easy.”
Book the Third.
CHAPTER I.
THE LOVERS.
ROSABELLA, the idol of all Venice, lay on the bed of sickness; a sorrow,
whose cause was carefully concealed from every one, undermined her
health, and destroyed the bloom of her beauty. She loved the noble
Flodoardo; and who could have known Flodoardo and not have loved him?
His majestic stature, his expressive countenance, his enthusiastic
glance, his whole being declared aloud—Flodoardo is Nature’s favourite,
and Rosabella had been always a great admirer of Nature.
But if Rosabella was ill, Flodoardo was scarcely better. He confined
himself to his own apartment; he shunned society, and frequently made
long journeys to different cities of the Republic, in hopes of
distracting his thoughts by change of place from that object which,
wherever he went, still pursued him. He had now been absent for three
whole weeks. No one knew in what quarter he was wandering; and it was
during this absence that the so-long expected Prince of Monaldeschi
arrived at Venice to claim Rosabella as his bride.
His appearance, to which a month before Andreas looked forward with such
pleasing expectation, now afforded but little satisfaction to the Doge.
Rosabella was too ill to receive her suitor’s visits, and he did not
allow her much time to recover her health; for six days after his arrival
at Venice the Prince was found murdered in a retired part of one of the
public gardens. His sword lay by him unsheathed and bloody; his tablets
were gone, but one leaf had been torn from them and fastened on his
breast. It was examined, and found to contain the following lines,
apparently written in blood:—
“Let no one pretend to Rosabella’s hand, who is not prepared to share
the fate of Monaldeschi.
“The Bravo,
“ABELLINO.”
“Oh, where shall I now fly for comfort? for protection?” exclaimed the
Doge in despair, when this dreadful news was announced. “Why, why, is
Flodoardo absent?”
Anxiously did he now desire the youth’s return, to support him under the
weight of these heavy misfortunes; nor was it long before that desire was
gratified. Flodoardo returned.
“Welcome, noble youth!” said the Doge, when he saw the Florentine enter
his apartment. “You must not in future deprive me of your presence for
so long. I am now a poor forsaken old man. You have heard that
Lomellino—that Manfrone—”
“I know all,” answered Flodoardo, with a melancholy air.
“Satan has burst his chains, and now inhabits Venice under the name of
Abellino, robbing me of all that my soul holds precious. Flodoardo, for
Heaven’s love, be cautious; often, during your absence, have I trembled
lest the miscreant’s dagger should have deprived me too of _you_. I have
much to say to you, my young friend, but I must defer it till the
evening. A foreigner of consequence has appointed this hour for an
audience, and I must hasten to receive him—but in the evening—”
He was interrupted by the appearance of Rosabella, who, with tottering
steps and pale cheeks, advanced slowly into the apartment. She saw
Flodoardo, and a faint blush overspread her countenance. Flodoardo rose
from his seat, and welcomed her with an air of distant respect.
“Do not go yet,” said the Doge; “perhaps in half an hour I may be at
liberty: in the meanwhile I leave you to entertain my poor Rosabella.
She has been very ill during your absence; and I am still uneasy about
her health. She kept her bed till yesterday, and truly I think she has
left it too soon.”
The venerable Doge quitted the apartment, and the lovers once more found
themselves alone. Rosabella drew near the window; Flodoardo at length
ventured to approach it also.
“Signora,” said he, “are you still angry with me?”
“I am not angry with you,” stammered out Rosabella, and blushed as she
recollected the garden scene.
“And you have quite forgiven my transgression?”
“Your transgression?” repeated Rosabella, with a faint smile; “yes, if it
was a transgression, I have quite forgiven it. Dying people ought to
pardon those who have trespassed against them, in order that they, in
their turn, may be pardoned their trespasses against Heaven—and I am
dying; I feel it.”
“Signora!”
“Nay, ’tis past a doubt. It’s true, I have quitted my sick-bed since
yesterday; but I know well that I am soon to return to it, never to leave
it more. And therefore—therefore, I now ask your pardon, signor, for the
vexation which I was obliged to cause to you the last time we met.”
Flodoardo replied not.
“Will you not forgive me? You must be very difficult to appease—very
revengeful!”
Flodoardo replied not.
“Will you refuse my offered hand? Shall all be forgotten?”
“Forgotten, lady? Never, never—every word and look of yours is stamped
on my memory, never to be effaced. I cannot forget a transaction in
which _you_ bore a part: I cannot forget the scene that passed between
us, every circumstance is too precious and sacred. As to _pardon_”—he
took her extended hand and pressed it respectfully to his lips—“I would
to Heaven, dear lady, that you had in truth injured me much, that I might
have much to forgive you. Alas! I have at present nothing to pardon.”
Both were now silent. At length Rosabella resumed the conversation by
saying—“You have made a long absence from Venice; did you travel far?”
“I did.”
“And received much pleasure from your journey?”
“Much; for everywhere I heard the praises of Rosabella.”
“Count Flodoardo,” she interrupted him with a look of reprehension, but
in a gentle voice, “would you again offend me?”
“That will soon be out of my power. Perhaps you can guess what are my
present intentions.”
“To resume your travels soon?”
“Exactly so; and the next time that I quit Venice, to return to it no
more.”
“No more?” she repeated, eagerly. “Oh, not so, Flodoardo! Ah, can you
leave me?”—She stopped, ashamed of her imprudence. “Can you leave my
uncle? I meant to say. You do but jest, I doubt not.”
“By my honour, lady, I never was more in earnest.”
“And whither, then, do you mean to go?”
“To Malta, and assist the knights in their attacks upon the corsairs of
Barbary. Providence, perhaps, may enable me to obtain the command of a
galley, then will I call my vessel ‘Rosabella;’ then shall the war-cry be
still ‘Rosabella;’ that name will render me invincible.”
“Oh! this is a mockery, Count. I have not deserved that you should sport
with my feelings so cruelly.”
“It is to _spare_ your feelings, signora, that I am now resolved to fly
from Venice; my presence might cause you some uneasy moments. I am not
the happy man whose sight is destined to give you pleasure; I will, at
least, avoid giving you pain.”
“And you really can resolve to abandon the Doge, whose esteem for you is
so sincere, whose friendship has always been so warm?”
“I value his friendship highly, but it is not sufficient to make me
happy, and could he lay kingdoms at my feet, still would his friendship
be insufficient to make me happy.”
“Does, then, your happiness require so much?”
“It does—much more than I have mentioned, infinitely more. But one boon
can make me happy; I have begged for it on my knees.” He caught her hand
and pressed it eagerly to his lips. “I have begged for it, Rosabella,
and my suit has been rejected.”
“You are a strange enthusiast,” she said with difficulty, and scarcely
knew what she said, while Flodoardo drew her gently nearer to him, and
murmured in a supplicating voice, “Rosabella!”
“What would you of me?”
“My happiness!”
She gazed upon him for a moment undecided, then hastily drew away her
hand, and exclaimed, “Leave me, this moment, I command you. Leave me,
for Heaven’s sake!”
Flodoardo clasped his hands together in despair and anguish. He bowed
his head in token of obedience. He left her with slow steps and a
melancholy air, and as he passed the threshold, turned to bid her
farewell for ever. Suddenly she rushed towards him, caught his hand, and
pressed it to her heart.
“Flodoardo,” she cried, “I am thine!” and sank motionless at his feet.
CHAPTER II.
A DANGEROUS PROMISE.
AND now who was so blessed as the fortunate Flodoardo? The victory was
his own, he had heard the wished-for sentence pronounced by the lips of
Rosabella. He raised her from the ground, and placed her on a sofa. Her
blue eyes soon unclosed themselves once more, and the first object which
they beheld was Flodoardo kneeling at her feet, while with one arm he
encircled her waist. Her head sank upon the shoulder of the man for whom
she had breathed so many sighs, who had occupied so many of her thoughts
by day, who had been present in so many of her dreams by night.
As they gazed in silent rapture on each other, they forgot that they were
mortals; they seemed to be transported to a happier, to a better world.
Rosabella thought that the chamber in which she sat was transformed into
an earthly Paradise; invisible seraphs seemed to hallow by their
protecting presence the indulgence of her innocent affection, and she
poured forth her secret thanks to Him who had given her a heart
susceptible of love.
Through the whole course of man’s existence, such a moment as this occurs
but once. Happy is he who sighs for its arrival; happy is he who, when
it arrives, has a soul worthy of its enjoyment; happy is even he for whom
that moment has long been passed, so it passed not unenjoyed, for the
recollection of it still is precious. Sage philosophers, in vain do you
assure us that the raptures of a moment like this are mere illusions of a
heated imagination, scarcely more solid than an enchanting dream, which
fades before the sunbeams of truth and reason. Alas! does there exist a
happiness under the moon which owes not its charms in some degree to the
magic of imagination!
“You are dear to me, Flodoardo,” murmured Rosabella, for Camilla and her
counsels were quite forgotten; “oh, you are very, very dear!”
The youth only thanked her by clasping her still closer to his bosom,
while, for the first time, he sealed her coral lips with his own.
At that moment the door was suddenly thrown open. The Doge Andreas
re-entered the apartment: the expected stranger had been suddenly taken
ill, and Andreas was no sooner at liberty than he hastened to rejoin his
favourite. The rustling of his garments roused the lovers from their
dream of bliss. Rosabella started from Flodoardo’s embrace with a cry of
terror; Flodoardo quitted his kneeling posture, yet seemed by no means
disconcerted at the discovery.
Andreas gazed upon them for some minutes, with a look which expressed at
once anger, melancholy, and the most heartfelt disappointment. He sighed
deeply, cast his eyes towards heaven, and in silence turned to leave the
apartment.
“Stay yet one moment, noble Andreas,” cried the Florentine.
The Doge turned, and Flodoardo threw himself at his feet. Andreas looked
down with calm and serious dignity on the kneeling offender, by whom his
friendship had been so unworthily rewarded, and by whom his confidence
had been so cruelly betrayed.
“Young man,” said he, in a stern voice, “the attempt to excuse yourself
must be fruitless.”
“Excuse myself!” interrupted Flodoardo, boldly; “no, my lord, I need no
excuses for loving Rosabella; ’twere for him to excuse himself who had
seen Rosabella and _not_ loved her; yet, if it is indeed a crime in me
that I adore Rosabella, ’tis a crime of which Heaven itself will absolve
me, since it formed Rosabella so worthy to be adored.”
“You seem to lay too much stress on this fantastic apology,” answered the
Doge, contemptuously; “at least you cannot expect that it should have
much weight with me.”
“I say it once more, my lord,” resumed Flodoardo, while he rose from the
ground, “that I intend to make no apology; I mean not to excuse my love
for Rosabella, but to request your approbation of that love. Andreas, I
adore your niece; I demand her for my bride.”
The Doge started in astonishment at this bold and unexpected request.
“It is true,” continued the Florentine, “I am no more than a needy,
unknown youth, and it seems a piece of strange temerity when such a man
proposes himself to espouse the heiress of the Venetian Doge. But, by
Heaven, I am confident that the great Andreas means not to bestow his
Rosabella on one of those whose claims to favour are overflowing coffers,
extensive territories, and sounding titles, or who vainly decorate their
insignificance with the glory obtained by the titles of their ancestors,
glory of which they are themselves incapable of acquiring a single ray.
I acknowledge freely that I have as yet performed no actions which make
me deserving of such a reward as Rosabella; but it shall not be long ere
I _will_ perform such actions, or perish in the attempt.”
The Doge turned from him with a look of displeasure.
“Oh, be not incensed with him, dear uncle,” said Rosabella. She hastened
to detain the Doge, threw her white arms around his neck fondly, and
concealed in his bosom the tears with which her countenance was bedewed.
“Make your demands,” continued Flodoardo, still addressing himself to the
Doge; “say what you wish me to do, and what you would have me become, in
order to obtain from you the hand of Rosabella. Ask what you will, I
will look on the task, however difficult, as nothing more than sport and
pastime. By Heaven, I would that Venice were at this moment exposed to
the most imminent danger, and that ten thousand daggers were unsheathed
against your life; Rosabella my reward—how certain should I be to rescue
Venice, and strike the ten thousand daggers down.”
“I have served the Republic faithfully and fervently for many a long
year,” answered Andreas, with a bitter smile; “I have risked my life
without hesitation; I have shed my blood with profusion; I asked nothing
for my reward but to pass my old age in soft tranquillity, and of this
reward have I been cheated. My bosom friends, the companions of my
youth, the confidants of my age, have been torn from me by the daggers of
banditti; and you, Flodoardo, you, on whom I heaped all favours, have now
deprived me of this my only remaining comfort. Answer me, Rosabella;
hast thou in truth bestowed thy heart on Flodoardo irrevocably?”
One hand of Rosabella’s still rested on her uncle’s shoulder; with the
other she clasped Flodoardo’s and pressed it fondly against her heart—yet
Flodoardo seemed still unsatisfied. No sooner had the Doge’s question
struck his ear, than his countenance became dejected; and though his hand
returned the pressure of Rosabella’s, he shook his head mournfully, with
an air of doubt, and cast on her a penetrating look, as would he have
read the secrets of her inmost soul.
Andreas withdrew himself gently from Rosabella’s arm, and for some time
paced the apartment slowly, with a countenance sad and earnest.
Rosabella sank upon a sofa which stood near her, and wept. Flodoardo
eyed the Doge, and waited for his decision with impatience.
Thus passed some minutes. An awful silence reigned through the chamber;
Andreas seemed to be labouring with some resolution of dreadful
importance. The lovers wished, yet dreaded, the conclusion of the scene,
and with every moment their anxiety became more painful.
“Flodoardo!” at length said the Doge, and suddenly stood still in the
middle of the chamber. Flodoardo advanced with a respectful air. “Young
man,” he continued, “I am at length resolved; Rosabella loves you, nor
will I oppose the decision of her heart; but Rosabella is much too
precious to admit of my bestowing her on the first who thinks fit to
demand her. The man to whom I give her must be worthy such a gift. She
must be the reward of his services; nor can he do services so great that
such a reward will not overpay them. Your claims on the Republic’s
gratitude are as yet but trifling; an opportunity now offers of rendering
as an essential service. The murderer of Conari, Manfrone, and
Lomellino—go, bring him hither! Alive or dead, thou must bring to this
palace the terrible banditti-king, _Abellino_!”
At this unexpected conclusion of a speech on which his happiness or
despair depended, Flodoardo started back. The colour fled from his
cheeks.
“My noble lord!” he said at length, hesitating, “you know well that—”
“I know well,” interrupted Andreas, “how difficult a task I enjoin, when
I require the delivery of Abellino. For myself I swear that I had rather
a thousand times force my passage with a single vessel through the whole
Turkish fleet, and carry off the admiral’s ship from the midst of them,
than attempt to seize this Abellino, who seems to have entered into a
compact with Lucifer himself: who is to be found everywhere and nowhere;
whom so many have seen, but whom no one knows; whose cautious subtlety
has brought to shame the vigilance of our State inquisitors, of the
College of Ten, and of all their legions of spies and sbirri; whose very
name strikes terror into the hearts of the bravest Venetians, and from
whose dagger I myself am not safe upon my throne. I know well,
Flodoardo, how much I ask; but I know also how much I proffer. You seem
irresolute? You are silent? Flodoardo, I have long watched you with
attention. I have discovered in you marks of a superior genius, and
therefore I am induced to make such a demand. If any one is able to cope
with Abellino, thou art the man. I wait your answer.”
Flodoardo paced the chamber in silence. Dreadful was the enterprise
proposed. Woe to him should Abellino discover his purpose. But
Rosabella was the reward. He cast a look on the beloved one, and
resolved to risk everything.
He advanced towards the Doge.
_Andreas_.—Now, then, Flodoardo—your resolution?
_Flodoardo_.—Should I deliver Abellino into your power, do you solemnly
swear that Rosabella shall be my bride?
_Andreas_.—She shall! and _not till then_.
_Rosabella_.—Ah! Flodoardo, I fear this undertaking will end fatally.
Abellino is so crafty, so dreadful. Oh! look well to yourself, for
should you meet with the detested monster, whose dagger—
_Flodoardo_ (interrupting her hastily).—Oh! silence, Rosabella—at least
allow me to hope. Noble Andreas, give me your hand, and pledge your
princely word that, Abellino once in your power, nothing shall prevent me
from being Rosabella’s husband.
_Andreas_.—I swear it; deliver into my power, either alive or dead, this
most dangerous foe of Venice, and nothing shall prevent Rosabella from
being your wife. In pledge of which I here give you my princely hand.
Flodoardo grasped the Doge’s hand in silence, and shook it thrice. He
turned to Rosabella, and seemed on the point of addressing her, when he
suddenly turned away, struck his forehead, and measured the apartment
with disordered and unsteady steps. The clock in the tower of St. Mark’s
church struck five.
“Time flies!” cried Flodoardo; “no more delay, then. In four-and-twenty
hours will I produce in this very palace this dreaded bravo, Abellino.”
Andreas shook his head. “Young man,” said he, “be less confident in your
promises; I shall have more faith in your performance.”
_Flodoardo_ (serious and firm).—Let things terminate as they may, either
I will keep my word, or never again will cross the threshold of your
palace. I have discovered some traces of the miscreant, and I trust that
I shall amuse you to-morrow, at this time and in this place, with the
representation of a comedy; but should it prove a tragedy instead, God’s
will be done.
_Andreas_.—Remember that too much haste is dangerous; rashness will
destroy even the frail hopes of success which you may reasonably indulge
at present.
_Flodoardo_.—Rashness, my lord? He who has lived as I have lived, and
suffered what I have suffered, must have been long since cured of
rashness.
_Rosabella_ (taking his hand).—Yet be not too confident of your own
strength, I beseech you! Dear Flodoardo, my uncle loves you, and his
advice is wise! Beware of Abellino’s dagger!
_Flodoardo_.—The best way to escape his dagger is not to allow him time
to use it: within four-and-twenty hours must the deed be done, or never.
Now, then, illustrious Prince, I take my leave of you. To-morrow I doubt
not to convince you that nothing is too much for love to venture.
_Andreas_.—Right; to venture: but to achieve?
_Flodoardo_.—Ah, that must depend—He paused suddenly again his eyes were
fastened eagerly on those of Rosabella, and it was evident that with
every moment his uneasiness acquired fresh strength. He resumed his
discourse to Andreas, with a movement of impatience.
“Noble Andreas,” said he, “do not make me dispirited; rather let me try
whether I cannot inspire you with more confidence of my success. I must
first request you to order a splendid entertainment to be prepared. At
this hour in the afternoon of to-morrow let me find all the principal
persons in Venice, both men and women, assembled in this chamber; for
should my hopes be realised, I would willingly have spectators of my
triumph. Particularly let the venerable members of the College of Ten he
invited, in order that they may at last he brought face to face with this
terrible Abellino, against whom they have so long been engaged in
fruitless warfare.”
_Andreas_ (after eyeing him some time with a look of mingled surprise and
uncertainty).—They shall be present.
_Flodoardo_.—I understand, also, that since Conari’s death you have been
reconciled to the Cardinal Gonzaga; and that he has convinced you how
unjust were the prejudices with which Conari had inspired you against the
nobility—Parozzi, Contarino, and the rest of that society. During my
late excursions I have heard much in praise of these young men, which
makes me wish to show myself to them in a favourable light. If you have
no objection, let me beg you to invite them also.
_Andreas_.—You shall be gratified.
_Flodoardo_.—One thing more, which had nearly escaped my memory. Let no
one know the motive of this entertainment till the whole company is
assembled. Then let guards be placed around the palace, and, indeed, it
may be as well to place them even before the doors of the saloon; for in
truth this Abellino is such a desperate villain, that too many
precautions cannot be taken against him. The sentinels must have their
pieces loaded, and, above all things, they must be strictly charged, on
pain of death, to let every one enter, but no one quit the chamber.
_Andreas_.—All this shall be done punctually.
_Flodoardo_.—I have nothing more to say. Noble Andreas, farewell.
Rosabella, to-morrow, when the clock strikes five, we shall meet again,
or never.
He said, and rushed out of the apartment. Andreas shook his head; while
Rosabella sank upon her uncle’s bosom, and wept bitterly.
CHAPTER III.
THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.
“VICTORY!” shouted Parozzi, as he rushed into the Cardinal Gonzaga’s
chamber, where the chief conspirators were all assembled; “our work goes
on bravely. Flodoardo returned this morning to Venice, and Abellino has
already received the required sum.”
_Gonzaga_.—Flodoardo does not want talents; I had rather he should live
and join our party. He is seldom off his guard—
_Parozzi_.—Such vagabonds may well be cautious; they must not forget
themselves, who have so much to conceal from others.
_Falieri_.—Rosabella, as I understand, by no means sees this Florentine
with unfavourable eyes.
_Parozzi_.—Oh, wait till to-morrow, and then he may make love to the
devil and his grandmother, if he likes it. Abellino by that time will
have wrung his neck round, I warrant you.
_Contarino_.—It is strange that, in spite of all inquiries, I can learn
but little at Florence respecting this Flodoardo. My letters inform me
that some time ago there did exist a family of that name; but it has been
long extinct, or if any of its descendants are still in being at
Florence, their existence is quite a secret.
_Gonzaga_.—Are you all invited to the Doge’s to-morrow?
_Contarino_.—All of us, without exception.
_Gonzaga_.—That is well. It seems that my recommendations have obtained
some weight with him, since his triumvirate has been removed. And in the
evening a masked ball is to be given. Did not the Doge’s chamberlain say
so?
_Falieri_.—He did.
_Memmo_.—I only hope there is no trick in all this. If he should have
been given a hint of our conspiracy! Mercy on us! my teeth chatter at
the thought.
_Gonzaga_.—Absurd! By what means should our designs have been made known
to him? The thing is impossible.
_Memmo_.—Impossible? What, when there’s scarce a cutpurse, housebreaker,
or vagabond in Venice who has not been enlisted in our service, would it
be so strange if the Doge discovered a little of the business? A secret
which is known to so many, how should it escape his penetration?
_Contarino_.—Simpleton! the same thing happens to him which happens to
betrayed husbands. Everyone can see the horns except the man who carries
them. And yet I confess it is full time that we should realise our
projects, and prevent the possibility of our being betrayed.
_Falieri_.—You are right, friend; everything is ready now. The sooner
that the blow is struck the better.
_Parozzi_.—Nay, the discontented populace, which at present sides with
us, would be perfectly well pleased if the sport began this very night;
delay the business longer, and their anger against Andreas will cool, and
render them unfit for our purpose.
_Contarino_.—Then let us decide the game at once; be to-morrow the
important day. Leave the Doge to my disposal. I’ll at least engage to
bury my poniard in his heart, and then let the business end as it may,
one of two things must happen: either we shall rescue ourselves from all
trouble and vexation, by throwing everything into uproar and confusion,
or else we shall sail with a full wind from this cursed world to another.
_Parozzi_.—Mark me, friends, we must go armed to the Doge’s
entertainment.
_Gonzaga_.—All the members of the College of Ten have been particularly
invited—
_Falieri_.—Down with every man of them!
_Memmo_.—Aye, aye! Fine talking, but suppose it should turn out to be
down with ourselves?
_Falieri_.—Thou white-livered wretch! Stay at home, then, and take care
of your worthless existence. But if our attempt succeeds, come not to us
to reimburse you for the sums which you have already advanced. Not a
sequin shall be paid you back, depend on’t.
_Memmo_.—You wrong me, Falieri; if you wish to prove my courage, draw
your sword and measure it against mine. I am as brave as yourself; but,
thank Heaven, I am not quite so hot-headed.
_Gonzaga_.—Nay, even suppose that the event should not answer our
expectations? Andreas once dead, let the populace storm as it pleases;
the protection of his Holiness will sanction our proceedings.
_Memmo_.—The Pope? May we count on his protection?
_Gonzaga_ (throwing him a letter).—Read there, unbeliever. The Pope, I
tell you, must protect us, since one of our objects is professed to be
the assertion of the rights of St. Peter’s Chair in Venice. Prithee,
Memmo, tease us no more with such doubts, but let Contarino’s proposal be
adopted at once. Our confederates must be summoned to Parozzi’s palace
with all diligence, and there furnished with such weapons as are
necessary. Let the stroke of midnight be the signal for Contarino’s
quitting the ball-room, and hastening to seize the arsenal. Salviati,
who commands there, is in our interest, and will throw open the gates at
the first summons.
_Falieri_.—The admiral Adorna, as soon as he hears the alarm-bell, will
immediately lead his people to our assistance.
_Parozzi_.—Oh, our success is certain.
_Contarino_.—Only let us take care to make the confusion as general as
possible. Our adversaries must be kept in the dark who are their friends
and who their foes, and all but our own party must be left ignorant as to
the authors, the origin, and the object of the uproar.
_Parozzi_.—Heaven, I am delighted at finding the business at length so
near the moment of execution!
_Falieri_.—Parozzi, have you distributed the white ribbons by which we
are to recognise our partisans?
_Parozzi_.—That was done some days ago.
_Contarino_.—Then there is no more necessary to be said on the subject.
Comrades, fill your goblets. We will not meet again together till our
work has been completed.
_Memmo_.—And yet methinks it would not be unwise to consider the matter
over again coolly.
_Contarino_.—Pshaw! consideration and prudence have nothing to do with a
rebellion; despair and rashness in this case are better counsellors. The
work once begun, the constitution of Venice once boldly overturned, so
that no one can tell who is master and who is subject, then consideration
will be of service in instructing us how far it may be necessary for our
interest to push the confusion. Come, friends! fill, fill, I say. I
cannot help laughing when I reflect that, by giving this entertainment
to-morrow, the Doge himself kindly affords us an opportunity of executing
our plans.
_Parozzi_.—As to Flodoardo, I look upon him already as in his grave; yet
before we go to-morrow to the Doge’s, it will be as well to have a
conference with Abellino.
_Contarino_.—That care we will leave to you, Parozzi, and in the
meanwhile here’s the health of Abellino.
_All_.—Abellino!
_Gonzaga_.—And success to our enterprise to-morrow.
_Memmo_.—I’ll drink _that_ toast with all my heart.
_All_.—Success to to-morrow’s enterprise!
_Parozzi_.—The wine tastes well, and every face looks gay; pass
eight-and-forty hours, and shall we look as gaily? We separate smiling;
shall we smile when two nights hence we meet again? No matter.
CHAPTER IV.
THE DECISIVE DAY.
THE next morning everything in Venice seemed as tranquil as if nothing
more than ordinary was on the point of taking place; and yet, since her
first foundation, never had a more important day risen on the Republic.
The inhabitants of the ducal palace were in motion early. The impatient
Andreas forsook the couch on which he had passed a sleepless and anxious
night, as soon as the first sunbeams penetrated through the lattice of
his chamber. Rosabella had employed the hours of rest in dreams of
Flodoardo, and she still seemed to be dreaming of him, even after sleep
was fled. Camilla’s love for her fair pupil had broken her repose; she
loved Rosabella as had she been her daughter, and was aware that on this
interesting day depended the love-sick girl’s whole future happiness.
For some time Rosabella was unusually gay; she sang to her harp the most
lively airs, and jested with Camilla for looking so serious and so
uneasy; but when mid-day approached, her spirits began to forsake her.
She quitted her instrument, and paced the chamber with unsteady steps.
With every succeeding hour her heart palpitated with greater pain and
violence, and she trembled in expectation of the scene which was soon to
take place.
The most illustrious persons in Venice already filled her uncle’s palace;
the afternoon so much dreaded, and yet so much desired, was come; and the
Doge now desired Camilla to conduct his niece to the great saloon, where
she was expected with impatience by all those who were of most
consequence in the Republic.
Rosabella sank on her knees before a statue of the Virgin. “Blessed
Lady!” she exclaimed, with lifted hands, “have mercy on me! Let all
to-day end well!”
Pale as death did she enter the chamber in which, on the day before, she
had acknowledged her love for Flodoardo, and Flodoardo had sworn to risk
his life to obtain her. Flodoardo was not yet arrived.
The assembly was brilliant, the conversation was gay. They talked over
the politics of the day, and discussed the various occurrences of Europe.
The Cardinal and Contarino were engaged in a conference with the Doge,
while Memmo, Parozzi, and Falieri stood silent together, and revolved the
project whose execution was to take place at midnight.
The weather was dark and tempestuous. The wind roared among the waters
of the canal, and the vanes of the palace-towers creaked shrilly and
discordantly. One storm of rain followed hard upon another.
The clock struck four. The cheeks of Rosabella, if possible, became
paler than before. Andreas whispered something to his chamberlain. In a
few minutes the tread of armed men seemed approaching the doors of the
saloon, and soon after the clattering of weapons was heard.
Instantly a sudden silence reigned through the whole assembly. The young
courtiers broke off their love-speeches abruptly, and the ladies stopped
in their criticisms upon the last new fashions. The statesmen dropped
their political discussions, and gazed on each other in silence and
anxiety.
The Doge advanced slowly into the midst of the assembly. Every eye was
fixed upon him. The hearts of the conspirators beat painfully.
“Be not surprised, my friends,” said Andreas, “at these unusual
precautions; they relate to nothing which need interfere with the
pleasures of this society. You have all heard but too much of the bravo
Abellino, the murderer of the Procurator Conari, and of my faithful
counsellors Manfrone and Lomellino, and to whose dagger my illustrious
guest the Prince of Monaldeschi has but lately fallen a victim. This
miscreant, the object of aversion to every honest man in Venice, to whom
nothing is sacred or venerable, and who has hitherto set at defiance the
whole vengeance of the Republic—before another hour expires, perhaps this
outcast of hell may stand before you in this very saloon.”
_All_ (astonished).—Abellino? What, the bravo Abellino?
_Gonzaga_.—Of his own accord!
_Andreas_.—No, not of his own accord, in truth. But Flodoardo of
Florence has undertaken to render this important service to the Republic,
to seize Abellino, cost what it may, and conduct him hither at the risk
of his life.
_A Senator_.—The engagement will be difficult to fulfil. I doubt much
Flodoardo’s keeping his promise.
_Another_.—But if he _should_ perform it, the obligation which Flodoardo
will lay upon the Republic will not be trifling.
_A Third_.—Nay, we shall be all his debtors, nor do I know how we can
reward Flodoardo for so important a service.
_Andreas_.—Be that my task. Flodoardo has demanded my niece in marriage
if he performs his promise. Rosabella shall be his reward.
All gazed on each other in silence; some with looks expressing the most
heartfelt satisfaction, and others with glances of envy and surprise.
_Falieri_ (in a low voice).—Parozzi, how will this end?
_Memmo_.—As I live, the very idea makes me shake as if I had a fever.
_Parozzi_ (smiling contemptuously).—It’s very likely that Abellino should
suffer himself to be caught!
_Contarino_.—Pray inform me, signors, have any of you ever met this
Abellino face to face?
_Several Noblemen at once_.—Not I. Never.
_A Senator_.—He is a kind of spectre, who only appears now and then, when
he is least expected and desired.
_Rosabella_.—I saw him once; never again shall I forget the monster.
_Andreas_.—And my interview with him is too well known to make it needful
for me to relate it.
_Memmo_.—I have heard a thousand stories about this miscreant, the one
more wonderful than the other; and for my own part I verily believe that
he is Satan himself in a human form. I must say that I think it would be
wiser not to let him be brought in among us, for he is capable of
strangling us all as we stand here, one after another, without mercy.
“Gracious Heaven!” screamed several of the ladies, “you don’t say so?
What, strangle us in this very chamber?”
_Contarino_.—The principal point is, whether Flodoardo will get the
better of _him_, or _he_ of Flodoardo. Now I would lay a heavy wager
that the Florentine will return without having finished the business.
_A Senator_.—And _I_ would engage, on the contrary, that there is but one
man in Venice who is capable of seizing Abellino, and that _that_ man is
Flodoardo of Florence. The moment that I became acquainted with him, I
prophesied that one day or other he would play a brilliant part in the
annals of history.
_Another Senator_.—I think with you, signor. Never was I so struck with
a man at first sight as I was with Flodoardo.
_Contarino_.—A thousand sequins on Abellino’s not being taken, unless
death should have taken him first.
_The First Senator_.—A thousand sequins on Flodoardo seizing him—
_Andreas_.—And delivering him up to me, either alive or dead.
_Contarino_.—Illustrious signors, you are witnesses of the wager. My
Lord Vitalba, there is my hand on it. A thousand sequins!
_The Senator_.—Done.
_Contarino_ (smiling).—Many thanks for your gold, signor. I look on it
as already in my purse. Flodoardo is a clever gentleman, no doubt, yet I
would advise him to take good care of himself; for he will find that
Abellino knows a trick or two, or I am much mistaken.
_Gonzaga_.—May I request your Highness to inform me whether Flodoardo is
attended by the sbirri?
_Andreas_.—No, he is alone. Near four-and-twenty hours have elapsed
since he set out in pursuit of the bravo.
_Gonzaga_ (to Contarino, with a smile of triumph).—I wish you joy of your
thousand sequins, signor.
_Contarino_ (bowing respectfully).—Since your Excellency prophesies it I
can no longer doubt my success.
_Memmo_.—I begin to recover myself! Well, well! let us see the end.
Three-and-twenty hours had elapsed since Flodoardo had entered into the
rash engagement. The four-and-twentieth now hastened to its completion,
and yet Flodoardo came not.
CHAPTER V.
THE CLOCK STRIKES FIVE.
THE Doge became uneasy. The senator Vitalba began to tremble for his
thousand sequins, and the conspirators could not restrain their spiteful
laughter, when Contarino gravely declared that he would gladly lose, not
_one_ thousand sequins, but twenty, if the loss of his wager through
Abellino’s being captured might but secure the general safety of the
Republic.
“Hark!” cried Rosabella, “the clock strikes five!”
All listened to the chimes in the tower of St. Mark’s Church, and
trembled as they counted the strokes. Had not Camilla supported her,
Rosabella would have sank upon the ground. The destined hour was past,
and still Flodoardo came not!
The venerable Andreas felt a sincere affection for the Florentine; he
shuddered as he dwelt upon the probability that Abellino’s dagger had
prevailed.
Rosabella advanced towards her uncle as if she would have spoken to him;
but anxiety fettered her tongue, and tears forced themselves into her
eyes. She struggled for a while to conceal her emotions, but the effort
was too much for her. She threw herself on a sofa, wrung her hands, and
prayed to the God of mercy for help and comfort.
The rest of the company either formed groups of whisperers, or strolled
up and down the apartment in evident uneasiness. They would willingly
have appeared gay and unconcerned, but they found it impossible to assume
even an affectation of gaiety, and thus elapsed another hour, and still
Flodoardo came not.
At that moment the evening sun broke through the clouds, and a ray of its
setting glory was thrown full upon the countenance of Rosabella. She
started from the sofa, extended her arms towards the radiant orb, and
exclaimed, while a smile of hope played round her lips, “God is merciful;
God will have mercy on me.”
_Contarino_.—Was it at five o’clock that Flodoardo engaged to produce
Abellino? It is now a full hour beyond his time.
_The Senator Vitalba_.—Let him only produce him at last, and he may be a
month beyond his time if he choose.
_Andreas_.—Hark! No. Silence! silence! Surely I hear footsteps
approaching the saloon.
The words were scarcely spoken when the folding doors were thrown open,
and Flodoardo rushed into the room enveloped in his mantle. His hair
streamed on the air in wild disorder; a deep shade was thrown over his
face by the drooping plumes of his _barrette_, from which the rain was
flowing. Extreme melancholy was impressed on all his features, and he
threw gloomy looks around him as he bowed his head in salutation of the
assembly.
Every one crowded round him; every mouth was unclosed to question him;
every eye was fixed on his face as if eager to anticipate his answers.
“Holy Virgin!” exclaimed Memmo, “I am afraid that—”
“Be silent, signor!” interrupted Contarino, sternly; “there is nothing to
be afraid of.”
“Illustrious Venetians!”—it was thus that Flodoardo broke silence, and he
spoke with the commanding tone of a hero—“I conclude that his Highness
has already made known to you the object of your being thus assembled. I
come to put an end to your anxiety; but first, noble Andreas, I must once
more receive the assurance that Rosabella of Corfu shall become my bride,
provided I deliver into your power the bravo Abellino.”
_Andreas_ (examining his countenance with extreme anxiety).—Flodoardo,
have you succeeded? Is Abellino your prisoner?
_Flodoardo_.—If Abellino is my prisoner, shall Rosabella be my bride?
_Andreas_.—Bring me Abellino, alive or dead, and she is yours. I swear
it beyond the power of retracting, and also that her dowry shall be
royal!
_Flodoardo_.—Illustrious Venetians, ye have heard the Doge’s oath?
_All_.—We are your witnesses.
_Flodoardo_ (advancing a few paces with a bold air, and speaking in a
firm voice).—Well, then, Abellino is in my power—is in _yours_.
_All_ (in confusion and a kind of uproar).—In ours? Merciful heaven!
Where is he? Abellino!
_Andreas_.—Is he dead or living?
_Flodoardo_.—He still lives.
_Gonzaga_ (hastily).—He lives?
_Flodoardo_ (bowing to the Cardinal respectfully).—He still lives,
signor.
_Rosabella_ (pressing Camilla to her bosom). Didst thou hear that,
Camilla? Didst thou hear it? The villain still lives. Not one drop of
blood has stained the innocent hand of Flodoardo.
_The Senator Vitalba_.—Signor Contarino, I have won a thousand sequins of
you.
_Contarino_.—So it should seem, signor.
_Andreas_.—My son, you have bound the Republic to you for ever, and I
rejoice that it is to Flodoardo that she is indebted for a service so
essential.
_Vitalba_.—And permit me, noble Florentine, to thank you for this heroic
act in the name of the Senate of Venice. Our first care shall be to seek
out a reward proportioned to your merits.
_Flodoardo_ (extending his arms towards Rosabella, with a melancholy
air).—There stands the only reward for which I wish.
_Andreas_ (joyfully).—And that reward is your own. But where have you
left the bloodhound? Conduct him hither, my son, and let me look at him
once more. When I last saw him, he had the insolence to tell me, “Doge,
I am your equal. This narrow chamber now holds the two greatest men in
Venice.” Now, then, let me see how this other great man looks in
captivity.
_Two or three Senators_.—Where is he? Bring him hither.
Several of the ladies screamed at hearing this proposal. “For heaven’s
sake,” cried they, “keep the monster away from us! I shall be frightened
out of my senses if he comes here.”
“Noble ladies,” said Flodoardo, with a smile, expressing rather sorrow
than joy, “you have nothing to apprehend. Abellino shall do you no harm;
but he needs must come hither to claim _The Bravo’s Bride_.” And he
pointed to Rosabella.
“Oh, my best friend,” she answered, “how shall I express my thanks to you
for having thus put an end to my terrors? I shall tremble no more at
hearing Abellino named. Rosabella shall now be called the Bravo’s Bride
no longer.”
_Falieri_.—Is Abellino already in this palace?
_Flodoardo_.—He is.
_Vitalba_.—Then why do you not produce him? Why do you trifle so long
with our impatience?
_Flodoardo_.—Be patient. It’s now time that the play should begin. Be
seated, noble Andreas. Let all the rest arrange themselves behind the
Doge. Abellino’s coming!
At that word both old and young, both male and female, with the rapidity
of lightning, flew to take shelter behind Andreas. Every heart beat
anxiously; but as to the conspirators, while expecting Abellino’s
appearance, they suffered the torments of the damned.
Grave and tranquil sat the Doge in his chair, like a judge appointed to
pass sentence on this King of the Banditti. The spectators stood around
in various groups, all hushed and solemn, as if they were waiting to
receive their final judgment. The lovely Rosabella, with all the
security of angels whose innocence have nothing to fear, reclined her
head on Camilla’s shoulder and gazed on her heroic lover with looks of
adoration. The conspirators, with pallid cheeks and staring eyes, filled
up the background, and a dead and awful silence prevailed through the
assembly, scarcely interrupted by a single breath.
“And now, then,” said Flodoardo, “prepare yourselves, for this terrible
Abellino shall immediately appear before you. Do not tremble; he shall
do no one harm.”
With these words he turned away from the company, advanced towards the
folding-doors. He paused for a few moments, and concealed his face in
his cloak.
“Abellino!” cried he at length, raising his head, and extending his arm
towards the door. At that name all who heard it shuddered involuntarily,
and Rosabella advanced unconsciously a few steps towards her lover. She
trembled more for Flodoardo than herself.
“Abellino!” the Florentine repeated, in a loud and angry tone, threw from
him his mantle and barrette, and had already laid his hand on the lock of
the door to open it, when Rosabella uttered a cry of terror.
“Stay, Flodoardo!” she cried, rushing towards him, and—Ha! Flodoardo was
gone, and there, in his place, stood Abellino, and shouted out, “Ho! ho!”
CHAPTER VI.
APPARITIONS.
INSTANTLY a loud cry of terror resounded through the apartment.
Rosabella sank fainting at the bravo’s feet; the conspirators were almost
suffocated with rage, terror, and astonishment; the ladies made signs of
the cross, and began in all haste to repeat their paternosters; the
senators stood rooted to their places like so many statues; and the Doge
doubted the information of his ears and eyes.
Calm and terrible stood the bravo before them, in all the pomp of his
strange and awful ugliness, with his bravo’s habit, his girdle filled
with pistols and poniards, his distorted yellow countenance, his black
and bushy eyebrows, his lips convulsed, his right eye covered by a large
patch, and his left half buried among the wrinkles of flesh which swelled
around it. He gazed around him for a few moments in silence, and then
approached the stupefied Andreas.
“Ho! ho!” he roared in a voice like thunder, “you wish to see the bravo
Abellino? Doge of Venice, here he stands, and is come to claim his
bride.”
Andreas gazed with looks of horror on this model for demons, and at
length stammered out with difficulty, “It cannot be real; I must surely
be the sport of some terrible dream.”
“Without there, guards!” exclaimed the Cardinal Gonzaga, and would have
hastened to the folding doors, when Abellino put his back against them,
snatched a pistol from his girdle, and pointed it at the Cardinal’s
bosom.
“The first,” cried he, “who calls for the guard, or advances one step
from the place on which he stands, expires that moment. Fools! Do ye
think I would have delivered myself up, and desired that guards might
beset these doors, had I feared their swords, or intended to escape from
your power? No; I am content to be your prisoner, but not through
compulsion! I am content to be your prisoner; and it was with that
intent that I came hither. No mortal should have the glory of seizing
Abellino. If justice required him to be delivered up, it was necessary
that he should be delivered up by himself! Or do ye take Abellino for an
ordinary ruffian, who passes his time in skulking from the sbirri, and
who murders for the sake of despicable plunder? No, by heaven, no!
Abellino was no such common villain. It’s true I was a bravo; but the
motives which induced me to become one were great and striking.”
_Andreas_ (clasping his hands together).—Almighty God! can all this be
possible?
An awful silence again reigned through the saloon. All trembled while
they listened to the voice of the terrible assassin, who strode through
the chamber proud and majestic as the monarch of the infernal world.
Rosabella opened her eyes; their first look fell upon the bravo.
“Oh, God of mercy!” she exclaimed, “he is still there. Methought, too,
that Flodoardo—. No, no; it could not be! I was deceived by
witchcraft.”
Abellino advanced towards her, and attempted to raise her. She shrunk
from his touch with horror.
“No, Rosabella,” said the bravo, in an altered voice, “what you saw was
no illusion. Your favoured Flodoardo is no other than Abellino the
bravo.”
“It is false!” interrupted Rosabella, starting from the ground in
despair, and throwing herself for refuge on Camilla’s bosom. “Monster!
thou canst not be Flodoardo! such a fiend can never have been such a
seraph. Flodoardo’s actions were good and glorious as a demi-god’s!
’Twas of him that I learned to love good and glorious actions, and ’twas
he who encouraged me to attempt them myself; his heart was pure from all
mean passions, and capable of conceiving all great designs. Never did he
scruple, in the cause of virtue, to endure fatigue and pain, and to dry
up the tears of suffering innocence—that was Flodoardo’s proudest
triumph! Flodoardo and thou—! Wretch, whom many a bleeding ghost has
long since accused before the throne of heaven, darest thou to profane
the name of Flodoardo!”
_Abellino_ (proud and earnest).—Rosabella, wilt thou forsake me? Wilt
thou retract thy promise? Look, Rosabella, and be convinced: I, the
bravo, and thy Flodoardo are the same.
He said, removing the patch from his eye, and passed a handkerchief over
his face once or twice. In an instant his complexion was altered, his
bushy eyebrows and straight black hair disappeared, his features were
replaced in their natural symmetry, and lo! the handsome Florentine stood
before the whole assembly, dressed in the habit of the bravo Abellino.
_Abellino_.—Mark me, Rosabella! Seven times over, and seven times again,
will I change my appearance, even before your eyes, and that so artfully
that, study me as you will, the transformation shall deceive you. But
change as I may, of one thing be assured: I am the man whom you loved as
Flodoardo.
The Doge gazed and listened without being able to recover from his
confusion, but every now and then the words “Dreadful! dreadful!” escaped
from his lips, and he wrung his hands in agony. Abellino approached
Rosabella, and said in the tone of supplication: “Rosabella, wilt thou
break thy promise? Am I no longer dear to thee?”
Rosabella was unable to answer; she stood like one changed to a statue,
and fixed her motionless eyes on the bravo.
Abellino took her cold hand and pressed it to his lips.
“Rosabella,” said he, “art thou still mine?”
_Rosabella_.—Flodoardo, oh! that I had never loved, had never seen thee!
_Abellino_.—Rosabella wilt thou still be the bride of Flodoardo? wilt
thou be “the Bravo’s Bride?”
Love struggled with abhorrence in Rosabella’s bosom, and painful was the
contest.
_Abellino_.—Hear me, beloved one! It was for thee that I have discovered
myself—that I have delivered myself into the hands of justice. For
thee—oh, what would I not do for thee! Rosabella, I wait but to hear one
syllable from your lips; speak but a decisive yes or no, and all is
ended. Rosabella, dost thou love me still?
And still she answered not; but she threw upon him a look innocent and
tender as ever beamed from the eye of an angel, and that look betrayed
but too plainly that the miscreant was still master of her heart. She
turned from him hastily, threw herself into Camilla’s arms, and
exclaimed, “God forgive you, man, for torturing me so cruelly!”
The Doge had by this time recovered from his stupor. He started from his
chair, threats flashed from his eyes, and his lips trembled with passion.
He rushed towards Abellino; but the senators threw themselves in his
passage, and held him back by force. In the meanwhile the bravo advanced
towards him with the most insolent composure, and requested him to calm
his agitation.
“Doge of Venice,” said he, “will you keep your promise? That you gave it
to me, these noble lords and ladies can testify.”
Andreas.—Monster! miscreant! Oh! how artfully has this plan been laid to
ensnare me! Tell me, Venetians, to _such_ a creditor am I obliged to
discharge my fearful debt? Long has he been playing a deceitful bloody
part; the bravest of our citizens have fallen beneath his dagger, and it
was the price of their blood which has enabled him to act the nobleman in
Venice. Then comes he to me in disguise of a man of honour, seduces the
heart of my unfortunate Rosabella, obtains my promise by an artful trick,
and now claims the maiden for his bride, in the hope that the husband of
the Doge’s niece will easily obtain an absolution for his crimes. Tell
me, Venetians, ought I to keep my word with this miscreant?
_All the Senators_.—No, no, by no means.
_Abellino_ (with solemnity).—If you have once pledged your word, you
ought to keep it, though given to the Prince of Darkness. Oh, fie, fie!
Abellino, how shamefully hast thou been deceived in thy reckoning. I
thought I had to do with men of honour. Oh! how grossly have I been
mistaken. (In a terrible voice.)—Once again, and for the last time, I
ask you, Doge of Venice, wilt thou break thy princely word?
_Andreas_ (in the tone of authority).—Give up your arms.
_Abellino_.—And you will really withhold from me my just reward? Shall
it be in vain that I delivered Abellino into your power?
_Andreas_.—It was to the brave Flodoardo that I promised Rosabella. I
never entered into any engagement with the murderer Abellino. Let
Flodoardo claim my niece, and she is his; but Abellino can have no claim
to her. Again I say lay down your arms.
_Abellino_ (laughing wildly).—The murderer Abellino, say you? Ho! ho!
Be it your care to keep your own promises, and trouble not yourself about
my murders, they are _my_ affair, and I warrant I shall find a word or
two to say in defence of them, when the judgment day arrives.
_Gonzaga_ (to the Doge).—What dreadful blasphemy.
_Abellino_.—Oh, good Lord Cardinal, intercede in my behalf, you know me
well; I have always acted by you like a man of honour, that at least you
cannot deny. Say a word in my favour, then, good Lord Cardinal.
_Gonzaga_ (angrily, and with imperious dignity).—Address not thyself to
_me_, miscreant. What canst thou and I have to do together? Venerable
Andreas, delay no longer; let the guards be called in.
_Abellino_.—What? Is there then no hope for me? Does no one feel
compassion for the wretched Abellino? What! _no one_?—(a pause)—All are
silent?—_all_! ’Tis enough. Then my fate is decided—call in your
guards.
_Rosabella_ (with a scream of agony, springing forward, and falling at
the feet of the Doge).—Mercy, mercy! Pardon him—pardon _Abellino_!
_Abellino_ (in rapture).—Sayest thou so? Ho! ho! then an angel prays for
Abellino in his last moments.
_Rosabella_ (clasping the Doge’s knees).—Have mercy on him, my friend, my
father, he is a sinner; but leave him to the justice of Heaven. He is a
sinner, but oh, Rosabella loves him still.
_Andreas_ (pushing her away with indignation).—Away, unworthy girl; you
rave.
Abellino folded his arms, gazed with eagerness on what was passing, and
tears gushed into his brilliant eyes. Rosabella caught the Doge’s hand,
as he turned to leave her, kissed it twice, and said, “If you have no
mercy on _him_, then have none on _me_. The sentence which you pass on
Abellino will be mine; ’tis for my own life that I plead as well as
Abellino’s. Father, dear father, reject not my suit, but spare him.”
_Andreas_ (in an angry and decided tone).—Abellino dies.
_Abellino_.—And can you look on with dry eyes while that innocent dove
bleeds at your feet? Go, barbarian; you never loved Rosabella as she
deserved. Now she is yours no longer. She is mine, she is Abellino’s.
He raised her from the ground, and pressed her pale lips against his own.
“Rosabella, thou art mine; death alone can part us. Thou lovest me as I
_would_ be loved; I am blest whate’er may happen, and can now set fortune
at defiance. To business, then.”
He replaced Rosabella, who was almost fainting, on the bosom of Camilla,
then advanced into the middle of the chamber, and addressed the assembly
with an undaunted air—
“Venetians, you are determined to deliver me up to the axe of justice;
there is for me no hope of mercy. ’Tis well, act as you please; but ere
you sit in judgment over _me_, signors, I shall take the liberty of
passing sentence upon some few of _you_. Now mark me, you see in me the
murderer of Conari, the murderer of Paolo Manfrone, the murderer of
Lomellino. I deny it not. But would you know the illustrious persons
who paid me for the use of my dagger?”
With these words he put a whistle to his lips, sounded it, and instantly
the doors flew open, the guards rushed in, and ere they had time to
recollect themselves, the chief conspirators were in custody, and
disarmed.
“Guard them well,” said Abellino, in a terrible voice to the sentinels;
“you have your orders. Noble Venetians, look on these villains; it is to
them that you are indebted for the loss of your three citizens. I accuse
of those murders one, two, three, four, and my good Lord Cardinal there
has the honour to be the fifth.”
Motionless and bewildered stood the accused; tale-telling confusion spoke
in every feature that the charge was true, and no one was bold enough to
contradict Abellino.
“What can all this mean?” asked the senators of each other, in the utmost
surprise and confusion.
“This is all a shameful artifice,” the Cardinal at length contrived to
say; “the villain, perceiving that he has no chance of escaping
punishment, is willing, out of mere resentment, to involve us in his
destruction.”
_Contarino_ (recovering himself).—In the wickedness of his life he has
surpassed all former miscreants, and now he is trying to surpass them in
the wickedness of his death.
_Abellino_ (with majesty).—Be silent. I know your whole plot, have seen
your list of proscriptions, am well informed of your whole arrangement,
and at the moment that I speak to you the officers of justice are
employed, by my orders, in seizing the gentlemen with the white ribbons
round their arms, who this very night intended to overturn Venice. Be
silent, for defence were vain.
_Andreas_ (in astonishment)—Abellino, what is the meaning of all this?
_Abellino_.—Neither more nor less than that Abellino has discovered and
defeated a conspiracy against the constitution of Venice and the life of
its Doge! The bravo, in return for your kind intention of sending him to
destruction in a few hours, has preserved you from it.
_Vitalba_ (to the accused).—Noble Venetians, you are silent under this
heavy charge.
_Abellino_.—They are wise, for no defence can now avail them. Their
troops are already disarmed, and lodged in separate dungeons of the State
prison; visit them there, and you will learn more. You now understand
probably that I did not order the doors of this saloon to be guarded for
the purpose of seizing the terrible bravo Abellino, but of taking those
heroes into secure custody.
And now, Venetians, compare together _your_ conduct and _mine_. At the
hazard of my life have I preserved the State from ruin. Disguised as a
bravo, I dared to enter the assembly of those ruthless villains, whose
daggers laid Venice waste. I have endured for your sakes storm, and
rain, and frost, and heat; I have watched for your safety while you were
sleeping. Venice owes to my care her constitution and your lives; and
yet are my services deserving of no reward? All this have I done for
Rosabella of Corfu, and yet will you withhold from me my promised bride?
I have saved you from death, have saved the honour of your wives, and the
throats of your innocent children from the knife of the assassin. Men!
men! and yet will you send me to the scaffold?
Look on this list! See how many among you would have bled this night,
had it not been for Abellino, and see where the miscreants stand by whom
you would have bled! Read you not in every feature that they are already
condemned by heaven and their own conscience? Does a single mouth
unclose itself in exculpation? Does a single movement of the head give
the lie to my charge? Yet the truth of what I have advanced shall be
made still more evident.
He turned himself to the conspirators
“Mark me!” said he, “the first among you who acknowledges the truth shall
receive a free pardon. I swear it, I, the bravo Abellino!”
The conspirators remained silent. Suddenly Memmo started forward and
threw himself trembling at the Doge’s feet.
“Venetians,” he exclaimed, “Abellino has told you true.”
“’Tis false, ’tis false!” exclaimed the accused altogether.
“Silence!” cried Abellino, in a voice of thunder, while the indignation
which flamed in every feature struck terror into his hearers: “Silence, I
say, and hear me, or rather hear the ghosts of your victims. Appear,
appear!” cried this dreadful man, in a tone still louder: “’Tis time!”
Again he sounded his whistle. The folding doors were thrown open, and
there stood the Doge’s much lamented friends—Conari, Lomellino, and
Manfrone.
“We are betrayed!” shouted Contarino, who drew out a concealed dagger,
and plunged it in his bosom up to the very hilt.
And now what a scene of rapture followed. Tears streamed down the silver
beard of Andreas, as he rushed into the arms of his long-lost companions;
tears bedewed the cheeks of the venerable triumvirate, as they once more
clasped the knees of their prince, their friend, their brother. These
excellent men, these heroes, never had Andreas hoped to meet them again
till they should meet in heaven; and Andreas blessed heaven for
permitting him to meet them once more on earth. These four men, who had
valued each other in the first dawn of _youth_, who had fought by each
other’s sides in _manhood_, were now assembled in _age_, and valued each
other more than ever. The spectators gazed with universal interest on
the scene before them, and the good old senators mingled tears of joy
with those shed by the re-united companions. In the happy delirium of
this moment, nothing but Andreas and his friends were attended to; no one
was aware that the conspirators and the self-murderer Contarino were
removed by the guards from the saloon; no one but Camilla observed
Rosabella, who threw herself sobbing on the bosom of the handsome bravo,
and repeated a thousand times, “Abellino, then, is not a murderer!”
At length they began to recollect themselves they looked round them—and
the first words which broke from every lip were—“Hail, saviour of
Venice!”—The roof rung with the name of Abellino, and unnumbered
blessings accompanied the name.
That very Abellino, who not an hour before had been doomed to the
scaffold by the whole assembly, now stood calm and dignified as a god
before the adoring spectators; and now he viewed with complacency the men
whose lives he had saved, and now his eye dwelt with rapture on the woman
whose love was the reward of all his dangers.
“Abellino!” said Andreas advancing to the bravo, and extending his hand
towards him.
“I am not Abellino,” replied he, smiling, while he pressed the Doge’s
hand respectfully to his lips “neither am I Flodoardo of Florence. I am
by birth a Neapolitan, and by name Rosalvo. The death of my inveterate
enemy the Prince of Monaldeschi makes it no longer necessary to conceal
who I really am.”
“Monaldeschi?” repeated Andreas, with a look of anxiety.
“Fear not,” continued Rosalvo; “Monaldeschi, it is true, fell by my hand,
but fell in honourable combat. The blood which stained his sword flowed
from my veins, and in his last moments conscience asserted her empire in
his bosom. He died not till he had written in his tablets the most
positive declaration of my innocence as to the crimes with which his
hatred had contrived to blacken me; and he also instructed me by what
means I might obtain at Naples the restoration of my forfeited estates
and the re-establishment of my injured honour. Those means have been
already efficacious, and all Naples is by this time informed of the arts
by which Monaldeschi procured my banishment, and of the many plots which
he laid for my destruction; plots, which made it necessary for me to drop
my own character, and never to appear but in disguise. After various
wanderings chance led me to Venice. My appearance was so much altered,
that I dreaded not discovery, but I dreaded (and with reason) perishing
in your streets with hunger. In this situation accident brought me
acquainted with the banditti, by whom Venice was then infested. I
willingly united myself to their society, partly with a view of purifying
the Republic from the presence of these wretches, and partly in the hope
of discovering through them the more illustrious villains by whom their
daggers were employed. I was successful. I delivered the banditti up to
justice, and stabbed their captain in Rosabella’s sight. I was now the
only bravo in Venice. Every scoundrel was obliged to have recourse to
me. I discovered the plans of the conspirators, and now you know them
also. I found that the deaths of the Doge’s three friends had been
determined on; and in order to obtain full confidence with the
confederates, it was necessary to persuade them that these men had fallen
beneath my dagger. No sooner had my plan been formed than I imparted it
to Lomellino. He, and he only, was my confidant in this business. He
presented me to the Doge as the son of a deceased friend; he assisted me
with his advice; he furnished me with keys to those doors to the public
gardens, which none were permitted to pass through except Andreas and his
particular friends, and which frequently enabled me to elude pursuit; he
showed me several private passages in the palace by which I could
penetrate unobserved even into the Doge’s very bed-chamber. When the
time for his disappearance arrived, he not only readily consented to lie
concealed in a retreat known only to ourselves, but was also the means of
inducing Manfrone and Conari to join him in his retirement, till the
fortunate issue of this day’s adventure permitted me to set them once
more at liberty. The banditti exist no longer; the conspirators are in
chains; my plans are accomplished; and now, Venetians, if you still think
him deserving of it, here stands the bravo Abellino, and you may lead him
to the scaffold when you will.”
“To the scaffold!” exclaimed at once the Doge, the senators, and the
whole crowd of nobility; and every one burst into enthusiastic praises of
the dauntless Neapolitan.
“Oh, Abellino,” exclaimed Andreas, while he wiped away a tear, “I would
gladly give my ducal bonnet to be such a bravo as thou hast been.
‘Doge,’ did thou once say to me, ‘thou and I are the two greatest men in
Venice,’ but oh, how much greater is the bravo than the Doge! Rosabella
is that jewel, than which I have nothing in the world more precious;
Rosabella is dearer to me than an emperor’s crown; Rosabella is thine.”
“Abellino,” said Rosabella, and extended her hand to the handsome Bravo.
“Triumph!” cried he, “Rosabella is the Bravo’s Bride,” and he clasped the
blushing maid to his bosom.
CHAPTER VII.
CONCLUSION.
AND now it would not be at all amiss to make Count Rosalvo sit down
quietly between the good old Doge and his lovely niece; and then cause
him to relate the motive of Monaldeschi’s hatred, in what manner he lost
Valeria, what crimes were imputed to him, and how he escaped from the
assassins sent in pursuit of him by his enemy; how he had long wandered
from place to place, and how he had at length learned, during his abode
in Bohemia with a gang of gipsies, such means of disguising his features
as enabled him to defy the keenest penetration to discover in the beggar
Abellino the once admired Count Rosalvo; how in this disguise he had
returned to Italy; and how Lomellino, having ascertained that he was
universally believed at Naples to have long since perished by shipwreck,
and therefore that neither the officers of the Inquisition, nor the
assassins of his enemies were likely to trouble themselves any more about
him, he had ventured to resume, with some slight alterations, his own
appearance at Venice; how the arrival of Monaldeschi had obliged him to
conceal himself, till an opportunity offered of presenting himself to the
Prince when unattended, and of demanding satisfaction for his injuries;
how he had been himself wounded in several places by his antagonist,
though the combat finally terminated in his favour; how he had resolved
to make use of Monaldeschi’s death to terrify Andreas still further, and
of Parozzi’s conspiracy to obtain Rosabella’s hand of the Doge; how he
had trembled lest the heart of his mistress should have been only
captivated by the romantic appearance of the adventurer Flodoardo, and
have rejected him when known to be the bravo Abellino; how he had
resolved to make use of the terror inspired by the assassin to put her
love to the severest trial; and how, had she failed in that trial, he had
determined to renounce the inconstant maid for ever; with many other
_hows_, _whys_, and _wherefores_, which, not being explained, will, I
doubt, leave much of this tale involved in mystery: but before I begin
Rosalvo’s history, I must ask two questions—First—do my readers like the
manner in which I relate adventures?
Secondly—If my readers _do_ like my manner of relating adventures, can I
employ my time better than in relating them?
When these questions are answered, I may probably resume my pen. In the
meanwhile, gentlemen and ladies, good-night, and pleasant dreams attend
you.