Guiseppe Pallanza slept soundly all night, while I took snatches of sleep in the armchair by his bedside. At nine o'clock in the morning he awoke, feeling much stronger, and after I had given him something to eat I prepared to go out.
"Where are you going, Signor?" asked Pallanza in an anxious tone.
"I am going to send a doctor to see you, and then I am going to the Casa Angello."
"And for what reason?"
"To bring Signorina Bianca here!"
"Do you know the Signorina Bianca?"
"Very well, Signor Pallanza. I am the Englishman of whom you have no doubt heard her speak."
"Signor Hugo! yes, I know," muttered Guiseppe; and then, after a pause, "I wish to speak to you, I wish to tell you something."
"You shall tell me all shortly, but meanwhile lie down quietly, and when the doctor comes say nothing about the Palazzo Morone."
"Ah!" cried Pallanza, starting up in his bed, "do you know that horrible place?"
"I know all! But there, you are still weak," I answered, forcing him to lie down. "When I return I will speak to you about some important matters."
"Important!--to me?"
"Yes, and to the Contessa Morone."
"Ah! that terrible woman."
"Meanwhile, Signor Pallanza, say nothing about your visit to the palace or about Madame Morone."
"Not a word! And you will bring Bianca to see me?"
"Yes! I promise you."
With this hope, Pallanza was perfectly contented, and after instructing his landlady, who was in a state of great bewilderment at this sudden reappearance, to look after him, I went out to find Avenza. Fortunately he was well known in Verona, and I had no difficulty in discovering his house. He saw me at once, listened to my account of the way Pallanza had passed the night, and promised to see him without delay. Having thus carried out satisfactorily the first part of my mission, I departed to perform the second, which involved a somewhat embarrassing interview with Signorina Angello.
On arriving at the house of the Maestro, I was received by Petronella, who threw up her hands with an appeal to the saints when she saw my haggard appearance and burst out into a volley of questions.
"Eh! Signor Inglese. Is it not well with you? San Pietro! how the wine does change a face. Here has the Maestro been asking for you every day! 'Well! Well!' said I, 'he has gone away like the lover of the piccola!' And it is true! I see how you return. Eh! Madonna, all men are bad. I have been married--I know."
"You are wrong on this occasion, Petronella. I have not been at the wine, as you seem to think!"
"But your face, Signor Inglese--like that of a sick person! Gran dio!"
"Comes from sitting up all night by the bedside of Guiseppe Pallanza."
Petronella clapped her hands together with an ejaculation of delight
"He is found, then, the poor young man! Ah! it is well I did not waste a centesimo in masses; and those priests are such thieves. Eh! this news will be like wine to the piccola. Go in! go in, Signor Inglese! the Signorina is there, but the Maestro! he is in bed, which is the best place for him, say I."
After this breathless harangue Petronella ushered me into the sitting-room, where I found Bianca sitting by the window, contemplating a portrait of her lost lover. She arose when she saw me and came forward with an anxious look on her paleface, while the faithful but noisy domestic left the apartment.
"Well, Signorina, do you feel better?"
"Yes, yes, Signore, much better; but you have news!--news of Guiseppe."
"The best of news, my poor child. Guiseppe is found, and is now at his lodgings."
The blood rushed into her hitherto pale cheeks, her melancholy dark eyes sparkled with joy, and from a pallid, worn-looking girl she changed into a bright, joyful woman. It was a most wonderful transformation, as if a wan lily had suddenly blossomed under the wand of some fairy into a rich red rose.
"Signor Hugo! Signor Hugo! Ah, the good news! Oh, how happy I am! He is alive, then? he is well! Oh, say he is well, Signor Hugo!"
"Signorina, he is still weak after his adventure, and at present he is in bed."
"Oh, let me go to him! let me go at once! He may die, my poor Guiseppe!"
"No he will not die; but put on your hat and I will take you to him, for you alone, Signorina, can nurse him back to health and strength."
Bianca ran to put on her hat and tell the Maestro the good news, which evidently delighted the old man greatly, judging from the extraordinary chuckling sounds which shortly proceeded from his bedroom. Petronella at the doorway celebrated a noisy triumph on her own account, and at last amid the chucklings of the patriarch and the loud delight of his handmaiden, Bianca took her departure under my wing to visit the newly-found prodigal.
She absolutely danced along the pavement, so exuberant was her delight at the good news, and I thought how easily I could damp this joy by telling her the true story of Guiseppe's disappearance. It was a cruel thought, and I regretted it the moment after it flashed across my mind; for it would have been the wanton act of a boy crushing a butterfly to have destroyed the happy ignorance of this merry child, who, tripping gaily along by my side, put me in mind of the smiling Hebe of the Greeks, that charming incarnation of joyous maidenhood.
"Signore!" said Bianca, moderating her transports, "you have not told me the reason of Guiseppe's absence."
"I am afraid there is very little to tell, Signorina! He was lured to the Palazzo by an enemy, who kept him there until last night, when, luckily, I discovered where he was concealed and released him."
"Ah, Signor Hugo, how can I thank you for your kindness! Then my poor Guiseppe was hidden in that terrible room?"
"He was concealed near it, at all events," I replied evasively.
"And the voice in the darkness, Signor? Oh, that cruel, cruel voice! It. has haunted my dreams ever since!"
"It was nothing, Signorina; it was--it was a friend of mine, who came to assist me to look for Guiseppe!"
"Was it a signor or a Signora?" asked Bianca, who, evidently in her nervous agitation, had not distinguished the feminine tones of the unknown.
"It was a signor! a young signor whom I know!"
"But he saw us in the darkness. Dio! how terrible."
"No; he did not see us. He guessed we were there, as I told him we were going to look for Guiseppe, and he came to assist me."
Bianca was satisfied with this--I flatter myself--skilful explanation, and stopped asking questions, much to my relief. The number of lies I was forced to tell in connection with this affair was truly surprising, but as it was absolutely necessary to keep this poor child in ignorance of the true state of the case, I ventured to hope that the Recording Angel would treat them in the same way as he did the oath of my Uncle Toby, in Sterne's delightful story. Italian intrigue, from the experience I had of it, was certainly very little to my taste, as I was by no means a convert to the Jesuitical maxim that the end justifies the means, therefore it was with a thankful heart that I saw the whole intricate affair was nearly finished.
By this time we had arrived at Pallanza's lodgings, and I placed Bianca in an outer room with strict injunctions that she was not to leave it until I called her.
"Guiseppe is still weak, Signorina, and I must prepare him for your coming."
The fact is I wanted to carry out my promise to Beltrami, in asking Pallanza to live in retirement for a few months, and, until this was arranged, I was unwilling that he should see Bianca. The poor child fully believing what I said, promised to obey me faithfully in all things; so leaving her in the outer room I went in to see Pallanza, whom I found eagerly expecting my arrival.
To my surprise, the young man was up and dressed, as Dr. Avenza, finding him So much better, had insisted on him leaving his bed, to remain in which, he declared, was weakening; so I found Pallanza walking slowly to and fro to exercise his muscles, but on seeing me he came forward With an anxious look,--
"Is she here, Signor Hugo? Has Bianca come?"
"She is in the next room, Signor! No, do not go to her. I wish to speak to you."
"I am at your service, Signor Hugo. You have done so much for me that I can never repay you."
"Yes, you can by telling me how you went to the Palazzo Morone on that night."
"I will tell all, Signore! You have a right to know. But, Bianca?"
"She knows nothing."
A look of relief came over the anxious face of the young man, and we both sat down to continue the conversation.
"I met Madame Morone at Rome, Signore," said Pallanza with some faint hesitation, "and we were together a great deal. I did not love her exactly, but she being a great lady flattered my pride. Of course, I should have remembered Bianca, but she was not beside me, and as to the Contessa! ah, Signore Hugo, who can escape when a woman wills? Madame Morone made me afraid at last. She is a tigress, that woman, and threatened to kill me if I left her for another. I saw how dangerous was her love, and telling her I was going to marry the Signorina Angello, left Rome for Verona. She followed me here and took me to the Palazzo Morone on Sunday, where she exhausted every means of making me give up Bianca. I should not tell you all this about a woman, Signor, but by her attempt to kill me she has released me from the laws of honour. Cospetto! she is a mistress of the devil. Her rage is terrible, and on Sunday she implored, she wept, she raged, she threatened, but I was true to Bianca, and at last escaped from the palazzo intending never to see her again. On Monday night, however, I received a letter----"
"From a dying friend?" I interrupted meaningly.
"Eh! I said so in order to keep the affair from Bianca, as I knew if she heard about it I should be lost. No! Signor Hugo. The letter was from the Contessa, saying that if I did not come by eleven o'clock to the room in the palazzo, in order to bid her farewell, she would go at once to the Signorina Angello and tell all. Per Bacco! Signor, you may guess my fear at this message; and I determined to go to the palazzo at any cost. The opera was long that night, and before the curtain descended it was past eleven. I was so afraid of the Contessa fulfilling her threat that I did not wait to change my costume, but throwing on my cloak over my dress of Faust, went at once to the palazzo. She was not in the room, and I had a horrible fear that I was too late, but I waited for some time, and she came. We had another scene of tears, reproaches and rage, then----"
"I can tell you the rest, Signor Pallanza. She gave you the poison in a cup of wine, and when you fell at her feet she shut you up in a hiding-place, from whence you were rescued."
"By you, Signor, by you?"
"No; by the Marchese Beltrami, who took you to his house, and after many days revived you with an antidote to the poison which he obtained with great difficulty."
"But the Marchese! You, Signor, how did you see all this?"
"Ah! that is a long story. I will tell it to you another time, but at present you must promise me something."
"Anything, Signor Hugo! For you have saved my life from that terrible woman."
"She is indeed a terrible woman! and it is to escape her vengeance that I advise you not to sing for at least two months."
"But my engagement at the Ezzelino?"
"Pay forfeit-money. Say you are ill and cannot sing. Then return to Milan with the Signorina and marry her at once."
"But the Contessa?"
"Has gone to Rome for the present; but as soon as she finds out you are alive she will come after you; so, if you are wise, Signor Pallanza, you will obtain some engagement out of Italy."
"Basta, Signor! your advice is good, and I will do what you ask. For two months I will not sing. I will pay the forfeit-money to the Ezzelino and return to Milan with Bianca. It is best so. Per Bacco! what a demon I have escaped!"
I felt greatly relieved that everything had thus been settled, so arose from my chair to take Pallanza to the Signorina, after which I intended to go straight to my hotel and write a letter to Beltrami, telling him of all that had taken place.
"Come, Signor Pallanza, lean on me, and I will take you to Bianca."
"Ah! cara Bianca," he cried joyfully, as I led him to the door; "Bianca, Bianca, gioja della mia vita!"
"Guiseppe!"
She saw him standing with outstretched arms on the threshold of the room, and with a cry of joy flew towards him like a bird to its nest, and flung herself on his breast.
As for me, I went out of the room and left them together.
Well, at last I was back in Milan, much to my satisfaction, as after the strange adventures I had met with in Verona that city became positively hateful to me. Two months had elapsed since the affair of the Palazzo Morone had come to an end, and during that time two marriages in connection therewith had been celebrated--that of Beltrami with the Contessa Morone, at Rome; and that of Guiseppe Pallanza with Signorina Bianca, at Milan. True to his promise, Guiseppe had forfeited his engagement at the Ezzelino, much to the wrath of the impresario, and had rested quietly since at Milan, passing most of his time with Bianca, who was now in a state of high glee preparing for her marriage.
It took place at the church of St. Stefano, in Milan, and out of consideration for the great age of the Maestro it was a very quiet affair, I being the only one present beyond the Angello household, but that was at the urgent request of both Bianca and her husband, who never forgot the services I had rendered them at Verona.
Thanks to my dexterity, Bianca never discovered the truth, and fully believed that Guiseppe had been kept a prisoner at the Palazzo Morone by some enemy who had lured him thither, by means of the letter purporting to come from a dying friend. At first, considering the weak way in which Guiseppe had acted, I did not consider that he deserved his good fortune in marrying such a charming girl as the Signorina, but during the time that preceded the marriage he was so devoted to her in every way, and apparently so remorseful for his amorous folly, that I quite forgave him his momentary infidelity. It was a very pretty wedding, the bride and bridegroom making a handsome couple, and when the ceremony was ended Signor and Signora Pallanza went to spend the honeymoon of a few days at Monza, and I was left alone in Milan.
Guiseppe had obtained an engagement at the Madrid Opera House, and on their return from Monza the young couple were to start almost immediately for Spain, leaving the Maestro under the tender care of Petronella. The old man's health had been failing sadly of late, and I doubted very much whether Bianca would find him alive on her return to Italy, seeing how frail he was in every respect.
Now that he was deprived of his right hand by the marriage of his granddaughter, the Maestro decided to give up teaching, at which decision I was profoundly sorry, as only having been with him a year I had still many things to learn in the art of vocalisation. There was, unfortunately, no one else with whom I could study the same system, for Paolo Angello taught the old, pure Italian method, of which he was the last exponent; and I infinitely preferred the round sonorous notes which his training produced to the shouting, colourless style of present-day singing, which curses the voice with a perpetual tremolo. The elaborate fioriture school of Pasta, Grisi, Ronconi, and Malibran has almost entirely passed away, and in its place what have we in Italy?--nothing but the present abominable fortissimo singing, without grace, sweetness, steadiness, or colour. The old Italian operas were composed not so much as stage performances as to show off the beauty, execution and brilliancy of the voice, while this new school of music-drama; designed principally for dramatic effect, is interpreted by singers who rely but little on the perfection of the vocal organ, and pride themselves not so much on the individual colouring of a single number as on the general broad effect of the whole. Fortunately, however, by incessant work during my one year under Angello, I had acquired a pretty good idea of his system of vocalisation, and hoped, by cautious industry in following out his hard and fast rules, to perfect my singing in accordance with his severely pure method.
Of the Marchese Beltrami and his wife I heard but little, save through the medium of the papers, as except one letter announcing his marriage with the Contessa, and thanking me for my attention to his interests, this ungrateful Luigi had not written to me. I consoled myself with philosophical reflections on the hollowness of friendship, when one day, towards the end of July, I was astonished to receive a visit from the Marchese.
Pallanza and his wife had returned to Milan, and were making preparations for their departure, which was now near at hand. I had just come back from a visit to the Maestro with whom they were staying, and was writing letters in my bedroom, when Beltrami's card was brought to me, upon which I ordered him to be shown into the room in which I was scribbling, so as to secure perfect privacy during our conversation.
In those days of poverty I lived like a cat on the tiles, up four flights of stairs just under the roof, and my one room served me for everything,--that is, as dining-room, reception-salon, and sleeping chamber. I took my meals at a sufficiently good restaurant near at hand, but otherwise the whole of my indoor life was bounded by the four walls of that small apartment, which contained an ingenious bed made to look like a sofa during the day, a wardrobe, a wash-stand, and a diminutive piano of German manufacture hired by myself. Yet, as Beranger sings, "One is happy in a garret at twenty years of age," and I think the days spent in that dingy Milanese eyry were among the most delightful of my life. I was young, enthusiastic, not badly off for a poor man, and devoted to my art, so I used to strum chords on that small piano while I practised my voice, act operatic scenes in front of the looking glass, and dream impossible dreams of applausive multitudes, of recklessly-generous impresarios, and of a career like that of the kings of song.
Then I had a view--a delightful view--of the red-roofed houses of Milan, seen from the window, with here and there a tall factory chimney, the slender tower of a church from whence sounded the jangling bells which used to irritate me, at least, every quarter of an hour, and just a glimpse of the white miracle of the great Duomo, rising like a fairy creation of milky lacework against the deeply blue sky. Even a vision of green trees I obtained by craning my head round the corner of the window, and when it was fine weather I looked at my roof-top view while enjoying a pipe, but when it rained--oh! heavens, Milan was as dreary as London in a fog, and the blue skies of Italy became a fable of inventive minds. The intense heat changed to humid cold, and then I used to shut out this deceptive city of the Visconti by closing my window, and, retreating to the piano, practise exercises with a voice rendered, I am afraid, rather gruff by the chill terra-cotta floor and the damp atmosphere.
It was in this poor but honest abode, as the novelists say, that I received Beltrami, who entered gaily in civilian dress with outstretched hands, looking exactly the same as when I had last seen him at Verona. Marriage evidently had not changed him, as he had the same subtle smile on his dark face, talked in the same vein of cynicism, and interlarded his conversation with his usual number of French ejaculations.
"Eh! Hugo, mon ami," shaking both my hands heartily, "you are astonished to see me!"
"Considering you have never written me a line since your marriage, Beltrami, I certainly am."
I suppose I spoke with a certain bitterness, for the Marchese shrugged his shoulders, with a slight flush reddening his cheeks, and sat down on the bed--I mean, seeing it was daytime--the sofa.
"Ma foi! I am a newly-married man, Hugo!" he said, in an apologetic tone, "I have forgotten everything in the delightful society of that dear Contessa. But you are right to reproach me; I ought to have written, only I am so terribly negligent."
"And fickle; don't forget that trait of your character, Luigi. However, I'm glad to see you, fickle friend as you are."
"Dame! you don't spare me. I have called on you for a purpose!"
"That goes without saying. When one requires a friend one always knows where to find him. Well, Marchese, and in what way can I assist you?"
"I will tell you! but I see you do not ask after my wife?"
"I trust Madame Beltrami is well!" I said stiffly, not feeling any particularly warm feeling towards that lady.
"Yes! her health is good."
"And you are happy, Beltrami?"
"Tolerably! But tell me, how is Pallanza and his wife?"
"Oh, they live in Elysium, Marchese. At present they are in Milan, but leave next week for Madrid, where Pallanza is going to sing."
"He'll have to go by himself, then!"
"What do you mean?"
"That Madame, my very good wife, is hunting through Milan for his Elysium, with that famous bottle of poison in her pocket."
"Great heavens! Is she going to try and poison Pallanza again?"
"No! you remember the Latin maxim, 'Non bis in idem.' She is going to try the effect of the poison on his wife."
"And yet you can sit there calmly without making an attempt to save this innocent creature! Beltrami, it is infamous!"
I was walking up and down the room in a state of great excitement, for it seemed horrible and incomprehensible to see the Marchese sitting there so calm and composed, when he knew that a reckless, dangerous woman like his wife was in Milan bent on murder.
"Eh! Hugo, keep cool," said Beltrami, quietly. "It is just this affair I have come to see you about. Sit down, mon ami, and I'll tell you all about it."
"But every moment is of value!"
"No doubt, but as it will take madame some time to find out where Signor Pallanza is staying, I think we can safely talk for five minutes."
"Go on, then! I am all impatience!"
"So I see! Ebbene! When I went to Rome I told the Contessa that I had taken away Pallanza's body; but of course I did not say he was alive, and swore that if she did not marry me I would tell everything to the authorities. The sequel you know--she married me."
"A horrible contract," I muttered savagely, looking at the whole affair from an English point of view.
"I-think we argued that matter before," said Beltrami, coolly, "and, if I remember rightly, you did not agree with my reasons. However, it is too late now to blame me, seeing I have been married for nearly five weeks. We spent our honeymoon at Como--in fact, mon ami, we are spending it there still, only a perusal of yesterday's Lombardia sent my excellent wife off to this city in search of Signora Pallanza."
"I do not understand."
"No? Then I will enlighten you. Madame, my wife, thought this devil of a tenor dead, and, as he has been keeping quiet all this time, she never for a moment suspected the truth. I saw an announcement of his marriage in the newspapers, but you may be sure I did not let the Marchesa see it. Everything was going beautifully, and we were a model couple--outwardly--when, as ill-luck would have it, this paragraph appeared in the paper."
Beltrami handed me a copy of La Lombardia, and pointed to a paragraph, which I read. It stated that Guiseppe Pallanza, the famous tenor, was going to sing at the Grand Opera House, Madrid, and would be accompanied to Spain by his wife, the granddaughter of Maestro Angello, the celebrated teacher of singing.
"You can guess what a rage she was in," said Beltrami, when I had finished reading this fatal information. "Diavolo! she has a temper; but, as I told you, I am quite a match for Madame, and held my own during this furious quarrel. She demanded an explanation, and I gave her one."
"What? you told her----"
"Everything, mon ami. Your story, my story, Pallanza's story--all about the antidote, the vault, the supper. Eh! Hugo, she now knows as much as you or I. Mon Dieu, you should have seen her when I had finished!"
"Why? what did she do?"
"She smiled, that was all; but it was the smile that alarmed me."
"For your own safety?"
"Ma foi, no! I told her she need not try the poison on me, as I had the antidote. In reply, she gave one of those wicked laughs that freeze your blood, and said that Signora Pallanza had not an antidote, and it would be the worse for her."
"Then she intends to poison the poor girl?"
"I fancied so yesterday, and I was sure of it this morning, when I heard from my servants that the Marchesa Beltrami had gone to Milan. I knew what she was after, so followed by the next train, and came straight to you."
"And what do you want me to do, Beltrami?"
"Come with me at once to the Casa Angello, to warn Signora Pallanza! I suppose she is still staying with the Maestro Angello?"
"Yes, until she goes to Spain with her husband. Let us go at once, Luigi. But, oh! Beltrami, if we are too late!"
"Do not be alarmed! I have the antidote in my pocket."
The Maestro had a very comfortable suite of apartments in Milan overlooking the Via Carlo Alberto, near the Piazza del Duomo, which were chosen by him on account of their situation, as he could sit at the window of his bedroom and amuse himself by gazing at the crowded street. This watching of the populace was his great delight, and when not giving a lesson he was generally stationed at his window, or else employed in readingIl Seccolo, which he did in a curious fashion, by holding it close to his best-seeing eye.
Of course, like all the entrances to these Milanese flats, the stairs were singularly damp, dark, and malodorous, and after running the gauntlet of a fatportanaia, who was devouring a large dish of polenta in her glass house, we climbed up the humid steps, and speedily arrived at the second storey, where dwelt the Maestro when in Milan. To make up for the filth under our feet the ceilings over our heads were gorgeously painted with mythological figures; and even at that moment I could not help recalling George Sands' remark anent the contrast between these two. However, we had no time to admire the clumsy Jupiter throwing fire-brand thunderbolts, for at this moment Petronella, who had seen us through the dingy glass of her own little sanctum, opened the door, and was about to burst into a torrent of greetings, when I stopped her to ask if the Signora Pallanza was at home.
"Yes! yes! the Signora is in, but she is engaged-- engaged in talking with a lady--Dio! a great lady!
"Great heavens! we may be too late!" I muttered to Beltrami, who nodded his head silently. "Petronella, speak low. This gentleman and myself came on an important errand to the Signora. What is the lady's name?"
"Signor, she said she was the Marchesa Beltrami," replied Petronella, her jolly face growing rather grave at all this mystery.
"Is Signor Pallanza in?"
"No, Signor Hugo; he has gone to see an impresario."
"She is alone with Madame, let us go in at once," whispered Beltrami, exhibiting the first signs of alarm I had ever beheld in him.
"One moment! What about the Maestro, Petronella?"
"In his bedroom, Signor Hugo, at the window. Holy Saints! what is wrong?"
"Nothing! nothing! I will explain all shortly; but meanwhile, Petronella, show us a place where we can see into the room where the Signora is talking to the Marchesa, without being seen."
Beltrami nodded his head approvingly, for he saw my plan was to overhear the conversation, and only interrupt it should there be any danger to the Signora. Petronella was bursting with curiosity, but seeing, from the expression of our faces, that something important was going on, she screwed up her mouth with a shrewd look, to assure us we could depend upon her, and, closing the outside door cautiously, led us into the room adjacent to that in which the conversation was taking place. Pointing to an archway, veiled by curtains, to intimate that there was nothing else but the drapery to impede our hearing, she retired on tiptoe, with a puzzled, serious look on her usually merry face.
It seemed my fate to overhear mysterious conversations through veiled archways, but this one was not used as an entrance between the two rooms, for, as I peered through the curtains, 1 saw in front of them a small square table, upon which was placed a lacquered tray with glasses, and an oval straw-covered bottle of Chianti wine. I drew back for a moment, to see if Beltrami had noticed this obstacle to our sudden entrance into the room; but, instead of appearing dismayed, he had a grim, satisfied smile on his lips, as if he rather approved than otherwise of this table blocking up the doorway. Puzzled at this, I withdrew my eyes from his face, and looked again into the room beyond, where the Marchesa Beltrami was seated, talking to Bianca in what appeared to be a very friendly fashion.
It must be remembered that Bianca knew nothing about the Contessa Morone's intrigue with her husband, as both Guiseppe and myself had carefully kept all knowledge of the affair from her; and moreover, owing to her nervous agitation, she had not recognized the voice of the Marchesa when she spoke to us in the darkness of that fatal chamber at Verona. Consequently she was completely in ignorance of the real character of her visitor, and only beheld in her a lady who had called to see Signor Pallanza about some important business; this, as I afterwards learned, being the excuse she gave for her presence in the Casa Angello. It was truly terrible to see these two women seated together in friendly discourse, the one so innocent of the danger she was in, the other so ruthless in her determination to revenge herself on her rival. The pure white dove was in the clutches of this relentless hawk, who, while watching her victim so closely, was meditating as to the best means of carrying out her plans.
"Oh, it is horrible!" I murmured, turning pale with emotion.
"Hush!" whispered Beltrami with a sinister look; "she will fall into her own pit."
What did he mean by these strange words? I could not understand; but I had no time nor desire to ask for an explanation, as the terrible drama being played out in the next room riveted my attention; so, with a violent effort of self-repression, I resumed my post of observation, and listened to the conversation between the two actresses in the tragedy. It was idle and frivolous, the conversation of two strangers who had nothing to talk about but the merest commonplace; but this frivolity had for us a ghastly meaning; this commonplace concealed a frightful intention.
"And so, Signora Pallanza, you have never heard your husband mention my name!"
"No, Madame!"
"It is strange," said the Marchesa, smiling; "for in Rome I did what I could to help him in his profession. Eh! yes. I heard him singing Faust at the Apollo, and told all my friends to go and hear the New Mario."
"That is what they call him here, Signora," replied Bianca proudly; "but, indeed, it was kind of you to aid him. I wonder Guiseppe never spoke to me about you, for he never forgets a kindness."
"Ah! I'm afraid some men have not much gratitude," said Madame Beltrami with a laugh. "Never mind, when Signor Pallanza comes in you will see he has not forgotten me."
"He could hardly do that, Madame," answered Bianca, looking with honest admiration at the splendid beauty of the woman before her. "Had I seen you before I would always have remembered you! But--it is so strange!"
"What is strange, Signora?"
"I do not recognize your face, and yet I seem to have heard your voice before."
"Possibly!" said the Marchesa indifferently. "I go about a good deal."
"Were you ever in Verona?"
Madame Beltrami was startled for the moment at this apparently innocent question, but recovered her self-possession in a moment, and laughed gaily in a rather forced fashion,--
"Yes, Signora! I lived there a long time with my first husband, Count Giorgio Morone."
"Morone!" cried Bianca, starting to her feet with a cry of alarm. "Oh! Madame, do you know that palace?"
The Marchesa saw that she had made a mistake by mentioning that fatal name, but with iron nerve opened a fan she had hanging to her girdle and fanned herself slowly.
"Of course I do," she answered quietly; "it belongs to the family of my late husband, and is said to be haunted."
Bianca shivered.
"So it is! so it is!" she muttered in a fearful tone. "I have been in that room. Signor Hugo took me there."
"Signor Hugo!" repeated the Marchesa reflectively.
"I think I have heard my husband speak of that gentleman. He is English, is he not?"
"Yes, Madame. A great friend of my husband's. A terrible thing happened to Guiseppe at Verona! Oh! a terrible thing. And that room, that fearful room! Dio! I shall never forget it."
"You are trembling, Signora! You are ill," cried Madame Beltrami, rising to her feet and crossing quickly to the table before the curtain behind which we were concealed. "Let me give you some wine."
"No, no! thank you. I am quite well!" said Bianca, going to the window and opening it. "It is only the heat. The fresh air will do me good."
"A glass of wine will be better," replied the Marchesa, pouring out a glass of Chianti.
I felt myself seized with a kind of vertigo at seeing this demon take from her breast a small bottle and empty the whole contents of it into the glass. I would have cried out only the voice of Bianca arrested me,--
"I am perfectly well, Madame; but will you not take some wine yourself, since the day is so warm?"
"Certainly, if you will drink with me!" said Madame Beltrami, turning round with a calm smile; "but indeed the wine will do you good, you seem to faint."
She poured out another glass of the Chianti for herself, and was about to take the fatal drink to Bianca, when the latter called quickly from the window,--
"Madame! quick! come here! Guiseppe is coming down the street!"
Out of courtesy the Marchesa was forced to obey the call of her hostess, and went quickly to the window, leaving the two wine-glasses close together on the table, the one on the left containing the poison destined for Bianca, the other on the right innocent of any drug, which she intended to drink herself.
At this moment, while the two women were looking out of the window, I heard the voice of Beltrami, hoarse and broken, sound in my ear,--
"Go to the door and tell the servant to detain Pallanza!"
I looked at him in astonishment, for there was a frightful look of agitation in his pale face, and great drops of sweat were standing on his brow; but he made an imperative gesture, and I obeyed him without a word.
Petronella was in the kitchen, and I hurriedly told her to keep Pallanza at the door on some pretext or another, and stole quickly back to the room, where I found Beltrami leaning against the wall with a haggard look on his face.
"What is the matter?" I whispered quickly. "Are you ill?"
"No, no! Look!--look!--see! See what she is doing!"
I had only been gone a little over two minutes between the time I had last looked in the room and the moment I resumed my post of observation, but during that period the Marchesa, evidently afraid of the entrance of Pallanza, had given Bianca the fatal wine, and the girl was drinking it at the window. Madame Beltrami herself, with rather a pale face, but a devilish look in her eyes, had just set down her glass upon the table, empty. A moment after Bianca, having drained the fatal draught to the dregs, came across to the table and placed her glass beside that of the Marchesa's with a merry laugh.
"I am glad you persuaded me to have the wine, Signora. It is so refreshing."
"Yes, I think you will find it so," replied the Marchesa, with a strange smile.
The whole of this terrible scene had passed so rapidly that I had no time to interfere. My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, as I saw Bianca drink the Borgian wine; yet with a mighty effort I was about to cry out, when Beltrami seized my arm in his powerful grasp, and dared me, with lurid eyes, to utter a sound.
The Marchesa, having completed her devilish work, was about to go, for I heard her say something to Bianca about seeing Pallanza on the stairs, when suddenly we heard Guiseppe's gay voice talking to Petronella, who strove to detain him; but with a merry laugh he brushed past her, and a moment afterwards was in the room. Standing there in the grasp of Beltrami, hidden by the curtains, there seemed to be a silence lasting an eternity; then we heard Guiseppe give a terrible cry of rage and fear, and despair,--
"Giulietta! you here! Demon! what are you doing?"
Slow and soft, like the hiss of a snake, came the answer,--
"Doing to her what I did to you."
"Poison! Bianca!"
The poor girl gave a terrible shriek of agony, and flung herself into the arms of her husband, while again there sounded the wicked laugh of the Marchesa.
"Ah! you cannot save her now, traitor! perjurer that you are! she will die!"
There was a sudden smash of glass, as Beltrami hurled himself through the archway and stood before his terrible wife.
"You lie, wretch! Here is the antidote!"
Bianca was lying unconscious in Guiseppe's arms, and he, with a cry of joy, stretched out his hand for the phial which Beltrami, standing midway between his wife and the tenor, was holding. Suddenly, with a shriek of rage, the Marchesa sprang forward, and tearing the phial from his hand, hurled it through the open window into the street.
"No, no! She shall die! She shall die!"
I shall never forget that supreme moment of anguish. Bianca lying pale as a lily in the arms of her agonized husband; myself standing amid the ruins of the table in the archway; the Marchesa erect, defiant, and snarling like an enraged tigress; and only Beltrami calm--
Beltrami standing cold and inflexible, with folded arms and a sinister smile on his thin lips. The whole of this frightful drama had only lasted a few minutes, but the denouement, more terrible than anything that had gone before, had now arrived.
"She shall die!" repeated the Marchesa with devilish persistency.
Beltrami gave a wild laugh that sounded like the mocking merriment of a fiend,--
"Fool! you have thrown away your life!"
Guiseppe looked up with sudden hope, and the Marchesa with a cry of abject terror reeled back with staring eyes and outstretched arms as the truth flashed across her mind.
"Life! life! oh! devil that you are, you--you--have changed--"
The fierce beauty of her face was suddenly distorted by a spasm of agony. She put her hands to her throat and tore open her dress, tore off the ruby necklace, the gems of which flashed down to the floor like a rain of blood, then with a yell of fear which had nothing human in its despair, she fell at our feet--dead.
Yes, she had fallen into her own pit; she had flung away her only chance of life in her desire to doom her rival and there amid the brilliant sunshine, amid the blood-red jewels scattered around her, with all her crimes, devilries, and wickedness on her head, lay the dead body of that Creature of the Night I had seen issue like a vampire from the old sepulchre to fulfil her evil destiny; and over her with folded arms, sinister and cruel, towered the man who, as the instrument of God, had sent her back to the hell from whence she had emerged.