initial commit of ebook 2706HEADmain

1 files changed, 4638 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/2706-0.txt b/2706-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e827d4c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/2706-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,4638 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Bravo of Venice, by Heinrich Zschokke,
+Edited by Henry Morley, Translated by M. G. Lewis
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
+other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions 
+whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
+the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at 
+www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
+to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Bravo of Venice
+       A Romance
+
+
+Author: Heinrich Zschokke
+
+Editor: Henry Morley
+
+Release Date: September 27, 2014  [eBook #2706]
+[This file was first posted on June 30, 2000]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRAVO OF VENICE***
+
+
+Transcribed from the 1886 Cassell & Company edition by David Price, email
+ccx074@pglaf.org
+
+                          [Picture: Book cover]
+
+                       CASSELL’S NATIONAL LIBRARY.
+
+                                * * * * *
+
+
+
+
+
+                                   THE
+                             BRAVO OF VENICE
+                                A ROMANCE.
+
+
+                        TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
+
+                                    BY
+                               M. G. LEWIS.
+
+                      [Picture: Decorative graphic]
+
+                       CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED:
+                _LONDON_, _PARIS_, _NEW YORK & MELBOURNE_.
+                                  1886.
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS, who professed to have translated this romance out
+of the German, very much, I believe, as Horace Walpole professed to have
+taken _The Castle of Otranto_ from an old Italian manuscript, was born in
+1775 of a wealthy family.  His father had an estate in India and a post
+in a Government office.  His mother was daughter to Sir Thomas Sewell,
+Master of the Rolls in the reign of George III.  She was a young mother;
+her son Matthew was devoted to her from the first.  As a child he called
+her “Fanny,” and as a man held firmly by her when she was deserted by her
+husband.  From Westminster School, M. G. Lewis passed to Christ Church,
+Oxford.  Already he was busy over tales and plays, and wrote at college a
+farce, never acted, a comedy, written at the age of sixteen, _The East
+Indian_, afterwards played for Mrs. Jordan’s benefit and repeated with
+great success, and also a novel, never published, called _The Effusions
+of Sensibility_, which was a burlesque upon the sentimental school.  He
+wrote also what he called “a romance in the style of _The Castle of
+Otranto_,” which appeared afterwards as the play of _The Castle Spectre_.
+
+With his mind thus interested in literature of the romantic form, young
+Lewis, aged seventeen, after a summer in Paris, went to Germany, settled
+for a time at Weimar, and, as he told his mother, knocked his brains
+against German as hard as ever he could.  “I have been introduced,” he
+wrote, in July, 1792, “to M. de Goethe, the celebrated author of
+_Werter_, so you must not be surprised if I should shoot myself one of
+these fine mornings.”  In the spring of 1793 the youth returned to
+England, very full of German romantic tale and song, and with more paper
+covered with wild fancies of his own.  After the next Christmas he
+returned to Oxford.  There was a visit to Lord Douglas at Bothwell
+Castle; there was not much academic work done at Oxford.  His father’s
+desire was to train him for the diplomatic service, and in the summer of
+1794 he went to the Hague as attaché to the British Embassy.  He had
+begun to write his novel of _The Monk_, had flagged, but was spurred on
+at the Hague by a reading of Mrs. Radcliffe’s _Mysteries of Udolpho_, a
+book after his own heart, and he wrote to his mother at this time, “You
+see I am horribly bit by the rage of writing.”
+
+_The Monk_ was written in ten weeks, and published in the summer of 1795,
+before its author’s age was twenty.  It was praised, attacked, said by
+one review to have neither originality, morals, nor probability to
+recommend it, yet to have excited and to be continuing to excite the
+curiosity of the public: a result set down to the “irresistible energy of
+genius.”  Certainly, Lewis did not trouble himself to keep probability in
+view; he amused himself with wild play of a fancy that delighted in the
+wonderful.  The controversy over _The Monk_ caused the young author to be
+known as Monk Lewis, and the word Monk has to this day taken the place of
+the words Matthew Gregory so generally, that many catalogue-makers must
+innocently suppose him to have been so named at the font.  The author of
+_The Monk_ came back from the Hague to be received as a young lion in
+London society.  When he came of age he entered Parliament for Hindon, in
+Wiltshire, but seldom went to the House, never spoke in it, and retired
+after a few sessions.  His delight was in the use of the pen; his father,
+although disappointed by his failure as a statesman, allowed him a
+thousand a year, and he took a cottage at Barnes, that he might there
+escape from the world to his ink-bottle.  He was a frequent visitor at
+Inverary Castle, and was fascinated by his host’s daughter, Lady
+Charlotte Campbell.  Still he wrote on.  The musical drama of _The Castle
+Spectre_ was produced in the year after _The Monk_, and it ran sixty
+nights.  He translated next Schiller’s _Kabale und Liebe_ as _The
+Minister_, but it was not acted till it appeared, with little success,
+some years afterwards at Covent Garden as _The Harper’s Daughter_.  He
+translated from Kotzebue, under the name of _Rolla_, the drama superseded
+by Sheridan’s version of the same work as _Pizarro_.  Then came the
+acting, in 1799, of his comedy written in boyhood, _The East Indian_.
+Then came, in the same year, his first opera, _Adelmorn the Outlaw_; then
+a tragedy, _Alfonso_, _King of Castile_.  Of the origin of this tragedy
+Lewis gave a characteristic account.  “Hearing one day,” he said, “my
+introduction of negroes into a feudal baron’s castle” (in _The Castle
+Spectre_) “exclaimed against with as much vehemence as if a dramatic
+anachronism had been an offence undeserving of benefit of clergy, I said
+in a moment of petulance, that to prove of how little consequence I
+esteemed such errors, I would make a play upon the Gunpowder Plot, and
+make Guy Faux in love with the Emperor Charlemagne’s daughter.  By some
+chance or other, this idea fastened itself upon me, and by dint of
+turning it in my mind, I at length formed the plot of _Alfonso_.”
+
+To that time in Lewis’s life belongs this book, _The Bravo of Venice_;
+which was published in 1804, when the writer’s age was twenty-nine.  It
+was written at Inverary Castle, dedicated to the Earl of Moira, and
+received as one of the most perfect little romances of its kind, “highly
+characteristic of the exquisite contrivance, bold colouring, and profound
+mystery of the German school.”  In 1805 Lewis recast it into a melodrama,
+which he called _Rugantino_.
+
+                                                                      H.M.
+
+
+
+
+Book the First.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+VENICE.
+
+
+IT was evening.  Multitudes of light clouds, partially illumined by the
+moonbeams, overspread the horizon, and through them floated the full moon
+in tranquil majesty, while her splendour was reflected by every wave of
+the Adriatic Sea.  All was hushed around; gently was the water rippled by
+the night wind; gently did the night wind sigh through the Colonnades of
+Venice.
+
+It was midnight; and still sat a stranger, solitary and sad, on the
+border of the great canal.  Now with a glance he measured the battlements
+and proud towers of the city; and now he fixed his melancholy eyes upon
+the waters with a vacant stare.  At length he spoke—
+
+“Wretch that I am, whither shall I go?  Here sit I in Venice, and what
+would it avail to wander further?  What will become of me?  All now
+slumber, save myself! the Doge rests on his couch of down; the beggar’s
+head presses his straw pillow; but for _me_ there is no bed except the
+cold, damp earth!  There is no gondolier so wretched but he knows where
+to find work by day and shelter by night—while _I_—while _I_—Oh! dreadful
+is the destiny of which I am made the sport!”
+
+He began to examine for the twentieth time the pockets of his tattered
+garments.
+
+“No! not one paolo, by heavens!—and I hunger almost to death.”
+
+He unsheathed his sword; he waved it in the moonshine, and sighed, as he
+marked the glittering of the steel.
+
+“No, no, my old true companion, thou and I must never part.  Mine thou
+shalt remain, though I starve for it.  Oh, was not that a golden time
+when Valeria gave thee to me, and when she threw the belt over my
+shoulder, I kissed thee and Valeria?  She has deserted us for another
+world, but thou and I will never part in this.”
+
+He wiped away a drop which hung upon his eyelid.
+
+“Pshaw! ’twas not a tear; the night wind is sharp and bitter, and makes
+the eyes water; but as for _tears_—Absurd! my weeping days are over.”
+
+And as he spoke, the unfortunate (for such by his discourse and situation
+he appeared to be) dashed his forehead against the earth, and his lips
+were already unclosed to curse the hour which gave him being, when he
+seemed suddenly to recollect himself.  He rested his head on his elbow,
+and sang mournfully the burthen of a song which had often delighted his
+childhood in the castle of his ancestors.
+
+“Right,” he said to himself; “were I to sink under the weight of my
+destiny, I should be myself no longer.”
+
+At that moment he heard a rustling at no great distance.  He looked
+around, and in an adjacent street, which the moon faintly enlightened, he
+perceived a tall figure, wrapped in a cloak, pacing slowly backwards and
+forwards.
+
+“’Tis the hand of God which hath guided him hither—yes—I’ll—I’ll
+_beg_—better to play the beggar in Venice than the villain in Naples; for
+the beggar’s heart may beat nobly, though covered with rags.”
+
+He then sprang from the ground, and hastened towards the adjoining
+street.  Just as he entered it at one end, he perceived another person
+advancing through the other, of whose approach the first was no sooner
+aware than he hastily retired into the shadow of a piazza, anxious to
+conceal himself.
+
+“What can this mean?” thought our mendicant.  “Is yon eavesdropper one of
+death’s unlicensed ministers?  Has he received the retaining fee of some
+impatient heir, who pants to possess the wealth of the unlucky knave who
+comes strolling along yonder, so careless and unconscious?  Be not so
+confident, honest friend!  I’m at your elbow.”
+
+He retired further into the shade, and silently and slowly drew near the
+lurker, who stirred not from his place.  The stranger had already passed
+them by, when the concealed villain sprang suddenly upon him, raised his
+right hand in which a poniard was gleaming, and before he could give the
+blow, was felled to the earth by the arm of the mendicant.
+
+The stranger turned hastily towards them; the bravo started up and fled;
+the beggar smiled.
+
+“How now?” cried the stranger; “what does all this mean?”
+
+“Oh, ’tis a mere jest, signor, which has only preserved your life.”
+
+“What? my life?  How so?”
+
+“The honest gentleman who has just taken to his heels stole behind you
+with true cat-like caution, and had already raised his dagger, when I saw
+him.  You owe your life to me, and the service is richly worth one little
+piece of money!  Give me some alms, signor, for on my soul I am hungry,
+thirsty, cold.”
+
+“Hence, scurvy companion!  I know you and your tricks too well.  This is
+all a concerted scheme between you, a design upon my purse, an attempt to
+procure both money and thanks, and under the lame pretence of having
+saved me from an assassin.  Go, fellow, go! practise these dainty devices
+on the Doge’s credulity if you will; but with Buonarotti you stand no
+chance, believe me.”
+
+The wretched starving beggar stood like one petrified, and gazed on the
+taunting stranger.
+
+“No, as I have a soul to save, signor, ’tis no lie I tell you!—’tis the
+plain truth; have compassion, or I die this night of hunger.”
+
+“Begone this instant, I say, or by Heaven—”
+
+The unfeeling man here drew out a concealed pistol, and pointed it at his
+preserver.
+
+“Merciful Heaven! and is it thus that services are acknowledged in
+Venice?”
+
+“The watch is at no great distance, I need only raise my voice and—”
+
+“Hell and confusion! do you take me for a robber, then?”
+
+“Make no noise, I tell you.  Be quiet—you had better.”
+
+“Hark you, signor.  Buonarotti is your name, I think?  I will write it
+down as belonging to the second scoundrel with whom I have met in
+Venice.”
+
+He paused for a moment, then continuing in a dreadful voice, “And when,”
+said he, “thou, Buonarotti, shalt hereafter hear the name of
+_Abellino_—_tremble_!”
+
+Abellino turned away, and left the hard-hearted Venetian.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+THE BANDITTI.
+
+
+AND now rushed the unfortunate wildly through the streets of Venice.  He
+railed at fortune; he laughed and cursed by turns; yet sometimes he
+suddenly stood still, seemed as pondering on some great and wondrous
+enterprise, and then again rushed onwards, as if hastening to its
+execution.
+
+Propped against a column of the Signoria, he counted over the whole sum
+of his misfortunes.  His wandering eyeballs appeared to seek comfort, but
+they found it not.
+
+“Fate,” he at length exclaimed in a paroxysm of despair, “Fate has
+condemned me to be either the wildest of adventurers, or one at the
+relation of whose crimes the world must shudder.  To astonish is my
+destiny.  Rosalvo can know no medium; Rosalvo can never act like common
+men.  Is it not the hand of fate which has led me hither?  Who could ever
+have dreamt that the son of the richest lord in Naples should have
+depended for a beggar’s alms on Venetian charity?  I—I, who feel myself
+possessed of strength of body and energy of soul fit for executing the
+most daring deeds, behold me creeping in rags through the streets of this
+inhospitable city, and torturing my wits in vain to discover some means
+by which I may rescue life from the jaws of famine!  Those men whom my
+munificence nourished, who at my table bathed their worthless souls in
+the choicest wines of Cyprus, and glutted themselves with every delicacy
+which the globe’s four quarters could supply, these very men now deny to
+my necessity even a miserable crust of mouldy bread.  Oh, that is
+dreadful, cruel—cruel of men—cruel of Heaven!”
+
+He paused, folded his arms, and sighed.
+
+“Yet will I bear it—I will submit to my destiny.  I will traverse every
+path and go through every degree of human wretchedness; and whate’er may
+be my fate, I will still be myself; and whate’er may be my fate, I will
+still act greatly!  Away, then, with the Count Rosalvo, whom all Naples
+idolised; now—now, I am the beggar Abellino.  A beggar—that name stands
+last in the scale of worldly rank, but first in the list of the
+famishing, the outcast, and the unworthy.”
+
+Something rustled near him.  Abellino gazed around.  He was aware of the
+bravo, whom he struck to the ground that night, and whom two companions
+of a similar stamp had now joined.  As they advanced, they cast inquiring
+glances around them.  They were in search of some one.
+
+“It is of me that they are in search,” said Abellino; then advanced a few
+steps, and whistled.
+
+The ruffians stood still; they whispered together, and seemed to be
+undecided.
+
+Abellino whistled a second time.
+
+“’Tis he,” he could hear one of them say distinctly, and in a moment
+after they advanced slowly towards him.
+
+Abellino kept his place, but unsheathed his sword.  The three unknown
+(they were masked) stopped a few paces from him.
+
+“How now, fellow!” quoth one of them; “what is the matter?  Why stand you
+on your guard?”
+
+_Abellino_.—It is as well that you should be made to keep your distance,
+for I know you; you are certain honest gentlemen, who live by taking away
+the lives of others.
+
+_The First Ruffian_.—Was not your whistling addressed to us?
+
+_Abellino_.—It was.
+
+_A Ruffian_.—And what would you with us?
+
+_Abellino_.—Hear me!  I am a miserable wretch, and starving; give me an
+alms out of your booty!
+
+_A Ruffian_.—An alms?  Ha! ha! ha!  By my soul that is whimsical!—Alms
+from us, indeed!—Oh, by all means!  No doubt, you shall have alms in
+plenty.
+
+_Abellino_.—Or else give me fifty sequins, and I’ll bind myself to your
+service till I shall have worked out my debt.
+
+_A Ruffian_.—Aye? and pray, then, who may you be?
+
+_Abellino_.—A starving wretch, the Republic holds none more miserable.
+Such am I at present; but hereafter—I have powers, knaves.  This arm
+could pierce a heart, though guarded by three breastplates; this eye,
+though surrounded by Egyptian darkness, could still see to stab sure.
+
+_A Ruffian_.—Why, then, did you strike me down, even now?
+
+_Abellino_.—In the hope of being paid for it; but though I saved his
+life, the scoundrel gave me not a single ducat.
+
+_A Ruffian_.—No?  So much the better.  But hark ye, comrade, are you
+sincere?
+
+_Abellino_.—Despair never lies.
+
+_A Ruffian_.—Slave, shouldst thou be a traitor—
+
+_Abellino_.—My heart would be within reach of your hands, and your
+daggers would be as sharp as now.
+
+The three dangerous companions again whispered among themselves for a few
+moments, after which they returned their daggers into the sheath.
+
+“Come on, then,” said one of them, “follow us to our home.  It were
+unwise to talk over certain matters in the open streets.”
+
+“I follow you,” was Abellino’s answer, “but tremble should any one of you
+dare to treat me as a foe.  Comrade, forgive me that I gave your ribs
+somewhat too hard a squeeze just now; I will be your sworn brother in
+recompense.”
+
+“We are on honour,” cried the banditti with one voice; “no harm shall
+happen to you.  He who does you an injury shall be to us as a foe.  A
+fellow of your humour suits us well; follow us, and fear not.”
+
+And on they went, Abellino marching between two of them.  Frequent were
+the looks of suspicion which he cast around him; but no ill design was
+perceptible in the banditti.  They guided him onwards, till they reached
+a canal, loosened a gondola, placed themselves in it, and rowed till they
+had gained the most remote quarter of Venice.  They landed, threaded
+several by-streets, and at length knocked at the door of a house of
+inviting appearance.  It was opened by a young woman, who conducted them
+into a plain but comfortable chamber.  Many were the looks of surprise
+and inquiry which she cast on the bewildered, half-pleased, half-anxious
+Abellino, who knew not whither he had been conveyed, and still thought it
+unsafe to confide entirely in the promises of the banditti.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+THE TRIAL OF STRENGTH.
+
+
+SCARCELY were the bravoes seated, when Cinthia (for that was the young
+woman’s name) was again summoned to the door; and the company was now
+increased by two new-comers, who examined their unknown guest from head
+to foot.
+
+“Now, then,” cried one of these, who had conducted Abellino to this
+respectable society, “let us see what you are like.”
+
+As he said this he raised a burning lamp from the table, and the light of
+its flame was thrown full upon Abellino’s countenance.
+
+“Lord, forgive me my sins!” screamed Cinthia; “out upon him! what an ugly
+hound it is!”
+
+She turned hastily round, and hid her face with her hands.  Dreadful was
+the look with which Abellino repaid her compliment.
+
+“Knave,” said one of the banditti, “Nature’s own hand has marked you out
+for an assassin—come, prithee be frank, and tell us how thou hast
+contrived so long to escape the gibbet?  In what gaol didst thou leave
+thy last fetters?  Or from what galley hast thou taken thy departure,
+without staying to say adieu?”
+
+Abellino, folding his arms—“If I be such as you describe,” said he, with
+an air of authority, and in a voice which made his hearers tremble, “’tis
+for me all the better.  Whate’er may be my future mode of life, Heaven
+can have no right to find fault with it, since it was for that it formed
+and fitted me.”
+
+The five bravoes stepped aside, and consulted together.  The subject of
+their conference is easy to be divined.  In the meanwhile Abellino
+remained quiet and indifferent to what was passing.
+
+After a few minutes they again approached him.  One, whose countenance
+was the most ferocious, and whose form exhibited the greatest marks of
+muscular strength, advanced a few paces before the rest, and addressed
+Abellino as follows:—
+
+“Hear me, comrade.  In Venice there exist but five banditti; you see them
+before you; wilt thou be the sixth?  Doubt not thou wilt find sufficient
+employment.  My name is Matteo, and I am the father of the band: that
+sturdy fellow with the red locks is called Baluzzo; he, whose eyes
+twinkle like a cat’s, is Thomaso, an arch-knave, I promise you; ’twas
+Pietrino whose bones you handled so roughly to-night; and yon
+thick-lipped Colossus, who stands next to Cinthia, is named Stuzza.  Now,
+then, you know us all—and since you are a penniless devil, we are willing
+to incorporate you in our society; but we must first be assured that you
+mean honestly by us.”
+
+Abellino smiled, or rather grinned, and murmured hoarsely—“I am
+starving.”
+
+“Answer, fellow!  Dost thou mean honestly by us?”
+
+“That must the event decide.”
+
+“Mark me, knave; the first suspicion of treachery costs you your life.
+Take shelter in the Doge’s palace, and girdle yourself round with all the
+power of the Republic—though clasped in the Doge’s arms, and protected by
+a hundred cannons, still would we murder you!  Fly to the high altar;
+press the crucifix to your bosom, and even at mid-day, still would we
+murder you.  Think on this well, fellow, and forget not we are banditti!”
+
+“You need not tell me that.  But give me some food, and then I’ll prate
+with you as long as you please.  At present I am starving.
+Four-and-twenty hours have elapsed since I last tasted nourishment.”
+
+Cinthia now covered a small table with her best provisions, and filled
+several silver goblets with delicious wine.
+
+“If one could but look at him without disgust,” murmured Cinthia; “if he
+had but the appearance of something human!  Satan must certainly have
+appeared to his mother, and thence came her child into the world with
+such a frightful countenance.  Ugh! it’s an absolute mask, only that I
+never saw a mask so hideous.”
+
+Abellino heeded her not; he placed himself at the table, and ate and
+drank as if he would have satisfied himself for the next six months.  The
+banditti eyed him with looks of satisfaction, and congratulated each
+other on such a valuable acquisition.
+
+If the reader is curious to know what this same Abellino was like, he
+must picture to himself a young, stout fellow, whose limbs perhaps might
+have been thought not ill-formed, had not the most horrible countenance
+that ever was invented by a caricaturist, or that Milton could have
+adapted to the ugliest of his fallen angels, entirely marred the
+advantages of his person.  Black and shining, but long and straight, his
+hair flew wildly about his brown neck and yellow face.  His mouth so
+wide, that his gums and discoloured teeth were visible, and a kind of
+convulsive twist, which scarcely ever was at rest, had formed its
+expression into an internal grin.  His eye, for he had but one, was sunk
+deep into his head, and little more than the white of it was visible, and
+even that little was overshadowed by the protrusion of his dark and bushy
+eyebrow.  In the union of his features were found collected in one
+hideous assemblage all the most coarse and uncouth traits which had ever
+been exhibited singly in wooden cuts, and the observer was left in doubt
+whether this repulsive physiognomy expressed stupidity of intellect, or
+maliciousness of heart, or whether it implied them both together.
+
+“Now, then, I am satisfied,” roared Abellino, and dashed the still full
+goblet upon the ground.  “Speak! what would you know of me?  I am ready
+to give you answers.”
+
+“The first thing,” replied Matteo, “the first thing necessary is to give
+us a proof of your strength, for this is of material importance in our
+undertakings.  Are you good at wrestling?”
+
+“I know not; try me.”
+
+Cinthia removed the table.
+
+“Now, then, Abellino, which of us will you undertake?  Whom among us dost
+thou think that thou canst knock down as easily as yon poor dabbler in
+the art, Pietrino?”
+
+The banditti burst into a loud fit of laughter.
+
+“Now, then,” cried Abellino, fiercely; “now, then, for the trial.  Why
+come you not on?”
+
+“Fellow,” replied Matteo, “take my advice; try first what you can do with
+me alone, and learn what sort of men you have to manage.  Think you, we
+are marrowless boys, or delicate signors?”
+
+Abellino answered him by a scornful laugh.  Matteo became furious.  His
+companions shouted aloud, and clapped their hands.
+
+“To business!” said Abellino; “I’m now in a right humour for sport!  Look
+to yourselves, my lads.”  And in the same instant he collected his forces
+together, threw the gigantic Matteo over his head as had he been an
+infant, knocked Struzza down on the right hand, and Pietrino on the left,
+tumbled Thomaso to the end of the room head over heels, and stretched
+Baluzzo without animation upon the neighbouring benches.
+
+Three minutes elapsed ere the subdued bravoes could recover themselves.
+Loudly shouted Abellino, while the astonished Cinthia gazed and trembled
+at the terrible exhibition.
+
+“By the blood of St. Januarius!” cried Matteo at length, rubbing his
+battered joints, “the fellow is our master!  Cinthia, take care to give
+him our best chamber.”
+
+“He must have made a compact with the devil!” grumbled Thomaso, and
+forced his dislocated wrist back into its socket.
+
+No one seemed inclined to hazard a second trial of strength.  The night
+was far advanced, or rather the grey morning already was visible over the
+sea.  The banditti separated, and each retired to his chamber.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+THE DAGGERS.
+
+
+ABELLINO, this Italian Hercules, all terrible as he appeared to be, was
+not long a member of this society before his companions felt towards him
+sentiments of the most unbounded esteem.  All loved, all valued him, for
+his extraordinary talents for a bravo’s trade, to which he seemed
+peculiarly adapted, not only by his wonderful strength of body, but by
+the readiness of his wit, and his never-failing presence of mind.  Even
+Cinthia was inclined to feel some little affection for him, but—he really
+was too ugly.
+
+Matteo, as Abellino was soon given to understand, was the captain of this
+dangerous troop.  He was one who carried villainy to the highest pitch of
+refinement, incapable of fear, quick and crafty, and troubled with less
+conscience than a French financier.  The booty and price of blood, which
+his associates brought in daily, were always delivered up to him: he gave
+each man his share, and retained no larger portion for himself than was
+allotted to the others.  The catalogue of those whom he had despatched
+into the other world was already too long for him to have repeated it:
+many names had slipped his memory, but his greatest pleasure in his hour
+of relaxation was to relate such of these murderous anecdotes as he still
+remembered, in the benevolent intention of inspiring his hearers with a
+desire to follow his example.  His weapons were kept separate from the
+rest, and occupied a whole apartment.  Here were to be found daggers of a
+thousand different fashions, _with_ guards and _without_ them; two,
+three, and four-edged.  Here were stored air-guns, pistols, and
+blunderbusses; poisons of various kinds and operating in various ways;
+garments fit for every possible disguise, whether to personate the monk,
+the Jew, or the mendicant; the soldier, the sailor, or the gondolier.
+
+One day he summoned Abellino to attend him in his armoury.
+
+“Mark me,” said he, “thou wilt turn out a brave fellow, that I can see
+already.  It is now time that you should earn that bread for yourself
+which hitherto you have owed to our bounty.  Look!  Here thou hast a
+dagger of the finest steel; you must charge for its use by the inch.  If
+you plunge it only one inch deep into the bosom of his foe, your employer
+must reward you with only one sequin: if two inches, with ten sequins; if
+three, with twenty; if the whole dagger, you may then name your own
+price.  Here is next a glass poniard; whomsoever this pierces, that man’s
+death is certain.  As soon as the blow is given, you must break the
+dagger in the wound.  The flesh will close over the point which has been
+broken off, and which will keep its quarters till the day of
+resurrection!  Lastly, observe this metallic dagger; its cavity conceals
+a subtle poison, which, whenever you touch this spring, will immediately
+infuse death into the veins of him whom the weapon’s point hath wounded.
+Take these daggers.  In giving them I present you with a capital capable
+of bringing home to you most heavy and most precious interest.”
+
+Abellino received the instruments of death, but his hand shook as it
+grasped them.
+
+“Possessed of such unfailing weapons, of what immense sums must your
+robberies have made you master!”
+
+“Scoundrel!” interrupted Matteo, frowning and offended, “amongst us
+robbery is unknown.  What?  Dost take us for common plunderers, for mere
+thieves, cut-purses, housebreakers, and villains of that low, miserable
+stamp?”
+
+“Perhaps what you wish me to take you for is something worse; for, to
+speak openly, Matteo, villains of that stamp are contented within
+plundering a purse or a casket, which can easily be filled again; but
+that which we take from others is a jewel which a man never has but once,
+and which stolen can never be replaced.  Are we not, then, a thousand
+times more atrocious plunderers?”
+
+“By the house at Loretto, I think you have a mind to moralise, Abellino?”
+
+“Hark ye, Matteo, only one question.  At the Day of Judgment, which think
+you will hold his head highest, the thief or the assassin?”
+
+“Ha! ha! ha!”
+
+“Think not that Abellino speaks thus from want of resolution.  Speak but
+the word, and I murder half the senators of Venice; but still—”
+
+“Fool! know, the bravo must be above crediting the nurse’s antiquated
+tales of vice and virtue.  What is virtue?  What is vice?  Nothing but
+such things as forms of government, custom, manners, and education have
+made sacred: and that which men are able to make honourable at one time,
+it is in their power to make dishonourable at another, whenever the
+humour takes them; had not the senate forbidden us to give opinions
+freely respecting the politics of Venice, there would have been nothing
+wrong in giving such opinions; and were the senate to declare that it is
+right to give such opinions, that which to-day is thought a crime would
+be thought meritorious to-morrow.  Then, prithee, let us have no more of
+such doubts as these.  We are men, as much as the Doge and his senators,
+and have reasons as much as _they_ have to lay down the law of right and
+wrong, and to alter the law of right and wrong, and to decree what shall
+be vice, and what shall be virtue.”
+
+Abellino laughed.  Matteo proceeded with increased animation—
+
+“Perhaps you will tell me that your trade is _dishonourable_!  And what,
+then, is the thing called _honour_!   ’Tis a word, an empty sound, a mere
+fantastic creature of the imagination!  Ask, as you traverse some
+frequented street, in what honour consists?  The usurer will answer—’To
+be honourable is to be rich, and he has most honour who can heap up the
+greatest quantity of sequins.’  ’By no means,’ cries the voluptuary;
+‘honour consists in being beloved by a very handsome woman, and finding
+no virtue proof against your attacks.’  ‘How mistaken!’ interrupts the
+general; ‘to conquer whole cities, to destroy whole armies, to ruin all
+provinces, _that_ indeed brings _real_ honour.’  The man of learning
+places his renown in the number of pages which he has either written or
+read; the tinker, in the number of pots and kettles which he has made or
+mended; the nun, in the number of _good_ things which she has done, or
+_bad_ things which she has resisted; the coquette, in the list of her
+admirers; the Republic, in the extent of her provinces; and thus, my
+friend, every one thinks that honour consists in something different from
+the rest.  And why, then, should not the bravo think that honour consists
+in reaching the perfection of his trade, and in guiding a dagger to the
+heart of an enemy with unerring aim?”
+
+“By my life, ’tis a pity, Matteo, that you should be a bravo; the schools
+have lost an excellent teacher of philosophy.”
+
+“Do you think so?  Why, the fact is thus, Abellino.  I was educated in a
+monastery; my father was a dignified prelate in Lucca, and my mother a
+nun of the Ursuline order, greatly respected for her chastity and
+devotion.  Now, Signor, it was thought fitting that I should apply
+closely to my studies; my father, good man, would fain have made me a
+light of the Church; but I soon found that I was better qualified for an
+incendiary’s torch.  I followed the bent of my genius, yet count I not my
+studies thrown away, since they taught me more philosophy than to tremble
+at phantoms created by my own imagination.  Follow my example, friend,
+and so farewell.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+SOLITUDE.
+
+
+ABELLINO had already passed six weeks in Venice, and yet, either from
+want of opportunity, or of inclination, he had suffered his daggers to
+remain idle in their sheaths.  This proceeded partly from his not being
+as yet sufficiently acquainted with the windings and turnings, the
+bye-lanes and private alleys of the town, and partly because he had
+hitherto found no customers, whose murderous designs stood in need of his
+helping hand.
+
+This want of occupation was irksome to him in the extreme; he panted for
+action, and was condemned to indolence.
+
+With a melancholy heart did he roam through Venice, and number every step
+with a sigh.  He frequented the public places, the taverns, the gardens,
+and every scene which was dedicated to amusement.  But nowhere could he
+find what ho sought—tranquillity.
+
+One evening he had loitered beyond the other visitants in a public
+garden, situated on one of the most beautiful of the Venetian islands.
+He strolled from arbour to arbour, threw himself down on the sea-shore,
+and watched the play of the waves as they sparkled in the moonshine.
+
+“Four years ago,” said he, with a sigh, “just such a heavenly evening was
+it, that I stole from Valeria’s lips the first kiss, and heard from
+Valeria’s lips for the first time the avowal that she loved me.”
+
+He was silent, and abandoned himself to the melancholy recollections
+which thronged before his mind’s eye.
+
+Everything around him was so calm, so silent!  Not a single zephyr sighed
+among the blades of grass; but a storm raged in the bosom of Abellino.
+
+“Four years ago could I have believed that a time would come when I
+should play the part of a bravo in Venice!  Oh, where are they flown, the
+golden hopes and plans of glory which smiled upon me in the happy days of
+my youth?  I am a bravo: to be a beggar were to be something better.”
+
+“When my good old father, in the enthusiasm of paternal vanity, so oft
+threw his arms around my neck, and cried, ‘My boy, thou wilt render the
+name of Rosalvo glorious!’  God, as I listened, how was my blood on fire?
+What thought I not, what that was good and great did I not promise myself
+to do!  The father is dead, and the son is a Venetian bravo!  When my
+preceptors praised and admired me, and, carried away by the warmth of
+their feelings, clapped my shoulder, and exclaimed, ‘Count, thou wilt
+immortalise the ancient race of Rosalvo!’  Ha, in those blessed moments
+of sweet delirium, how bright and beauteous stood futurity before me!
+When, happy in the performance of some good deed, I returned home, and
+saw Valeria hasten to receive me with open arms, and when, while she
+clasped me to her bosom I heard her whisper ‘Oh, who could forbear to
+love the great Rosalvo?’  God! oh, God!  Away, away, glorious visions of
+the past.  To look on you drives me mad!”
+
+He was again silent; he bit his lips in fury, raised one emaciated hand
+to heaven, and struck his forehead violently with the other.
+
+“An assassin, the slave of cowards and rascals, the ally of the greatest
+villains that the Venetian sun ever shines upon, such is now the great
+Rosalvo.  Fie, ah, fie on’t; and yet to this wretched lot hath fatality
+condemned me.”
+
+Suddenly he sprang from the ground after a long silence; his eyes
+sparkled, his countenance was changed; he drew his breath easier.
+
+“Yes, by Heaven, yes.  Great as Count Rosalvo, that can I be no longer;
+but from being great as a Venetian bravo, what prevents me?  Souls in
+bliss,” he exclaimed, and sank on his knee, while he raised his folded
+hands to heaven, as if about to pronounce the most awful oath, “Spirit of
+my father; spirit of Valeria, I will not become unworthy of you.  Hear
+me, if your ghosts are permitted to wander near me, hear me swear that
+the bravo shall not disgrace the origin, nor render vain the hopes which
+soothed you in the bitterness of death.  No, sure as I live, I will be
+the only dealer in this miserable trade, and posterity shall be compelled
+to honour that name, which my actions shall render illustrious.”
+
+He bowed his forehead till it touched the earth, and his tears flowed
+plenteously.  Vast conceptions swelled his soul; he dwelt on wondrous
+views, till their extent bewildered his brain; yet another hour elapsed,
+and he sprang from the earth to realise them.
+
+“I will enter into no compact against human nature with five miserable
+cut-throats.  _Alone_ will I make the Republic tremble, and before eight
+days are flown, these murderous knaves shall swing upon a gibbet.  Venice
+shall no longer harbour _five_ banditti; _one_ and _one_ only shall
+inhabit here, and that one shall beard the Doge himself, shall watch over
+right and wrong, and according as he judges, shall reward and punish.
+Before eight days are flown, the State shall be purified from the
+presence of these outcasts of humanity, and then shall I stand here
+alone.  Then must every villain in Venice, who hitherto has kept the
+daggers of my companions in employment, have recourse to me; then shall I
+know the names and persons of all those cowardly murderers, of all those
+illustrious profligates, with whom Matteo and his companions carry on the
+trade of blood.  And then—Abellino!  Abellino, that is the name.  Hear
+it, Venice, hear it, and tremble.”
+
+Intoxicated with the wildness of his hopes, he rushed out of the garden.
+He summoned a gondolier, threw himself into the boat, and hastened to the
+dwelling of Cinthia, where the inhabitants already were folded in the
+arms of sleep.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+ROSABELLA, THE DOGE’S LOVELY NIECE.
+
+
+“HARK, comrade,” said Matteo the next morning to Abellino; “to-day thou
+shalt make thy first step in our profession.”
+
+“To-day!” hoarsely murmured Abellino; “and on whom am I to show my
+skill?”
+
+“Nay, to say truth, ’tis but a woman; but one must not give too difficult
+a task to a young beginner.  I will myself accompany you, and see how you
+conduct yourself in the first trial.”
+
+“Hum!” said Abellino, and measured Matteo with his eye from head to foot.
+
+“To-day, about four o’clock, thou shalt follow me to Dolabella’s gardens,
+which are situated on the south side of Venice.  We must both be
+disguised, you understand.  In these gardens are excellent baths; and
+after using the baths, the Doge’s niece, the lovely Rosabella of Corfu,
+frequently walks without attendants.  And then—you conceive me?”
+
+“And you will accompany me?”
+
+“I will be a spectator of your first adventure; ’tis thus I deal by every
+one.”
+
+“And how many inches deep must I plunge my dagger?”
+
+“To the hilt, boy, to the very hilt!  Her death is required, and the
+payment will be princely; Rosabella in the grave, we are rich for life.”
+
+Every other point was soon adjusted.  Noon was now past, the clock in the
+neighbouring church of the Benedictines struck four, and Mattes and
+Abellino were already forth.  They arrived at the gardens of Dolabella,
+which that day were unusually crowded.  Every shady avenue was thronged
+with people of both sexes; every arbour was occupied by persons most
+distinguished in Venice.  In every corner sighed lovesick couples, as
+they waited for the wished approach of twilight; and on every side did
+strains of vocal and instrumental music pour their harmony on the
+enchanted ear.
+
+Abellino mingled with the crowd.  A most respectable looking peruke
+concealed the repulsive ugliness of his features; he imitated the walk
+and manners of a gouty old man, and supported himself by a crutch, as he
+walked slowly through the assembly.  His habit, richly embroidered,
+procured for him universally a good reception, and no one scrupled to
+enter into conversation with him respecting the weather, the commerce of
+the Republic, or the designs of its enemies; and on none of these
+subjects was Abellino found incapable of sustaining the discourse.
+
+By these means he soon contrived to gain intelligence that Rosabella was
+certainly in the gardens, how she was habited, and in what quarter he was
+most likely to find her.
+
+Thither he immediately bent his course; and hard at his heels followed
+Matteo.
+
+Alone, and in the most retired arbour, sat Rosabella of Corfu, the
+fairest maid in Venice.
+
+Abellino drew near the arbour; he tottered, as he passed its entrance,
+like one oppressed with sudden faintness, and attracted Rosabella’s
+attention.
+
+“Alas, alas!” cried he, “is there no one at hand who will take compassion
+on the infirmity of a poor old man?”
+
+The Doge’s fair niece quitted the arbour hastily, and flew to give
+assistance to the sufferer.
+
+“What ails you, my good father?” she inquired in a melodious voice, and
+with a look of benevolent anxiety.
+
+Abellino pointed towards the arbour; Rosabella led him in, and placed him
+on a seat of turf.
+
+“God reward you, lady,” stammered Abellino, faintly.  He raised his eyes;
+they met Rosabella’s, and a blush crimsoned her pale cheeks.
+
+Rosabella stood in silence before the disguised assassin, and trembled
+with tender concern for the old man’s illness; and oh, that expression of
+interest ever makes a lovely women look so much more lovely!  She bent
+her delicate form over the man who was bribed to murder her, and after a
+while asked him, in gentlest tone, “Are you not better?”
+
+“Better?” stammered the deceiver, with a feeble voice, “better—oh, yes,
+yes, yes.  You—you are the Doge’s niece—the noble Rosabella of Corfu?”
+
+“The same, my good old man.”
+
+“Oh, lady, I have somewhat to tell you.  Be on your guard, Start not!
+What I would say is of the utmost consequence, and demands the utmost
+prudence.  Ah, God, that there should live men so cruel!  Lady, your life
+is in danger.”
+
+The maiden started back; the colour fled from her cheeks.
+
+“Do you wish to behold your assassin?  You shall not die, but if you
+value your life, be silent.”
+
+Rosabella knew not what to think; the presence of the old man terrified
+her.
+
+“Fear nothing, lady, fear nothing; you have nothing to fear, while I am
+with you.  Before you quit this arbour you shall see the assassin expire
+at your feet.”
+
+Rosabella made a movement as if she would have fled; but suddenly the
+person who sat beside her was no longer an infirm old man.  He who a
+minute before had scarcely strength to mutter out a few sentences, and
+reclined against the arbour trembling like an aspen, sprang up with the
+force of a giant, and drew her back with one arm.
+
+“For the love of heaven!” she cried, “release me.  Let me fly!”
+
+“Lady, fear nothing; _I_ protect you.”  This said, Abellino placed a
+whistle at his lips, and blew it shrilly.
+
+Instantly sprang Matteo from his concealment in a neighbouring clump of
+trees, and rushed into the arbour.  Abellino threw Rosabella on the bank
+of turf, advanced a few steps to meet Matteo, and plunged his dagger in
+his heart.
+
+Without uttering a single cry, sank the banditti captain at the feet of
+Abellino: the death-rattle was heard in his throat, and after a few
+horrible convulsions all was over.
+
+Now did Matteo’s murderer look again towards the arbour, and beheld
+Rosabella half senseless, as she lay on the bank of turf.
+
+“Your life is safe, beautiful Rosabella,” said he; “there lies the
+villain bleeding, who conducted me hither to murder you.  Recover
+yourself; return to your uncle, the Doge, and tell him that you owe your
+life to Abellino.”
+
+Rosabella could not speak.  Trembling, she stretched her arms towards
+him, grasped his hand, and pressed it to her lips in silent gratitude.
+
+Abellino gazed with delight and wonder on the lovely sufferer; and in
+such a situation, who could have beheld her without emotion?  Rosabella
+had scarcely numbered seventeen summers; her light and delicate limbs,
+enveloped in a thin white garment, which fell around her in a thousand
+folds; her blue and melting eyes, whence beamed the expression of purest
+innocence; her forehead, white as ivory, overshadowed the ringlets of her
+bright dark hair; cheeks, whence terror had now stolen the roses; such
+was Rosabella, a creature in whose formation partial Nature seemed to
+have omitted nothing which might constitute the perfection of female
+loveliness—such was she; and being such, the wretched Abellino may be
+forgiven if for some few minutes he stood like one enchanted, and
+bartered for those few minutes the tranquillity of his heart for ever.
+
+“By Him who made me,” cried he at length, “oh! thou art fair, Rosabella;
+Valeria was not fairer.”
+
+He bowed himself down to her, and imprinted a burning kiss on the pale
+cheeks of the beauty.
+
+“Leave me, thou dreadful man,” she stammered in terror; “oh, leave me.”
+
+“Ah, Rosabella, why art thou so beauteous, and why am I—Knowest thou who
+kissed thy cheek, Rosabella?  Go, tell thy uncle, the proud Doge—_’Twas
+the bravo_, _Abellino_,” he said, and rushed out of the arbour.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+THE BRAVO’S BRIDE.
+
+
+IT was not without good reason that Abellino took his departure in such
+haste.  He had quitted the spot but a few minutes, when a large party
+accidentally strolled that way, and discovered with astonishment the
+corpse of Matteo, and Rosabella pale and trembling in the arbour.
+
+A crowd immediately collected itself round them.  It increased with every
+moment, and Rosabella was necessitated to repeat what had happened to her
+for the satisfaction of every newcomer.
+
+In the meanwhile some of the Doge’s courtiers, who happened to be among
+the crowd, hastened to call her attendants together; her gondola was
+already waiting for her, and the terrified girl soon reached her uncle’s
+palace in safety.
+
+In vain was an embargo laid upon every other gondola; in vain did they
+examine every person who was in the gardens of Dolabella at the time,
+when the murdered assassin was first discovered.  No traces could be
+found of Abellino.
+
+The report of this strange adventure spread like wildfire through Venice.
+Abellino, for Rosabella had preserved but too well in her memory that
+dreadful name, and by the relation of her danger had given it universal
+publicity, Abellino was the object of general wonder and curiosity.
+Every one pitied the poor Rosabella for what she had suffered, execrated
+the villain who had bribed Matteo to murder her, and endeavoured to
+connect the different circumstances together by the help of one
+hypothesis or other, among which it would have been difficult to decide
+which was the most improbable.
+
+Every one who heard the adventure, told it again, and every one who told
+it, added something of his own, till at length it was made into a
+complete romantic novel, which might have been entitled with great
+propriety, “The Power of Beauty;” for the Venetian gentlemen and ladies
+had settled the point among themselves completely to their own
+satisfaction, that Abellino would undoubtedly have assassinated
+Rosabella, had he not been prevented by her uncommon beauty.  But though
+Abellino’s interference had preserved her life, it was doubted much
+whether this adventure would be at all relished by her destined
+bridegroom, the Prince of Monaldeschi, a Neapolitan of the first rank,
+possessed of immense wealth and extensive influence.  The Doge had for
+some time been secretly engaged in negotiating a match between his niece
+and this powerful nobleman, who was soon expected to make his appearance
+at Venice.  The motive of his journey, in spite of all the Doge’s
+precautions, had been divulged, and it was no longer a secret to any but
+Rosabella, who had never seen the prince, and could not imagine why his
+expected visit should excite such general curiosity.
+
+Thus far the story had been told much to Rosabella’s credit; but at
+length the women began to envy her for her share in the adventure.  The
+kiss which she had received from the bravo afforded them an excellent
+opportunity for throwing out a few malicious insinuations.  “She received
+a great service,” said one, “and there’s no saying how far the fair
+Rosabella in the warmth of gratitude may have been carried in rewarding
+her preserver.”  “Very true,” observed another, “and for my part, I think
+it not very likely that the fellow, being alone with a pretty girl, whose
+life he had just saved, should have gone away contented with a single
+kiss.”  “Come, come,” interrupted a third, “do not let us judge
+uncharitably; the fact may be exactly as the lady relates it, though I
+_must_ say, that gentlemen of Abellino’s profession are not usually so
+pretty-behaved, and that this is the first time I ever heard of a bravo
+in the Platonics.”
+
+In short, Rosabella and the horrible Abellino furnished the indolent and
+gossiping Venetians with conversation so long, that at length the Doge’s
+niece was universally known by the honourable appellation of the “Bravo’s
+Bride.”
+
+But no one gave himself more trouble about this affair than the Doge, the
+good but proud Andreas.  He immediately issued orders that every person
+of suspicious appearance should be watched more closely than ever, the
+night patrols were doubled, and spies were employed daily in procuring
+intelligence of Abellino; and yet all was in vain.  Abellino’s retreat
+was inscrutable.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+THE CONSPIRACY.
+
+
+“CONFUSION!” exclaimed Parozzi, a Venetian nobleman of the first rank, as
+he paced his chamber with a disordered air on the morning after Matteo’s
+murder; “now all curses light upon the villain’s awkwardness; yet it
+seems inconceivable to me how all this should have fallen out so
+untowardly.  Has any one discovered my designs?  I know well that Verrino
+loves Rosabella.  Was it he who opposed this confounded Abellino to
+Matteo, and charged him to mar my plans against her?  That seems likely;
+and now, when the Doge inquires who it was that employed assassins to
+murder his niece, what other will be suspected than Parozzi, the
+discontented lover, to whom Rosabella refused her hand, and whom Andreas
+hates past hope of reconciliation?  And now, having once found the
+scent—Parozzi!  Parozzi! should the crafty Andreas get an insight into
+your plans, should he learn that you have placed yourself at the head of
+a troop of hare-brained youths—hare-brained may I well call children—who,
+in order to avoid the rod, set fire to their paternal mansions.  Parozzi,
+should all this be revealed to Andreas—?”
+
+Here his reflections were interrupted.  Memmo, Falieri, and Contarino
+entered the room, three young Venetians of the highest rank, Parozzi’s
+inseparable companions, men depraved both in mind and body, spendthrifts,
+voluptuaries, well known to every usurer in Venice, and owing more than
+their paternal inheritance would ever admit of their paying.
+
+“Why, how is this, Parozzi?” cried Memmo as he entered, a wretch whose
+every feature exhibited marks of that libertinism to which his life had
+been dedicated; “I can scarce recover myself from my astonishment.  For
+Heaven’s sake, is this report true?  Did you really hire Matteo to murder
+the Doge’s niece?”
+
+“I?” exclaimed Parozzi, and hastily turned away to hide the deadly
+paleness which overspread his countenance; “why should you suppose that
+any such designs—surely, Memmo, you are distracted.”
+
+_Memmo_.—By my soul, I speak but the plain matter of fact.  Nay, only ask
+Falieri; he can tell you more.
+
+_Falieri_.—Faith, it is certain, Parozzi, that Lomellino has declared to
+the Doge as a truth beyond doubting that you, and none but you, were the
+person who instigated Matteo to attempt Rosabella’s life.
+
+_Parozzi_.—And I tell you again that Lomellino knows not what he says.
+
+_Contarino_.—Well, well, only be upon your guard.  Andreas is a terrible
+fellow to deal with.
+
+_Falieri_.—_He_ terrible.  I tell you he is the most contemptible
+blockhead that the universe can furnish!  Courage perhaps he possesses,
+but of brains not an atom.
+
+_Contarino_.—And _I_ tell you that Andreas is as brave as a lion, and as
+crafty as a fox.
+
+_Falieri_.—Pshaw! pshaw!  Everything would go to rack and ruin were it
+not for the wiser heads of this triumvirate of counsellors, whom Heaven
+confound!  Deprive him of Paolo Manfrone, Conari, and Lomellino, and the
+Doge would stand there looking as foolish as a schoolboy who was going to
+be examined and had forgotten his lesson.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Falieri is in the right.
+
+_Memmo_.—Quite, quite.
+
+_Falieri_.—And then Andreas is as proud as a beggar grown rich and
+dressed in his first suit of embroidery.  By St. Anthony, he is become
+quite insupportable.  Do you not observe how he increases the number of
+his attendants daily?
+
+_Memmo_.—Nay, that is an undoubted fact.
+
+_Contarino_.—And then, to what an unbounded extent has he carried his
+influence.  The Signoria, the Quaranti, the Procurators of St. Mark, the
+Avocatori, all think and act exactly as it suits the Doge’s pleasure and
+convenience!  Every soul of them depends as much on that one man’s honour
+and caprices as puppets do who nod or shake their wooden heads just as
+the fellow behind the curtain thinks proper to move the wires.
+
+_Parozzi_.—And yet the populace idolises this Andreas.
+
+_Memmo_.—Ay, that is the worst part of the story.
+
+_Falieri_.—But never credit me again if he does not experience a reverse
+of fortune speedily.
+
+_Contarino_.—That might happen would we but set our shoulders to the
+wheel stoutly.  But what do we do?  We pass our time in taverns; drink
+and game, and throw ourselves headlong into such an ocean of debts, that
+the best swimmer must sink at last.  Let us resolve to make the attempt.
+Let us seek recruits on all sides; let us labour with all our might and
+main.  Things must change, or if they do not, take my word for it, my
+friends, this world is no longer a world for us.
+
+_Memmo_.—Nay, it’s a melancholy truth, that during the last half-year my
+creditors have been ready to beat my door down with knocking.  I am
+awakened out of my sleep in the morning, and lulled to rest again at
+night with no other music than their eternal clamour.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Ha! ha! ha!  As for me, I need not tell you how I am suited.
+
+_Falieri_.—Had we been less extravagant, we might at this moment have
+been sitting quietly in our palaces; but as things stand now—
+
+_Parozzi_.—Well, as things stand now—I verily believe that Falieri is
+going to moralise.
+
+_Contarino_.—That is ever the way with old sinners when they have lost
+the power to sin any longer.  Then they are ready enough to weep over
+their past life, and talk loudly about repentance and reformation.  Now,
+for my own part, I am perfectly well satisfied with my wanderings from
+the common beaten paths of morality and prudence.  They serve to convince
+me that I am not one of your every-day men, who sit cramped up in the
+chimney-corner, lifeless, phlegmatic, and shudder when they hear of any
+extraordinary occurrence.  Nature evidently has intended me to be a
+libertine, and I am determined to fulfil my destination.  Why, if spirits
+like ours were not produced every now and then, the world would
+absolutely go fast asleep, but we rouse it by deranging the old order of
+things, force mankind to quicken their snail’s pace, furnish a million of
+idlers with riddles which they puzzle their brains about without being
+able to comprehend, infuse some hundreds of new ideas into the heads of
+the great multitude, and, in short, are as useful to the world as
+tempests are, which dissipate those exhalations with which Nature
+otherwise would poison herself.
+
+_Falieri_.—Excellent sophistry, by my honour.  Why, Contarino, ancient
+Rome has had an irreparable loss in not having numbered you among her
+orators.  It is a pity, though, that there should be so little that’s
+solid wrapped up in so many fine-sounding words.  Now learn that while
+you, with this rare talent of eloquence, have been most unmercifully
+wearing out the patience of your good-natured hearers, Falieri has been
+in _action_.  The Cardinal Gonzaga is discontented with the
+government—Heaven knows what Andreas has done to make him so vehemently
+his enemy—but, in short, Gonzaga now belongs to our party.
+
+_Parozzi_ (with astonishment and delight).—Falieri, are you in your
+senses?  The Cardinal Gonzaga—?
+
+_Falieri_.—Is ours, and ours both body and soul.  I confess I was first
+obliged to rhodomontade a good deal to him about our patriotism, our
+glorious designs, our love for freedom, and so forth; in short, Gonzaga
+is a hypocrite, and therefore is Gonzaga the fitter for us.
+
+_Contarino_ (clasping Falieri’s hand).—Bravo, my friend!  Venice shall
+see a second edition of Catiline’s conspiracy.  Now, then, it is _my_
+turn to speak, for I have not been idle since we parted.  In truth, I
+have as yet _caught_ nothing, but I have made myself master of an
+all-powerful net, with which I doubt not to capture the best half of
+Venice.  You all know the Marchioness Olympia?
+
+_Parozzi_.—Does not each of us keep a list of the handsomest women in the
+Republic, and can we have forgotten number one?
+
+_Falieri_.—Olympia and Rosabella are the goddesses of Venice; our youths
+burn incense on no other altars.
+
+_Contarino_.—Olympia is my own.
+
+_Falieri_.—How?
+
+_Parozzi_.—Olympia?
+
+_Contarino_.—Why, how now?  Why stare ye as had I prophesied to you that
+the skies were going to fall?  I tell you Olympia’s heart is mine, and
+that I possess her entire and most intimate confidence.  Our connection
+must remain a profound secret, but depend on it, whatever _I_ wish _she_
+wishes also; and you know she can make half the nobility in Venice dance
+to the sound of her pipe, let her play what tune she pleases.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Contarino, you are our master.
+
+_Contarino_.—And you had not the least suspicion how powerful an ally I
+was labouring to procure for you?
+
+_Parozzi_.—I must blush for myself while I listen to you, since as yet I
+have done nothing.  Yet this I must say in my excuse: Had Matteo, bribed
+by my gold, accomplished Rosabella’s murder, the Doge would have been
+robbed of that chain with which he holds the chief men in Venice attached
+to his government.  Andreas would have no merit, were Rosabella once
+removed.  The most illustrious families would care no longer for his
+friendship with their hopes of a connection with him by means of his
+niece buried in her grave.  Rosabella will one day be the Doge’s heiress.
+
+_Memmo_.—All that I can do for you in this business is to provide you
+with pecuniary supplies.  My old miserable uncle, whose whole property
+becomes mine at his death, has brimful coffers, and the old miser dies
+whenever I say the word.
+
+_Falieri_.—You have suffered him to live too long already.
+
+_Memmo_.—Why, I never have been able to make up my mind entirely to—You
+would scarcely believe it, friends, but at times I am so hypochondriac,
+that I could almost fancy I feel twinges of conscience.
+
+_Contarino_.—Indeed.  Then take my advice, go into a monastery.
+
+_Memmo_.—Our care first must be to find out our old acquaintances,
+Matteo’s companions: yet, having hitherto always transacted business with
+them through their captain, I know not where they are to be met with.
+
+_Parozzi_.—As soon as they are found, their first employment must be the
+removal of the Doge’s trio of advisers.
+
+_Contarino_.—That were an excellent idea, if it were as easily done as
+said.  Well, then, my friends, this principal point at least is decided.
+Either we will bury our debts under the ruins of the existing
+constitution of the Republic, or make Andreas a gift of our heads towards
+strengthening the walls of the building.  In either case, we shall at
+least obtain quiet.  Necessity, with her whip of serpents, has driven us
+to the very highest point of her rock, whence we must save ourselves by
+some act of extraordinary daring, or be precipitated on the opposite side
+into the abyss of shame and eternal oblivion.  The next point to be
+considered is, how we may best obtain supplies for our necessary
+expenses, and induce others to join with us in our plans.  For this
+purpose we must use every artifice to secure in our interests the
+courtesans of the greatest celebrity in Venice.  What _we_ should be
+unable to effect by every power of persuasion, banditti by their daggers,
+and princes by their treasuries, can one of those Phrynes accomplish with
+a single look.  Where the terrors of the scaffold are without effect, and
+the exhortations of the priests are heard with coldness, a wanton look
+and a tender promise often perform wonders.  The bell which sounded the
+hour of assignation has often rang the knell of the most sacred
+principles and most steadfast resolutions.  But should you either fail to
+gain the mastery over the minds of these women, or fear to be yourselves
+entangled in the nets which you wish to spread for others, in these cases
+you must have recourse to the holy father confessors.  Flatter the pride
+of these insolent friars; paint for them upon the blank leaf of futurity
+bishops’ mitres, patriarchal missions, the hats of cardinals, and the
+keys of St. Peter; my life upon it, they will spring at the bait, and you
+will have them completely at your disposal.  These hypocrites who govern
+the consciences of the bigoted Venetians, hold man and woman, the noble
+and the mendicant, the Doge and the gondolier, bound fast in the chains
+of superstition, by which they can head them wheresoever it best suits
+their pleasure.  It will save us tons of gold in gaining over proselytes,
+and keeping their consciences quiet when gained, if we can but obtain the
+assistance of the confessors, whose blessings and curses pass with the
+multitude for current coin.  Now, then, to work, comrades, and so
+farewell.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+CINTHIA’S DWELLING.
+
+
+SCARCELY had Abellino achieved the bloody deed which employed every
+tongue in Venice, when he changed his dress and whole appearance with so
+much expedition and success as to prevent the slightest suspicion of his
+being Matteo’s murderer.  He quitted the gardens unquestioned, nor left
+the least trace which could lead to a discovery.
+
+He arrived at Cinthia’s dwelling.  It was already evening.  Cinthia
+opened the door, and Abellino entered the common apartment.
+
+“Where are the rest?” said he in a savage tone of voice whose sound made
+Cinthia tremble.
+
+“They have been asleep,” she answered, “since mid-day.  Probably they
+mean to go out on some pursuit to-night.”  Abellino threw himself into a
+chair, and seemed to be lost in thought.
+
+“But why are you always so gloomy, Abellino?” said Cinthia, drawing near
+him; “it’s that which makes you so ugly.  Prithee away with those frowns;
+they make your countenance look worse than nature made it?”
+
+Abellino gave no answer.
+
+“Really, you are enough to frighten a body!  Come, now, let us be
+friends, Abellino; I begin not to dislike you, and to endure your
+appearance; and I don’t know but—”
+
+“Go, wake the sleepers!” roared the bravo.
+
+“The sleepers?  Pshaw, let them sleep on, the stupid rogues.  Sure you
+are not afraid to be alone with me?  Mercy on me, one would think I
+looked as terrible as yourself?  Do I?  Nay, look on me, Abellino.”
+
+Cinthia, to say the truth, was by no means an ill-looking girl; her eyes
+were bright and expressive; the hair fell in shining ringlets over her
+bosom; her lips were red and full, and she bowed them towards Abellino’s.
+But Abellino’s were still sacred by the touch of Rosabella’s cheek.  He
+started from his seat, and removed, yet gently, Cinthia’s hand, which
+rested on his shoulder.
+
+“Wake the sleepers, my good girl,” said he, “I must speak with them this
+moment.”
+
+Cinthia hesitated.
+
+“Nay, go,” said he, in a fierce voice.
+
+Cinthia retired in silence; yet as she crossed the threshold, she stopped
+for an instant and menaced him with her finger.
+
+Abellino strode through the chamber with hasty steps, his head reclining
+on his shoulder, his arms folded over his breast.
+
+“The first step is taken,” said he to himself.  “There is one moral
+monster the less on earth.  I have committed no sin by this murder; I
+have but performed a sacred duty.  Aid me, thou Great and Good, for
+arduous is the task before me.  Ah, should that task be gone through with
+success, and Rosabella be the reward of my labours—Rosabella?  What,
+shall the Doge’s niece bestow on the outcast Abellino?  Oh, madman that I
+am to hope it, never can I reach the goal of my wishes!  No, never was
+there frenzy to equal mine.  To attach myself at first sight to—Yet
+Rosabella alone is capable of thus enchanting at first sight—Rosabella
+and Valeria?  To be beloved by two such women—Yet, though ’tis impossible
+to attain, the striving to attain such an end is glorious.  Illusions so
+delightful will at least make me happy for a moment, and alas, the
+wretched Abellino needs so many illusions that for a moment will make him
+happy!  Oh, surely, knew the world what I gladly would accomplish, the
+world would both love and pity me.”
+
+Cinthia returned; the four bravoes followed her, yawning, grumbling, and
+still half asleep.
+
+“Come, come!” said Abellino, “rouse yourselves, lads.  Before I say
+anything, be convinced that you are wide awake, for what I am going to
+tell you is so strange that you would scarce believe it in a dream.”
+
+They listened to him with an air of indifference and impatience.
+
+“Why, what’s the matter now?” said Thomaso, while he stretched himself.
+
+“Neither more nor less than that our honest, hearty, brave Matteo is
+murdered.”
+
+“What, murdered!” every one exclaimed, and gazed with looks of terror on
+the bearer of this unwelcome news; while Cinthia gave a loud scream, and,
+clasping her hands together, sank almost breathless into a chair.
+
+A general silence prevailed for some time.
+
+“Murdered!” at length repeated Thomaso, “and by whom?”
+
+_Baluzzo_.—Where?
+
+_Pietrino_.—What? this forenoon?
+
+_Abellino_.—In the gardens of Dolabella, where he was found bleeding at
+the feet of the Doge’s niece.  Whether he fell by her hand, or by that of
+one of her admirers, I cannot say.
+
+_Cinthia_ (weeping).—Poor dear Matteo.
+
+_Abellino_.—About this time to-morrow you will see his corpse exhibited
+on the gibbet.
+
+_Pietrino_.—What!  Did any one recognise him?
+
+_Abellino_.—Yes, yes! there’s no doubt about his trade, you may depend
+on’t.
+
+_Cinthia_.—The gibbet!  Poor dear Matteo!
+
+_Thomaso_.—This is a fine piece of work.
+
+_Baluzzo_.—Confound the fellow, who would have thought of anything
+happening so unlucky?
+
+_Abellino_.—Why, how now?  You seem to be overcome.
+
+_Struzza_.—I cannot recover myself; surprise and terror have almost
+stupefied me.
+
+_Abellino_.—Indeed!  By my life, when I heard the news I burst into
+laughter.  “Signor Matteo,” said I, “I wish your worship joy of your safe
+arrival.”
+
+_Thomaso_.—What?
+
+_Struzza_.—You laughed?  Hang me if I can see what there is to laugh at.
+
+_Abellino_.—Why, surely you are not afraid of receiving what you are so
+ready to bestow on others?  What is your object?  What can we expect as
+our reward at the end of our labours except the gibbet or the rock?  What
+memorials of our actions shall we leave behind us, except our skeletons
+dancing in the air, and the chains which rattle round them?  He who
+chooses to play the bravo’s part on the great theatre of the world must
+not be afraid of death, whether it comes at the hands of the physician or
+the executioner.  Come, come, pluck up your spirits, comrades.
+
+_Thomaso_.—That’s easy to say, but quite out of my power.
+
+_Pietrino_.—Mercy on me, how my teeth chatter.
+
+_Baluzzo_.—Prithee, Abellino, be composed for a moment or two, your
+gaiety at a time like this is quite horrible.
+
+_Cinthia_.—Oh, me! oh, me!  Poor murdered Matteo.
+
+_Abellino_.—Hey-day.  Why, what is all this! Cinthia, my life, are you
+not ashamed of being such a child?  Come, let you and I renew that
+conversation which my sending you to wake these gentlemen interrupted.
+Sit down by me, sweetheart, and give me a kiss.
+
+_Cinthia_.—Out upon you, monster.
+
+_Abellino_.—What, have you altered your mind, my pretty dear?  Well,
+well, with all my heart, when _you_ are in the humour, perhaps _I_ may
+not have the inclination.
+
+_Baluzzo_.—Death and the devil, Abellino, is this a time for talking
+nonsense?  Prithee keep such trash for a fitter occasion, and let us
+consider what we are to do just now.
+
+_Pietrino_.—Nay, this is no season for trifling.
+
+_Struzza_.—Tell us, Abellino; you are a clever fellow; what course is it
+best for us to take?
+
+_Abellino_ (after a pause).—Nothing must be done, or a great deal.  One
+of two things we must choose.  Either we must remain _where_ we are, and
+_what_ we are, murder honest men to please any rascal who will give us
+gold and fair words, and make up our minds to be hung, broken on the
+wheel, condemned to the galleys, burnt alive, crucified, or beheaded, at
+the long run, just as it may seem best to the supreme authority; or else—
+
+_Thomaso_.—Or else?  Well?
+
+_Abellino_.—Or else we must divide the spoils which are already in our
+possession, quit the Republic, begin a new and better life, and endeavour
+to make our peace with Heaven.  We have already wealth enough to make it
+unnecessary for us to ask how shall we get our bread?  You may either buy
+an estate in some foreign country, or keep _Osteria_, or engage in
+commerce, or set up some trade, or, in short, do whatever you like best,
+so that you do but abandon the profession of an assassin.  Then we may
+look out for a wife among the pretty girls of our own rank in life,
+become the happy fathers of sons and daughters may eat and drink in peace
+and security, and make amends by the honesty of our future lives for the
+offences of our past.
+
+_Thomaso_.—Ha! ha! ha!
+
+_Abellino_.—What _you_ do, that will _I_ do too; I will either hang or be
+broken on the wheel along with you, or become an honest man, just as you
+please.  Now, then, what is your decision?
+
+_Thomaso_.—Was there ever such a stupid counsellor.
+
+_Pietrino_.—Our decision?  Nay, the point’s not very difficult to decide.
+
+_Abellino_.—I should have thought it _had_ been.
+
+_Thomaso_.—Without more words, then, I vote for our remaining as we are,
+and carrying on our old trade; that will bring us plenty of gold, and
+enable us to lead a jolly life.
+
+_Pietrino_.—Right, lad, you speak my thoughts exactly.
+
+_Thomaso_.—We are bravoes, it’s true; but what then?  We are honest
+fellows, and the devil take him who dares to say we are not.  However, at
+any rate, we must keep within doors for a few days, lest we should be
+discovered; for I warrant you the Doge’s spies are abroad in search of us
+by this.  But as soon as the pursuit is over, be it our first business to
+find out Matteo’s murderer, and throttle him out of hand as a warning to
+all others.
+
+_All_.—Bravo, bravissimo.
+
+_Pietrino_.—And from this day forth I vote that Thomaso should be our
+captain.
+
+_Struzza_.—Aye, in Matteo’s stead.
+
+_All_.—Right, right.
+
+_Abellino_.—To which I say amen with all my heart.  Now, then, all is
+decided.
+
+
+
+
+Book the Second.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+THE BIRTHDAY.
+
+
+IN solitude and anxiety, with barred windows and bolted doors, did the
+banditti pass the day immediately succeeding Matteo’s murder; every
+murmur in the street appeared to them a cause of apprehension; every
+footstep which approached their doors made them tremble till it had
+passed them.
+
+In the meanwhile the ducal palace blazed with splendour and resounded
+with mirth.  The Doge celebrated the birthday of his fair niece,
+Rosabella; and the feast was honoured by the presence of the chief
+persons of the city, of the foreign ambassadors, and of many illustrious
+strangers who were at that time resident in Venice.
+
+On this occasion no expense had been spared, no source of pleasure had
+been neglected.  The arts contended with each other for superiority; the
+best poets in Venice celebrated this day with powers excelling anything
+which they had before exhibited, for the subject of their verses was
+Rosabella; the musicians and _virtuosi_ surpassed all their former
+triumphs, for their object was to obtain the suffrage of Rosabella.  The
+singular union of all kinds of pleasure intoxicated the imagination of
+every guest; and the genius of delight extended his influence over the
+whole assembly, over the old man and the youth, over the matron and the
+virgin.
+
+The venerable Andreas had seldom been in such high spirits as on this
+occasion.  He was all life; smiles of satisfaction played round his lips;
+gracious and condescending to every one, he made it his chief care to
+prevent his rank from being felt.  Sometimes he trifled with the ladies,
+whose beauty formed the greatest ornament of this entertainment;
+sometimes he mingled among the masks, whose fantastic appearance and
+gaiety of conversation enlivened the ball-room by their variety; at other
+times he played chess with the generals and admirals of the Republic; and
+frequently he forsook everything to gaze with delight on Rosabella’s
+dancing, or listen in silent rapture to Rosabella’s music.
+
+Lomellino, Conari, and Paolo Manfrone, the Doge’s three confidential
+friends and counsellors, in defiance of their grey hairs, mingled in the
+throng of youthful beauties, flirted first with one and then with
+another, and the arrows of raillery were darted and received on both
+sides with spirit and good humour.
+
+“Now, Lomellino,” said Andreas to his friend, who entered the saloon in
+which the Doge was at that time accidentally alone with his niece, “you
+seem in gayer spirits this evening than when we were lying before
+Scardona, and had so hard a game to play against the Turks.”
+
+_Lomellino_.—I shall not take upon me to deny that, signor.  I still
+think with a mixture of terror and satisfaction on the night when we took
+Scardona, and carried the half-moon before the city walls.  By my soul,
+our Venetians fought like lions.
+
+_Andreas_.—Fill this goblet to their memory, my old soldier; you have
+earned your rest bravely.
+
+_Lomellino_.—Aye, signor, and oh, it is so sweet to rest on laurels.  But
+in truth, ’tis to you that I am indebted for mine; it is you who have
+immortalised me.  No soul on earth would have known that Lomellino
+existed, had he not fought in Dalmatia and Sicilia under the banners of
+the great Andreas, and assisted him in raising eternal trophies in honour
+of the Republic.
+
+_Andreas_.—My good Lomellino, the Cyprus wine must have heated your
+imagination.
+
+_Lomellino_.—Nay, I know well I ought not to call you great, and praise
+you thus openly to your face; but faith, signor, I am grown too old for
+it to be worth my while to flatter.  That is a business which I leave to
+our young courtiers, who have never yet come within the smell of powder,
+and never have fought for Venice and Andreas.
+
+_Andreas_.—You are an old enthusiast.  Think you the Emperor is of the
+same opinion?
+
+_Lomellino_.—Unless Charles the Fifth is deceived by those about him, or
+is too proud to allow the greatness of an enemy, he must say, perforce,
+“There is but one man on earth whom I fear, and who is worthy to contend
+with me, and that man is Andreas.”
+
+_Andreas_.—I suspect he will be sorely displeased when he receives my
+answer to the message by which he notified to me the imprisonment of the
+French king.
+
+_Lomellino_.—Displeased he will be, signor, no doubt of it; but what
+then?  Venice need not fear his displeasure, while Andreas still lives.
+But when you and your heroes are once gone to your eternal rest—then,
+alas for thee, poor Venice.  I fear your golden times will soon come to
+their conclusion.
+
+_Andreas_.—What!  Have we not many young officers of great promise?
+
+_Lomellino_.—Alas, what are most of them?  Heroes in the fields of Venus.
+Heroes at a drinking-bout.  Effeminate striplings, relaxed both in mind
+and body.  But how am I running on, forgetful.  Ah, when one is grown
+old, and conversing with an Andreas, it is easy to forget everything
+else.  My lord, I sought you with a request, a request, too, of
+consequence.
+
+_Andreas_.—You excite my curiosity.
+
+_Lomellino_.—About a week ago there arrived here a young Florentine
+nobleman called Flodoardo, a youth of noble appearance and great promise.
+
+_Andreas_.—Well?
+
+_Lomellino_.—His father was one of my dearest friends.  He is dead now,
+the good old generous nobleman.  In our youth we served together on board
+the same vessel, and many a turbaned head has fallen beneath his sword.
+Ah, he was a brave soldier.
+
+_Andreas_.—While celebrating the father’s bravery, you seem to have quite
+forgotten the son.
+
+_Lomellino_.—His son is arrived in Venice, and wishes to enter into the
+service of the Republic.  I entreat you, give the young man some
+respectable situation; he will prove the boast of Venice when we shall be
+in our graves, on that would I hazard my existence.
+
+_Andreas_.—Has he sense and talent?
+
+_Lomellino_.—That he has; a heart like his father’s.  Will it please you
+to see and converse with him?  He is yonder, among the masks in the great
+saloon.  One thing I must tell you, as a specimen of his designs.  He has
+heard of the banditti who infest Venice, and he engages that the first
+piece of service which he renders the Republic shall be the delivering
+into the hands of justice those concealed assassins, who hitherto have
+eluded the vigilance of our police.
+
+_Andreas_.—Indeed!  I doubt that promise will be too much for his power
+to perform.  Flodoardo, I think you called him?  Tell him I would speak
+with him.
+
+_Lomellino_.—Oh! then I have gained at least the _half_ of my cause, and
+I believe the _whole_ of it, for to see Flodoardo and not to like him is
+as difficult as to look at Paradise and not wish to enter.  To see
+Flodoardo and to hate him is as unlikely as that a blind man should hate
+the kind hand which removes the cataract from his eyes, and pours upon
+them the blessings of light and beauties of nature.
+
+_Andreas_ (smiling).—In the whole course of our acquaintance, Lomellino,
+never did I hear you so enthusiastic!  Go, then, conduct this prodigy
+hither.
+
+_Lomellino_.—I hasten to find him.  And as for you, signora, look to
+yourself! look to yourself, I say!
+
+_Rosabella_.—Nay, prithee, Lomellino, bring your hero hither without
+delay; you have raised my curiosity to the height.
+
+Lomellino quitted the saloon.
+
+_Andreas_.—How comes it that you rejoin not the dancers, my child?
+
+_Rosabella_.—I am weary, and, besides, curiosity now detains me here, for
+I would fain see this Flodoardo, whom Lomellino thinks deserving of such
+extraordinary praise.  Shall I tell you the truth, my dear uncle?  I
+verily believe that I am already acquainted with him.  There was a mask
+in a Grecian habit, whose appearance was so striking, that it was
+impossible for him to remain confounded with the crowd.  The least
+attentive eye must have singled him out from among a thousand.  It was a
+tall light figure, so graceful in every movement; then his dancing was
+quite perfection.
+
+_Andreas_ (smiling, and threatening with his finger).—Child, child!
+
+_Rosabella_.—Nay, my dear uncle, what I say is mere justice; it is
+possible, indeed, that the Greek and the Florentine may be two different
+persons, but still, according to Lomellino’s description—Oh! look, dear
+uncle, only look yonder; there stands the Greek, as I live.
+
+_Andreas_.—And Lomellino is with him; they approach.  Rosabella, you have
+made a good guess.
+
+The Doge had scarcely ceased to speak, when Lomellino entered the room,
+conducting a tall young man, richly habited in the Grecian fashion.
+
+“My gracious lord,” said Lomellino, “I present to you the Count
+Flodoardo, who humbly sues for your protection.”
+
+Flodoardo uncovered his head in token of respect, took off his mask, and
+bowed low before the illustrious ruler of Venice.
+
+_Andreas_.—I understand you are desirous of serving the Republic?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—That is my ambition, should your Highness think me deserving
+of such an honour.
+
+_Andreas_.—Lomellino speaks highly of you; if all that he says be true,
+how came you to deprive your own country of your services?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—Because my own country is not governed by an Andreas.
+
+_Andreas_.—You have intentions, it seems, of discovering the haunts of
+the banditti, who for some time past have caused so many tears to flow in
+Venice?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—If your Highness would deign to confide in me, I would
+answer with my head for their delivery into the hands of your officers,
+and that speedily.
+
+_Andreas_.—That were much for a stranger to perform.  I would fain make
+the trial whether you can keep your word.
+
+_Flodoardo_.—That is sufficient.  To-morrow, or the day after at least,
+will I perform my promise.
+
+_Andreas_.—And you make that promise so resolutely?  Are you aware, young
+man, how dangerous a task it is to surprise these miscreants?  They are
+never to be found when sought for, and always present when least
+expected; they are at once everywhere and nowhere.  There exists not a
+nook in Venice which our spies are not acquainted with, or have left
+unexamined, and yet has our police endeavoured in vain to discover the
+place of their concealment.
+
+_Flodoardo_.—I know all this, and to know it rejoices me, since it
+affords me an opportunity of convincing the Doge of Venice, that my
+actions are not those of a common adventurer.
+
+_Andreas_.—Perform your promise, and then let me hear of you.  For the
+present our discourse shall end here, for no unpleasant thoughts must
+disturb the joy to which this day is dedicated.  Rosabella, would you not
+like to join the dancers?  Count, I confide her to your care.
+
+_Flodoardo_.—I could not be entrusted with a more precious charge.
+
+Rosabella, during this conversation, had been leaning against the back of
+her uncle’s chair.  She repeated to herself Lomellino’s assertion, “that
+to see Flodoardo, and not to like him, was as difficult as to look at
+Paradise and not wish to enter;” and while she gazed on the youth, she
+allowed that Lomellino had not exaggerated.  When her uncle desired
+Flodoardo to conduct her to the dancers, a soft blush overspread her
+cheek, and she doubted whether she should accept or decline the hand
+which was immediately offered.
+
+And to tell you my real opinion, my fair ladies, I suspect that very few
+of you would have been more collected than Rosabella, had you found
+yourselves similarly situated.  In truth, such a form as Flodoardo’s; a
+countenance whose physiognomy seemed a passport at once to the hearts of
+all who examined it; features so exquisitely fashioned that the artist
+who wished to execute a model of manly beauty, had he imitated them,
+would have had nothing to supply or improve; features, every one of which
+spoke so clearly, “The bosom of this youth contains the heart of a hero.”
+Ah, ladies, my dear ladies, a man like this might well make some little
+confusion in the head and heart of a poor young girl, tender and
+unsuspicious!
+
+Flodoardo took Rosabella’s hand, and led her into the ball-room.  Here
+all was mirth and splendour, the roofs re-echoed with the full swell of
+harmony, and the floor trembled beneath the multitude of dancers, who
+formed a thousand beautiful groups by the blaze of innumerable lustres.
+Yes, Flodoardo and Rosabella passed on in silence till they reached the
+extreme end of the great saloon.  Here they stopped, and remained before
+an open window.  Some minutes passed, and still they spoke not.
+Sometimes they gazed on each other, sometimes on the dancers, sometimes
+on the moon; and then again they forgot each other, the dancers, and the
+moon, and were totally absorbed in themselves.
+
+“Lady,” said Flodoardo, at length, “can there be a greater misfortune?”
+
+“A misfortune?” said Rosabella, starting as if suddenly awaking from a
+dream; “what misfortune, signor?  Who is unfortunate?”
+
+“He who is doomed to behold the joys of Elysium and never to possess
+them.  He who dies of thirst and sees a cup stand full before him, but
+which he knows is destined for the lips of another.”
+
+“And are you, my lord, this outcast from Elysium?  Are you the thirsty
+one who stands near the cup which is filled for another?  Is it thus that
+you wish me to understand your speech?”
+
+“You understand it as I meant: and now tell me, lovely Rosabella, am I
+not indeed unfortunate?”
+
+“And where, then, is the Elysium which you must never possess?”
+
+“Where Rosabella is, there is indeed Elysium.  You are not offended,
+signora?” said Flodoardo, and took her hand with an air of respectful
+tenderness.  “Has this openness displeased you?”
+
+“You are a native of Florence, Count Flodoardo.  In Venice we dislike
+this kind of compliment: at least I dislike them, and wish to hear them
+from no one less than from you.”
+
+“By my life, signora, I spoke but as I thought! my words concealed no
+flattery.”
+
+“See, the Doge enters the saloon with Manfrone and Lomellino: he will
+seek us among the dancers.  Come, let us join them.”
+
+Flodoardo followed her in silence.  The dance began.  Heavens! how lovely
+looked Rosabella, as she glided along to the sweet sounds of music,
+conducted by Flodoardo.  How handsome looked Flodoardo, as, lighter than
+air, he flew down the dance, while his brilliant eyes saw no object but
+Rosabella.
+
+He was still without his mask, and bareheaded: but every eye glanced away
+from the helmets and _barettes_, waving with plumes, and sparkling with
+jewels, to gaze on Flodoardo’s raven locks, as they floated on the air in
+wild luxuriance.  A murmur of admiration rose from every corner of the
+saloon, but it rose unmarked by those who were the objects of it.
+Neither Rosabella nor Flodoardo at that moment formed a wish to be
+applauded, except by each other.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+THE FLORENTINE STRANGER.
+
+
+TWO evenings had elapsed since the Doge’s entertainment.  On the second,
+Parozzi sat in his own apartment, with Memmo and Falieri.  Dimly burnt
+the lights; lowering and tempestuous were the skies without; gloomy and
+fearful were the souls of the libertines within.
+
+_Parozzi_ (after a long silence).—What, are you both dreaming?  Ho,
+there, Memmo, Falieri, fill your goblets.
+
+_Memmo_ (with indifference).—Well, to please you—.  But I care not for
+wine to-night.
+
+_Falieri_.—Nor I.  Methinks it tastes like vinegar: yet the wine itself
+is good: ’tis our ill temper spoils it.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Confound the rascals.
+
+_Memmo_.—What, the banditti?
+
+_Parozzi_.—Not a trace of them can be found.  It is enough to kill one
+with vexation.
+
+_Falieri_.—And in the meanwhile the time runs out, our projects will get
+wind, and then we shall sit quietly in the State prisons of Venice,
+objects of derision to the populace and ourselves.  I could tear my flesh
+for anger.  (A universal silence.)
+
+_Parozzi_ (striking his hand against the table passionately).—Flodoardo,
+Flodoardo.
+
+_Falieri_.—In a couple of hours I must attend the Cardinal Gonzaga, and
+what intelligence shall I have to give him?
+
+_Memmo_.—Come, come, Contarino cannot have been absent so long without
+cause; I warrant you he will bring some news with him when he arrives.
+
+_Falieri_.—Pshaw, pshaw!  My life on’t he lies at this moment at
+Olympia’s feet, and forgets us, the Republic, the banditti, and himself.
+
+_Parozzi_.—And so neither of you know anything of this Flodoardo?
+
+_Memmo_.—No more than of what happened on Rosabella’s birthday.
+
+_Falieri_.—Well, then, I know one thing more about him; Parozzi is
+jealous of him.
+
+_Parozzi_.—I?  Ridiculous, Rosabella may bestow her hand on the German
+Emperor, or a Venetian gondolier, without its giving me the least
+anxiety.
+
+_Falieri_.—Ha! ha! ha!
+
+_Memmo_.—Well, one thing at least even envy must confess; Flodoardo is
+the handsomest man in Venice.  I doubt whether there’s a woman in the
+city who can resist him.
+
+_Parozzi_.—And I should doubt it too, if women had as little sense as you
+have, and looked only at the shell without minding the kernel—
+
+_Memmo_.—Which unluckily is exactly the thing which women always do—
+
+_Falieri_.—The old Lomellino seems to be extremely intimate with this
+Flodoardo.  They say he was well acquainted with his father.
+
+_Memmo_.—It was he who presented him to the Doge.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Hark!—Surely some one knocked at the palace door?
+
+_Memmo_.—It can be none but Contarino.  Now, then, we shall hear whether
+he has discovered the banditti.
+
+_Falieri_ (starting from his chair).—I’ll swear to that footstep, it’s
+Contarino.
+
+The doors were thrown open.  Contarino entered hastily, enveloped in his
+cloak.
+
+“Good evening, sweet gentlemen,” said he, and threw his mantle aside.
+And Memmo, Parozzi, and Falieri started back in horror.
+
+“Good God!” they exclaimed, “what has happened?  You are covered with
+blood?”
+
+“A trifle!” cried Contarino; “is that wine? quick, give me a goblet of
+it, I expire with thirst.”
+
+_Falieri_ (while he gives him a cup).—But, Contarino, you bleed?
+
+_Contarino_.—You need not tell me that.  I did not do it myself, I
+promise you.
+
+_Parozzi_.—First let us bind up your wounds, and then tell us what has
+happened to you.  It is as well that the servants should remain ignorant
+of your adventure; I will be your surgeon myself.
+
+_Contarino_.—What has happened to me, say you?  Oh! a joke, gentlemen, a
+mere joke.  Here, Falieri, fill the bowl again.
+
+_Memmo_.—I can scarcely breathe for terror.
+
+_Contarino_.—Very possibly; neither should I, were I Memmo instead of
+being Contarino.  The wound bleeds plenteously it’s true, but it’s by no
+means dangerous (he tore open his doublet, and uncovered his bosom).
+There, look, comrades; you see it’s only a cut of not more than two
+inches deep.
+
+_Memmo_ (shuddering).—Mercy on me! the very sight of it makes my blood
+run cold.
+
+Parozzi brought ointments and linen, and bound up the wound of his
+associate.
+
+_Contarino_.—Old Horace is in the right.  A philosopher can be anything
+he pleases, a cobbler, a king, or a physician.  Only observe with what
+dignified address the philosopher Parozzi spreads that plaster for me.  I
+thank you, friend; that’s enough: and now, comrades, place yourselves in
+a circle round me, and listen to the wonders which I am going to relate.
+
+_Falieri_.—Proceed.
+
+_Contarino_.—As soon as it was twilight, I stole out, wrapped in my
+cloak, determined if possible to discover some of the banditti.  I knew
+not their persons, neither were they acquainted with mine.  An
+extravagant undertaking, perhaps, you will tell me; but I was resolved to
+convince you that everything which a man _determines_ to do, may be done.
+I had some information respecting the rascals, though it was but slight,
+and on these grounds I proceeded.  I happened by mere accident to stumble
+upon a gondolier, whose appearance excited my curiosity.  I fell into
+discourse with him.  I was soon convinced that he was not ignorant of the
+lurking-place of the bravoes, and by means of some gold and many fair
+speeches, I at length brought him to confess that though not regularly
+belonging to the band, he had occasionally been employed by them.  I
+immediately made a bargain with him; he conducted me in his gondola
+through the greatest part of Venice, sometimes right, sometimes left,
+till I lost every idea as to the quarter of the town in which I found
+myself.  At length he insisted on binding my eyes with his handkerchief,
+and I was compelled to submit.  Half an hour elapsed before the gondola
+stopped.  He told me to descend, conducted me through a couple of
+streets, and at length knocked at a door, where he left me still
+blindfolded.  The door was opened; my business was inquired with great
+caution, and after some demur I was at length admitted.  The handkerchief
+was now withdrawn from my eyes, and I found myself in a small chamber,
+surrounded by four men of not the most creditable appearance, and a young
+woman, who (it seems) had opened the door for me.
+
+_Falieri_.—You are a daring fellow, Contarino.
+
+_Contarino_.—Here was no time to be lost.  I instantly threw my purse on
+the table, promised them mountains of gold, and fixed on particular days,
+hours, and signals which were necessary to facilitate our future
+intercourse.  For the present I only required that Manfrone, Conari, and
+Lomellino should be removed with all possible expedition.
+
+_All_.—Bravo.
+
+_Contarino_.—So far everything went exactly as we could have wished, and
+one of my new associates was just setting out to guide me home, when we
+were surprised by an unexpected visit.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Well?
+
+_Memmo_ (anxiously).—Go on, for God’s sake!
+
+_Contarino_.—A knocking was heard at the door; the girl went to inquire
+the cause.  In an instant she returned pale as a corpse, and “Fly! fly!”
+cried she.
+
+_Falieri_.—What followed?
+
+_Contarino_.—Why then followed a whole legion of sbirri and
+police-officers, and who should be at their head but the Florentine
+stranger.
+
+_All_.—Flodoardo?  What, Flodoardo?
+
+_Contarino_.—Flodoardo.
+
+_Falieri_.—What demon could have guided him thither?
+
+_Parozzi_.—Hell and furies!  Oh, that I had been there.
+
+_Memmo_.—There, now, Parozzi, you see at least that Flodoardo is no
+coward.
+
+_Falieri_.—Hush, let us hear the rest.
+
+_Contarino_.—We stood as if we had been petrified; not a soul could stir
+a finger.  “In the name of the Doge and the Republic,” cried Flodoardo,
+“yield yourselves and deliver your arms.”  “The devil shall yield himself
+sooner than we,” exclaimed one of the banditti, and forced a sword from
+one of the officers.  The others snatched their muskets from the walls;
+and as for me, my first care was to extinguish the lamp so that we could
+not tell friends from foes.  But still the confounded moonshine gleamed
+through the window-shutters, and shed a partial light through the room.
+“Look to yourself, Contarino,” thought I; “if you are found here, you
+will be hanged for company,” and I drew my sword and made a plunge at
+Flodoardo; but, however well intended, my thrust was foiled by his sabre,
+which he whirled around with the rapidity of lightning.  I fought like a
+madman, but all my skill was without effect on this occasion, and before
+I was aware of it, Flodoardo ripped open my bosom.  I felt myself
+wounded, and sprang back.  At that moment two pistols were fired, and the
+flash discovered to me a small side door, which they had neglected to
+beset.  Through this I stole unperceived into the adjoining chamber,
+burst open the grated window, sprang below unhurt, crossed a courtyard,
+climbed two or three garden walls, gained the canal, where a gondola
+fortunately was waiting, persuaded the boatman to convey me with all
+speed to the Place of St. Mark, and thence hastened hither, astonished to
+find myself still alive.  There’s an infernal adventure for you.
+
+_Parozzi_.—I shall go mad.
+
+_Falieri_.—Everything we design is counteracted; the more trouble we give
+ourselves, the further we are from the goal.
+
+_Memmo_.—I confess it seems to me as if Heaven gave us warning to desist.
+How say you?
+
+_Contarino_.—Pshaw, these are trifles!  Such accidents should only serve
+to sharpen our wits.  The more obstacles I encounter, the firmer is my
+resolution to surmount them.
+
+_Falieri_.—Do the banditti know who you are?
+
+_Contarino_.—No; they are not only ignorant of my name, but suppose me to
+be a mere instrument of some powerful man, who has been injured by the
+ducal confederates.
+
+_Memmo_.—Well, Contarino, in my mind you should thank Heaven that you
+have escaped so well.
+
+_Falieri_.—But since he is an absolute stranger in Venice, how could
+Flodoardo discover the lurking place of the banditti?
+
+_Contarino_.—I know not; probably by mere accident like myself, but by
+the Power that made me, he shall pay dearly for this wound.
+
+_Falieri_.—Flodoardo is rather too hasty in making himself remarked.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Flodoardo must die.
+
+_Contarino_ (filling a goblet).—May his next cup contain poison.
+
+_Falieri_.—I shall do myself the honour of becoming better acquainted
+with the gentleman.
+
+_Contarino_.—Memmo, we must needs have full purses, or our business will
+hang on hand wofully.
+
+When does your uncle take his departure to a better world?
+
+_Memmo_.—To-morrow evening, and yet—ugh, I tremble.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+MORE CONFUSION.
+
+
+SINCE Rosabella’s birthday, no woman in Venice who had the slightest
+pretensions to beauty, or the most remote expectations of making
+conquests, had any subject of conversation except the handsome
+Florentine.  He found employment for every female tongue, and she who
+dared not to employ her tongue, made amends for the privation with her
+thoughts.  Many a maiden now enjoyed less tranquil slumbers; many an
+experienced coquette sighed as she laid on her colour at the looking
+glass; many a prude forgot the rules which she had imposed upon herself,
+and daily frequented the gardens and walks in which report gave her the
+hope of meeting Flodoardo.
+
+But from the time that, placing himself at the head of the sbirri, he had
+dared to enter boldly the den of the banditti, and seize them at the
+hazard of his life, he was scarcely more an object of attention among the
+women than among the men.  Greatly did they admire his courage and
+unshaken presence of mind while engaged in so perilous an adventure; but
+still more were they astonished at his penetration in discovering where
+the bravoes concealed themselves, an attempt which foiled even the keen
+wits of the so much celebrated police of Venice.
+
+The Doge Andreas cultivated the acquaintance of this singular young man
+with increasing assiduity; and the more he conversed with him, the more
+deserving of consideration did Flodoardo appear.  The action by which he
+had rendered the Republic a service so essential was rewarded by a
+present that would not have disgraced Imperial gratitude, and one of the
+most important offices of the State was confided to his superintendence.
+
+Both favours were conferred unsolicited, but no sooner was the Florentine
+apprised of the Doge’s benevolent care of him, than with modesty and
+respect he requested to decline the proposed advantages.  The only favour
+which he requested was, to be permitted to live free and independent in
+Venice during a year, at the end of which he promised to name that
+employment which he esteemed the best adapted to his abilities and
+inclination.
+
+Flodoardo was lodged in the magnificent palace of his good old patron,
+Lomellino, here he lived in the closest retirement, studied the most
+valuable parts of ancient and modern literature, remained for whole days
+together in his own apartment, and was seldom to be seen in public except
+upon some great solemnity.
+
+But the Doge, Lomellino, Manfrone, and Conari, men who had established
+the fame of Venice on so firm a basis that it would require centuries to
+undermine it; men in whose society one seemed to be withdrawn from the
+circle of ordinary mortals, and honoured by the intercourse of superior
+beings, men who now graciously received the Florentine stranger into
+their intimacy, and resolved to spare no pains in forming him to support
+the character of a great man; it could not long escape the observation of
+men like these, that Flodoardo’s gaiety was assumed, and that a secret
+sorrow preyed upon his heart.
+
+In vain did Lomellino, who loved him like a father, endeavour to discover
+the source of his melancholy; in vain did the venerable Doge exert
+himself to dispel the gloom which oppressed his young favourite.
+Flodoardo remained silent and sad.
+
+And Rosabella?  Rosabella would have belied her sex had she remained gay
+while Flodoardo sorrowed.  Her spirits were flown, her eyes were
+frequently obscured with tears.  She grew daily paler and paler, till the
+Doge, who doted on her, was seriously alarmed for her health.  At length
+Rosabella grew really ill; a fever fixed itself upon her; she became
+weak, and was confined to her chamber, and her complaint baffled the
+skill of the most experienced physicians in Venice.
+
+In the midst of these unpleasant circumstances in which Andreas and his
+friends now found themselves, an incident occurred one morning, which
+raised their uneasiness to the very highest pitch.  Never had so bold and
+audacious an action been heard of in Venice, as that which I am going to
+relate.
+
+The four banditti, whom Flodoardo had seized, Pietrino, Struzza, Baluzza,
+and Thomaso, had been safely committed to the Doge’s dungeons, where they
+underwent a daily examination, and looked upon every sun that rose as the
+last that would ever rise for _them_.  Andreas and his confidential
+counsellors now flattered themselves that the public tranquillity had
+nothing more to apprehend, and that Venice was now completely purified of
+the miscreants, whom gold could bribe to be the instruments of revenge
+and cruelty; when all at once the following address was discovered,
+affixed to most of the remarkable statues, and pasted against the corners
+of the principal streets, and pillars of the public buildings:—
+
+                                 “VENETIANS!
+
+    “Struzza, Thomaso, Pietrino, Baluzza, and Matteo, five as brave men
+    as the world ever produced, who, had they stood at the head of
+    armies, would have been called _heroes_, and now being called
+    _banditti_, are fallen victims to the injustice of State policy.
+    These men, it is true, exist for you no longer; but their place is
+    supplied by him, whose name is affixed to this paper, and who will
+    stand by his employers with body and with soul.  I laugh at the
+    vigilance of the Venetian police; I laugh at the crafty and insolent
+    Florentine, whose hand has dragged his brethren to the rack.  Let
+    those who need me, seek me; they will find me everywhere!  Let those
+    who seek me with the design of delivering me up to the law, despair
+    and tremble; they will find me nowhere, but _I_ shall find _them_,
+    and that when they least expect me!  Venetians, you understand me!
+    Woe to the man who shall attempt to discover me; his life and death
+    depend upon my pleasure.  This comes from the Venetian Bravo,
+    ABELLINO.”
+
+“A hundred sequins,” exclaimed the incensed Doge, on reading the paper,
+“a hundred sequins to him who discovers this monster Abellino, and a
+thousand to him who delivers him up to justice.”
+
+But in vain did spies ransack every lurking place in Venice; no Abellino
+was to be found.  In vain did the luxurious, the avaricious, and the
+hungry stretch their wits to the utmost, incited by the tempting promise
+of a thousand sequins.  Abellino’s prudence set all their ingenuity at
+defiance.
+
+But not the less did every one assert that he had recognised Abellino,
+sometimes in one disguise, and sometimes in another, as an old man, a
+gondolier, a woman, or a monk.  Everybody had seen him somewhere; but,
+unluckily, nobody could tell where he was to be seen again.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+THE VIOLET.
+
+
+I INFORMED my readers, in the beginning of the last chapter, that
+Flodoardo was become melancholy, and that Rosabella was indisposed, but I
+did not tell them what had occasioned this sudden change.
+
+Flodoardo, who on his first arrival at Venice was all gaiety, and the
+life of every society in which he mingled, lost his spirits on one
+particular day; and it so happened that it was on the very same day that
+Rosabella betrayed the first symptoms of indisposition.
+
+For on this unlucky day did the caprice of accident, or perhaps the
+Goddess of Love (who has her caprices too every now and then), conduct
+Rosabella into her uncle’s garden, which none but the Doge’s intimate
+friends were permitted to enter; and where the Doge himself frequently
+reposed in solitude and silence during the evening hours of a sultry day.
+
+Rosabella, lost in thought, wandered listless and unconscious along the
+broad and shady alleys of the garden.  Sometimes, in a moment of
+vexation, she plucked the unoffending leaves from the hedges and strewed
+them upon the ground; sometimes she stopped suddenly, then rushed forward
+with impetuosity, then again stood still, and gazed upon the clear blue
+heaven.  Sometimes her beautiful bosom was heaved with quick and
+irregular motion, and sometimes a half-suppressed sigh escaped from her
+lips of coral.
+
+“He is very handsome!” she murmured, and gazed with such eagerness on
+vacancy, as though she had there seen something which was hidden from the
+sight of common observers.
+
+“Yet Camilla is in the right,” she resumed, after a pause, and she
+frowned as had she said that Camilla was in the wrong.
+
+This Camilla was her governess, her friend, her confidante, I may almost
+say her mother.  Rosabella had lost her parents early.  Her mother died
+when her child could scarcely lisp her name; and her father, Guiscardo of
+Corfu, the commander of a Venetian vessel, eight years before had
+perished in an engagement with the Turks, while he was still in the prime
+of life.  Camilla, one of the worthiest creatures that ever dignified the
+name of woman, supplied to Rosabella the place of mother, had brought her
+up from infancy, and was now her best friend, and the person to whose ear
+she confided all her little secrets.
+
+While Rosabella was still buried in her own reflections, the excellent
+Camilla advanced from a side path, and hastened to join her pupil.
+Rosabella started.
+
+_Rosabella_.—Ah! dear Camilla, is it you?  What brings you hither?
+
+_Camilla_.—You often call me your guardian angel, and guardian angels
+should always be near the object of their care.
+
+_Rosabella_.—Camilla, I have been thinking over your arguments; I cannot
+deny that all you have said to me is very true, and very wise, but still—
+
+_Camilla_.—But still, though your prudence agrees with me, your heart is
+of a contrary opinion.
+
+_Rosabella_.—It is, indeed.
+
+_Camilla_.—Nor do I blame your heart for differing from me, my poor girl.
+I have acknowledged to you without disguise that were _I_ at your time of
+life, and were such a man as Flodoardo to throw himself in my way, I
+could not receive his attentions with indifference.  It cannot be denied
+that this young stranger is uncommonly pleasing, and, indeed, for any
+woman whose heart is disengaged, an uncommonly _dangerous_ companion.
+There is something very prepossessing in his appearance, his manners are
+elegant, and short as has been his abode in Venice, it is already past
+doubting that there are many noble and striking features in his
+character.  But alas, after all, he is but a poor nobleman, and it is not
+very probable that the rich and powerful Doge of Venice will ever bestow
+his niece on one who, to speak plainly, arrived here little better than a
+beggar.  No, no, child, believe me, a romantic adventurer is no fit
+husband for Rosabella of Corfu.
+
+_Rosabella_.—Dear Camilla, who was talking about husbands?  What I feel
+for Flodoardo is merely affection, friendship.
+
+_Camilla_.—Indeed!  Then you would be perfectly satisfied, should some
+one of our wealthy ladies bestow her hand on Flodoardo?
+
+_Rosabella_ (hastily).—Oh! Flodoardo would not _accept_ her hand,
+Camilla; of that I am sure.
+
+_Camilla_.—Child, child, you would willingly deceive yourself.  But be
+assured that a girl who loves ever connects, perhaps unconsciously, the
+wish for an eternal _union_ with the idea of eternal _affection_.  Now
+this is a wish which you cannot indulge in regard to Flodoardo without
+seriously offending your uncle, who, good man as he is, must still submit
+to the severe control of politics and etiquette.
+
+_Rosabella_.—I know all that, Camilla, but can I not make you comprehend
+that I am not in love with Flodoardo, and do not mean to be in love with
+him, and that love has nothing at all to do in the business?  I repeat to
+you, what I feel for him is nothing but sincere and fervent friendship;
+and surely Flodoardo deserves that I should feel that sentiment for him.
+Deserves it, said I?  Oh, what does Flodoardo _not_ deserve?
+
+_Camilla_.—Ay, ay, friendship, indeed, and love.  Oh, Rosabella, you know
+not how often these deceivers borrow each other’s mask to ensnare the
+hearts of unsuspecting maidens.  You know not how often love finds
+admission, when wrapped in friendship’s cloak, into that bosom, which,
+had he approached under his own appearance, would have been closed
+against him for ever.  In short, my child, reflect how much you owe to
+your uncle; reflect how much uneasiness this inclination would cost him;
+and sacrifice to duty what at present is a mere caprice, but which, if
+encouraged, might make too deep an impression on your heart to be
+afterwards removed by your best efforts.
+
+_Rosabella_.—You say right, Camilla.  I really believe myself that my
+prepossession in Flodoardo’s favour is merely an accidental fancy, of
+which I shall easily get the better.  No, no; I am not in love with
+Flodoardo—of that you may rest assured.  I even think that I rather feel
+an antipathy towards him, since you have shown me the possibility of his
+making me prove a cause of uneasiness to my kind, my excellent uncle.
+
+_Camilla_ (smiling).—Are your sentiments of duty and gratitude so very
+strong?
+
+_Rosabella_.—Oh, that they are, Camilla; and so you will say yourself
+hereafter.  This disagreeable Flodoardo—to give me so much vexation!  I
+wish he had never come to Venice.  I declare I do not like him at all.
+
+_Camilla_.—No—what!  Not like Flodoardo?
+
+_Rosabella_ (casting down her eyes).—No, not at all.  Not that I wish him
+ill, either, for you know, Camilla, there’s no reason why I should hate
+this poor Flodoardo!
+
+_Camilla_.—Well, we will resume this subject when I return.  I have
+business, and the gondola waits for me.  Farewell, my child; and do not
+lay aside your resolution as hastily as you took it up.
+
+_Camilla_ departed, and Rosabella remained melancholy and uncertain.  She
+built castles in the air, and destroyed them as soon as built.  She
+formed wishes, and condemned herself for having formed them.  She looked
+round her frequently in search of something, but dared not confess to
+herself what it was of which she was in search.
+
+The evening was sultry, and Rosabella was compelled to shelter herself
+from the sun’s overpowering heat.  In the garden was a small fountain,
+bordered by a bank of moss, over which the magic hands of art and nature
+had formed a canopy of ivy and jessamine.  Thither she bent her steps.
+She arrived at the fountain, and instantly drew back, covered with
+blushes, for on the bank of moss, shaded by the protecting canopy, whose
+waving blossoms were reflected on the fountain, Flodoardo was seated, and
+fixed his eyes on a roll of parchment.
+
+Rosabella hesitated whether she should retire or stay.  Flodoardo started
+from his place, apparently in no less confusion than herself, and
+relieved her from her indecision by taking her hand with respect, and
+conducting her to the seat which he had just quitted.
+
+Now, then, she could not possibly retire immediately, unless she meant to
+violate every common principle of good breeding.
+
+Her hand was still clasped in Flodoardo’s; but it was so natural for him
+to take it, that she could not blame him for having done so.  But what
+was she next to do?  Draw her hand away?  Why should she, since he did
+her hand no harm by keeping it, and the keeping it seemed to make him so
+happy?  And how could the gentle Rosabella resolve to commit an act of
+such unheard-of cruelty as wilfully to deprive any one of a pleasure
+which made him so happy, and which did herself no harm?
+
+“Signora,” said Flodoardo, merely for the sake of saying something, “you
+do well to enjoy the open air.  The evening is beautiful.”
+
+“But I interrupt your studies, my lord,” said Rosabella.
+
+“By no means,” answered Flodoardo; and there this interesting
+conversation came to a full stop.  Both looked down; both examined the
+heaven and the earth, the trees and the flowers, in the hopes of finding
+some hints for renewing the conversation; but the more anxiously they
+sought them, the more difficult did it seem to find what they sought; and
+in this painful embarrassment did two whole precious minutes elapse.
+
+“Ah, what a beautiful flower!” suddenly cried Rosabella, in order to
+break the silence, then stooped and plucked a violet with an appearance
+of the greatest eagerness, though, in fact, nothing at that moment could
+have been more a matter of indifference.
+
+“It is a very beautiful flower, indeed,” gravely observed Flodoardo, and
+was out of all patience with himself for having made so flat a speech.
+
+“Nothing can surpass this purple,” continued Rosabella; “red and blue so
+happily blended, that no painter can produce so perfect a union.”
+
+“Red and blue—the one the symbol of happiness, the other of affection.
+Ah, Rosabella! how enviable will be that man’s lot on whom your hand
+shall bestow such a flower.  Happiness and affection are not more
+inseparably united than the red and blue which purple that violet.”
+
+“You seem to attach a value to the flower of which it is but little
+deserving.”
+
+“Might I but know on whom Rosabella will one day bestow what that flower
+expresses.  Yet, this is a subject which I have no right to discuss.  I
+know not what has happened to me to-day.  I make nothing but blunders and
+mistakes.  Forgive my presumption, lady.  I will hazard such forward
+inquiries no more.”
+
+He was silent.  Rosabella was silent also.
+
+But though they could forbid their lips to betray their hidden affection;
+though Rosabella said not—“Thou art he on whom this flower shall be
+bestowed:” though Flodoardo’s words had not expressed—“Rosabella, give me
+that violet, and that which it implies”—oh, their eyes were far from
+being silent.  Those treacherous interpreters of secret feelings
+acknowledged more to each other than their hearts had yet acknowledged to
+themselves.
+
+Flodoardo and Rosabella gazed on each other with looks which made all
+speech unnecessary.  Sweet, tender, and enthusiastic was the smile which
+played around Rosabella’s lips when her eyes met those of the youth whom
+she had selected from the rest of mankind; and with mingled emotions of
+hope and fear did the youth study the meaning of that smile.  He
+understood it, and his heart beat louder, and his eye flamed brighter.
+
+Rosabella trembled; her eyes could no longer sustain the fire of his
+glances, and a modest blush overspread her face and bosom.
+
+“Rosabella!” at length murmured Flodoardo, unconsciously; “Flodoardo!”
+sighed Rosabella, in the same tone.
+
+“Give me that violet!” he exclaimed, eagerly, then sank at her feet, and
+in a tone of the most humble supplication repeated, “Oh, give it to me!”
+
+Rosabella held the flower fast.
+
+“Ask for it what thou wilt.  If a throne can purchase it, I will pay that
+price, or perish.  Rosabella, give me that flower!”
+
+She stole one look at the handsome suppliant and dared not hazard a
+second.
+
+“My repose, my happiness, my life—nay, even my glory, all depend on the
+possession of that little flower.  Let that be mine, and here I solemnly
+renounce all else which the world calls precious.”
+
+The flower trembled in her snowy hand.  Her fingers clasped it less
+firmly.
+
+“You hear me, Rosabella?  I kneel at your feet; and am I then in vain a
+beggar?”
+
+The word “beggar” recalled to her memory Camilla and her prudent
+counsels.  “What am I doing?” she said to herself.  “Have I forgotten my
+promise, my resolution?  Fly, Rosabella, fly, or this hour makes you
+faithless to yourself and duty.”
+
+She tore the flower to pieces, and threw it contemptuously on the ground.
+
+“I understand you, Flodoardo,” said she; “and having understood you, will
+never suffer this subject to be renewed.  Here let us part, and let me
+not again be offended by a similar presumption.  Farewell!”
+
+She turned from him with disdain, and left Flodoardo rooted to his place
+with sorrow and astonishment.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+THE ASSASSIN.
+
+
+SCARCELY had she reached her chamber ere Rosabella repented her having
+acted so courageously.  It was cruel in her, she thought, to have given
+him so harsh an answer.  She recollected with what hopeless and
+melancholy looks the poor thunderstruck youth had followed her steps as
+she turned to leave him.  She fancied that she saw him stretched
+despairing on the earth, his hair dishevelled, his eyes filled with
+tears.  She heard him term her the murderess of his repose, pray for
+death as his only refuge; and she saw him with every moment approach
+towards the attainment of his prayer through the tears which he shed on
+her account.  Already she heard those dreadful words—“Flodoardo is no
+more.”  Already she saw the sympathising multitude weep round the tomb of
+him whom all the virtuous loved, and whom the wicked dreaded; whom all
+his friends adored, and whom even his enemies admired.
+
+“Alas! alas!” cried she, “this was but a wretched attempt to play the
+heroine.  Already does my resolution fail me.  Ah, Flodoardo!  I meant
+not what I said.  I love you—love you now, and must love you always,
+though Camilla may chide, and though my good uncle may hate me.”
+
+In a few days after this interview she understood that an extraordinary
+alteration had taken place in Flodoardo’s manner and appearance; that he
+had withdrawn himself from all general society; and that when the
+solicitations of his intimate friends compelled him to appear in their
+circle, his spirits seemed evidently depressed by the weight of an
+unconquerable melancholy.
+
+This intelligence was like the stroke of a poniard to the feeling heart
+of Rosabella.  She fled for shelter to the solitude of her chamber, there
+indulged her feelings without restraint, and lamented, with showers of
+repentant tears, her harsh treatment of Flodoardo.
+
+The grief which preyed in secret on her soul soon undermined her health.
+No one could relieve her sufferings, for no one knew the cause of her
+melancholy, or the origin of her illness.  No wonder, then, that
+Rosabella’s situation at length excited the most bitter anxiety in the
+bosom of her venerable uncle.  No wonder, too, that Flodoardo entirely
+withdrew himself from a world which was become odious to him, since
+Rosabella was to be seen in it no longer; and that he devoted himself in
+solitude to the indulgence of a passion which he had vainly endeavoured
+to subdue, and which, in the impetuosity of its course, had already
+swallowed up every other wish, and every other sentiment.
+
+But let us for the moment turn from the sick chamber of Rosabella, and
+visit the dwellings of the conspirators, who were now advancing with
+rapid strides towards the execution of their plans; and who, with every
+hour that passed over their heads, became more numerous, more powerful,
+and more dangerous to Andreas and his beloved Republic.
+
+Parozzi, Memmo, Contarino, Falieri, the chiefs of this desperate
+undertaking, now assembled frequently in the Cardinal Gonzaga’s palace,
+where different plans for altering the constitution of Venice were
+brought forward and discussed.  But in all different schemes it was
+evident that the proposer was solely actuated by considerations of
+private interest.  The object of one was to get free from the burden of
+enormous debts; another was willing to sacrifice everything to gratify
+his inordinate ambition.  The cupidity of _this_ man was excited by the
+treasures of Andreas and his friends; while _that_ was actuated by
+resentment of some fancied offence, a resentment which could only be
+quenched with the offender’s blood.
+
+These execrable wretches, who aimed at nothing less than the total
+overthrow of Venice, or at least of her government, looked towards the
+completion of their extravagant hopes with the greater confidence, since
+a new but necessary addition to the already existing taxes had put the
+Venetian populace out of humour with their rulers.
+
+Rich enough, both in adherents and in wealth, to realise their projects,
+rich enough in bold, shrewd, desperate men, whose minds were well adapted
+to the contrivance and execution of revolutionary projects, they now
+looked down with contempt upon the good old Doge, who as yet entertained
+no suspicion of their nocturnal meetings.
+
+Still did they not dare to carry their projects into effect, till some
+principal persons in the State should be prevented by _death_ from
+throwing obstacles in their way.  For the accomplishment of this part of
+their plan they relied on the daggers of the banditti.  Dreadful
+therefore was the sound in their ears, when the bell gave the signal for
+execution, and they saw their best-founded hopes expire on the scaffold,
+which supported the headless trunks of the four bravoes.  But if their
+consternation was great at thus losing the destined instruments of their
+designs, how extravagant was their joy when the proud Abellino dared
+openly to declare to Venice that he still inhabited the Republic, and
+that he still wore a dagger at the disposal of Vice.
+
+“This desperado is the very man for us!” they exclaimed unanimously, and
+in rapture; and now their most ardent wish was to enroll Abellino in
+their services.
+
+Their object was soon attained—they sought the daring ruffian, and he
+suffered himself to be found.  He visited their meetings, but in his
+promises and demands he was equally extravagant.
+
+The first and most earnest wish of the whole conspiracy was the death of
+Conari, the Procurator, a man whom the Doge valued beyond all others, a
+man whose eagle eyes made the conspirators hourly tremble for their
+secret, and whose service the Doge had accepted, in preference to those
+of the Cardinal Gonzaga.  But the sum which Abellino demanded for the
+murder of this one man was enormous.
+
+“Give me the reward which I require,” said he, “and I promise, on the
+word of a man of honour, that after this night the Procurator, Conari,
+shall give you no further trouble.  Exalt him to heaven, or imprison him
+in hell, I’ll engage to find and stab him.”
+
+What could they do?  Abellino was not a man to be easily beat down in his
+demands.  The Cardinal was impatient to attain the summit of his wishes;
+but his road lay straight over Conari’s grave!
+
+Abellino received the sum demanded; the next day the venerable Conari,
+the Doge’s best and dearest friend, the pride and safeguard of the
+Republic, was no longer numbered among the living.
+
+“’Tis a terrible fellow, this Abellino!” cried the conspirators, when the
+news reached them, and celebrated the Procurator’s death in triumph at
+the Cardinal’s midnight feast.
+
+The Doge was almost distracted with terror and astonishment.  He engaged
+to give ten thousand sequins to any one who should discover by whom
+Conari had been removed from the world.  A proclamation to this effect
+was published at the corner of every street in Venice, and made known
+throughout the territories of the Republic.  A few days after this
+proclamation had been made, a paper was discovered affixed to the
+principal door of the Venetian Signoria.
+
+                                 “VENETIANS!
+
+    “You would fain know the author of Conari’s death.  To spare you much
+    fruitless trouble, I hereby acknowledge that I, Abellino, was his
+    assassin.
+
+    “Twice did I bury my dagger in his heart, and then sent his body to
+    feed the fishes.  The Doge promises _ten_ thousand sequins to him who
+    shall discover Conari’s murderer; and to him who shall be clever
+    enough to _seize_ him, Abellino hereby promises _twenty_.  Adieu,
+    Signors.  I remain your faithful servant,
+
+                                                               “ABELLINO.”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+THE TWO GREATEST MEN IN VENICE.
+
+
+IT must be superfluous to inform my readers that all Venice became
+furious at this new insolence.  Within the memory of man had no one ever
+treated with such derision the celebrated Venetian police, or set the
+Doge’s power at defiance with such proud temerity.  This occurrence threw
+the whole city into confusion; every one was on the look-out; the patrols
+were doubled; the sbirri extended their researches on all sides; yet no
+one could see, or hear, or discover the most distant trace of Abellino.
+
+The priests in their sermons strove to rouse the slumbering vengeance of
+Heaven to crush this insolent offender.  The ladies were ready to swoon
+at the very name of Abellino, for who could assure them that, at some
+unexpected moment, he might not pay _them_ the same compliment which he
+had paid to Rosabella?  As for the old women, they unanimously asserted
+that Abellino had sold himself to the Prince of Darkness, by whose
+assistance he was enabled to sport with the patience of all pious
+Venetians, and deride the impotence of their just indignation.  The
+Cardinal and his associates were proud of their terrible confederate, and
+looking forward with confidence to the triumphant issue of their
+undertaking.  The deserted family of Conari called down curses on his
+murderer’s head, and wished that their tears might be changed into a sea
+of sulphur, in whose waves they might plunge the monster Abellino; nor
+did Conari’s relations feel more grief for his loss than the Doge and his
+two confidants, who swore never to rest till they had discovered the
+lurking-place of this ruthless assassin, and had punished his crime with
+tenfold vengeance.
+
+“Yet, after all,” said Andreas one evening, as he sat alone in his
+private chamber, “after all, it must be confessed that this Abellino is a
+singular man.  He who can do what Abellino has done must possess both
+such talents and such courage as, stood he at the head of an army, would
+enable him to conquer half the world.  Would that I could once get a
+sight of him!”
+
+“Look up, then!” roared Abellino, and clapped the Doge on the shoulder.
+Andreas started from his seat.  A colossal figure stood before him,
+wrapped in a dark mantle above which appeared a countenance so hideous
+and forbidding, that the universe could not have produced its equal.
+
+“Who art thou?” stammered out the Doge.
+
+“Thou seest me, and canst doubt?  Well, then, I am Abellino, the good
+friend of your murdered Conari, the Republic’s most submissive slave.”
+
+The brave Andreas, who had never trembled in fight by land or by sea, and
+for whom no danger had possessed terrors sufficient to shake his
+undaunted resolution, the brave Andreas now forgot for a few moments his
+usual presence of mind.  Speechless did he gaze on the daring assassin,
+who stood before him calm and haughty, unappalled by the majesty of the
+greatest man in Venice.
+
+Abellino nodded to him with an air of familiar protection, and graciously
+condescended to grin upon him with a kind of half-friendly smile.
+
+“Abellino,” said the Doge, at length, endeavouring to recollect himself,
+“thou art a fearful—a detestable man.”
+
+“Fearful?” answered the bravo; “dost thou think me so?  Good, that glads
+me to the very heart!  Detestable? that may be so, or it may not.  I
+confess, the sign which I hang out gives no great promise of good
+entertainment within; but yet, Andreas, one thing is certain.  You and I
+stand on the same line, for at this moment we are the two greatest men in
+Venice; you in your way, I in mine.”
+
+The Doge could not help smiling at the bravo’s familiar tone.
+
+“Nay, nay,” continued Abellino, “no smiles of disbelief, if you please.
+Allow me, though a bravo, to compare myself to a Doge; truly, I think
+there’s no great presumption in placing myself on a level with a man whom
+I hold in my power, and who therefore is in fact beneath me.”
+
+The Doge made a movement, as he would have left him.
+
+“Not so fast,” said Abellino, laughing rudely, and he barred the Doge’s
+passage.  “Accident seldom unites in so small a space as this chamber a
+pair of such great men.  Stay where you are, for I have not done with you
+yet; we must have a little conversation.”
+
+“Hear me, Abellino,” said the Doge, mustering up all the dignity which he
+possessed; “thou hast received great talents from Nature: why dost thou
+employ them to so little advantage?  I here promise you, on my most
+sacred word, pardon for the past, and protection for the future, will you
+but name to me the villain who bribed you to assassinate Conari, abjure
+your bloody trade, and accept an honest employment in the service of the
+Republic.  If this offer is rejected, at least quit with all speed the
+territory of Venice, or I swear—”
+
+“Ho! ho!” interrupted Abellino; “pardon and protection, say you?  It is
+long since I thought it worth my while to care for such trifles.
+Abellino is able to protect himself without foreign aid; and, as to
+pardon, mortals cannot give absolution for sins like mine.  On that day,
+when all men must give in the list of their offences, then, too, will I
+give in mine, but till then never.  You would know the name of him who
+bribed me to be Conari’s murderer?  Well, well, you shall know it, but
+not to-day.  I must quit with all speed the Venetian territory? and
+wherefore; through fear of thee?  Ho! ho!  Through fear of Venice?  Ha,
+Abellino fears not Venice; ’tis Venice that fears Abellino!  You would
+have me abjure my profession?  Well, Andreas, there is one condition,
+which, perhaps—”
+
+“Name it,” cried the Doge, eagerly; “will ten thousand sequins purchase
+your departure from the Republic?”
+
+“I would gladly give you twice as much myself, could you recall the
+insult of offering Abellino so miserable a bribe!  No, Andreas, but one
+price can pay me: give me your niece for my bride.  I love Rosabella, the
+daughter of Guiscard of Corfu.”
+
+“Monster—what insolence!”
+
+“Ho! ho!  Patience, patience, good uncle, that is to be.  Will you accept
+my terms?”
+
+“Name what sum will satisfy you, and it shall be yours this instant, so
+you will only relieve Venice from your presence.  Though it should cost
+the Republic a million she will be a gainer, if her air is no longer
+poisoned by your breath.”
+
+“Indeed!  Why, in fact, a million is not so great a sum; for look you,
+Andreas, I have just sold for near _half_ a million the lives of your two
+dear friends, Manfrone and Lomellino.  Now give me Rosabella, and I break
+the bargain.”
+
+“Miscreant!  Has Heaven no lightnings?”
+
+“You will not?  Mark me!  In four-and-twenty hours shall Manfrone and
+Lomellino be food for fishes.  Abellino has said it.  Away!”
+
+And with these words he drew a pistol from under his cloak, and flashed
+it in the Doge’s face.  Blinded by the powder, and confused by the
+unexpected explosion, Andreas started back, and sunk bewildered on a
+neighbouring sofa.  He soon recovered from his astonishment.  He sprang
+from his seat to summon his guards and seize Abellino; but Abellino had
+already disappeared.
+
+On that same evening were Parozzi and his confederates assembled in the
+palace of the Cardinal Gonzaga.  The table was spread with the most
+luxurious profusion, and they arranged over their flowing goblets plans
+for the Republic’s ruin.  The Cardinal related how he had of late
+contrived to insinuate himself into the Doge’s good graces, and had
+succeeded in impressing him with an opinion that the chiefs of the
+confederacy were fit men to hold offices of important trust.  Contarino
+boasted that he doubted not before long to be appointed to the vacant
+procuratorship.  Parozzi reckoned for _his_ share upon Rosabella’s hand,
+and the place either of Lomellino or Manfrone, when once those two chief
+obstacles to his hope should be removed.  Such was the conversation in
+which they were engaged, when the clock struck twelve, the doors flew
+wide, and Abellino stood before them.
+
+“Wine, there!” cried he; “the work is done.  Manfrone and Lomellino are
+at supper with the worms.  And I have thrown the Doge himself into such a
+fit of terror that I warrant he will not recover himself easily.  Now
+answer are you content with me, you bloodhounds?”
+
+“Next, then, for Flodoardo!” shouted Parozzi.
+
+“Flodoardo!” muttered Abellino between his teeth; “hum—hum—that’s not so
+easy.”
+
+
+
+
+Book the Third.
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+THE LOVERS.
+
+
+ROSABELLA, the idol of all Venice, lay on the bed of sickness; a sorrow,
+whose cause was carefully concealed from every one, undermined her
+health, and destroyed the bloom of her beauty.  She loved the noble
+Flodoardo; and who could have known Flodoardo and not have loved him?
+His majestic stature, his expressive countenance, his enthusiastic
+glance, his whole being declared aloud—Flodoardo is Nature’s favourite,
+and Rosabella had been always a great admirer of Nature.
+
+But if Rosabella was ill, Flodoardo was scarcely better.  He confined
+himself to his own apartment; he shunned society, and frequently made
+long journeys to different cities of the Republic, in hopes of
+distracting his thoughts by change of place from that object which,
+wherever he went, still pursued him.  He had now been absent for three
+whole weeks.  No one knew in what quarter he was wandering; and it was
+during this absence that the so-long expected Prince of Monaldeschi
+arrived at Venice to claim Rosabella as his bride.
+
+His appearance, to which a month before Andreas looked forward with such
+pleasing expectation, now afforded but little satisfaction to the Doge.
+Rosabella was too ill to receive her suitor’s visits, and he did not
+allow her much time to recover her health; for six days after his arrival
+at Venice the Prince was found murdered in a retired part of one of the
+public gardens.  His sword lay by him unsheathed and bloody; his tablets
+were gone, but one leaf had been torn from them and fastened on his
+breast.  It was examined, and found to contain the following lines,
+apparently written in blood:—
+
+    “Let no one pretend to Rosabella’s hand, who is not prepared to share
+    the fate of Monaldeschi.
+
+                                 “The Bravo,
+
+                                                               “ABELLINO.”
+
+“Oh, where shall I now fly for comfort? for protection?” exclaimed the
+Doge in despair, when this dreadful news was announced.  “Why, why, is
+Flodoardo absent?”
+
+Anxiously did he now desire the youth’s return, to support him under the
+weight of these heavy misfortunes; nor was it long before that desire was
+gratified.  Flodoardo returned.
+
+“Welcome, noble youth!” said the Doge, when he saw the Florentine enter
+his apartment.  “You must not in future deprive me of your presence for
+so long.  I am now a poor forsaken old man.  You have heard that
+Lomellino—that Manfrone—”
+
+“I know all,” answered Flodoardo, with a melancholy air.
+
+“Satan has burst his chains, and now inhabits Venice under the name of
+Abellino, robbing me of all that my soul holds precious.  Flodoardo, for
+Heaven’s love, be cautious; often, during your absence, have I trembled
+lest the miscreant’s dagger should have deprived me too of _you_.  I have
+much to say to you, my young friend, but I must defer it till the
+evening.  A foreigner of consequence has appointed this hour for an
+audience, and I must hasten to receive him—but in the evening—”
+
+He was interrupted by the appearance of Rosabella, who, with tottering
+steps and pale cheeks, advanced slowly into the apartment.  She saw
+Flodoardo, and a faint blush overspread her countenance.  Flodoardo rose
+from his seat, and welcomed her with an air of distant respect.
+
+“Do not go yet,” said the Doge; “perhaps in half an hour I may be at
+liberty: in the meanwhile I leave you to entertain my poor Rosabella.
+She has been very ill during your absence; and I am still uneasy about
+her health.  She kept her bed till yesterday, and truly I think she has
+left it too soon.”
+
+The venerable Doge quitted the apartment, and the lovers once more found
+themselves alone.  Rosabella drew near the window; Flodoardo at length
+ventured to approach it also.
+
+“Signora,” said he, “are you still angry with me?”
+
+“I am not angry with you,” stammered out Rosabella, and blushed as she
+recollected the garden scene.
+
+“And you have quite forgiven my transgression?”
+
+“Your transgression?” repeated Rosabella, with a faint smile; “yes, if it
+was a transgression, I have quite forgiven it.  Dying people ought to
+pardon those who have trespassed against them, in order that they, in
+their turn, may be pardoned their trespasses against Heaven—and I am
+dying; I feel it.”
+
+“Signora!”
+
+“Nay, ’tis past a doubt.  It’s true, I have quitted my sick-bed since
+yesterday; but I know well that I am soon to return to it, never to leave
+it more.  And therefore—therefore, I now ask your pardon, signor, for the
+vexation which I was obliged to cause to you the last time we met.”
+
+Flodoardo replied not.
+
+“Will you not forgive me?  You must be very difficult to appease—very
+revengeful!”
+
+Flodoardo replied not.
+
+“Will you refuse my offered hand?  Shall all be forgotten?”
+
+“Forgotten, lady?  Never, never—every word and look of yours is stamped
+on my memory, never to be effaced.  I cannot forget a transaction in
+which _you_ bore a part: I cannot forget the scene that passed between
+us, every circumstance is too precious and sacred.  As to _pardon_”—he
+took her extended hand and pressed it respectfully to his lips—“I would
+to Heaven, dear lady, that you had in truth injured me much, that I might
+have much to forgive you.  Alas! I have at present nothing to pardon.”
+
+Both were now silent.  At length Rosabella resumed the conversation by
+saying—“You have made a long absence from Venice; did you travel far?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“And received much pleasure from your journey?”
+
+“Much; for everywhere I heard the praises of Rosabella.”
+
+“Count Flodoardo,” she interrupted him with a look of reprehension, but
+in a gentle voice, “would you again offend me?”
+
+“That will soon be out of my power.  Perhaps you can guess what are my
+present intentions.”
+
+“To resume your travels soon?”
+
+“Exactly so; and the next time that I quit Venice, to return to it no
+more.”
+
+“No more?” she repeated, eagerly.  “Oh, not so, Flodoardo!  Ah, can you
+leave me?”—She stopped, ashamed of her imprudence.  “Can you leave my
+uncle?  I meant to say.  You do but jest, I doubt not.”
+
+“By my honour, lady, I never was more in earnest.”
+
+“And whither, then, do you mean to go?”
+
+“To Malta, and assist the knights in their attacks upon the corsairs of
+Barbary.  Providence, perhaps, may enable me to obtain the command of a
+galley, then will I call my vessel ‘Rosabella;’ then shall the war-cry be
+still ‘Rosabella;’ that name will render me invincible.”
+
+“Oh! this is a mockery, Count.  I have not deserved that you should sport
+with my feelings so cruelly.”
+
+“It is to _spare_ your feelings, signora, that I am now resolved to fly
+from Venice; my presence might cause you some uneasy moments.  I am not
+the happy man whose sight is destined to give you pleasure; I will, at
+least, avoid giving you pain.”
+
+“And you really can resolve to abandon the Doge, whose esteem for you is
+so sincere, whose friendship has always been so warm?”
+
+“I value his friendship highly, but it is not sufficient to make me
+happy, and could he lay kingdoms at my feet, still would his friendship
+be insufficient to make me happy.”
+
+“Does, then, your happiness require so much?”
+
+“It does—much more than I have mentioned, infinitely more.  But one boon
+can make me happy; I have begged for it on my knees.”  He caught her hand
+and pressed it eagerly to his lips.  “I have begged for it, Rosabella,
+and my suit has been rejected.”
+
+“You are a strange enthusiast,” she said with difficulty, and scarcely
+knew what she said, while Flodoardo drew her gently nearer to him, and
+murmured in a supplicating voice, “Rosabella!”
+
+“What would you of me?”
+
+“My happiness!”
+
+She gazed upon him for a moment undecided, then hastily drew away her
+hand, and exclaimed, “Leave me, this moment, I command you.  Leave me,
+for Heaven’s sake!”
+
+Flodoardo clasped his hands together in despair and anguish.  He bowed
+his head in token of obedience.  He left her with slow steps and a
+melancholy air, and as he passed the threshold, turned to bid her
+farewell for ever.  Suddenly she rushed towards him, caught his hand, and
+pressed it to her heart.
+
+“Flodoardo,” she cried, “I am thine!” and sank motionless at his feet.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+A DANGEROUS PROMISE.
+
+
+AND now who was so blessed as the fortunate Flodoardo?  The victory was
+his own, he had heard the wished-for sentence pronounced by the lips of
+Rosabella.  He raised her from the ground, and placed her on a sofa.  Her
+blue eyes soon unclosed themselves once more, and the first object which
+they beheld was Flodoardo kneeling at her feet, while with one arm he
+encircled her waist.  Her head sank upon the shoulder of the man for whom
+she had breathed so many sighs, who had occupied so many of her thoughts
+by day, who had been present in so many of her dreams by night.
+
+As they gazed in silent rapture on each other, they forgot that they were
+mortals; they seemed to be transported to a happier, to a better world.
+Rosabella thought that the chamber in which she sat was transformed into
+an earthly Paradise; invisible seraphs seemed to hallow by their
+protecting presence the indulgence of her innocent affection, and she
+poured forth her secret thanks to Him who had given her a heart
+susceptible of love.
+
+Through the whole course of man’s existence, such a moment as this occurs
+but once.  Happy is he who sighs for its arrival; happy is he who, when
+it arrives, has a soul worthy of its enjoyment; happy is even he for whom
+that moment has long been passed, so it passed not unenjoyed, for the
+recollection of it still is precious.  Sage philosophers, in vain do you
+assure us that the raptures of a moment like this are mere illusions of a
+heated imagination, scarcely more solid than an enchanting dream, which
+fades before the sunbeams of truth and reason.  Alas! does there exist a
+happiness under the moon which owes not its charms in some degree to the
+magic of imagination!
+
+“You are dear to me, Flodoardo,” murmured Rosabella, for Camilla and her
+counsels were quite forgotten; “oh, you are very, very dear!”
+
+The youth only thanked her by clasping her still closer to his bosom,
+while, for the first time, he sealed her coral lips with his own.
+
+At that moment the door was suddenly thrown open.  The Doge Andreas
+re-entered the apartment: the expected stranger had been suddenly taken
+ill, and Andreas was no sooner at liberty than he hastened to rejoin his
+favourite.  The rustling of his garments roused the lovers from their
+dream of bliss.  Rosabella started from Flodoardo’s embrace with a cry of
+terror; Flodoardo quitted his kneeling posture, yet seemed by no means
+disconcerted at the discovery.
+
+Andreas gazed upon them for some minutes, with a look which expressed at
+once anger, melancholy, and the most heartfelt disappointment.  He sighed
+deeply, cast his eyes towards heaven, and in silence turned to leave the
+apartment.
+
+“Stay yet one moment, noble Andreas,” cried the Florentine.
+
+The Doge turned, and Flodoardo threw himself at his feet.  Andreas looked
+down with calm and serious dignity on the kneeling offender, by whom his
+friendship had been so unworthily rewarded, and by whom his confidence
+had been so cruelly betrayed.
+
+“Young man,” said he, in a stern voice, “the attempt to excuse yourself
+must be fruitless.”
+
+“Excuse myself!” interrupted Flodoardo, boldly; “no, my lord, I need no
+excuses for loving Rosabella; ’twere for him to excuse himself who had
+seen Rosabella and _not_ loved her; yet, if it is indeed a crime in me
+that I adore Rosabella, ’tis a crime of which Heaven itself will absolve
+me, since it formed Rosabella so worthy to be adored.”
+
+“You seem to lay too much stress on this fantastic apology,” answered the
+Doge, contemptuously; “at least you cannot expect that it should have
+much weight with me.”
+
+“I say it once more, my lord,” resumed Flodoardo, while he rose from the
+ground, “that I intend to make no apology; I mean not to excuse my love
+for Rosabella, but to request your approbation of that love.  Andreas, I
+adore your niece; I demand her for my bride.”
+
+The Doge started in astonishment at this bold and unexpected request.
+
+“It is true,” continued the Florentine, “I am no more than a needy,
+unknown youth, and it seems a piece of strange temerity when such a man
+proposes himself to espouse the heiress of the Venetian Doge.  But, by
+Heaven, I am confident that the great Andreas means not to bestow his
+Rosabella on one of those whose claims to favour are overflowing coffers,
+extensive territories, and sounding titles, or who vainly decorate their
+insignificance with the glory obtained by the titles of their ancestors,
+glory of which they are themselves incapable of acquiring a single ray.
+I acknowledge freely that I have as yet performed no actions which make
+me deserving of such a reward as Rosabella; but it shall not be long ere
+I _will_ perform such actions, or perish in the attempt.”
+
+The Doge turned from him with a look of displeasure.
+
+“Oh, be not incensed with him, dear uncle,” said Rosabella.  She hastened
+to detain the Doge, threw her white arms around his neck fondly, and
+concealed in his bosom the tears with which her countenance was bedewed.
+
+“Make your demands,” continued Flodoardo, still addressing himself to the
+Doge; “say what you wish me to do, and what you would have me become, in
+order to obtain from you the hand of Rosabella.  Ask what you will, I
+will look on the task, however difficult, as nothing more than sport and
+pastime.  By Heaven, I would that Venice were at this moment exposed to
+the most imminent danger, and that ten thousand daggers were unsheathed
+against your life; Rosabella my reward—how certain should I be to rescue
+Venice, and strike the ten thousand daggers down.”
+
+“I have served the Republic faithfully and fervently for many a long
+year,” answered Andreas, with a bitter smile; “I have risked my life
+without hesitation; I have shed my blood with profusion; I asked nothing
+for my reward but to pass my old age in soft tranquillity, and of this
+reward have I been cheated.  My bosom friends, the companions of my
+youth, the confidants of my age, have been torn from me by the daggers of
+banditti; and you, Flodoardo, you, on whom I heaped all favours, have now
+deprived me of this my only remaining comfort.  Answer me, Rosabella;
+hast thou in truth bestowed thy heart on Flodoardo irrevocably?”
+
+One hand of Rosabella’s still rested on her uncle’s shoulder; with the
+other she clasped Flodoardo’s and pressed it fondly against her heart—yet
+Flodoardo seemed still unsatisfied.  No sooner had the Doge’s question
+struck his ear, than his countenance became dejected; and though his hand
+returned the pressure of Rosabella’s, he shook his head mournfully, with
+an air of doubt, and cast on her a penetrating look, as would he have
+read the secrets of her inmost soul.
+
+Andreas withdrew himself gently from Rosabella’s arm, and for some time
+paced the apartment slowly, with a countenance sad and earnest.
+Rosabella sank upon a sofa which stood near her, and wept.  Flodoardo
+eyed the Doge, and waited for his decision with impatience.
+
+Thus passed some minutes.  An awful silence reigned through the chamber;
+Andreas seemed to be labouring with some resolution of dreadful
+importance.  The lovers wished, yet dreaded, the conclusion of the scene,
+and with every moment their anxiety became more painful.
+
+“Flodoardo!” at length said the Doge, and suddenly stood still in the
+middle of the chamber.  Flodoardo advanced with a respectful air.  “Young
+man,” he continued, “I am at length resolved; Rosabella loves you, nor
+will I oppose the decision of her heart; but Rosabella is much too
+precious to admit of my bestowing her on the first who thinks fit to
+demand her.  The man to whom I give her must be worthy such a gift.  She
+must be the reward of his services; nor can he do services so great that
+such a reward will not overpay them.  Your claims on the Republic’s
+gratitude are as yet but trifling; an opportunity now offers of rendering
+as an essential service.  The murderer of Conari, Manfrone, and
+Lomellino—go, bring him hither!  Alive or dead, thou must bring to this
+palace the terrible banditti-king, _Abellino_!”
+
+At this unexpected conclusion of a speech on which his happiness or
+despair depended, Flodoardo started back.  The colour fled from his
+cheeks.
+
+“My noble lord!” he said at length, hesitating, “you know well that—”
+
+“I know well,” interrupted Andreas, “how difficult a task I enjoin, when
+I require the delivery of Abellino.  For myself I swear that I had rather
+a thousand times force my passage with a single vessel through the whole
+Turkish fleet, and carry off the admiral’s ship from the midst of them,
+than attempt to seize this Abellino, who seems to have entered into a
+compact with Lucifer himself: who is to be found everywhere and nowhere;
+whom so many have seen, but whom no one knows; whose cautious subtlety
+has brought to shame the vigilance of our State inquisitors, of the
+College of Ten, and of all their legions of spies and sbirri; whose very
+name strikes terror into the hearts of the bravest Venetians, and from
+whose dagger I myself am not safe upon my throne.  I know well,
+Flodoardo, how much I ask; but I know also how much I proffer.  You seem
+irresolute?  You are silent?  Flodoardo, I have long watched you with
+attention.  I have discovered in you marks of a superior genius, and
+therefore I am induced to make such a demand.  If any one is able to cope
+with Abellino, thou art the man.  I wait your answer.”
+
+Flodoardo paced the chamber in silence.  Dreadful was the enterprise
+proposed.  Woe to him should Abellino discover his purpose.  But
+Rosabella was the reward.  He cast a look on the beloved one, and
+resolved to risk everything.
+
+He advanced towards the Doge.
+
+_Andreas_.—Now, then, Flodoardo—your resolution?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—Should I deliver Abellino into your power, do you solemnly
+swear that Rosabella shall be my bride?
+
+_Andreas_.—She shall! and _not till then_.
+
+_Rosabella_.—Ah!  Flodoardo, I fear this undertaking will end fatally.
+Abellino is so crafty, so dreadful.  Oh! look well to yourself, for
+should you meet with the detested monster, whose dagger—
+
+_Flodoardo_ (interrupting her hastily).—Oh! silence, Rosabella—at least
+allow me to hope.  Noble Andreas, give me your hand, and pledge your
+princely word that, Abellino once in your power, nothing shall prevent me
+from being Rosabella’s husband.
+
+_Andreas_.—I swear it; deliver into my power, either alive or dead, this
+most dangerous foe of Venice, and nothing shall prevent Rosabella from
+being your wife.  In pledge of which I here give you my princely hand.
+
+Flodoardo grasped the Doge’s hand in silence, and shook it thrice.  He
+turned to Rosabella, and seemed on the point of addressing her, when he
+suddenly turned away, struck his forehead, and measured the apartment
+with disordered and unsteady steps.  The clock in the tower of St. Mark’s
+church struck five.
+
+“Time flies!” cried Flodoardo; “no more delay, then.  In four-and-twenty
+hours will I produce in this very palace this dreaded bravo, Abellino.”
+
+Andreas shook his head.  “Young man,” said he, “be less confident in your
+promises; I shall have more faith in your performance.”
+
+_Flodoardo_ (serious and firm).—Let things terminate as they may, either
+I will keep my word, or never again will cross the threshold of your
+palace.  I have discovered some traces of the miscreant, and I trust that
+I shall amuse you to-morrow, at this time and in this place, with the
+representation of a comedy; but should it prove a tragedy instead, God’s
+will be done.
+
+_Andreas_.—Remember that too much haste is dangerous; rashness will
+destroy even the frail hopes of success which you may reasonably indulge
+at present.
+
+_Flodoardo_.—Rashness, my lord?  He who has lived as I have lived, and
+suffered what I have suffered, must have been long since cured of
+rashness.
+
+_Rosabella_ (taking his hand).—Yet be not too confident of your own
+strength, I beseech you!  Dear Flodoardo, my uncle loves you, and his
+advice is wise!  Beware of Abellino’s dagger!
+
+_Flodoardo_.—The best way to escape his dagger is not to allow him time
+to use it: within four-and-twenty hours must the deed be done, or never.
+Now, then, illustrious Prince, I take my leave of you.  To-morrow I doubt
+not to convince you that nothing is too much for love to venture.
+
+_Andreas_.—Right; to venture: but to achieve?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—Ah, that must depend—He paused suddenly again his eyes were
+fastened eagerly on those of Rosabella, and it was evident that with
+every moment his uneasiness acquired fresh strength.  He resumed his
+discourse to Andreas, with a movement of impatience.
+
+“Noble Andreas,” said he, “do not make me dispirited; rather let me try
+whether I cannot inspire you with more confidence of my success.  I must
+first request you to order a splendid entertainment to be prepared.  At
+this hour in the afternoon of to-morrow let me find all the principal
+persons in Venice, both men and women, assembled in this chamber; for
+should my hopes be realised, I would willingly have spectators of my
+triumph.  Particularly let the venerable members of the College of Ten he
+invited, in order that they may at last he brought face to face with this
+terrible Abellino, against whom they have so long been engaged in
+fruitless warfare.”
+
+_Andreas_ (after eyeing him some time with a look of mingled surprise and
+uncertainty).—They shall be present.
+
+_Flodoardo_.—I understand, also, that since Conari’s death you have been
+reconciled to the Cardinal Gonzaga; and that he has convinced you how
+unjust were the prejudices with which Conari had inspired you against the
+nobility—Parozzi, Contarino, and the rest of that society.  During my
+late excursions I have heard much in praise of these young men, which
+makes me wish to show myself to them in a favourable light.  If you have
+no objection, let me beg you to invite them also.
+
+_Andreas_.—You shall be gratified.
+
+_Flodoardo_.—One thing more, which had nearly escaped my memory.  Let no
+one know the motive of this entertainment till the whole company is
+assembled.  Then let guards be placed around the palace, and, indeed, it
+may be as well to place them even before the doors of the saloon; for in
+truth this Abellino is such a desperate villain, that too many
+precautions cannot be taken against him.  The sentinels must have their
+pieces loaded, and, above all things, they must be strictly charged, on
+pain of death, to let every one enter, but no one quit the chamber.
+
+_Andreas_.—All this shall be done punctually.
+
+_Flodoardo_.—I have nothing more to say.  Noble Andreas, farewell.
+Rosabella, to-morrow, when the clock strikes five, we shall meet again,
+or never.
+
+He said, and rushed out of the apartment.  Andreas shook his head; while
+Rosabella sank upon her uncle’s bosom, and wept bitterly.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+THE MIDNIGHT MEETING.
+
+
+“VICTORY!” shouted Parozzi, as he rushed into the Cardinal Gonzaga’s
+chamber, where the chief conspirators were all assembled; “our work goes
+on bravely.  Flodoardo returned this morning to Venice, and Abellino has
+already received the required sum.”
+
+_Gonzaga_.—Flodoardo does not want talents; I had rather he should live
+and join our party.  He is seldom off his guard—
+
+_Parozzi_.—Such vagabonds may well be cautious; they must not forget
+themselves, who have so much to conceal from others.
+
+_Falieri_.—Rosabella, as I understand, by no means sees this Florentine
+with unfavourable eyes.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Oh, wait till to-morrow, and then he may make love to the
+devil and his grandmother, if he likes it.  Abellino by that time will
+have wrung his neck round, I warrant you.
+
+_Contarino_.—It is strange that, in spite of all inquiries, I can learn
+but little at Florence respecting this Flodoardo.  My letters inform me
+that some time ago there did exist a family of that name; but it has been
+long extinct, or if any of its descendants are still in being at
+Florence, their existence is quite a secret.
+
+_Gonzaga_.—Are you all invited to the Doge’s to-morrow?
+
+_Contarino_.—All of us, without exception.
+
+_Gonzaga_.—That is well.  It seems that my recommendations have obtained
+some weight with him, since his triumvirate has been removed.  And in the
+evening a masked ball is to be given.  Did not the Doge’s chamberlain say
+so?
+
+_Falieri_.—He did.
+
+_Memmo_.—I only hope there is no trick in all this.  If he should have
+been given a hint of our conspiracy!  Mercy on us! my teeth chatter at
+the thought.
+
+_Gonzaga_.—Absurd!  By what means should our designs have been made known
+to him?  The thing is impossible.
+
+_Memmo_.—Impossible?  What, when there’s scarce a cutpurse, housebreaker,
+or vagabond in Venice who has not been enlisted in our service, would it
+be so strange if the Doge discovered a little of the business?  A secret
+which is known to so many, how should it escape his penetration?
+
+_Contarino_.—Simpleton! the same thing happens to him which happens to
+betrayed husbands.  Everyone can see the horns except the man who carries
+them.  And yet I confess it is full time that we should realise our
+projects, and prevent the possibility of our being betrayed.
+
+_Falieri_.—You are right, friend; everything is ready now.  The sooner
+that the blow is struck the better.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Nay, the discontented populace, which at present sides with
+us, would be perfectly well pleased if the sport began this very night;
+delay the business longer, and their anger against Andreas will cool, and
+render them unfit for our purpose.
+
+_Contarino_.—Then let us decide the game at once; be to-morrow the
+important day.  Leave the Doge to my disposal.  I’ll at least engage to
+bury my poniard in his heart, and then let the business end as it may,
+one of two things must happen: either we shall rescue ourselves from all
+trouble and vexation, by throwing everything into uproar and confusion,
+or else we shall sail with a full wind from this cursed world to another.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Mark me, friends, we must go armed to the Doge’s
+entertainment.
+
+_Gonzaga_.—All the members of the College of Ten have been particularly
+invited—
+
+_Falieri_.—Down with every man of them!
+
+_Memmo_.—Aye, aye!  Fine talking, but suppose it should turn out to be
+down with ourselves?
+
+_Falieri_.—Thou white-livered wretch!  Stay at home, then, and take care
+of your worthless existence.  But if our attempt succeeds, come not to us
+to reimburse you for the sums which you have already advanced.  Not a
+sequin shall be paid you back, depend on’t.
+
+_Memmo_.—You wrong me, Falieri; if you wish to prove my courage, draw
+your sword and measure it against mine.  I am as brave as yourself; but,
+thank Heaven, I am not quite so hot-headed.
+
+_Gonzaga_.—Nay, even suppose that the event should not answer our
+expectations?  Andreas once dead, let the populace storm as it pleases;
+the protection of his Holiness will sanction our proceedings.
+
+_Memmo_.—The Pope?  May we count on his protection?
+
+_Gonzaga_ (throwing him a letter).—Read there, unbeliever.  The Pope, I
+tell you, must protect us, since one of our objects is professed to be
+the assertion of the rights of St. Peter’s Chair in Venice.  Prithee,
+Memmo, tease us no more with such doubts, but let Contarino’s proposal be
+adopted at once.  Our confederates must be summoned to Parozzi’s palace
+with all diligence, and there furnished with such weapons as are
+necessary.  Let the stroke of midnight be the signal for Contarino’s
+quitting the ball-room, and hastening to seize the arsenal.  Salviati,
+who commands there, is in our interest, and will throw open the gates at
+the first summons.
+
+_Falieri_.—The admiral Adorna, as soon as he hears the alarm-bell, will
+immediately lead his people to our assistance.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Oh, our success is certain.
+
+_Contarino_.—Only let us take care to make the confusion as general as
+possible.  Our adversaries must be kept in the dark who are their friends
+and who their foes, and all but our own party must be left ignorant as to
+the authors, the origin, and the object of the uproar.
+
+_Parozzi_.—Heaven, I am delighted at finding the business at length so
+near the moment of execution!
+
+_Falieri_.—Parozzi, have you distributed the white ribbons by which we
+are to recognise our partisans?
+
+_Parozzi_.—That was done some days ago.
+
+_Contarino_.—Then there is no more necessary to be said on the subject.
+Comrades, fill your goblets.  We will not meet again together till our
+work has been completed.
+
+_Memmo_.—And yet methinks it would not be unwise to consider the matter
+over again coolly.
+
+_Contarino_.—Pshaw! consideration and prudence have nothing to do with a
+rebellion; despair and rashness in this case are better counsellors.  The
+work once begun, the constitution of Venice once boldly overturned, so
+that no one can tell who is master and who is subject, then consideration
+will be of service in instructing us how far it may be necessary for our
+interest to push the confusion.  Come, friends! fill, fill, I say.  I
+cannot help laughing when I reflect that, by giving this entertainment
+to-morrow, the Doge himself kindly affords us an opportunity of executing
+our plans.
+
+_Parozzi_.—As to Flodoardo, I look upon him already as in his grave; yet
+before we go to-morrow to the Doge’s, it will be as well to have a
+conference with Abellino.
+
+_Contarino_.—That care we will leave to you, Parozzi, and in the
+meanwhile here’s the health of Abellino.
+
+_All_.—Abellino!
+
+_Gonzaga_.—And success to our enterprise to-morrow.
+
+_Memmo_.—I’ll drink _that_ toast with all my heart.
+
+_All_.—Success to to-morrow’s enterprise!
+
+_Parozzi_.—The wine tastes well, and every face looks gay; pass
+eight-and-forty hours, and shall we look as gaily?  We separate smiling;
+shall we smile when two nights hence we meet again?  No matter.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+THE DECISIVE DAY.
+
+
+THE next morning everything in Venice seemed as tranquil as if nothing
+more than ordinary was on the point of taking place; and yet, since her
+first foundation, never had a more important day risen on the Republic.
+
+The inhabitants of the ducal palace were in motion early.  The impatient
+Andreas forsook the couch on which he had passed a sleepless and anxious
+night, as soon as the first sunbeams penetrated through the lattice of
+his chamber.  Rosabella had employed the hours of rest in dreams of
+Flodoardo, and she still seemed to be dreaming of him, even after sleep
+was fled.  Camilla’s love for her fair pupil had broken her repose; she
+loved Rosabella as had she been her daughter, and was aware that on this
+interesting day depended the love-sick girl’s whole future happiness.
+For some time Rosabella was unusually gay; she sang to her harp the most
+lively airs, and jested with Camilla for looking so serious and so
+uneasy; but when mid-day approached, her spirits began to forsake her.
+She quitted her instrument, and paced the chamber with unsteady steps.
+With every succeeding hour her heart palpitated with greater pain and
+violence, and she trembled in expectation of the scene which was soon to
+take place.
+
+The most illustrious persons in Venice already filled her uncle’s palace;
+the afternoon so much dreaded, and yet so much desired, was come; and the
+Doge now desired Camilla to conduct his niece to the great saloon, where
+she was expected with impatience by all those who were of most
+consequence in the Republic.
+
+Rosabella sank on her knees before a statue of the Virgin.  “Blessed
+Lady!” she exclaimed, with lifted hands, “have mercy on me!  Let all
+to-day end well!”
+
+Pale as death did she enter the chamber in which, on the day before, she
+had acknowledged her love for Flodoardo, and Flodoardo had sworn to risk
+his life to obtain her.  Flodoardo was not yet arrived.
+
+The assembly was brilliant, the conversation was gay.  They talked over
+the politics of the day, and discussed the various occurrences of Europe.
+The Cardinal and Contarino were engaged in a conference with the Doge,
+while Memmo, Parozzi, and Falieri stood silent together, and revolved the
+project whose execution was to take place at midnight.
+
+The weather was dark and tempestuous.  The wind roared among the waters
+of the canal, and the vanes of the palace-towers creaked shrilly and
+discordantly.  One storm of rain followed hard upon another.
+
+The clock struck four.  The cheeks of Rosabella, if possible, became
+paler than before.  Andreas whispered something to his chamberlain.  In a
+few minutes the tread of armed men seemed approaching the doors of the
+saloon, and soon after the clattering of weapons was heard.
+
+Instantly a sudden silence reigned through the whole assembly.  The young
+courtiers broke off their love-speeches abruptly, and the ladies stopped
+in their criticisms upon the last new fashions.  The statesmen dropped
+their political discussions, and gazed on each other in silence and
+anxiety.
+
+The Doge advanced slowly into the midst of the assembly.  Every eye was
+fixed upon him.  The hearts of the conspirators beat painfully.
+
+“Be not surprised, my friends,” said Andreas, “at these unusual
+precautions; they relate to nothing which need interfere with the
+pleasures of this society.  You have all heard but too much of the bravo
+Abellino, the murderer of the Procurator Conari, and of my faithful
+counsellors Manfrone and Lomellino, and to whose dagger my illustrious
+guest the Prince of Monaldeschi has but lately fallen a victim.  This
+miscreant, the object of aversion to every honest man in Venice, to whom
+nothing is sacred or venerable, and who has hitherto set at defiance the
+whole vengeance of the Republic—before another hour expires, perhaps this
+outcast of hell may stand before you in this very saloon.”
+
+_All_ (astonished).—Abellino?  What, the bravo Abellino?
+
+_Gonzaga_.—Of his own accord!
+
+_Andreas_.—No, not of his own accord, in truth.  But Flodoardo of
+Florence has undertaken to render this important service to the Republic,
+to seize Abellino, cost what it may, and conduct him hither at the risk
+of his life.
+
+_A Senator_.—The engagement will be difficult to fulfil.  I doubt much
+Flodoardo’s keeping his promise.
+
+_Another_.—But if he _should_ perform it, the obligation which Flodoardo
+will lay upon the Republic will not be trifling.
+
+_A Third_.—Nay, we shall be all his debtors, nor do I know how we can
+reward Flodoardo for so important a service.
+
+_Andreas_.—Be that my task.  Flodoardo has demanded my niece in marriage
+if he performs his promise.  Rosabella shall be his reward.
+
+All gazed on each other in silence; some with looks expressing the most
+heartfelt satisfaction, and others with glances of envy and surprise.
+
+_Falieri_ (in a low voice).—Parozzi, how will this end?
+
+_Memmo_.—As I live, the very idea makes me shake as if I had a fever.
+
+_Parozzi_ (smiling contemptuously).—It’s very likely that Abellino should
+suffer himself to be caught!
+
+_Contarino_.—Pray inform me, signors, have any of you ever met this
+Abellino face to face?
+
+_Several Noblemen at once_.—Not I.  Never.
+
+_A Senator_.—He is a kind of spectre, who only appears now and then, when
+he is least expected and desired.
+
+_Rosabella_.—I saw him once; never again shall I forget the monster.
+
+_Andreas_.—And my interview with him is too well known to make it needful
+for me to relate it.
+
+_Memmo_.—I have heard a thousand stories about this miscreant, the one
+more wonderful than the other; and for my own part I verily believe that
+he is Satan himself in a human form.  I must say that I think it would be
+wiser not to let him be brought in among us, for he is capable of
+strangling us all as we stand here, one after another, without mercy.
+
+“Gracious Heaven!” screamed several of the ladies, “you don’t say so?
+What, strangle us in this very chamber?”
+
+_Contarino_.—The principal point is, whether Flodoardo will get the
+better of _him_, or _he_ of Flodoardo.  Now I would lay a heavy wager
+that the Florentine will return without having finished the business.
+
+_A Senator_.—And _I_ would engage, on the contrary, that there is but one
+man in Venice who is capable of seizing Abellino, and that _that_ man is
+Flodoardo of Florence.  The moment that I became acquainted with him, I
+prophesied that one day or other he would play a brilliant part in the
+annals of history.
+
+_Another Senator_.—I think with you, signor.  Never was I so struck with
+a man at first sight as I was with Flodoardo.
+
+_Contarino_.—A thousand sequins on Abellino’s not being taken, unless
+death should have taken him first.
+
+_The First Senator_.—A thousand sequins on Flodoardo seizing him—
+
+_Andreas_.—And delivering him up to me, either alive or dead.
+
+_Contarino_.—Illustrious signors, you are witnesses of the wager.  My
+Lord Vitalba, there is my hand on it.  A thousand sequins!
+
+_The Senator_.—Done.
+
+_Contarino_ (smiling).—Many thanks for your gold, signor.  I look on it
+as already in my purse.  Flodoardo is a clever gentleman, no doubt, yet I
+would advise him to take good care of himself; for he will find that
+Abellino knows a trick or two, or I am much mistaken.
+
+_Gonzaga_.—May I request your Highness to inform me whether Flodoardo is
+attended by the sbirri?
+
+_Andreas_.—No, he is alone.  Near four-and-twenty hours have elapsed
+since he set out in pursuit of the bravo.
+
+_Gonzaga_ (to Contarino, with a smile of triumph).—I wish you joy of your
+thousand sequins, signor.
+
+_Contarino_ (bowing respectfully).—Since your Excellency prophesies it I
+can no longer doubt my success.
+
+_Memmo_.—I begin to recover myself!  Well, well! let us see the end.
+
+Three-and-twenty hours had elapsed since Flodoardo had entered into the
+rash engagement.  The four-and-twentieth now hastened to its completion,
+and yet Flodoardo came not.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+THE CLOCK STRIKES FIVE.
+
+
+THE Doge became uneasy.  The senator Vitalba began to tremble for his
+thousand sequins, and the conspirators could not restrain their spiteful
+laughter, when Contarino gravely declared that he would gladly lose, not
+_one_ thousand sequins, but twenty, if the loss of his wager through
+Abellino’s being captured might but secure the general safety of the
+Republic.
+
+“Hark!” cried Rosabella, “the clock strikes five!”
+
+All listened to the chimes in the tower of St. Mark’s Church, and
+trembled as they counted the strokes.  Had not Camilla supported her,
+Rosabella would have sank upon the ground.  The destined hour was past,
+and still Flodoardo came not!
+
+The venerable Andreas felt a sincere affection for the Florentine; he
+shuddered as he dwelt upon the probability that Abellino’s dagger had
+prevailed.
+
+Rosabella advanced towards her uncle as if she would have spoken to him;
+but anxiety fettered her tongue, and tears forced themselves into her
+eyes.  She struggled for a while to conceal her emotions, but the effort
+was too much for her.  She threw herself on a sofa, wrung her hands, and
+prayed to the God of mercy for help and comfort.
+
+The rest of the company either formed groups of whisperers, or strolled
+up and down the apartment in evident uneasiness.  They would willingly
+have appeared gay and unconcerned, but they found it impossible to assume
+even an affectation of gaiety, and thus elapsed another hour, and still
+Flodoardo came not.
+
+At that moment the evening sun broke through the clouds, and a ray of its
+setting glory was thrown full upon the countenance of Rosabella.  She
+started from the sofa, extended her arms towards the radiant orb, and
+exclaimed, while a smile of hope played round her lips, “God is merciful;
+God will have mercy on me.”
+
+_Contarino_.—Was it at five o’clock that Flodoardo engaged to produce
+Abellino?  It is now a full hour beyond his time.
+
+_The Senator Vitalba_.—Let him only produce him at last, and he may be a
+month beyond his time if he choose.
+
+_Andreas_.—Hark!  No.  Silence! silence!  Surely I hear footsteps
+approaching the saloon.
+
+The words were scarcely spoken when the folding doors were thrown open,
+and Flodoardo rushed into the room enveloped in his mantle.  His hair
+streamed on the air in wild disorder; a deep shade was thrown over his
+face by the drooping plumes of his _barrette_, from which the rain was
+flowing.  Extreme melancholy was impressed on all his features, and he
+threw gloomy looks around him as he bowed his head in salutation of the
+assembly.
+
+Every one crowded round him; every mouth was unclosed to question him;
+every eye was fixed on his face as if eager to anticipate his answers.
+
+“Holy Virgin!” exclaimed Memmo, “I am afraid that—”
+
+“Be silent, signor!” interrupted Contarino, sternly; “there is nothing to
+be afraid of.”
+
+“Illustrious Venetians!”—it was thus that Flodoardo broke silence, and he
+spoke with the commanding tone of a hero—“I conclude that his Highness
+has already made known to you the object of your being thus assembled.  I
+come to put an end to your anxiety; but first, noble Andreas, I must once
+more receive the assurance that Rosabella of Corfu shall become my bride,
+provided I deliver into your power the bravo Abellino.”
+
+_Andreas_ (examining his countenance with extreme anxiety).—Flodoardo,
+have you succeeded?  Is Abellino your prisoner?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—If Abellino is my prisoner, shall Rosabella be my bride?
+
+_Andreas_.—Bring me Abellino, alive or dead, and she is yours.  I swear
+it beyond the power of retracting, and also that her dowry shall be
+royal!
+
+_Flodoardo_.—Illustrious Venetians, ye have heard the Doge’s oath?
+
+_All_.—We are your witnesses.
+
+_Flodoardo_ (advancing a few paces with a bold air, and speaking in a
+firm voice).—Well, then, Abellino is in my power—is in _yours_.
+
+_All_ (in confusion and a kind of uproar).—In ours?  Merciful heaven!
+Where is he?  Abellino!
+
+_Andreas_.—Is he dead or living?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—He still lives.
+
+_Gonzaga_ (hastily).—He lives?
+
+_Flodoardo_ (bowing to the Cardinal respectfully).—He still lives,
+signor.
+
+_Rosabella_ (pressing Camilla to her bosom).  Didst thou hear that,
+Camilla?  Didst thou hear it?  The villain still lives.  Not one drop of
+blood has stained the innocent hand of Flodoardo.
+
+_The Senator Vitalba_.—Signor Contarino, I have won a thousand sequins of
+you.
+
+_Contarino_.—So it should seem, signor.
+
+_Andreas_.—My son, you have bound the Republic to you for ever, and I
+rejoice that it is to Flodoardo that she is indebted for a service so
+essential.
+
+_Vitalba_.—And permit me, noble Florentine, to thank you for this heroic
+act in the name of the Senate of Venice.  Our first care shall be to seek
+out a reward proportioned to your merits.
+
+_Flodoardo_ (extending his arms towards Rosabella, with a melancholy
+air).—There stands the only reward for which I wish.
+
+_Andreas_ (joyfully).—And that reward is your own.  But where have you
+left the bloodhound?  Conduct him hither, my son, and let me look at him
+once more.  When I last saw him, he had the insolence to tell me, “Doge,
+I am your equal.  This narrow chamber now holds the two greatest men in
+Venice.”  Now, then, let me see how this other great man looks in
+captivity.
+
+_Two or three Senators_.—Where is he?  Bring him hither.
+
+Several of the ladies screamed at hearing this proposal.  “For heaven’s
+sake,” cried they, “keep the monster away from us!  I shall be frightened
+out of my senses if he comes here.”
+
+“Noble ladies,” said Flodoardo, with a smile, expressing rather sorrow
+than joy, “you have nothing to apprehend.  Abellino shall do you no harm;
+but he needs must come hither to claim _The Bravo’s Bride_.”  And he
+pointed to Rosabella.
+
+“Oh, my best friend,” she answered, “how shall I express my thanks to you
+for having thus put an end to my terrors?  I shall tremble no more at
+hearing Abellino named.  Rosabella shall now be called the Bravo’s Bride
+no longer.”
+
+_Falieri_.—Is Abellino already in this palace?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—He is.
+
+_Vitalba_.—Then why do you not produce him?  Why do you trifle so long
+with our impatience?
+
+_Flodoardo_.—Be patient.  It’s now time that the play should begin.  Be
+seated, noble Andreas.  Let all the rest arrange themselves behind the
+Doge.  Abellino’s coming!
+
+At that word both old and young, both male and female, with the rapidity
+of lightning, flew to take shelter behind Andreas.  Every heart beat
+anxiously; but as to the conspirators, while expecting Abellino’s
+appearance, they suffered the torments of the damned.
+
+Grave and tranquil sat the Doge in his chair, like a judge appointed to
+pass sentence on this King of the Banditti.  The spectators stood around
+in various groups, all hushed and solemn, as if they were waiting to
+receive their final judgment.  The lovely Rosabella, with all the
+security of angels whose innocence have nothing to fear, reclined her
+head on Camilla’s shoulder and gazed on her heroic lover with looks of
+adoration.  The conspirators, with pallid cheeks and staring eyes, filled
+up the background, and a dead and awful silence prevailed through the
+assembly, scarcely interrupted by a single breath.
+
+“And now, then,” said Flodoardo, “prepare yourselves, for this terrible
+Abellino shall immediately appear before you.  Do not tremble; he shall
+do no one harm.”
+
+With these words he turned away from the company, advanced towards the
+folding-doors.  He paused for a few moments, and concealed his face in
+his cloak.
+
+“Abellino!” cried he at length, raising his head, and extending his arm
+towards the door.  At that name all who heard it shuddered involuntarily,
+and Rosabella advanced unconsciously a few steps towards her lover.  She
+trembled more for Flodoardo than herself.
+
+“Abellino!” the Florentine repeated, in a loud and angry tone, threw from
+him his mantle and barrette, and had already laid his hand on the lock of
+the door to open it, when Rosabella uttered a cry of terror.
+
+“Stay, Flodoardo!” she cried, rushing towards him, and—Ha!  Flodoardo was
+gone, and there, in his place, stood Abellino, and shouted out, “Ho! ho!”
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+APPARITIONS.
+
+
+INSTANTLY a loud cry of terror resounded through the apartment.
+Rosabella sank fainting at the bravo’s feet; the conspirators were almost
+suffocated with rage, terror, and astonishment; the ladies made signs of
+the cross, and began in all haste to repeat their paternosters; the
+senators stood rooted to their places like so many statues; and the Doge
+doubted the information of his ears and eyes.
+
+Calm and terrible stood the bravo before them, in all the pomp of his
+strange and awful ugliness, with his bravo’s habit, his girdle filled
+with pistols and poniards, his distorted yellow countenance, his black
+and bushy eyebrows, his lips convulsed, his right eye covered by a large
+patch, and his left half buried among the wrinkles of flesh which swelled
+around it.  He gazed around him for a few moments in silence, and then
+approached the stupefied Andreas.
+
+“Ho! ho!” he roared in a voice like thunder, “you wish to see the bravo
+Abellino?  Doge of Venice, here he stands, and is come to claim his
+bride.”
+
+Andreas gazed with looks of horror on this model for demons, and at
+length stammered out with difficulty, “It cannot be real; I must surely
+be the sport of some terrible dream.”
+
+“Without there, guards!” exclaimed the Cardinal Gonzaga, and would have
+hastened to the folding doors, when Abellino put his back against them,
+snatched a pistol from his girdle, and pointed it at the Cardinal’s
+bosom.
+
+“The first,” cried he, “who calls for the guard, or advances one step
+from the place on which he stands, expires that moment.  Fools!  Do ye
+think I would have delivered myself up, and desired that guards might
+beset these doors, had I feared their swords, or intended to escape from
+your power?  No; I am content to be your prisoner, but not through
+compulsion!  I am content to be your prisoner; and it was with that
+intent that I came hither.  No mortal should have the glory of seizing
+Abellino.  If justice required him to be delivered up, it was necessary
+that he should be delivered up by himself!  Or do ye take Abellino for an
+ordinary ruffian, who passes his time in skulking from the sbirri, and
+who murders for the sake of despicable plunder?  No, by heaven, no!
+Abellino was no such common villain.  It’s true I was a bravo; but the
+motives which induced me to become one were great and striking.”
+
+_Andreas_ (clasping his hands together).—Almighty God! can all this be
+possible?
+
+An awful silence again reigned through the saloon.  All trembled while
+they listened to the voice of the terrible assassin, who strode through
+the chamber proud and majestic as the monarch of the infernal world.
+
+Rosabella opened her eyes; their first look fell upon the bravo.
+
+“Oh, God of mercy!” she exclaimed, “he is still there.  Methought, too,
+that Flodoardo—.  No, no; it could not be!  I was deceived by
+witchcraft.”
+
+Abellino advanced towards her, and attempted to raise her.  She shrunk
+from his touch with horror.
+
+“No, Rosabella,” said the bravo, in an altered voice, “what you saw was
+no illusion.  Your favoured Flodoardo is no other than Abellino the
+bravo.”
+
+“It is false!” interrupted Rosabella, starting from the ground in
+despair, and throwing herself for refuge on Camilla’s bosom.  “Monster!
+thou canst not be Flodoardo! such a fiend can never have been such a
+seraph.  Flodoardo’s actions were good and glorious as a demi-god’s!
+’Twas of him that I learned to love good and glorious actions, and ’twas
+he who encouraged me to attempt them myself; his heart was pure from all
+mean passions, and capable of conceiving all great designs.  Never did he
+scruple, in the cause of virtue, to endure fatigue and pain, and to dry
+up the tears of suffering innocence—that was Flodoardo’s proudest
+triumph!  Flodoardo and thou—!  Wretch, whom many a bleeding ghost has
+long since accused before the throne of heaven, darest thou to profane
+the name of Flodoardo!”
+
+_Abellino_ (proud and earnest).—Rosabella, wilt thou forsake me?  Wilt
+thou retract thy promise?  Look, Rosabella, and be convinced: I, the
+bravo, and thy Flodoardo are the same.
+
+He said, removing the patch from his eye, and passed a handkerchief over
+his face once or twice.  In an instant his complexion was altered, his
+bushy eyebrows and straight black hair disappeared, his features were
+replaced in their natural symmetry, and lo! the handsome Florentine stood
+before the whole assembly, dressed in the habit of the bravo Abellino.
+
+_Abellino_.—Mark me, Rosabella!  Seven times over, and seven times again,
+will I change my appearance, even before your eyes, and that so artfully
+that, study me as you will, the transformation shall deceive you.  But
+change as I may, of one thing be assured: I am the man whom you loved as
+Flodoardo.
+
+The Doge gazed and listened without being able to recover from his
+confusion, but every now and then the words “Dreadful! dreadful!” escaped
+from his lips, and he wrung his hands in agony.  Abellino approached
+Rosabella, and said in the tone of supplication: “Rosabella, wilt thou
+break thy promise?  Am I no longer dear to thee?”
+
+Rosabella was unable to answer; she stood like one changed to a statue,
+and fixed her motionless eyes on the bravo.
+
+Abellino took her cold hand and pressed it to his lips.
+
+“Rosabella,” said he, “art thou still mine?”
+
+_Rosabella_.—Flodoardo, oh! that I had never loved, had never seen thee!
+
+_Abellino_.—Rosabella wilt thou still be the bride of Flodoardo? wilt
+thou be “the Bravo’s Bride?”
+
+Love struggled with abhorrence in Rosabella’s bosom, and painful was the
+contest.
+
+_Abellino_.—Hear me, beloved one!  It was for thee that I have discovered
+myself—that I have delivered myself into the hands of justice.  For
+thee—oh, what would I not do for thee!  Rosabella, I wait but to hear one
+syllable from your lips; speak but a decisive yes or no, and all is
+ended.  Rosabella, dost thou love me still?
+
+And still she answered not; but she threw upon him a look innocent and
+tender as ever beamed from the eye of an angel, and that look betrayed
+but too plainly that the miscreant was still master of her heart.  She
+turned from him hastily, threw herself into Camilla’s arms, and
+exclaimed, “God forgive you, man, for torturing me so cruelly!”
+
+The Doge had by this time recovered from his stupor.  He started from his
+chair, threats flashed from his eyes, and his lips trembled with passion.
+He rushed towards Abellino; but the senators threw themselves in his
+passage, and held him back by force.  In the meanwhile the bravo advanced
+towards him with the most insolent composure, and requested him to calm
+his agitation.
+
+“Doge of Venice,” said he, “will you keep your promise?  That you gave it
+to me, these noble lords and ladies can testify.”
+
+Andreas.—Monster! miscreant!  Oh! how artfully has this plan been laid to
+ensnare me!  Tell me, Venetians, to _such_ a creditor am I obliged to
+discharge my fearful debt?  Long has he been playing a deceitful bloody
+part; the bravest of our citizens have fallen beneath his dagger, and it
+was the price of their blood which has enabled him to act the nobleman in
+Venice.  Then comes he to me in disguise of a man of honour, seduces the
+heart of my unfortunate Rosabella, obtains my promise by an artful trick,
+and now claims the maiden for his bride, in the hope that the husband of
+the Doge’s niece will easily obtain an absolution for his crimes.  Tell
+me, Venetians, ought I to keep my word with this miscreant?
+
+_All the Senators_.—No, no, by no means.
+
+_Abellino_ (with solemnity).—If you have once pledged your word, you
+ought to keep it, though given to the Prince of Darkness.  Oh, fie, fie!
+Abellino, how shamefully hast thou been deceived in thy reckoning.  I
+thought I had to do with men of honour.  Oh! how grossly have I been
+mistaken.  (In a terrible voice.)—Once again, and for the last time, I
+ask you, Doge of Venice, wilt thou break thy princely word?
+
+_Andreas_ (in the tone of authority).—Give up your arms.
+
+_Abellino_.—And you will really withhold from me my just reward?  Shall
+it be in vain that I delivered Abellino into your power?
+
+_Andreas_.—It was to the brave Flodoardo that I promised Rosabella.  I
+never entered into any engagement with the murderer Abellino.  Let
+Flodoardo claim my niece, and she is his; but Abellino can have no claim
+to her.  Again I say lay down your arms.
+
+_Abellino_ (laughing wildly).—The murderer Abellino, say you?  Ho! ho!
+Be it your care to keep your own promises, and trouble not yourself about
+my murders, they are _my_ affair, and I warrant I shall find a word or
+two to say in defence of them, when the judgment day arrives.
+
+_Gonzaga_ (to the Doge).—What dreadful blasphemy.
+
+_Abellino_.—Oh, good Lord Cardinal, intercede in my behalf, you know me
+well; I have always acted by you like a man of honour, that at least you
+cannot deny.  Say a word in my favour, then, good Lord Cardinal.
+
+_Gonzaga_ (angrily, and with imperious dignity).—Address not thyself to
+_me_, miscreant.  What canst thou and I have to do together?  Venerable
+Andreas, delay no longer; let the guards be called in.
+
+_Abellino_.—What?  Is there then no hope for me?  Does no one feel
+compassion for the wretched Abellino?  What! _no one_?—(a pause)—All are
+silent?—_all_!  ’Tis enough.  Then my fate is decided—call in your
+guards.
+
+_Rosabella_ (with a scream of agony, springing forward, and falling at
+the feet of the Doge).—Mercy, mercy!  Pardon him—pardon _Abellino_!
+
+_Abellino_ (in rapture).—Sayest thou so?  Ho! ho! then an angel prays for
+Abellino in his last moments.
+
+_Rosabella_ (clasping the Doge’s knees).—Have mercy on him, my friend, my
+father, he is a sinner; but leave him to the justice of Heaven.  He is a
+sinner, but oh, Rosabella loves him still.
+
+_Andreas_ (pushing her away with indignation).—Away, unworthy girl; you
+rave.
+
+Abellino folded his arms, gazed with eagerness on what was passing, and
+tears gushed into his brilliant eyes.  Rosabella caught the Doge’s hand,
+as he turned to leave her, kissed it twice, and said, “If you have no
+mercy on _him_, then have none on _me_.  The sentence which you pass on
+Abellino will be mine; ’tis for my own life that I plead as well as
+Abellino’s.  Father, dear father, reject not my suit, but spare him.”
+
+_Andreas_ (in an angry and decided tone).—Abellino dies.
+
+_Abellino_.—And can you look on with dry eyes while that innocent dove
+bleeds at your feet?  Go, barbarian; you never loved Rosabella as she
+deserved.  Now she is yours no longer.  She is mine, she is Abellino’s.
+
+He raised her from the ground, and pressed her pale lips against his own.
+
+“Rosabella, thou art mine; death alone can part us.  Thou lovest me as I
+_would_ be loved; I am blest whate’er may happen, and can now set fortune
+at defiance.  To business, then.”
+
+He replaced Rosabella, who was almost fainting, on the bosom of Camilla,
+then advanced into the middle of the chamber, and addressed the assembly
+with an undaunted air—
+
+“Venetians, you are determined to deliver me up to the axe of justice;
+there is for me no hope of mercy.  ’Tis well, act as you please; but ere
+you sit in judgment over _me_, signors, I shall take the liberty of
+passing sentence upon some few of _you_.  Now mark me, you see in me the
+murderer of Conari, the murderer of Paolo Manfrone, the murderer of
+Lomellino.  I deny it not.  But would you know the illustrious persons
+who paid me for the use of my dagger?”
+
+With these words he put a whistle to his lips, sounded it, and instantly
+the doors flew open, the guards rushed in, and ere they had time to
+recollect themselves, the chief conspirators were in custody, and
+disarmed.
+
+“Guard them well,” said Abellino, in a terrible voice to the sentinels;
+“you have your orders.  Noble Venetians, look on these villains; it is to
+them that you are indebted for the loss of your three citizens.  I accuse
+of those murders one, two, three, four, and my good Lord Cardinal there
+has the honour to be the fifth.”
+
+Motionless and bewildered stood the accused; tale-telling confusion spoke
+in every feature that the charge was true, and no one was bold enough to
+contradict Abellino.
+
+“What can all this mean?” asked the senators of each other, in the utmost
+surprise and confusion.
+
+“This is all a shameful artifice,” the Cardinal at length contrived to
+say; “the villain, perceiving that he has no chance of escaping
+punishment, is willing, out of mere resentment, to involve us in his
+destruction.”
+
+_Contarino_ (recovering himself).—In the wickedness of his life he has
+surpassed all former miscreants, and now he is trying to surpass them in
+the wickedness of his death.
+
+_Abellino_ (with majesty).—Be silent.  I know your whole plot, have seen
+your list of proscriptions, am well informed of your whole arrangement,
+and at the moment that I speak to you the officers of justice are
+employed, by my orders, in seizing the gentlemen with the white ribbons
+round their arms, who this very night intended to overturn Venice.  Be
+silent, for defence were vain.
+
+_Andreas_ (in astonishment)—Abellino, what is the meaning of all this?
+
+_Abellino_.—Neither more nor less than that Abellino has discovered and
+defeated a conspiracy against the constitution of Venice and the life of
+its Doge!  The bravo, in return for your kind intention of sending him to
+destruction in a few hours, has preserved you from it.
+
+_Vitalba_ (to the accused).—Noble Venetians, you are silent under this
+heavy charge.
+
+_Abellino_.—They are wise, for no defence can now avail them.  Their
+troops are already disarmed, and lodged in separate dungeons of the State
+prison; visit them there, and you will learn more.  You now understand
+probably that I did not order the doors of this saloon to be guarded for
+the purpose of seizing the terrible bravo Abellino, but of taking those
+heroes into secure custody.
+
+And now, Venetians, compare together _your_ conduct and _mine_.  At the
+hazard of my life have I preserved the State from ruin.  Disguised as a
+bravo, I dared to enter the assembly of those ruthless villains, whose
+daggers laid Venice waste.  I have endured for your sakes storm, and
+rain, and frost, and heat; I have watched for your safety while you were
+sleeping.  Venice owes to my care her constitution and your lives; and
+yet are my services deserving of no reward?  All this have I done for
+Rosabella of Corfu, and yet will you withhold from me my promised bride?
+I have saved you from death, have saved the honour of your wives, and the
+throats of your innocent children from the knife of the assassin.  Men!
+men! and yet will you send me to the scaffold?
+
+Look on this list!  See how many among you would have bled this night,
+had it not been for Abellino, and see where the miscreants stand by whom
+you would have bled!  Read you not in every feature that they are already
+condemned by heaven and their own conscience?  Does a single mouth
+unclose itself in exculpation?  Does a single movement of the head give
+the lie to my charge?  Yet the truth of what I have advanced shall be
+made still more evident.
+
+He turned himself to the conspirators
+
+“Mark me!” said he, “the first among you who acknowledges the truth shall
+receive a free pardon.  I swear it, I, the bravo Abellino!”
+
+The conspirators remained silent.  Suddenly Memmo started forward and
+threw himself trembling at the Doge’s feet.
+
+“Venetians,” he exclaimed, “Abellino has told you true.”
+
+“’Tis false, ’tis false!” exclaimed the accused altogether.
+
+“Silence!” cried Abellino, in a voice of thunder, while the indignation
+which flamed in every feature struck terror into his hearers: “Silence, I
+say, and hear me, or rather hear the ghosts of your victims.  Appear,
+appear!” cried this dreadful man, in a tone still louder: “’Tis time!”
+
+Again he sounded his whistle.  The folding doors were thrown open, and
+there stood the Doge’s much lamented friends—Conari, Lomellino, and
+Manfrone.
+
+“We are betrayed!” shouted Contarino, who drew out a concealed dagger,
+and plunged it in his bosom up to the very hilt.
+
+And now what a scene of rapture followed.  Tears streamed down the silver
+beard of Andreas, as he rushed into the arms of his long-lost companions;
+tears bedewed the cheeks of the venerable triumvirate, as they once more
+clasped the knees of their prince, their friend, their brother.  These
+excellent men, these heroes, never had Andreas hoped to meet them again
+till they should meet in heaven; and Andreas blessed heaven for
+permitting him to meet them once more on earth.  These four men, who had
+valued each other in the first dawn of _youth_, who had fought by each
+other’s sides in _manhood_, were now assembled in _age_, and valued each
+other more than ever.  The spectators gazed with universal interest on
+the scene before them, and the good old senators mingled tears of joy
+with those shed by the re-united companions.  In the happy delirium of
+this moment, nothing but Andreas and his friends were attended to; no one
+was aware that the conspirators and the self-murderer Contarino were
+removed by the guards from the saloon; no one but Camilla observed
+Rosabella, who threw herself sobbing on the bosom of the handsome bravo,
+and repeated a thousand times, “Abellino, then, is not a murderer!”
+
+At length they began to recollect themselves they looked round them—and
+the first words which broke from every lip were—“Hail, saviour of
+Venice!”—The roof rung with the name of Abellino, and unnumbered
+blessings accompanied the name.
+
+That very Abellino, who not an hour before had been doomed to the
+scaffold by the whole assembly, now stood calm and dignified as a god
+before the adoring spectators; and now he viewed with complacency the men
+whose lives he had saved, and now his eye dwelt with rapture on the woman
+whose love was the reward of all his dangers.
+
+“Abellino!” said Andreas advancing to the bravo, and extending his hand
+towards him.
+
+“I am not Abellino,” replied he, smiling, while he pressed the Doge’s
+hand respectfully to his lips “neither am I Flodoardo of Florence.  I am
+by birth a Neapolitan, and by name Rosalvo.  The death of my inveterate
+enemy the Prince of Monaldeschi makes it no longer necessary to conceal
+who I really am.”
+
+“Monaldeschi?” repeated Andreas, with a look of anxiety.
+
+“Fear not,” continued Rosalvo; “Monaldeschi, it is true, fell by my hand,
+but fell in honourable combat.  The blood which stained his sword flowed
+from my veins, and in his last moments conscience asserted her empire in
+his bosom.  He died not till he had written in his tablets the most
+positive declaration of my innocence as to the crimes with which his
+hatred had contrived to blacken me; and he also instructed me by what
+means I might obtain at Naples the restoration of my forfeited estates
+and the re-establishment of my injured honour.  Those means have been
+already efficacious, and all Naples is by this time informed of the arts
+by which Monaldeschi procured my banishment, and of the many plots which
+he laid for my destruction; plots, which made it necessary for me to drop
+my own character, and never to appear but in disguise.  After various
+wanderings chance led me to Venice.  My appearance was so much altered,
+that I dreaded not discovery, but I dreaded (and with reason) perishing
+in your streets with hunger.  In this situation accident brought me
+acquainted with the banditti, by whom Venice was then infested.  I
+willingly united myself to their society, partly with a view of purifying
+the Republic from the presence of these wretches, and partly in the hope
+of discovering through them the more illustrious villains by whom their
+daggers were employed.  I was successful.  I delivered the banditti up to
+justice, and stabbed their captain in Rosabella’s sight.  I was now the
+only bravo in Venice.  Every scoundrel was obliged to have recourse to
+me.  I discovered the plans of the conspirators, and now you know them
+also.  I found that the deaths of the Doge’s three friends had been
+determined on; and in order to obtain full confidence with the
+confederates, it was necessary to persuade them that these men had fallen
+beneath my dagger.  No sooner had my plan been formed than I imparted it
+to Lomellino.  He, and he only, was my confidant in this business.  He
+presented me to the Doge as the son of a deceased friend; he assisted me
+with his advice; he furnished me with keys to those doors to the public
+gardens, which none were permitted to pass through except Andreas and his
+particular friends, and which frequently enabled me to elude pursuit; he
+showed me several private passages in the palace by which I could
+penetrate unobserved even into the Doge’s very bed-chamber.  When the
+time for his disappearance arrived, he not only readily consented to lie
+concealed in a retreat known only to ourselves, but was also the means of
+inducing Manfrone and Conari to join him in his retirement, till the
+fortunate issue of this day’s adventure permitted me to set them once
+more at liberty.  The banditti exist no longer; the conspirators are in
+chains; my plans are accomplished; and now, Venetians, if you still think
+him deserving of it, here stands the bravo Abellino, and you may lead him
+to the scaffold when you will.”
+
+“To the scaffold!” exclaimed at once the Doge, the senators, and the
+whole crowd of nobility; and every one burst into enthusiastic praises of
+the dauntless Neapolitan.
+
+“Oh, Abellino,” exclaimed Andreas, while he wiped away a tear, “I would
+gladly give my ducal bonnet to be such a bravo as thou hast been.
+‘Doge,’ did thou once say to me, ‘thou and I are the two greatest men in
+Venice,’ but oh, how much greater is the bravo than the Doge!  Rosabella
+is that jewel, than which I have nothing in the world more precious;
+Rosabella is dearer to me than an emperor’s crown; Rosabella is thine.”
+
+“Abellino,” said Rosabella, and extended her hand to the handsome Bravo.
+
+“Triumph!” cried he, “Rosabella is the Bravo’s Bride,” and he clasped the
+blushing maid to his bosom.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+CONCLUSION.
+
+
+AND now it would not be at all amiss to make Count Rosalvo sit down
+quietly between the good old Doge and his lovely niece; and then cause
+him to relate the motive of Monaldeschi’s hatred, in what manner he lost
+Valeria, what crimes were imputed to him, and how he escaped from the
+assassins sent in pursuit of him by his enemy; how he had long wandered
+from place to place, and how he had at length learned, during his abode
+in Bohemia with a gang of gipsies, such means of disguising his features
+as enabled him to defy the keenest penetration to discover in the beggar
+Abellino the once admired Count Rosalvo; how in this disguise he had
+returned to Italy; and how Lomellino, having ascertained that he was
+universally believed at Naples to have long since perished by shipwreck,
+and therefore that neither the officers of the Inquisition, nor the
+assassins of his enemies were likely to trouble themselves any more about
+him, he had ventured to resume, with some slight alterations, his own
+appearance at Venice; how the arrival of Monaldeschi had obliged him to
+conceal himself, till an opportunity offered of presenting himself to the
+Prince when unattended, and of demanding satisfaction for his injuries;
+how he had been himself wounded in several places by his antagonist,
+though the combat finally terminated in his favour; how he had resolved
+to make use of Monaldeschi’s death to terrify Andreas still further, and
+of Parozzi’s conspiracy to obtain Rosabella’s hand of the Doge; how he
+had trembled lest the heart of his mistress should have been only
+captivated by the romantic appearance of the adventurer Flodoardo, and
+have rejected him when known to be the bravo Abellino; how he had
+resolved to make use of the terror inspired by the assassin to put her
+love to the severest trial; and how, had she failed in that trial, he had
+determined to renounce the inconstant maid for ever; with many other
+_hows_, _whys_, and _wherefores_, which, not being explained, will, I
+doubt, leave much of this tale involved in mystery: but before I begin
+Rosalvo’s history, I must ask two questions—First—do my readers like the
+manner in which I relate adventures?
+
+Secondly—If my readers _do_ like my manner of relating adventures, can I
+employ my time better than in relating them?
+
+When these questions are answered, I may probably resume my pen.  In the
+meanwhile, gentlemen and ladies, good-night, and pleasant dreams attend
+you.
+
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRAVO OF VENICE***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 2706-0.txt or 2706-0.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/0/2706
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
+be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
+law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
+so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
+States without permission and without paying copyright
+royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
+of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
+concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
+and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
+specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
+eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
+for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
+performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
+away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
+not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
+trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
+
+START: FULL LICENSE
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
+Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
+www.gutenberg.org/license.
+
+Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+
+1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
+destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
+possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
+Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
+by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
+person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
+1.E.8.
+
+1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
+paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
+agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
+Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
+of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
+works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
+States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
+United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
+claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
+displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
+all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
+that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
+free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
+works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
+Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
+comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
+same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
+you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
+in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
+check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
+agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
+distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
+other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
+representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
+country outside the United States.
+
+1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
+immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
+prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
+on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
+performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
+
+  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
+  most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
+  restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
+  under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
+  eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
+  United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
+  are located before using this ebook.
+
+1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
+derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
+contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
+copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
+the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
+redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
+either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
+obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
+trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
+additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
+will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
+posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
+beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
+any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
+to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
+other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
+version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
+(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
+to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
+of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
+Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
+full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+provided that
+
+* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
+  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
+  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
+  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
+  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
+  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
+  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
+  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
+  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
+  Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
+  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
+  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
+  works.
+
+* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
+  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
+  receipt of the work.
+
+* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
+are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
+from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
+Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
+Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
+contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
+or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
+intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
+other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
+cannot be read by your equipment.
+
+1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
+with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
+with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
+lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
+or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
+opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
+the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
+without further opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
+OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
+LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
+damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
+violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
+agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
+limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
+unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
+remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
+accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
+production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
+including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
+the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
+or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
+additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
+Defect you cause.
+
+Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
+computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
+exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
+from people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
+generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
+Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
+www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
+U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
+mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
+volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
+locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
+Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
+date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
+official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+
+    Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+    Chief Executive and Director
+    gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
+DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
+state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
+donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
+
+Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
+freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
+distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
+volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
+the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
+necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
+edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
+facility: www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+