“Dark as the mouth of Acheron, and the rain seems inclined to warrant a
second deluge,” grumbled a rough voice, proceeding from one of the dark
alleys which branched out from the Porta san Piero.
“Silence, rascal!” sharply rejoined another voice. “Wouldst betray us
with thy noise? Thou wouldst have the _bargello_ upon us, with a
murrain! Dost thou think that thou art brawling over thy liquor, that
thou wouldst bring the notice of the police upon us?”
“Nay, I but spoke,” growled the other, and muffling himself up in his
heavy cloak, leaned against the wall and held his peace.
The night was truly, as the first speaker observed, as black as
Tartarus. The rain plashed down in torrents; and the squalls of wind
which occasionally drove the showers with accelerated rapidity across
the street, whistled dismally among the tall turrets and battlemented
roofs of the Porta san Piero. The street was obscured by a thick mist,
through which the feeble light of the flickering lamps, hung in the
centre of the thoroughfare, at long distances from each other, shone
like lurid meteors. Few wayfarers lingered in the passage, and such as
were to be seen, with rapid strides, and close-wrapped cloaks, hurried
over the wet and slippery stones, which formed a kind of rude _pavé_.
Two figures, enveloped in large mantles, the actors in the dialogue,
were carefully ensconced in the thick darkness of the blind alley,
apparently upon the watch for some expected comer.
The turret clock of San Marco pealed the hour of ten, and as if waiting
for the signal, the wind rose with increased fury, and spouts of water
deluged the persons of the concealed parties.
“Corpo di Baccho!” swore the first speaker, “by the clock it is ten
already, and yet no signs of Ugolino. My mantle cleaves to the skin with
the wet, and altogether I feel more like a half-drowned rat, than a good
Catholic. By my rosary, a bright fire, and a comfortable cup of father
Borachio’s Lachryma, would be an excellent exchange for a dark alley and
a waterspout like this.”
“Something has detained his honor beyond this time,” replied the other.
“Count Ugolino was not wont to be so slow in keeping his engagements.
Hark! I hear footsteps. It must be he. Stand close.”
A merry laugh pealed through the deserted street. A troop of gallants,
masked, and attended by serving-men, and pages bearing torches, came
onward. They passed by, and the clank of their spurs, and the rattle of
their rapiers, died away in the distance.
“The cursed Frenchmen!” muttered the shortest of the concealed
personages, while his hand clutched convulsively the hilt of his dagger.
“Ill fare the day that Florence ever saw Walter of Brienne!”
“But as morn approaches the night is ever most dark,” rejoined his
comrade. “Would the count were here. By the scales of justice I am even
a’weary of waiting for him. Comes he not yet?”
A tall figure was seen stealthily approaching through the gloom.
“Ha! Ugolino! Count, is it thou?”
“The same. Well found, Pino D’Rossi.”
“We have watched long for thee, and almost feared that our watch was in
vain.”
“I could not escape unnoticed. It is a wild night.”
“The fitter for our purpose. The worthy Adimari greets thee well, and
joyfully receives thee as a brother. We are ready to conduct thee to the
assembly of the chiefs.”
“In good time. Is Pompeo Medici there?”
“He is there; to hear and to act.”
“It is well. But time flies, and our conversation is too public if these
slaves of the _bargello_ be about. Let us away to the noble Adimari.” So
saying, the three plunged into the surrounding darkness, and were
quickly lost to the sight.
In an ancient vault of the palace of the Adimari, the leaders of a
conspiracy were assembled. Noble forms and manly visages thronged the
damp and obscure apartment, and among the noblest in presence stood
Leonardo, the chief of the Adimari. But the countenances of the nobles
who composed the meeting, were dark and troubled. The flashing eye and
the quivering lip betrayed the deep passions which agitated the breasts
of the chiefs, as, in the course of their dialogue, some new cruelty,
some fresh instance of tyranny and rapacity upon the part of the Duke
d’Atene, was recited. A tap was heard at the grated door, and Leonardo
Adimari having personally opened it, Ugolino and his two companions
entered the apartment. The count had thrown off his reeking mantle, and
stood attired in a rich scarlet doublet, fancifully guarded with gold
embroidery, white long hose, and ruffled boots, which exposed his manly
person to the best advantage. His locks, of a dark chestnut hue, flowed
in long ringlets from beneath a scarlet barret cap, adorned with a
jewelled clasp and plume of white heron feathers. His countenance,
chiselled in the finest and most classical shape, was rendered highly
expressive by his dark eyes, which rolled and sparkled with Italian
vivacity of character. His form, sufficiently fleshy for a perfect
contour, displayed great muscular strength, united with the most
finished symmetry. Depending from a richly ornamented scarf, hung his
rapier in its ornamented sheath, and his dagger, of elegant workmanship,
was suspended from the embroidered hangers of his girdle.
“Welcome, noble Ugolino,” said Adimari, as he led the count forward,
“and thou too, worthy Pino D’Rossi, we lack patriots such as thou.”
“Thanks, noble Adimari,” replied D’Rossi, who was a short, sturdy man,
attired in a plain, black suit. His age might have been some forty-five
years, for his hair was already tinged with gray. A golden chain,
depending from his neck, denoted him to be of some mark among the
citizens, and his countenance and deportment were those of a stalwart
burgher.
“Thanks, worthy Adimari. Patriots are never wanting to defend true
liberty, when she is attacked, and was it ever heard that Frenchmen were
the guardians of the goddess?”
“Brave Leonardo,” said an old nobleman, rising slowly from his seat,
“these times call for a speedy action. The blood of a noble family—the
blood of my son, Giovanni de Medici—long-spilt, and even now staining
the ermine of Walter of Brienne, calls from the earth for vengeance.
This moment is propitious. The Florentine people, grieved and oppressed
by the hard measures of the Duke, and of Giulio D’Assisi—the Florentine
nobles, down-trodden and despised by the arrogant followers of this
count of Brienne—all are ready—all are willing at once to throw off
the yoke of thraldom, and to reassert the ancient liberties and
privileges of the city of Florence.”
“Well hast thou spoken, noble Pompeo,” replied Adimari, “and it was my
intention to apportion this night to each, such charge as the exigencies
of the present time demand. My worthy friend, Pino D’Rossi assures me
that the people are ripe for the attempt, and my heart decides me that
the nobles will not fail to aid them.”
“The arrogance of these minions of the duke have reached so outrageous a
height,” said D’Rossi, “that I will pledge mine honor that the populace
will prefer a thousand deaths to a longer submission.”
“I,” said Bindo Altoviti, “will speak for the artizans, and will engage
to make as many mouthsful of those rascals, the _bargello_ and his son,
as they have murdered innocent men.”
“For Gualtieri,” said the old Medici, “may the hand of the Everlasting
lie heavy on me and mine, if he, or aught of his race, shall escape the
general doom!”
Ugolino started.
“For mine own part,” said he, “I trust that the effusion of blood may
not be farther pursued in these unhappy times than the exigency of the
case requires. Far be it from me to justify the conduct of the Count of
Brienne, or the arrogance of his proud followers. Yet the count may have
been badly advised, and I think these cruelties may not be entirely
ascribed to the wickedness of his nature. Let not the noble Medici so
far mistake, as to suffer a private desire of revenge, however just such
a desire may appear, to overrule the cause of liberty. This, I trust,
may be attained without a sanguinary massacre. Let the sword of mercy
interpose, nor by a blind and indiscriminate fury, sacrifice the
innocent upon the same altar with the guilty.”
“Aye, Count Ugolino,” said Medici, and a bitter sneer passed over his
thin features, “we well know the cause of your solicitations. Have we
forgotten the tale of Julian D’Este, and of the princess Rosabelle? The
fair sister of Walter of Brienne may, to a moonsick lover, be an object
of deeper interest than the prosecution of the holiest revenge, or the
re-assertion of our Florentine liberty.”
“Now, by heaven, Pompeo Medici,” exclaimed Ugolino, “you do me infinite
wrong! What? dare you hint that Julian D’Este died by my hand? or that
Rosabelle de Brienne sways me with a stronger attachment than the
interests of Florence?”
“I speak well-known facts,” replied the Medici. “Neither is the history
of Count Ugolino unknown to the world, nor are his _actions_ left
unscrutinized.”
“Thou irreverend noble!” said Ugolino, while a deep flush overspread his
cheek. “Hadst thou not the sanction of thine age to protect thee, I
would force thee to eat thine own words, with no better sauce to them
than my stiletto.”
“Nay,” interposed Adimari, while Pino D’Rossi intercepted Ugolino,
“these matters will break out again into our ancient broils. Worthy
Medici—valiant Ugolino—listen to reason—nay, Pompeo, sheathe thy
sword—this is utter ruin to our general cause!”
Ugolino returned his dagger to its sheath.
“Count Adimari,” said he, “I regret that the words of yon ancient
libeller should have moved me so far from my patience in this presence.
But enough of this—proceed we to matters of more general import.”
“Mark me, Leonardo,” said old Medici, as he slowly resumed his seat.
“Ages have left us many a sad example. In an ill hour was Ugolino
admitted into this league. Strong is the dominion of a beautiful woman
over the most masculine mind. Beware of yon count, for Rosabelle de
Brienne will be the destruction of either himself, or of the cause of
Florentine liberty.”
A smile of scorn curled the lip of Ugolino.
“I receive not the prophecy,” said he. “The hour waxes late, and the
noble Adimari hath intimated his desire to apportion the charge of this
insurrection among the nobles. It is now the time for action, but thou
and I, Pompeo Medici, must confer still farther.”