“We understand each other,” said she, calmly.
“Perfectly, Madame,” replied I.
“Then never say, sir,” resumed she, in a stern, determined voice, “never say that you are not an adventurer; never dare to tell me that one who so quickly assumes a part is not a professed actor on the great boards of life, ready to take the character assigned him, be it broad farce or comedy, – ay, or even tragedy, if needs were. Do not deny or seek to contradict me; I did not care that your countship had fourteen quarterings behind it, – nay, I like you even better as you are. There, now you look natural and at your ease. Adieu, Monsieur le Comte.”
“Adieu, Madame la Marquise,” said I putting as much irony into my accent as might repay her; and then we parted. Whatever her feelings, I know not, – mine, I own, were scarcely of the pleasantest; prompting me to make my residence at Naples as brief as might be, and to see no more of my “dear friend of former years” than was absolutely indispensable.
Were I to dwell upon those portions of my history which afforded me the highest amount of enjoyment, while passing I might linger upon the weeks I spent in Naples as perhaps the very pleasantest of my life. The world of fashion was new to me. All those fascinations to which habit renders men either apathetic or indifferent, came fresh upon me. The outward show of splendor in dress and jewels, gorgeous saloons, rare flowers, exquisite pictures and statues, soon cease to astonish and amaze; but it takes a long while ere the charm of intercourse with really brilliant society begins to wear off, and ere a man recognizes a degree of sameness in the pleasures and amusements of his fashionable friends.
I am not sure that the society which I frequented had not more power of captivation than a more rigidly scrupulous circle, since, while exacting all the observances of polished life, it yet admitted a degree of liberty, almost of familiarity, among its members, that I have since remarked is not common in the wider intercourse of the world.
Pretty women were not ashamed to look their best, and dress the most becomingly; witty men were not chary of their smartness; courtiers were confidential; statesmen were candid; men of the world unbent, as if in a circle where their freedom would not be misinterpreted, and said a hundred things that in other societies would have been, to say the least, indiscreet. It is true that individuals were more discussed than events, and that characters, not facts, formed the staple of the talk; but how amusing was it, what stores of anecdote were opened, what strange histories and curious illustrations of life unfolded! Pretension was ridiculed, vulgarity exposed, stupidity laughed at, awkwardness criticized, and want of tact condemned, with most unsparing ridicule; but I am bound to own that there were few commendations reserved for virtuous conduct or honorable action. The debtor side of the account was full, but the credit had not an item on it!
No rank, however exalted, could escape the judgments of a “set” who, with all the exclusiveness of fashion, affected a most democratic spirit of equality. It was, however, a “communism” that assumed to start on the basis of every one haviug at least ten thousand a year, – not so bad a theory, were it only practicable.
I must not linger longer on this subject, on which I have only touched to remark that here it was where I acquired that knowledge of forms and conventionalities which constitute the tactique of life, – those “gambits” and “openings,” to use a chess phrase, by which you at once obtain an advantage over an equal adversary, and secure yourself against injury with even a superior player. I learned when to use an illustration or a story; when to become a mere listener; how to assist a slow man without his detecting the aid; and how to close a discussion with an epigram, – and all this without the faintest show of premeditation or the very slightest sign of forethought. While my education as a man of the world was progressing, my material fortune was also advancing. The Spanish Ambassador, who had referred my case to his court, ascertained that I had been most infamously treated; that not alone my rank and fortune were indisputable, but that the individual on whose affirmation I was arrested was himself a Carlist spy, and the noted agent of a great Northern power. In fact, so manifold were his infractions against law, in every country in Europe, that the only difficulty was to what particular power to hand him over, so many laying claim to the honor of punishing him. In the end, Naples obtained this distinction! and at the very period I was enjoying the luxurious pleasures of that capital, “my friend the Consul” was expanding his chest and his faculties in the less captivating career of a galley-slave. “Fortune is just,” said I, as I arranged my cravat at the window which overlooked the Bay, on whose glassy surface some half-dozen boats moved sluggishly, as the red and yellow rowers kept time to the “stroke” by the clanking of their fetters.
Governments move slowly, particularly when the case is one of refunding a previous spoliation; meanwhile they admitted my claim; and by way of keeping me in good-humor, they sent me a cross of the Order of Isabella, of the first class, – a very gratifying recognition of my noble birth and merits. My intimacy with the Duke of Medina – the brother of the king – obtained for me the Neapolitan Order; and thus was I decorated with three very distinguished cordons, which I wore in my button-hole as a “tricolor,” – a fact insignificant in itself; but I mention it here, as many of my imitators have since that affected to be the inventors of the method.
Periods of expectancy are generally deemed great trials, making inroads upon the health, and sapping the energies of the mind. Such was not my case here; I waited like one who loiters in some delicious garden, surrounded with blooming flowers and sweet odors. The delays and procrastinations of cabinets – for which the most profuse apologies were made – I bore with a degree of calm equanimity that won for me the appellation of a most finished gentleman; and thus was I almost unconsciously perfecting myself in that grand element of breeding whose triumph is “impassiveness.”
There were moments when I actually dreaded the termination of my cause, so agreeable had Naples become to me; but as the rich gamester is certain to win, while the poor player is luckless ever, successes crowded on me, because I was half indifferent to them.
Six months had now nearly elapsed since my arrival at Naples, and I was paying a morning visit to the Marchesa, whom I was engaged to accompany to a grand déjeuner, to be given on board of a British ship of war in the Bay. It was one of those gorgeous days of brilliant coloring, which, in Italy, seem to exaggerate the effect of landscape, and defy all efforts of art to imitate; the scene was heightened, too, by the objects moving across the bay. The various boats, with ensigns floating and music playing; the swift “La-teeners,” skimming along the glassy surface, almost without a breath of wind; and then the great three-decker herself, in all the pride of her majestic size, with flags of every nation fluttering from her halyards, – were splendid adjuncts to the picture.
“Here are three letters for you, Monsieur le Comte,” said the Marchesa, “they came in the Spanish Minister’s bag this morning; but I suppose there is nothing sufficiently interesting in them to withdraw your thoughts from that magnificent panorama.”
Of course I affected concurrence in the sentiment, and thrust them into my pocket with assumed indifference. The room soon after filled with arriving visitors, and among the rest the Spanish Ambassador.
“Ha, Señhor Condé,” said he, approaching me, “let me offer my warmest felicitations. How happy am I to be the means through which your good tidings have reached you!”
I bowed, smiled, and seemed charmed, without the slightest notion wherein lay my good fortune. His practised eye, however, soon detected my game, and he said, “You have received your letters, I hope?”
“Yes,” replied I, carelessly; “the Marchesa has been kind enough to give them to me.”
“And you have read them?” asked he again.
“Not yet,” said I; “I make it a rule never to risk the pleasure of a happy day by opening a letter at hazard.”
“What if its contents were but to increase the enjoyment; what if the tidings were to fill up the very measure of your wishes, Señhor?”
“In that case,” rejoined I, as coldly as before, “they will be very acceptable to-morrow morning; and thus I shall have gained two days of happiness, vice one.”
“Admirable philosophy, indeed,” said he. “Still, I must be pardoned for interfering with its exercise. I shall therefore take upon me to inform the honorable company that her Majesty, my royal mistress, has named the Count de Cregano a Grand Cordon of the Fleece, in consideration of his distinguished services in arranging the Mexican debt; that all his property, taken from him under a false and traitorous imputation, shall be at once restored; that any additional recompense he may demand for his imprisonment and other inconveniences incurred shall be immediately accorded; and that all Envoys and Ministers of the Court of Spain are instructed to receive the Count de Cregano with every honor and distinction, affording him every protection, and facilitating him in the prosecution of any project in which he may be interested.”
This speech, delivered in a very imposing manner, was followed by a round of felicitation from the assembled company the Marchesa offering me her hand in congratulation, and whispering the words, “How soon?”
“To-morrow, if I must,” replied I, sorrowfully.
“To-morrow be it,” said she, and turned away hastily.
The information conveyed to me by the Ambassador was what formed the substance of two of the letters; the third I contrived to peep into unobserved, was a formal notification from the Havannah that my bills for the amount in the bankers’ hands would be accepted and negotiated at a well-known house in Paris. Thus, then, and in one moment, was I once more rich, – the possessor of immense wealth, and not alone of mere fortune, but of all the honors and dignities which can grace and adorn it. Of course I became the hero of the day. To me was intrusted the arm of the Marchesa as we descended to the pier; to me was accorded the seat of honor beside her in the boat. All the pleasant flatteries that are reserved for rich men were heaped upon me, and I felt that life had but one prize more with which to fill up the most ambitious of my cravings. That, alas! could never be, – Donna Maria was the wife of another; and thus should I learn that complete happiness is never to be the lot of any mere mortal!
The fête on board the “Tariffa” was very splendid; but it had another charm still more rarely met with, – I mean that hearty cordiality which graces every entertainment where British sailors are the hosts, their courtesy being blended with an actual warmth of hospitality that wins even upon the coldest guest, and gives a tone of friendliness to the most promiscuous gathering.
Every one appeared to experience the influence of this peculiar magic, and all gave way to the impulse that suggested the fullest enjoyment of the hour.
To waltzes had succeeded the manolo and the bolero; dances of the wild regions of Calabria and Sicily were performed by men of noble birth, the petty princes of those countries; and all were vying who should introduce something new and unknown to the rest, when, suddenly, the distant sound of the church bells of the city was borne along the water, announcing the “Vinti quatro,” as it is called, – the hour of evening prayer. In a moment a sudden air of devotional seriousness spread itself over the company, and most bent their heads in pious reverence while they recited to themselves the words of the “Angelus.” If there seemed, to the sense of English Protestantism, something strange and unnatural in this great revulsion, there was a degree of earnestness and sincerity in the features of the worshippers that showed their piety to be unfeigned; and here I might leave the theme, were it not for an incident which, taking place at the same moment, will remain forever associated in my mind with that brief interval of prayer.
The hour of sunset, or, as the Neapolitans term it, the “Vinti quatro,” is that in which the galley-slaves, employed from dawn of day at convict labor, return to their prisons; and while the streets at that period exhibit long lines of men whose terrible appearance needs not the heightening accessories of a shocking dress and a heavy lumbering chain to pronounce them criminals, over the bay are seen boats moving in sad procession, the clanking of the fetters creaking mournfully upon the ear, and sounding like the wail of hopeless captivity.
No scene of pleasurable enjoyment can stand the contrast of such a sight; the revulsion is too sudden and too painful from the light frivolity of mirth to the terrible reality of suffering and sorrow. To escape, therefore, from the gloomy picture, the officers of the vessel endeavored to withdraw their guests from the deck to the shelter of the cabin. The change was accomplished well and naturally, and we were all gathered between decks in that turmoil and confusion which form no insignificant part of the success of every entertainment, the buzz of talking and the sounds of pleasant laughter were heard on every side, – when suddenly a cry was heard above, and then the loud voice of the officer of the watch, commanding a boat to be instantly manned and lowered.
A hundred conjectures at once ran round as to the meaning of the order; but one of the officers hastily entering, a few minutes later, put an end to all guessing, by informing us that a very dreadful incident had just occurred within a short distance from where we lay. “You may have remarked a handsome yacht, which anchored last night in the bay, coming up from the eastward: she belonged to an English gentleman, with whose name we were not acquainted, but whose conduct is calculated to confirm all that Frenchmen are accustomed to say of our national taste for eccentricity, even in crime. It would seem that at an early hour this morning he landed at the Mole, and by means of letters with which he was provided to the Minister of Police, obtained leave to inspect the different prisons of the city, and to pass under the most minute examination all those condemned to the galleys for life. As already all those who work at Castelamare had been sent away, he obtained an order to visit the galleys there, being determined, as it would seem, to leave nothing unseen. On reaching Castelamare, it is said that he again commenced his tour of inspection, going over the roll of the prisoners, with the muster-book in his hand, as if to compare their features with the crimes alleged against them, and scrutinizing each with a most searching look. The visit lasted till nigh evening; and although the governor was not a little astonished at the proceeding of the stranger, still less was he prepared for the singular request which succeeded: it was, that he might be permitted to return to Naples in one of the convict boats instead of in his own gig. The demand might have been treated lightly, or altogether refused, but that the Englishman’s appearance and manner indicated rank, while the letter he carried from the minister showed him to be one with claims for consideration. The governor, therefore, gave the permission, smiling at the same time at a caprice which could not have proceeded from the native of any other country.
“The Englishman took his seat in the stern of the boat, and, as I am told by the steersman, never spoke nor moved for nigh an hour’s time, muffling himself up in his cloak so that his very face was concealed; he neither cast his eyes over the bay, nor looked towards the shore, but sat like one in deep reflection. As we neared the ‘Tariffa,’” said my informant, “our passenger affected to feel cold and chilly, – he might have been so, since the evening breeze was just springing up, – and said that he would like to row for a spell, just to warm himself. The petty officer in charge explained that the request could not be complied with, since, amongst other reasons, the men were chained two and two on every bench, and then obliged to tug at the same oar.
“The Englishman, who throughout the day had invariably overruled every objection opposed to him, grew only more positive in his demand, and at last produced the minister’s order, to strengthen his proposal; and finally said, that as he had obtained the permission to learn all he could of the condition of the convicts, he was determined not to depart without experiencing in his own person the amount of labor exacted from them. ‘You shall chain me to that fellow in the bow of the boat,’ said he, ‘for I have my doubts that this same punishment is not equal to what our own sailors perform every day, as a mere duty.’
“I need not dwell upon the arguments he used, and the reason he pressed; and although I have not heard it, I have little doubt that bribery was among the rest. His demand was granted, and he was actually placed beside the convict, and his left wrist enclosed in the same fetter with the other’s right.
“His face became almost purple as he grasped the oar, and his eyes glared fiercely round upon his fellow-laborer, like the red and staring orbs of a wild beast. ‘So dreadful was the expression of his face,’ said the steersman, ‘that I believed him to be insane; and a shocking fear of evil consequences shot through me for having yielded to him.’
“I at once called out to the crew to ship their oars, determining to make him resume his place beside me. The order was obeyed by the bow-oar as by the rest. I was then about to issue a command for him to be released when, with a yell that I shall never forget, he sprang up in the boat, and then, calling out something in English which I could not understand, he seized his comrade by the throat and shook him violently.
“The convict – himself a strong man, yet in the prime of life – seemed nothing in the grasp of the other, who held him at arm’s length, as though he were a child; and then, letting go his hold, clasping him round the waist with both arms, he jumped into the sea.
“They were seen in mortal conflict for a second or two as they sank in the clear water, but they never rose to the surface; the weight of the massive fetters and their own struggles soon finished their sufferings!”
Such was the terrible story which now broke in upon the gay current of our festivity, and threw a gloom over a scene of brilliant pleasure. Of course various surmises as to the motive of this fearful act were uttered, but they all tended to the conclusion that it proceeded from insanity, which occasionally displays amongst its wonderful phenomena all the premeditation and circumspection of accomplished guilt.
There is that of solemnity about an event of this nature that even frivolity itself stands rebuked by, and so, now, instead of resuming the occupations of pleasure, many took their leave suddenly; and of those who still remained, but one topic engrossed the conversation, – that of madness as an element in all great cases of guilt.
Of course, as in all similar discussions, the superiority lay with those who, with more readiness of expression, also possessed greater resources in anecdote and illustration; and of these the greater number were disposed to believe that all great criminality is allied with deranged intellect. The Marchesa, however, took the opposite side, and insisted that the passion which prompted to the most terrible and appalling acts was perfectly consistent with right reason and sound judgment.
“It is too rash in us,” said she, “to assume a mere blind impulse in cases even where recognized insanity exists. Were we to know the secrets of the human heart, we might, perhaps, see a long-cherished purpose in acts which appear to be dictated by momentary passion. These impulses may be excessive, ill-directed, and ill-judging; but still they may have their origin in some train of thought where generous feelings and noble aspirations mingle. Witness those heroic – for they are, after all, heroic – assassinations of the student Sandt and Charlotte Corday. What a perfect abrogation of self did these acts evince; what consummate devotion to a cause! Deeply as we may condemn the horrid nature of the crime, it would be a great error to class these men with vulgar criminals, or deny to them the motives, at least, of something great.”
I am not able – were I even disposed – to repeat all the ingenious arguments by which the Marchesa supported her opinion, nor the instances she so readily adduced in support of it. She became highly excited by the theme, and soon, by the eloquence of her words and the fascinations of her manner, enchained the whole company in a mute attention around her.
It was just as she concluded a very animated and glowing description of that condition of the human mind when, by a volcanic effort, as it were, the long-buried flames burst forth, to scatter ruin and destruction on every side, that a young officer entered the cabin, and stood fascinated by the powers of her fervid eloquence.
“Well, Mr. Hardy,” said the Captain, recalling the youth’s attention to duty, “have you been on board of her?”
“Yes, sir, she is an English yacht, the ‘Firefly,’ and her late owner was an English baronet, whose name I have written down in my pocket-book.”
The Captain took the note-book from the young officer’s hand, and, after reading the name, said, “If I mistake not, this is the same person that once was so well known in London life. Most of the present company must have heard of the rich and eccentric Sir Dudley Broughton.”
A low groan broke from me, and I turned my eyes slowly and stealthily towards the end of the table, where the Marchesa sat. Not a word, not the faintest sound, had issued from her lips; but she sat still and motionless, her lips slightly parted, and her eyes staring straight before her. The pallor of her features was that of death itself; and, indeed, the rigid contour of the cheeks and the firm tension of the muscles gave no evidence of life.
“You are ill, Madame la Marchesa,” said a gentleman who sat beside her; but as she made no reply, several now turned towards her, to press their attentions and suggest advice. She never spoke, – indeed, she seemed not to hear them, – but sat with her head erect, and her arms rigidly stretched out on either side, motionless as a statue.
The shocking incident that had occurred, and the discussion which followed it, were sufficient to account for this sudden attack in one whose nervous temperament was so finely strung; but as she showed no signs of recovering consciousness, nor gave the slightest indication of rallying, it was decided at once that she should be conveyed to shore, where in her own house medical aid might be had recourse to.
I was one of those who assisted to carry her to the boat, and sat beside her afterwards, and held her hand in mine; but she never recognized me; her hand, too, was cold and clammy, and the fingers felt rigid and cramped. The stern, impressive look of her features, the cold stare of her fixed eyes, were terrible to behold, – far more so than even the workings of mere bodily sufferings.
During the passage to the shore, at the landing itself, and on our way to the Palazzo, she remained in the same state; nor did she ever evince any trait of consciousness till she reached the foot of the great staircase, where a crowd of servants, in the richest liveries, awaited to offer their services. Then suddenly she moved her head from side to side, regarding the crowd with a glance of wild and terrific meaning; she raised her hand to her brow, and passed it slowly across her forehead. For an instant it seemed as if the lethargic paroxysm was about to pass away, for her features softened into a look of calm but melancholy beauty. This, too, glided away, and her mouth settled into a hard and rigid smile. It was the last change of all, for she had become an idiot!
From that hour forth she never spoke again! she never knew those about her, neither missing them while absent, nor recognizing them when they reappeared. She had none of the childish wilfulness of others in her sad condition, nor did she show the likings and dislikings they usually manifest; and thus she lingered on to her death.
Of her secret I was the sole depositary; and from that hour to this, in which I write, it has never escaped my lips.