CHAPTER VI.

THE DUKE'S PRIZE.

A STORY OF ART AND HEART IN FLORENCE.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

NEW YORK:

PREFACE.

THE scenes of the following story are laid in Italy, that land of

the sun. They are designed to impress a goodly moral, as well as to

amuse the reader--to show that patience and perseverance will conquer

all things--and that a poor coat may cover a rich heart. The reader

will find also herein, that love raises the humblest; and that true

merit, like true genius, tramples upon misfortunes; and that "some

falls are means the happier to rise."

THE DUKE'S PRIZE.

CHAPTER I.

FLORENCE.

Lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold.

-Hamlet.

COME with me, gentle reader, on the wings of fancy into the mild and

genial latitude of the Tyrrhenian Sea. The delightful region of the

Mediterranean has been the poet's ready theme for ages; then let us

thitherward, with high hopes (and appreciating eyes) to enjoy the

storied scenery of its shores. Touch, if you will, at Gibraltar; see

how the tide flows through the straits! We go in with a flowing

sail, and now we are at Corsica, Napoleon's home. Let us stop at

Sardinia, with its wealth of tropical fruits; and we will even down

to Sicily,--for this mimic ocean teems with subjects to delight the

eye even of the most casual observer, with its majestic boundary of

Alps and Apennines, and the velvet carpet of its romantic shores,

while its broad breast is dotted with the sails of the picturesque

craft whose rig is peculiar to these seas.

It were worth the journey we have taken, if only to behold the

curious maritime scene before us now-made up of the felucca, the

polacre, and the bombard, or ketch all equally unknown in our own

waters.

Well, on with us still; let us up again and new through the canal of

Piombino, touching at the isle of Elba, the "Great Emperor's" mimic

domain; step into the town lying beneath this rocky bluff; which is

crowned by a fort-it is Porto Ferrajo. Look off for a moment from

this rocky eminence, back of the town, and see the wild beauty of

these Tuscan mountains on the main land. Now, we will over to the

Italian coast, and cross, if you will, from Leghorn to Florence.

There, we are now in the very lap of genius and of poetry; let us

pause here and breathe the dreamy, soothing, balmy air of Italy.

Florence, most favored daughter of Italy, sweet, sunny Florence,

where dwelleth the gallantry and beauty of Tuscany, with thy wealth

of architectural beauty, thy magnificent churches and palaces, thy

princely court and hoarded beauties-favorite of that genial land, we

greet thee! How peacefully dost thou lay at the very foot of the

cloud-topped Apennines, divided by the mountain-born Arno in its

course to the sea, and over whose bosom the architectural genius of

the land is displayed in arched bridges; loveliest and best beloved

art thou of sunny, vine-clad Italy.

The poetical luxury of Italian genius is nowhere more plainly

manifested than in Florence. 'Tis the artist's favorite resort and

best school; 'tis the city the traveller likes least to turn his

back upon; and the spot being consecrated by poetry and art, where

the blood flows quickest through the veins, warmed by a fervid and

glowing clime. A clime which breathes in zephyrs of aromatic

sweetness, wafted over the fragrant blossoms of the land so redolent

of loveliness, that they would seem to rival the fabled Loto tree,

which springs by Allah's throne, and whose flowers have a soul in

every leaf.

There is a breathing of the arts in the very air of Florence, whose

galleries are crowded with the choicest collections of paintings and

statuary in the world. Here have ever congregated the talent and

beauty of every clime. With the painter, the poet, the sculptor,

here sleep, in the city of the silent, Michael Angelo, Alfieri, and

like spirits, rendering it hallowed ground to the lovers of art.

Proud and lovely city, with thy sylvan Casino spreading its riches

of green sward and noble trees along the banks of the silvery Arno,

well may a Florentine be proud of his birthplace!

It is in Florence, this very paradise of art, that our tale opens.

Here the poor scholar or artist, who seeks to perfect himself by

viewing the glorious works of the old masters, may live like a

prince on the most moderate and frugal means, in a bright and sunny

land, where the heart's blood leaps most swiftly to the promptings

of imagination; where the female form earliest attains its wonted

beauty, and longest holds its sway over the heart; where art and

nature both combine to entrance the soul in admiration; in that land

of the sun-genial Italy; that soft, yet wild country, whose children

learn the knowledge of poetry and art from visible things, while the

rest of the world derive them from books.

It was noonday in Florence, and a group of artists were wending

their way from the grand gallery to their midday meal. It was a

motley sight to look upon them as they gaily chatted together-for

among them were men of different countries. There was the rough,

hearty Englishman, the light, witty Frenchman, the intelligent and

manly-looking American, the dark, swarthy Spaniard side by side with

the dark Italian-fit companions, both in outward hue and their native

character-and many others, forming a group of peculiar interest to

the beholder.

As the troop emerged from a narrow street and came full upon the

bright and sunny piazza, near the splendid shaft of the Campanile,

the gorgeous equipage of the Grand Duke was passing the spot. The

monarch was returning from a morning drive in the Casino with a

small retinue, and accompanied by one or two strangers of

distinction. The group paused for a moment to witness the passing of

the duke and his suite, and then turned gaily towards their hotel to

dine, the duke forming a new theme of conversation to those who,

conversing under the disadvantage of but partially understanding

each other, from the variety of tongues among them, ever chose the

most visible subject for comment.

"What a brilliant turn-out," said one, in honest admiration.

"Those leaders are as proud as their master," said another.

"But he becomes his state well, if he is proud," answered a third.

"Newman couldn't get up a better four in hand," said the first

speaker, a young Londoner.

"Who is that by the side of the duke?" asked one.

"The English consul," replied his countryman; "you ought to know

him."

"The whole affair now is wanting to my eye," said a young,

sentimental artist.

"And what does it want, pray, Mister Critic?" asked the Englishman.

"A woman."

"Egad, that's true! There should be a woman in the picture, if it

was to be painted, if only to introduce color."

"Don't be so mercenary," added the other.

And the group thus idly conversing lounged on their way to dine. But

see, one of their number still lingers near the base of the shaft,

apparently absorbed in admiring its beautiful proportions; his pale

but fine intellectual features overspread by a spirit of admiration

as he beholds the column. But still there is some other motive than

mere curiosity that engages him thus; he seems to have thus

designedly dropped the company of the party he was just with. Now

suddenly turning and satisfying himself that his late companions

were out of sight, the young artist-for so his appearance evidently

bespoke him-slowly and sadly retraced his steps toward the grand

gallery.

The expression of his countenance was that of suffering and physical

pain, as well as of mental inquietude; but his late companions had

none of them noticed or cared for this. They could take especial

cognizance of the points of excellence in the duke's horses, but not

of the grief that shaded a fellow-being's countenance. No, the

single artist, who now retraced his steps from the base of the

Campanile, let his cause for sadness arise from whatever source it

might, was alone in his sufferings, and without any one to share his

sorrows.

Once or twice he seemed to hesitate and half turn round again, as if

to join the party he had left; but some inward prompting appeared to

prevent him from doing so, and once more he walked on by the same

street which he had just came. A sigh now and then heaved his

breast, as though some mental or physical suffering moved him, but

his form was erect, and his step not that of one weakened by

physical disease. And yet in looking upon him, an instinctive desire

would have possessed the careful observer to offer him aid in some

form.

CHAPTER II.

OUR HERO AND HEROINE.

But love is blind, and lovers cannot see.

-Merchant of Venice.

AT the close of a long summer's day under the skies of Italy, the

shades of twilight were deepening on a verdant and vine-clad

hillside of the Val d'Arno, when two lovers, who had evidently been

strolling together, sat down side by side under a natural trellis of

vines. The twilight hour of midsummer will lend enchantment to

almost any scene; but this is peculiarly the case in Italy, where

every shadow seems poetic-every view fit for the painter's canvass.

The gentleman was of frank and manly bearing, and as he had

approached the spot where they now sat, with the graceful figure of

his fair companion leaning upon his arm, he evinced that soft and

persuasive mien, that easy elegance of manner and polish in his

address, which travel and good society can alone impart. Around his

noble forehead, now bared to the gentle breeze, his long auburn hair

hung in waving ringlets, after the style of the period, while his

countenance was of that intelligent and thoughtful cast, tinted by a

shade of sorrow, which rarely fails to captivate the eye.

In person, he was rather tall, erect and well-proportioned, though

perhaps he was rather thin in flesh to appear to so good advantage

as he might have done, yet altogether he was of handsome form and

pleasant mien. His dress bespoke the hollowness of his purse,

notwithstanding he bore about him the indelible marks of a

gentleman; and the careful observer would have recognized in him the

artist that had separated from his companions on the Plaza at

noonday near the shaft of the Campanile.

His companion was manifestly a lady of rank and a most lovely

female, satisfying the eye at the first glance, and constantly

pleasing the longer it dwelt upon her. When we describe an Italian

lady as being beautiful, she must be so indeed; for there is no half

way between beauty and the opposite extreme here. There are but few

really handsome women in Tuscany, but these few are of a class of

beauty that may well have ravished the rest of their sex in this

fair clime. Her countenance was radiant with thought and feeling,

and her large and dewy eyes of blue--nature's own sweet tint--rested

fondly on him by her side.

Her rich and abundant dark hair was parted smoothly across her

unblemished forehead, which might have been marble, so smooth and

pure, but for the warm blood that flowed through those delicate blue

channels. The mouth and features were of the Grecian model, and when

she smiled she showed a ravishing sweetness of expression, and teeth

that rivalled those of an Indian. In form, her person was slightly

voluptuous, though strictly within the most true female delicacy.

Such is a sketch of the two whom we at the outset denominated as

lovers; and such they were, as the progress of our story will

disclose.

"There is much between thee and me, Florinda," said her companion,

sighing heavily; "and of a metal worse than all others-pride and

gold! jailors both of the daring heart!"

"Nay, dear Carlton, thou art ever foreboding ills," said the lady

persuasively, and in a voice as sweet as that of the idolized Pagoda

Thrush of India.

"Perhaps so; and yet full well I know that I am no favorite of

fortune, by stern experience."

"She will smile on thee yet, believe me, Carlton; and the more

sweetly for this seeming neglect. She's a fickle goddess, and often

plays the coquette, but, like others of this class, she seldom

chides but she smiles again the more winningly."

"She has already done so through thee, Florinda."

Florinda answered with her eyes.

"Ah, I am blessed indeed in thee; and poorly do I appreciate the

blessing of thy love, when I forget myself and complain."

"Now thou art content."

"In thy smiles, dearest, ever."

And Carlton pressed the hand with fervor to his lip that was

smilingly extended towards him.

"Ah, how long it may be, before I can call this little hand mine."

"It is thine already, Carlton."

"Thy heart is, I trust; but the hand, Florinda, is quite another

thing."

"True, Carlton."

"My means are so humble."

"You would make them so."

"But are they not, Florinda?"

"Not in my eyes."

"The future looks dark to me."

"The great proficiency you have attained in your profession, as an

artist, dear Carlton, argues well for our hopes. Already has thy

name reached the Grand Duke as one of remarkable ability in thy

noble art; and such constant attention and unwearied industry must

ensure improvement."

"True, dearest, I may in time hope to be counted, a worthy follower

of those whose noble efforts grace the grand gallery, and the halls

of the Palazzo Pitti; but alas, many years of toil might not place

me in the pecuniary eye of the duke, as a fitting suitor for thy

peerless portion. And then, Florinda, the pride of birth! Alas! I

have little hopes of ever attaining my most earnest wish-that which

would render me the envy of all Florence-thy hand, Florinda."

"Have I not possessions enough for both of us, dear Carlton? Indeed,

I am told that my rightful property bears a goodly proportion to

that of the Grand Duke himself, who has the reputation here in

Florence of possessing unbounded wealth-actually unequalled in

amount by that of any European monarch. Until the prospect of aiding

you by this amplitude of fortune occurred to my mind, I saw no value

in this boasted wealth; but now that I know that you will be

benefited by it, Carlton, I rejoice at its possession and its

magnitude."

"Dearest," said the artist, as he listened to her generous

declaration.

"There will be no want, no question of necessity; all shall be

yours."

"In your love and kindness of heart, you do not consider these

things as does the world, Florinda. The greater the amount of thy

riches, the farther art thou removed from me; thus reasoneth the

world-the cold and calculating world."

"Nay, Carlton, thou art again foreboding," said the lady in the

sweet, honeyed tongue of her land. "All will yet be as our hearts

could wish, I am confident."

"Love sees with blind eyes, dearest."

"I know the proverb; but each case is a peculiar one, and this-is

not this more so than any other?"

"So thy gentle heart would make it," he answered tenderly.

"And will not yours assent?"

"In one respect-yes."

"And that is--"

"Never was one so loved as thou art; and yet who could look upon

those eyes, and hear thee speak thus, and know the goodness and

gentleness of thy kind heart, and not love thee, Florinda?"

"Ah, flatterer!"

"Dost thou mean that?" said Carlton, earnestly and quickly.

"Nay, forgive me, Carlton," said his fair companion.

"Always but when thou shalt question my sincerity; and yet," he

continued, after a moment's pause, "there are ample grounds for such

suspicions."

"Say not so, Carlton."

"Behold thy large fortune; am I not penniless?-thy noble birth; am I

not an humble citizen? O, Florinda, there are few in this cold and

mercenary world that would accord to me, under these circumstances,

the meed of sincerity."

"There is one who will never doubt thee," said the lovely girl,

placing a hand affectionately within his.

"Dear Florinda, I have thought of another tie to bind us to each

other still more dearly, if possible."

"Pray, what is that, Carlton?"

"We are both orphans, Florinda; both stand, as it were, alone in the

world, without any natural protectors even from childhood."

"True," said Florinda, "my parents died while I was yet too young to

know or love them and thine, Carlton?"

"While I was an infant."

"How pleasant it must be to have parents to love and advise one. I

have often envied my companions."

"Ay, it must indeed be a source of happiness; and none would seem to

deserve them more than so gentle a spirit as thine."

"It is indeed an enviable blessing."

"Father and mother are sweet words," said the artist,

thoughtfully,--and drawing her gently to his side.

"They are sweet words," said Florinda; while a sympathetic tear

trembled for a moment beneath those long eyelashes, proving the

poet's words, "that beauty's tears are lovelier than her smiles."

Carlton saw and marked the truant jewel as it glided down her fair

cheek.

And thus they talked on of love, of griefs and hopes, Carlton

pressing the hand of his lovely companion affectionately to his lips

at times, with a gentle and affectionate tenderness far more

eloquent than words; while the response that met this token from her

expressive face might have told the most casual observer how dearly

and how deeply she loved the young artist, and how the simplest

token of tenderness from him was cherished by her.

La Signora Florinda was a grand-daughter of the house of Carrati,

one of the oldest and proudest of all Italy. Having been placed in a

convent in the environs of Florence for her education, the Grand

Duke by chance met her while quite young, and learning her name, he

at once knew her to be an orphan, and now under the care of her

uncle Signor Latrezzi. By his own request he became her guardian,

and from that time Florinda became an inmate of the palace of the

duke, and the constant companion of the duchess.

Her parents deceased, as the reader has already gathered, while she

was yet a child, leaving her an immense property, which was now in

the hands of her protector, the monarch himself. About the time, or

rather some months previous to the commencement, of our tale, the

duchess had died of consumption. Florinda for more than a year had

been her intimate and dearly loved companion, and for this reason

alone was dearly prized by the Grand Duke, who still sincerely

mourned his wife's death.

The deep devotion and constancy of this monarch, Leopold of Tuscany,

to his wife, evinced an affection rarely found in marriages of

state. Inconsolable for her death, he shut himself from the world

for a long time, weeping in secret the affliction he had sustained

in her loss. To this day there ornaments the private apartments of

the Pitti Palace busts of the grand duchess, and portraits of her by

the first artists; on the walls of the duke's private study there is

a full length portrait of his wife done in fresco, representing her

to be what she really was, a noble and lovely woman.

Since the death of the duchess, Florinda had experienced, as we have

intimated, an increased degree of fatherly care and affection from

the duke, because of the fact of her intimacy with her whom he had

now lost. The duchess, during the period that Florinda had been with

her, had contracted for her a tender affection, and did not forget

in the trying moments of her last hours to commend her to the

continued and true guidance of the duke. This circumstance of course

rendered her an object of renewed interest and regard in the eyes of

her noble protector, with whom she dwelt as though she had been his

own well-beloved child.

In addition to this, she presented claims to his kind protection,

from the fact that she was an orphan, the last of a proud and noble

house long attached to the service of the crown-a fact that had in

the first place attracted his interest.

"Come, Carlton," said the lady, with a sweet smile, "now tell me one

of those Rhine legends which you relate with such spirit. You

promised me another."

"I will, dearest," was the reply; and her companion, drawing still

closer to her side, began as the next chapter will relate.

CHAPTER III.

A RHINE LEGEND.

An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

-King Richard III.

"THE valley of the Rhine," commenced Carlton, "is no more famous for

its classic beauty than for the romance of its historic story; and

the traveller is sure, while his eyes drink in of the beauty of its

scenery, to have his ears regaled with the tragic record of its

neighborhood. The name of Petard-the name of as bold a bandit as

ever led a company of mountain-robbers--has become classic as any

historic name of the Germanic confederacy, or the Italian states, by

reason of the influence he exerted, the boldness of his deeds, the

oftentimes chivalric character of his conduct; but, above all, for

his singular personal bravery, and his remarkable prowess in battle.

Only second, as it regarded the extent of his fame, to the renowned

Schinderhannes, he even exceeded that bold and romantic bandit in

the general character of his purposes, and the extraordinary success

that attended his plans of operation.

"Petard held one of those lofty mountain-passes," continued Carlton,

"that lead from the valley of the Rhine, and through which at times

much travel passed. Here he had so thoroughly entrenched himself,

with his band of some sixty bravadoes, at the time of our story,

that ten and twenty times his own force sent against him, in the

shape of the regular government troops, had utterly failed to reach

even the outer walls of his retreat, they being entrapped in all

manner of snares, and shot down like a herd of wild and distracted

animals. Several repetitions of these attempts with similar results

had fairly disheartened the officers and soldiery, and they utterly

refused to proceed on any such dangerous service for the future,

while the officers of the government in their weakness were quite

powerless. So that Petard remained virtually the master of the

district, and levied such tax as he pleased upon such of the better

classes as he could arrest upon the road.

"The story of Petard's generous charity to the peasantry is

preserved and related to the traveller by the grateful people; and

there is no doubt that, springing from this class, he felt a

sympathy for them that induced this honest generosity towards them

on his part. The cunning plans which he and his band adopted to

obtain the necessary information for the prosecution of their

designs, it would be tedious to relate. The peasantry, ever

oppressed by those in authority, were, of course, most faithful to

the interests of this famous outlaw, to whose open hand they often

came for bread, and who was ever ready to aid them. Thus, no bribery

nor offered rewards could induce one of these rough but true-hearted

mountaineers to betray Petard, or disclose the secret paths that led

to his lofty stronghold.

"Cunning beyond what usually falls to the lot of roguery," continued

Carlton, "Petard delighted in outwitting his enemies of the law, and

in leading those whom he desired to fleece into his net. Thus

practised in intrigue, he plumed himself in detecting any trick that

was attempted against him; and thus on the constant qui vive, he was

enabled to avoid detection and arrest. Every effort, however

ingenious, that the officers of the government made, was therefore

futile and of no advantage; and Petard was still regarded as master

of his mountain home, and leader of as brave a band as ever beset a

traveller's carriage, or broke the ranks of a treasury escort.

"Those were wild and lawless times when the feudal spirit and power

had not yet lost all its sway, and when each man's house was often

made to be his castle, and himself called upon to defend it with his

life. Might made right; the strong hand often carried it against the

law, and justice often, slept. It sounds like romance indeed to

depict those times."

"It does, indeed," said Florinda; "but go on, Carlton, do not

interrupt the story."

"On the left bank of the noble river, in whose valley this story is

laid," said Carlton, "rose the turrets and towers of Botztetz

castle, the remains only of one of the fine old strongholds of the

middle ages, which had by degrees descended through generations,

until it was now the home of a rich, retired merchant from Coblentz,

who was repairing it and removing the rubbish that age had collected

about it. Himself a man of distinguished family, Karl Etzwell had

retired from the bustle of his heavy business, purchased this place,

and proposed here to make himself home, and here to die. The old

merchant had an only child whom he idolized, and for whom alone he

seemed to live since his wife and other children had died.

"Bettina was one of those delicate, lovely-featured children of

grace and beauty that would have been chosen in "Merrie England" to

preside over a tournament, as queen of beauty, in Ivanhoe's time.

Born to bloom in a peculiar period of history, her character partook

in some measure of the characteristics of the times. To our age,

Florinda, and our appreciation, this lovely woman would have seemed

rather Amazonian. She rode her fine and dashing horse with a free

rein, and in the vigor of her robust health she could walk for

miles, if need be. Yet still Bettina lacked not for tenderness and

gentleness of spirit. She loved her father, was fond of music, and

sung most sweetly to her own accompaniment upon the guitar.

"Egbert Hosfeldt was the descendant of a proud line of ancestors,

and was himself now left alone of all his family. His castle was on

the opposite side of the Rhine, and ere Karl Etzwell's daughter had

been a twelvemonth at her father's new home among the now

half-restored towers of Botztetz Castle, Egbert Hosfeldt and Bettina

were the most tender friends. His boat was ever on the left shore at

nightfall, though his castle was on the right. No carpet knight was

he, Florinda; he pulled his own oar. He was as stout of limb as of

heart, and yet was as gentle when by Bettina's side as the tame

doves she fondled. His was indeed a knightly figure to look upon. He

had often distinguished himself upon the tented field, and in the

forest sports. He lived in an age when personal prowess was highly

esteemed, and when those high in birth failed not to mature the

strong muscles and stout limbs which Providence had vouchsafed to

them.

"My story, Florinda, opens upon one of those soft summer twilights

which hang over this incomparable valley to-day, as they did

centuries gone by. Two figures rested near a soft bed of flowers in

the broad grounds of Botztez Castle. The luxuriant, curling hair of

delicate auburn that strayed so freely over the neck and shoulders

of the female figure, betrayed her to be the lovely daughter of Herr

Karl Etzwell; while the reader would have recognized at once in the

person by her side, the fine athletic figure of Egbert. They sat in

tender proximity to each other, and Bettina was listening to

Egbert's eloquent story of the olden times, and of the many

chivalric deeds for which the neighborhood of this spot was

celebrated. He told her, too, of legends connected with the very

towers and battlements that now surrounded them, until at last the

lateness of the hour warned them that they must part; and the

gallant Egbert, pressing her hand tenderly to his lips, bade her a

brief farewell as he said, and would meet her there again with the

twilight hour on the following day.

"Scarcely had he left her side when a decrepit figure, dressed in as

shabby garb as ever clothed a beggar woman, tottled towards her, and

in saddest tones besought the fair girl to come a few steps from the

castle walls to aid her in carrying her sick infant, who she feared

was dying. The chords of tender sympathy were at once touched and

Bettina followed the old woman outside the walls, and beyond an

angle of the ruins a few rods, when the person who had so excited

her commiseration suddenly stopped, and tossing off the wretched

rags he wore, he stood before her the athletic leader of banditti,

Petard!"

"How frightful!" said Florinda, interrupting him.

"The faint scream Bettina uttered," continued Carlton, "was

smothered by his ready adroitness; and seizing the fainting girl, as

though she was an infant, the robber bore her away to a spot

concealed by the darkness, where several of his confederates met

him, as had been preconcerted; and in a few minutes after Egbert had

left her side, Bettina, all unconscious, was being carried fair away

to the almost impregnable stronghold of the robbers.

"It would be vain to attempt a description of the consternation and

misery of her father when it was found that his child-she who was

everything to him; whom he loved better than life itself-was lost.

Whither to seek her no one knew. The most improbable places were

searched. Egbert, who was last seen with her, was sent for; but he

could give them no information. He supposed, of course, that she

returned directly home after he parted with her. Every conceivable

means were adopted to discover some trace of the missing girl, but

all in vain, and the most tantalizing anguish took possession of

every bosom. Two days had passed in this fruitless and agonizing

search, when a note was delivered at the castle which threw light

upon her disappearance. The purport of the note was to this effect:

"KARL ETZWELL:-Your daughter is safe in my possession. Her simplest

wish is strictly regarded. No harm will come to her, provided you

pay the ransom of one thousand marks of gold. You may not possess

the ready means, rich as you are, to produce this sum at once;

therefore it may be paid in four instalments, and in four months of

time, if you can do no better. red When the sum shall be paid, your

daughter will be restored to you as pure and unharmed as when she

left you. You have two days to think upon this. My messenger will

then see you, and receive the first instalment of the money. Those

who know me will tell you that you had better not harm one hair of

that messenger's head, but your best course will be to meet this

demand. 'Signed,' PETARD.

"The mystery was solved, and the father knew that the robber, vile

as he was, would keep his word; that though Bettina was thus

fearfully situated, Petard would protect and restore her, if he

acceded to his demand. The sum named was far beyond his means to

raise before the expiration of a considerable period of time; for

though, as the robber chief denominated him, rich, yet the princely

sum of money demanded could hardly have been raised at once, had the

united interest of the country for miles round been brought to bear

upon it.

"After consulting with Egbert and other friends, the father saw that

there was but one course left for him to pursue under the

circumstances of the case, and that was to comply with the demand as

far as was possible, and to get ready the first instalment of the

money for the following day. It would have been madness for him-his

daughter's safety, of course, being paramount to every other idea-to

have called upon the authorities to serve him. They had already, as

we have before stated, often failed in their efforts upon the

robber; and to incense Petard against him, was for the father to

sacrifice the life of his child. Thus influenced, the sum of money

demanded as the first instalment was made up by the assistance of

Egbert and others, and was quietly paid over to the robber

messenger, by the anxious father of Bettina.

"It was a fearful thought to father and lover, that there was even a

possibility of Bettina's remaining in the hands of those fierce and

lawless men for such a period of time as had been named. Yet it

would be impossible to raise the amount of the ransom in a shorter

period of time. Four months seemed to them almost as so many years,

and Egbert longed, at the head of a few faithful followers, to

attack the redoubtable brigand; but this would have been to

sacrifice Bettina's life at once. Alas! the ransom, and the ransom

only, could liberate her, all agreed.

"But I weary you, dearest, and will at another time complete my

story."

"Nay, by no means."

"But the story is not yet half told."

"The more of interest is then in store."

"But it will keep until our next meeting."

"As you will, Carlton; and so now, indeed, good night. You will come

with the sunset, tomorrow?"

"I will, dearest."

And Carlton turned away to seek his own humble lodgings, while the

lady returned to the sumptuous apartments which she called her home,

to dream of the young artist, and the tale he had thus left but half

related. In the meantime with the reader we will turn to another

chapter in the thread of our story.

CHAPTER IV.

THE DUKE'S PRIZE.

I see this hath a little dashed your spirits.

-Othello.

CARLTON was a young American, passionately devoted to the art he was

studying at Florence, the home of the arts. His pecuniary means,

which were of a limited character, were, at the time our story

opens, at an unusually low ebb-indeed, he was almost penniless. He

had been able, by losing much valuable time upon trifling and toyish

pieces, to procure nearly enough for subsistence, taken in

connection with the little he already possessed. But of late he had

not been able to find any spare time for the trifles he had

heretofore engaged himself upon at times, when he was obliged to

obtain money for daily food, for reasons which we shall understand

as we proceed with our story.

Though of highly respectable birth, yet he was an orphan, and

dependent upon the liberality of a rich relative for the advantage

he had already received in an excellent classical education, and the

means of travelling while in the study of his art. A few months

previous to the opening of our tale, this patron, who had been a

father indeed to Carlton, died suddenly, and the news of his decease

reached the young American at the time he was just expecting a

remittance of money. The consequence was, he found himself

friendless and without means, thousands of miles from his native

land. He had incurred some small debts in anticipation of the

expected remittance, which placed him in a still more unpleasant

situation.

It was a severe blow to Carlton to lose one who had been so kind to

him almost from childhood. It was hard, too, to sink at once from a

state of plenty to one of absolute want. But thus it was, and he

endeavored to bear his lot with all the philosophy and resignation

he could command; but it was a bitter stroke for him to bear,

particularly at this time, when so much depended upon his being able

to pursue his calling uninterrupted, and still make the proper

appearance in his person. He felt that at no previous moment had he

so much at stake as now; that at no previous time in the course of

his life could such an event have been more unfortunate. But Carlton

was blessed with a heart easy to keep afloat; and though his future

was hard, he looked upon its sunny side, and bore bravely up against

it, enduring not only mental but positive physical suffering in his

manliness. For months he had been almost constantly engaged in

secret upon a painting, which he designed to present to the Grand

Duke, for his private collection in the Palazzo Pitti, and on which

he was to stake his reputation as an artist. He worked in secret, we

have said-ay, and with the pains of hunger gnawing him often, his

scanty purse scarcely affording him the means of procuring

sufficient to sustain life. But still he worked on unwearied, in the

hope, if not to gain the hand of Florinda, at least to be thought

more worthy of her.

Little did she he loved know of the actual want he experienced. He

was too proud to acknowledge it even to her; and often did he sit by

her side faint and hungry, while he held a hand, the jewelled

ornaments of which alone would have rendered a peasant independent

for life. He exerted every faculty to obtain the means of dressing

at least with seeming good taste; he endeavored to do this for

appearance sake, and that he might pass well with the world, which

scans with inquisitive eye the outside show, and pays homage

accordingly. He did not fear that it would make any difference with

Florinda, yet he felt some pride, of course, in that quarter. It

required in his present emergency the sacrifice of many a meal to

procure him a coat, or any other necessary article of clothing.

Carlton was not in the practice of meeting Florinda at the palace;

the manifest impropriety of the thing rendered this out of the

question. It was the practice of Florinda to call at certain periods

at the palace of a relation in the environs of the city, and here

Carlton often went to meet her; it was hard by the monastery where

she had been educated, and where they had first met. The two sat

together one twilight hour; it was their chosen time of meeting.

"Carlton," said Florinda.

"Well, dearest."

"Why dost thou--" here Florinda hesitated.

"Speak freely; what would you ask?"

"You will not be offended?"

"Indeed, no!"

"Nor think strange of me?"

"Nay, I promise thee."

"Then--"

"Well, Florinda."

"Why dost thou wear such a threadbare coat, Carlton? You know I care

not for such things, but I would have thee appear among thy

fellow-artists as well clad as the best of them."

"You know, Florinda," said Carlton, blushing in spite of himself, "I

told you of my misfortune in losing my friend and patron."

"True, but what has that to do with thy coat, Carlton?" asked the

lady, who, never having known the want of money, could not realize

the effect of such a condition. And then, too, she did not exactly

understand the dependency of Carlton upon his patron.

"O, nothing particular, dearest; but one must dress according to his

means, you know."

Florinda mused for a moment, and at length appeared to understand

the meaning of his words, when taking a rich purse of gold from her

girdle, she endeavored to give it to him in such a manner as to

spare his feelings, but her utterance failed her, and she burst into

tears! Carlton could not accept it. He would rather have starved

first; his proud spirit could not brook the deed.

"No, Florinda," ho said, "I cannot accept the purse, or any

assistance from thee, noble lady. But if you will bear with my

humble attire for a while, I hope to be able to dress in a style to

suit thy taste, and which will render me worthy, at least in point

of personal appearance, to walk by thy side."

"Do you forgive me, Carlton, for this? It was but the impulse of the

moment. I did not mean to insult thee."

"Insult me!"

"Alas! I was but rude."

"Nay, dearest."

"You forgive me?"

"Florinda, I appreciate the feeling that prompted the generous act.

Forgive thee? Yes, dearest, and love thee more for it."

He pressed her hand to his lips, and they parted-Florinda to the

regal palace of the duke, and Carlton to his humble lodgings. That

night he went to his bed without having tasted food throughout the

whole day. The next morning with the first light he rose, unable to

sleep from hunger, and sought his canvass. While he could summon his

pride, and season it with his ambition, this formed food and

stimulus enough for him-a sustaining principle equal to natural

nutriment. But in his sleep, when nature asserted her power, and the

physical system claimed precedence over the brain, then the gnawings

of hunger could not be stilled; and thus he awoke, and, as we have

said, sought his canvass to drive away the demon; for it was a

demon-a tormenting fiend to him now!

Among the collection of artists at Florence-as in all Italian

cities-there were representatives from nearly every part of the

world; and much rivalry and pride often showed itself, not only

among the students of the academy, but even among the masters or

teachers themselves. This feeling at the time to which we allude,

prevailed to an unusual extent, and its pernicious effects had been

the cause of one or two duels of fatal termination. Carlton had long

since been obliged to leave the academy from want of means, and even

while there, he labored under great disadvantage in not being able

to keep up the appearance of a gentleman among his fellow-students,

who were generally well supplied with pecuniary means.

His comrades finding that he far exceeded them in point of

application, and consequently in execution and general improvement,

naturally disliked him; and strange enough, too, the teachers

treated him with marked coolness and dislike, whether from a similar

sense of his superior ability even over themselves, or otherwise,

remains to be seen.

"What a hang-dog look that Carlton has," said one artist to another.

"But he's a master with the brush, and bids fair to distance some of

us," was the reply.

"For my part, I hate all Americans."

"Or rather all successful rivals," suggested the other,

sarcastically.

"Rival or not, this Carlton is a bore."

"So far I agree with you," answered the other.

"He's the poorest dressed artist in Florence."

"There you are right again."

And thus they sneered at him.

Under all these disadvantages, Carlton was by no means discouraged.

He was sustained by his ambition and love of his noble art, and,

above all, by the love he bore Florinda. He hoped, through the means

of the picture he was engaged upon, to introduce himself to the good

will of the duke; and this accomplished, one important step would be

taken towards the goal his fancy had pictured in futurity.

As we have said, Carlton left the academy through necessity, but he

still studied constantly in the grand gallery, and other places, as

his means would admit, while he worked on in secret. He had

determined that his picture should be presented without a name, that

it might thus rise or fall honestly, upon its own merits.

The duke had offered a princely prize for the favored picture, to be

selected from out a collection to be exhibited to himself and court

on a certain day. The monarch was devotedly attached to the art, and

thus each year, by a like method, strove to encourage the talent and

industry of the students assembled at Florence. There were many

competitors among the artists of the city on the occasion alluded

to. Those who had gained renown in bygone years now took up the

brush anew, and pupils and masters strove alike for the enviable

goal.

And this was not so much for the mere winning of the prize-though

that was a princely object-but it was well-known that whoever

succeeded in the contest, established his fame at once in Italy, and

from that time forward could command his own terms for his pictures,

and find a ready sale, too, for as many as he chose to complete. It

was, in short, a diploma in art that was almost beyond value to the

ambitious students that had devoted themselves to art in Florence.

Carlton worked incessantly and in secret upon his picture, which was

of a most elaborate and original design. Alone in his humble

apartment he worked by himself, without any kind word of

encouragement, or skilful suggestion. The time for the exhibition

was fast approaching. Carlton was met by his former fellow-students

every morning,--pale and emaciated, returning from his frugal meal,

of which he was obliged to eat enough to serve him through the day;

for with his limited means he could afford but one! They joined him

often, and asked, insultingly, why he did not try for the rich prize

offered by the Grand Duke for the choicest painting.

Smothering the resentment he felt at these a insults, Carlton made

no answer to them, but contented himself with redoubling his

exertions with the brush; and it did seem to him after such

encounters, and every new insult, that his hand received a fresh

inspiration, and his mind renewed vigor. Perhaps he needed the

incentive of pride, as well as that of love and ambition, to lead

him on, and sustain him in the prosecution of his noble endeavors.

Thus it was, when the long expected day at last arrived-the day

which was to make or mar his hope of the future; he trembled as he

realized it. The various competitors had sent in their pieces

accompanied with their names, each confident in the excellence and

finish of his own production. All were arranged in the favorite

gallery of the Grand Duke, and among them Carlton's, simply bearing

the name of "The Unknown."

The hearts of the artists of Florence beat high on that day, and the

moments were impatiently counted by all until the hour should arrive

for the public presentation and audience in the picture gallery. The

selection having been made on the previous day by the Grand Duke and

his court, the time had now arrived for him to award the prize he

had offered.

Among the throng that crowded the gates of the palace, Carlton was

observed humbly pursuing his way, turning neither to the right nor

left, and passing unnoticed some of his brother artists, who

ventured a jeer at his expense.

"That coat of thine is not fit for the presence of the Grand Duke,"

said one.

"Carlton, you forgot to dress, today," said another, tauntingly.

"Don't bother him," added a third; "he's only a looker-on."

"That is all, gentlemen," said Carlton, as he quietly passed the

portals of the palace, secretly biting his lip with restrained

feeling. He had other business in hand than to notice these insults.

His soul was pre-occupied, and he scarcely heeded them a moment

after they had been spoken.

CHAPTER V.

AWARDING THE PRIZE.

Let the end try the man.

-Henry IV.

THE beauty and the aristocracy of Florence crowded the gorgeous

apartments of the ducal palace, admiring the matchless pictures now

first exhibited to the public view-the productions of the artists of

the city for the prize of the liberal monarch.

There was not one which did not draw forth high and just encomiums

for its beauty and excellence; but all paused to admire above the

rest, one which, from originality of conception and perfection of

finish, was pronounced to surpass all its competitors, and great was

the curiosity expressed as to who was the author.-Some said that

Michael Angelo himself must have arisen from the tomb to produce so

perfect a picture. Throughout the hours of the exhibition, until the

time appointed for the awarding of the prize, the superb picture

bearing the name of "The Unknown," was the constant theme of all,

and the centre of attraction.

Among that lovely collection of beauty and fashion stood Florinda,

in all the loveliness of youth and high-born beauty, "the star of

that goodly company." How different was the expression of her face

from the majority of those about her. No pride or envy could be

traced on that beautiful brow, stamped with innocence and

gentleness; those mild deep blue eyes knew no deceit, but frankly

shared the promptings of her pure, untainted soul at every glance.

She looked more like the formation of the fancy in some fairy dream

than a reality, so angelic did she seem amid that princely throng.

She did not know that Carlton had contended for the prize; he had

kept his own secret, and she expressed her unfeigned admiration of

the picture by "The Unknown." She was the belle of the hour, if not

of the court, and her commendation alone would have served to

attract attention to the picture; but already had the duke in person

pointed out some of the most prominent beauties in the piece to

those about him.

After a few preliminary remarks addressed by the liberal monarch to

the large assembly, which was now as still as death itself, he went

on to compliment the rare collection of art which was exhibited on

the occasion; and to prove the sincerity of his remarks, and the

compliment to all on this point, he offered a most princely price

for each and all presented for the prize. He observed that had one

of the pieces which had been sent in failed to have been received, he

should have found it absolutely impossible to designnate the best

painting from out the collection, each one of which was so excellent

and perfect in itself. He then remarked that he was unable to award

the prize he had proposed to present to the author of the painting

which would seem to himself and court to embody the greatest degree

of excellence, inasmuch as the picture which had been decided upon

as possessing the most merit, in every department of its execution,

had been sent to the gallery by unknown hands, and was the work of

an unknown artist.

He closed his remarks by saying that the piece alluded to must be

the work of one high in his profession, for it fell little short of

the works of the old masters themselves. "And," added the duke, "if

there is any one in this assembly who can inform us as to the

authorship of the piece in question, we most earnestly hope they

will oblige us by doing so at this tine, that we may do the author

the honor his talents merit, and also avail ourselves of his

unequalled powers in his art."

After a short pause, he proceeded to designate some of the most

prominent points of excellence in the painting; and being a

connoisseur in these matters, the assembly were highly entertained

by his well-chosen remarks, and his subject being one to call forth

all his admiration, he was unusually eloquent. Indeed, his remarks

were so in unison with the appreciation of all who were present

there and heard his voice, that he seemed to carry them along with

him, and to infuse fresh enthusiasm among those who had already

expressed so much admiration of the picture.

There was another pause, the duke evidently awaiting an answer to

his query as to the authorship of the piece. Yet there was no answer

given, nor was there any perceptible movement among the group of

artists, who were assembled together in one corner of the gorgeous

apartment, and upon whom all eyes were turned. But they also stared

at one another, wondering who could be the man. Many of them had

been liberal enough to express a feeling of delight and admiration,

in beholding, as they said, so noble a production of modern times,

and by a living artist. There were those, among them who really

loved the art they followed, and thus were constrained to

acknowledge their admiration.

"I hope," again repeated the duke to the assembly, "if there is any

one present who can inform us as to the authorship of this masterly

effort of genius, he will do so at once, and confer a personal favor

upon us."

There was a slight movement perceptible among the group of artists

at this moment, and Carlton, the young American, was seen making his

way to the front of his companions, several of whom rebuked him for

his forwardness in so doing.

"Why do you push forward, Carlton?"

"Nay, give way but a moment," said our hero.

"What would you?"

"To speak to the duke."

"Fie, man, don't you see he's busy now?"

"Give way but a moment," was the reply.

"May it please you, excellenza," said Carlton, stepping before the

group of artists, and addressing the monarch in Italian, which he

spoke like a native, "I am the humble author of the picture it has

pleased you to compliment so highly."

All eyes were turned upon the speaker, who stood forth from his

companions with downcast eyes and burning cheeks, for well he knew

that the eyes of all Florence, or rather its nobility, were resting

upon him at that moment. The countenances of his former companions

evinced no emotions of resentment, as one might have expected who

understood their former feelings toward the American. No; they were

too much filled with surprise to entertain any other feeling for the

moment, and they looked at each other in the utmost amazement,

scarcely believing their senses.

The eyes of the assembly were bent upon him, and in wonder, too, at

the threadbare coat and emaciated countenance, which told but too

plainly the tale of hunger and want he had suffered. And so it was,

as the reader has seen. Carlton was too proud to make known his

necessities, and he had suffered most incredibly from want.

Hardly had Carlton spoken in answer to the question of the duke,

when there was a visible commotion among the high-born dames that

surrounded his seat, and one was carried by the attendants from the

apartment fainting. It was the duke's, ward, the Signora Florinda.

The surprise and delight which crowded itself upon her gentle

sensibility, was too much for her to bear, and she sank insensible

into the arms of those about her.

"What so strangely affected the Signora Florinda?" asked the duke.

"We know not, your highness," replied one of her late companions.

"She seemed regarding this young artist at the moment when she was

taken ill."

"Singular."

"Very, your highness."

"Hasten after her, and return and let me know how she is."

"Si, excellenza."

"Say I will join her anon."

"I will, excellenza."

It was many minutes before the Grand Duke recovered from the

surprise occasioned by the appearance of Carlton, and the confusion

consequent upon the sudden illness of his ward; but at length he put

the question inquiringly:

"Americano?"

"Si, excellenza."

"And this is the work of thy hands?"

"It is, excellenza."

"It is a most masterly piece, by our lady," said the duke, looking

first upon the painting and then at Carlton, as if half in doubt as

to the truth of the young American's assertion.

"Your excellenza is pleased to honor me," said Carlton, with a

respectful inclination of the head.

"If the piece be thine, it is well merited," continued the duke.

"It shall be proved to thy satisfaction, excellenza."

Carlton thanked in his heart the long auburn hair that covered in

part his burning cheeks, while he thus stood before that gallant

assembly of the elite of the court of Florence.

"What proof, sir artist," said the duke, "shall we have of the

genuineness of this production?"

"By referring to the painting, excellenza," replied Carlton; "you

will find a peculiarity of expression, a want of finish in the

features of the third figure on the extreme left of the canvass."

"You speak truly, Signor Americano; we had before noticed the

defect, and were at loss to account for it in so perfect a picture

as this before us. But what of the flaw, signor?-the discovery of

that which any one of thy profession would have noticed does not

prove the piece to be the work of thine own hands, for we also had

observed it."

"Very true, excellenza," replied Carlton, "but with your permission,

I will complete the expression of that countenance with a touch; and

when complete, it shall agree in strength of touch, style, tone of

finish, and every particular, with the rest of the piece. And,

moreover, you shall be enabled therein to recognize the likeness of

one of your own household. Is it the pleasure of your excellenza

that I add the finish before the present assembly?"

"It is our desire," said the now deeply interested monarch.

A hum of admiration arose as Carlton, after retiring for a moment,

returned with his palette and brush, and approached the picture.

While the duke's band now played to the deeply interested assembly,

Carlton, with a firm, bold touch, immediately supplied the

indescribable something that had been wanting-the je ne sais quoi

that had been referred to as being requisite to its proper finish.

It was done with such judgment and skill, that the addition, though

fresh, could not be detected unless by a very close observation.

None save the author, who had purposely left that flaw, could so

have remedied it. It was done almost instantly, yet with precision

and accuracy.

The duke gazed upon the canvass for a moment, and then exclaimed

with admiration:

"The Grand Chamberlain!-by our lady, what a likeness! Sir artist,

thou hast the pencil of a Raphael!"

"Is your excellenza satisfied?"

"We are convinced that the piece is thine own. None other than its

author could have accomplished that which we have just witnessed."

"Come hither, gentlemen," said the duke to several of his court

about him; and pointing to the canvass, and the touch it had just

received, said, "This proof is incontestable!"

"It is, indeed," was the response,

"Are you, too, satisfied, gentlemen?"

"We are."

"Enough."

The duke then assuming his seat of state, directed the artist to

approach him. First complimenting him as a son of America, the

glorious Republic of the West, and on his extraordinary genius-as he

was pleased to express himself-he awarded him the rich prize

prepared for the occasion, at the same time offering him a sum for

the painting which would have rendered a man of moderate wishes

independent for life.

"The prize, your excellenza," said Carlton, "I gladly accept as a

token of your liberality in advancing the interests of the noble art

I follow. But as it regards the high price you have set upon my

humble effort, I can only say, that I had designed it from the first

as a present for your excellenza, and only ask in return, that it

may find a place in your private and unrivalled collection-if,

indeed, it shall be deemed worthy of that honor."

"Signor Americano," said the duke, "it shall share the Tribune with

our best pictures, and shall be prized alike with them."

Now the Tribune, so called, was a small apartment of the duke's

gallery devoted to the gems of his collection, and so named after a

similar appropriation in the departments of the grand gallery of

Florence. The hanging of a picture in this place was of itself alone

the highest compliment the author could receive through his

production; and so did Carlton understand and appreciate the honor

thus designed him, which also was the more welcome, being entirely

unexpected.

He could hardly realize that his humble effort should be deemed

worthy of such preferment, or that it could possibly possess such

merit as to warrant its being placed side by side with those of the

immortal masters, whose humblest follower he had ever deemed

himself. No wonder his heart beat now so quickly, and he breathed so

fast; the goal of his ambition was before him, and almost within his

grasp. It seemed only necessary for him to reach out his hand and

pluck the garland of success and of renown. The pause that had

intervened here was but for a single moment of time, when it was

once more broken by the duke himself, who spoke, as he felt, most

kindly and in encouraging tones.

"Signor Americano," said the duke, "thy habiliments are those of one

whose purse is but narrowly lined, and we are at a loss to account

for this willingness to part with that which has cost thee labor of

months, and in which thou hast been so eminently successful. We do

much crave the picture, but will nevertheless forego its possession

unless it can be had at our own valuation."

"As the picture was painted for your excellenza, and you design for

it such honor, I could wish its free acceptance; but it must be

yours on any terms," said Carlton.

The assembly then dispersed, and our hero received a purse of gold

for his picture, exceeding in amount his wildest expectations of

what he might earn by his art in years of industry and frugality.

The scene he had successfully perfected, represented two applicants

for justice, standing before the Pope of Rome. They were priests,

and had come before him for his judgment in the matter of contention

between them. They were ushered into the presence of the pope by a

high official, and to this usher had Carlton given the features of

the duke's chamberlain. It was a superb design, and represented a

late occurrence well-known to the people of Florence, and for this

reason, aside from that of its acknowledged superiority, possessed

peculiar interest at that time.

The deep, yet natural expression of feeling depicted in each

countenance, the perfect harmony of the general conception and its

completeness of finish, rendered the picture a study requiring time

to comprehend and appreciate all its many excellences. It was

finished, and the work of half a year, pursued with the utmost

assiduity in secret, had proved successful. All his pains and

self-denials were now forgotten; he was doubly paid for all his

sufferings-he even looked back upon them with a conscientious pride,

and deemed that he had bought his preferment cheaply.

And such is ever the fate of true genius; it rarely receives the aid

of fortune in gaining fame, but struggles on, dependent upon its own

slow but sure preferment. This is self-evident; for genius may

remain ever latent, unless brought out and improved by stem

necessity.

CHAPTER VI.

THE MASQUERADE BALL.

Prosperity's the very bond of love.

-Winter's Tale.

WHAT a perfect chequer-board is this same game of life on which we

all hold so transient a lease. Time is the board, and the various

vicissitudes of life make up the chequered field, ourselves the

wooden "men;" each and all strive for preferment, and whether it be

gained or not, depends solely upon the shrewdness of him who plays

the game. The "king-row" may designate the pinnacle of earthly

wishes and hopes, while the various "moves" may show the struggle

for that desirable goal-happiness. Ah! how many of us get "penned"

and "cornered"--and many too, in their headlong course, are "jumped,"

and taken off the scene of action. Truly, there is a vast similitude

between this game of chequers and the bolder one of life.

Here was poor Carlton but lately struggling along the chequered

field, now moving literally towards the king-row. In a few

subsequent weeks, with a well-filled purse, he was enjoying life and

his art like a true gentleman, and was the envy of every artist in

Florence; and yet they all strove to do him honor, at least; so it

appeared, orders for his productions crowded upon him from all the

nobility, not only of Florence, but of all Tuscany. The private

palaces of the environs of the city were thought incomplete in their

collections, unless supplied with one at least of his pictures, the

patronage of the Grand Duke, and his own work, which occupied the

favored place in the Pitti Palace, having raised him to the pinnacle

of fame as an artist.

All Italy honored the productions of the fortunate American, and

scarcely could a Raphael or a Titian have been more respected or

honored. It was his own genius that had raised him and no accident

of fortune.

"This young American monopolizes the market with his brush just

now," said one artist to another.

"Ay, and gets such princely prices, too, for his pictures! Funny

world, this! It is scarcely three months since he was likely to

starve for want of work."

"All the Grand Duke's doings; he can make as easily as he can mar a

man", replied the other.

"But a man must have genius to fill the place Carlton holds."

"As much as you might put on a knife's point-no more," said the

other, enviously.

The long Italian day is past, and its shadows have died over the

neighboring mountains, giving place to the voluptuous and dewy

twilight, which lightly wraps itself with its soft mantle of studded

stars closely about the lovely breast of the Val d'Arno. But a few

hours later, and the Palazzo Pitti is one blaze of light, and the

thrilling music of the duke's favorite band resounds already among

the fountains and groves of the gardens; already have commenced to

congregate the gay courtiers and lovely dames of this land of the

sun. The diamond tiaras that sparkle on those lovely brows are less

dazzling than the lovely and soul-ravishing eyes that look out from

that mental diamond, the soul within; the jewelled stars upon those

manly breasts well become the noble bearing of the wearers.

Brilliant indeed was the soiree of the rich and liberal Grand Duke

of Tuscany. The Austrian-born monarch seemed to delight in

surrounding the nobles of his court with the most magnificent luxury

and display that wealth could procure, as if he would fain show his

Italian subjects his own national taste.

"The duke spares no expense in his entertainments," said the English

consul to a friend, by whom he was standing.

"I have known him send to Rome frequently for an artifice to serve

him a single evening," was the reply.

"It may be a weakness thus to lavish expenditure, but it is a most

brilliant one," said the consul.

"And one which is dictated as much by policy as by his own personal

gratification," said the other.

"Perhaps so; but without questioning his motives, we may at all

events enjoy the feast he spreads."

"That is but proper and reasonable, and I most heartily subscribe to

the same,"

It is a masked ball that occupies the gay throng in the ducal

palace. That is to say, in accordance with a general custom of the

times, those who please are masked until midnight, when, at the

sound of the hour from the great throat of the bell, all masks are

removed, and all disguises laid aside. Carlton as the successful

protege of the Grand Duke, and Carlton the humble artist, was a very

different person. He was the observed of all observers; and many a

rich belle sought his side-nay, even leaned upon his arm, as he

strolled through the gorgeous rooms of the palace. They were

sufficiently disguised by their masks to remove any fear of personal

recognition; and therefore, those who knew him not, save by the late

scene of winning the prize, besought his escort for the dance-a

piece of forwardness quite allowable during the masked part of the

ball. Many were the eyes that were bent upon him; and more than one

glance of jealousy was shot towards him by s young nobles, as they

saw the belles drawn to his side.

[SEE ENGRAVING.]

Carlton was naturally graceful, dignified and handsome, and bore his

new position as though he had ever filled it-now chatting gaily with

this lady, now with that, but all the while striving to detect

through the many disguises of dresses and masks, the one form that

was to him all in all-the queen of his heart and his love, Signorina

Florinda. He was himself unmasked, and wore a rich Grecian

head-dress, a tunic of dark velvet, trimmed with rich ermine, and

clasped close about the throat with checks of gold. His silken hose,

and velvet shoes faced with silver thread, set off his fine limbs to

perfection. A light, graceful dirk hung at his silver girdle,

finishing a costume of great simplicity and beauty. On his right arm

there now leans the peerless figure of a countess, with whom he

promenades and chats in his gay and spirited way, while she is

evidently much captivated with him-indeed, so much is this apparent,

that a figure of less height, dressed in a simple peasant's garb and

masked, steals up to his side and whispers some words into his ear;

but though the reader may easily guess who that peasant girl really

was, for the moment Carlton knew her not, and gently declining some

proposal from her lips, he turns and walks on with the countess

through the blaze of light and grandeur.

"That fellow carries it with a high hand," said one young noble to

another, referring to Carlton.

"Ay, but he has the full countenance and favor of the duke, and none

can gainsay him."

"Well, he is deuced clever," said the English consul, who was

talking with the other two.

"Is it a fact that he is American?" asked the first speaker, still

regarding him.

"Undoubtedly. You know he was announced as such when he won the

duke's prize."

"How the ladies take to him," said the English consul.

"And he to them," added another.

"The Signora Florinda is said particularly to affect him, and he may

win a prize there," said one of the group.

"That would be too bad-the richest heiress in Florence to throw

herself away thus!"

"'There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,'" quoted the

English consul, and then walking away.

And thus Carlton was the unconscious theme of comment to a large

portion of the assembly. But the hour approaches when the heavy bell

of the palace strikes the midnight hour, and the masquerade will be

broken up, and each and all appear before each other in their true

characters. Peasant girls will don the attire more fitting their

station; kings and queens will descend to their true estates;

brigands will lay by the threatening paraphernalia of the

mountain-robber, and hooded monks will assume a more worldly attire.

The hour is struck, and the scene changes!

All is once more life and gayety, but the mask is discarded, and

each one is undisguised. See, as the grand chamberlain, with the

golden key of office wrought ostentatiously upon his ample velvet

mantle, aids in arranging the preliminaries of the dance, he pauses

to address with respect, and yet with a degree of familiarity, a

tall, manly person of noble bearing, and of handsome features,

opposite to whom stands, as partner for the dance, Signora Florinda,

the duke's ward. The queenly beauty of her person is the same as

when we first met her, so lovely and captivating. The few months

which have intervened since that period, have only served still more

to perfect her ripening mould; and though scarcely nineteen summers

have shed their golden wealth upon that genial land since her natal

hour, yet she is in the full bloom of lovely womanhood.

See how gracefully glides that beautiful form through the mazes of

the dance!-how fondly, as she rests within the encircling arm of her

partner, does she look up into his face, drinking from the eloquent

eyes that meet her own of the nectar of love, as the Suri rose of

Syria sips the dewy treasures of the twilight hour. That partner on

whom she rests so fondly, gentle reader, is the humble painter who

won the prize of the Grand Duke; the now rich and honored Carlton,

the protege of Leopold.

The generous monarch who ruled over that portion of Italy under his

charge with the liberal and provident hand of a father, held most

regal court-spending of his enormous revenue with a gallant and open

hand. His excellency was a connoisseur in all matters of the arts,

to which he was enthusiastically devoted, and also a most liberal

patron to their interest; consequently he lavished all honor on him

whom he thought so deserving of it, and the entire court now pointed

to the envied artist as being the favorite of the Grand Duke.

Carlton's new patron found qualities in the young American artist to

admire and love, and there grew up between him and the duke a real

and earnest friendship quite remarkable.

"No more thanks," said the duke to him one day as they were

together. "You challenge me to praise, to reward, and to love you,

and I cannot help doing all three."

"Your highness is only too lavishly kind to me," was the earnest

reply.

"But touching this affection which has sprung up between you and my

ward. I shall have plenty of opposition in that matter; but if

Florinda loves you, by our lady, she shall be yours."

"Your highness is ever adding to my indebtedness to you," said

Carlton.

"Say no more, say no more, Carlton, but make your own terms."

The consent of the duke was thus freely obtained to the marriage of

Florinda and Carlton, and the observant monarch discovered the

preference of his ward long before it was announced formally to him.

So far from opposing the object, he even encouraged it in every way

that propriety suggested; forwarding its interests by such delicate

promptings as his feelings would permit. He loved Florinda as though

she had been his own child. This feeling, as we have seen, was first

induced by the affection which existed between his ward and his

lamented wife, and was afterward strengthened by her many beauties

of mind and person.

Carlton and Florinda sat together in a private apartment in the

royal palace. The latter was playing a favorite air upon the guitar

to the artist, who sat at her feet watching with admiration every

movement of that beautiful and dearly loved form. He found every

attribute there worthy a heart's devotion. Like the worshippers of

the sun, who believe that God sits there on his throne, so did he,

in his homage, picture the good angel of all things in the heart of

Florinda.

Let us pause for a moment, to describe the apartment in the Palazzo

Pitti, devoted to the fair Signora Florinda, and where she now sat

with him she loved. It was fittingly chosen, being in a retired yet

easily accessible angle of the palace; an apartment lofty and large,

yet not so much so as to impart the vacant and lonely feeling that a

large room is wont to do over the feelings of the occupant when

alone.

It was lighted by two extensive windows, reaching nearly from the

ceiling to the floor. The magnificence of the furniture, the rich

and well chosen paintings that ornamented the walls, and in short,

the air of unostentatious richness that struck the beholder on

entering it, showed at once the good taste and general character of

the occupant.

On a little table of elaborate and beautiful workmanship, were

placed with a few rare and favorite books, some curious ornaments

from the hands of the cunning artificers of the East, most

beautifully fancied, and from which a moral might be read telling

the fair occupant of the unhappy state of her own sex in that far

off clime.

The broad, heavy and richly-wrought curtains that tempered the light

admitted through the gorgeously stained glass windows, were of

Tuscan satin, blending, like the skies under which they were

manufactured, a most happy conceit of rich and rosy colors. Pendant

from the hoops in which both were gathered, hung a bunch of ostrich

feathers of showy whiteness belieing, as it were, the country of

their nativity-swarthy Africa. They were more for fancy than for

use, though they did sometimes serve to chase the flies.

The seats and couches were of stuffed and figured velvet from the

manufactories of the queen of the Adriatic, Venice. The scarcely

less soft and pliant carpet was of eastern ingenuity, and no richer

served the Turkish Sultan himself. Two opposite sides of the

apartment were ornamented each with a mirror of extensive size.

About their richly gilded frames was wound, in graceful festoons,

the finest Mechlin lace as a screen for the eye.

On one side of the room stood an American piano, and beside it a

harp of surpassing richness. Here Carlton and Florinda were seated

at this time in all the confidence and enjoyment of acknowledged

love.

"Carlton, I told thee that fortune would smile upon thee; thou

rememberest that I told thee."

"It has indeed, and I am blessed."

And thus saying, he pressed the delicate, jewelled hand that he held

affectionately to his lips, while his eyes beamed with love.

"You have promised me that you will visit my native land with me

after our marriage, dear Florinda."

"O, nothing will delight me more than to see the American Republic;

the cities and towns of the New World, its people and customs. O,

how I have ever wished to travel! Only to think, Carlton, I have

scarcely been out of Italy! I once made a trip with uncle across the

sea to Malaga and back, touching at the islands; that was years gone

by. Since then I have been at times to Milan, Genoa, Leghorn and

Bologna, but never out of Italy."

"America is not like thy sunny land, Florinda."

"Ay, but it is the land of thy nativity, and I will love it for thy

sake, And then it is a free, republican government; there are no

serfs there-all are freemen. How proud you should feel to belong to

such a country."

"I do indeed feel proud, dear one; and doubly so when thy eloquent

tongue describes it so well."

He touched the guitar lightly and gaily, while he thought of the

happy tour they would make together.

"How proud I shall be of thee," he continued.

"How proud I am of thee."

"There is little pride in thee, Florinda, or thou wouldst never have

consented to marry one of my humble pretensions."

"Carlton," said the lady, reproachfully.

"And thou wilt marry the humble painter?"

"Nay, the envied artist, and protege of the duke."

"Ah, little have I coveted this advancement, but for the hope that

it has given me concerning thee, Florinda! The favored friend of the

Grand Duke has dared boldly to ask for that which the poor artist

could only hope for."

Florinda and Carlton were happy in the anticipation of future joy,

foreseeing for themselves a path of roses in the fairy future.

"But fortune is fickle, dearest, and even now I tremble."

"You are ever suspicious, Carlton."

"Not in most matters, but in those relating to thee, Florinda."

"Now, I am ever looking on the sunny side of our life-picture."

"It is good philosophy to do so, if one can but accomplish the

purpose."

"And yet, Carlton, one will sometimes be reminded that there is a

shadowed side to the brightest scenes and hopes."

"We will seek its bright side, dearest."

"With all my heart.-Carlton, do you not remember that you left the

heroine of that story you were last telling me in a most critical

situation?"

"True, she was carried off by the banditti. Shall I complete the

story?"

"Yes, pray do."

CHAPTER VI.

THE RHINE LEGEND COMPLETED.

They laugh that win.

-Othello.

"WELL, Florinda, you must go with me in imagination to the mountain

fastness, which I referred to as the robbers' stronghold in the

mountains. A month nearly had passed since the period of Bettina's

being carried away from her home, and the time I would introduce you

there. It is a wild spot, almost inaccessible, unless one knows the

secret paths which have been hewn up the sides of the rocks, and

through the otherwise impassable undergrowth of the forest, by the

perseverance and labors of the robbers. The rude castle, which I

would now describe to you, was built with consummate military skill,

and the walls and bastions, though small and low, could hold out a

long time against any strength that might be brought against it.

Ever prepared for an enemy, too, was its cautious master and his

outposts were as regularly set as are those of an advancing army in

an enemy's country.

"Hither had the fair Bettina been conducted; and here, with a simple

peasant girl to serve her, had she been treated with all respect,

save that she was a prisoner. Rude were the inhabitants of this

uncongenial spot; fierce in aspect, but completely under the control

of the master spirit, whom they called captain. Hark! A peculiar

wild cry rings over the tree-tops, and echoes among the rocks and

hills; and observe how quickly those who have been loitering upon

the ground spring to their feet, and Petard himself comes forth from

that portion of the tower devoted to his retirement. That was some

recognized signal-that cry which, to the uninitiated, might have

been mistaken for the whoop of an owl, or some wild bird's cry of

fright.

"The secret is soon disclosed. That signal betokened the taking of a

captive, and there was soon led into their midst the person of one

whom misery seemed to have laid violent hands upon, with garments

torn and soiled, with a step that indicated weakness almost to death

itself, the face disfigured by unshorn beard and hair, and eyes that

looked sunken and large from famine. Such was the bent and

woe-begone figure that was now half-supported, half-led into the

midst of the band.

"'From whence comes this man?' asked Petard, regarding him

curiously.

"'He was found lurking about our outskirts, captain, and we thought

it best to arrest and bring him in.'

"'It is well,' continued the captain of the robbers. 'What have you

to say for yourself, fellow? What brought you in these regions, away

from town and habitations?'

"'Give me food, food!' gasped the prisoner.

"'Ay, by our lady, he's famished,' said Petard, with a natural

burst of feeling. 'Here, bring bread-a flask of wine.'

"He was obeyed, and the new comer drained the flask to the bottom,

and devoured the food voraciously, until those about him interfered,

saying that he would kill himself after so long an abstinence; and

truly there seemed to be some grounds for this fear, so ravenously

hungry did he seem. Gradually, as the wine warmed his veins, and the

food, to which some dried meats had been added, began to satisfy the

cravings of hunger, the stranger rose from his bending posture, and

new life seemed infused into his system. His eyes, though somewhat

hollow, seemed to brighten and light up his rugged face. There was

manhood in him, and that pleased the bandits; he showed no signs of

fear, and looked boldly about him, like one who was accustomed to

rely on himself, and was prepared to stand forth at any moment in

defence of his rights.

"'If thou canst fight as well as thou canst eat, my man, thou art a

jewel of a fellow,' said Petard, carefully scanning the new comer,

who seemed every moment brightening up from the effects of the

nourishment.

"'Give me but rest and more food, and you may then try me,' was the

brief reply.

"'Thou art a sensible fellow,' continued Petard, who was evidently

pleased with the stranger, 'and shalt be humored.'

"A rude couch was spread by the robbers amidst their stacks of arms,

and throwing himself upon the skins thus prepared for him, the

stranger slept for hours, until the bright sun was high in the

heavens on the following morning, when, after another abundant meal,

he seemed like a new creature; he stood erect, and his fine dark eye

shone with the fire of resolution and of strength. His story was

soon told; he had outraged the laws, was seized and condemned to

punishment, had effected his escape and fled to the mountains, and

wandered about until half-starved, and nearly dead with fatigue, he

had thus been found.

"'Your story is plausible, but what shall we do with you? You know

the secret of our paths through the mountain, and it is not safe to

let thee go abroad to reveal them,' said the bandit chief.

"'Make me one of you, then,' said the stranger.

"'We make but few members,' replied Petard. 'It is not our way; and

men must possess peculiar qualities to obtain a place with us, and a

share of our prize-earnings.'

"Probably courage, strength and a ready hand are worth something

among you,' said the stranger.

"'Yes, but we all possess these,' replied Petard.

"'In a degree,' said the stranger, emphasizing the last word.

"'What mean you?' asked Petard.

"'That perhaps he who offers you his services is a better man than

you take him for,' said the other.

"'In what respects?' asked Petard.

"'In all things that constitute manhood,' was the reply. 'Yesterday

I was weak and worn; to-day I am myself again. And no man of this

band can bear the palm from me in the use of those powers which

Heaven has given us.'

"'Without weapons, you mean to say,' added Petard.

"'Without weapons I defy your best man,' said the stranger,

evidently desiring to display some prowess which should gain him

admission to the band.

"There was a consultation between Petard and a few of his officers

and men, and finally there stepped forth a large, powerful member of

the troop-the bully of the band-who offered without weapons to

contend with the new comer. The terms were properly stated by the

captain, the ground chosen, and the contest begun. The skill,

strategy and strength of the stranger were confounding to the

robber, and he was cast upon the ground totally disabled in a very

few moments. The robbers being angry at this, another stepped

forward, was vanquished as quickly, and another, and still another,

until Petard himself interfered, declaring that he who could thus

fight without weapons, and with such skill and decision, must be a

strong auxiliary in time of need. He was installed, therefore, with

due ceremony, as a member of the band.

"It was a fine, clear night," continued Carlton, "that on which it

came the turn of the new comer to guard the tower in which Bettina

Etzwell was confined. The stars shone out like mystic lamps, and the

broad turrets of the robbers' stronghold cast deep shadows upon the

open plats that had been cleared about the spot. All was still.

After an evening of revelry, the band was sleeping, and the single

guard paced to and fro, apparently not daring to sit down lest he

should fall asleep. In the lone tower above him was the fair

prisoner. She realized her true situation, and she knew that her

father would use every endeavor to raise the sum requisite for her

ransom. She knew enough about the habits and practices of the

banditti, not to have any fears for her personal safety, since it

was so much for their pecuniary advantage to protect and respect

her. Indeed, Petard had frankly told her of the communications that

had taken place between her father and himself concerning her

ransom.

"But hark! What startles the fair girl so suddenly? See, she hastens

to the turret window, and listens absorbedly to the low but musical

notes of a human voice. Is it because the song is so familiar to her

ear, that she is thus moved? Perhaps there are recollections

connected with this air that are particularly affecting to her, for

her fair bosom heaves quickly, and her whole figure seems agitated,

as she gazes out upon the night, and her eyes rest upon the person

of the robber who guards her captivity, while a clear, manly voice,

though in subdued cadence, pours forth the touching notes of a Rhine

song with singular delicacy and sweetness.

"'Can there be two such voices?' she asked herself. 'Is there magic

at work? That is certainly the voice of Egbert, but yonder guard who

sings thus is one of these detested banditti!'

"In her excitement, she leaned forth from the turret-window, while

at the same moment the new member of the band drew towards it. All

was still; the revellers slept. Petard himself slept. Only this

single sentinel and the prisoner were awake!

"'Bettina, Bettina!' whispered the guard, with his hands to his

mouth, so as to direct the sound to her ears alone.

"'God be praised, Egbert! Is it indeed you?' she exclaimed aloud.

"'Hush, it is your devoted lover; be discreet!' he answered."

"I knew it was he," interrupted Florinda.

Carlton continued. "'I will, I will. But this dress-the office you

fill. What does this mean? I am amazed, Egbert.'

"'I am here under a disguise,' he replied, 'and have just joined the

robbers to liberate thee. Be careful, watchful, but never appear to

regard me let what may occur, for I may be foiled at first in my

purpose.'

"'My father-' lisped Bettina.

"'Is well,' said her lover. 'All will go well if thou wilt but be

cautious.' Come to the outer door-I have the key.'

"'Shall we fly?' she asked.

"'Not to-night; preparation must be made. Perhaps to-morrow night,

for I have the watch here for two nights, and shall see you then.

Come down for a few moments.'

"In an instant more the lovers were folded in each other's arms.

Egbert had never before embraced her; but their present situation

was one to break down all barriers of mere formality, and Bettina

sobbed upon his breast, blessing him for his, courage in thus seeking

to rescue her. These were precious moments, and they improved them

in arranging everything for the coming night. Egbert, as she bade

him good night, handed her a jewelled dagger, saying that let what

might occur, she had that silent friend!

"It is just four weeks since the first instalment on the robber's

demanded ransom was paid, when the agent of Petard again appeared in

the hall of Botzletz Castle, confident in his personal security,

well knowing that the old man's daughter was the hostage held for

his safety and the fulfilment of the contract, and demands a second

quarter of the ransom. He was a dark, sinister looking Jew-for this

was the class through whom the bandits universally performed all

their business arrangements with people whom they could not

personally approach-himself interested by the large percentage which

was the payment for his part of the business. The Jew was most

pertinacious in his demand.

"Karl Etzwell, the merchant, received the Jew, listened patiently to

his demand, and then calmly said:

"'Two hundred and fifty marks of gold thou hast already received

from me on this business.'

"'I have,' replied the Jew.

"'And thou now demandest an additional two hundred and fifty?' said

the merchant.

"'It is my business,' was the answer.

"'Canst change me a good obligatory note for five hundred?' asked

the merchant.

"The Jew drew forth his bag of gold, and after a brief examination,

said:

"'If thou wilt take a few diamonds at their true valuation, I can

make up the sum on the spot, but I shall charge you goodly usury.'

"'It is well,' replied the merchant.

"'You agree to this?'

"'Count out the money,' said the old merchant.

"It was done, and the Jew deposited upon the table two hundred and

fifty marks of gold, partly made up by a score of fine diamonds.

"'We should have some witnesses to this transaction,' said the

merchant. 'I will summon them.'

"'It were better done between ourselves alone,' said the Jew.

"At the same moment the heavy folding-doors behind the seat occupied

by Karl Etzwell were thrown open, and two persons, a lady and

gentleman, advanced towards the old merchant, They were Bettina and

Egbert!

"'Foiled with thine own weapons!' said Egbert, advancing and

securing the money which the Jew had deposited upon the table. 'This

is the exact sum that was paid to thee four weeks since. It is now

returned, and you are a marked man. If seen again in these parts, I

will myself have thee cut in piecemeal, and hung at my castle gates.

Now, villain, get thee hence!'

"'Gentlemen, you forget that there is a captive who will pay the

penalty of all this,' said the Jew, with a demoniacal grin.

"'You are not fully informed, Sir Jew,' said Egbert. 'Your principal

could inform you that his bird has flown, and I tell you that there

she stands beside her father.'

"The Jew uttered a smothered execration, and tore his hair for a

moment in despair at the loss he had experienced. But the iron grip

of Egbert's powerful hand upon his shoulder awoke him to a sense of

pain and fear for his safety, and he hurried away.

"The descendants of Egbert and Bettina still live happily in their

ancestral home," added Carlton, "and often relate the story of the

manner in which the famous bandit Petard was foiled by the gallant

and daring stratagem of Egbert Hosfeldt."

"This is a happy ending, indeed," said Florinda.