Chapter X

Gabrielle returned home in a state of agitation and alarm; the commixture of events too, in so short a space of time, the conversation she had overheard, and the subsequent conduct of the Genoese, distracted and confused her to such a degree, that, for a certain space, she was unable sufficiently to arrange her ideas to resolve upon the line most proper to be pursued. She easily perceived, from the observations she had heard, how much the unguarded Angelo had committed himself with the base Oriana, in having taught her to anticipate the period of his death with pleasure and impatience; from this too she saw the extent of his infatuation, since it could lead him thus far. When one moment, therefore, she resolved to expose to him the infamous character of the Genoese, and reveal to him the plot meditated against him, she discarded that resolution in the next; first, lest her mere assertions should not obtain unlimited credit; and secondly, from knowing the warmth and precipitancy of Angelo, lest he should instantly fly to his mistress, tax her with what he had heard, and thus leave himself open to her blandishments, by which she might convince him that the whole was an infamous fabrication; she, in such result, as the supposed incendiary, might be driven with rage from the presence of Angelo, and these machinating fiends would ultimately achieve their dreadful purposes.

At length, after long consideration, alternately dwelling upon and rejecting every idea that presented itself, she determined on preserving silence towards Angelo, to guard him from the mischief intended, and let him form his own opinion upon what he should observe.

She passed the day in her chamber, ruminating and reflecting upon the procedure necessary to be adopted; night came on, and found her still there, and when the hour of repose arrived, she felt an irresistible desire to remain up, in case Angelo should arrive, as sometimes he did at a late hour, that at least she might have the happiness of ascertaining he was at present in safety. Accordingly, taking a volume of Lorenzo de Medici, she threw herself upon a sopha to be more at ease, unfastened her hair, and suffering it to flow loose over her shoulders, began to enjoy a moment of peace and relaxation from the consuming cares and agitations of the day; she soon became deeply engaged with the beauties of her author, and her mind in a degree diverted from the contemplation of more gloomy images.

A single curtain of silk separated the chamber of Angelo from the apartment where she was; several hours elapsed; she no longer entertained an idea of his return, and though she still held the book in her hand, she fell into a train of musing that completely abstracted all attention from external objects. It happened, however, that Angelo having unexpectedly been enabled to make his escape, returned home, and entered, unheard by Gabrielle, his own apartment, with intent to retire immediately to bed, little surmising that his companion still remained from her’s.

He placed his lamp at the further end of his room, when the tender light that shone through the curtain became visible, and convinced that his Eugene must be within, none other being permitted to sit in the apartment adjoining his; being in a sportive mood, he felt inclined to surprise him, and extinguishing his lamp, softly approached the curtain, to steal on him by degrees, and not to be heard till he was seen. For a few moments he remained looking on her in silence, irresistibly attracted by the sensation of mingled surprise and admiration which he experienced; carelessly and unconsciously reclining, her hair loosely flowing, and shading in part her pensive countenance, Gabrielle presented a figure at once beautiful and interesting.

“How lovely he is!” mentally ejaculated Angelo, as he gazed; “yet though he appears lovely, how little do those fine and tender features seem to assimilate with that dark complexion; what delicacy of shape too!--what elegance!”

As thus he viewed the supposed youth, again he felt the warmest sensations of affection for him rising in his bosom. “No wonder,” said he uneasily to himself, “he is formed to inspire friendship and interest in the coldest heart; whoever sees him must _admire_; whoever knows him must love.” He looked no longer however, but gently drawing aside the curtain, he advanced into the room, in an oblique direction, and gliding behind Gabrielle, when she did not dream of his being in the house, he placed his hands lightly over her eyes, and cried as he glanced on the book, “Always reading amatory verse, Eugene, you are certainly in love.”

Gabrielle at first uttered a slight exclamation, but at the soft voice of Angelo her fears vanished, and gently taking his hands from before her eyes, she involuntarily drew them to her lips and kissed them, utterly unable, from sudden thought of the danger that threatened him, to restrain this impulse of the joy she felt at beholding him in safety.

Angelo was sensibly affected; he gazed on her with tenderness, and while tears almost started to his eyes, he said, “You are glad to see me, my dearest Eugene--this is the happiest moment I have had to-day.”

Gabrielle sighed at this observation, but answered with energy, “I am indeed most happy to see you, my lord, and I even thank you for your remark.”

“What a formal speech, my dear Eugene, how unlike the tender freedom of your action; henceforth, I intreat you, call me no more my lord, call me only Angelo; for I consider you my friend, and regard you as my equal.”

“Ah! what happiness would be mine, if knowing me he spoke thus,” thought Gabrielle, “but, my lord,” she modestly observed, “it would not be proper for a poor, unconnected orphan, whom a happy chance alone introduced beneath your roof, to forget the distance that exists between us.”

“No more of this language, Eugene, if you love me--call me Angelo, and forget the imaginary distinction you speak of--the distinction of fortune merely, in all else you are my superior--ah, my dear young friend,” he added with animation, “would, if you can wish it, that your fortune more nearly resembled mine, and my mind your’s; you have a firm mind, Eugene, and mine is weak and wandering; you have virtue, and I am full of errors.”

“Ah! heaven bless and aid him,” silently ejaculated Gabrielle; “since he perceives that he has errors, he will conquer them; his heart is yet uncorrupted, and I may indulge the fond hope of his reformation.”

“But we are growing too serious,” cried Angelo in a gay tone, “tell me Eugene,” he added sportively, and twining a lock of her beautiful hair round his finger, “how is it that you have such luxuriant hair? one might almost imagine you were a woman; absolutely, you must consent to part with it.”

For the first moment, Gabrielle remembered the circumstance of her hair being loose; in the deepest confusion she twisted it round her hand, to fasten it up as usual, and in an unequal voice said, “it fell down by accident, I know not how.”

“Well, let it remain so,” cried Angelo, laughing at her confusion, and withdrawing the hand which confined it, when again it fell loose; “let it remain so, it looks picturesque and beautiful; but pray, Eugene, I had almost forgotten--how fares the charming Oriana?”

A pang of waking misery aroused Gabrielle from her fond delusions--she falteringly answered, “the Signora is well.”

“And as gay, and as fascinating as ever?”

“Quite so.”

“Did she not say aught?”

“She expects you will sup with her and il Signor Fiorenza, to-morrow night.”

“Most assuredly I will, and you likewise, Eugene; will you not?”

“I would not for worlds be excluded, my lord; will you permit me to retire?” she added rising.

“Certainly,” Angelo answered abstractedly, for his mind was now engaged with a new image, and new ideas; Gabrielle moved towards the door, and her heart swelled with grief. “Good night, my lord,” she said looking back.

“Good night, Eugene,” cooly returned Angelo.

Gabrielle hastened from the room; she perceived of whom he was thinking, and felt for the moment indignant. “But I would save him,” said she mentally, “even though he hated me.” She retired to bed, immersed in plans for his safety, and meditating on him with tender compassion, while he retired to his, absorbed in fond fancy of another--that other conceiving his destruction.

So dangerous and untrue are the blandishments of the wanton, and he who trusts to them hovers ever on the brink of perdition. On the following evening the misguided Angelo, accompanied by Eugene, attended punctually to his appointment at the house of Oriana. She received him with the false smiles of a Circe, and stretching out her hand, that hand which was intended to present him ere long with the draught of death, she softly reproved him for his absence the whole of the preceding day. Gabrielle shuddered, and shuddered still more when approaching her she whispered in her ear, “I am angry with you Eugene, nor will I be reconciled till, unaccompanied by your friend, you come and ask my forgiveness.” To this she added, unperceived, an emphatic pressure of the hand, and then exclaimed aloud, “Conte I have been taxing this young robber with having stolen the finest peach out of the basket yesterday, to present it to his own mistress; I missed it the moment he was gone.”

Angelo laughed; “Great Heaven, what a mixture of depravity and deception,” thought Gabrielle, as with horror she looked on Oriana. Fiorenza now made his appearance; he bowed respectfully to Angelo, and cordially addressed his pretended sister. Gabrielle glanced towards him, and trembled; such complicated guilt was new to her, beyond all that ever her fancy even could have suggested.

With mingled impatience and dread she anticipated the hour of supper, while almost continually her anxious eyes reverted from Angelo to his treacherous hosts, marking their every movement; for scarcely could she be persuaded that for the present moment he was safe. Supper was at length announced; Gabrielle involuntarily started, and a cold chill crept through her blood; she followed, however, with seeming composure to the supper room, and observed, that Fiorenza, seating himself opposite to Oriana and his unsuspecting guest, took good care to leave the seat between them vacant, waving his hand to Eugene, as intimating that he resigned it to him. Gabrielle took the seat, and the supper commenced.

Fiorenza introduced brisk conversation; Oriana joined, and they endeavoured, as much as possible, to amuse Angelo, and engage his attention. Mean time the vigilant eyes of Gabrielle watched with dreadful solicitude each successive glass of wine. Four rounds had now been drank,--the supper concluded,--fresh glasses were brought, with comfits and fruits, and the servants all retired.

Now came the fearful fifth round; Angelo was engaged in conversation with the treacherous Genoese, and Gabrielle appeared listening to them, as particularly intent upon the subject which occupied them, though she did not fail to observe every movement of Fiorenza and remarked that after placing his hand for a moment in his bosom he glided it under the table, where he suffered it to remain. Now his dark eyes glanced scowlingly around, no one seemed looking towards him--he drew his hand from underneath the table, and taking up the bottle, held it with three fingers only against the palm of his hand, while as he poured the wine into the glass, dexterously from between his fore finger and thumb, he suffered a subtle and almost impalpable powder to fall gradually, and mingle with the wine, with which it thus seemed to incorporate.

Gabrielle experienced a pang of horror; had she been ignorant of the plot, so artful had been the management of the villain Fiorenza, that not the most suspicious observation could have imagined aught; the other glasses he filled without moving the position of his hand, and pushing that containing the poison towards Oriana, he said, with a terrific smile, and slightly inclining his head, “Come, Oriana, since the Conte will not, your brother will pledge you.”

“No, no,” cried Angelo, “leave your sister to me, Signor,” and lifting his glass lightly to his lips, he handed it to his mistress, while fondly he looked in her countenance, and said, “My glass for your’s, fair Oriana.”

The fair Oriana, with a bewitching smile, held out her glass to exchange with Angelo, when, “Stop!” exclaimed Gabrielle, “my Lord; a slight ceremony must first be performed, which alone can render the exchange of value to you.”

“What is that, Eugene?” cried Angelo, laughing; while rage, forced into a smile, appeared on the dark visage of Fiorenza.--

“These glasses, my Lord,” pursued Gabrielle, “have been all brought since supper,--the rosy lips of the Signora have not yet pressed her’s, if therefore you would exchange with her, she must first touch it with that lovely mouth, to add honey to the wine, and to render it a valuable exchange for you.”

“Bravo! my dear Eugene, you know the laws of love and gallantry, I perceive;--fair Oriana, we must be taught by this youth; deign then to taste your wine, that my unworthy lips may press the spot where your’s have touched.”

At this unexpected turn, great was the consternation of the Genoese; she looked towards Fiorenza, with eyes that said, “Deliver me from this terrible embarrassment.” Dark red murder glowed on the bronzed cheek of Fiorenza! detected crime sat on his gloomy brow, his lips quivered with bitter rage, hate, and fierce disappointment; but he gave no vent to the tumultuous feelings of his breast.

“Why this timidity, Oriana?” he cried, with the look and smile of a deceiving Demon,--“you may oblige the Conte, surely; _touch_ the glass with your lips.”

By the emphasis he laid on the word touch, and by the glance of his eye, Oriana understood that he wished her in effect to put the glass to her lips, without drinking any of the wine; but she was too dreadfully alarmed for herself to make this attempt, even though the keen glance of Eugene might not have discovered the feint; she therefore still hesitated, when Gabrielle exclaimed:

“Aye, indeed, Signora, why this timidity?--one should think you were afraid of being poisoned!” At the same time taking the glass from her hand, without Oriana’s daring to resist, she held it up towards the light, and pursued, “I do not so much wonder, indeed, Signora, at your hesitation,--this wine does not in truth appear most invitingly clear.”

At this moment the animated looks, and gestures of Fiorenza compelling Oriana into immediate compliance with what they urged, she exclaimed, with a laugh, “How absurd you are to-night, Eugene; I’ll not remain near you any longer;” and affecting to rise with heedless haste, she struck, as if by accident, the raised arm of Gabrielle with her shoulder, when the glass falling out of her hand, immediately broke, and the fatal draught intended for Angelo, flowed harmless upon the table.

Angelo had remained silent during this scene; there was something in it which he did not like, yet he knew not what to think; the words and manner of Gabrielle excited in his mind a vague suspicion that some mischief had been intended, yet scarcely could he reconcile this idea with reason; for so little inclined was he to think amiss of any human being, that he could not conceive a motive sufficiently black to induce the wish in any one to deprive him of life.

As the glass fell, his eyes were attracted to the table, it was strewed with its fragments, upon some of which appeared a roughness, while in the bottom of the glass, that remained almost entire, a dusky sediment was clearly discernible. Angelo took it in his hand, looked at it with a suspicious eye, yet did not speak, for he could not endure to believe that the whole might not be accidental, or that the tender mistress, who valued him sufficiently to sacrifice to him her honor, and endanger her reputation, could in any point of view be so false, or so inconsistent, as to desire his destruction.

The idea was not more abhorrent than it appeared heterogeneous to him, and therefore he would not allow himself to express a doubt, well knowing that if he did, he could never see her more.

Oriana, somewhat recovered, now that she had conquered the terror of being compelled to touch the poison, took up with seeming indifference one of the fragments of glass, and looking slightly over it, handed it to the enraged and defeated Fiorenza, exclaiming with an air of innocence, “See brother, this glass does look strangely, and observe,” raising his glass to the light, “your wine appears turbid as mind did; does it not Eugene? let us not have any more from this bottle, there is some fault in it.”

Gabrielle made no other reply to her observation, that by an expressive look, which Fiorenza observing, vowed in the deepest recesses of his guilty heart, that he would take vengeance on the audacious stripling. Oriana summoning an attendant, ordered more wine and different glasses, then filling some for herself, and some for Angelo, she carelessly observed, “this wine appears excellent; come, my lord, I will with pleasure pledge you in this,” so saying, she tasted the wine, and with a seducing smile presented her glass to Angelo, that part towards him which her lips had touched.

Though Angelo was far from being perfectly at ease, he could not resist the tender blandishment of his mistress; he took the wine from her hand, and as he did so, said, fixing his eyes upon her countenance, which bore the air of the most perfect innocence, “Oriana--I drink to you in all _sincerity_.”

“Conte D’Albini!” exclaimed the wily Fiorenza, starting up and placing his hand in his bosom, from which the hilt of his stilletto became visible, “you lay strange emphases on your words--why that meaning in your looks? if you suspect there is more than mere accident in what has occurred, speak openly your doubts, and I will at once satisfy you of my honor, as you must me for your suspicions.”

“I have not said any thing, Signor Fiorenza, to render this conduct necessary on your part,” observed Angelo, “your warmth indeed appears totally uncalled for.”

From the fierce looks of Fiorenza, panting to give some vent to his dreadful rage, Gabrielle entertained a fear, that foiled in his first aim, he now desired to provoke Angelo to resent his words, that he might have an opportunity, in an unguarded moment, of achieving his purpose by his stilletto. She therefore exclaimed, “Oh, certainly, Signor Fiorenza you are too precipitate; il Conte D’Albini never gives hints, he always expresses what he thinks. Why not therefore reserve the vindication of your honour, till he avows his doubts of it?”

“I perceive, young gentleman,” cried Fiorenza, biting his lips, with a distorted smile, “you are as prone to teach the laws of honour, as those of gallantry.”

“Nonsense!” cried Oriana, and with that innocent sportiveness she knew so well how to assume, she added; “my brother was ever passionate and hasty from a youth, come, sit down good Fiorenza, no one chuses to quarrel with you.”

“What, do you condemn me too, Oriana?” cried he, permitting his stern features to relax; and taking his hand from his bosom, he presented it to Angelo, saying, “Excuse me Conte if I have been intemperate, but when an Italian conceives a friendship, he cannot brook the idea that trifles or accidental circumstances should cause it to be suspected.”

Angelo, impressed for the moment by his words, took his proffered hand, and Fiorenza re-seating himself, harmony appeared again to be restored.

Oriana exerted every effort to please and entertain Angelo, desirous of obliterating from his mind the awkward accident that had occurred; in these attempts the gloomy Fiorenza essayed to join, but their united endeavours could not prevent him from now and then reverting to what had passed, nor could he compel himself to the usual cheerfulness and gaiety he evinced, when in the presence of his fair mistress. He therefore earlier than common took his departure, and, accompanied by Eugene, returned home.

In any other place than Italy, a circumstance like the one here detailed might have been sufficient ground for the deepest scrutiny of the law, for the disgrace or punishment of the persons convicted, and of course for a total and eternal breach between the party: but in this country the case is different; such occurrences are common, and a lover even ascertaining the intent of his mistress to poison him, not only would not feel himself induced to break with her, but would even continue his visits to so dangerous an object.--Pique, anger, jealousy, will sometimes excite to this violent degree the resentment of the Italian fair, and if the venturous lover has reason to believe that either of these momentary sensations is the actuating impulse of his mistress’s attempt, he can forgive her, and entertain no fears of future mischief: besides, the mode of thinking on this point is somewhat reciprocal; the lover indeed will not poison his fair one, if he suspects her fidelity, but he takes a shorter method; he plunges his stiletto in her breast, and often gives her no opportunity of vindication. Thus the country stamps the degree of crime, marks the criterion by which it is to be estimated, and gives the law to the opinions of the people. In Sparta, it was ordained to expose to perish in the forests, those tender infants who gave no early indications of strength and beauty, while in more civilized ages, the practice became punishable with death.

There was a mixed sensation in the mind of Angelo, which rendered him averse to conversing with Eugene on the events of the night; he feared, perhaps, that his unbiassed mind appreciated them more truly than he would permit his own to do; and that he might advance such observations and opinions, as, from their justness and propriety, might render it next to impossible for him to continue his visits to Oriana. So weak was he, and so extravagantly infatuated with this worthless woman, who, from her pretended innocence and engaging vivacity, had obtained such an ascendancy over him, that he could not endure, upon any terms, the thought of resigning her society; he endeavoured to persuade himself, that nothing hostile was in reality intended against him, that all was accidental; yet, when memory involuntarily recurred to the embarrassment manifested by Oriana when pressed to taste the wine, the pretended accident of its spilling, in which there appeared so much of artifice, he was staggered. To this, however, he opposed in his mind the warmth of tenacious honour, and offended friendship in Fiorenza, who surely, he erroneously conceived, if aught of evil had been designed against him, would have acted in a way so widely different.

Yet spite of his wish to think and believe the best, such was his opinion of the depth and penetration of Eugene, that he, at times, almost felt a conviction there must be strong meaning in the conduct he had pursued. At all events he could not resolve otherwise than to speak of it lightly, to appear to estimate it as a trifle merely, and thus treating it, continue without interruption his visits to Oriana, though keeping continually on his guard, and narrowly observing her future conduct.

Such, too often, the infatuation of the Libertine, and such his unworthy folly; his all of feeling directed towards objects, base or contemptible, as unwilling as he is unable to shake off the ignoble trammels by which he is enslaved. Vice has for him more attractions than virtue; the superficial endowments of the body, more value than those of the mind. Thus the meretricious fair one, who, by empty frivolity, or unmeaning mirth, can wing his vapid hours with irrational delight, will ever be in his eyes a greater object of allurement than the faithful friend, honourable wife, or intellectual companion.

END OF VOL. I.

G. SIDNEY, Printer, Northumberland-street, Strand.