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- Matthew Gregory Lewis, who professed to have translated this romance
- out of the German, very much, I believe, as Horace Walpole professed
- to have taken The Castle of Otranto from an old Italian manuscript,
- was born in 1775 of a wealthy family. His father had an estate in
- India and a post in a Government office. His mother was daughter to
- Sir Thomas Sewell, Master of the Rolls in the reign of George III.
- She was a young mother; her son Matthew was devoted to her from the
- first. As a child he called her "Fanny," and as a man held firmly
- by her when she was deserted by her husband. From Westminster
- School, M. G. Lewis passed to Christ Church, Oxford. Already he was
- busy over tales and plays, and wrote at college a farce, never
- acted, a comedy, written at the age of sixteen, The East Indian,
- afterwards played for Mrs. Jordan's benefit and repeated with great
- success, and also a novel, never published, called The Effusions of
- Sensibility, which was a burlesque upon the sentimental school. He
- wrote also what he called "a romance in the style of The Castle of
- Otranto," which appeared afterwards as the play of The Castle
- Spectre.
- With his mind thus interested in literature of the romantic form,
- young Lewis, aged seventeen, after a summer in Paris, went to
- Germany, settled for a time at Weimar, and, as he told his mother,
- knocked his brains against German as hard as ever he could. "I have
- been introduced," he wrote, in July, 1792, "to M. de Goethe, the
- celebrated author of Werter, so you must not be surprised if I
- should shoot myself one of these fine mornings." In the spring of
- 1793 the youth returned to England, very full of German romantic
- tale and song, and with more paper covered with wild fancies of his
- own. After the next Christmas he returned to Oxford. There was a
- visit to Lord Douglas at Bothwell Castle; there was not much
- academic work done at Oxford. His father's desire was to train him
- for the diplomatic service, and in the summer of 1794 he went to the
- Hague as attache to the British Embassy. He had begun to write his
- novel of The Monk, had flagged, but was spurred on at the Hague by a
- reading of Mrs. Radcliffe's Mysteries of Udolpho, a book after his
- own heart, and he wrote to his mother at this time, "You see I am
- horribly bit by the rage of writing."
- The Monk was written in ten weeks, and published in the summer of
- 1795, before its author's age was twenty. It was praised, attacked,
- said by one review to have neither originality, morals, nor
- probability to recommend it, yet to have excited and to be
- continuing to excite the curiosity of the public: a result set down
- to the "irresistible energy of genius." Certainly, Lewis did not
- trouble himself to keep probability in view; he amused himself with
- wild play of a fancy that delighted in the wonderful. The
- controversy over The Monk caused the young author to be known as
- Monk Lewis, and the word Monk has to this day taken the place of the
- words Matthew Gregory so generally, that many catalogue-makers must
- innocently suppose him to have been so named at the font. The
- author of The Monk came back from the Hague to be received as a
- young lion in London society. When he came of age he entered
- Parliament for Hindon, in Wiltshire, but seldom went to the House,
- never spoke in it, and retired after a few sessions. His delight
- was in the use of the pen; his father, although disappointed by his
- failure as a statesman, allowed him a thousand a year, and he took a
- cottage at Barnes, that he might there escape from the world to his
- ink-bottle. He was a frequent visitor at Inverary Castle, and was
- fascinated by his host's daughter, Lady Charlotte Campbell. Still
- he wrote on. The musical drama of The Castle Spectre was produced
- in the year after The Monk, and it ran sixty nights. He translated
- next Schiller's Kabale und Liebe as The Minister, but it was not
- acted till it appeared, with little success, some years afterwards
- at Covent Garden as The Harper's Daughter. He translated from
- Kotzebue, under the name of Rolla, the drama superseded by
- Sheridan's version of the same work as Pizarro. Then came the
- acting, in 1799, of his comedy written in boyhood, The East Indian.
- Then came, in the same year, his first opera, Adelmorn the Outlaw;
- then a tragedy, Alfonso, King of Castile. Of the origin of this
- tragedy Lewis gave a characteristic account. "Hearing one day," he
- said, "my introduction of negroes into a feudal baron's castle" (in
- The Castle Spectre) "exclaimed against with as much vehemence as if
- a dramatic anachronism had been an offence undeserving of benefit of
- clergy, I said in a moment of petulance, that to prove of how little
- consequence I esteemed such errors, I would make a play upon the
- Gunpowder Plot, and make Guy Faux in love with the Emperor
- Charlemagne's daughter. By some chance or other, this idea fastened
- itself upon me, and by dint of turning it in my mind, I at length
- formed the plot of Alfonso."
- To that time in Lewis's life belongs this book, The Bravo of Venice;
- which was published in 1804, when the writer's age was twenty-nine.
- It was written at Inverary Castle, dedicated to the Earl of Moira,
- and received as one of the most perfect little romances of its kind,
- "highly characteristic of the exquisite contrivance, bold colouring,
- and profound mystery of the German school." In 1805 Lewis recast it
- into a melodrama, which he called Rugantino.
- H.M.
- THE BRAVO OF VENICE.
- BOOK THE FIRST.
- CHAPTER I: VENICE.
- It was evening. Multitudes of light clouds, partially illumined by
- the moonbeams, overspread the horizon, and through them floated the
- full moon in tranquil majesty, while her splendour was reflected by
- every wave of the Adriatic Sea. All was hushed around; gently was
- the water rippled by the night wind; gently did the night wind sigh
- through the Colonnades of Venice.
- It was midnight; and still sat a stranger, solitary and sad, on the
- border of the great canal. Now with a glance he measured the
- battlements and proud towers of the city; and now he fixed his
- melancholy eyes upon the waters with a vacant stare. At length he
- spoke -
- "Wretch that I am, whither shall I go? Here sit I in Venice, and
- what would it avail to wander further? What will become of me? All
- now slumber, save myself! the Doge rests on his couch of down; the
- beggar's head presses his straw pillow; but for ME there is no bed
- except the cold, damp earth! There is no gondolier so wretched but
- he knows where to find work by day and shelter by night--while _I_--
- while _I_--Oh! dreadful is the destiny of which I am made the
- sport!"
- He began to examine for the twentieth time the pockets of his
- tattered garments.
- "No! not one paolo, by heavens!--and I hunger almost to death."
- He unsheathed his sword; he waved it in the moonshine, and sighed,
- as he marked the glittering of the steel.
- "No, no, my old true companion, thou and I must never part. Mine
- thou shalt remain, though I starve for it. Oh, was not that a
- golden time when Valeria gave thee to me, and when she threw the
- belt over my shoulder, I kissed thee and Valeria? She has deserted
- us for another world, but thou and I will never part in this."
- He wiped away a drop which hung upon his eyelid.
- "Pshaw! 'twas not a tear; the night wind is sharp and bitter, and
- makes the eyes water; but as for TEARS--Absurd! my weeping days are
- over."
- And as he spoke, the unfortunate (for such by his discourse and
- situation he appeared to be) dashed his forehead against the earth,
- and his lips were already unclosed to curse the hour which gave him
- being, when he seemed suddenly to recollect himself. He rested his
- head on his elbow, and sang mournfully the burthen of a song which
- had often delighted his childhood in the castle of his ancestors.
- "Right," he said to himself; "were I to sink under the weight of my
- destiny, I should be myself no longer."
- At that moment he heard a rustling at no great distance. He looked
- around, and in an adjacent street, which the moon faintly
- enlightened, he perceived a tall figure, wrapped in a cloak, pacing
- slowly backwards and forwards.
- "'Tis the hand of God which hath guided him hither--yes--I'll--I'll
- BEG--better to play the beggar in Venice than the villain in Naples;
- for the beggar's heart may beat nobly, though covered with rags."
- He then sprang from the ground, and hastened towards the adjoining
- street. Just as he entered it at one end, he perceived another
- person advancing through the other, of whose approach the first was
- no sooner aware than he hastily retired into the shadow of a piazza,
- anxious to conceal himself.
- "What can this mean?" thought our mendicant. "Is yon eavesdropper
- one of death's unlicensed ministers? Has he received the retaining
- fee of some impatient heir, who pants to possess the wealth of the
- unlucky knave who comes strolling along yonder, so careless and
- unconscious? Be not so confident, honest friend! I'm at your
- elbow."
- He retired further into the shade, and silently and slowly drew near
- the lurker, who stirred not from his place. The stranger had
- already passed them by, when the concealed villain sprang suddenly
- upon him, raised his right hand in which a poniard was gleaming, and
- before he could give the blow, was felled to the earth by the arm of
- the mendicant.
- The stranger turned hastily towards them; the bravo started up and
- fled; the beggar smiled.
- "How now?" cried the stranger; "what does all this mean?"
- "Oh, 'tis a mere jest, signor, which has only preserved your life."
- "What? my life? How so?"
- "The honest gentleman who has just taken to his heels stole behind
- you with true cat-like caution, and had already raised his dagger,
- when I saw him. You owe your life to me, and the service is richly
- worth one little piece of money! Give me some alms, signor, for on
- my soul I am hungry, thirsty, cold."
- "Hence, scurvy companion! I know you and your tricks too well.
- This is all a concerted scheme between you, a design upon my purse,
- an attempt to procure both money and thanks, and under the lame
- pretence of having saved me from an assassin. Go, fellow, go!
- practise these dainty devices on the Doge's credulity if you will;
- but with Buonarotti you stand no chance, believe me."
- The wretched starving beggar stood like one petrified, and gazed on
- the taunting stranger.
- "No, as I have a soul to save, signor, 'tis no lie I tell you!--'tis
- the plain truth; have compassion, or I die this night of hunger."
- "Begone this instant, I say, or by Heaven--"
- The unfeeling man here drew out a concealed pistol, and pointed it
- at his preserver.
- "Merciful Heaven! and is it thus that services are acknowledged in
- Venice?"
- "The watch is at no great distance, I need only raise my voice and--
- "
- "Hell and confusion! do you take me for a robber, then?"
- "Make no noise, I tell you. Be quiet--you had better."
- "Hark you, signor. Buonarotti is your name, I think? I will write
- it down as belonging to the second scoundrel with whom I have met in
- Venice."
- He paused for a moment, then continuing in a dreadful voice, "And
- when," said he, "thou, Buonarotti, shalt hereafter hear the name of
- ABELLINO--TREMBLE!"
- Abellino turned away, and left the hard-hearted Venetian.
- CHAPTER II: THE BANDITTI.
- And now rushed the unfortunate wildly through the streets of Venice.
- He railed at fortune; he laughed and cursed by turns; yet sometimes
- he suddenly stood still, seemed as pondering on some great and
- wondrous enterprise, and then again rushed onwards, as if hastening
- to its execution.
- Propped against a column of the Signoria, he counted over the whole
- sum of his misfortunes. His wandering eyeballs appeared to seek
- comfort, but they found it not.
- "Fate," he at length exclaimed in a paroxysm of despair, "Fate has
- condemned me to be either the wildest of adventurers, or one at the
- relation of whose crimes the world must shudder. To astonish is my
- destiny. Rosalvo can know no medium; Rosalvo can never act like
- common men. Is it not the hand of fate which has led me hither?
- Who could ever have dreamt that the son of the richest lord in
- Naples should have depended for a beggar's alms on Venetian charity?
- I--I, who feel myself possessed of strength of body and energy of
- soul fit for executing the most daring deeds, behold me creeping in
- rags through the streets of this inhospitable city, and torturing my
- wits in vain to discover some means by which I may rescue life from
- the jaws of famine! Those men whom my munificence nourished, who at
- my table bathed their worthless souls in the choicest wines of
- Cyprus, and glutted themselves with every delicacy which the globe's
- four quarters could supply, these very men now deny to my necessity
- even a miserable crust of mouldy bread. Oh, that is dreadful,
- cruel--cruel of men--cruel of Heaven!"
- He paused, folded his arms, and sighed.
- "Yet will I bear it--I will submit to my destiny. I will traverse
- every path and go through every degree of human wretchedness; and
- whate'er may be my fate, I will still be myself; and whate'er may be
- my fate, I will still act greatly! Away, then, with the Count
- Rosalvo, whom all Naples idolised; now--now, I am the beggar
- Abellino. A beggar--that name stands last in the scale of worldly
- rank, but first in the list of the famishing, the outcast, and the
- unworthy."
- Something rustled near him. Abellino gazed around. He was aware of
- the bravo, whom he struck to the ground that night, and whom two
- companions of a similar stamp had now joined. As they advanced,
- they cast inquiring glances around them. They were in search of
- some one.
- "It is of me that they are in search," said Abellino; then advanced
- a few steps, and whistled.
- The ruffians stood still; they whispered together, and seemed to be
- undecided.
- Abellino whistled a second time.
- "'Tis he," he could hear one of them say distinctly, and in a moment
- after they advanced slowly towards him.
- Abellino kept his place, but unsheathed his sword. The three
- unknown (they were masked) stopped a few paces from him.
- "How now, fellow!" quoth one of them; "what is the matter? Why
- stand you on your guard?"
- Abellino.--It is as well that you should be made to keep your
- distance, for I know you; you are certain honest gentlemen, who live
- by taking away the lives of others.
- The First Ruffian.--Was not your whistling addressed to us?
- Abellino.--It was.
- A Ruffian.--And what would you with us?
- Abellino.--Hear me! I am a miserable wretch, and starving; give me
- an alms out of your booty!
- A Ruffian.--An alms? Ha! ha! ha! By my soul that is whimsical!--
- Alms from us, indeed!--Oh, by all means! No doubt, you shall have
- alms in plenty.
- Abellino.--Or else give me fifty sequins, and I'll bind myself to
- your service till I shall have worked out my debt.
- A Ruffian.--Aye? and pray, then, who may you be?
- Abellino.--A starving wretch, the Republic holds none more
- miserable. Such am I at present; but hereafter--I have powers,
- knaves. This arm could pierce a heart, though guarded by three
- breastplates; this eye, though surrounded by Egyptian darkness,
- could still see to stab sure.
- A Ruffian.--Why, then, did you strike me down, even now?
- Abellino.--In the hope of being paid for it; but though I saved his
- life, the scoundrel gave me not a single ducat.
- A Ruffian.--No? So much the better. But hark ye, comrade, are you
- sincere?
- Abellino.--Despair never lies.
- A Ruffian.--Slave, shouldst thou be a traitor -
- Abellino.--My heart would be within reach of your hands, and your
- daggers would be as sharp as now.
- The three dangerous companions again whispered among themselves for
- a few moments, after which they returned their daggers into the
- sheath.
- "Come on, then," said one of them, "follow us to our home. It were
- unwise to talk over certain matters in the open streets."
- "I follow you," was Abellino's answer, "but tremble should any one
- of you dare to treat me as a foe. Comrade, forgive me that I gave
- your ribs somewhat too hard a squeeze just now; I will be your sworn
- brother in recompense."
- "We are on honour," cried the banditti with one voice; "no harm
- shall happen to you. He who does you an injury shall be to us as a
- foe. A fellow of your humour suits us well; follow us, and fear
- not."
- And on they went, Abellino marching between two of them. Frequent
- were the looks of suspicion which he cast around him; but no ill
- design was perceptible in the banditti. They guided him onwards,
- till they reached a canal, loosened a gondola, placed themselves in
- it, and rowed till they had gained the most remote quarter of
- Venice. They landed, threaded several by-streets, and at length
- knocked at the door of a house of inviting appearance. It was
- opened by a young woman, who conducted them into a plain but
- comfortable chamber. Many were the looks of surprise and inquiry
- which she cast on the bewildered, half-pleased, half-anxious
- Abellino, who knew not whither he had been conveyed, and still
- thought it unsafe to confide entirely in the promises of the
- banditti.
- CHAPTER III: THE TRIAL OF STRENGTH.
- Scarcely were the bravoes seated, when Cinthia (for that was the
- young woman's name) was again summoned to the door; and the company
- was now increased by two new-comers, who examined their unknown
- guest from head to foot.
- "Now, then," cried one of these, who had conducted Abellino to this
- respectable society, "let us see what you are like."
- As he said this he raised a burning lamp from the table, and the
- light of its flame was thrown full upon Abellino's countenance.
- "Lord, forgive me my sins!" screamed Cinthia; "out upon him! what an
- ugly hound it is!"
- She turned hastily round, and hid her face with her hands. Dreadful
- was the look with which Abellino repaid her compliment.
- "Knave," said one of the banditti, "Nature's own hand has marked you
- out for an assassin--come, prithee be frank, and tell us how thou
- hast contrived so long to escape the gibbet? In what gaol didst
- thou leave thy last fetters? Or from what galley hast thou taken
- thy departure, without staying to say adieu?"
- Abellino, folding his arms--"If I be such as you describe," said he,
- with an air of authority, and in a voice which made his hearers
- tremble, "'tis for me all the better. Whate'er may be my future
- mode of life, Heaven can have no right to find fault with it, since
- it was for that it formed and fitted me."
- The five bravoes stepped aside, and consulted together. The subject
- of their conference is easy to be divined. In the meanwhile
- Abellino remained quiet and indifferent to what was passing.
- After a few minutes they again approached him. One, whose
- countenance was the most ferocious, and whose form exhibited the
- greatest marks of muscular strength, advanced a few paces before the
- rest, and addressed Abellino as follows:-
- "Hear me, comrade. In Venice there exist but five banditti; you see
- them before you; wilt thou be the sixth? Doubt not thou wilt find
- sufficient employment. My name is Matteo, and I am the father of
- the band: that sturdy fellow with the red locks is called Baluzzo;
- he, whose eyes twinkle like a cat's, is Thomaso, an arch-knave, I
- promise you; 'twas Pietrino whose bones you handled so roughly to-
- night; and yon thick-lipped Colossus, who stands next to Cinthia, is
- named Stuzza. Now, then, you know us all--and since you are a
- penniless devil, we are willing to incorporate you in our society;
- but we must first be assured that you mean honestly by us."
- Abellino smiled, or rather grinned, and murmured hoarsely--"I am
- starving."
- "Answer, fellow! Dost thou mean honestly by us?"
- "That must the event decide."
- "Mark me, knave; the first suspicion of treachery costs you your
- life. Take shelter in the Doge's palace, and girdle yourself round
- with all the power of the Republic--though clasped in the Doge's
- arms, and protected by a hundred cannons, still would we murder you!
- Fly to the high altar; press the crucifix to your bosom, and even at
- mid-day, still would we murder you. Think on this well, fellow, and
- forget not we are banditti!"
- "You need not tell me that. But give me some food, and then I'll
- prate with you as long as you please. At present I am starving.
- Four-and-twenty hours have elapsed since I last tasted nourishment."
- Cinthia now covered a small table with her best provisions, and
- filled several silver goblets with delicious wine.
- "If one could but look at him without disgust," murmured Cinthia;
- "if he had but the appearance of something human! Satan must
- certainly have appeared to his mother, and thence came her child
- into the world with such a frightful countenance. Ugh! it's an
- absolute mask, only that I never saw a mask so hideous."
- Abellino heeded her not; he placed himself at the table, and ate and
- drank as if he would have satisfied himself for the next six months.
- The banditti eyed him with looks of satisfaction, and congratulated
- each other on such a valuable acquisition.
- If the reader is curious to know what this same Abellino was like,
- he must picture to himself a young, stout fellow, whose limbs
- perhaps might have been thought not ill-formed, had not the most
- horrible countenance that ever was invented by a caricaturist, or
- that Milton could have adapted to the ugliest of his fallen angels,
- entirely marred the advantages of his person. Black and shining,
- but long and straight, his hair flew wildly about his brown neck and
- yellow face. His mouth so wide, that his gums and discoloured teeth
- were visible, and a kind of convulsive twist, which scarcely ever
- was at rest, had formed its expression into an internal grin. His
- eye, for he had but one, was sunk deep into his head, and little
- more than the white of it was visible, and even that little was
- overshadowed by the protrusion of his dark and bushy eyebrow. In
- the union of his features were found collected in one hideous
- assemblage all the most coarse and uncouth traits which had ever
- been exhibited singly in wooden cuts, and the observer was left in
- doubt whether this repulsive physiognomy expressed stupidity of
- intellect, or maliciousness of heart, or whether it implied them
- both together.
- "Now, then, I am satisfied," roared Abellino, and dashed the still
- full goblet upon the ground. "Speak! what would you know of me? I
- am ready to give you answers."
- "The first thing," replied Matteo, "the first thing necessary is to
- give us a proof of your strength, for this is of material importance
- in our undertakings. Are you good at wrestling?"
- "I know not; try me."
- Cinthia removed the table.
- "Now, then, Abellino, which of us will you undertake? Whom among us
- dost thou think that thou canst knock down as easily as yon poor
- dabbler in the art, Pietrino?"
- The banditti burst into a loud fit of laughter.
- "Now, then," cried Abellino, fiercely; "now, then, for the trial.
- Why come you not on?"
- "Fellow," replied Matteo, "take my advice; try first what you can do
- with me alone, and learn what sort of men you have to manage. Think
- you, we are marrowless boys, or delicate signors?"
- Abellino answered him by a scornful laugh. Matteo became furious.
- His companions shouted aloud, and clapped their hands.
- "To business!" said Abellino; "I'm now in a right humour for sport!
- Look to yourselves, my lads." And in the same instant he collected
- his forces together, threw the gigantic Matteo over his head as had
- he been an infant, knocked Struzza down on the right hand, and
- Pietrino on the left, tumbled Thomaso to the end of the room head
- over heels, and stretched Baluzzo without animation upon the
- neighbouring benches.
- Three minutes elapsed ere the subdued bravoes could recover
- themselves. Loudly shouted Abellino, while the astonished Cinthia
- gazed and trembled at the terrible exhibition.
- "By the blood of St. Januarius!" cried Matteo at length, rubbing his
- battered joints, "the fellow is our master! Cinthia, take care to
- give him our best chamber."
- "He must have made a compact with the devil!" grumbled Thomaso, and
- forced his dislocated wrist back into its socket.
- No one seemed inclined to hazard a second trial of strength. The
- night was far advanced, or rather the grey morning already was
- visible over the sea. The banditti separated, and each retired to
- his chamber.
- CHAPTER IV: THE DAGGERS.
- Abellino, this Italian Hercules, all terrible as he appeared to be,
- was not long a member of this society before his companions felt
- towards him sentiments of the most unbounded esteem. All loved, all
- valued him, for his extraordinary talents for a bravo's trade, to
- which he seemed peculiarly adapted, not only by his wonderful
- strength of body, but by the readiness of his wit, and his never-
- failing presence of mind. Even Cinthia was inclined to feel some
- little affection for him, but--he really was too ugly.
- Matteo, as Abellino was soon given to understand, was the captain of
- this dangerous troop. He was one who carried villainy to the
- highest pitch of refinement, incapable of fear, quick and crafty,
- and troubled with less conscience than a French financier. The
- booty and price of blood, which his associates brought in daily,
- were always delivered up to him: he gave each man his share, and
- retained no larger portion for himself than was allotted to the
- others. The catalogue of those whom he had despatched into the
- other world was already too long for him to have repeated it: many
- names had slipped his memory, but his greatest pleasure in his hour
- of relaxation was to relate such of these murderous anecdotes as he
- still remembered, in the benevolent intention of inspiring his
- hearers with a desire to follow his example. His weapons were kept
- separate from the rest, and occupied a whole apartment. Here were
- to be found daggers of a thousand different fashions, WITH guards
- and WITHOUT them; two, three, and four-edged. Here were stored air-
- guns, pistols, and blunderbusses; poisons of various kinds and
- operating in various ways; garments fit for every possible disguise,
- whether to personate the monk, the Jew, or the mendicant; the
- soldier, the sailor, or the gondolier.
- One day he summoned Abellino to attend him in his armoury.
- "Mark me," said he, "thou wilt turn out a brave fellow, that I can
- see already. It is now time that you should earn that bread for
- yourself which hitherto you have owed to our bounty. Look! Here
- thou hast a dagger of the finest steel; you must charge for its use
- by the inch. If you plunge it only one inch deep into the bosom of
- his foe, your employer must reward you with only one sequin: if two
- inches, with ten sequins; if three, with twenty; if the whole
- dagger, you may then name your own price. Here is next a glass
- poniard; whomsoever this pierces, that man's death is certain. As
- soon as the blow is given, you must break the dagger in the wound.
- The flesh will close over the point which has been broken off, and
- which will keep its quarters till the day of resurrection! Lastly,
- observe this metallic dagger; its cavity conceals a subtle poison,
- which, whenever you touch this spring, will immediately infuse death
- into the veins of him whom the weapon's point hath wounded. Take
- these daggers. In giving them I present you with a capital capable
- of bringing home to you most heavy and most precious interest."
- Abellino received the instruments of death, but his hand shook as it
- grasped them.
- "Possessed of such unfailing weapons, of what immense sums must your
- robberies have made you master!"
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