Tales and Stories — A Tale of the Passions, or, the Death of Despina Part 2

“Let us begone!

” exclaimed Ricciardo.

“Messer Buzeccha, you will play out your game with Monna Gegia.

Cincolo will return ere long.

” So taking his host by the arm, he drew him out of the room, and descended the narrow high stairs with the air of one to whom those stairs were not unknown.

When in the street he slackened his pace, and, first looking round to assure himself that none overheard their conversation, he addressed Cincolo: “Pardon me, my dear friend; I am hasty, and the sight of that man made every drop of my blood cry aloud in my veins.

But I do not come here to indulge in private sorrows or private revenge, and my design ought alone to engross me.

It is necessary for me to see speedily and secretly Messer Guielmo Lostendardo, the Neapolitan commander.

I bear a message to him from the Countess Elizabeth, the mother of Corradino, and I have some hope that its import may induce him to take at least a neutral part during the impending conflict.

I have chosen you, Cincolo, to aid me in this, for not only you are of that little note in your town that you may act for me without attracting observation, but you are brave and true, and I may confide to your known worth.

Lostendardo resides at the _Palagio del Governo_.

When I enter its doors I am in the hands of my enemies, and its dungeons may alone know the secret of my destiny.

I hope better things.

But if after two hours I do not appear or let you hear of my welfare, carry this packet to Corradino at Pisa.

You will then learn who I am; and if you feel any indignation at my fate, let that feeling attach you still more strongly to the cause for which I live and die.

” As Ricciardo spoke, he still walked on, and Cincolo observed that, without his guidance, he directed his steps towards the _Palagio del Governo_.

“I do not understand this,” said the old man.

“By what argument, unless you bring one from the other world, do you hope to induce Messer Guielmo to aid Corradino?

He is so bitter an enemy of Manfred, that although that prince is dead, yet when he mentions his name he grasps the air as it were a dagger.

I have heard him with horrible imprecations curse the whole house of Swabia.

” A tremor shook the frame of Ricciardo, but he replied, “Lostendardo was once the firmest support of that house, and the friend of Manfred.

Strange circumstances gave birth in his mind to this unnatural hatred, and he became a traitor.

But, perhaps, now that Manfred is in Paradise, the youth, the virtues, and the inexperience of Corradino may inspire him with more generous feelings, and reawaken his ancient faith.

At least I must make this last trial.

This cause is too holy, too sacred, to admit of common forms of reasoning or action.

The nephew of Manfred must sit upon the throne of his ancestors; and to achieve that I will endure what I am about to endure.

” They entered the palace; Messer Guielmo was carousing in the great hall.

“Bear this ring to him, good Cincolo, and say that I wait.

Be speedy, that my courage, my life, do not desert me at the moment of trial.

” Cincolo, casting one more inquisitive glance on his extraordinary companion, obeyed his orders, while the youth leant against one of the pillars of the court and passionately cast up his eyes to the clear firmament.

“Oh, ye stars!

” he cried in a smothered voice, “ye are eternal; let my purpose, my will, be as constant as ye!

” Then, more calm, he folded his arms in his cloak, and with strong inward struggle endeavoured to repress his emotion.

Several servants approached him, and bade him follow them.

Again he looked at the sky and said, “Manfred,” and then he walked on with slow but firm steps.

They led him through several halls and corridors to a large apartment hung with tapestry, and well lighted by numerous torches; the marble of the floor reflected their glare, and the arched roof echoed the footsteps of one who paced the apartment as Ricciardo entered.

It was Lostendardo.

He made a sign that the servants should retire; the heavy door closed behind them, and Ricciardo stood alone with Messer Guielmo; his countenance pale but composed, his eyes cast down as in expectation, not in fear; and but for the convulsive motion of his lips, you would have guessed that every faculty was almost suspended by intense agitation.

Lostendardo approached.

He was a man in the prime of life, tall and athletic; he seemed capable with a single exertion to crush the frail being of Ricciardo.

Every feature of his countenance spoke of the struggle of passions, and the terrible egotism of one who would sacrifice even himself to the establishment of his will: his black eyebrows were scattered, his grey eyes deep-set and scowling, his look at once stern and haggard.

A smile seemed never to have disturbed the settled scorn which his lips expressed; his high forehead, already becoming bald, was marked by a thousand contradictory lines.

His voice was studiously restrained as he said: “Wherefore do you bring that ring?

” Ricciardo looked up and met his eye, which glanced fire as he exclaimed, “Despina!

”—He seized her hand with a giant’s grasp: “I have prayed for this night and day, and thou art now here!

Nay, do not struggle; you are mine; for by my salvation I swear that thou shalt never again escape me.

” Despina replied calmly: “Thou mayest well believe that in thus placing myself in thy power I do not dread any injury thou canst inflict upon me, or I were not here.

I do not fear thee, for I do not fear death.

Loosen then thy hold, and listen to me.

I come in the name of those virtues that were once thine; I come in the name of all noble sentiment, generosity, and ancient faith, and I trust that in listening to me your heroic nature will second my voice, and that Lostendardo will no longer rank with those whom the good and great never name but to condemn.

” Lostendardo appeared to attend little to what she said.

He gazed on her with triumph and malignant pride; and if he still held her his motive appeared rather the delight he felt in displaying his power over her, than any fear that she would escape.

You might read in her pale cheek and glazed eye, that if she feared, it was herself alone that she mistrusted; that her design lifted her above mortal dread, and that she was as impassive as the marble she resembled to any event that did not either advance or injure the object for which she came.

They were both silent, until Lostendardo leading her to a seat, and then standing opposite to her, his arms folded, every feature dilated by triumph, and his voice sharpened by agitation, he said: “Well, speak!

What wouldst thou with me?

” “I come to request, that if you cannot be induced to assist Prince Corradino in the present struggle, you will, at least, stand neutral, and not oppose his advance to the kingdom of his ancestors.

” Lostendardo laughed.

The vaulted roof repeated the sound, but the harsh echo, though it resembled the sharp cry of an animal of prey whose paw is on the heart of its enemy, was not so discordant and dishuman as the laugh itself.

“How,” he asked, “dost thou pretend to induce me to comply?

This dagger”—and he touched the hilt of one that was half concealed in his vesture—“is yet stained by the blood of Manfred; ere long it will be sheathed in the heart of that foolish boy.

” Despina conquered the feeling of horror these words inspired, and replied: “Will you give a few minutes’ patient hearing?

” “I will give you a few minutes’ hearing, and if I be not so patient as in the Palagio Reale, fair Despina must excuse me.

Forbearance is not a virtue to which I aspire.

” “Yes, it was in the Palagio Reale at Naples, the palace of Manfred, that you first saw me.

You were then the bosom friend of Manfred, selected by him as his confidant and counsellor.

Why did you become a traitor?

Start not at that word: if you could hear the united voice of Italy, and even of those who call themselves your friends, they would echo that name.

Why did you thus degrade and belie yourself?

You call me the cause, yet I am most innocent.

You saw me at the Court of your master, an attendant on Queen Sibilla, and one who, unknown to herself, had already parted with her heart, her soul, her will, her entire being, an involuntary sacrifice at the shrine of all that is noble and divine in human nature.

My spirit worshipped Manfred as a saint, and my pulses ceased to beat when his eye fell upon me.

I felt this, but I knew it not.

You awoke me from my dream.

You said that you loved me, and you reflected in too faithful a mirror my own emotions: I saw myself and shuddered.

But the profound and eternal nature of my passion saved me.

I loved Manfred.

I

loved the sun because it enlightened him; I loved the air that fed him;

I deified myself, for that my heart was the temple in which he resided.

I devoted myself to Sibilla, for she was his wife, and never in thought or dream degraded the purity of my affection towards him.

For this you hated him.

He was ignorant of my passion: my heart contained it as a treasure, which you having discovered came to rifle.

You could more easily deprive me of life than my devotion for your king, and therefore you were a traitor.

Manfred died, and you thought that I had then forgotten him.

But love would indeed be a mockery if death were not the most barefaced cheat.

How can he die who is immortalized in my thoughts—my thoughts, that comprehend the universe, and contain eternity in their graspings?

What though his earthly vesture is thrown as a despised weed beside the verde, he lives in my soul as lovely, as noble, as entire, as when his voice awoke the mute air; nay, his life is more entire, more true.

For before, that small shrine that encased his spirit was all that existed of him; but now, he is a part of all things; his spirit surrounds me, interpenetrates; and divided from him during his life, his death has united me to him for ever.

” The countenance of Lostendardo darkened fearfully.

When she paused, he looked black as the sea before the heavily charged thunder-clouds that canopy it dissolve themselves into rain.

The tempest of passion that arose in his heart seemed too mighty to admit of swift manifestation; it came slowly up from the profoundest depths of his soul, and emotion was piled upon emotion before the lightning of his anger sped to its destination.

“Your arguments, eloquent Despina,” he said, “are indeed unanswerable.

They work well for your purpose.

Corradino is, I hear, at Pisa: you have sharpened my dagger; and before the air of another night rust it, I may, by deeds, have repaid your insulting words.

” “How far do you mistake me!

And is praise and love of all heroic excellence insult to you?

Lostendardo, when you first knew me, I was an inexperienced girl; I loved, but knew not what love was, and circumscribing my passion in narrow bounds, I adored the being of Manfred as I might love an effigy of stone, which, when broken, has no longer an existence.

I am now much altered.

I might before have treated you with disdain or anger, but now these base feelings have expired in my heart.

I am animated but by one feeling—an aspiration to another life, another state of being.

All the good depart from this strange earth; and I doubt not that when I am sufficiently elevated above human weaknesses, it will also be my turn to leave this scene of woe.

I

prepare myself for that moment alone; and in endeavouring to fit myself for a union with all the brave, generous, and wise, that once adorned humanity, and have now passed from it, I consecrate myself to the service of this most righteous cause.

You wrong me, therefore, if you think there is aught of disdain in what I say, or that any degrading feelings are mingled with my devotion of spirit when I come and voluntarily place myself in your power.

You can imprison me for ever in the dungeons of this palace, as a returned Ghibelline and spy, and have me executed as a criminal.

But before you do this, pause for your own sake; reflect on the choice of glory or ignominy that you are now about to make.

Let your old sentiments of love for the house of Swabia have some sway in your heart; reflect, that as you are the despised enemy, so you may become the chosen friend of its last descendant, and receive from every heart the praise of having restored Corradino to the honours and power to which he was born.

Compare this prince to the hypocritical, the bloody and mean-spirited Charles.

When Manfred died I went to Germany, and have resided at the court of the Countess Elizabeth; I have therefore been an hourly witness of the great and good qualities of Corradino.

The bravery of his spirit makes him rise above the weakness of youth and inexperience; he possesses all the nobility of spirit that belongs to the family of Swabia, and, in addition, a purity and gentleness that attracts the respect and love of the old and wary courtiers of Frederic and Conrad.

You are brave, and would be generous, did not the fury of your passions, like a consuming fire, destroy in their violence every generous sentiment: how then can you become the tool of Charles?

His scowling eyes and sneering lips betoken the selfishness of his mind.

Avarice, cruelty, meanness, and artifice are the qualities that characterize him, and render him unworthy of the majesty he usurps.

Let him return to Provence, and reign with paltry despotism over the luxurious and servile French; the free-born Italians require another lord.

They are not fit to bow to one whose palace is the change-house of money-lenders, whose generals are usurers, whose courtiers are milliners or monks, and who basely vows allegiance to the enemy of freedom and virtue, Clement, the murderer of Manfred.

Their king, like them, should be clothed in the armour of valour and simplicity; his ornaments, his shield and spear; his treasury, the possessions of his subjects; his army, their unshaken lover.

Charles will treat you as a tool; Corradino as a friend.

Charles will make you the detested tyrant of a groaning province; Corradino, the governor of a prosperous and happy people.

I cannot tell by your manner if what I have said has in any degree altered your determination.

I cannot forget the scenes that passed between us at Naples.

I might then have been disdainful; I am not so now.

Your execrations of Manfred excited every angry feeling in my mind; but, as I have said, all but the feeling of love expired in my heart when Manfred died, and methinks that where love is, excellence must be its companion.

You said you loved me; and though, in other times, that love was twin-brother to hate,—though then, poor prisoner in your heart, jealousy, rage, contempt, and cruelty, were its handmaids,—yet if it were love, methinks that its divinity must have purified your heart from baser feelings; and now that I, the bride of Death, am removed from your sphere, gentler feelings may awaken in your bosom, and you may incline mildly to my voice.

If indeed you loved me, will you not now be my friend?

Shall we not hand in hand pursue the same career?

Return to your ancient faith; and now that death and religion have placed the seal upon the past, let Manfred’s spirit, looking down, behold his repentant friend the firm ally of his successor, the best and last scion of the house of Swabia.

” She ceased; for the glare of savage triumph which, as a rising fire at night-time, enlightened with growing and fearful radiance the face of Lostendardo, made her pause in her appeal.

He did not reply; but when she was silent he quitted the attitude in which he had stood immovably opposite to her, and pacing the hall with measured steps, his head declined, he seemed to ruminate on some project.

Could it be that he weighed her reasonings?

If he hesitated, the side of generosity and old fidelity would certainly prevail.

Yet she dared not hope; her heart beat fast; she would have knelt, but she feared to move, lest any motion should disturb his thoughts, and curb the flow of good feeling which she fondly hoped had arisen within him: she looked up and prayed silently as she sat.

Notwithstanding the glare of the torches, the beams of one small star struggled through the dark window pane; her eye resting on it, her thoughts were at once elevated to the eternity and space which that star symbolized; it seemed to her the spirit of Manfred, and she inwardly worshipped it, as she prayed that it would shed its benign influence on the soul of Lostendardo.

Some minutes elapsed in this fearful silence, and then he approached her.

“Despina, allow me to reflect on your words; to-morrow I will answer you.

You will remain in this palace until the morning, and then you shall see and judge of my repentance and returning faith.

” He spoke with studious gentleness.

Despina could not see his face, for the lights shone behind him.

When she looked up to reply, the little star twinkled just above his head, and seemed with its gentle lustre to reassure her.

Our minds, when highly wrought, are strangely given to superstition, and Despina lived in a superstitious age.

She thought that the star bade her comply, and assured her of protection from Heaven;—from where else could she expect it?

She said, therefore, “I consent.

Only let me request that you acquaint the man who gave you my ring that I am safe, or he will fear for me.

” “I will do as you desire.

” “And I will confide myself to your care.

I cannot, dare not, fear you.

If you would betray me, still I trust in the heavenly saints that guard humanity.

” Her countenance was so calm,—it beamed with so angelic a self-devotion and a belief in good, that Lostendardo dared not look on her.

For one moment—as she, having ceased to speak, gazed upon the star—he felt impelled to throw himself at her feet, to confess the diabolical scheme he had forged, and to commit himself body and soul to her guidance, to obey, to serve, to worship her.

The impulse was momentary; the feeling of revenge returned on him.

From the moment she had rejected him, the fire of rage had burned in his heart, consuming all healthy feeling, all human sympathies, and gentleness of soul.

He had sworn never to sleep on a bed, or to drink aught but water, until his first cup of wine was mingled with the blood of Manfred.

He had fulfilled this vow.

A strange alteration had worked within him from the moment he had drained that unholy cup.

The spirit, not of a man, but of a devil, seemed to live within him, urging him to crime, from which his long protracted hope of more complete revenge had alone deterred him.

But Despina was now in his power, and it seemed to him as if fate had preserved him so long only that he might now wreak his full rage upon her.

When she spoke of love, he thought how from that he might extract pain.

He formed his plan; and this slight human weakness now conquered, he bent his thoughts to its completion.

Yet he feared to stay longer with her; so he quitted her, saying that he would send attendants who would show her an apartment where she might repose.

He left her, and several hours passed; but no one came.

The torches burnt low, and the stars of heaven could now with twinkling beams conquer their feebler light.

One by one these torches went out, and the shadows of the high windows of the hall, before invisible, were thrown upon its marble pavement.

Despina looked upon the shade, at first unconsciously, until she found herself counting one, two, three, the shapes of the iron bars that lay so placidly on the stone.

“Those grates are thick,” she said; “this room would be a large but secure dungeon.

” As by inspiration, she now felt that she was a prisoner.

No change, no word, had intervened since she had walked fearlessly in the room, believing herself free.

But now no doubt of her situation occurred to her mind; heavy chains seemed to fall around her;

the air to feel thick and heavy as that of a prison; and the star-beams that had before cheered her, became the dreary messengers of fearful danger to herself, and of the utter defeat of all the hopes she had dared nourish of success to her beloved cause.

Cincolo waited, first with impatience, and then with anxiety, for the return of the youthful stranger.

He paced up and down before the gates of the palace; hour after hour passed on; the stars arose and descended, and ever and anon meteors shot along the sky.

They were not more frequent than they always are during a clear summer night in Italy; but they appeared strangely numerous to Cincolo, and portentous of change and calamity.

Midnight struck, and at that moment a procession of monks passed, bearing a corpse and chanting a solemn _De Profundis_.

Cincolo felt a cold tremor shake his limbs when he reflected how ill an augury this was for the strange adventurer he had guided to that palace.

The sombre cowls of the priests, their hollow voices, and the dark burden they carried, augmented his agitation even to terror.

Without confessing the cowardice to himself, he was possessed with fear lest he should be included in the evil destiny that evidently awaited his companion.

Cincolo was a brave man; he had often been foremost in a perilous assault; but the most courageous among us sometimes feel our hearts fail within us at the dread of unknown and fated danger.

He was struck with panic;—he looked after the disappearing lights of the procession, and listened to their fading voices; his knees shook, a cold perspiration stood on his brow; until, unable to resist the impulse, he began slowly to withdraw himself from the Palace of Government, and to quit the circle of danger which seemed to hedge him in if he remained on that spot.

He had hardly quitted his post by the gate of the palace, when he saw lights issue from it, attendant on a company of men, some of whom were armed, as appeared from the reflection their lances’ heads cast; and some of them carried a litter, hung with black and closely drawn.

Cincolo was rooted to the spot.

He could not render himself any reason for his belief, but he felt convinced that the stranger youth was there, about to be carried out to death.

Impelled by curiosity and anxiety, he followed the party as they went towards the Porta Romana: they were challenged by the sentinels at the gate; they gave the word and passed.

Cincolo dared not follow, but he was agitated by fear and compassion.

He remembered the packet confided to his care; he dared not draw it from his bosom, lest any Guelph should be near to overlook and discover that it was addressed to Corradino; he could not read, but he wished to look at the arms of the seal, to see whether they bore the imperial ensigns.

He returned back to the _Palagio del Governo_: all there was dark and silent; he walked up and down before the gates, looking up at the windows, but no sign of life appeared.

He could not tell why he was thus agitated, but he felt as if all his future peace depended on the fate of this stranger youth.

He thought of Gegia, her helplessness and age; but he could not resist the impulse that impelled him, and he resolved that very night to commence his journey to Pisa, to deliver the packet, to learn who the stranger was, and what hopes he might entertain for his safety.

He returned home, that he might inform Gegia of his journey.

This was a painful task, but he could not leave her in doubt.

He ascended his narrow stairs with trepidation.

At the head of them a lamp twinkled before a picture of the Virgin.

Evening after evening it burnt there, guarding through its influence his little household from all earthly or supernatural dangers.

The sight of it inspired him with courage; he said an _Ave Maria_ before it; and then looking around him to assure himself that no spy stood on the narrow landing-place, he drew the packet from his bosom and examined the seal.

All Italians in those days were conversant in heraldry, since from ensigns of the shields of the knights they learned, better than from their faces or persons, to what family and party they belonged.

But it required no great knowledge for Cincolo to decipher these arms; he had known them from his childhood; they were those of the Elisei, the family to whom he had been attached as a partisan during all these civil contests.

Arrigo de’ Elisei had been his patron, and his wife had nursed his only daughter, in those happy days when there was neither Guelph nor Ghibelline.

The sight of these arms reawakened all his anxiety.

Could this youth belong to that house?

The seal showed that he really did; and this discovery confirmed his determination of making every exertion to save him, and inspired him with sufficient courage to encounter the remonstrances and fears of Monna Gegia.

He unlocked his door; the old dame was asleep in her chair, but awoke as he entered.

She had slept only to refresh her curiosity, and she asked a thousand questions in a breath, to which Cincolo did not reply: he stood with his arms folded looking at the fire, irresolute how to break the subject of his departure.

Monna Gegia continued to talk.

“After you went, we held a consultation concerning this hot-brained youth of this morning: I, Buzeccha, Beppe de’ Bosticchi who returned, and Monna Lissa from the Mercato Nuovo.

We all agreed that he must be one of two persons; and be it one or the other, if he have not quitted Florence, the _Stinchi_[3] will be his habitation by sunrise.

Eh, Cincolo, man!

you do not speak; where did you part with your prince?

” ----- Footnote 3: The name of the common prison at Florence.

“Prince, Gegia!

Are you mad?

—what prince?

” “Nay, he is either a prince or a baker; either Corradino himself, or Ricciardo, the son of Messer Tommaso de’ Manelli; he that lived o’th’ Arno, and baked for all that Sesto, when Count Guido de Giudi was _Vicario_.

By this token, that Messer Tommaso went to Milan with Ubaldo de’ Gargalandi, and Ricciardo, who went with his father, must now be sixteen.

He had the fame of kneading with as light a hand as his father, but he liked better to follow arms with the Gargalandi.

He was a fair, likely youth, they said; and so, to say the truth, was our youngster of this morning.

But Monna Lissa will have it that it must be Corradino himself.

” Cincolo listened as if the gossip of two old women could unravel his riddle.

He even began to doubt whether the last conjecture, extravagant as it was, had not hit the truth.

Every circumstance forbade such an idea; but he thought of the youth and exceeding beauty of the stranger, and he began to doubt.

There was none among the Elisei who answered to his appearance.

The flower of their youth had fallen at Monte Aperto;

the eldest of the new generation was but ten; the other males of that house were of a mature age.

Gegia continued to talk of the anger that Beppe de’ Bosticchi evinced at being accused of the murder of Arrigo de’ Elisei.

“If he had done that deed,” she cried, “never more should he have stood on my hearth; but he swore his innocence; and truly, poor man, it would be a sin not to believe him.

” Why, if the stranger were not an Elisei, should he have shown such horror on viewing the supposed murderer of the head of that family?

Cincolo turned from the fire; he examined whether his knife hung safely in his girdle, and he exchanged his sandal-like shoes for stronger boots of common undressed fur.

This last act attracted the attentions of Gegia.

“What are you about, good man?

” she cried.

“This is no hour to change your dress, but to come to bed.

To-night you will not speak; but to-morrow I hope to get it all out from you.

What are you about?

” “I am about to leave you, my dear Gegia; and Heaven bless and take care of you!

I am going to Pisa.

” Gegia uttered a shriek, and was about to remonstrate with great volubility, while the tears rolled down her aged cheeks.

Tears also filled the eyes of Cincolo, as he said, “I do not go for the cause you suspect.

I do not go into the army of Corradino, though my heart will be with it.

I go but to carry a letter, and will return without delay.

” “You will never return,” cried the old woman: “the Commune will never let you enter the gates of this town again, if you set foot in that traitorous Pisa.

But you shall not go; I will raise the neighbours; I will declare you mad”— “Gegia, no more of this!

Here is all the money I have.

Before I go, I will send your Cousin ’Nunziata to you.

I must go.

It is not the Ghibelline cause, or Corradino, that obliges me to risk your ease and comforts; but the life of one of the Elisei is at stake; and if I can save him, would you have me rest here, and afterwards curse you and the hour when I was born?

” “What!

is he——?

But no; there is none among the Elisei so young as he;

and none so lovely, except her whom these arms carried when an infant—but she is a female.

No, no; this is a tale trumped up to deceive me and gain my consent; but you shall never have it.

Mind that!

you will never have it!

and I prophesy that if you do go, your journey will be the death of both of us.

” She wept bitterly.

Cincolo kissed her aged cheek, and mingled his tears with hers; and then recommending her to the care of the Virgin and the saints, he quitted her; while grief choked her utterance, the name of the Elisei had deprived her of all energy to resist his purpose.

It was four in the morning before the gates of Florence were opened and Cincolo could leave the city.

At first he availed himself of the carts of the _contadini_ to advance on his journey; but as he drew near Pisa, all modes of conveyance ceased, and he was obliged to take by-roads, and act cautiously, not to fall into the hands of the Florentine outposts, or of some fierce Ghibelline, who might suspect him, and have him carried before the Podesta of the village; for if once suspected and searched, the packet addressed to Corradino would convict him, and he would pay for his temerity with his life.

Having arrived at Vico Pisano, he found a troop of Pisan horse there on guard; he was known to many of the soldiers, and he obtained a conveyance for Pisa; but it was night before he arrived.

He gave the Ghibelline watchword, and was admitted within the gates.

He asked for Prince Corradino: he was in the city, at the palace of the Lanfranchi.

He crossed the Arno, and was admitted into the palace by the soldiers who guarded the door.

Corradino had just returned from a successful skirmish in the Lucchese states, and was reposing; but when Count Gherardo Doneratico, his principal attendant, saw the seal of the packet, he immediately ushered the bearer into a small room, where the prince lay on a fox’s skin thrown upon the pavement.

The mind of Cincolo had been so bewildered by the rapidity of the events of the preceding night, by fatigue and want of sleep, that he had overwrought himself to believe that the stranger youth was indeed Corradino; and when he had heard that that prince was in Pisa, by a strange disorder of ideas he still imagined that he and Ricciardo were the same; that the black litter was a phantom, and his fears ungrounded.

The first sight of Corradino, his fair hair and round Saxon features, destroyed this idea: it was replaced by a feeling of deep anguish, when Count Gherardo, announcing him, said, “One who brings a letter from Madonna Despina dei Elisei, waits upon your Highness.

” The old man sprang forward, uncontrolled by the respect he would otherwise have felt for one of so high lineage as Corradino.

“From Despina!

Did you say from her?

Oh!

unsay your words!

Not from my beloved, lost foster-child.

” Tears rolled down his cheeks.

Corradino, a youth of fascinating gentleness, attempted to reassure him.

“Oh!

my gracious Lord,” cried Cincolo, “open that packet, and see if it be from my blessed child—if in the disguise of Ricciardo I led her to destruction.

” He wrung his hands.

Corradino, pale as death with fear for the destiny of his lovely and adventurous friend, broke the seal.

The packet contained an inner envelope without any direction, and a letter, which Corradino read, while horror convulsed every feature.

He gave it to Gherardo.

“It is indeed from her.

She says that the bearer can relate all that the world will probably know of her fate.

And you old man, who weep so bitterly, you to whom my best and lovely friend refers me, tell me what you know of her!

” Cincolo told his story in broken accents.

“May these eyes be for ever blinded!

” he cried, when he had concluded, “that knew not Despina in those soft looks and heavenly smiles.

Dotard that I am!

When my wife railed at your family and princely self, and the sainted Manfred, why did I not read her secret in her forbearance?

Would she have forgiven those words in any but her who had nursed her infancy, and been a mother to her when Madonna Pia died?

And when she taxed Bosticchi with her father’s death, I, blind fool, did not see the spirit of the Elisei in her eyes.

My Lord, I have but one favour to ask you.

Let me hear her letter, that I may judge from that what hopes remain;—but there are none—none.

” “Read to him, my dear count,” said the prince; “I will not fear as he fears.

I dare not fear that one so lovely and beloved is sacrificed for my worthless cause.

” Gherardo read the letter.

“Cincolo de’ Becari, my foster-father, will deliver this letter into your hands, my respected and dear Corradino.

The Countess Elizabeth has urged me to my present undertaking; I hope nothing from it, except to labour for your cause, and perhaps, through its event, to quit somewhat earlier a life which is but a grievous trial to my weak mind.

I go to endeavour to arouse the feelings of fidelity and generosity in the soul of the traitor Lostendardo; I go to place myself in his hands, and I do not hope to escape from them again.

Corradino, my last prayer will be for your success.

Mourn not for one who goes home after a long and weary exile.

Burn the enclosed packet without opening it.

The Mother of God protect thee!

” “DESPINA.

” Corradino had wept as this epistle was reading, but then, starting up, he said, “To revenge or death!

we may yet save her!

” A blight had fallen on the house of Swabia, and all their enterprises were blasted.