cliffs beyond the reach of the breakers; whose bitter and heavy spray
beat over me incessantly. After stopping for a few minutes to recover
breath and recall my scattered energies, I ascended to the summit: the
level country spread before me, and a few lights sparkling at a
distance, announced a neighbouring town. A distant bell tolled the
eleventh hour as I walked forward along a road bordered by trees: but my
knees bent tremulously at every step; for I felt still the roll of the
ship and the dull boom of the ocean, and the hiss of its salt frothy
breakers yet rang in my ears.
As if its object had been accomplished in the destruction of the little
schooner, the storm, which had raged so long, now began to die away: the
trees became less agitated; the veil of dark clouds, which had obscured
the face of heaven, withdrew; and the silver stars were seen sparkling
in the blue dome above.
Though rejoicing in my safety, and pitying the poor fellows who had
perished, I moved on in dread and doubt, shivering with cold and misery.
My uniform was drenched with salt water, and stuck close to me, and my
head and feet were without covering. I longed to learn whether Fate had
thrown me on the Calabrian shore, or on that of Otranto: if on the
latter, I felt certain of becoming a prisoner to the French; whose
commanders often displayed, at that time, more of the savage spirit of
the Revolutionists, than of that chivalry which distinguished the brave
soldiers of the empire. When I thought on the many years of captivity
which might elapse ere I again beheld Bianca or my home, I almost
regretted that the ocean had not swallowed me up; immediate death
appearing preferable to the sickening future I anticipated: hope
deferred for years, promotion stopped, and prospects blighted, perhaps,
for ever.
As I walked slowly forward, my feet were soon cut by the hard flinty
road; which I pursued towards the town. But the appearance of a
handsome little villa, in the centre of a lawn, standing by the wayside,
changed my intentions: I did not hesitate to approach the house; deeming
it safer to acquaint an Italian gentleman with my condition, than to
proceed, with the chance of being captured by the quarter-guard of a
French camp or cantonment.
Passing through an ornamental wicket, I approached the villa, which was
surrounded by a paved terrace, enclosed by a stone balustrade: every
window was dark, save one on the ground floor, which appeared made to
open like a folding door. In front of this a flight of marble steps
descended from the terrace, between two pedestals, on each of which
reposed a sculptured lion. I stood before the window, between the
crimson curtains of which the interior was revealed; and its decorations
and furniture were more splendid than the general aspect of the villa
led me to expect.
An aged man, of a venerable, benign, and truly noble aspect, sat near an
ebony table, on which he leant, intently reading by the light proceeding
from the globe of a silver lamp. He wore a baretta of crimson velvet,
adorned in front with a gold cross, and a cape and stockings of scarlet
peeped out from under an ample dressing-gown of faded brocade, which
enveloped his person. A few thin silvery hairs escaped from beneath his
cap, and they glittered in the lamplight; his forehead was high and
commanding, the curve of his lip was majestic, and there was an
indescribable dignity in his whole aspect. His cheek and brow were
pale; yet, at times, his eyes sparkled as brightly as those of an
Italian girl, as he conned over an old and discoloured piece of
parchment, to which various seals and coloured ribbons were attached.
I know not what it was that agitated me at that moment, but there was
something in the presence of that venerable stranger which, as it were,
drew me insensibly towards him; and all dread of acquainting him with my
situation, and entrusting him with my liberty and safety, vanished.
Once more, ere essaying, I looked steadily at him. He was replacing the
charter in an iron safe, and had drawn forth another, to which a seal,
like a pancake, was appended. The light flashed more fully on his
features than it had done before; and, strange to say, they appeared to
me like those of an old friend, or of one whom I had a dim recollection
of having seen before: but where, I endeavoured in vain to recollect.
"O, my illustrious brother!" he exclaimed, "though thy gallant heart is
mouldering at Frescati, thy memory will be cherished while chivalry and
valour are respected among men!" He paused, and lay back in an
arm-chair, when I could perceive that tears were running down his
cheeks; but the deep emotion passed away, and he again resumed his
reading. I then tapped gently on the casement, and lifting the latch
entered the apartment.
"Pardon this intrusion--be not alarmed, reverend signor."
He started; the paper fell from his hand; he closed the safe with
precipitation, and grasping the gilded knobs of his arm-chair, stared at
me in astonishment. Certainly my appearance was not very prepossessing:
my old fighting coat, which had long since acquired a purple hue by
campaigning and the blood of wounds, had become of a most unique colour,
by being drenched in salt water. I was unshaven, grisly, and gaunt of
visage; minus boots and hat, and my damp hair hung around my face in
matted locks.
"A British officer in my presence, and at this time of night!" he
exclaimed. "Whence come you, sir?" he added, surveying me with a proud
stern glance, which gradually melted into one more pleasant and benign.
"Your name and purpose, signor?'
"Claude Dundas, a captain of the 62nd regiment, and aide-de-camp to
General Sir John Stuart, now serving in the Calabrias."
"Stuart--_Stuart_!" he muttered, "the times are indeed changed when--you
say your name is Dundas? Which family are you of?"
Though surprised at this question from an Italian lord, I satisfied him;
he smiled, and said, "I know them."
"Illustrissimo, I have undergone great misery during the past storm in
the Gulf of Tarento, and in this condition have been wrecked: I know not
upon what part of the Italian shores I have been thrown, but trust to be
received with that hospitality which I, as an officer of Italy's ally,
have a right to expect."
"Welcome, signor: but excuse my rising. I never rise but to equals. No
Briton in distress ever sought succour from me in vain; yet
little--little, truly, do these heretical islanders deserve favour at my
hands! Ola, Catanio!"
He rang a silver hand-bell, and an attendant, or old priest, made his
appearance; who exhibited the same aspect of dismay that his master had
done on beholding me.
"With us, signor," said my host, "you are safe, although Massena's
soldiers swarm everywhere around us. Here you can remain in disguise
until we discover some means of sending you to Calabria."
"You speak my very wishes--I am deeply indebted to you! Upon what part
of the coast have I been thrown?"
"Near Canne, in Basilicata, a few miles from the frontier of Upper
Calabria."
"I am then in rear of the French lines at Cassano!" said I, aghast at
the intelligence. He bowed.
"Follow Catanio; change your attire, and partake of some
refreshment--go! afterwards I will speak with you." He had all the air
and tone of a man who through life had been accustomed to wield
authority.
"Basilicata!" I repeated inwardly, as we retired: it seemed almost
incredible that the water-logged wreck, under a jury-foresail, even when
aided by wind and tide, could have run so far up the gulf since
daybreak. Her sailing must have averaged five knots an hour, since we
lost sight of the Capo della Colonna. Catanio, who by his taciturnity
and outward trim appeared to be a monk, led me into an ante-room, where
he furnished me with dry apparel. I asked him numerous questions
concerning my host, but he seemed very unwilling to gratify my
curiosity.
"Signor Catanio," said I, while slipping on a pair of black cotton
breeches; "I presume he is a man of rank."
"In Italy none is nobler; the vicegerent of God excepted," he replied,
energetically.
"You are an Abbruzzese by your accent, I think?" The old fellow smiled
sourly, and took a great pinch of snuff.
"I am an honest man," said he, handing his snuff-box to me, and bundling
my wet uniform, somewhat contemptuously, into a chest, which he locked.
"And my host," I continued, thrusting on a black serge jacket; "he must
be a churchman, as he is served by priests: how am I to address him?"
"Italians style him, 'his eminence;' but we, his faithful domestics and
followers,----"
"Eminence!--is he Cardinal Ruffo?"
"Ruffo, the apostate!" repeated the other, with such intense scorn, that
I was undeceived.
"He is a cardinal at all events; and I (unhappy pagan!) have been
styling him plain signor. Excuse my laughing; but, faith! one feels so
comfortable in these dry clothes, after the misery of--but what is this?
I am not going to a masquerade!"
"It is our master's pleasure that you attire yourself thus," said
Catanio, handing me a cassock and three flapped-hat like his own; "it is
your only safe disguise."
"It is just like a snug dressing-gown after all," said I, donning the
garment.
"You are a perfect monk, signor!" said the old man, smiling kindly; "but
do not keep your head so erect: that is an old habit. Ah! there was a
time--but here are your beads--tie the girdle thus. Bravo! you are a
very monk."
"Snuff, grease, garlic, &c. excepted," I thought.
"I am happy to assist in saving a countryman from those false
Frenchmen."
"A countryman--what! are you a Scotchman?'
"Born and bred, sir," said he, laying aside his Italian, and with an
effort recalling the strong northern dialect of his boyhood. "I was
called Duncan Catanach, and in happier days dwelt near Lochaber, in old
Caledonia; which I would fain behold once more before I die."
The eyes of the old man glistened, and we shook hands with all the
brotherly warmth of heart with which Scot greets Scot in a foreign land.
"I rejoice to meet in this place a subject of old George III."
"I am no subject of his! the petty princes--"
"Ha! some follower of Watt, who was beheaded for treason--eh?"
"No!" he replied, proudly and sternly; "I follow no traitor--nor do I
participate in treason!" At that moment his master's bell rang loudly,
and he hurriedly withdrew.
*CHAPTER XX.*
*THE CARDINAL.*
In a few minutes he led me back to the presence of my host. A slight
repast had been hastily laid for me in a snug little library, the walls
of which were adorned with a few trophies of arms and portraits, some of
them veiled by crimson curtains; but I was too much interested in the
cold fowls, the sparkling wine, and other viands displayed on the snowy
table-cloth, to bestow a thought upon anything else. On entering, I
bowed profoundly to his eminence, who occupied a large gilt chair,
cushioned with crimson velvet. Catanio seated himself at the table to
help me.
"Make yourself quite at home, signor," said my host, "and sup without
ceremony; being lashed to a wreck for ten hours is enough to give any
man an appetite: but excuse my not bearing you company. I have already
supped, the hour is late, and I do not usually admit strangers to my
table. Catanio, be attentive to our friend."
Catanach--or Catanio--filled my glass with glowing sherry; and long ere
the speech of my host was finished, I had dissected the major part of an
excellent fowl. My eye fell upon my figure reflected in a mirror
opposite, and I could scarcely restrain my mirth: I was a perfect canon,
save that a head of curly brown hair supplied the place of a shaven
scalp.
"Truly, signor, you make an excellent friar," said the cardinal, who
seemed to know what was passing in my mind; "and I doubt not that were
you to resign the sword and belt for the cross and cord, you might rise
in our catholic church, as many of your countrymen from Douay have done.
You must be aware," he continued, after a pause, "that while here, in
rear of Massena and Regnier's lines, you run considerable risk of
discovery, with the danger of suspicion as a spy. But the ruthless
marshal never disturbs my household; and while with it you are safe. He
regards me with respect; although his master's iron hand robbed me of
the little that war, rebellion, and crime had left me: the poor remnant
of the fairest patrimony in Europe."
"I am indebted to your eminence: it would be a deathblow to my hopes to
be taken prisoner just now, and would quite play the devil with me!"
"A British frigate often comes up the gulf as far as Canne."
"Ah! the _Amphion_"
"I will send you off to her by a boat: to pass the French picquets at
Cassano is too dangerous a mode of escape. I wish to befriend you,
signor; and would deplore--ah! I love the scarlet coat: for I, too,
have worn it in my youth."
"A cardinal in a red coat! In our service, my lord?"
"No," he replied coldly, while his eyes sparkled and his cheek flushed.
"No: but when I commanded fifteen thousand French infantry at Dunkirk,
in the service of my father, whose portrait is behind you."
From the incomprehensible speaker, I turned to the portrait, which was
that of a dark and oval-featured cavalier, in a long wig, which flowed
over his steel breastplate and scarlet coat; his eyes possessed the same
keen and proud expression which I beheld in those of the Italian.
"I presume, my lord, you have seen service?"
"None worth mentioning," he replied; and, after pausing a while, till
Catanio had retired and the table was cleared, he thus continued:--"And
you are a Scotsman? How I love to meet with one! Ah! capitano, the
Scots were a loyal people once; but how changed since their rampant
Presbyterian priesthood have moulded the nation to their purpose--the
designing heretics! Oh, cunning clodpoles! I may live to mar you yet."
"You, eminenza?"
"I," he replied, his eyes sparkling again.
"You have been in Scotland, I presume?" I asked, with an air of pique.
"Never: but the name of that country finds an echo in my heart. Though
born a Roman, the ideas of your people, their Lowland nobles and the
chiefs of the loyal and illustrious clans, are all well known to me.
Dear to me, indeed, is every inch of the isle of Great Britain: though
truly I owe little to the land which set a price on the heads of my
nearest and dearest relatives."
"Whom have I the honour of addressing?"
"_Your king!_" he replied, with a deep voice, which caused me to start,
as he rose erect from his chair, and his tall and venerable figure
seemed to dilate, and his faded cheek to glow. "Your king, sir," he
added, in pure English: "one, at least, who should have been so; but the
hands of time and fate are now laid heavily upon him. I am Henry the
Second of Scotland and the Ninth of the sister kingdom--the Cardinal
Duke of York: now, alas! known as the last of the House of Stuart.
Fate--fate--yes, hardly hast thou dealt with me! Expelled from Rome by
Napoleon, robbed of my estates, and driven to penury in my old age, I
dwell here in forgotten obscurity, subsisting on that poor pittance
which is yearly doled out by the Government of Britain. Yet let me not
be ungrateful to George their king: even that he might have withheld
from me. A time may come--God hath given, and God can take away. You
know me now, sir: let your wonder cease."
As if exhausted by this outburst of his troubled spirit, the venerable
cardinal sank back in his chair, while I arose from mine in a very
unpleasant state of astonishment, pleasure, and doubt: astonishment at
the discovery, a joyous pleasure at beholding the aged and illustrious
prelate (even then the secret idol of many a heart which clung to
memories of the past), and doubt how to address him; having heard that
he exacted the title of "Majesty," which it was as much as my commission
was worth to yield him. But a spell was upon me. I had looked on kings
at the head of armies, surrounded by their staff and courtiers; and,
though banners were lowered and cannon thundered in salute, to me they
were just as other men: but in the air and aspect of the aged Henry
Stuart, even in that humble apartment, and surrounded by no external
grandeur save that with which the mind invested him--with no insignia of
royalty save those with which inborn grace and majesty arrayed
him--there was a nameless charm, a potent and mysterious influence which
quite bewildered me; and all the romance, the misfortune, the ten
thousand stirring memories of the past--so stirring, at least, to every
thorough Scotsman--rushed upon my mind like a torrent. It was a
sensation of happiness, a gush of chivalric sentiment and honest
veneration which accompanied them. I bowed, with proper humility,
before the old cardinal-duke; whose proud dark eyes sparkled again, as
he extended his hands above my head, and, forgetting his imaginary
majesty in the churchman, bestowed on me a solemn Latin benediction.
"Wear this in memory of me." He threw around my neck a ribbon to which
a gold medal was attached; and, when the tumult of my spirits passed
away, and I raised my head, he was gone. Catanio stood beside me.
"Has he not the air of a king?" he asked, while a bitter smile curled
his thin lips, and lit up his sharp gray eye. "You are afraid to
answer. You are wearied, perhaps. His Majesty has retired for the
night: allow me to lead you to your apartment."
In the solitude of my chamber, I endeavoured to unravel the chaos of
thought that whirled through my brain. The driving wreck, the drowning
crew, and the terrors of the midnight storm--the white salt foam, the
roaring sea, the cliffs up which I clambered--the villa, the
cardinal-duke blessing me: all passed before me in rapid review. I drew
forth the ribbon and medal to examine them: the latter was of massive
gold; it was one of those struck by order of the cardinal on the death
of his brother, Prince Charles, and distributed among his friends (who
even then, as his papers afterwards revealed, were both powerful and
numerous), in commemoration of his imaginary succession. It bore his
head in bold relief, with the motto--"Henricus Nonus, Anglia Rex." On
the reverse was a cross, supported by Britannia and the Virgin; behind
rose a bridge and cathedral, with the crown of Britain. George III.
became possessed of two of those singular medals; but perhaps I was the
first of his officers who received one from the hand of York: I have
preserved the gift, with proper reverence, in memory of an interview
which I shall never forget.
Next morning, I was awakened by the familiar but unwelcome sound of
drums beating. Dressing in my strange garb, and descending to the lawn
which lay around the mansion, I walked forth to enjoy a ramble in
solitude. I looked on my shovel-hat, the serge sleeves and knotted
girdle of my strange attire. Three days ago, I was aide-de-camp to the
Count of Maida, galloping along the line on a garrison parade; to-day, a
monk, and a follower of Henry Stuart, the Cardinal-Duke of York!
The beauty of the scenery and freshness of the morning drew my steps
towards Canne, which I beheld on the sea-shore, about two miles distant;
its white walls, church spire, and casements, gleaming in the rising
sun. The sound of distant bells reminded me that it was Sunday. The
morning was cloudless, the sky blue, the earth green and glistening with
dew; the wide gulf of Tarento sparkled with light as it vanished into
dimness and misty obscurity; the horizontal line where sea met sky,
being only marked by some sail glittering, like a snow-wreath or white
cloud, in the distance. The road was narrow, and, being bordered by
thick copsewood, was cool and shady. I wandered on until a turn
unexpectedly brought me upon the parade of a regiment of French
infantry, which had just been inspected by Massena, and was being formed
into sections preparatory to marching. My heart beat quick: discovery
was death, and I shrank from the lynx-like gaze of the ferocious
Massena; who, after a few words with the colonel, galloped off
accompanied by his aide. I began to breathe a little more freely. I
recognised the 12th Grenadiers in their blue greatcoats and bear-skin
caps; and at their head my old friend De Bourmont, as paunchy and merry
as ever. An exchange of prisoners had taken place, and all that we had
captured were once more in arms against us. The band struck up, the
arms flashed as they were sloped in the sun, and the battalion moved
off, _en route_ for the frontiers of Calabria; where Massena was
concentrating his forces at the very time our troops were about to
abandon the country. How bravely the sharp trumpet and the hoarse drums
rang in the wooded way, as they marched through the green defiles!
Whilst I listened, regardless of time and place, cassock and cope, some
peasant women approached that I might bestow a benison on their
children; they, however, received only very vague and curious answers as
I pushed past and hurried back towards the good cardinal's villa, from
which I had been too long absent.
After I had breakfasted hastily in my own apartment, Catanio informed me
that as his majesty was to celebrate high mass at Canne, as a piece of
etiquette it would be necessary for me to attend.
"Faith! I have entertained the natives enough for one day," said I.
Catanio frowned; and being obliged to consent, a mule was brought me,
and I set off with the household of the cardinal. A lumbering,
old-fashioned coach bore his eminence from the villa, at a most solemn
pace; its little Roman horses appearing dwarfed to the size of ponies
beside the ancient vehicle, on whose carved and gilded pannels shone the
crown and arms of Britain. The old man considered himself in everything
a king; and doubtless an excellent one he would have made, if we judge
by the goodness of his heart, and the fidelity of his few and
disinterested adherents.
That magic influence by which his family always gained the unbounded
loyalty and most romantic attachment of their followers, he certainly
possessed in no small degree: there was a nobility of soul, a quiet
stateliness of demeanor, and a pious resignation to his obscure fate,
which made his imaginary crown shine with greater lustre; and he passed
through life more peacefully and happily, in consequence of taking no
active part in the great question of hereditary right, which had
embittered the days of his father and brother. His years, his rank, his
reputed sanctity, and general amiability of character procured him the
admiration and devotion of the Italians; who were exasperated by the
invasion of Rome, and the expulsion of so many ecclesiastics of rank.
The crowd surrounding the porch of the church uncovered, with reverence,
as he descended from the coach, and, followed by his household, three
old Scottish priests, an Irish valet, and myself, ascended the steps of
the church. On these crowded a number of wretched mendicants,--a
hideous mass of festering sores, ragged garments, black visages, and
squalid misery; they fell upon their knees, and when Catanio scattered
some silver among them, there arose cries of--
"Viva eminenza! O, the gracious lord! the beneficent father! Viva
Enrico Stuardo! Viva la famiglia Stuardi!"
High mass in its most impressive form was celebrated by the cardinal.
The congregation consisted of the people of Canne, a few ladies, fewer
cavaliers, and a sprinkling of the French garrison. Though the church
was not large, its ancient aisles and carved roof presented a noble
specimen of the old Italian gothic, exhibiting those striking extremes
of light and shadow for which that style is remarkable. The strong
blaze of the noon-day sun poured between the many mullions of its
stained windows, slanting on the picturesque crowd who stood or knelt
around the columns; on the cavalier in his ample cloak, the signora in
her veil and mantle, the peasant in his rough jacket, and the graceful
country girl with her sparkling eyes and olive cheek, shaded by a modest
muslin panno. Six tall candles glimmered before the dark altar-piece,
while the altar itself, being covered with the richest carving and
gilding, shone like a blaze of glory around the aged cardinal, who stood
on the highest step.
The relics of several saints and martyrs, of great reputed sanctity,
stood upon it; and an old ragged mantle, which hung from one of the
columns, was said to be the cloak of Madonna, and to have cured divers
disorders by being wrapped round the sufferers.
My informant was a priest: while speaking he glanced at Bianca's diamond
ring which sparkled on my finger; and the scrutinizing eye with which he
regarded me brought the blood to my temples. I was also exposed to the
watchful glances of a French officer; in whom, to my horror, I
recognised General Compere, whom I had met at Maida: some recollections
of my face appeared to flash across his mind, and he stared at me with
cool determination. Uneasy at the chance, the danger, and disgrace of
discovery, I withdrew, by a side door, into a little oratory which
adjoined the body of the church.
"Reverend father," said a man advancing with a bunch of keys, "are you
the Fra Sermonello, whom his eminence has deputed to visit the chapel of
the penitents?"
"To be sure, fool! for what should I be here else?" I answered, gruffly,
forgetting my assumed character in the annoyance I felt; but immediately
adding, "of course, my son, I am come to visit these unfortunate
devils--heretics, I mean."
"This way, then, Signor Canonico," said he, with an air which showed he
had no great veneration for my sanctity.
*CHAPTER XXI.*
*THE FIRST PENITENT--THE NUN.*
"A cursed scrape!" thought I, whilst following him through a little
side-door of iron, which creaked on its rusty hinges as it rolled slowly
back, revealing a long passage, dark and mysterious as any in the pages
of 'Anne Radcliffe,' and interrupted by flights of steps; where we
required a lamp to aid us in descending. The black walls were covered
with glistening slime, and reflected the flashes of the lamp, which
flickered and almost expired as it struggled with the noxious vapours
floating through these dismal vaults; and I became chilled with cold as
we descended. An iron grate or portcullis, which barred our way, was
raised up in a sliding groove by my guide; who requested me to pass,
and, saying he would await me there, gave me his lamp.
Many tales of the holy office, and of the bigoted ferocity of Italian
monks, flashed on my remembrance. Perhaps I was in a snare! Doubtful
whether to proceed, or knock the fellow down and regain the church, even
at the risk of being discovered by General Compere, I stood for a moment
irresolute: but I had no secret enemy there, and the cardinal was a
powerful friend.
"Father," said my guide, "you are a stranger here?"
"I am in these vaults for the first time."
"They contain three penitents: first, a nun, who broke her vows, and
lies sneezing and coughing in the cell just before you. Poor girl! she
has been here three weeks, and likes her quarters no better than the
first hour she saw them: maladetto! you may hear how she moans.
Opposite lies the cell of a mad cavalier, who is chained like a
tiger--my lord bishop intends confining him here for life; and next his
cell is that of a monk, sent hither for living too joyous a life--gaming
and drinking with gay damsels, when he should have been snug in his
dormitory."
"I have a project," said I; "leave me the keys. On my return, I will
deposit them in the niche at the chapel door."
"That was old Fra Grasso's way," replied the keeper or warder; and,
doffing his hat, withdrew.
"Now, were there a thousand prisoners here, I should set every one of
them free!" I exclaimed, while hurrying along the passage, lamp in hand;
execrating the cruelty of that tyrannical prelate, who confined three
human beings in a place which I could not contemplate without a shudder.
The low, narrow passage was arched by rough stone groins, springing from
corbelled heads, hideous as those of demons, that projected from walls,
through the joints of which the damp reeking slime had been distilling
for ages: innumerable stalactites hung long and pendent like foul
icicles; enormous fungi flourished luxuriantly on the sable masonry;
large bloated toads croaked on the slippery floors; rats peeped forth
from holes and corners, and the whistling bat flitted to and fro on the
cold vapours of those dripping dungeons.
Before me lay the cell of the nun: intending to visit her first, I
unlocked with great difficulty the oaken door, and entered. Accustomed
to the gloom, I could survey the whole place at a glance; it was a dark,
cold, and comfortless den, about sixteen feet square, and had a narrow
zig-zag loop-hole opening high in the wall, which admitted little air
and less light. Crouching upon a bundle of straw, in a corner of that
detestable place, lay the poor nun; wasted and worn, pale and ghastly.
Her eyes were raised to Heaven; and though her lips moved not, she was
praying, but in that still voice which God alone can hear. At the sound
of my steps, she turned on me an apathetic stare, and her sunken eyes
sparkled wildly between the long dishevelled masses of her raven hair,
which wandered over her bare bosom and shoulders. She was almost
destitute of covering; having, I believe, no other garment than a gown
of black serge, which was torn in many places, revealing her pure white
skin, that gleamed like alabaster through the gloom.
"Oh, pity, pity! for the gentle love of God!" she exclaimed; and added,
with a shriek, "Ah! it is the bishop--again--again!"
Shuddering, she hid her face in her long hair, and began to weep as if
her heart would burst. Approaching her, I laid my hand kindly on her
soft shoulder, and said--
"Poor woman! be comforted; you are not entirely forsaken----"
"Begone!" she exclaimed, spitting upon me; "away, priests of hell, who
murdered my love--my husband! Away, lest I tear you with my teeth! Ha!
ha! madness is coming fast upon me! Oh, joy, Jesu Christo! my brain
begins to wander."
"Signora----"
"Preach on--of what? religion--and in this dungeon!--in which religion
has consigned me to darkness, solitude, and horror. Oh! the
soul-sinking misery I have endured these many, many weeks! My
husband--who murdered him before my face?--A priest. Who would have
dishonoured me?--A priest! Ha, away to your tyrant bishop! I will
commune with God without the medium of wretches such as thee!"
"Lady, I am no priest," I replied, deeply touched by her misery and
piercing voice. "I am a soldier--a gentiluomo in disguise. Trust me,
and you may yet escape to be free and happy."
As I spoke, she rose from the floor, grasped my arm with convulsive
energy, and gazed upon my face with a searching glance, as if she would
read the inmost secrets of my breast: she passed her hand across my head
and face, to assure herself my figure was not a vision; her whole arm
was thus revealed, and, though attenuated, its purity was dazzling.
"Oh, signor! dear and good signor! oh, if you should deceive me!" she
exclaimed, clinging to my hand and weeping bitterly. "Oh, if you should
be but some emissary from the accursed bishop! At times he comes, like
an evil genius, to offer me freedom. Ah! canst thou guess its price? I
will not go with thee--away! leave me!"
"Can there be greater misery than that which you now endure?"
"No, no; there cannot! Who can live without hope? yet all fled from me!
Oh, my Luigi! hadst thou been living, I had not been forgotten to perish
thus! My sisters----"
"Luigi!" I reiterated, while gently removing the dishevelled masses of
silky hair which veiled her features--a cry burst from me! I beheld the
belle of Palermo, the nun of Crotona, the sister of Bianca, who had been
so cruelly carried off by the sbirri of this infamous Petronio of
Cosenza. "Francesca!" I exclaimed; "Francesca of Alfieri do you not
remember me?"
She regarded me fixedly, pressed her hands upon her temples, and then
shook her head mournfully.
"I am Claude Dundas--the friend of Santugo, and betrothed of your sister
Bianca." I threw my arm around the poor bewildered girl, whom at that
moment I loved with all the tenderness of a brother.
"The friend of Luigi!--O, tell me if he yet lives? Tell me, though the
answer should destroy me at the instant!"
"He lives, signora; but you alone can restore him to perfect happiness."
She raised her hands to Heaven, and an exclamation of pious and fervent
thankfulness died away on her lips: a bright blush for a moment shone on
her wan, but alas! no longer beautiful cheek, and had not my arm
supported her she would have sunk on the pavement in a swoon. Without
delaying a moment, I bore her away, and locking all the doors after me,
deposited the keys in my pocket instead of in the niche. The church was
empty, and the cardinal gone. Leaving my charge for a moment in the
recess of an old monument, I hurried to the porch: I reeled giddily as
the full glory of noon blazed on my sight; so overpowering was the glare
of light after the obscurity of the vaults. Hailing a passing calesso,
I desired the driver to draw up near the door: on beholding Francesca,
he scratched his unshaven chin, and appeared in an unpleasant state of
doubt; but on my slipping a scudo into his hand, and desiring him to
drive to the cardinal's villa, all his scruples vanished, and we drove
off.
Great was the astonishment of the good cardinal, when I entered the
lower saloon or drawing-room, leading the squalid apparition of poor
Francesca; who was weakened by long confinement, and overcome with awe
on finding herself in the presence of so high a dignitary of the church.
She sank upon her knees, clasping my hand in hers, and not once daring
to raise her timid eyes to the face of York; who had arisen on our
entrance, and regarded us with a stare of silent wonder.
"Captain Dundas!" he exclaimed, in a tone which had something of
sternness in it; "what am I to understand by this intrusion--and who is
this woman?"
Francesca trembled violently; she would have spoken, but the words died
away in whispers on her pallid lips.
"My lord--your eminence, pardon me! The case is urgent, and my meeting
with this lady so unexpected, that with your usual goodness you will
excuse my importunity, while I relate as briefly as possible her unhappy
story: it cannot fail to draw forth that gentle sympathy which no member
of your illustrious house ever refused to the unfortunate."
This was graciously received: the old cardinal was as accessible to
flattery as if he wore a crown; a pleasant smile spread over his
features, and resuming his throne-like seat in the large gilt-chair, he
said, waving his hand,--
"Proceed, sir: I trust I have fallen not away from the ancient virtues
of my ancestors. You know the old homely saying,
'A king's face
Should give grace:'
And here at least we are a king, and our subjects shall not sue in vain.
Catanio, hand the lady a chair, and Captain Dundas will please to
proceed."
I endeavoured to raise Francesca; but altogether overcome with a sense
of her imaginary unworthiness, in a presence so august, she remained
kneeling in painful humility, with downcast eyes and trembling limbs. I
pressed her hand to reassure her, and recalling all her story related it
briefly, and in such a mode as I deemed would be most pleasing to the
ear of the aged duke, and most likely to obtain his sympathy; which the
unhappy never claimed in vain.
"De Bivona and my Lord Bishop did right," he replied, "in capturing this
runaway; and the doom to which the latter consigned her, is only such as
the laws of the most holy Catholic Church have from time immemorial
directed for broken vows."
Francesca trembled more violently, and my heart sank: all hope seemed to
die away when the cardinal frowned on our cause.
"O, may it please your eminence to bend a favourable eye on this unhappy
girl? You will confer a boon on the descendant of a family which of old
was never wanting in loyalty to your house."
He remained buried in thought for a time.
"Captain Dundas," said he, "I will think over this matter: the bishop
may have stretched rather too far that high authority with which the
Church invests her servants; but this unfortunate sister must return to
a convent, and there remain until her case has been duly considered. My
order will assure her of the kindest treatment. Catanio!" he rang his
bell, and the fac-totum appeared.
Although Francesca regarded with invincible repugnance a return to a
convent, where she would be subjected to the impertinent scrutiny of the
sisterhood, and perhaps that of a severe superior, yet it was a joyful
relief from the horrors she had endured: I led her away, in tears, and
gave the cardinal those thanks which she was unable to articulate. He
wrote a brief note to the abbess, which Catanio was to deliver. The
calesso was at the door, and we drove off at true Neapolitan speed to
the Cistercian convent at Canne.
We resigned Francesca to the superior; whom I was glad to find was a
short and stout old lady, with double chin, two merry twinkling eyes,
and a visage which betokened the utmost good-nature. The poor girl wept
as if her heart would burst, when we prepared to retire; but on my
obtaining permission to visit her often, she became more reconciled. I
left the prison-like nunnery, feeling happy that I could thus befriend
Santugo by protecting his Francesca, and restoring her to light and
life: the whole affair had quite the air of a romance. Dismissing
Catanio, I went to the shop of a locksmith, whom I desired to make three
keys like those of the vaults, which were placed in his hand.
He bestowed an inquisitive glance at my curious monastic garb; but on my
displaying a few ducats, readily took an impression of the keys in wax:
on receiving his promise that a new set should be in readiness next day,
I hurried off and restored the originals to the niche where I had
promised to deposit them.
I was overjoyed to find the venerable cardinal so much interested in
Francesca's favour, that he forthwith despatched a courier to Rome,
praying for her dispensation; which I then considered as certain: his
influence with Pope Pius being so great, that a boon so trifling as
loosening the vows of a nun could not be refused him. I knew not how to
express my thanks: he was conferring as great a gift on me as on the
visconte, and I contemplated with joy the happiness our return would
diffuse at the Villa D'Alfieri, when I restored a bride to the arms of
Luigi; while, in return, he----but let me not anticipate that, for fear
of a disappointment.
*CHAPTER XXII.*
*A CHANCE OF ESCAPE LOST.*
A week slipped away: I visited Francesca every morning, and saw, with
pleasure, the bloom returning to her faded cheek, and the lustre to her
sunken eye: yet I spoke not of the dispensation, while there was the
least chance of a miscarriage; knowing that she was too weak to stand
many alternate shocks of grief and joy.
Notwithstanding the gracious manner and winning kindness and hospitality
of the cardinal--who appeared to possess that charm hereditary in his
family, by which he gained the hearts of all who knew him--I was
impatient to deliver at Crotona the despatches with which I was
entrusted; to fling aside the slovenly cassock, and don, once more, my
smart uniform. I grew heartily tired of the disguise, when its novelty
passed away; and bestowed many a most unpriestly malison on its ample
skirt, when it impeded me in walking.
One evening Catanio came to me in a hurry, saying "_his Majesty_ wished
to see me without a moment's delay:" he was most scrupulously exact in
styling him thus.
I found the cardinal seated on a lofty terrace, where he usually passed
the evening, enjoying the beauty of the prospect and coolness of the
air.
"Sir," said he, "a path is just opened for your escape, and you have an
opportunity which may never occur again. The British ship I mentioned
to you is again off the coast, and a boatman will take you on board
after dusk. There are no French gun-boats in the gulf, therefore you
can escape in perfect safety."
While he spoke, a frigate hove in sight: she was clearing a point of
land, over which her topsails were glittering in the light of the
setting sun; which was then gilding the glassy waters of the gulf, and
reddening, with its last rays, the surrounding shore. It was the
_Amphion_: her bellying canvass shone white as snow, as she rounded the
promontory, and the evening wind unrolled the bright scarlet standard at
her mizzen peak: that standard which a Briton never hails with such
joyous pride as when it waves in the breeze of a foreign clime.
Gracefully the beautiful frigate came on, with the white foam curling
under her bows and rolling past her swelling sides, from which
thirty-six pieces of cannon protruded through the port-holes; and we
could discern the long flush line of her gun-deck crowded with men.
A smart American ship, which had probably been blown up the gulf by the
late storm, passed at a short distance on the opposite tack, showing her
stripes and stars. Scarcely had she cleared the _Amphion's_ quarter,
when a puff of white smoke curled from it, and a gun-shot whistled
across her fore-foot, skimming the water beyond. The Americans
immediately took this rough hint, and lowered their topsails to our
flag--a good old custom of ocean homage, which of late years has been
disused.
"For what reason has the frigate fired on the poor merchantman?" asked
the cardinal.
I acquainted him with the ancient etiquette, by which Britain compelled
the flags of foreign nations to do homage on her wide watery dominions;
and a smile of gratified pride lighted up the glistening eyes of the
listener.
The frigate would be close off Canne, when she crossed the gulf on the
other tack; and the cardinal observed that Catanio would have a boat
waiting on the beach after dusk. It was a tempting offer, and a most
tantalizing sight to behold within musket-shot a British ship, for whose
commander I had important despatches; but to abandon poor Francesca,
when I was so anxious to convey her to a place of safety, and to present
her in person to Luigi, was a project I could not relinquish. The
cardinal read the expression of doubt which my face betrayed.
"Do you not wish to return to your friends and your duty?" he asked.
"Anxiously," I replied; "but not without the Signora D'Alfieri, whose
dispensation you so graciously requested. Permit me to reside here a
few days longer--at least until it arrives--that I may convey this
desolate girl to the arms of the only friends whom war and time have
left her. You will thus confer another boon, which I shall long
remember, though I never can repay."
"As you please, Captain Dundas. I shall be very happy if you reside
with me so long as your duty and inclination will permit you. Happy
indeed! Seldom it is now that an English tongue is heard among my
diminished household; save when some Scottish priest from Douay, or some
Highland gentleman whom English interest and the change of manners have
left uncorrupted, comes here to pay homage to the last of the Stuarts.
Yet their presence brings more sorrow than pleasure: it raises up those
airy visions which shipwrecked the happiness of my chivalric brother,
and beseem me not to think upon now, in my helpless obscurity and very
old age; creating a useless longing to behold that isle of which I have
heard and thought so much, and which I fain would look upon before my
eyes close in their last slumber, and I am laid in the tomb of my father
at Frescati."
Thus the good cardinal continued for hours: there was a something in his
tone and manner which touched me deeply. Could I listen to his words
without sympathizing with fallen greatness, in the person of the last
representative of our long line of kings?
The sun went down, crimsoning land and sea with a warm glow, as it sank
behind the hills; the ocean changed from bright yellow to deep blue, the
stars were shining in heaven, and the _Amphion_ had diminished to a
speck on the distant waters of Tarentum, before the cardinal ended his
reminiscences and disjointed self-communings, and, leaning on my arm,
retired to his apartment. The frigate appeared no more: but after that
evening I became doubly anxious to be gone, and waited with intense
impatience the return of the courier, bringing from Rome the decree
which would free Francesca, or seal her doom for ever.
Remembering the false keys made for me at Canne, I resolved, in my
assumed character, to visit the cells of the penitents, and discover
those who were worthy of liberty, and those who deserved to remain in
durance vile. One dusky evening I departed on this mission, with my
duplicate keys and a dark lantern, and having my shovel-hat flapped over
my face to avoid observation. The night soon became dark; not a star
was visible, and the wind howled through the battlements of the ancient
church, and moaned in its hollow aisles. Had I been timid or
superstitious, here was enough, in the horrible aspect of these vaulted
chambers, to deter me from advancing: but in them day and night were
almost alike.
I first opened the cell of the cavalier mentioned by the guide, and on
entering awakened the occupant from a dreamy sleep--a man: although his
features were hollowed by long confinement, want, and care; though his
eyes were wild and his beard grizzled--the expression of whose face was
as prepossessing and noble as his figure was commanding. He was tall
and strong in person, but heavily fettered; and his garments were rags,
which fluttered in the breeze that swept through his prison: he trembled
with cold and debility. Poor man! a captivity of three long years had
not inured him to the misery of the den to which the tyranny of a
powerful persecutor had consigned him: his manacles clanked as he rose
from the damp pavement, and a stern and scornful frown gathered on his
haughty brow when he beheld me.
"Reverend signor," said he, waving his fettered hand, "you may spare me
your usual exhortations, and begone: yet think not that I am so hardened
as to scorn a Christian churchman. God forbid you should suppose so! but
I have nothing to confess, save my abhorrence of these bonds and the
foul tyranny which immures me here, in a living grave, from light and
happiness; subjecting me to misery under which, had not my own
indomitable spirit supported me, reason must have given way. Leave
me--begone!"
"Signor Cavalier speak less angrily: I am not what you take me for, but
a friend who comes to set you free. Remember, signor, that the British
are the friends of Calabria; which our victorious army has already freed
from the yoke of France."
"What is this you tell me?" he exclaimed. "British troops in Calabria!
And what am I reserved to hear? Naples has again become a province of
France! yet not a voice has whispered it to me in this living tomb,
where I have been kept in ignorance of all those great events that have
shaken my country. From France--again from the grasp of France?" said
you.
"From the brother of Napoleon, whose soldiers we have driven from the
rocks of Scylla to the hills of Cassano; hoisting the banner of
Ferdinand on the towns and castles of the provinces, and gaining one
most signal victory in a battle on the plains of Maida."
"I am thunderstruck! And all this has passed in three years?"
"In as many months."
"O joy! And you have come to set me free, most reverend father?"
"Yes,--but address me not thus: I am a British officer in disguise, and
placed in a most peculiar position," I replied; quite forgetting the
part I intended to act, in my sympathy for this unfortunate, whose frank
and graceful bearing gained my entire good-will. "This Bishop of
Cosenza," I observed, "seems a tyrant, of whose cruelty and injustice I
have heard innumerable instances."
"A tyrant, said you? Call him monster, fiend, or what you will: the
flaming depths of hell contain not a darker spirit, a more designing
devil! You offer me life: yet what is life to me now, when every flower
that adorned my path in youth has been crushed and blighted, and every
beam of joy extinguished, till gloom, horror, and revenge have settled
like a shadow on my soul? O, signor! words cannot depict the bodily and
spiritual agony I have endured. Ere we go, hear me, but a moment! My
story is short, but bitter. Hear it, and pity me!"
*CHAPTER XXIII.*
*THE SECOND PENITENT--THE CAVALIER.*
I am the Cavaliere Paolo, of Casteluccio, one of the fairest patrimonies
in Naples. No young man entered life with brighter prospects than mine,
when, at the age of twenty, I found myself master of a handsome fortune
and the love of Laura Molina, my fair cousin. I had been betrothed to
her in infancy by my father; who, as her guardian, wished to keep her
ducats in the family. When at college, the idea of being compelled to
marry my little cousin was a source of continual vexation to me; and
from very obstinacy made me prone to fall in love with every other girl.
My marriage seemed the commencement of something terrible, and I saw
with dismay the arrival of my twentieth birthday; when throwing aside
gown and tocque, and after spending a year amid the gaieties of Florence
and Naples, I should have to demand my bride at the convent where she
boarded.
"Per Baccho!" thought I; "if this repugnance is mutual, what a happy
couple we shall be!"
On reaching the convent of St. Sabina, I found the inmates were hearing
mass performed by Father Petronio, the great ecclesiastical orator of
Cosenza. I entered the chapel in no pleasant mood, conning over the
compliments which courtesy required should be paid to Laura; who I had
been informed was the prettiest girl in a convent which was famous for
its fashionable beauties.
"Ah! if Laura is like thee, young girl, what a happy rogue wilt thou be,
Signor Paolo!" thought I, as the veil of a young lady (who occupied a
stool near a column against which I leaned) was blown aside, revealing
to me a face of such mild and perfect beauty that I became quite
bewitched, and wished my unlucky cousin in the crater of Etna. Her
complexion was extremely fair; her eyes blue and tender, and a quantity
of light-brown hair fell curling around a face which had all that
softness and bloom of feature one might imagine in a seraph. Enough! for
the time, she banished all thoughts of Laura.
At last Father Petronio made an end of his discourse, of which I had not
heard a syllable. The people dispersed, and in the crowd of nuns,
novices, and boarders, I lost sight of my fair unknown. I turned away
with a sigh to visit this provoking cousin, whom I was bound, by my
father's will, to espouse, or my ducats would every one be forfeited to
the altar of Madonna.
I sent in my card to the abbess, and presented myself at the grate. The
Signora Molina was called, and imagine my joy on discovering my
betrothed to be the same fair girl whose beauty had impressed me so
favourably at church. I conversed with her for an hour, kissed her hand
respectfully, and withdrew; thinking myself a most fortunate fellow in
being compelled to espouse so handsome a girl, whose fortune was almost
equal to my own.
Petronio was the confessor at the convent, and officiated in the same
capacity to all the beauties of Cosenza; the ladies would confess their
peccadilloes to none other than this celebrated churchman, whose
learning, talent, and supposed sanctity, made him the pride of the
province: but he was a subtle fiend at heart, as my story will show. He
was the confessor of Laura, and to him she confided all her little
secrets; until for some cause she dismissed him, and preferred an aged
and decrepit Basilian. I remonstrated, but she said there were reasons:
adding, with a sweet smile, that I must be her humble servant then if I
would have her obey me by-and-bye.
I allowed her to please herself, and passed the time in alternately
visiting the convent and my villa, which I was fitting up suitably for
the reception of such a bride. The more we saw and knew of each other,
the stronger our mutual love became; and often, hand and hand, have we
blessed my good and provident father who betrothed us in our childhood.
One night when returning from a cafe, where I had spent some hours
joyously with my friend Captain Valerio and a few of his brother
officers, old fellow-students, all choice spirits and roisterers, with
whom I had a farewell supper, I had a singular encounter.
It was a lovely Italian night; the brilliancy of the pale moon eclipsed
the light of the stars, which disappeared as she rose in her silver
glory above the Apennines, and poured her lustre on Cosenza's seven
hills--on its steep and lofty streets, and on the round towers of its
hoary castello, where Alaric the Goth gave up his soul to God--whilst
their giant shadows fell, frowning and dark, on the shining waters of
the Bussiento and the Gratis. Midnight tolled from the steeple of
Sabina, and the most profound repose pervaded the moonlit city. I gazed
on the towering hills, on the wild and ample forest--which in the days
of the Brutti extended to the promontory of Rhegium, but is now shrunk
to the wood of La Syla--where the wood-cutter and carbonari have
replaced the nymphs and satyrs of the ancients; I looked towards the
distant sea sparkling in the moonlight, as its waves rolled round the
Campo di Mare, and everything slept in silence, beauty, and repose: I
was disposed for meditation and reverie--I thought of Laura, and my
heart beat happily.
"In three days," thought I, "I shall be married----"
"To Laura Molina," said a voice near me.
I started: some one had spoken, but not to me. I was near the portal of
St. Sabina, and looked inquiringly at the stone figure of Bruno of
Cologne--could it have addressed me? No one appeared: I paused and
listened.
"And this girl is beautiful, say you?" asked a voice.
"Lancelloti, thou canst not conceive such loveliness."
"I would compliment your taste, signor, could I but find you," I
muttered, grasping my poniard.
"Again I say, Lancelloti----'
"Sword of Omar! you forget: my name is Osman Carora," replied the second
speaker. "I am a respectable Mahometan. Corpo di Baccho! I swear by
turban and beard,--yea, by Mahomet!----"
"Silence, fool! and hear me whisper."
"Either Petronio spoke just now, or Satan himself!" thought I, looking
cautiously about me; having a laudable curiosity to discover those good
people who took such an interest in my affairs. I retired within the
deep portal at the moment that two men stood before it in the full blaze
of the moonlight, and I could distinctly hear all that passed. One was
a short, squat, villainous-looking fellow, whose red vest, yellow
trousers, turban, brass pistols, and sabre declared him to be an Italian
renegade, acting under the Algerine flag in the double capacity of
pirate and smuggler. The other was the immaculate Petronio, whose breast
was the repository of half the female secrets in the city--Petronio, the
paragon of Cosenza,--the man of holiness, and of God!
"I tell you, again and again, Lancelloti, Carora, or whatever you call
yourself," he exclaimed, in a hoarse whisper, "that I love this girl
fondly: yea, madly; and shall I behold her given up to this chit-face
cavalier, and without a struggle?"
"Of course not," replied the other, stroking his beard, while his
imperturbable gravity formed a strong contrast to the whirlwind of
passion which racked the bosom of the monk.
"For two years I was her confessor. O, the rapture I have felt in her
presence! The exceeding beauty of that young girl has cast a spell upon
me: I am no longer myself, the cold-hearted and calm-visaged monk, but a
jealous and amorous lover. Curse on this robe! which excites only awe
and gloom in the hearts of the young and beautiful. When at confession
she knelt before me, was it not rapture to obtain those glimpses of her
soft and snowy bosom?"
"Ay, truly, it was," responded he of the turban and slippers
impatiently.
"To look on those bright blue eyes, and the stray, golden curls that
shaded the dimpled cheek, to feel those beautiful hands clasped on my
knee in prayer, though I dared not touch them. Never before did such a
fairy being cross the path of a priest, to wean him from his God, and
destroy his peace for ever."
"No, indeed, no! Sacramento! come to anchor, will you? The moon is on
the wane; La Syla is growing dark, the land-breeze is coming, and the
_Crescent_ lies close to under the Campo di Mare, with jib and foresail
loose: I must sail by daybreak, if I would keep clear of the British
fleet; which my prince of crookbacks, Gaspare Truffi, says, stood down
the Straits of Messina last evening."
"Right before the wind, with studding-sails and royals," said a hideous
hunchback, whom I had not before observed; "and if this breeze
continues----"
"Peace, imp of darkness! and sheer off," said the pirate, grasping a
pistol.
The hunchback growled, and withdrew.
"Prythee, make an end, Petronio, and say for what purpose you have
brought my handsome shipmate and me hither. A priest in love is--bah!
in time you will tire of this baby-faced girl."
"Tired!" exclaimed the priest--
"O, no!
I ne'er shall tire of the unwearying flame.
But I am weary, kind and cruel dame,
With tears that uselessly and ceaseless flow.
Scorning myself, and scorned by you, I long
For death!----"
"Pshaw! you are mad," cried the pirate, with angry impatience; "quoting
the sonnets of Petrarch like a day-dreaming student, when you should act
like a man of mettle. Here I am, at your service, mine ancient friend
and gossip,--Fra Lancellotti once, now Osman Carora, of the brave
xebecque _Crescent_, in the service of his sublime puissance the Bey of
Tripoli. Thou seest that, while at the summit of my oriental dignity, I
have not forgotten thee: but speak to the purpose. That d----d British
fleet--quick--thy project----"
"Is--but come this way!" They moved forward; I paused for a moment,
rooted to the spot by astonishment; and when I darted from the shadow of
the porch, lo! they were gone; nor priest nor pirate could I see, though
the bright moonlight still shone in full splendour on the tall windows
and marble columns of St. Sabina. The _project_--the very essence of
the matter--I had not yet learned; O, diavolo! On every side I
searched, but saw them no more; and, with a heart full of anger and
apprehension, I returned to my temporary residence in the city.
"And this is the sainted Petronio!" I exclaimed; "in love with my Laura,
and leaguing with pirates to rob me of her: curse on his presumptuous
soul! The podesta shall hear of what this night has revealed, and he
shall drag forth to justice this wolf in sheep's clothing." But
recollecting that my single assertion could not pull down the mighty
fabric of Petronio's fame, I resolved to be calm, and watch narrowly:
three days more would see Laura in my arms, when I might laugh at the
friar, his passion, and his projects.
Fool that I was, to be outwitted by a villainous monk, after such a
warning! Laura's dismissal of her sanctified confessor was sufficiently
accounted for: a dubious glance or word had, doubtless, offended her
delicate sensibility, and his visits had been dispensed with for ever.
A thousand lights burned in the villa of Casteluccio, tinting with a
ruddy glow the sea and the rocks of Campo di Mare, around which the
waves rolled sparkling like diamonds. Hangings of satin fringed with
gold; festoons of fragrant flowers, gilded statues, and vases of
alabaster; ceilings of fresco, columns of marble, floors of mosaic, and
pyramids of particoloured lamps, had turned my villa into a fairy
palace. Every hall and chamber was gleaming with light, and crowded
with beauty and gaiety; while the band of the Italian Guards played
divinely in the saloon. The soft music floated along the echoing roofs,
and all were joyous and happy. It was our marriage night. The fete was
superb: six weeks before, the invitations had been issued, and all of
any note in the province were invited. The fountains flowed with wine;
and the pillared hall was crowded with dancers, who whirled in the airy
waltz, or threaded the graceful quadrille. Nor did less joy reign
without; where, on the green lawn, lighted less by the summer moon than
by the countless variegated lamps which covered the walls of the villa
and the trees around it, the young paesani danced the gay tarantella to
the tabor and guitar.
I was waltzing with the Duchess of Bagnara, one of the most famed of our
Neapolitan beauties; but I saw only my Laura, who, attired in her white
bridal robe, shone among our loveliest women like a planet amongst the
stars. How shall I describe her? Oh, for the power of Petrarch, and
the same glowing words with which he described _the_ Laura of Avignon!
Not less beautiful was mine, as she shone in all her blushing
loveliness; her bright hair waving around her, and her blue eyes
sparkling with happiness and love. The duchess, a stately woman, with
diamonds gleaming among her raven locks, was managing her train with
inimitable grace, and rallying me severely on my want of gallantry and
inattention to her, when the report of a pistol was heard, and shrieks
of women followed. The dance stopped, the ladies turned pale, eyes met
in wonder, the music died away, and all listened in surprise; which soon
gave place to terror.
Headed by a tall and powerful ruffian, in whom, notwithstanding his
Eastern garb, I recognised Father Petronio, a band of armed Algerines
rushed among the dancers with pistol, pike, and scymitar. Defenceless as
I was, I sprang to the side of Laura; my brave friend, the young
Santugo, interposed with his drawn sword: but he was struck to the earth
by Petronio's pistol, the ball of which wounded the fair duchess who
stood near him.
"Miscreant monk!" I exclaimed; but was beaten down, senseless: the last
I remember was beholding Laura struggling in the arms of the piratical
priest.
When I returned to this world of misery, I found myself many leagues
away at sea, chained to the deck of the renegade's ship, the _Crescent_;
which stood towards the African coast, and, favoured by the land-breeze,
was then leaving the Sicilian shores behind. Through an open port, I
saw the last headland fading in the distance. The deck was strewn with
the plunder of my villa: but I thanked Heaven that my friends had been
left, and that I alone had been carried into slavery. Laura!--had she
escaped, or was she too in the hands of barbarians--a slave, exposed to
every indignity and horror? I trembled--my heart sickened: I gnashed my
teeth, and sank upon the deck in a stupor, caused by rage and
disappointment, mingled with love and fear for Laura.
From this state I was roused by being dragged along the deck by the
villainous Carora, who flung me, while heavily ironed and unable to
resist, down the companion-ladder with such force that I lay stunned and
motionless. Oh, misery of miseries! in the cabin of the pirate was
Laura Molina--the girl whom but yesterday I had so joyously and solemnly
espoused at the altar of St. Sabina--whom I had sworn to love for
ever,--struggling in the strong grasp of Petronio.
She yet wore her bridal dress: but her bloom, her jewels, and wreath
were gone. A stranger could not have recognised the blushing bride of
yesterday, in the pale but beautiful phantom of to-day! I would have
rushed to embrace her, but Carora held my fetters.
"Paolo!--my husband!--save me! save me!" she cried wildly, stretching
her arms towards me.
"Laura, to God alone----"
"Peace!" exclaimed Petronio, grasping a pistol. "Laura Molina, accept of
my love, or I will blow the brains of your cavalier against the
bulkhead!"
"Thy love!--O, horror!" she raised her eyes to Heaven.
"Woman! I am not in a humour for trifling. On the wide ocean, far from
aid, you are completely in my power, and must address your supplications
to me; for I tell you, not even heaven above, nor hell below the waters,
can save you from me now! Decide--your Paolo, or me? A word may save
him, or a word destroy!"
Levelling a pistol, he seemed more like a fiend than a human being:
passion rendered his accents hoarse, and his visage black; his bulky
frame seemed to dilate, and his breast to pant, while his eyes glared
beneath their shaggy brows; and the knotted locks that fringed his
shaven scalp twisted like the vipers of Lugano. His right hand was on
the pistol-lock,--his left grasped the shrinking form of Laura.
"Signora!" he exclaimed, in a fierce, fond whisper, "think of the bright
fortune I can offer thee in the sunny land of the Algerine!"
"Holy Madonna, instruct me what to do in this hour of agony!" prayed the
unhappy girl, whose excessive misery would have melted any heart save
that of the apostate. "O, my Paolo,--thou,--every hair of whose head is
more dear to me than my own life, what can I say to save thee?"
"Loved one! bid death welcome, and defy fear: but forget not that you
are the wedded wife of a Neapolitan cavalier!"
"Farewell, dearest,--Laura will soon follow thee."
"Thou wilt have me then?" exclaimed Petronio, with fierce triumph.
"Never!" replied Laura, faintly, as she swooned and sank senseless in
his arms.
"Then away to Satan, thou!" cried the priest, as he fired at my head:
but at that moment the pirate Lancelloti (or Carora), renegade and
ruffian as he was--touched by one of those qualms of conscience which at
times trouble even the most hardened villains, or, perhaps, moved to
pity by the exceeding beauty and agony of Laura--struck up the weapon,
and the ball passed through the deck above. The priest turned furiously
upon his partner in crime: but the distant report of a cannon, and the
cry of "a sail on the weather beam," diverted their mutual anger for the
time.
Confused by the explosion of the pistol, I was dragged back to the
ring-bolt on deck; where I remained, helplessly, during all the horrors
of the battle which ensued. Laura,--it was the last I beheld of
her--the last! O, Madonna mia and Thou whose power enabled me to
survive such an accumulation of woe, teach me how, at this distance of
time, to look upon the events of that day with resignation and calmness!
The corsair had fallen in with a Maltese corvette of twenty guns,
bearing a knight-commander's pennon at the foremast head. She proved to
be the _Gierusalemme_, commanded by the brave Calabrian, Marco of
Castelermo; and an engagement being unavoidable, the corsair, which had
an equal number of guns, prepared for action. Five hundred of the
greatest villains under the sun stood to quarters: the ports were hauled
up, the guns double-shotted, the tackles laid across the deck, while
round-shot, wadding, grape, and cannister lay between them in profusion.
The crimson flag of Algeria was displayed from the mizzen peak. The
renegade seemed in his glory, and swaggered about with scymetar and
speaking-trumpet; while the once meek and holy Petronio, with a cutlass
and priming-box buckled to his waist, officiated as captain of a gun;
and Truffi, the hunchback, crawled like a gigantic toad about the deck,
bearing an immense basket filled with shot-plugs and oakum.
Thus prepared, the Algerines awaited the attack of the corvette; for
whose success I prayed with the holiest fervour.
On came the _Gierusalemme_, the water flashing; under her bows, and her
taut canvass shining like snow in the noonday sun: both vessels as they
neared shortened sail. The first cannon-ball passed close to my ear,
and, stupified by its wind, I grovelled on the deck in despair. The
corsair, after failing to weather her adversary, steered under her lee.
"Base infidels, surrender or sink!" cried a voice from the corvette, as
we crossed on opposite tacks.
"To the tyrant knights of Malta!" bellowed Lancelloti through his
trumpet: "to become their slaves! Bah! Never, while the great deep can
hide us, and we can throw a match in the magazine!" After a good deal
of skilful manoeuvring, the action commenced in stern earnest.
The pirates fought like demons: for slavery or death was their fate if
vanquished; but the Christians opposed them with coolness and bravery,
The heavy metal of the latter battered to wreck and ruin the bulwarks of
the former,--dismantling their guns, and heaping the deck with dead;
whom they were soon compelled to throw overboard to clear the way. The
enormous fifty pound balls of the corvette's forecastle piece, created a
devastation, to behold which made my heart leap with joy. The corsair
was evidently getting the worst of the battle: her deck was torn up and
ploughed in a thousand places, and the white splinters flew around in
incessant showers; her sails were blown to rags, her standing and
running rigging hung all in bights and loops, useless and disordered;
while the blessed banner, the taper masts, and taut cordage of the
Gierusalemme towered above the dense smoke in as perfect order as when
the engagement began.
During this yard-arm contest, my situation was horrible: I was ironed
helplessly to the deck, amid all its fury, and was, consequently, unable
to fight or fly, to save Laura or myself. Ah! how I trembled lest the
missiles of the Maltese might penetrate the place of her confinement.
Incessantly they were crashing around me, tearing up the strong planks,
dashing boats and booms to fragments, and scattering brains and blood on
every side. The slippery deck was flooded with the red current, which
gushed from the lee scuppers. I was suffocating beneath the corpses
which fell continually above me, and shrieked and struggled under the
ghastly load; but the ring-bolts were immoveable, and my cries were
unheeded amid that frightful din. On all sides rang the curses, threats
and cheers of the living, the groans of the dying, the clanking of
blocks and handspikes, the rattle of chains, and stamping of feet,
mingled with the creaking and jarring of the guns as they were worked on
deck, hauled back by their tackles, loaded and urged again to port; and
then burst the deafening roar, while the small arms from forecastle,
poop, and tops, made up a medley of horrors! Riddled below and wrecked
aloft, the corsair lay like a log on the water, and the fire of her guns
died away.
_La Gierusalemme_ forged ahead and lay across her bows, which the
Maltese grappled fast; and the brave cavalier who commanded leaped upon
her bowsprit at the head of his boarders. A yell burst from the pirates
as the red flag of death floated from the _Gierusalemme_; whose guns,
crammed to the muzzle with round shot and grape, were once more poured
into her: the tremendous fury of the broadside, sweeping through from
stem to stern, killed one-half of her fighting men, and struck
consternation to the souls of the rest.
The moment of deliverance was at hand. On came the boarders like a
torrent; when a cry of "fire!" arrested the faculties of all, and
Petronio, the demon-monk, leaped up the hatchway with a flaming match:
he had fired the ship.
"Throw her off--cut the grapplings--man the main-deck guns--fill the
fore-yard! Bravissimo, St. John for Malta!" cried Castelermo, as his
boarders scrambled back to the corvette, and their foes fought like
fiends at the grapnels, that all might perish together. But the Maltese
passed from their reach, backed their mainyard, and once more their
broadside belched forth destruction on the sinking _Crescent_. Three
hours had the combat lasted: the setting sun was now gilding the
Tunisian hills and the Isle of Giamour.
The corsair was soon enveloped in a cloud of murky vapour, which rolled
away to leeward; and Lancelloti, after throwing all his wounded
overboard, prepared to abandon the wreck. Concealed by the smoke, the
crew crowded into their remaining boats and fled.
O, signor, imagine my situation then! Laura--if she yet lived--and
myself, were alone in the corsair; which reeled every instant as the
heavy shot of the corvette pierced her. I heard a shriek from the
cabin--another: it died away--O, frightful! The corsair was now a mass
of flame. I might have saved Laura had I been free, but ironed hand and
foot to the accursed deck--a victim, helpless as herself--I could only
rave and pray; until exhausted by the terrible emotions which wrung my
soul, and half-stifled by the heat and smoke, I lay motionless in a
state of stupefaction and misery.
As from an ocean hell, the hot flames burst through every hatch and
port: all became red around me--my heart panted, my eyes were bursting
in their sockets. I saw the masts and yards blazing and rocking above
me; I heard the "vivas" of the Maltese, and the report of the corsair's
guns exploding, as they successively became heated by the roaring and
scorching flame.
"Now--I am gone--I am dying--God receive me!" The deck yielded beneath,
and I expected to sink to the bottom of the flaming hold: but my fate
was changed. At that moment the magazine blew up--a whirlwind of sparks
burst on every side, the crackling deck parted beneath me, and I found
myself struggling in the ocean: the corsair sank, hissing and roaring,
and nearly drawing into her vortex the planks to which I was chained.
The bitter briny water rushed in at every pore, and I became insensible.
On recovering, I found myself upon the deck of the corvette; from whose
commander I received every kindness and attention that the brave can
yield to the unfortunate: but I was filled with an agony of horror when
I reflected on the past, and the fate of Laura Molina.
Time softened those pangs; and remembering that she was with the angels
in heaven, and happier than she could ever have been on earth, I became
contented: but vowed never to love another!--a solemn pledge of love and
piety which I have most religiously preserved. To be brief--I served
with the Cavalier di Castelermo during the remainder of his cruise,
against the Algerines, with whom we had many encounters; and the desire
of avenging my wrongs endued me with the valour of a lion.
After the blockade of Valetta, when all hope of restoring the order of
St. John to its pristine splendour had failed, Castelermo and I set out
for Italy to join the grand-master at Genoa. During the voyage the
vessel anchored off the Campo di Mare, and I was seized with a longing
to behold my native city, and visit once more those places which the
associations of childhood and love have rendered so dear to me.
On hearing that so distinguished a cavalier, with his train, was in the
vicinity, the bishop of Cosenza invited us all to his palace. It was
one of our glorious Italian days: the landscape danced joyously in the
sunbeams; the green peaks of the Syla, the spires of the city, the
winding river, the waving woods, and the distant sea, all shone in
summer beauty beneath the bright blue sky.
The memory of Laura, her beauty, her gentle innocence, our love, and our
misery, made my heart alternately a prey to the tenderest sorrow, and
the fiercest longings to requite her wrongs upon the wretch Petronio.
It was the levee day of the bishop; a guard of mounted sbirri received
us in the porch of his palace. A crowd of richly dressed cavaliers,
officers, and knights of military orders, mingling with churchmen,
thronged the ante-rooms, and were introduced, in turn, by the
chamberlain. Entering the presence-chamber of the great prelate, I
beheld him seated in a lofty chair, wearing his canonicals and sparkling
mitre, gleaming with jewels and embroidery. On my nearer approach,
judge of my sensations on recognising in his stern and sallow visage,
the accursed lineaments of Father Petronio. The blood rushed
tumultuously on my heart, and all the long slumbering spirit of the
devil arose within me.
"Gesu Christo!" I exclaimed, raising my hands to Heaven; "is this one of
Thy servants--Thy chosen servants?"
Castelermo arose from his knees in astonishment, while I unsheathed my
sword and sprang upon the bishop, alike regardless of his power, his
friends, and my life: I trembled, I panted, I thought only of Laura and
retribution.
"Hypocritical apostate!" I exclaimed, grasping him by the throat, and
dashing his mitre to the earth. "Thou pest of hell! thou murderer of my
wife, and wrecker of my peace! have we met at last--ha!"
"Sacrilege!" cried the strangling bishop. "O, gentlemen and cavaliers,
save me from this mad man!"
"Madman! ha--peace, thou wolf in sheep's-clothing! I am Paolo of
Casteluccio, and too well thou knowest me: but die, fiend, die!" The
strong hand of my friend grasped my descending sword, and the life of
the dog bishop was spared; although I dashed him to the floor with such
force that he lay stunned and senseless.
I laughed with fierce exultation, and strove to trample him to death,
but was grasped by a hundred hands. All the smothered fury of years had
broken forth; and, imagining I had the strength of a Goliah, I thought
to burst, like cobwebs, the fetters which were heaped upon me. I was
mad--a maniac; and, knowing that I was so, rejoiced when men who were
valiant and strong, quailed before the demon-glare of my eye. The
crowded chamber, the gleaming swords, the halberts of the sbirri, the
prostrate bishop, and the uproar of tongues are yet before me, like a
dream of yesterday: I remember no more.
When the passion-fit passed away, and reason returned, I was here, in
fetters, amid gloom and woe. Three summers have come and gone, since
last I saw the sun. * * * O, signor! all hope of life and liberty had
faded away, and your presence alone has revived a love of existence, and
a wish to look on the beautiful world once more,--on its blue skies and
green hills, ere death closes these eyes for ever."
The cavalier concluded just as my lamp was about to expire, and the grey
dawn was peeping through the little iron grating which lighted his
dismal vault. I gave the unfortunate man my hand, and, leading him
forth, struck off his rusty fetters with a stone I found near the chapel
door. No pen can describe his joy on finding himself free, and breathing
the pure air of the summer morning. The sun was rising in all its
beauty above the dark green ridge of the distant hills; for three years
he had not beheld it: he wept with joy, and, embracing me, declared,
with the enthusiasm of his nation, that his life was at my service.
"O, signor! never since I stood by Laura's side at the altar, have I
felt a happiness equal to that which animates me now!"
His eyes sparkled with joy, and his haggard cheek flushed. He appeared
about thirty years of age; and, but for his tattered garments and matted
hair and beard, his features and figure would have been eminently
striking and noble. Reminding him that instant flight was necessary, I
advised him to join the chivalric Francatripa, with whom he would be
safer than in any Italian city. He relished the proposal; as many men of
birth and education did not disdain to serve against France under such a
leader.
We parted. Catanio was tolling the bell for matins, at the villa, when
I returned; and, gaining my room unobserved, threw myself on a couch,
and slept till noon: I then joined the old cardinal in his daily
promenade, under the cool arcades, on the seaward side of his residence.