored.
Oriana exerted every effort to please and entertain Angelo, desirous of
obliterating from his mind the awkward accident that had occurred; in
these attempts the gloomy Fiorenza essayed to join, but their united
endeavours could not prevent him from now and then reverting to what had
passed, nor could he compel himself to the usual cheerfulness and gaiety
he evinced, when in the presence of his fair mistress. He therefore
earlier than common took his departure, and, accompanied by Eugene,
returned home.
In any other place than Italy, a circumstance like the one here detailed
might have been sufficient ground for the deepest scrutiny of the law,
for the disgrace or punishment of the persons convicted, and of course
for a total and eternal breach between the party: but in this country
the case is different; such occurrences are common, and a lover even
ascertaining the intent of his mistress to poison him, not only would
not feel himself induced to break with her, but would even continue his
visits to so dangerous an object.--Pique, anger, jealousy, will
sometimes excite to this violent degree the resentment of the Italian
fair, and if the venturous lover has reason to believe that either of
these momentary sensations is the actuating impulse of his mistress’s
attempt, he can forgive her, and entertain no fears of future mischief:
besides, the mode of thinking on this point is somewhat reciprocal; the
lover indeed will not poison his fair one, if he suspects her fidelity,
but he takes a shorter method; he plunges his stiletto in her breast,
and often gives her no opportunity of vindication. Thus the country
stamps the degree of crime, marks the criterion by which it is to be
estimated, and gives the law to the opinions of the people. In Sparta,
it was ordained to expose to perish in the forests, those tender infants
who gave no early indications of strength and beauty, while in more
civilized ages, the practice became punishable with death.
There was a mixed sensation in the mind of Angelo, which rendered him
averse to conversing with Eugene on the events of the night; he feared,
perhaps, that his unbiassed mind appreciated them more truly than he
would permit his own to do; and that he might advance such observations
and opinions, as, from their justness and propriety, might render it
next to impossible for him to continue his visits to Oriana. So weak was
he, and so extravagantly infatuated with this worthless woman, who, from
her pretended innocence and engaging vivacity, had obtained such an
ascendancy over him, that he could not endure, upon any terms, the
thought of resigning her society; he endeavoured to persuade himself,
that nothing hostile was in reality intended against him, that all was
accidental; yet, when memory involuntarily recurred to the embarrassment
manifested by Oriana when pressed to taste the wine, the pretended
accident of its spilling, in which there appeared so much of artifice,
he was staggered. To this, however, he opposed in his mind the warmth of
tenacious honour, and offended friendship in Fiorenza, who surely, he
erroneously conceived, if aught of evil had been designed against him,
would have acted in a way so widely different.
Yet spite of his wish to think and believe the best, such was his
opinion of the depth and penetration of Eugene, that he, at times,
almost felt a conviction there must be strong meaning in the conduct he
had pursued. At all events he could not resolve otherwise than to speak
of it lightly, to appear to estimate it as a trifle merely, and thus
treating it, continue without interruption his visits to Oriana, though
keeping continually on his guard, and narrowly observing her future
conduct.
Such, too often, the infatuation of the Libertine, and such his unworthy
folly; his all of feeling directed towards objects, base or
contemptible, as unwilling as he is unable to shake off the ignoble
trammels by which he is enslaved. Vice has for him more attractions
than virtue; the superficial endowments of the body, more value than
those of the mind. Thus the meretricious fair one, who, by empty
frivolity, or unmeaning mirth, can wing his vapid hours with irrational
delight, will ever be in his eyes a greater object of allurement than
the faithful friend, honourable wife, or intellectual companion.
END OF VOL. I.
G. SIDNEY, Printer, Northumberland-street, Strand.