Authors: George W. M. Reynolds,James Malcolm Rymer
“Suddenly I heard voices near me;
and one of them appeared to be that of the Countess of Riverola—but they were
speaking in so subdued a tone that I was by no means confident in my suspicion.
The voices approached; and a sentiment of curiosity, unaccountable at the time,
as I believed Vitangela to be purity itself, impelled me to listen more
attentively. To conceal myself was not necessary; I had to remain perfectly
still for my presence to be unknown, utter darkness prevailing in the avenue.
The persons who were conversing advanced.
“‘You know,’ said the soft and
whispering voice which I believed to be that of my wife, ‘you know how
sincerely, how tenderly I love you, and what a frightful risk I run in
according you thus a few moments’ private discourse!’
“The voice of a man made some
reply, the words of which did not reach my ears; then the pair stopped and I
heard the billing sound of kisses. O! how my blood boiled in my veins! I
grasped the handle of my sword—but I was nailed to the spot—my state of mind
was such that though I longed—I thirsted for vengeance—yet was I
powerless—motionless—paralyzed. To the sound of kisses succeeded those of
sobbing and of grief on the part of the lady whose voice had produced such a
terrible effect upon me.
“‘Holy Virgin!’ I thought, ‘she
deplores the fate that chains her to her husband! she weeps because she has not
courage to fly with her lover!’ and now I experienced just the same sensations
as those which stunned and stupefied me on that evening at Naples when I first
heard that Vitangela was the child of the public executioner. Several minutes
must have passed while I was in this condition of comparative insensibility; or
rather while I was a prey to the stunning conviction that I was deceived by her
whom I had loved so well and deemed so pure. When I awoke from that dread
stupor all was still in the dark avenue; not a footstep, not a whispering voice
was heard. I hurried along amidst the trees, my soul racked with the cruelest
suspicions. And yet I was not confident that it was positively my wife’s voice that
I had heard; and the more I pondered on the circumstance, the more anxious was
I to arrive at the conviction
that
I had indeed been deceived by some voice closely resembling hers. I accordingly
hurried back to the arbor where I had last seen her in the company of several
Florentine ladies. Joy animated my soul when I beheld Vitangela seated in that
arbor, and in the very spot, too, where I had beheld her upward of an hour
previously. But she was now alone.
“‘Where are your friends?’ I
asked, in a kind tone, as I approached and gently took her hand.
“‘Indeed I know not,’ she
replied, casting a hurried glance around, and now appearing surprised to find
that there was not another lady near her. She seemed confused; and I also
observed that she had been weeping very recently. The joy which had for a
moment animated me, was now succeeded by a sudden chill that went to my heart
death-like—icy. But, subduing my emotion, I said:
“‘Your ladyship has not surely
remained here ever since I last saw you, more than an hour ago?’
“‘Yes,’ she responded, without
daring to raise her eyes to meet mine. I knew that she lied, most foully lied:
her confusion, her whole manner betrayed her. But I exercised a powerful
mastery over my mind; the suspicion which I had all along entertained was
strengthened greatly, but not altogether confirmed; and I resolved to wait for
confirmation ere I allowed my vengeance to burst forth. Moreover, it was
necessary to discover who the gallant might be—the favored one who had
superseded me in the affections of Vitangela! I, however, promised myself that
when once my information was complete, my revenge should be terrible; and this
resolution served as a solace for the moment, and as an inducement for me to
conceal alike the suspicions I had imbibed and the dreadful pain they had
caused me.
“Presenting my hand, therefore,
to Vitangela, I escorted her to that part of the ground where the company were
now assembled, and where I hoped that some accident might make known to me the
person of the gallant with whom, as I supposed, she had walked in the avenue.
Anxiously, but unsuspected, did I watch the manner of the countess every time
she returned the salutation of the various nobles and cavaliers whom we
encountered in our walk; but not a blush, not a sign of confusion on her part,
not one rapidly dealt, but significant glance, afforded me the clew I so
ardently sought. And yet it struck me that she often cast furtive and uneasy,
or rather searching looks hither and thither, as if to seek and single out some
one individual in the multitudes moving about the illuminated gardens. She was
certainly pre-occupied, and even mournful, but I affected not to observe that a
cloud hung over her spirits, and in order to throw her completely off her
guard, I talked and laughed quite as gayly as was my wont. To be brief, the
festivities terminated a little before sunrise, and I conducted the countess
back to our mansion. From that night forth I maintained the strictest watch
upon her conduct and proceedings. I appointed Margaretha, the mother of my page
Antonio, to act the spy upon her; but weeks and months passed, and nothing
occurred to
confirm the
terrible suspicion that haunted me night and day. I strove to banish that
suspicion from my mind—Heaven knows how hard I tried to crush it. But it was
immortal—and it beset me as if it were the ghost of some victim I had
ruthlessly murdered. Vitangela saw that my manner had somewhat changed toward
her, and she frequently questioned me on the subject. I, however, gave her evasive
answers, for I should have been ashamed to acknowledge my suspicion if it were
false, and it was only by keeping her off her guard I should receive
confirmation if it were true. Thus nearly nine months passed away from the date
of the ducal banquet, and then you, Francisco, were born. The presence of an
heir to my name and wealth was a subject of much congratulation on the part of
my friends; but to me it was a source of torturing doubts and racking fears.
You never bore the least—no, not the least resemblance, either physical or
mental, to me; whereas the very reverse was the case with Nisida, even in her
infancy. From the moment of your birth—from the first instant that I beheld you
in the nurse’s arms—the most agonizing feelings took possession of my soul.
Were you indeed my son?—or were you the pledge of adulterous love? Merciful
heavens! in remembering all I suffered when the terrible thoughts oppressed me,
I wonder that you, Francisco, should now be alive—that I did not strangle you
as you lay in your cradle. And, oh God! how dearly I could have loved you,
Francisco, had I felt the same confidence in your paternity as in that of your
sister Nisida! But no—all was at least doubt and uncertainty in that
respect—and, as your cast of features and physical characteristics developed
themselves, that hideous doubt and that racking uncertainty increased until
there were times when I was nearly goaded to do some desperate deed. Those mild
blue eyes—that rich brown hair—that feminine softness of expression which
marked your face belonged not to the family of Riverola!
“Time wore on, and my unhappiness
increased. I suspected my wife, yet dared not proclaim the suspicion. I sought
to give her back my love, but was utterly unable to subdue the dark thoughts
and crush the maddening uncertainties that agitated my soul. At last I was
sinking into a state of morbid melancholy, when an incident occurred which
revived all the energies of my mind. It was in 1505—Nisida being then ten years
old, and you, Francisco, four—when Margaretha informed me one evening that the
countess had received a letter which had thrown her into a state of
considerable agitation, and which she had immediately burned. By questioning
the porter at the gate of the mansion, I learnt that the person who delivered
the letter was a tall, handsome man of about thirty-two, with brown hair, blue
eyes, and a somewhat feminine expression of countenance. Holy Virgin! this must
be the gallant—the paramour of my wife—the father of the boy on whom the law
compelled me to bestow my own name. Such were the ideas that immediately struck
me; and I now prepared for vengeance. Margaretha watched my wife narrowly, and
on the evening following the one on which the letter had been delivered,
Vitangela was seen
to
secure a heavy bag of gold about her person, and quit the mansion by the secret
staircase of her apartment—that apartment which is now the sleeping-place of
your sister Nisida.
“Margaretha followed the countess
to an obscure street, at the corner of which the guilty woman encountered a
tall person, enveloped in a cloak, and who was evidently waiting for her. To
him she gave the bag of gold, and they embraced each other tenderly. Then they
separated—the countess returning home, unconscious that a spy watched her movements.
Margaretha reported all that had occurred to me; and I bade her redouble her
attention in watching her mistress. Now that the lover is once more in this
city, I thought, and well provided with my gold to pursue his extravagance,
there will soon be another meeting—and then for vengeance such as an Italian
must have. But weeks and months again passed without affording the opportunity
which I craved; yet I knew that the day must come—and I could tutor myself to
await its arrival, if not with patience, at least with so much outward
composure as to lull the countess into belief of perfect security.
“Yes, weeks and months passed
away, ay, and years, too, and still I nursed my hopes and projects of
vengeance, the craving for which increased with the lapse of time.
“And now I come to the grand, the
terrible, the main incident in this narrative. It was late one night, in the
month of January, 1510, Nisida being then fifteen and thou, Francisco, nine,
that Margaretha came to me in my own apartment and informed me that she had
seen the tall gallant traverse the garden hastily and obtain admission into the
countess’ chamber by means of the secret staircase. The hour for vengeance had
at length come. Margaretha was instantly dispatched to advise two bravoes whose
services I had long secured for the occasion, that the moment had arrived when
they were to do the work for which they had been so well paid in advance, and
by the faithful performance of which they would still further enrich
themselves. Within half an hour all the arrangements were completed. Margaretha
had retired to her own chamber and the bravoes were concealed with me in the
garden. Nor had we long to wait. The private door opened shortly, and two
persons appeared on the threshold. The night was clear and beautiful, and from
my hiding-place I could discern the fondness of the embrace that marked their
parting. And they parted, too, never to meet again in this life!
“Vitangela closed the door—and
her lover was passing rapidly along amidst the trees in the garden, when a
dagger suddenly drank his heart’s blood. That dagger was mine, and wielded by
my hand! He fell without a groan—dead, stone-dead at my feet. Half of my
vengeance was now accomplished; the other half was yet to be consummated.
Without a moment’s unnecessary delay the corpse was conveyed to a cellar
beneath the northern wing of the mansion: and the two bravoes then hastened, to
Vitangela’s chamber, into which they obtained admission by forcing the door of
the private staircase. In pursuance of the orders which they had received from
me, they bound and
gagged
her, and conveyed her through the garden to the very cellar where, by the light
of a gloomy lamp, she beheld her husband standing close by a corpse!
“‘Bring her near!’ I exclaimed,
unmoved by the looks of indescribable horror which she threw around.
“When her eyes caught sight of
the countenance of that lifeless being, they remained fixed with frenzied
wildness in their sockets, and even if there had been no gag between her teeth,
I do not believe that she could have uttered a syllable. And now commenced the
second act in this appalling tragedy! While one of the bravoes held the
countess in his iron grasp, in such a manner that she could not avert her head,
the other, who had once been a surgeon, tore away the garments from the corpse,
and commenced the task which I had before assigned to him. And as the merciless
scalpel hacked and hewed away at the still almost palpitating flesh of the
murdered man, in whose breast the dagger remained deeply buried,—a ferocious
joy—a savage, hyena-like triumph filled my soul; and I experienced no remorse
for the deed I had done! Far—very far from that—for as the work progressed, I
exclaimed—
“‘Behold, Vitangela, how the
scalpel hews that form so loved by thee! Now hack away at the
countenance—deface that beauty—pick out those mild blue eyes!’—and I laughed
madly!
“The countess fainted, and I
ordered her to be carried back to her apartment, where Margaretha awaited her.
Indeed I had naturally foreseen that insensibility would result from the
appalling spectacle which I compelled my wife to witness: and Margaretha was
prepared to breathe dreadful menaces in her ears the moment she should
recover—menaces of death to herself and both her children if she should reveal,
even to her father confessor, one tittle of the scene which that night had been
enacted! The surgeon-bravo did his work bravely; and the man who had dishonored
me was reduced to naught save a skeleton! The flesh and the garments were
buried deep in the cellar; the skeleton was conveyed to my own chamber, and
suspended to a beam in the closet where you, Francisco, and your bride, are
destined to behold it—
ALONG WITH ANOTHER
!