THE MANUSCRIPT--FLORA FRANCATELLI.
Nisida's hand trembled not as she placed the key in the lock; but when
it turned, and she knew that in another instant she might open that door
if she chose, she compressed her lips firmly together--she called all
her courage to her aid--for she seemed to imagine that it was necessary
to prepare herself to behold something frightfully appalling.
And now again her cheeks were deadly pale; but the light that burned in
her eyes was brilliant in the extreme.
White as was her countenance, her large black orbs appeared to shine--to
glow--to burn, as if with a violent fever.
Advancing with her left hand, she half-opened the door of the closet
with her right.
Then she plunged her glances with rapidity into the recess.
But, holy God! what a start that courageous, bold, and energetic woman
gave--a start as if the cold hand of a corpse had been suddenly thrust
forth to grasp her.
And oh! what horror convulsed her countenance--while her lips were
compressed as tightly as if they were an iron vise.
Rapidly and instantly recoiling as that glance was, it had nevertheless
revealed to her an object of interest as well as of horror; for with
eyes now averted, she seized something within the closet, and thrust it
into her bosom.
Then, hastily closing the door, she retraced her way to her brother's
chamber.
He still slept soundly; Nisida returned the key to the pocket whence she
had taken it, and hurried back to her own room, from which she had
scarcely been absent five minutes.
And did she seek her couch? did she repair to rest?
No; that energetic woman experienced no weariness--yielded to no
lassitude.
Carefully bolting the door of her innermost chamber, she seated herself
in the arm-chair and drew from her bosom the object which she had taken
from the mysterious closet.
It was a manuscript, consisting of several small slips of paper,
somewhat closely written upon.
The paper was doubtless familiar to her; for she paused not to consider
its nature, but greedily addressed herself to the study of the meaning
which it conveyed. And of terrible import seemed that manuscript to be;
for while Nisida read, her countenance underwent many and awful
changes--and her bosom heaved convulsively at one instant, while at
another it remained motionless, as if respiration were suspended.
At length the perusal was completed; and grinding her teeth with
demoniac rage, she threw the manuscript upon the floor. But at the same
moment her eyes, which she cast wildly about her, caught the mild and
benign countenance of her mother's portrait; and, as oil stills the fury
of the boiling billows, did the influence of that picture calm in an
instant the tremendous emotions of Nisida's soul.
Tears burst from her eyes, and she suddenly relapsed from the incarnate
fiend into the subdued woman.
Then stooping down, she picked up the papers that lay scattered on the
floor: but as she did so she averted her looks, with loathing and
disgust, as much as possible from the pages that her hands collected
almost at random.
And now another idea struck her--an idea the propriety of which
evidently warred against her inclination.
She was not a woman of mere impulses--although she often acted speedily
after a thought had entered her brain. But she was wondrously quick at
weighing all reasons for or against the suggestions of her imagination;
and thus, to any one who was not acquainted with her character, she
might frequently appear to obey the first dictates of her impetuous
passions.
Scarcely three minutes after the new idea had struck her, her resolution
was fixed.
Once more concealing the papers in her bosom, she repaired with the lamp
to her brother's room--purloined the key a second time--hastened to the
chamber of death--opened the closet again--and again sustained the shock
of a single glance at its horrors, as she returned the manuscript to the
place whence she had originally taken it.
Then, having once more retraced her way to Francisco's chamber, she
restored the key to the folds of his doublet--for he continued to sleep
soundly; and Nisida succeeded in regaining her own apartments just in
time to avoid the observation of the domestics, who were now beginning
to move about.
Nisida sought her couch and slept until nearly ten o'clock, when she
awoke with a start--doubtless caused by some unpleasant dream.
Having ascertained the hour by reference to a water-clock, or clepsydra,
which stood on a marble pedestal near the head of the bed, she
arose--unlocked the door of her apartment--rang a silver bell--and then
returned to her bed.
In a few minutes Flora, who had been waiting in the adjoining room,
entered the chamber.
Nisida, on regaining her couch, had turned her face toward the wall, and
was therefore unable to perceive anything that took place in the
apartment.
The mere mention of such a circumstance would be trivial in the extreme,
were it not necessary to record it in consequence of an event which now
occurred.
For, as Flora advanced into the room, her eyes fell on a written paper
that lay immediately beneath the arm-chair; and conceiving from its
appearance that it had not been thrown down on purpose, as it was in
nowise crushed nor torn, she mechanically picked it up and placed it on
the table.
She then proceeded to arrange the toilet table of her mistress,
preparatory to that lady's rising; and while she is thus employed, we
will endeavor to make our readers a little better acquainted with her
than they can possibly yet be.
Flora Francatelli was the orphan daughter of parents who had suddenly
been reduced from a state of affluence to a condition of extreme
poverty. Signor Francatelli could not survive this blow: he died of a
broken heart; and his wife shortly afterward followed him to the
tomb--also the victim of grief. They left two children behind them:
Flora, who was then an infant, and a little boy, named Alessandro, who
was five years old. The orphans were entirely dependent upon the
kindness of a maiden aunt--their departed father's sister. This
relative, whose name was, of course, also Francatelli, performed a
mother's part toward the children: and deprived herself, not only of
comforts, but at times even of necessaries, in order that they should
not want. Father Marco, a priest belonging to one of the numerous
monasteries of Florence, and who was a worthy man, took compassion upon
this little family; and not only devoted his attention to teach the
orphans to read and write--great accomplishments among the middle
classes in those days--but also procured from a fund at the disposal of
his abbot, certain pecuniary assistance for the aunt.
The care which this good relative took of the orphans, and the kindness
of Father Marco, were well rewarded by the veneration and attachment
which Alessandro and Flora manifested toward them. When Alessandro had
numbered eighteen summers, he was fortunate enough to procure, through
the interest of Father Marco, the situation of secretary to a Florentine
noble, who was charged with a diplomatic mission to the Ottoman Porte;
and the young man proceeded to Leghorn, whence he embarked for
Constantinople, attended by the prayers, blessings, and hopes of the
aunt and sister, and of the good priest, whom he left behind.
Two years after his departure, Father Marco obtained for Flora a
situation about the person of the Lady Nisida; for the monk was
confessor to the family of Riverola, and his influence was sufficient to
secure that place for the young maiden.
We have already said that Flora was sweetly beautiful. Her large blue
eyes were fringed with dark lashes, which gave them an expression of the
most melting softness; her dark brown hair, arranged in the modest
bands, seemed of even a darker hue when contrasted with the brilliant
and transparent clearness of her complexion, and though her forehead was
white and polished as alabaster, yet the rose-tint of health was upon
her cheeks, and her lips had the rich redness of coral. Her nose was
perfectly straight; her teeth were white and even, and the graceful
arching of her swan-neck imparted something of nobility to her tall,
sylph-like, and exquisitely proportioned figure.
Retiring and bashful in her manners, every look which fell from her
eyes--every smile which wreathed her lips, denoted the chaste purity of
her soul. With all her readiness to oblige--with all her anxiety to do
her duty as she ought, she frequently incurred the anger of the
irascible Nisida; but Flora supported those manifestations of wrath with
the sweetest resignation, because the excellence of her disposition
taught her to make every allowance for one so deeply afflicted as her
mistress.
Such was the young maiden whom the nature of the present tale compels us
thus particularly to introduce to our readers.
Having carefully arranged the boudoir, so that its strict neatness might
be welcome to her mistress when that lady chose to rise from her couch,
Flora seated herself near the table, and gave way to her reflections.
She thought of her aunt, who inhabited a neat little cottage on the
banks of the Arno, and whom she was usually permitted to visit every
Sabbath afternoon--she thought of her absent brother, who was still in
the service of the Florentine Envoy to the Ottomon Porte, where that
diplomatist was detained by the tardiness that marked the negotiations
with which he was charged; and then she thought--thought too, with an
involuntary sigh--of Francisco, Count of Riverola.
She perceived that she had sighed--and, without knowing precisely
wherefore, she was angry with herself.
Anxious to turn the channel of her meditations in another direction, she
rose from her seat to examine the clepsydra. That movement caused her
eyes to fall upon the paper which she had picked up a quarter of an hour
previously.
In spite of herself the image of Francisco was still uppermost in her
thoughts; and, in the contemplative vein thus encouraged, her eyes
lingered, unwittingly--and through no base motive of curiosity--upon the
writing which that paper contained.
Thus she actually found herself reading the first four lines of the
writing, before she recollected what she was doing.
The act was a purely mechanical one, which not the most rigid moralist
could blame.
And had the contents of the paper been of no interest, she might even
have continued to read more in that same abstracted mood; but those four
first lines were of a nature which sent a thrilling sensation of horror
through her entire frame; the feeling terminating with an icy coldness
of the heart.
She shuddered without starting--shuddered as she stood; and not even a
murmur escaped her lips.
The intenseness of that sudden pang of horror deprived her alike of
speech and motion during the instant that it lasted.
And those lines, which produced so strange an impression upon the young
maiden, ran thus:
"merciless scalpel hacked and hewed away at the still almost
palpitating flesh of the murdered man, in whose breast the
dagger remained buried--a ferocious joy--a savage hyena-like
triumph----"
Flora read no more; she could not--even if she had wished.
For a minute she remained rooted to the spot; then she threw herself
into the chair, bewildered and dismayed at the terrible words which had
met her eyes.
She thought that the handwriting was not unknown to her; but she could
not recollect whose it was. One fact was, however, certain--it was not
the writing of her mistress.
She was musing upon the horrible and mysterious contents of the paper,
when Nisida rose from her couch.
Acknowledging with a slight nod of the head the respectful salutation of
her attendant, she hastily slipped on a loose wrapper, and seated
herself in the arm-chair which Flora had just abandoned.
The young girl then proceeded to comb out the long raven hair of her
mistress.
But this occupation was most rudely interrupted: for Nisida's eyes
suddenly fell upon the manuscript page on the table; and she started up
in a paroxysm of mingled rage and alarm.
Having assured herself by a second glance that it was indeed a portion
of the writings which had produced so strange an effect upon her a few
hours previously, she turned abruptly toward Flora; and, imperiously
confronting the young maiden, pointed to the paper in a significant
manner.
Flora immediately indicated by a sign that she had found it on the
floor, beneath the arm-chair.
"And you have read it!" was the accusation which, with wonderful
rapidity, Nisida conveyed by means of her fingers--fixing her piercing,
penetrating eyes on Flora's countenance at the same time.
The young maiden scorned the idea of a falsehood; although she perceived
that her reply would prove far from agreeable to her mistress, she
unhesitatingly admitted, by the language of the hands. "I read the first
four lines, and no more."
A crimson glow instantly suffused the face, neck, shoulders, and bosom
of Nisida; but instantly compressing her lips--as was her wont when
under the influence of her boiling passions, she turned her flashing
eyes once more upon the paper, to ascertain which leaf of the manuscript
it was.
That rapid glance revealed to her the import, the dread, but profoundly
mysterious import of the four first lines on that page; and, again
darting her soul-searching looks upon the trembling Flora, she demanded,
by the rapid play of her delicate taper fingers "Will you swear that you
read no more?"
"As I hope for salvation!" was Flora's symbolic answer.
The penetrating, imperious glance of Nisida dwelt long upon the maiden's
countenance; but no sinister expression--no suspicious change on that
fair and candid face contradicted the assertion which she had made.
"I believe you; but beware how you breathe to a living soul a word of
what you did read!"
Such was the injunction which Nisida now conveyed by her usual means of
communication; and Flora signified implicit obedience.
Nisida then secured the page of writing in her jewel casket; and the
details of the toilet were resumed.