AN ITALIAN NIGHT.
The moon is up, but she is hidden behind heavy masses of clouds
--welcome clouds that shelter lovers' secrets. The fountains, whose
silvery showers keep such sweet time to the murmurings of love, plash
gently on, hushing the sound of lovers' voices; on the bosom of yonder
marble-tinctured lake, two snow-white swans are floating silently; and,
far amid groves of myrtle and olive, the nightingale warbles her notes
of love. Not a step echoes through the long avenues of the ducal park,
not a light glimmers from the windows of the ducal palace. 'Tis the hour
of midnight, and gentle sleep hath come to all.
To all, save two. Stay yet awhile behind the cloud, O tell-tale moon!
for there--there are the lovers. See where fair Juliet leans from the
marble balcony; while Romeo, below, whispers of plighted vows that
naught shall cancel save--death!
"To-morrow, beloved, to-morrow, thou wilt be mine forever?"
"I will be thine in the face of the whole world."
"And wilt thou never repent? Hast thou strength to brave the world's
scorn for my sake?"
"Do I need strength to stretch forth my hand for that which is dearer to
me than all the world beside? Oh, there is selfishness in my love,
Riccardo, for it loses sight of the dangers that will threaten thee on
the day when thou callest me wife!"
"There is but one danger, dearest--that of losing thee! I know no
other."
"Still, be cautious, for my sake. Remember, we live on Spanish soil,
though Italy's skies are overhead; and Spanish vengeance is sharp and
swift. Betray not thy hopes by smile or glance--in a few davs we will be
far away in the paradise where our happiness shall be hidden from all
eyes, save those of angels. Be guarded therefore, dear one--for see!
Even now the moon is forth again in all her splendor; and were my
father's spies to track thee!--Gracious Heaven, go! Think of Spanish
daggers, and let us part for a few short hours."
"Well, I will go, strengthened to turn my eyes from thy beauty, by
thoughts of to-morrow's bliss! In the chapel I await thee."
"I will be there. The priest will not betray us?"
"He was the friend of my childhood--we may trust him, Isabella."
"Then, Heaven bless thee! good-night. Hark!--did I not hear something
rustle in the thicket?"
"The wind sighing through the pine-trees, love."
"Then, adieu, till morning."
"Adieu, sweet one!"
The moon burst forth in full radiance, and revealed the manly form that
hurried through the avenue; while clear as in noonday could be seen the
slender white figure that watched his retreating steps.
He is hidden now, but she still lingers, listening enraptured to the
fountain's murmur and the nightingale's song; looking upward at the moon
as she wandered through heaven's pathless way, and thinking that never
had earth or sky seemed so lovely before--
But hark! What sounds are those? A cry, a fearful cry rends the air; and
it comes from the thicket where, a moment before, he disappeared from
her sight.
She started--then, breathless as a statue, she listened in deadly
suspense. Again that cry, that dreadful cry, pierces through the
stillness of the night, freezing her young heart with horror! "His
death-wail!" cried the wretched girl; and careless of danger, scarce
knowing what she did, heeding nothing but the sound of her lover's
voice, she sprang from the balcony, and as though moonbeams had drawn
her thither, she swung herself to the ground. For one moment her slight
form wavered, then she darted forward and flew through the avenue to the
thicket. Away she sped, though the moon shone so bright that she could
be distinctly seen, her own shadow following like a dusky phantom
behind.
Be friendly, now, fair moon, and light her to her lover, that she may
look into his eyes once more before they close forever!
She has reached the spot, and, with a low cry, she throws herself by the
side of the tall figure that lies stretched at its length upon the green
sward.
Yes, it is he; he whom she loves; the soul of her soul, the life of her
life! And he lies cold and motionless, his eyes staring blindly upon the
heavens, his purple lips unclosing to exhale his last sighs, while from
two hideous wounds in his side the blood streams over the white dress of
his betrothed. But he is not dead; his blood is still warm.
She bends over and kisses his cold lips; she tears her lace mantle from
her shoulders, and, pressing it to his wounds, tries to stanch the
life-blood welling from his side. The mantle grows scarlet with his
gore, but the lips are whiter and colder with each kiss. She knows,
alas! that there is one nearer to him now than she--Azrael is between
her and her lover. He grows colder, stiffer; and--O God!--the
death-rattle!
"Take me with thee, take me, take me!" screamed the despairing girl; and
her arms clasped frantically around the body, until they seemed as if
they were indeed stiffening into one eternal embrace.
"Have pity, Riccardo! My life, my soul, leave me not here without thee!
One word--one look, beloved!"
She stared at him in wild despair, and seeing that he made no sign of
response to her passionate appeal, she raised her hands to heaven, and
kneeling by his side, she prayed.
"O God, merciful God, take not his fleeting life until he has given me
one last word--until he has told me how long we shall be parted!"
Her arms sank heavily down, and she sought the face of the dying man,
whispering--oh, how tenderly!--"Hear me, my own; tell me when I shall
follow thee to heaven!"
She ceased, for suddenly she felt him tremble; his eyes moved until they
met hers, and once more a smile flitted across those blanched lips. He
raised his head, and slowly his body moved, until, supported in HER
arms, he sat erect. Enraptured, he laid her cheek to his, and waited;
for love had called him back to life, and he would speak.
"We shall meet again in three--"
He fell back, and with a last cry expired. Love had struggled hard with
death; but death had won the victory.
Isabel shed no tears. She closed her lover's eyes; gave him one long,
last kiss; and, as she bent over him, her hair was soaked in his blood.
She took the mantle, wet with gore, and pressed it to her heart.
"Precious mantle," said she, "we need not part; in three days--or
perchance he said three hours--we shall lie together in the coffin!
Until then, Riccardo, farewell!"
Slowly she turned and left the horrible place. Without faltering she
came up the long moonlit avenue, her head thrown back, and her large,
lustrous eyes fixed upon heaven, as though she sought to find her
lover's soul somewhere among the floating clouds.
The moon flung its radiance around her path; and ever, as she walked, it
grew brighter, until the poor, stricken child of earth looked like a
glorified saint. "God grant that it be three hours!" murmured she;
"three days were an eternity!"
She reached the palace, without having thought that there was no door
open by which she could enter, when suddenly a form emerged from the
shadowed wall, and a woman's voice whispered:
"Quick, for Heaven's sake! the side-door is open, and all in the palace
sleep!"
"I, too, in three hours shall sleep!" cried Isabella, triumphantly, and
with these words she fell to the ground in a swoon. [Footnote: Caroline
Pichler, "Memoirs of My Life." Part I. page 139.]