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  1. Matthew Gregory Lewis, who professed to have translated this romance
  2. out of the German, very much, I believe, as Horace Walpole professed
  3. to have taken The Castle of Otranto from an old Italian manuscript,
  4. was born in 1775 of a wealthy family. His father had an estate in
  5. India and a post in a Government office. His mother was daughter to
  6. Sir Thomas Sewell, Master of the Rolls in the reign of George III.
  7. She was a young mother; her son Matthew was devoted to her from the
  8. first. As a child he called her "Fanny," and as a man held firmly
  9. by her when she was deserted by her husband. From Westminster
  10. School, M. G. Lewis passed to Christ Church, Oxford. Already he was
  11. busy over tales and plays, and wrote at college a farce, never
  12. acted, a comedy, written at the age of sixteen, The East Indian,
  13. afterwards played for Mrs. Jordan's benefit and repeated with great
  14. success, and also a novel, never published, called The Effusions of
  15. Sensibility, which was a burlesque upon the sentimental school. He
  16. wrote also what he called "a romance in the style of The Castle of
  17. Otranto," which appeared afterwards as the play of The Castle
  18. Spectre.
  19.  
  20. With his mind thus interested in literature of the romantic form,
  21. young Lewis, aged seventeen, after a summer in Paris, went to
  22. Germany, settled for a time at Weimar, and, as he told his mother,
  23. knocked his brains against German as hard as ever he could. "I have
  24. been introduced," he wrote, in July, 1792, "to M. de Goethe, the
  25. celebrated author of Werter, so you must not be surprised if I
  26. should shoot myself one of these fine mornings." In the spring of
  27. 1793 the youth returned to England, very full of German romantic
  28. tale and song, and with more paper covered with wild fancies of his
  29. own. After the next Christmas he returned to Oxford. There was a
  30. visit to Lord Douglas at Bothwell Castle; there was not much
  31. academic work done at Oxford. His father's desire was to train him
  32. for the diplomatic service, and in the summer of 1794 he went to the
  33. Hague as attache to the British Embassy. He had begun to write his
  34. novel of The Monk, had flagged, but was spurred on at the Hague by a
  35. reading of Mrs. Radcliffe's Mysteries of Udolpho, a book after his
  36. own heart, and he wrote to his mother at this time, "You see I am
  37. horribly bit by the rage of writing."
  38.  
  39. The Monk was written in ten weeks, and published in the summer of
  40. 1795, before its author's age was twenty. It was praised, attacked,
  41. said by one review to have neither originality, morals, nor
  42. probability to recommend it, yet to have excited and to be
  43. continuing to excite the curiosity of the public: a result set down
  44. to the "irresistible energy of genius." Certainly, Lewis did not
  45. trouble himself to keep probability in view; he amused himself with
  46. wild play of a fancy that delighted in the wonderful. The
  47. controversy over The Monk caused the young author to be known as
  48. Monk Lewis, and the word Monk has to this day taken the place of the
  49. words Matthew Gregory so generally, that many catalogue-makers must
  50. innocently suppose him to have been so named at the font. The
  51. author of The Monk came back from the Hague to be received as a
  52. young lion in London society. When he came of age he entered
  53. Parliament for Hindon, in Wiltshire, but seldom went to the House,
  54. never spoke in it, and retired after a few sessions. His delight
  55. was in the use of the pen; his father, although disappointed by his
  56. failure as a statesman, allowed him a thousand a year, and he took a
  57. cottage at Barnes, that he might there escape from the world to his
  58. ink-bottle. He was a frequent visitor at Inverary Castle, and was
  59. fascinated by his host's daughter, Lady Charlotte Campbell. Still
  60. he wrote on. The musical drama of The Castle Spectre was produced
  61. in the year after The Monk, and it ran sixty nights. He translated
  62. next Schiller's Kabale und Liebe as The Minister, but it was not
  63. acted till it appeared, with little success, some years afterwards
  64. at Covent Garden as The Harper's Daughter. He translated from
  65. Kotzebue, under the name of Rolla, the drama superseded by
  66. Sheridan's version of the same work as Pizarro. Then came the
  67. acting, in 1799, of his comedy written in boyhood, The East Indian.
  68. Then came, in the same year, his first opera, Adelmorn the Outlaw;
  69. then a tragedy, Alfonso, King of Castile. Of the origin of this
  70. tragedy Lewis gave a characteristic account. "Hearing one day," he
  71. said, "my introduction of negroes into a feudal baron's castle" (in
  72. The Castle Spectre) "exclaimed against with as much vehemence as if
  73. a dramatic anachronism had been an offence undeserving of benefit of
  74. clergy, I said in a moment of petulance, that to prove of how little
  75. consequence I esteemed such errors, I would make a play upon the
  76. Gunpowder Plot, and make Guy Faux in love with the Emperor
  77. Charlemagne's daughter. By some chance or other, this idea fastened
  78. itself upon me, and by dint of turning it in my mind, I at length
  79. formed the plot of Alfonso."
  80.  
  81. To that time in Lewis's life belongs this book, The Bravo of Venice;
  82. which was published in 1804, when the writer's age was twenty-nine.
  83. It was written at Inverary Castle, dedicated to the Earl of Moira,
  84. and received as one of the most perfect little romances of its kind,
  85. "highly characteristic of the exquisite contrivance, bold colouring,
  86. and profound mystery of the German school." In 1805 Lewis recast it
  87. into a melodrama, which he called Rugantino.
  88.  
  89. H.M.
  90.  
  91.  
  92.  
  93. THE BRAVO OF VENICE.
  94.  
  95.  
  96.  
  97. BOOK THE FIRST.
  98.  
  99.  
  100.  
  101. CHAPTER I: VENICE.
  102.  
  103.  
  104.  
  105. It was evening. Multitudes of light clouds, partially illumined by
  106. the moonbeams, overspread the horizon, and through them floated the
  107. full moon in tranquil majesty, while her splendour was reflected by
  108. every wave of the Adriatic Sea. All was hushed around; gently was
  109. the water rippled by the night wind; gently did the night wind sigh
  110. through the Colonnades of Venice.
  111.  
  112. It was midnight; and still sat a stranger, solitary and sad, on the
  113. border of the great canal. Now with a glance he measured the
  114. battlements and proud towers of the city; and now he fixed his
  115. melancholy eyes upon the waters with a vacant stare. At length he
  116. spoke -
  117.  
  118. "Wretch that I am, whither shall I go? Here sit I in Venice, and
  119. what would it avail to wander further? What will become of me? All
  120. now slumber, save myself! the Doge rests on his couch of down; the
  121. beggar's head presses his straw pillow; but for ME there is no bed
  122. except the cold, damp earth! There is no gondolier so wretched but
  123. he knows where to find work by day and shelter by night--while _I_--
  124. while _I_--Oh! dreadful is the destiny of which I am made the
  125. sport!"
  126.  
  127. He began to examine for the twentieth time the pockets of his
  128. tattered garments.
  129.  
  130. "No! not one paolo, by heavens!--and I hunger almost to death."
  131.  
  132. He unsheathed his sword; he waved it in the moonshine, and sighed,
  133. as he marked the glittering of the steel.
  134.  
  135. "No, no, my old true companion, thou and I must never part. Mine
  136. thou shalt remain, though I starve for it. Oh, was not that a
  137. golden time when Valeria gave thee to me, and when she threw the
  138. belt over my shoulder, I kissed thee and Valeria? She has deserted
  139. us for another world, but thou and I will never part in this."
  140.  
  141. He wiped away a drop which hung upon his eyelid.
  142.  
  143. "Pshaw! 'twas not a tear; the night wind is sharp and bitter, and
  144. makes the eyes water; but as for TEARS--Absurd! my weeping days are
  145. over."
  146.  
  147. And as he spoke, the unfortunate (for such by his discourse and
  148. situation he appeared to be) dashed his forehead against the earth,
  149. and his lips were already unclosed to curse the hour which gave him
  150. being, when he seemed suddenly to recollect himself. He rested his
  151. head on his elbow, and sang mournfully the burthen of a song which
  152. had often delighted his childhood in the castle of his ancestors.
  153.  
  154. "Right," he said to himself; "were I to sink under the weight of my
  155. destiny, I should be myself no longer."
  156.  
  157. At that moment he heard a rustling at no great distance. He looked
  158. around, and in an adjacent street, which the moon faintly
  159. enlightened, he perceived a tall figure, wrapped in a cloak, pacing
  160. slowly backwards and forwards.
  161.  
  162. "'Tis the hand of God which hath guided him hither--yes--I'll--I'll
  163. BEG--better to play the beggar in Venice than the villain in Naples;
  164. for the beggar's heart may beat nobly, though covered with rags."
  165.  
  166. He then sprang from the ground, and hastened towards the adjoining
  167. street. Just as he entered it at one end, he perceived another
  168. person advancing through the other, of whose approach the first was
  169. no sooner aware than he hastily retired into the shadow of a piazza,
  170. anxious to conceal himself.
  171.  
  172. "What can this mean?" thought our mendicant. "Is yon eavesdropper
  173. one of death's unlicensed ministers? Has he received the retaining
  174. fee of some impatient heir, who pants to possess the wealth of the
  175. unlucky knave who comes strolling along yonder, so careless and
  176. unconscious? Be not so confident, honest friend! I'm at your
  177. elbow."
  178.  
  179. He retired further into the shade, and silently and slowly drew near
  180. the lurker, who stirred not from his place. The stranger had
  181. already passed them by, when the concealed villain sprang suddenly
  182. upon him, raised his right hand in which a poniard was gleaming, and
  183. before he could give the blow, was felled to the earth by the arm of
  184. the mendicant.
  185.  
  186. The stranger turned hastily towards them; the bravo started up and
  187. fled; the beggar smiled.
  188.  
  189. "How now?" cried the stranger; "what does all this mean?"
  190.  
  191. "Oh, 'tis a mere jest, signor, which has only preserved your life."
  192.  
  193. "What? my life? How so?"
  194.  
  195. "The honest gentleman who has just taken to his heels stole behind
  196. you with true cat-like caution, and had already raised his dagger,
  197. when I saw him. You owe your life to me, and the service is richly
  198. worth one little piece of money! Give me some alms, signor, for on
  199. my soul I am hungry, thirsty, cold."
  200.  
  201. "Hence, scurvy companion! I know you and your tricks too well.
  202. This is all a concerted scheme between you, a design upon my purse,
  203. an attempt to procure both money and thanks, and under the lame
  204. pretence of having saved me from an assassin. Go, fellow, go!
  205. practise these dainty devices on the Doge's credulity if you will;
  206. but with Buonarotti you stand no chance, believe me."
  207.  
  208. The wretched starving beggar stood like one petrified, and gazed on
  209. the taunting stranger.
  210.  
  211. "No, as I have a soul to save, signor, 'tis no lie I tell you!--'tis
  212. the plain truth; have compassion, or I die this night of hunger."
  213.  
  214. "Begone this instant, I say, or by Heaven--"
  215.  
  216. The unfeeling man here drew out a concealed pistol, and pointed it
  217. at his preserver.
  218.  
  219. "Merciful Heaven! and is it thus that services are acknowledged in
  220. Venice?"
  221.  
  222. "The watch is at no great distance, I need only raise my voice and--
  223. "
  224.  
  225. "Hell and confusion! do you take me for a robber, then?"
  226.  
  227. "Make no noise, I tell you. Be quiet--you had better."
  228.  
  229. "Hark you, signor. Buonarotti is your name, I think? I will write
  230. it down as belonging to the second scoundrel with whom I have met in
  231. Venice."
  232.  
  233. He paused for a moment, then continuing in a dreadful voice, "And
  234. when," said he, "thou, Buonarotti, shalt hereafter hear the name of
  235. ABELLINO--TREMBLE!"
  236.  
  237. Abellino turned away, and left the hard-hearted Venetian.
  238.  
  239.  
  240.  
  241. CHAPTER II: THE BANDITTI.
  242.  
  243.  
  244.  
  245. And now rushed the unfortunate wildly through the streets of Venice.
  246. He railed at fortune; he laughed and cursed by turns; yet sometimes
  247. he suddenly stood still, seemed as pondering on some great and
  248. wondrous enterprise, and then again rushed onwards, as if hastening
  249. to its execution.
  250.  
  251. Propped against a column of the Signoria, he counted over the whole
  252. sum of his misfortunes. His wandering eyeballs appeared to seek
  253. comfort, but they found it not.
  254.  
  255. "Fate," he at length exclaimed in a paroxysm of despair, "Fate has
  256. condemned me to be either the wildest of adventurers, or one at the
  257. relation of whose crimes the world must shudder. To astonish is my
  258. destiny. Rosalvo can know no medium; Rosalvo can never act like
  259. common men. Is it not the hand of fate which has led me hither?
  260. Who could ever have dreamt that the son of the richest lord in
  261. Naples should have depended for a beggar's alms on Venetian charity?
  262. I--I, who feel myself possessed of strength of body and energy of
  263. soul fit for executing the most daring deeds, behold me creeping in
  264. rags through the streets of this inhospitable city, and torturing my
  265. wits in vain to discover some means by which I may rescue life from
  266. the jaws of famine! Those men whom my munificence nourished, who at
  267. my table bathed their worthless souls in the choicest wines of
  268. Cyprus, and glutted themselves with every delicacy which the globe's
  269. four quarters could supply, these very men now deny to my necessity
  270. even a miserable crust of mouldy bread. Oh, that is dreadful,
  271. cruel--cruel of men--cruel of Heaven!"
  272.  
  273. He paused, folded his arms, and sighed.
  274.  
  275. "Yet will I bear it--I will submit to my destiny. I will traverse
  276. every path and go through every degree of human wretchedness; and
  277. whate'er may be my fate, I will still be myself; and whate'er may be
  278. my fate, I will still act greatly! Away, then, with the Count
  279. Rosalvo, whom all Naples idolised; now--now, I am the beggar
  280. Abellino. A beggar--that name stands last in the scale of worldly
  281. rank, but first in the list of the famishing, the outcast, and the
  282. unworthy."
  283.  
  284. Something rustled near him. Abellino gazed around. He was aware of
  285. the bravo, whom he struck to the ground that night, and whom two
  286. companions of a similar stamp had now joined. As they advanced,
  287. they cast inquiring glances around them. They were in search of
  288. some one.
  289.  
  290. "It is of me that they are in search," said Abellino; then advanced
  291. a few steps, and whistled.
  292.  
  293. The ruffians stood still; they whispered together, and seemed to be
  294. undecided.
  295.  
  296. Abellino whistled a second time.
  297.  
  298. "'Tis he," he could hear one of them say distinctly, and in a moment
  299. after they advanced slowly towards him.
  300.  
  301. Abellino kept his place, but unsheathed his sword. The three
  302. unknown (they were masked) stopped a few paces from him.
  303.  
  304. "How now, fellow!" quoth one of them; "what is the matter? Why
  305. stand you on your guard?"
  306.  
  307. Abellino.--It is as well that you should be made to keep your
  308. distance, for I know you; you are certain honest gentlemen, who live
  309. by taking away the lives of others.
  310.  
  311. The First Ruffian.--Was not your whistling addressed to us?
  312.  
  313. Abellino.--It was.
  314.  
  315. A Ruffian.--And what would you with us?
  316.  
  317. Abellino.--Hear me! I am a miserable wretch, and starving; give me
  318. an alms out of your booty!
  319.  
  320. A Ruffian.--An alms? Ha! ha! ha! By my soul that is whimsical!--
  321. Alms from us, indeed!--Oh, by all means! No doubt, you shall have
  322. alms in plenty.
  323.  
  324. Abellino.--Or else give me fifty sequins, and I'll bind myself to
  325. your service till I shall have worked out my debt.
  326.  
  327. A Ruffian.--Aye? and pray, then, who may you be?
  328.  
  329. Abellino.--A starving wretch, the Republic holds none more
  330. miserable. Such am I at present; but hereafter--I have powers,
  331. knaves. This arm could pierce a heart, though guarded by three
  332. breastplates; this eye, though surrounded by Egyptian darkness,
  333. could still see to stab sure.
  334.  
  335. A Ruffian.--Why, then, did you strike me down, even now?
  336.  
  337. Abellino.--In the hope of being paid for it; but though I saved his
  338. life, the scoundrel gave me not a single ducat.
  339.  
  340. A Ruffian.--No? So much the better. But hark ye, comrade, are you
  341. sincere?
  342.  
  343. Abellino.--Despair never lies.
  344.  
  345. A Ruffian.--Slave, shouldst thou be a traitor -
  346.  
  347. Abellino.--My heart would be within reach of your hands, and your
  348. daggers would be as sharp as now.
  349.  
  350. The three dangerous companions again whispered among themselves for
  351. a few moments, after which they returned their daggers into the
  352. sheath.
  353.  
  354. "Come on, then," said one of them, "follow us to our home. It were
  355. unwise to talk over certain matters in the open streets."
  356.  
  357. "I follow you," was Abellino's answer, "but tremble should any one
  358. of you dare to treat me as a foe. Comrade, forgive me that I gave
  359. your ribs somewhat too hard a squeeze just now; I will be your sworn
  360. brother in recompense."
  361.  
  362. "We are on honour," cried the banditti with one voice; "no harm
  363. shall happen to you. He who does you an injury shall be to us as a
  364. foe. A fellow of your humour suits us well; follow us, and fear
  365. not."
  366.  
  367. And on they went, Abellino marching between two of them. Frequent
  368. were the looks of suspicion which he cast around him; but no ill
  369. design was perceptible in the banditti. They guided him onwards,
  370. till they reached a canal, loosened a gondola, placed themselves in
  371. it, and rowed till they had gained the most remote quarter of
  372. Venice. They landed, threaded several by-streets, and at length
  373. knocked at the door of a house of inviting appearance. It was
  374. opened by a young woman, who conducted them into a plain but
  375. comfortable chamber. Many were the looks of surprise and inquiry
  376. which she cast on the bewildered, half-pleased, half-anxious
  377. Abellino, who knew not whither he had been conveyed, and still
  378. thought it unsafe to confide entirely in the promises of the
  379. banditti.
  380.  
  381.  
  382.  
  383. CHAPTER III: THE TRIAL OF STRENGTH.
  384.  
  385.  
  386.  
  387. Scarcely were the bravoes seated, when Cinthia (for that was the
  388. young woman's name) was again summoned to the door; and the company
  389. was now increased by two new-comers, who examined their unknown
  390. guest from head to foot.
  391.  
  392. "Now, then," cried one of these, who had conducted Abellino to this
  393. respectable society, "let us see what you are like."
  394.  
  395. As he said this he raised a burning lamp from the table, and the
  396. light of its flame was thrown full upon Abellino's countenance.
  397.  
  398. "Lord, forgive me my sins!" screamed Cinthia; "out upon him! what an
  399. ugly hound it is!"
  400.  
  401. She turned hastily round, and hid her face with her hands. Dreadful
  402. was the look with which Abellino repaid her compliment.
  403.  
  404. "Knave," said one of the banditti, "Nature's own hand has marked you
  405. out for an assassin--come, prithee be frank, and tell us how thou
  406. hast contrived so long to escape the gibbet? In what gaol didst
  407. thou leave thy last fetters? Or from what galley hast thou taken
  408. thy departure, without staying to say adieu?"
  409.  
  410. Abellino, folding his arms--"If I be such as you describe," said he,
  411. with an air of authority, and in a voice which made his hearers
  412. tremble, "'tis for me all the better. Whate'er may be my future
  413. mode of life, Heaven can have no right to find fault with it, since
  414. it was for that it formed and fitted me."
  415.  
  416. The five bravoes stepped aside, and consulted together. The subject
  417. of their conference is easy to be divined. In the meanwhile
  418. Abellino remained quiet and indifferent to what was passing.
  419.  
  420. After a few minutes they again approached him. One, whose
  421. countenance was the most ferocious, and whose form exhibited the
  422. greatest marks of muscular strength, advanced a few paces before the
  423. rest, and addressed Abellino as follows:-
  424.  
  425. "Hear me, comrade. In Venice there exist but five banditti; you see
  426. them before you; wilt thou be the sixth? Doubt not thou wilt find
  427. sufficient employment. My name is Matteo, and I am the father of
  428. the band: that sturdy fellow with the red locks is called Baluzzo;
  429. he, whose eyes twinkle like a cat's, is Thomaso, an arch-knave, I
  430. promise you; 'twas Pietrino whose bones you handled so roughly to-
  431. night; and yon thick-lipped Colossus, who stands next to Cinthia, is
  432. named Stuzza. Now, then, you know us all--and since you are a
  433. penniless devil, we are willing to incorporate you in our society;
  434. but we must first be assured that you mean honestly by us."
  435.  
  436. Abellino smiled, or rather grinned, and murmured hoarsely--"I am
  437. starving."
  438.  
  439. "Answer, fellow! Dost thou mean honestly by us?"
  440.  
  441. "That must the event decide."
  442.  
  443. "Mark me, knave; the first suspicion of treachery costs you your
  444. life. Take shelter in the Doge's palace, and girdle yourself round
  445. with all the power of the Republic--though clasped in the Doge's
  446. arms, and protected by a hundred cannons, still would we murder you!
  447. Fly to the high altar; press the crucifix to your bosom, and even at
  448. mid-day, still would we murder you. Think on this well, fellow, and
  449. forget not we are banditti!"
  450.  
  451. "You need not tell me that. But give me some food, and then I'll
  452. prate with you as long as you please. At present I am starving.
  453. Four-and-twenty hours have elapsed since I last tasted nourishment."
  454.  
  455. Cinthia now covered a small table with her best provisions, and
  456. filled several silver goblets with delicious wine.
  457.  
  458. "If one could but look at him without disgust," murmured Cinthia;
  459. "if he had but the appearance of something human! Satan must
  460. certainly have appeared to his mother, and thence came her child
  461. into the world with such a frightful countenance. Ugh! it's an
  462. absolute mask, only that I never saw a mask so hideous."
  463.  
  464. Abellino heeded her not; he placed himself at the table, and ate and
  465. drank as if he would have satisfied himself for the next six months.
  466. The banditti eyed him with looks of satisfaction, and congratulated
  467. each other on such a valuable acquisition.
  468.  
  469. If the reader is curious to know what this same Abellino was like,
  470. he must picture to himself a young, stout fellow, whose limbs
  471. perhaps might have been thought not ill-formed, had not the most
  472. horrible countenance that ever was invented by a caricaturist, or
  473. that Milton could have adapted to the ugliest of his fallen angels,
  474. entirely marred the advantages of his person. Black and shining,
  475. but long and straight, his hair flew wildly about his brown neck and
  476. yellow face. His mouth so wide, that his gums and discoloured teeth
  477. were visible, and a kind of convulsive twist, which scarcely ever
  478. was at rest, had formed its expression into an internal grin. His
  479. eye, for he had but one, was sunk deep into his head, and little
  480. more than the white of it was visible, and even that little was
  481. overshadowed by the protrusion of his dark and bushy eyebrow. In
  482. the union of his features were found collected in one hideous
  483. assemblage all the most coarse and uncouth traits which had ever
  484. been exhibited singly in wooden cuts, and the observer was left in
  485. doubt whether this repulsive physiognomy expressed stupidity of
  486. intellect, or maliciousness of heart, or whether it implied them
  487. both together.
  488.  
  489. "Now, then, I am satisfied," roared Abellino, and dashed the still
  490. full goblet upon the ground. "Speak! what would you know of me? I
  491. am ready to give you answers."
  492.  
  493. "The first thing," replied Matteo, "the first thing necessary is to
  494. give us a proof of your strength, for this is of material importance
  495. in our undertakings. Are you good at wrestling?"
  496.  
  497. "I know not; try me."
  498.  
  499. Cinthia removed the table.
  500.  
  501. "Now, then, Abellino, which of us will you undertake? Whom among us
  502. dost thou think that thou canst knock down as easily as yon poor
  503. dabbler in the art, Pietrino?"
  504.  
  505. The banditti burst into a loud fit of laughter.
  506.  
  507. "Now, then," cried Abellino, fiercely; "now, then, for the trial.
  508. Why come you not on?"
  509.  
  510. "Fellow," replied Matteo, "take my advice; try first what you can do
  511. with me alone, and learn what sort of men you have to manage. Think
  512. you, we are marrowless boys, or delicate signors?"
  513.  
  514. Abellino answered him by a scornful laugh. Matteo became furious.
  515. His companions shouted aloud, and clapped their hands.
  516.  
  517. "To business!" said Abellino; "I'm now in a right humour for sport!
  518. Look to yourselves, my lads." And in the same instant he collected
  519. his forces together, threw the gigantic Matteo over his head as had
  520. he been an infant, knocked Struzza down on the right hand, and
  521. Pietrino on the left, tumbled Thomaso to the end of the room head
  522. over heels, and stretched Baluzzo without animation upon the
  523. neighbouring benches.
  524.  
  525. Three minutes elapsed ere the subdued bravoes could recover
  526. themselves. Loudly shouted Abellino, while the astonished Cinthia
  527. gazed and trembled at the terrible exhibition.
  528.  
  529. "By the blood of St. Januarius!" cried Matteo at length, rubbing his
  530. battered joints, "the fellow is our master! Cinthia, take care to
  531. give him our best chamber."
  532.  
  533. "He must have made a compact with the devil!" grumbled Thomaso, and
  534. forced his dislocated wrist back into its socket.
  535.  
  536. No one seemed inclined to hazard a second trial of strength. The
  537. night was far advanced, or rather the grey morning already was
  538. visible over the sea. The banditti separated, and each retired to
  539. his chamber.
  540.  
  541.  
  542.  
  543. CHAPTER IV: THE DAGGERS.
  544.  
  545.  
  546.  
  547. Abellino, this Italian Hercules, all terrible as he appeared to be,
  548. was not long a member of this society before his companions felt
  549. towards him sentiments of the most unbounded esteem. All loved, all
  550. valued him, for his extraordinary talents for a bravo's trade, to
  551. which he seemed peculiarly adapted, not only by his wonderful
  552. strength of body, but by the readiness of his wit, and his never-
  553. failing presence of mind. Even Cinthia was inclined to feel some
  554. little affection for him, but--he really was too ugly.
  555.  
  556. Matteo, as Abellino was soon given to understand, was the captain of
  557. this dangerous troop. He was one who carried villainy to the
  558. highest pitch of refinement, incapable of fear, quick and crafty,
  559. and troubled with less conscience than a French financier. The
  560. booty and price of blood, which his associates brought in daily,
  561. were always delivered up to him: he gave each man his share, and
  562. retained no larger portion for himself than was allotted to the
  563. others. The catalogue of those whom he had despatched into the
  564. other world was already too long for him to have repeated it: many
  565. names had slipped his memory, but his greatest pleasure in his hour
  566. of relaxation was to relate such of these murderous anecdotes as he
  567. still remembered, in the benevolent intention of inspiring his
  568. hearers with a desire to follow his example. His weapons were kept
  569. separate from the rest, and occupied a whole apartment. Here were
  570. to be found daggers of a thousand different fashions, WITH guards
  571. and WITHOUT them; two, three, and four-edged. Here were stored air-
  572. guns, pistols, and blunderbusses; poisons of various kinds and
  573. operating in various ways; garments fit for every possible disguise,
  574. whether to personate the monk, the Jew, or the mendicant; the
  575. soldier, the sailor, or the gondolier.
  576.  
  577. One day he summoned Abellino to attend him in his armoury.
  578.  
  579. "Mark me," said he, "thou wilt turn out a brave fellow, that I can
  580. see already. It is now time that you should earn that bread for
  581. yourself which hitherto you have owed to our bounty. Look! Here
  582. thou hast a dagger of the finest steel; you must charge for its use
  583. by the inch. If you plunge it only one inch deep into the bosom of
  584. his foe, your employer must reward you with only one sequin: if two
  585. inches, with ten sequins; if three, with twenty; if the whole
  586. dagger, you may then name your own price. Here is next a glass
  587. poniard; whomsoever this pierces, that man's death is certain. As
  588. soon as the blow is given, you must break the dagger in the wound.
  589. The flesh will close over the point which has been broken off, and
  590. which will keep its quarters till the day of resurrection! Lastly,
  591. observe this metallic dagger; its cavity conceals a subtle poison,
  592. which, whenever you touch this spring, will immediately infuse death
  593. into the veins of him whom the weapon's point hath wounded. Take
  594. these daggers. In giving them I present you with a capital capable
  595. of bringing home to you most heavy and most precious interest."
  596.  
  597. Abellino received the instruments of death, but his hand shook as it
  598. grasped them.
  599.  
  600. "Possessed of such unfailing weapons, of what immense sums must your
  601. robberies have made you master!"
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