CHAPTER

I.--The Third Penitent.--The Monk

II.--The Monk's Story

III.--A Narrow Escape

IV.--Castelguelfo.--The Wolf of Amato

V.--Happiness

VI.--The Villa Besieged

VII.--The Nuptials

VIII.--The Tempest.--The Last of the Hunchback

IX.--A Military Honeymoon

X.--Wreck of the "Delight"

XI.--The Voltigeurs.--The Massacre of Bagnara

XII.--A Retreat In Square.--The Prisoner of War

XIII.--The Drum-head Court-martial

XIV.--Dianora.--The Forfeited Hand

XV.--The Monastery

XVI.--The Sanctuary Violated

XVII.--Unexpected Perils

XVIII.--Captured by the Enemy.--The Two Generals

XIX.--The Albergo.--The Bandit's Revenge

XX.--The Bandit's Cavern.--Recapture

XXI.--Joys of a Military Honeymoon

XXII.--The Siege of Scylla

XXIII.--The Fall of Scylla.--Conclusion

*ADVENTURES*

*OF AN*

*AIDE-DE-CAMP.*

*CHAPTER I.*

*THE THIRD PENITENT--THE MONK.*

The escape of a second victim from the vaults caused a great surmising

and anxiety at Canne; and although, no doubt, the cardinal suspected

that I had a hand in the matter, he never spoke of it. The astonishment

of the keeper was boundless, when he discovered his charge vanishing so

unaccountably: he was accused of conspiracy, and imprisoned by order of

the podesta. The poor man defended himself before the tribunal, by

laying the blame upon--whom think you, gentle reader?--VIRGIL; who is

regarded by the lower order of Italians less as a poet, than as a

conjuror and magician, upon whose guilty head the blame of everything

wicked and wonderful is laid.

Among the mountains, he has for ages been deemed the architect of every

devilish contrivance, every fathomless cavern, splendid crag, fantastic

rock, and ruined tower. A long dispute ensued between two learned

lawyers, concerning the question whether it might or might not have been

Virgil; and the decision was given for the prisoner, on the testimony of

the chiavaro, or smith: who declared that a venerable man with a white

beard, meagre aspect, and eyes like living coals, had ordered a set of

keys like those produced in court, for which he paid in strange and

antique coin; and when he (the chiavaro) looked for them next day, they

had vanished from his pouch, showing plainly that they were coins of

hell. All present crossed themselves; and the keeper was immediately

set at liberty, and restored to his dignity and bunch of keys.

Of the Cavalier Paola, I had intelligence before leaving Canne.

Gathering together a band of those bold spirits who infested the wilds

of the Brettian forest, he fired the palace of his foe, the bishop; who

narrowly escaped with a severe bullet wound, of which he soon after

died. For this outrage, Casteluccio had to pay many a bright ducat to

the altars of mother church, before he was permitted to resume his place

in society; and it was not until the death of Murat that he obtained

peaceable possession of his patrimony at Cosenza.

Several days elapsed without the appearance of the Roman courier, and I

became very impatient to rejoin my regiment. Notwithstanding the risk of

discovery, prompted equally by curiosity and humanity, I made a last

visit to those frightful vaults, to free the remaining captive.

The stillness of midnight was around me when I entered, but a noisy

singing rang through the echoing cells; the measure was a boisterous

sailor's carol, such as I had often heard the fishermen singing, as they

sat mending their nets on the shore of Messina.

I beheld in the third captive, an Italian, about forty years of age,

possessing a powerful and savage aspect, strongly chained to a large

stone which served him for a chair and table, while a pile of straw

between it and the wall formed his bed. He was flourishing his arms and

snapping his fingers whilst he sang; but ceased on my entrance, and

regarded me with a sullen stare of surprise. A large leathern flask,

which stood on the stone near him, explained the cause of his merriment.

"Ha! thou cursed owl that pokest about in the night, what seek you here,

when you should be snug in the dormitory? Up helm and away, black

devil! there's no girl here to confess--no one but Lancelloti of Fruili,

a born imp of Etna, who will break every bone in your hypocritical body,

if it comes within reach of his grapnels!"

"The pirate--the companion of Petronio!" I exclaimed; "are you that

Lancelloti of whom I have heard so much? Astonishing!"

"Ho! ho! what are you talking about?" asked the captive, rolling his

great head about. "I tell you, Signor Canonico, that I am Osman Carora,

a jovial monk of Friuli--(what am I saying?) yes, Friuli--would I was

there again! Never have I seen a prospect equal to the fair Carinthian

mountains, and the deep rocky dales through which the Isonza sweeps, on

to the Gulf of Trieste. It was my hap to look for many a dreary day

through the iron bars of my dormitory on that gulf, and afterwards to

sail, with royals and sky-sails set, every rope a-taunto, and the red

flag of Mahomet flying at the foremast head. Accursed bishop! I may

revenge me yet, if the good friend who brings me this jolly flask every

night proves true. Ah, Truffi, though crooked in form and cross in

spirit, thou art an angel of light to me!"

"Truffi!" said I; "mean you Gaspare?"

The renegade, moved alternately by brutality, rage, and maudlin

sentimentality, burst into a shout of drunken laughter.

"You know him--ha! ha! and are a jolly priest after all. Alla akbar!

instead of a prying monkish spy, I find you a comrade. Thou who knowest

Gaspare must doubtless have heard of me. He is now in Canne, planning

my escape from this cursed cockpit; to which the double-dyed villany of

Petronio has consigned me. Gaspare was my stanch gossip in the

cloisters of Friuli, and my master-at-arms and fac-totum on board the

_Crescent_: his ingenuity alone saved me when I had nearly fallen into

the clutches of the grand bailiff, for slaying the Capitano Batello. Fi!

the recollection of that adventure haunts me yet: the glazing eyes, the

clenched teeth, the pale visage, and the gleaming sword; the silver

hairs, and the old man's blood streaming on the white dress and whiter

bosom of his daughter! "O, cursed flask!" said the ruffian, pausing to

squeeze the leathern bottle. "May every monk and mollah anathematize

thee in the name of Christ and Mahomet; for thou art now empty, useless,

and upon thy vacuity I cry anathema! Beautiful wert thou indeed, Paula

Batello, and too pure a being for such a serpent as Lancelloti to

behold!"

"Caro signor, I would gladly hear her story?"

"And so thou shalt: firstly, because thou art a comrade of our Apollo

with the hump; secondly, because I would like to hear thy opinion upon

it; and thirdly, because I love to have some one to talk to in this

blasted vault, whose walls I would that Satan rent asunder and ruined

for ever." And without further preface, he commenced the following

story; which deserves a chapter to itself.

*CHAPTER II.*

*THE MONK'S STORY.*

The Capitano Batello was an old soldier of the Venetian Republic, who,

after an active life, retired to spend the winter of his days among the

woody solitudes of Friuli. All the village loved the good old capitano,

who made wooden swords and flags for the children, and retailed his

campaigns and adventures a thousand times to the frequenters of the

cantina, where he was the military and political oracle; and at mass,

all made way for the white-haired old man, when he came slowly marching

up the aisle, with the Signorina Paula leaning on his arm. The old

soldier's doublet was perhaps a little threadbare, or his broad hat

glazed at the edge; yet he never forgot his rank, even when struggling

for existence with half a ducatoon a day.

But Paula, the gentle-voiced, the blue-eyed and fair-haired Paula, was

the admiration of all--the glory of the village; and the old captain

watched her as a miser would a precious jewel. Beard of Ali! she would

have brought a princely sum at Algiers.

She was beautiful, and her soft blue eyes looked one fully and

searchingly in the face with all the confidence of perfect innocence.

Her mother was gone to heaven, as the captain said, when he engaged me

as tutor to Paula and her brother: an office for which I received a

trifle, that went into the treasury of San Baldassare--a trap which

swallowed everything. The boy, Rosario, was a chubby little rogue, and

for a time I took pleasure in hearing their lisping accents, as they

conned over their task in an arbour which Paula's hands had formed at

the back of their little cottage.

Thunder! how often have I looked back with astonishment on those days,

when on the gun-deck of the _Crescent_ I stood at the head of five

hundred of the boldest hearts of Tunis and Tripoli. Who then could have

recognised in Osman the blood-thirsty, the hypocritical Fra Lancelloti?

Yes! I was ever a hypocrite, and regarded with scorn and detestation

the sombre garb which tied me to the monastery. But my fate was not in

my own hands: my parents were a son and daughter of old mother church,

and I came into the world very unfortunately for both parties. They

threw me into the lantern of San Baldassare, where thirty years before

my father had been found himself. As a reward for giving me life, my

mother died in the dungeons of San Marco; and my father expiated his

share in the matter at the first general _auto-da-fe_: so you see that I

come of a martyred family.

A prisoner from my boyhood upwards, I looked upon the world as a realm

of light and joy, from which I was for ever debarred by those mysterious

vows which the monks had induced me to profess before their meaning was

understood. When from my iron grate I looked on the vale of the winding

Isonza, blooming with foliage and verdure and bounded by the blue

Carinthian hills, and listened to the rushing sound of the free bold

river, how intense were my longings to follow its course to where it

plunged headlong into the Gulf of Trieste; where for hours I have

watched the scudding sails till my eyes and heart ached. O, hours of

longing and of agony! To see nature spread before me in all her glory,

yet be unable to taste her sweets: to be a prisoner without a crime.

And love, or what the world calls love, I knew not what it was; though a

secret spirit whispered within me: I longed to look on some fair face,

and to hear a gentle voice reply to mine; but love's magic, its mystery,

and its madness, I was yet to learn. With a heart thus formed, and open

to the assaults of that wicked little god--whom the ancients should have

depicted as a giant--you may imagine my sensations on finding myself in

the presence of Paula; whose face and form far outshone the famous

Madonna of our chapel. A hot blush suffused my cheek: but the fair face

of Paula revealed only the rosy tinge of health, and her brow the calm

purity of perfect innocence. I was silent and awed in her presence: an

Italian monk awed by a girl of seventeen!

With evening I returned to the cloisters; and a chill sank upon my heart

as their cold shadows fell over me. I was in my old dormitory, where

the truckle-bed, the polished skull, the cross, and rough vaulted roof

seemed yet the same: but I was changed. The recollection of Paula's

soft gazelle-like eyes and snowy breast never left me for a moment, and

I passed a sleepless night.

"O, that I were a soldier or a cavalier, for then Batello would respect,

and his daughter might love me: but a priest--a priest--anathema!

anathema! there is no hope for me: none! O, malediction! why did I ever

behold thee, Paula?"

Thus passed the night. Noon found me again in the arbour of Batello's

garden: the golden-haired and ruddy-cheeked Rosario was drawling over

his task; but I neither heard nor beheld him. I saw only his sister,

who, seated beneath the shadow of the luxuriant rose-trees, was immersed

in the glowing pages of the warrior bard, Luigi Tansilla, the brave

follower of Piero di Toledo.

The rays of the sun streamed between the foliage of the arbour, lighting

up her fair ringlets, which glittered like living gold; her white neck

sparkled in the same mysterious radiance: a glory seemed around her, and

the soft calm aspect of her downcast face made her seem the very image

of our lovely lady, the famed Madonna of Cantarini. Intoxicated with

her appearance, I trembled when addressing her, while she entered

frankly into conversation with me on the merits of the soldier's poems.

Full and calmly her mild eyes gazed on mine, yet no suspicion struck her

of the passion which glowed within me; and which I dared not reveal, for

death was the doom: on the one hand, her firm father's poniard; on the

other, the dungeons of the Piombi or the horrors of the holy office.

By night the ravings of my dreams were heard by the tenants of the

adjoining dormitories, Petronio and Truffi the crookback; and they soon

learned from my mutterings that I loved Paula, the daughter of the

Signor Batello. Petronio--the same accursed Petronio, who from his

archiepiscopal palace sent forth the mandate which entombed me here,

when, after a tough battle with a Maltese cruiser, I was cast half

drowned and bleeding on the beach of Canne--Petronio, whose matchless

hypocrisy makes his villany even of a deeper dye than mine, then came to

act the part of friend; to counsel me to destruction, and to become the

evil genius of the good Batello and his innocent children.

A thorough Italian monk, dark, gloomy, and superstitious, he was my

senior by fifteen years, and had secretly plunged into all the excesses

of Venice. Like the fiendish hunchback, he was an adept in every

dissimulation and debauchery, and boasted of his exploits; till, ashamed

of my weakness, I took heart, and burned for distinction in the same

worthy fields. I put myself under his guidance and tuition: to effect

what? O, innocent Paula!

I had resolved, by every art of reasoning and sophistry, to break down

the barriers of religion and modesty, and bend her mind to my purpose.

But each successive day when I looked upon her snowy brow, her pure and

happy face, blooming with beauty and radiant with youth, my diabolical

purpose was left unfulfilled, unattempted; and my heart shrank from the

contest.

Sometimes young and handsome cavaliers, from the castle of Gradiska or

the citadel of Friuli, came to visit the old capitano; and the gallantry

of their air, the glitter of their military garb and weapons, the ease

with which they lounged about, strummed on the mandolin, or whispered

soft nothings to the fair girl, made my envious heart burn with

alternate rage and jealousy. Intensely I longed to be like one of them:

and yet I could have slain them all, and Paula too when she smiled on

them.

But I soon found a more powerful auxiliary to my love, than either

Petronio's sophistry or Truffi's villany could furnish: and where think

you? In Paula's own heart. Ho! ho! a young girl soon discovers that

which is the sole object of her thoughts by day, and her dreams by

night--a lover! There is a mysterious emotion so pleasing to her heart,

so flattering to her fancy, and altogether so peculiarly grateful to her

mind in being beloved, that she gives way to all the fervour of a first

passion with joy and trembling. Ha! thou knowest the hearts of our

Italian girls: warm, tender, and easily subdued; what more can lover

wish?

The garrisons were marched to the Carinthian frontier, and the cavaliers

came no more to the cottage of Batello: he spent the most of his time

detailing his battles and reading the Diaries and Gazette at the

wine-house; while his old housekeeper (whom my cowl kept in awe) was

always occupied in household matters. I kept Rosario close to his task,

and therefore had the dear girl all to myself.

What could she hope for in yielding to such a passion? Remorse,

despair, and madness! But of these the young damsel thought not then.

Ha! I was then graceful and well looking, and we both were young and

ardently in love. My eyes at one time, my tremulous tones at another,

had informed her of the mighty secret which preyed upon my heart; and

which my lips dared not reveal until the rapturous moment when I

perceived the mutual flame that struggled in her bosom. Then, but not

till then, did I pour forth a rhapsody expressive of my love; when

yielding to its burning impulses, all the long-concealed ardour of my

heart burst at once upon her ear. Love lent a light to my eyes, a grace

and gesture to my figure, and imparted new eloquence to my tongue: I was

no longer myself; no more the cold, cautious friar, but the impetuous

Italian lover. The monk was forgotten in the man; my vows in the

delight of the moment; and the lovely Paula sank upon my shoulder

overcome with love and terror. O, hour of joy! when I first pressed my

trembling lip to that soft and beautiful cheek. Long years of penance

and of prayer--of dreary repining, of soul-crushing humiliation and

sorrow--were all repaid by the bliss of that embrace: which I have never

forgotten. No! not all the years that have passed since then; not all

the dark villanies I have planned and perpetrated: and they are many;

not all the dangers I have dared: and they are countless as the hairs of

your head; not all the toils and miseries of a life can efface it from

my memory. I was happy then: I who, perhaps, have never been so since.

* * * * *

A footstep aroused us, and the blushing girl shrank from me as the

little boy Rosario came gamboling towards the arbour with a chaplet for

her hair. I cast a fierce glance of hatred upon him. Even Paula was

piqued, and refused to receive the flowers; upon which the child wept,

and pulling my cassock, prayed me to lecture his sister for being so

coy.

"Scold her, Father Lancelloti!" said he, rubbing his glittering eyes

with his plump little hands; "for she will neither kiss me nor receive

my roses to put among her pretty hair, as she used to love to do."

"Give me the flowers, child," said I; "shall _I_ kiss sister Paula for

you, Rosario?"

"O, yes, yes," cried the little boy, "or sister Paula will kiss you, and

then me."

Our lips met, and the agitated and infatuated Paula embraced the child,

who laughed and clapped his hands with innocent glee; and yet he knew

not at what. At that moment the long sword of the captain jarred on the

gravel walk, and his heavy tread rang beneath the trellis of the garden.

Aware that, as a priest, I had wronged him in the declaration made to

his daughter, and that I had committed a deadly sin before God, I shrank

from meeting him; and, leaping over the garden-wall, returned to the

monastery, where, not without sensations of triumph, I recounted my

conquest to Petronio and the hunchback.

Three days I visited her as usual, and rejoiced in the success of my

amour; for I loved her tenderly and dearly. My air was so sanctified

that the most jealous guardian would not have suspected me; then how

much less the good Batello, who, by his profession, had been accustomed

to intercourse with men of the strictest honour, and suspected no man of

duplicity, because his own brave heart was guileless.

My rose-bud of love was just beginning to bloom, when matters were

doomed to have a terrible crisis.

One bright forenoon, when Rosario had finished his task, I was about to

return to Friuli, and merely bowed to Paula, because her father was

present.

"Brother Lancelloti," said he, grasping my cope, "hast heard the news?

The senate is about to declare war against the Turks, and the capeletti

are to be doubled. Brave news for an old soldier, eh! I may be a

colonello, with Rosario for captain! Come hither, thou chubby

rogue--wouldst like to be a captain?"

"O, yes, if sister Paula would play with me as she used to do, and kiss

me instead of Father Lancelloti."

"Rosario! what sayest thou?" cried the fierce old soldier with a

stentorian voice, while Paula grew pale as death, and my spirit died

away within me; but the terrified child made no reply. The captain's

face was black with rage: his eyes sparkled, and stern scorn curled his

lip; yet he spoke calmly.

"Go--go, Father Lancelloti, and may God forgive you! I will not require

the services of your faithful reverence from to-day. Away--march! or you

may fare worse: dare not to come here again, I am Annibal Batello--thou

knowest me!" And, touching the hilt of his sword, he turned on his heel

and left me.

I rushed away, overwhelmed with bitterness, rage, and humiliation, and

hating Rosario with the hate of a fiend.

To Truffi and Petronio, my story was the source of endless merriment:

the hunchback snapped his fingers, whooped, and laughed till the

cloisters rang with his elfish joy. Deprived of my mistress, whom I

dared not visit for dread of the captain's sword, stung by the taunts of

my friends, dejected and filled with gloomy forebodings, the cloisters

soon became intolerable to me. I formed many a romantic and desperate

scheme to rid myself of those cursed trammels which monkish duplicity

had cast around me in boyhood: but thoughts of the holy office, the

Piombi, and the fate of my father, filled me with dismay; and I dared

not fly from Friuli.

One day, whilst wandering far up the banks of the Isonza, with a heart

swollen by bitter thoughts, I plunged into the deepest recesses in

search of solitude. Reaching the cascade which falls beneath the

ancient castle of Fana, I paused to listen to the rushing water, whose

tumult so much resembled my own mind. The voice of no living thing,

save that of the lynx, broke the stillness around me: the lofty trees of

the dense forest, clad in the richest foliage of summer, cast a deep

shadow over the bed of the dark blue stream; which swept noiselessly on,

between gloomy impending cliffs, until it reached the fall, where it

poured over a broad ledge of rock, and thundered into a terrible abyss,

whence the foam arose in a mighty cloud, white as Alpine snow. Rearing

its grey and mossy towers high above the waving woods, the shattered

rocks, and roaring river, the ancient castello looked down on the

solitude beneath it. A mighty place in days gone by, it had been

demolished by the bailiff of Friuli, for the crimes of Count Giulio (see

vol. i. p. 186), and was now roofless and ruined; the green ivy clung to

the carved battlement, and the rays of the bright sun poured aslant

through its open loops and empty windows. But the scenery soothed not my

heart: I burned for active excitement, to shake off the stupor that

oppressed me.

A turn of the walk brought me suddenly upon the little boy, Rosario, who

was weaving a chaplet of wild roses and trailing daphne; culled,

doubtless, for the bright tresses of Paula. Remembering some stern

injunction from his father, on beholding me he fled as from a spectre.

Like a tiger, I sprang after him: fear added wings to his flight; but I

was close behind. A fall on the rocks redoubled my anger and

impatience, and I caught him by his long fair hair, while he was in the

very act of laughing at my mishap.

"Cursed little babbler!" said I, shaking him roughly; "what deservest

thou at my hands?"

"Spare me, good Father Lancelloti, and I will never offend again."

"Silence, or I will tear out thy tongue!"

My aspect terrified him, and he screamed on his father and Paula to save

him.

"Paula!" said I, shaking him again, "thy devilish tongue hath destroyed

Paula and me too!"

"Spare me," said he, whimpering and smiling; "and pretty sister Paula

will kiss you for my sake."

"Anathema upon thee!" His words redoubled my fury, and I spat on him.

The cascade roared beside me, the deepest solitude was around us, hell

was in my heart, and the devil guided my hand; I launched the screaming

child from the rocks: headlong he fell through the air, and vanished in

the cloudy spray of the vast abyss. The bright sun became suddenly

obscured by a cloud, and a deeper gloom stole over the dell of Fana: the

ruined tower seemed a monstrous head, and its windows invidious eyes

looking down on me--the landscape swam around, and I heard a cry of

_murder_ above the roar of the cascade. The yell of a lynx completed my

terror, and I rushed in frenzy from the spot. * * *

I was in my dormitory; the darkness of night was in my soul and all

around me: overwhelmed with an excess of horror for my wanton crime, I

spent the night in the agonies of penance and prayer, and making mental

vows to sin no more. Had the universe been mine, I would have given it

that Rosario might be restored to life. O, that I could have lived the

last day over again, or have blotted it for ever from my mind! But,

alas! the strong and dark fiend had marked me for his own. Through the

silence of the still calm night, came the rush of the distant river:

there was madness in the sound; but I could not exclude it, and the cry

of the poor child mingled ever with its roar. Humble in spirit, and

contrite in heart, at morning matins I bowed down in prayer among the

brotherhood. The sublime symphonies of the hymn Veni Creator, or of the

litanies of our lady of Loretto, the song of the choir and the

mellifluous strain of the organ, rang beneath the vaulted dome like the

voice of God and the knell of death; and yet they spoke of hope--hope to

the repentant--and I prostrated myself before the altar: tears burst

from my eyes, and the fire of my heart was assuaged.

I left the monastery to seek some calm solitude, wherein to pour forth

my soul in secret prayer; but my evil genius was beside me, and guided

me to detection and disgrace. I wandered on, but knew not and cared not

whither; wishing only to fly from the haunts of men and my own burning

thoughts. Vain idea! Rosario, as he sank among the spray, his sister's

tears, his father's sorrow, were ever before me, and I looked upon

myself with horror.

"Good father!" cried a voice, disturbing my dreadful reverie; "O,

reverend signor, help, in the name of the Blessed Trinity!"

I started with dismay--what did I behold? The white-haired veteran,

Batello, bearing in his arms the dripping corpse of Rosario, while Paula

clung to him overcome with sorrow and terror. Even the venerable

goatherd, whose crook had fished up the dead child, was moved to tears;

while I, the cause of the calamity, looked on with unmoved visage. Was

it an index of my mind? O, no! a serpent was gnawing my heart: I could

have screamed with agony; and my breath came close and thick. I

trembled and panted while Batello spoke.

"Fra Lancelloti," said he, "thou comest upon me in an hour of deep woe,

when I have much need of godly consolation; but not from thy lips. A

week ago we quarrelled: I know the weakness of the human heart, and from

the bottom of my soul forgive thee; for in this terrible moment I cannot

look on any man with anger. Pass on, in the name of God! for thy

presence is--I know not why--peculiarly hateful to me at this moment.

Many a dead face have I looked upon by breach and battlefield, but

thou--my Rosario--thy mother--" and the old soldier kissed his dead

child, and wept bitterly.

The goatherd, who had been observing me narrowly, now whispered in

Batello's ear. His eyes glared, and relinquishing the body, with one

hand he grasped his sword, with the other my throat.

"Double-dyed villain!--hypocrite!--thou knowest of this, and canst say

how Rosario died! Speak, or this sword, never yet stained with the

blood of a coward, shall compel thee."

"Sacrilege!" I gasped, while Paula swooned: "Sacrilege!--I am a

priest--"

"Rosario's hand grasps part of a rosary--lo! thy chaplet is broken, and

the beads are the same. Speak, ere I slay thee!" and he drew his sword.

Trembling, I glanced at my girdle: but a half of my chaplet hung there;

the other was grasped in the tenacious hand of Rosario. Overwhelmed with

terror, I attempted to escape; and, in the blindness of his fury, the

old man struck me repeatedly with his sword, while he cried aloud for

help. Transported with fury at the sight of my own blood, and dreading

discovery, I became mad, and plunged yet deeper into crime: closing with

him, my strength and youth prevailed over his frame, now enfeebled by

age, wounds, and long campaigns; I struck him to the earth, and with his

own sword stabbed him to the heart. His blood streamed over Paula--I

remember nothing more. I fled to the hills, and, throwing off my upper

vestments, wandered in wild places, far from the reach of the Grand

Bailiff; who offered five hundred ducats for my head, sent the

carbineers of Gradiska and the vassals of the duchy to hunt me down, and

established such a close chain of communication along the frontiers that

escape was almost impossible. He solemnly vowed to avenge the murder of

Batello (who had been the friend and fellow-soldier of his father, the

old Count of Lanthiri) and I should assuredly have become his victim,

and been consigned to the gallows or the Holy Office, had I not been

joined by Gaspare Truffi; who, after transferring to his own pouch every

bajoccho in the convent treasury, had come to share my fortunes in the

wilderness.

Changing our attire, we embarked for Greece; but were captured off

Calabria by a corsair of Tunis. Whereupon I instantly turned Mussulman,

and served his highness the Bey with such courage and devotion, that, as

Osman Carora, I became the idol of the Tunisians, and terror of the

Mediterranean. Enough!--thou knowest the rest. Shipwreck and the

fortune of war placed me in the power of my old friend Petronio--and I

am here."

"And Paula?"

"Became Contessa di Lanthiri, and soon forgot poor Fra Lancelloti."

Such was the story related to me by the third captive whom those vaults

contained: I have jotted it down just as it was related to me; but

without the many pauses of maudlin grief, or oaths of rage, with which

his half-intoxicated state caused him to intersperse it.

I need hardly add that I left this deliberate ruffian to his fate,

locking all the doors securely behind me; and, to make the keeper more

alert in future--as I intended to return no more--I left my false keys

in his niche in the little chapel. The terrified warder, on finding a

set of keys the exact counterpart of his own, declared they must have

belonged either to Virgil or to the devil: they were destroyed, the

vaults sprinkled with holy water, and the wizard was seen no more.

*CHAPTER III.*

*A NARROW ESCAPE.*

It was a clear and beautiful morning when I issued forth on my return to

the cardinal's villa. As I passed a cantina by the roadside, under a

trellis in front of it, I encountered two personages whom I had no wish

to meet on that side of Massena's lines: the surly Captain Pepe, who

treated me so insultingly at Crotona, and Truffi the hunchback, whom I

recognised notwithstanding his disguise--a white Cistertian frock and

shovel hat. Draughts, dominoes, and wine-horns were before them; and

they had apparently passed the night at the table over which they

leaned, sleeping away the fumes of their potations.

As I passed, an unlucky house dog leaped forth from his barrel, yelling

and shaking his chain. The captain, yet half intoxicated, started up

and felt for his sword, and I saw a bastia knife gleaming in the long

lean fingers of the cripple.

"Corpo!" said he, "'tis only a priest."

"Hola! call you that fellow a priest?" replied Pepe, balancing himself

with difficulty: but, drunk as he was, he had the eyes of a lynx, and

knew me in a moment. "Mille baionettes! an English spy. Ah, Monsieur

Aide-de-camp!--villain! Hola, the quarter guard! Hola, the provost,

and the noose from the nearest tree: _a la lanterne_!"

He staggered towards me with his drawn sabre, and I supposing the

cantina was full of soldiers, became alarmed, as the hideous Truffi

yelled and whooped till the welkin rang. My death was certain if

captured: not even York could have saved it, or those important

despatches with which the general entrusted me. But I thought less of

them than of Bianca, life, liberty, and honour. I easily wrenched

Pepe's sabre from him, and knocked him down with my clenched hand: his

head clattered on the hard dusty road, and he lay motionless. Truffi

rushed on me with his poniard, but I dealt him a blow across the head

with my sabre, and he fell prone over the body of his companion.

I fled to the villa, entered unseen, and threw myself panting upon my

bed; where, notwithstanding my fears and agitation, I soon fell fast

asleep.

In two hours after I was awakened by Catanio, whose countenance

betokened something unusual. My first thought was of Captain Pepe.

"The courier has arrived from Rome, and his Majesty awaits you." I

leaped up, joyful at being undeceived so agreeably.

"Has he brought the signora's dispensation?"

"His Majesty has not said."

My toilet was soon completed, and I was ushered into the presence of the

cardinal, who was seated at breakfast. His Irish valet was in

attendance. The plainness of his equipage contrasted strongly with the

splendour of his pretensions. He was busy reading, and heard not our

approach.

"You see him, perhaps, for the last time," whispered Catanio. "Behold!

does there not reign around him a mystic dignity that makes him seem as

much a king as if he stood in the halls of Windsor or Holy rood? Ah,

who can look on such a man, declining into the vale of life, venerable

with years, the majesty and memory of ages, without being moved? But

this is a cold and calculating age, without veneration for the past; and

the regrets of those who love it, provoke but a smile from the selfish

and unreflecting."

Without partaking of his enthusiasm, I was not a little moved by his

tone and words.

"Catanio, place a chair for Captain Dundas," said the cardinal,

perceiving us. "Sir, you will breakfast with me, as I have intelligence

for you. Our most Holy Father has been pleased to dispense with the

vows of the Signora D'Alfieri at my intercession; and on presenting this

document to the Abbess at Canne, she will be free to quit the convent

and resume her place in society. This is the despatch from the

spedizioniere of the papal court."