BY J. N. McJILTON.
Host and guests still lingered there,
But host and guests were dead.
_Old Ballad_.
Venice is the very _outrance_--_gloria mundi_ of a place for fashion,
fun and frolic. Does any one dispute it? Let him ask the San Marco,
the Campanile, the iron bound building that borders one end of the
Bridge of Sighs, or the Ducal Palace, that hangs like a wonder on the
other. Let him ask the Arena de Mari, the Fontego de Tedeschi, or if
he please, the moon-struck _Visionaire_, who gazed his sight away from
Ponte de Sospiri, on the Otontala's sparkling fires, and if from each
there be not proof, _plus quam sufficit_--why Vesuvius never
illuminated Naples--that's all.
Well! Venice is a glorious place for fashion, fun and frolic; so have
witnessed thousands--so witnessed Incholese.
Incholese was a foreigner--no matter whence, and many a jealous
Venetian hated him to his heart's overflowing; the inimitable Pierre
Bon-bon himself had not more sworn enemies, and no man that ever lived
boasted more pretended friends, than did this celebrated operator on
whiskey-punch and puddings.
His house fronted the Rialto, and overlooked the most superb and
fashionably frequented streets in Venice. His hall, the famed "Hall of
Incholese," resort of the exquisite, and gambler's heaven, was on the
second floor, circular in shape, forty-five feet in diameter. Windows
front and rear, framed with mirror-plates in place of plain glass,
completed the range on either side, all decorated with damask
hangings, rich and red, bordered with blue and yellow tasselated
fringe, with gilt and bronze supporters. It seemed more like a Senate
hall, or Ducal palace parlor, than a room in the private dwelling of a
gentleman of leisure--of "elegant leisure," as it was termed by the
_politesse_ of the _Republique_. A rich carpet covered the floor, with
a figure in its centre of exactly the dimensions of the rotondo table,
which had so repeatedly suffered under the weight of wine; to say
nothing of the gold and silver lost and won upon its slab, sufficient
to have made insolvent the wealthiest Crœsus in the land--in _any_
land. Over this table was suspended a chandelier the proud Autocrat of
all the Russias might have coveted; and forming a square from the
centre, were four others, less in size, but equal in brilliancy and
value. Mirrors in metal frames, and paintings of exquisite and costly
execution, filled up the interstices between the windows.
Chairs--splendid chairs, sofas, ottomans, and extra wine tables, made
up the furniture of the Hall of Incholese. This Hall however was not
the sole magnificence of the huge pile it beautified. Other and
splendid apartments, saloons, galleries, etc., filled up the wings,
and contributed to the grandeur of the building. Yet, strange to say,
the proprietor, owner and occupier of this vast establishment, had no
wife, to share with him its elegances--to mingle her sweet voice in
the strains of purchased melody and revel, that made the lofty edifice
often ring to its foundation. He had no wife. And why? Let the sequel
of his history rehearse.
Thousands flocked to this magnificent Hall--citizens, strangers,
travellers; many drank, gambled, revelled--were ruined. Few left it
but were blasted wrecks, both in health and fortune. Thousands left
it, tottering from their madness, cursing the brilliant revel that
lighted them to doom.
Millions rolled into the coffers of Incholese; he seemed a way-mark
for fortune--a moving monument of luck. Hundreds of his emissaries
went out in different directions, and through different kingdoms,
supplied with gold, for the purpose of winning more for their wealthy
master. The four cardinals of the compass with all the intermediate
points became his avenues of wealth.
"Wealth is power"--Archimedes knew it when he experienced the want of
means to make a lever long enough to reach beyond the power of this
little world's attraction; and the ingenious Tippet often felt the
inconvenience and uncomfortableness of the want of it in executing his
admirable plans for perpetual motion.
Incholese had wealth--he had power--_c'est un dit-on_. The Venetian
Senate resolved on a loan from his ample store, and bowed obsequious,
did every member, to the nod of the patron of the State. The Spanish
minister forgot to consult as his only guide the _Squittinio della
Liberta Veneta_ and was seen whispering with Incholese; and instead of
the Marquis of Bedmar, first minister to Flanders, the _primum mobile_
received in mistake from Rome the hat of the cardinal. The fingers of
a man of wealth turn every thing they touch to gold. We have said
Incholese was a foreigner--so was the Spanish minister, and they
whispered about more than State affairs and gold, though the gambler
had gone deep into the pockets of the friend of his Catholic majesty.
The Doge, Antonio Priuli, had a daughter, adopted or otherwise, who
was considered by the most popular _amateurs_ the perfection of
beauty. She had more admirers than all the beauties of the Republic
put together; but the scornful Glorianna looked with disdain upon them
all. She curled her lip most contumeliously at the crowd of waiting
votaries humiliated at her feet. Pride was her prevailing, her only
passion; love and affection were strangers to her haughty nature. She
reigned and ruled, the absolute queen, in thought, word and deed of
the vast throng that followed in her footsteps, and fain would revel
in her smile. Incholese attended in her train, and swore by the
pontiff's mace, that he would give his right ear for a kiss from her
sweet lips; he worried the saints with prayers and the priests with
{368} bribes, to bring the haughty fair one to his arms, but prayers
and bribes proved fruitless--the daughter of the Doge was above them
all, and only smiled to drive her victim mad.
Incholese was proud and spirited, and so completely was he irritated
at the repeated efforts he made to gain a single hour's social
converse with the lofty Helen of his hopes, that he vowed at last at
the risk of a special nuncio from his Holiness to go the length of his
fortune to bring her upon a level with himself if he remained in the
parallax but fifteen minutes.
The Spanish minister was married; but a star on the fashionable
horizon higher than the Vesta of his own choice, prompted the proffer
of his help, in the establishment of a medium point of lustre. The
Senate did not assemble oftener to devise ways and means for the
discharge of the public debt and for the safety of the State, than did
Incholese and the minister, to humble the haughty heiress of the rich
possessions of the Doge; and the conspiracy seemed as perilous and
important as the great stratagem of the Duke de Ossumna against the
government of Venice. A thousand plans were proposed, matured and put
in execution, but their repeated failure served only to mortify the
conspirators and make them more intent upon the execution of their
plan. It was to no purpose that the Doge was invited _with his family_
to spend a social hour, or that in return the invitation was given
from the palace; the uncompromising object of innumerable schemes, and
proud breaker of hearts, still kept aloof--still maintained her
ascendancy.
While these petty intrigues were going forward, a conspiracy of a more
daring character was in the course of prosecution. It was nothing less
than the conspiracy of the Spaniards against the government of
Venice--a circumstance which at the present time forms no unimportant
portion of Venetian history.
Every thing by the conspirators had been secretly arranged, and
Bedmar, notwithstanding his being among those who were deepest in the
plot, never once hinted the subject to Incholese, though at the time
they were inseparable companions, and co-workers in establishing a
standard of beauty for the Italian metropolis. This however may be
easily accounted for; he knew the government was debtor to Incholese;
he knew also of the intimacy that existed between the Doge and the
gambler, and he was too familiar with intrigue not to suspect a
discovery when the secret should be in the knowledge of one so
interested; he therefore bit his lip and kept the matter to himself.
Had there been a no less villain than Bedmar in the conspiracy, the
plot might have succeeded and the Spaniards become masters of Venice.
But the heart of Jaffier, one of the heads of the conspiracy, failed
him, and he disclosed to Bartholomew Comino the whole affair. Comino
was secretary to the Council of Ten, which Council he soon assembled
and made known the confession of Jaffier. Comino was young and
handsome, and he took the lead in the discovery of the plot and
bringing the conspirators to justice. His intercourse with the Doge
was dignified and manly, and at such a time with such a man, the proud
Glorianna condescended to converse. She was won to familiarity, and
requested the secretary to call at her apartment and tell her the
history of an affair, in which she, with all the household of the
Doge, were so deeply interested. She insisted particularly that he
should take the earliest opportunities to inform her of the further
procedure of the Council with the faction. The secretary consented,
and every intercourse tended to subdue her haughty spirit, and he was
soon admitted to her friendship as an equal.
Bedmar was disgraced and sent back to Spain in exchange for Don Louis
Bravo, the newly appointed minister. Incholese followed the fallen
Marquis with his hearty curse, and vowed if so deceived by man again,
the villain's life should appease his hate. The conspirators who were
not screened by office were executed, and peace and tranquillity were
soon restored to the State. The new minister being averse to the
society of gamesters, Incholese and himself could not be friends--a
singular enough circumstance that a titled gentleman from the great
metropolis of Spain should despise the friendship of a gentleman
gambler, highly exalted as was the famous Incholese. Bartholomew
Comino in the discharge of his official functions, was compelled to
visit and exchange civilities with the popular gamester. Incholese had
observed the condescension of the empress of his heart's vanity
towards this individual, and determined to avail himself of his
friendship. He solicited an introduction to the south wing of the
palace of the Doge, and to the scornful Glorianna. The palace of the
Doge he had frequently visited, and as often gazed, till sight grew
dim, upon the celebrated south wing, where, in all the indolence of
luxurious ease, reposed the object of his anxious thoughts.
The last effort succeeded. Incholese was invited to the south
wing--talked with Glorianna, who seemed another being since her
intimacy with Comino--and resolved on a magnificent entertainment at
his own Hall, where he knew the Doge and the most prominent members of
the Senate would not refuse to give their attendance, and he devoutly
hoped the influence of the secretary would bring the humiliated
heiress. He was not disappointed. All came--all prepared for splendid
revelry.
Incholese had but one servant whom he admitted to his _sanctum
sanctorum_, the only constant inmate of his house beside himself.
Other servants he had to be sure, but they were employed only when
occasion demanded them. Farragio was the prince of villains, and the
only fit subject in Venice for a servant to the prince of gamesters.
Eleven years he had waited on his table of ruin. His conscience had
rubbed itself entirely away against his ebon heart and left a villain
to the climax. He hated his master--hated his friends--hated the
world--supremely hated mankind, and meditated deeds of blackest crime.
Hell helped him in his malignant resolve, and the fell demon smiled
when he whispered in his ear the sweet madness of revenge. Revenge for
what? "Eleven years," said he, "I have labored in the kitchen of
Incholese and performed his drudgery--eleven years I have been his
messenger of good and evil. I have toiled and panted beneath my
burdens of viands, rare and costly, and I have rested on my way with
wine, and what I have devoured myself I have stolen--stolen and
devoured in secret. I hate--hate--hate the world--and I will be--aye,
_will_ be revenged." He yelled with fiendish exultation at the
thought.
Three weeks before the time appointed for the great festival in the
Hall, Farragio was alone in his kitchen {369} preparing his own
supper--soliloquizing as usual on his lonely and miserable situation.
He remembered his youthful sports on the banks of the grand canal, and
thought over the time when his mother called him from his little
gondola beneath the Rialto, and sold him to Incholese--sold him for a
slave. Eleven years had brought him to the vigor of manhood, and
strengthened the purpose he had formed in youth of gratifying when he
had the opportunity the only feeling that occupied his heart--revenge.
While occupied in retrospection and smiling with seeming joy in the
thought of executing his purpose, the latch of the yard door raised
and the door itself slowly moved upon its long iron hinges; when about
half opened a little figure in black limped upon the threshold and,
bowing to Farragio, took his station by his side.
"Pretty warm for the season," said he, as he cast a glance at the fire
where Farragio's supper was cooking.
"Pretty warm," replied Farragio, raising his head from the fire and
wiping the perspiration from his forehead. He eyed the little
gentleman closely, and from the worn and threadbare appearance of his
coat, began to entertain some doubts in his mind touching his probable
respectability. After surveying the stranger longer than politeness
required, suddenly recollecting himself he removed his eyes from his
dress and asked,
"Have you travelled far to-day, friend?"
"Travelled! ha, ha, ha, ha; no, I have been at your elbow for a
month."
The eyes of the little gentleman flashed fire as he spoke, and
Farragio for the first time in his life felt affrighted. He retreated
a few steps and repeated with a trembling voice--"at my elbow for a
month--fire and misery, how--how can that be? I--I--never saw you
in--in my life before."
"Well, Farragio," and he pronounced the name with great familiarity,
"whether you ever saw me or not, I have been your constant attendant
for a month past, and I have had a peculiar regard for you ever since
you were born."
Farragio's astonishment increased, and he gazed for some minutes in
mute wonder upon the little stranger. A little reflection, however,
soon restored his courage, and in an unusually authoritative tone he
demanded the name of his visiter, and the purport of his singular and
unceremonious visit.
"Oh!" replied the little fellow with a careless shake of his head,
"it's of no importance."
By this time the supper was ready, and placing his dishes upon the
table, Farragio invited his guest to partake of the fare, which
consisted of ham and chicken, with cheese, hot rolls and tea.
The little man did not wait for a second invitation, but immediately
took his seat at the table and commenced breaking a roll with his
fingers.
"Will you take some ham?" asked Farragio in a tone of true
hospitality, and appearing to forget that his guest was an intruder
upon the peace of his kitchen.
"Ham--no, no, no, I hate ham--hate it with a perfect hatred, and have
hated it since the foun--foundation of the
Chris--Chris--Christian--since the foundation of the world. The
followers of Mahomet are right, and the outlaw Turk, that is outlawed
by re--re--reli--religious dispensations, which are always arbitrary
in the extreme, I say he displays more sound judgment than all the
philosophers that ever lived, that is--I mean those of them who have
ever had any thing to do with ho--ho--ugh--hog."
Farragio helped himself largely to ham, swearing he was no follower of
Mahomet, and if he was, and held emperorship from Mecca to Jerusalem,
he'd eat ham till he died.
The little stranger manifested no surprise at this bold speech of
Farragio, but continued to eat his roll in a very business like
manner.
"Take some chicken," said Farragio after a short pause, which was
permitted for the sake of convenience, "Take some chicken," and
accompanying the request with an action suited to the unrestrained
offering of a generous heart, he threw the west end of a rooster upon
his plate.
"Chicken--chicken--yes, I like chicken, so did Socrates like it.
Socrates was a favorite of mine. When he was dying he ordered a cock
to be sacrificed to Esculapius--poor fellow, he thought his soul would
ascend through the flame up to the gods, but he was mistaken; his soul
was safe enough in other hands."
"I understood it sprouted hemlock," said Farragio knowingly.
"And where?"
"On the south side of the Temple of Minerva, wherever that was."
"Who gave you the information?"
"O, I--I saw--rea--hea--heard my master Incholese talk about once when
he wished to appear like a philosopher before some of his company."
"Who told him?"
"Who? Why I've heard him say a thousand times that he was a real
_Mimalone_, whatever that is, and for years had slept on _bindweed_
and practised the arts of a fellow they call Dic--Dip--Dith--Dithy"--
"Dithyrambus I suppose you mean."
"Aye, that's the fellow."
"A particular friend of mine, I dined with him twice, and the last
time left him drunk under the table."
"_His_ soul sprouted grapes I've heard, and was the first cause of
vineyards being planted in Edge e--e--Edge"--
"Egypt you mean to say."
"Yes."
"That's not exactly correct, but it will answer about as well as any
thing else."
"Do you like cheese?"
"I was formerly very fond of it, but I once saw Cleopatra, Mark
Antony's magnet as she was called, faint away at the sight of a
skipper, and since then I've only touched cheese at times, and then
sparingly.--I saw ten million skippers at once fighting over a bit of
cheese not bigger than your thumb in that same Cleopatra's stomach,
and that too on the very night she dissolved her costly ear-bob to
match old Mark's greatness. But I never said any thing about it."
"You must be pretty old, I guess; I've often heard my master talk of
that Clipatrick, and he said she died several hundred years ago. I've
heard him say she was the very devil, and must have been trans,
trans"--
"Transfused. I take the liberty of helping you along."
"Yes, transfused--her spirit transfused down through {370} mummies and
the like, till it reached the old Doge's daughter, for he swears she's
the very dev"--
"Don't take that name in vain too often; a little pleasantry is
admissable, but jokes themselves turn to abuse when repeated too many
times--say Triptolemus, a term quite as significant, and not so much
used."
"Triptolemus, hey--and who's Triptolemus? I don't mean him. I mean the
old dev--devil himself." Farragio shuddered as he uttered the last
words, for the countenance of his heretofore pleasant and good humored
companion changed to a frown of the darkest hue, and Farragio imagined
he saw a stream of fire issuing from his mouth and nostrils;
terrified, he dropped his knife and fork, and fled trembling into the
farthest corner of his kitchen.
"Have you any wine?" asked the little gentleman, in a tone of
condescension.
"Plenty," was the emphatic reply of Farragio, willing to get into
favor again at any price, and away he went in search of wine. It was
with difficulty the article was obtained, and Farragio risked his neck
in the enterprise--the wine vault in the cellar of Incholese was deep,
and the door strongly fastened; he was therefore obliged to climb to
the ceiling of the cellar, crawl between the joists of the building,
and drop himself full ten feet on the inside. He however surmounted
every obstacle, and procured the wine. On his return to the kitchen
with four or five bottles, curiosity prompted him to wait awhile at
the door before he opened it to ascertain what his little visiter was
about. He heard a noise like a draught through a furnace, and thought
he saw fire and smoke pouring through the pannels of the door. It was
some time before he recovered sufficient courage to enter, and then
only, after the door had been opened by the little gentleman.
"Have you glasses?" said he, surveying the apartment, where none were
to be seen, and Farragio having already commenced pouring the precious
liquid into a cup, he added "I do not like to drink wine from a tea
cup."
"Glasses--glasses, I--we--no--yes--yes, plenty of them," and off he
started to another apartment for glasses.
"Now we'll have it," said the little gentleman; "wine is good for soul
and body. I've seen two hundred and sixteen shepherdesses intoxicated
at one time upon a mountain in Arcadia."
"They enjoyed the luxury of drinking wine to the full, I suppose."
"O, it's no uncommon thing--women love wine, and they're the best
amateurs of _taste_,--but here's a health to Pythagoras, (turning off
a glass,) a man of more affected modesty than sound judgment, but
withal a tolerably clever sort of a fellow: I used to like him, and
helped him to invent the word _philosopher_--it was a species of
hypocrisy in us both. I never repented it, however, and have found it
of much service to me, in my adventures upon this ugly world."
"You invented the word philosopher. I thought it was in existence from
the beginning of time; inventor of words, good gracious! what an
employment; now if I may be so bold, what business do you follow?"
"O, it's no matter. Pythagoras was a pretty good kind of a man, and"--
"I never heard of him; who was he any how?"
"Ha! ha! ha! you've much to learn--Pythagoras was a hypocrite, but he
gained an immortality by it."
"How?"
"How? why if you've brains enough to understand, I'll tell you. The
learned before his day were called ΣΟΦΟΣ, that is, _wise_, what they
really were; but professing not to like the appellation, and through
my instrumentality I must confess, for I suggested it, proposed that
they should be called ΦΙΛΟΣ _the friend_, ΣΟΦΙΑΣ _of learning_, hence
the word _philosopher_: but it's no difference; names are arbitrary at
any rate, and I like Pythagoras about as well as any of his
cotemporaries; they were all deceitful, fond of flattery, and as
jealous a set of villains as ever tried to rival each other out of
fame. Did'nt they all imitate each other in some things, and at the
same time swear that they differed, and each was the founder of his
own especial system, which was distinct and separate from the rest,
when the real truth was, they had all only parts of the same system;
and by their rivalry and meanness in keeping the parts distinct, for
fear of losing a little of what they thought was glory, they have
prevented the world from understanding them ever since. I like
hypocrisy, but I like it on a large scale. Your grovelling hypocrite
has'nt a soul big enough to burn. Man is only a half-made creature at
best. If I had the making of him, I'd--but you're asleep," said he,
looking up at Farragio who was nodding over his wine. "My long
discourse has wearied you."
Farragio started. "No--O! no--not--not asleep. I was thinking
that--thinking how that--I wondered how you liked the wine."
"Very much, very much; that's good wine--here, try this, it's better
than yours." Farragio drank of the little gentleman's glass, and soon
felt the effects of the draught upon his brain. He fancied himself a
lord: his guest persuaded him he was one, and a far better man than
his master. "Yes," said he, springing upon his feet at the mention of
his master's name--"and I swear by all the horrors of my servitude,
that I will soon convince him of my superiority." The effort was too
much for his relaxed muscles, and he fell full length upon the floor.
The little gentleman very carefully assisted him in rising, and
handing him to a chair, presented another glass to his lips. He
pledged his soul in the bumper, and reeled a second time to the floor.
It was now past midnight, and the little gentleman thought he had
better retire; he did so, during the insensibility of Farragio, and
left him to repose "alone in his glory."
In the morning Farragio awoke sober, but his head ached violently; the
lamp was still burning, and was the first thing to remind him of his
last night's revel. After his surprise had abated, he examined the
apartment to ascertain if the little gentleman had taken any thing
away with him; he had left many of his master's fine dishes, and some
silver spoons, in the kitchen, and felt anxious for their safety.
Every thing was safe, and he pronounced the little stranger honest. In
looking around he discovered a strange impression upon the floor, the
print of a foot, circular, except at one point, where it branched out
into four distinct toes, all of a size--the foot was about three
inches in diameter. "Hang the rascal," he exclaimed, "I knew he had
one short leg, but had I known he was barefoot I would have given him
lodgings in the sewer."--"_In the sewer_" was {371} audibly echoed,
and Farragio rushed from the room. The bell of his master's chamber
rang. It reminded him that he was still a slave, and he went up
cursing his fate and vowing an eternity of revenge.
For two or three days the little gentleman kept his distance, and
Farragio bore the wine and its etceteras to his master's table
unmolested, save by the discontented spirit that struggled in his
bosom, and brooded over the deadly purpose it had given birth to.
Farragio felt himself to be the meanest of slaves, but he possessed an
ambition superior to his servitude. His intercourse with his little
mysterious visiter, if it had failed to teach him the meaning of
philosophy, had learned him to philosophize. "If," said he, "I am to
wear the chain that binds me to my master's service, why do the
feelings of my bosom prompt me to despise it? When I was young, I was
happy in the yoke I wore, but years have brought another feeling, and
I despise the yoke, and hate--_hate_ the hand that fixed it on me. My
curses cannot reach the mother that was so heartless as to make
merchandize of her child, but my revenge shall fall on Incholese, my
master--_master_, despicable word--and if it must exist, I'll be
master and Incholese, aye Incholese, shall be my slave; the hand of
death can hold him passive at my feet. Deep and deadly as my hate,
shall be the revenge I seek--and by my soul I swear!"--A voice
repeated "_thy_ soul!" and the little gentleman in black was before
him. Farragio, provoked beyond endurance at his intrusion, bit the
blood from his lip with rage, and attempted to hurl him from his
presence; thrice he essayed to seize him by the throat, but thrice he
eluded the grasp, and the foaming Farragio beat upon the empty air;
wearied with his exertion he sought a moment's respite and sunk upon a
chair.
"It's my turn now," said the little gentleman, "and your fury, my dear
fellow, will quickly give place to repentance. Go--faithless to thy
oath--wait still upon thy master." For three days and nights the
figure of the little gentleman, perfect in all its parts, kept before
him; it was beside him at his meals, and floated in the wine he
carried to the hall. In every drop that sparkled in the goblet the
little figure swam--his threadbare coat and club foot were outlined in
admirable distinctness, and the contumelious smile that followed the
threat he made in the kitchen, played upon his lips in insupportable
perfection: the figure was shadowed in the tea he drank and seemed
tangible in the empty dish; it clung like vermin to his clothes, was
under his feet at every step, dangled pendulous from his nose and was
snugly stowed away in both its nostrils. Farragio felt him continually
crawling upon the epidermis of his arms and legs, and carried him
between his fingers and his toes. The figure danced in visible shadow
upon the very expressions that fell from his lips, and roosted in
number as an army upon the tester of his bed. Did the bell of his
master summon him to his chamber or the hall, the figure, large as
life, was in the door way to impede his passage; if he went to either
place, it was between him and his master or with whomsoever else he
was engaged. His goings out and his comings in, his lyings down and
his risings up, were all molested by this singular Protean thing,
which, though always the same figure, accommodated itself to any size.
If he laid his hand upon any of the furniture of his kitchen, or felt
in his pocket for his penknife or his toothpick, his fingers were sure
to encounter the elastic contour of his accommodating but most
uncomfortable companion. On the third day his torment was
excruciating, and the poor wretch seemed about to expire in
unsufferable misery.
"Wretch that I am!" he exclaimed, when alone in his nether
apartment--"Wretch that I am, born to misfortune and tormented while
living by the execrable brood of hell." "_Execrable brood of hell!_"
sang the little gentleman with a most musical sneer, as he rolled from
all parts of the body of his victim and appeared in _propria persona_
before him.
"I meant no offence," roared the affrighted Farragio.
"Nor is it taken as such," replied his polite tormentor, who appeared
to be in a very pleasant humor, accompanying every word with a most
condescending smile. Farragio stammered out "I was--you know
when--sir--you are acquain--that is you--you remember--remember the
advice you gave me on the night when--I sa--you said I ought to be
re--re--rev"--
"Revenged."
"Exactly."
"To blood."
"Aye, and more than blood."
"What! would you touch the soul?"
"Yes, and punish it forever."
"Would you have it transformed to millions of animalculæ, each to teem
with life, and sensation the most acute, and continued in pain
throughout eternity?"
"Aye, and longer, and for such sweet revenge I'd punish my own soul
with his."
"Meet me to-morrow night, we'll fix it; success is certain."
Farragio hesitated, he was afraid of his accomplice; more than once he
had suspected the smell of brimstone, and would have given worlds to
be relieved from such acquaintanceship.
"Meet me to-morrow night," repeated the impatient little gentleman in
a voice of thunder.
"At what hour?"
"Nine."
Farragio was about to offer an excuse, but the threatening aspect of
his companion, and the remembrance of his misery warned him to
acquiesce. He replied "I'll meet you," and the little gentleman
disappeared.
At nine the confederates met, punctual to their engagement. Farragio
was there through fear, the little stranger to effect some deeply
hidden purpose. They talked of science and the arts, of philosophers,
philosophy and religion. The little gentleman appeared to be perfect
master of every subject, and astonished Farragio with his loquacity.
He drank wine, and was much more familiar than at any previous visit;
he sang, danced and left the impression of his foot as before.
Farragio had prepared for the entertainment of his guest, and for two
hours they rioted in the profusion of sweetmeats and wine, furnished
from the sideboard and cellar of Incholese. At length said the little
gentleman, "Mr. Farragio, I am happy of your acquaintance."
"Not at all," answered Farragio, whose vanity had been considerably
excited.
"And you shall be happy of mine."
"And if my revenge shall be fully and entirely gratified, I'll thank
you from my soul."
"And _with_ your soul."
"With all my soul."
{372} "Then we are friends for ever. Hear me--In a short time
Incholese will hold a magnificent entertainment; nothing like it has
ever happened in Venice since I have been interested for the welfare
of its people. The great hall will be crowded with visiters--the four
splendid chandeliers will be lighted, and without doubt the hall shall
glitter more brilliant than the jewelled cavern of Aladdin. The
beautiful, the young, the gay, will be there, and in the midst of the
merriment old age will forget its infirmities and leap like youth. The
old, however, will get weary and retire. When the Doge and his
attendants have gone, pour the contents of this vial into the wine you
carry up, and the morning will afford your heart a brimming revenge.
Venice is just restored to tranquillity; the plot of the foolish
Bedmar and his more foolish associates has failed, and the reason why
I will tell you--it was, because I was not consulted; the conspirators
relied in their own cunning and strength and were justly disappointed.
The guardian genius of this republic and of all republics can be
overcome, and prostrated by a power not inferior to my own, but times
and seasons and circumstances must be consulted if even I succeed. Our
little plot is of far less import, and with the exception of the Doge
and a few of the high officers we can sweep the hall. Be firm to the
purpose. Give them the contents of the vial in their wine, and in
three nights after I will show you the souls of all, and then you may
roll in vengeance for your wrongs. Farewell, Farragio; remember to
follow strictly my injunctions." It was past midnight, and without
another word the little gentleman took his leave.
Time rolled heavily along, and nothing but the bustle of preparation
enabled Farragio to endure its tardiness.
The eventful evening came. The Doge with the members of the Senate and
their wives, and many distinguished citizens and their families,
graced the sumptuous feast. Comino, according to promise, led in the
beautiful Glorianna. The chandeliers blazed like jasper in the
sunbeams, and threw additional charms from their lustre around the
"fairest of the fair." She walked amid their light--proud as the
Egyptian queen whose beauty made slaves of kings and brought
conquerors at her feet. Lightly went the revel on; song and wine
followed each other in quick succession; each guest seemed gayest of
the gay, and gave heart and soul to the bewitching joy.
The Doge retired, the elder citizens soon followed; one by one they
dropped off till youth alone was left to roll the revel anthem on--and
loud and long it rang, till merry peals broke on the morning's verge.
Farragio, true to his hellish purpose, mingled the contents of the
vial with the wine. All drank--and as if by the power of enchantment
were hurried on to doom.
In the morning, smiles were on their marble lips. Incholese sat like
one rapt in ectsacy, and Glorianna's fingers were still upon the harp
whose melody had charmed the host to bliss--a silent throng they
lingered there.
The little gentleman was also true to his appointment--in three days
he showed to Farragio the souls of his enemies. But his own looked
from its infernal abode upon those--in a place of less torment than
the bottomless abyss that foamed its fury upon him.