THE LOVE OF WOMAN--GIULIA AND HER LOVER.
Silence, and calmness, and moonlight were without the walls of the
Arestino villa; for the goddess of night shone sweetly but coldly on the
city of Florence, and asserted her empire even over the clouds that ere
now had seemed laden with storm. Nor beamed she there alone--that fair
Diana; for a countless host of handmaidens--the silver-faced stars--had
spread themselves over the deep purple sky; and there--there--they all
shone in subdued and modest glory--those myriads of beacons floating on
the eternal waves of that far-off and silent sea!
Shine on, sweet regent of the night--and ye, too, silver-faced stars,
whose countenances are reflected and multiplied endlessly, as they are
rocked to and fro, on the deep blue bosom of the Arno; while on the
banks of that widely-famed stream, Nature herself, as if wearied of her
toils, appears to be sleeping.
Would that the soul of man could thus lie down in its night of sorrow or
of racking passion, on the margin of the waters of hope, confident that
the slumber of contentment and peace will seal his eyelids, heavy with
long vigils in a world where conflicting interests need constant
watching, and that the stillness of the unfathomable depths of those
waters will impart its influence unto him!
For, oh! if calmness, silence, and moonlight prevail without the walls
of the Arestino villa, yet within there be hearts agitated by passions
and emotions, from which the gentle genius of slumber shrinks back
aghast.
In the brilliantly lighted apartment, to which we have already
introduced our readers, the Countess Giulia receives her lover, the
dissipated but handsome Marquis of Orsini; the bandit-captain is
concealed behind the richly-worked tapestry; and at the door--not the
little private one--of that room, an old man is listening; an old man
whose ashy pale countenance, clinched hands, quivering white lips, and
wildly rolling eyes indicate how terrible are the feelings which agitate
within his breast.
This old man was the Count of Arestino, one of the mightiest nobles of
the republic. Naturally his heart was good, and his disposition kind and
generous--but, then, he was an Italian--and he was jealous! Need we say
more to account for the change which had now taken place in his usually
calm, tranquil, yet dignified, demeanor? Or shall we inform our readers
that at the banquet to which he had been invited at a friend's villa
that evening, he had overheard two young nobles, in a conversation which
the generous wine they had been too freely imbibing rendered
indiscreetly loud, couple the names of Giulia Arestino, his own
much-loved wife, and Manuel d'Orsini, in a manner which suddenly excited
a fearful, a blasting suspicion in his mind? Stealing away unperceived
from the scene of revelry, the count had returned unattended to the
immediate vicinity of his mansion; and from the shade of a detached
building he had observed the Marquis of Orsini traverse the gardens and
enter a portico leading to the private staircase communicating with that
wing of the palace which contained the suit of apartments occupied by
Giulia.
This was enough to strengthen the suspicion already excited in the old
nobleman's mind; but not quite sufficient to confirm it. The countess
had several beautiful girls attached to her person; and the marquis
might have stooped to an intrigue with one of them. The Lord of Arestino
was therefore resolved to act with the caution of a prudent man: but he
was also prepared to avenge, in case of the worst, with the spirit of an
Italian.
He hurried round to the principal entrance of his palace, and gave some
brief but energetic instructions to a faithful valet, who instantly
departed to execute them. The count then ascended the marble staircase,
traversed the corridors leading toward his lady's apartments, and placed
himself against the door of that one wherein Giulia had already received
her lover.
Thus, while silence, and calmness, and moonlight reign without--yet
within the walls of the Arestino mansion a storm has gathered, to
explode fearfully. And all through the unlawful, but not less ardent,
love of Giulia for the spendthrift Marquis of Orsini!
Sober-minded men, philosophic reasoners, persons of business-habits,
stern moralists--all these may ridicule the poet or the novelist who
makes Love his everlasting theme; they may hug themselves, in the apathy
of their own cold hearts, with the belief that all the attributes of the
passion have been immensely exaggerated; but they are in error, deeply,
profoundly, indisputably in error. For Love, in its various phases,
among which are Jealousy, Suspicion, Infidelity, Rivalry, and Revenge,
has agitated the world from time immemorial--has overthrown empires, has
engendered exterminating wars, and has extended its despotic sway alike
over the gorgeous city of a consummate civilization, and the miserable
wigwam of a heathen barbarism! Who, then, can wonder--if the theme of
Love be universal--that it should have evoked the rude and iron
eloquence of the Scandinavian Scald as well as the soft and witching
poesy of the bards of more genial climes, or that its praises or its
sorrows should be sung on the banks of the Arno, the Seine, or the
Thames, as well as amidst the pathless forests of America, or the
burning sands of Africa, or in the far-off islands of the Southern Seas.
But, alas! it is thou, O woman! who art called on to make the most cruel
sacrifices at the altar of this imperious deity--love! If thou lovest
honorably, 'tis well; but if thou lovest unlawfully how wretched is thy
fate! The lover, for whose sake thou hast forgotten thy duties as a
wife, has sacrificed nothing to thee, whilst thou hast sacrificed
everything to him. Let the _amour_ be discovered, and who suffers? Thou!
He loses not caste, station, name, nor honor;--thou art suddenly robbed
of all these! The gilded saloons of fashion throw open their doors to
the seducer; but bars of adamant defend that entrance against the
seduced. For his sake thou risketh contumely, shame, reviling, scorn,
and the lingering death of a breaking heart,--for _thee_ he would not
risk one millionth part of all that! Shouldst thou be starving, say to
him, "Go forth and steal to give me bread; dare the dishonor of the
deed, and make the sacrifice of thy good name for me. Or go and forge,
or swindle, or lie foully, so that thou bringest me bread; for have I
not dared dishonor, made the sacrifice of my good name, and done as
much, ay, far more than all that, for thee?"
Shouldst thou, poor, seduced, weak one, address thy seducer thus, he
will look upon thee as a fiend-like tempter--he will rush from thy
sight--he will never see thee more; his love will be suddenly converted
into hatred! Yes, man demands that woman should dishonor herself for
_his_ sake; but he will not allow a speck to appear upon what he calls
_his_ good name--no, not to save that poor, confiding, lost creature
from the lowest depths and dregs of penury into which her frailty may
have plunged her!
Such is the selfishness of man! Where is his chivalry?
But let us return to the Arestino Palace.
The moment Manuel d'Orsini entered the apartment by means of the private
door, he embraced Giulia with a fondness which was more than half
affected--at least on that occasion--and she herself returned the kiss
less warmly than usual--but this was because she was constrained and
embarrassed by the presence of the bandit-captain, who was concealed
behind the tapestry.
"You appear cool--distant, Giulia," said Manuel, casting upon her an
inquiring glance.
"And you either love me less, or you have something on your mind,"
returned the countess, in a low tone.
"In the first instance you are wrong--in the second you are right, my
well-beloved," answered the marquis. "But tell me----"
"Speak lower, Manuel--we may be overheard. Some of my dependents are in
the adjacent room, and----"
"And you wish me to depart as soon as possible, no doubt?" said the
marquis, impatiently.
"Oh! Manuel--how can you reproach me thus?" asked Giulia, in a voice
scarcely above a whisper; for that woman who dared be unfaithful to her
husband revolted from the thought that a coarse-minded bandit should be
in a position to overhear her conversation with her lover:--"how can you
reproach me thus, Manuel?" she repeated;--"have I not given thee all the
proofs of tenderest love which woman can bestow? Have I not risked
everything for thee?"
"I do not reproach you, Giulia," he replied, pressing his hand to his
brow, "but I am unhappy--miserable!"
And he flung himself upon the nearest ottoman.
"Oh! what has occurred to distract thee thus?" exclaimed the countess,
forgetting the presence of Stephano Verrina in the all-absorbing
interest of her lover's evident grief.
"Am I ever to find thee oppressed with care--thee, who art so young--and
so gloriously handsome?" she added, her voice suddenly sinking to a
whisper.
Manuel gazed for a few moments, without speaking, on the countenance of
his mistress as she leant over him: then, in a deep, hollow tone--a tone
the despair of which was too real and natural to be in the slightest
degree affected, he said, "Giulia, I am a wretch,--unworthy of all this
sweet love of thine!--I have broken the solemn vow which I pledged
thee--I have violated my oath----"
"Oh, Manuel!" ejaculated the countess, still forgetting the presence of
the bandit: "thou hast----"
"Gambled once more--and lost!" cried the marquis wildly. "And the sum
that I am bound in honor to pay on Monday--by noon, is nearly equal in
amount to that which thy generosity lent me the other day."
"Holy Virgin aid you, my unhappy Manuel!" said Giulia.
"For thou canst not?" exclaimed the young noble, with a profound sigh.
"Oh! I am well aware that I have no claim upon thee----"
"Ah! wherefore that reproach?--for a reproach it is!" interrupted the
countess. "No claim on me! Hast thou not my heart? and in giving thee
that, Manuel, I laid at thy feet a poor offering, which, though so poor,
yet absorbs all others of which I may dispose! Do not reproach me,
Manuel--for I would lay down my life to save thy soul from pain, or thy
name from dishonor!"
"Now art thou my own Giulia!" cried the marquis, pressing her hand to
his lips. "An accursed fatality seems to hang over me! This habit of
gaming entraps me as the wine cup fascinates the bibber who would fain
avoid it, but cannot. Listen to me for one moment, Giulia. In the public
casino--which, as thou well knowest, is a place of resort where fortunes
are lost and won in an hour--ay, sometimes in a minute--I have met a man
whose attire is good, and whose purse is well filled, but whose
countenance I like as little as I should that of the captain of the
sbirri, or his lieutenant, if I had committed a crime. This individual
of whom I speak--for I know not his name--was the favored votary of Dame
Fortune who won of me that sum which thy kindness, Giulia, alone enabled
me to pay but a few days past. And now am I a second time this man's
debtor. An hour ago he entered the casino; he stayed but for ten
minutes--and in that time----"
"Oh! Manuel, is not this conduct of thine something bordering on
madness?" interrupted the countess. "And if thou art thus wedded to that
fatal habit, how canst thou find room in thy heart for a single gleam of
affection for me?"
"Now dost thou reproach me in thy turn, Giulia!" exclaimed the young
marquis. "But believe me, my angel," he continued, exerting all his
powers to bend her to his purpose,--"believe me when I declare--oh! most
solemnly declare, by all that I put faith in, and by all I hope for
hereafter--that could I be relieved from this embarrassment--extricated
from this difficulty----"
"Heavens! how can it be done?" interrupted the countess, casting her
eyes wildly round; for the time was passing--she suddenly remembered
that the bandit was still concealed in the room--and then, her husband
might return earlier than was expected.
"Oh! if you despair of the means, Giulia," said the marquis, "I must fly
from Florence--I must exile myself forever from the city of my birth,
and which is still more endeared to me because," he added, sinking his
voice to a tender tone,--"because, my well-beloved, it contains thee!"
"No, Manuel--you must not quit Florence and leave a dishonored name
behind thee!" exclaimed this lovely woman, who was thus sublimely
careful of the reputation of him for whom she had so long compromised
her own. "What can be done? would that I had the means to raise this
sum----"
"It is with shame that I suggest----" said Manuel.
"What? Speak--speak! The means?"
"Thy jewels, dearest--thy diamonds----"
"Merciful heavens! if you did but know all!" cried Giulia, almost
frantically. "These diamonds were pledged to the Jew Isaachar ben
Solomon, to raise the sum with which thy last debt was paid, Manuel;
and--but forgive me if I did not tell thee all this before--not half an
hour has elapsed since----"
She stopped short; for she knew that the bandit overheard every syllable
she uttered.
Nor had she time, even if she possessed the power, to continue her most
painful explanation; for scarcely had she thus paused abruptly, when the
door burst open, and the Count of Arestino stood in the presence of the
guilty pair.