"His name's Gonzago.--The story is extant, and written in very
choice Italian."
Ten thousand lights burned throughout the Alberoni palace, and all the
nobility of Florence flocked to the bridal of its wealthy lord. It was a
fair sight to see the stately mirrors which spread their shining
surfaces between pillars of polished marble reflecting the gay
assemblage, that, radiant with jewels, promenaded the saloon, or
wreathed the dance to the witching music of the most skilful minstrels
in all Tuscany. Every lattice was open, and the eye, far as it could
reach, wandered through illuminated gardens, tenanted by gay groups,
where the flush of the roses, the silver stars of the jasmine, the
crimson, purple, orange, and blue of the variegated parterre were
revealed as if the brightest blaze of day flashed upon their silken
leaves. Amid all this pomp of beauty and splendour the bride moved
along, surpassing all that was fair and resplendent around her by the
exceeding loveliness of a face and form to which every eye and every
heart paid involuntary homage. At her side appeared the exulting
bridegroom, to whom, however, more it should seem through diffidence
than aversion, her eyes were never raised; for though Count Alberoni had
advanced beyond the middle age of life, yet he still retained the
majestic port and commanding lineaments for which he had been
distinguished in early youth; his riches rendered him all potent in
Florence, and none dared dispute with him the possession of its fairest
flower. Intoxicated with the pleasures offered at the banquet and the
ball, whatever of envy or of jealousy might have been hidden in the
bosoms of the guests while contemplating the treasure which the
triumphant Alberoni had snatched from contending suitors, it was
concealed, and the most cheerful hilarity prevailed. Yet, amid the
general expression of happiness, there were two persons who, attracting
notice by the meanness of their attire, and the melancholy gloom upon
their countenances, seemed to be out of place in so stately and so
joyous an assembly. They were brother and sister, the descendants of
Ghibellines who had died in exile, and distant relations of the Count,
who though not choosing to regard them as his heirs, had, when the
abolition of a severe law enabled the proscribed faction to return to
Florence, accorded them shelter and protection. Meanly clad in vestments
of coarse serge, there were yet no cavaliers who fluttered in silk and
velvet who could compare in personal beauty with Francesco Gonzago; and
the bride alone, of all the beauties who shone in gold and silver,
appeared superior in feminine charms to the lovely Beatrice,
notwithstanding that her cumbrous robe of grey stuff obscured the
delicate proportions of her sylph-like form. Buoyant in spirit, and
animated by the scene before her, occasionally a gleam of sunshine would
irradiate her brow as she gazed upon the sparkling throng who formed the
brilliant pageant which so much delighted her; but as she turned to
express her feelings to her brother, his pale pensive features and the
recollection of the intense anguish which wrung his heart, subdued her
gaiety, the smile passed away from her lip, the rose deserted her cheek,
and she stood by his side sad and sorrowful as some monumental statue.
Many persons grieved at the depressed fortunes of the once powerful
Gonzagos, but there were others who sneered at their present
degradation, enjoying the cruel mockery with which Alberoni had forced
the man who had cherished hopes of succeeding as heir-at-law to his
immense estates, to witness the downfall of those flattering
expectations. Few and slight were the salutations which passed between
the dejected pair and the more illustrious guests; but as the bride made
the circuit of the apartments, she paused when approaching her husband's
neglected relatives, and raising eyes swimming with drops of sympathy,
greeted them with unaffected tenderness. Francesco was unprepared for
the gentle kindness of her address; his stern heart melted, his proud
glance suddenly changed to one of gracious courtesy; he gazed upon her
as upon some angelic being sent down from heaven to soothe and gladden
his perturbed soul; and henceforward he saw nothing in the glare, and
the crowd, and the splendour around him, save the sweet face and the
delicate form of the Countess Alberoni; his charmed eyes followed her
from place to place, and so entirely was he engrossed by one object,
that he did not perceive that the attention of Beatrice was almost
wholly occupied by a young and sprightly cavalier, who pursued her like
a shadow, pouring tender tales in a not unwilling ear. Group by group
the guests retired from the festive scene, and the brother and sister,
scarcely able to define the new feelings which sprung up in the heart of
each, quitted the magnificent palace to seek their forlorn abode. A
pavilion, nearly in ruins, was the sole shelter which the proud lord of
Alberoni afforded to the only surviving branches of his family, when
returning to their native city they found their patrimonial estates
confiscated, and themselves dependent upon the niggard bounty of a cold
and selfish relative. Slowly recovering from a severe wound which he had
received in the wars of Lombardy, and disgusted with the ingratitude of
the prince he served, the ill-starred Francesco was at first rejoiced to
obtain any refuge from the storms of a tempestuous world; and the
unceasing efforts of his young and affectionate sister to reconcile him
to a bitter lot were not wholly unavailing. Summer had spread her
richest treasures upon the lap of Nature; and the fairy hands of
Beatrice transformed the bare walls of the dilapidated edifice which
they inhabited into bowers of luxuriant foliage; the most delicious
fruit also, the spontaneous product of the garden, cooled at some
crystal fount and heaped with flowers, tempted her brother's languid
appetite; and, waking the soft notes of her lute, she soothed his
desponding spirit with music's gentlest sound. Fondly trusting that
Francesco might be won to prize the simple enjoyments of which fortune
could not despoil him, and to find his dearest happiness in an approving
conscience, the light hearted girl indulged in delusive hopes of future
felicity. But these expectations were soon damped; as Francesco's health
returned he became restless and melancholy; he saw no prospect of
arriving at distinction by his talents, or by his sword; peace reigned
throughout the Tuscan states, and the jealousy of the government of all
who bore the mark of Ghibelline extraction, forbade the chance of
successful exertion and honourable reward; his days were spent in moody
abstraction, his nights in feverish dreams; his misfortunes, his
accomplishments and his virtues failed to excite affection in the breast
of his kinsman, who, jealous of the youth and personal attractions of
the man apparently destined to be his heir, grew uneasy at the thought
of benefitting a person he had learned to hate; and suddenly resolving
to cut off at once the presumptuous expectations which the luckless
exile might have cherished, exerted the influence procured by his wealth
to form an alliance with the most peerless beauty which the city
boasted. A new source of anguish added to the misery already sustained
by the wretched Gonzago; his arm was paralyzed by the utter hopelessness
of any attempt to emerge from the obscurity to which fate had condemned
him; he brooded over the dismal futurity which opened before him; and,
as a solace to these gloomy meditations, suffered his imagination to
dwell upon the charms and graces of the lovely Giacinta, his kinsman's
gentle bride. He saw her sometimes flitting through the myrtle groves
which skirted the neighbouring palace; and when night favoured his
concealment, he would approach the marble porticos to catch the sound of
her voice as, accompanied by a lute, she wasted its melody upon the
silent stars. Beatrice, in the mean time, experienced only in the pale
brow and haggard form of her brother an alloy to her happiness.
Alessandro, the young heir of the Orsini family, had abandoned the gay
revels of Florence to share the solitude of the despised Ghibellines;
and although there seemed to be little chance of ultimate triumph over
the obstacles which opposed themselves to an alliance between the
prosperous scion of a noble house and the unportioned orphan of a
banished man, yet hope pre-ponderated over fear, and, blessed by her
enchanting smiles, the lover indulged in delightful anticipations.
...
Again was the Alberoni palace illumined by innumerable tapers; again
were the glittering saloons filled with all the noble population of
Florence. A second nuptial feast, more splendid and joyous than the
first, was celebrated; again Giacinta, lovelier than ever, shone as the
bride, and by her side a cavalier appeared, whose summer of life was
better adapted to match with her tender years than the mature age of her
late husband had been.
The Count Alberoni Gonzago was dead; and Francesco succeeding to his
wealth, had obtained the hand of his widow. Beatrice, also a bride,
followed in the train of the Countess, but followed more like a mourner
at some funeral solemnity than as the newly wedded consort of the
husband of her choice. Francesco all smiles and triumph, as he stood
with the fairest hand in Florence hanging on his arm, proudly greeting
the guests who crowded to pay him homage, turned frequently, and cast
looks of piercing examination and reproach upon his pale and trembling
sister, and, as if fascinated by his glance, she would rally her,
failing spirits and smile languidly upon the bridegroom, who bent over
her enamoured; and then, as if beguiled from some painful contemplation
by the sweet accents of the man she loved, she became calm, and her
quivering features resumed their wonted placidity. But these moments of
tranquillity were of short duration; she started at every shadow; the
flash of one of the jewels which broidered her satin robe would cause a
fit of trembling; and at length, when seated at the banquet opposite her
brother and his bride, a richly clad domestic offered wine in a golden
goblet; for a moment she held it to her lips, and then dashed it away,
exclaiming--"It is poison! Hide me,--save me. I see it every where; in
those green leaves from whence it was distilled.--Oh! Francesco,
Francesco, let us be poor and happy!" The guests shrunk aghast from the
speaker, who, falling from her seat, expired in convulsions.
The power conferred by Gonzago's immense riches silenced the whispered
murmurs of the assembly. No man rose to higher eminence in the state
than the idolized husband of the beautiful Giacinta; but a dark cloud
hung upon his house, his children were all cut off in their infancy,
and, after a few brief years of outward felicity, struck from his horse
by the fragment of a building which fell upon him as he rode in pomp
through the city, he received a mortal wound, surviving the accident
only long enough to unburthen his soul to his confessor.
His dying words were addressed to Alessandro, from whom since the hour
of his nuptials he had been estranged; pressing his hand, he
exclaimed--"She was innocent! she heard not of the murder until it had
been accomplished."--_London Weekly Review_.
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