Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
But who gazes on that awful
spectacle? whose ears drink in those agonizing screams, as if they made a
delicious melody? With folded arms, compressed lips, and remorseless, though
ashy pale countenance, the old Lord of Arestino stands near the rack; and if
his eyes can for a moment quit that feast which they devour so greedily, it is
but to glance with demoniac triumph toward Manuel d’Orsini, whom an atrocious
refinement of cruelty, suggested by the vengeful count himself, has made a
spectator of that appalling scene! And terrible are the emotions which rend the
heart of the young marquis! But he is powerless—he cannot stretch forth a hand
to save his mistress from the hellish torments which she is enduring, nor can
he even whisper a syllable to inspire her with courage to support them. For he
is bound tightly—the familiars, too, have him in their iron grasp, and he is
gagged! Nevertheless he can see, and he can hear; he can behold the rending
tortures of the rack—and he is compelled to listen to the piercing screams
which the victim sends forth. If he close his eyes upon the horrible spectacle,
imagination instantly makes it more horrible even still; and, moreover, in the
true spirit of a chivalrous heart, he seeks by the tenderness of his glances to
impart at least a gleam of solace to the soul of her who has undergone so much,
and is suffering now so much more, through her fatal love of him! The grand
inquisitor, who is an intimate friend of the Count of Arestino, ministers well
and faithfully to the infernal vengeance of that old Italian noble: for
the remorseless judge urges on
the torturers to apply the powers of the rack to the fullest extent; and while
the creaking sound of wheels mingles with the cracking noise of dislocating
limbs, the Count of Arestino exclaims, “I was once humane and benevolent,
Giulia, but thy conduct has made me a fiend!”
“A fiend!” shrieked the tormented
woman: “Oh! yes—yes—thou art a fiend—a very fiend—I have wronged thee—but this
vengeance is horrible—mercy—mercy!—oh! for one drop of water—mercy—mercy!”
The rack gave the last shock of
which its utmost power was capable—a scream more dreadful, more agonizing, more
piercing than any of its predecessors, rent this time the very walls of the
torture-chamber: and with this last outburst of mortal agony, the spirit of the
guilty Giulia fled forever! Yet was not the vengeance of the Count of Arestino
satisfied; and the grand inquisitor was prepared to gratify the hellish
sentiment to the fullest extent. The still warm and palpitating corpse of the
countess was hastily removed from the rack: and the familiars stripped—nay,
tore off the clothing of Manuel d’Orsini. The countenance of the young nobleman
was now terribly somber, as if the darkest thoughts were occupying his inmost
soul, and his eyes were bent fixedly on the dreadful engine, to the tortures of
which it appeared to be his turn to submit.
The familiars, in order to divest
him of his garments, and also to stretch him in such a way on the rack that his
arms might be fastened over his head to the upper end of that instrument, had
removed the chains and cords which had hitherto bound him. And now the fatal
moment seemed to be at hand, and the familiars already grasped him rudely to
hurl him on the rack, when, as if suddenly inspired by a superhuman strength,
the young nobleman dashed the men from him; then, with lightning speed, he
seized a massive iron bar that was used to move the windlass of the rack, and
in another instant, before a saving arm could intervene, the deadly instrument
struck down the Count of Arestino at the feet of the grand inquisitor, who
started back with a cry of horror! The next moment the marquis was again
powerless and secure in the grasp of the familiars—but he had accomplished his
purpose, he had avenged his mistress and himself—and the old Lord of Arestino
lay, with shattered skull, a corpse upon the cold pavement of the torture-chamber!
“Back—back with the murderer to
his dungeon!” exclaimed the grand inquisitor, in a tone of fearful excitement
and rage. “We must not afford him a chance of dying upon that engine of
torture. No—no: the lingering flames of the
auto-da-fe
are reserved for the Marquis
d’Orsini!”
And in pursuance of the sentence
thus pronounced, Manuel was hurried away to his dark and solitary cell, there
to remain a prey to all the dreadful thoughts which the occurrences of that
fatal evening were so well calculated to marshal in horrible array to his
imagination.
While
those awful scenes were being
enacted in the subterranes of the holy inquisition, Demetrius was actively
engaged in directing those plans and effecting those arrangements which the scheming
disposition of Nisida of Riverola had suggested. We should observe that in the
morning he had sought and found Antonio, with whom he had so expertly managed
that the villain had fallen completely into the snare spread to entrap him, and
had not only confessed that he held at his disposal the liberty of the Count of
Riverola, but had also agreed to deliver him up to the Greek. In a word, every
thing in this respect took place precisely as Nisida had foreseen. Accordingly,
so soon as it was dark in the evening, sixty of the Ottoman soldiers quitted by
two and threes the mansion which the Florentine Government had appropriated as
a dwelling for the envoy and his suit. The men whom Demetrius thus intrusted
with the execution of his scheme, and whose energy and fidelity he had
previously secured by means of liberal reward and promise of more, were
disguised in different ways, but were all well armed. To be brief, so well were
the various dispositions taken, and so effectually were they executed, that
those sixty soldiers had concealed themselves in the grove indicated by their
master, without having excited in the minds of the Florentine people the least
suspicion that anything unusual was about to take place. It was close upon
eleven o’clock at night, when Demetrius, after having obtained a hasty
interview with Nisida, whom he acquainted with the progress of the plot,
repaired to the grove wherein his men were already distributed, and took his
station in the midst of the knot of olives on the right of the huge chestnut
tree which overhung the chasm.
Nearly a quarter of an hour
elapsed, and naught was heard save the waving of the branches and the rustling
of the foliage, as the breeze of night agitated the grove; but at the
expiration of that brief period, the sound of voices was suddenly heard close
by the chestnut tree—not preceded by any footsteps nor other indication of the
presence of men—and thus appearing as if they had all at once and in an instant
emerged from the earth.
Not a moment had elapsed—no, not
a moment—ere those individuals whose voices were thus abruptly heard, were
captured and secured by a dozen Ottoman soldiers, who sprung upon them from the
dense thickets around or dropped amongst them from the branches overhead—and so
admirably was the swoop made, that five persons were seized, bound and held
powerless and incapable of resistance ere the echo of the cry of alarm which
they raised had died away in the maze of the grove. And simultaneously with the
performance of this skillful maneuver, a shrill whistle was wafted from the
lips of Demetrius through the wood, and as if by magic, a dozen torches were
seen to light up and numbers of men, with naked scimiters gleaming in the rays
of those firebrands, rushed toward the spot where the capture had been made.
The effect of that sudden illumination—those
flashing
weapons—and that convergence of many warriors all toward the same point, was
striking in the extreme, and as the glare of the torches shone on the
countenances of the four men in the midst of whom was Francisco (the whole
five, however, being held bound and powerless by the Ottoman soldiers), it was
evident that the entire proceeding had inspired the guilty wretches with the
most painful alarm. Demetrius instantly knew that the handsome and noble-looking
young man in the midst of the group of captives and captors, must be Don
Francisco of Riverola, and he also saw at a glance that one of the ruffians
with him was Antonio. But he merely had leisure at the moment to address a word
of reassurance and friendship to Nisida’s brother—for, lo! the secret of the
entrance to the robbers’ stronghold was revealed—discovered! Yes—there, at the
foot of the tree, and now rendered completely visible by the glare of the
torch-light, was a small square aperture, from which the trap door had been
raised to afford egress to the captured party.
“Secure that entrance!” cried
Demetrius, hastily; “and hasten down those steps, some dozen of you, so as to
guard it well!”—then, the instant this command was obeyed he turned toward
Francisco, saying, “Lord of Riverola—am I right in thus addressing you?”
“Such is my name,” answered
Francisco; “and if you, brave chief, will but release me and lend me a sword, I
will prove to thee that I have no particular affection for these miscreants.”
Demetrius gave the necessary
order—and in another moment the young Count of Riverola was not only free, but
with a weapon in his hand. The Greek then made a rapid, but significant—fatally
significant sign to his men; and—quick as thought,—the three robbers and their
confederate Antonio were strangled by the bowstrings which the Ottomans whipped
around their necks. A few stifled cries—and all was over! Thus perished the
wretch Antonio—one of those treacherous, malignant, and avaricious Italians who
bring dishonor on their noble nation,—a man who had sought to turn the
vindictive feelings of the Count of Arestino to his own purposes, alike to fill
his purse and to wreak his hateful spite on the Riverola family! Scarcely was
the tragedy enacted, when Demetrius ordered the four bodies to be conveyed down
the steps disclosed by the trap-door; “for,” said he, “we will endeavor so to
direct our proceedings that not a trace of them shall be left upon ground; as
the Florentines would not be well-pleased if they learnt that foreign soldiers
have undertaken the duties which they themselves should perform.” Several of
the Ottomans accordingly bore the dead bodies down the steps; and Demetrius,
accompanied by Francisco, followed at the head of the greater portion of the
troops, a sufficient number, however, remaining behind to constitute a guard at
the entrance of the stronghold.
While they were yet descending
the stone stairs, Demetrius seized the opportunity of that temporary lull in
the excitement of the night’s adventures, to give Francisco hasty but welcome
tidings of his sister; and the reader may suppose that the generous-hearted
young count was overjoyed to
learn that Nisida was not only alive, but also once more an inmate of the
ancestral home. Demetrius said nothing relative to Flora; and Francisco, not
dreaming for a moment that his deliverer even knew there was such a being in
existence, asked no questions on that subject. His anxiety was not, however,
any less to fly to the cottage; for it must be remembered that he was arrested
first, on the 3d of July, and had yet to learn all the afflictions which had
fallen upon Flora and her aunt—afflictions of the existence whereof he had been
kept in utter ignorance by the banditti during his long captivity of nearly
three months in their stronghold. But while we are thus somewhat digressing,
the invaders are penetrating further into the stronghold. Headed by Demetrius
and Francisco, and all carrying their drawn scimiters in their hands, the corps
proceeded along a vast vaulted subterrane, paved with flag-stones, until a huge
iron door, studded with nails, barred the way.
“Stay!” whispered Francisco,
suddenly recollecting himself, “I think I can devise a means to induce the
rogues to open this portal, or I am much mistaken.”
He accordingly seized a torch and
hurried back to the foot of the stone-steps; in the immediate vicinity of which
he searched narrowly for some object. At last he discovered the object of his
investigation—namely a large bell hanging in a niche, and from which a strong
wire ran up through the ground to the surface. This bell Francisco set ringing,
and then hurried back to rejoin his deliverers. Scarcely was he again by the
side of Demetrius, when he saw that his stratagem had fully succeeded; for the
iron door swung heavily round on its hinges—and in another moment the cries of
terror which the two robber-sentinels raised on the inner side, were hushed
forever by the Turkish scimiters. Down another flight of steps the invaders
then precipitated themselves, another door, at the bottom, having been opened
in compliance with the same signal which had led to the unfolding of the
first—and now the alarm was given by the sentinels guarding the second
post—those sentinels flying madly on, having beholden the immolation of their
comrades. But Demetrius and Francisco speedily overtook them just as they
emerged from another long vaulted and paved cavern-passage, and were about to
cross a plank which connected the two sides of a deep chasm in whose depths a rapid
stream rushed gurgling on.
Into the turbid waters the two
fugitive sentinels were cast: over the bridge poured the invaders, and into
another caverned corridor, hollowed out of the solid rock, did they enter, the
torch-bearers following immediately behind the Greek and the young count. It
was evident that neither the cries of the surprised sentinels nor the tread of
the invaders had alarmed the main corps of the banditti; for, on reaching a
barrier formed by massive folding doors, and knocking thereat, the portals
instantly began to move on their hinges—and in rushed the Ottoman soldiers,
headed by their two gallant Christian leaders. The robbers were in the midst of
a deep carouse in their magnificent
cavern-hall,
when their festivity was thus rudely interrupted.
“We are betrayed!” thundered
Lomellino, the captain of the horde; “to arms! to arms!”
But the invaders allowed them no
time to concentrate themselves in a serried phalanx, and tremendous carnage
ensued. Surprised and taken unaware as they were, the banditti fought as if a
spell were upon them, paralyzing their energies and warning them that their
last hour was come. The terrible scimiters of the Turks hewed them down in all
directions; some, who sought to fly, were literally cut to pieces. Lomellino
fell beneath the sword of the gallant Count of Riverola; and within twenty
minutes after the invaders first set foot in the banqueting hall, not a soul of
the formidable horde was left alive!
Demetrius abandoned the plunder
of the den to his troops; and when the portable part of the rich booty had been
divided amongst them, they returned to their own grove, into which the entrance
of the stronghold opened. When the subterrane was thus cleared of the living,
and the dead alone remained in that place which had so long been their home,
and was now their tomb, Demetrius ordered his forces to disperse and return to
their quarters in Florence in the same prudent manner which had characterized
their egress thence a few hours before. Francisco and Demetrius, being left
alone together in the grove, proceeded by torchlight to close the trap-door,
which they found to consist of a thick plate of iron covered with earth, so
prepared, by glutinous substances no doubt, that it was hard as rock; and thus,
when the trap was shut down, not even a close inspection would lead to a
suspicion of its existence, so admirably did it fit into its setting and
correspond with the soil all around.
It required, moreover, but a
slight exercise of their imaginative powers to enable Demetrius and Francisco
to conjecture that every time any of the banditti had come forth from their
stronghold they were accustomed to strew a little fresh earth over the entire
spot, and thus afford an additional precaution against the chance of detection
on the part of any one who might chance to stray in that direction. We may also
add that the trap-door was provided with a massive bolt which fastened it
inside when closed, and that the handle of the bell-wire, which gave the signal
to open the trap, was concealed in a small hollow in the old chestnut-tree.
Having thus satisfied his curiosity by means of these discoveries, Demetrius
accompanied Francisco to the city; and during their walk thither, he informed
the young count that he was an envoy from the Ottoman Grand Vizier to the
Florentine Government—that he had become acquainted with Nisida on board the
ship which delivered her from her lonely residence on an island in the
Mediterranean—and that as she had by some means or other learnt where Francisco
was imprisoned, he had undertaken to deliver him. The young count renewed his
warmest thanks to the chivalrous Greek for the kind interest he had manifested
in his behalf; and they separated at the gate of the Riverola mansion, into
which
Francisco hurried to
embrace his sister; while Demetrius repaired to his own abode.
The meeting between Nisida and
her brother Francisco was affecting in the extreme; and for a brief space the
softer feelings in the lady’s nature triumphed over those strong, turbulent,
and concentrated passions which usually held such indomitable sway over her.
For her attachment to him was profound and sincere; and the immense sacrifice
she had made in what she conceived to be his welfare and interests had tended
to strengthen this almost boundless love.
On his side, the young count was
rejoiced to behold his sister, whose strange disappearance and long absence had
filled his mind with the worst apprehensions. Yes, he was rejoiced to see her
once more beneath the ancestral roof; and, with a fond brother’s pride, he
surveyed her splendid countenance, which triumph and happiness now invested
with an animation that rendered her surpassingly beautiful!
A few brief and rapidly-given
explanations were exchanged between them, by means of the language of the
fingers,—Francisco satisfying Nisida’s anxiety in respect to the success of her
project, by which the total extermination of the banditti had been
effected,—and she conveying to him as much of the outline of her adventures
during the last seven months as she thought it prudent to impart. They then
separated, it being now very late; and, moreover, Nisida had still some work in
hand for that night. The moment Francisco was alone, he exclaimed aloud, “Oh!
is it possible that this dear sister who loves me so much, is really the bitter
enemy of Flora? But to-morrow—to-morrow I must have a long explanation with
Nisida; and Heaven grant that she may not stand in the way of my happiness! Oh,
Flora—dearest Flora, if you knew how deeply I have suffered on your account
during my captivity in that accursed cavern! And what must you have thought of
my disappearance—my absence! Alas! did the same vengeance which pursued me
wreak its spite also on thee, fair girl?—did the miscreant, Antonio, who
boastingly proclaimed himself to my face the author of my captivity, and who
sullenly refused to give me any tidings of those whom I cared for, and of what
was passing in the world without,—did he dare to molest thee? But suspense is
intolerable, I cannot endure it even for a few short hours! No—I will speed me
at once to the dwelling of my Flora, and thus assuage her grief and put an end
to my own fears at the same time!”