William Shakespeare - "Twelfe Night, Or what you will"

George MacDonald - "Salted With Fire"

William Shakespeare - "The Second Part of Henry the Fourth"

Josiah Allen's Wife (Marietta Holley) - "Sweet Cicely"

Vendetta

M >> Marie Corelli >> Vendetta




"Welcome the festal hour!
Pour the red wine into cups of gold!
Health to the men who are strong and bold!
Welcome the festal hour!
Waken the echoes with riotous mirth--
Cease to remember the sorrows of earth
In the joys of the festal hour!
Wine is the monarch of laughter and light,
Death himself shall be merry to-night!
Hail to the festal hour!"

An enthusiastic clapping of hands rewarded this effort on the part
of the unseen vocalists, and the music having ceased, conversation
became general.

"By heaven!" exclaimed Ferrari, "if this Olympian carouse is meant
as a welcome to me, amico, all I can say is that I do not deserve
it. Why, it is more fit for the welcome of one king to his neighbor
sovereign!"

"Ebbene!" I said. "Are there any better kings than honest men? Let
us hope we are thus far worthy of each other's esteem."

He flashed a bright look of gratitude upon me and was silent,
listening to the choice and complimentary phrases uttered by the
Duke di Manna concerning the exquisite taste displayed in the
arrangement of the table.

"You have no doubt traveled much in the East, conte," said this
nobleman. "Your banquet reminds me of an Oriental romance I once
read, called 'Vathek.'"

"Exactly '" exclaimed Guido "I think Oliva must be Vathek himself'"

"Scarcely!" I said, smiling coldly. "I lay no claim to supernatural
experiences. The realities of life are sufficiently wonderful for
me."

Antonio Biscardi the painter, a refined, gentle-featured man, looked
toward us and said modestly:

"I think you are right, conte. The beauties of nature and of
humanity are so varied and profound that were it not for the
inextinguishable longing after immortality which has been placed in
every one of us, I think we should be perfectly satisfied with this
world as it is."

"You speak like an artist and a man of even temperament," broke in
the Marchese Gualdro, who had finished his soup quickly in order to
be able to talk--talking being his chief delight. "For me, I am
never contented. I never have enough of anything! That is my nature.
When I see lovely flowers, I wish more of them--when I behold a fine
sunset, I desire many more such sunsets--when I look upon a lovely
woman--"

"You would have lovely women ad infinitum!" laughed the French
Capitaine de Hamal. "En verite, Gualdro, you should have been a
Turk!"

"And why not?" demanded Gualdro. "The Turks are very sensible
people--they know how to make coffee better than we do. And what
more fascinating than a harem? It must be like a fragrant hot-house,
where one is free to wander every day, sometimes gathering a
gorgeous lily, sometimes a simple violet--sometimes--" "A thorn?"
suggested Salustri.

"Well, perhaps!" laughed the Marchese. "Yet one would run the risk
of that for the sake of a perfect rose."

Chevalier Mancini, who wore in his button-hole the decoration of the
Legion d'Honneur, looked up--he was a thin man with keen eyes and a
shrewd face which, though at a first glance appeared stern, could at
the least provocation break up into a thousand little wrinkles of
laughter.

"There is undoubtedly something entrainant about the idea," he
observed, in his methodical way. "I have always fancied that
marriage as we arrange it is a great mistake."

"And that is why you have never tried it?" queried Ferrari, looking
amused.

"Certissimamente!" and the chevalier's grim countenance began to
work with satirical humor. "I have resolved that I will never be
bound over by the law to kiss only one woman. As matters stand, I
can kiss them all if I like."

A shout of merriment and cries of "Oh! oh!" greeted this remark,
which Ferrari, however, did not seem inclined to take in good part.

"All?" he said, with a dubious air. "You mean all except the married
ones?"

The chevalier put on his spectacles, and surveyed him with a sort of
comic severity.

"When I said ALL, I meant all," he returned--"the married ones in
particular. They, poor things, need such attentions--and often
invite them--why not? Their husbands have most likely ceased to be
amorous after the first months of marriage."

I burst out laughing. "You are right, Mancini," I said; "and even if
the husbands are fools enough to continue their gallantries they
deserve to be duped--and they generally are! Come, amico.'" I added,
turning to Ferrari, "those are your own sentiments--you have often
declared them to me."

He smiled uncomfortably, and his brows contracted. I could easily
perceive that he was annoyed. To change the tone of the conversation
I gave a signal for the music to recommence, and instantly the
melody of a slow, voluptuous Hungarian waltz-measure floated through
the room. The dinner was now fairly on its way; the appetites of my
guests were stimulated and tempted by the choicest and most savory
viands, prepared with all the taste and intelligence a first rate
chef can bestow on his work, and good wine flowed freely.

Vincenzo obediently following my instructions, stood behind my
chair, and seldom moved except to refill Ferrari's glass, and
occasionally to proffer some fresh vintage to the Duke di Marina.
He, however, was an abstemious and careful man, and followed the
good example shown by the wisest Italians, who never mix their
wines. He remained faithful to the first beverage he had selected--a
specially fine Chianti, of which he partook freely without its
causing the slightest flush to appear on his pale aristocratic
features. Its warm and mellow flavor did but brighten his eyes and
loosen his tongue, inasmuch that he became almost as elegant a
talker as the Marchese Gualdro. This latter, who scarce had a scudo
to call his own, and who dined sumptuously every day at other
people's expense for the sake of the pleasure his company afforded,
was by this time entertaining every one near him by the most
sparkling stories and witty pleasantries.

The merriment increased as the various courses were served; shouts
of laughter frequently interrupted the loud buzz of conversation,
mingling with the clinking of glasses and clattering of porcelain.
Every now and then might be heard the smooth voice of Captain
Freccia rolling out his favorite oaths with the sonority and
expression of a primo tenore; sometimes the elegant French of the
Marquis D'Avencourt, with his high, sing-song Parisian accent, rang
out above the voices of the others; and again, the choice Tuscan of
the poet Luziano Salustri rolled forth in melodious cadence as
though he were chanting lines from Dante or Ariosto, instead of
talking lightly on indifferent matters. I accepted my share in the
universal hilarity, though I principally divided my conversation
between Ferrari and the duke, paying to both, but specially to
Ferrari, that absolute attention which is the greatest compliment a
host can bestow on those whom he undertakes to entertain.

We had reached that stage of the banquet when the game was about to
be served--the invisible choir of boys' voices had just completed an
enchanting stornello with an accompaniment of mandolines--when a
stillness, strange and unaccountable, fell upon the company--a
pause--an ominous hush, as though some person supreme in authority
had suddenly entered the room and commanded "Silence!" No one seemed
disposed to speak or to move, the very footsteps of the waiters were
muffled in the velvet pile of the carpets--no sound was heard but
the measured plash of the fountain that played among the ferns and
flowers. The moon, shining frostily white through the one
uncurtained window, cast a long pale green ray, like the extended
arm of an appealing ghost, against one side of the velvet hangings--
a spectral effect which was heightened by the contrast of the garish
glitter of the waxen tapers. Each man looked at the other with a
sort of uncomfortable embarrassment, and somehow, though I moved my
lips in an endeavor to speak and thus break the spell, I was at a
loss, and could find no language suitable to the moment. Ferrari
toyed with his wine-glass mechanically--the duke appeared absorbed
in arranging the crumbs beside his plate into little methodical
patterns; the stillness seemed to last so long that it was like a
suffocating heaviness in the air. Suddenly Vincenzo, in his office
of chief butler, drew the cork of a champagne-bottle with a loud-
sounding pop! We all started as though a pistol had been fired in
our ears, and the Marchese Gualdro burst out laughing.

"Corpo di Baceo!" he cried. "At last you have awakened from sleep!
Were you all struck dumb, amici, that you stared at the table-cloth
so persistently and with such admirable gravity? May Saint Anthony
and his pig preserve me, but for the time I fancied I was attending
a banquet on the wrong side of the Styx, and that you, my present
companions, were all dead men!"

"And that idea made YOU also hold your tongue, which is quite an
unaccountable miracle in its way," laughed Luziano Salustri. "Have
you never heard the pretty legend that attaches to such an
occurrence as a sudden silence in the midst of high festivity? An
angel enters, bestowing his benediction as he passes through."

"That story is more ancient than the church," said Chevalier
Mancini. "It is an exploded theory--for we have ceased to believe in
angels--we call them women instead."

"Bravo, mon vieux gaillard!" cried Captain de Hamal. "Your
sentiments are the same as mine, with a very trifling difference.
You believe women to be angels--I know them to be devils--mas il n'y
agu'un pas entre es deux? We will not quarrel over a word--a votre
sante, mon cher!"

And he drained his glass, nodding to Mancini, who followed his
example.

"Perhaps," said the smooth, slow voice of Captain Freccia, "our
silence was caused by the instinctive consciousness of something
wrong with our party--a little inequality--which I dare say our
noble host has not thought it worth while to mention."

Every head was turned in his direction. "What do you mean?" "What
inequality?" "Explain yourself!" chorused several voices.

"Really it is a mere nothing," answered Freccia, lazily, as he
surveyed with the admiring air of a gourmet the dainty portion of
pheasant just placed before him. "I assure you, only the uneducated
would care two scudi about such a circumstance. The excellent
brothers Respetti are to blame--their absence to-night has caused--
but why should I disturb your equanimity? I am not superstitious--
ma, chi sa?--some of you may be."

"I see what you mean!" interrupted Salustri, quickly. "We are
thirteen at table!"




CHAPTER XXIV.


At this announcement my guests looked furtively at each other, and I
could see they were counting up the fatal number for themselves.
They were undeniably clever, cultivated men of the world, but the
superstitious element was in their blood, and all, with the
exception perhaps of Freccia and the ever-cool Marquis D'Avencourt,
were evidently rendered uneasy by the fact now discovered. On
Ferrari it had a curious effect--he started violently and his face
flushed. "Diabolo!" he muttered, under his breath, and seizing his
never-empty glass, he swallowed its contents thirstily and quickly
at one gulp as though attacked by fever, and pushed away his plate
with a hand that trembled nervously. I, meanwhile, raised my voice
and addressed my guests cheerfully!

"Our distinguished friend Salustri is perfectly right, gentlemen. I
myself noticed the discrepancy in our number some time ago--but I
knew that you were all advanced thinkers, who had long since
liberated yourselves from the trammels of superstitious observances,
which are the result of priestcraft, and are now left solely to the
vulgar. Therefore I said nothing. The silly notion of any misfortune
attending the number thirteen arose, as you are aware, out of the
story of the Last Supper, and children and women may possibly still
give credence to the fancy that one out of thirteen at table must be
a traitor and doomed to die. But we men know better. None of us here
to-night have reason to put ourselves in the position of a Christ or
a Judas--we are all good friends and boon companions, and I cannot
suppose for a moment that this little cloud can possibly affect you
seriously. Remember also that this is Christmas-eve, and that
according to the world's greatest poet, Shakespeare,

"'Then no planet strikes,
No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallowed and so gracious is the time.'"

A murmur of applause and a hearty clapping of hands rewarded this
little speech, and the Marchese Gualdro sprung to his feet--

"By Heaven!" he exclaimed, "we are not a party of terrified old
women to shiver on the edge of a worn-out omen! Fill your glasses,
signori! More wine, garcon! Per bacco! if Judas Iscariot himself had
such a feast as ours before he hanged himself, he was not much to be
pitied! Hola amici! To the health of our noble host, Conte Cesare
Oliva!"

He waved his glass in the air three times--every one followed his
example and drank the toast with enthusiasm. I bowed my thanks and
acknowledgments--and the superstitious dread which at first bad
undoubtedly seized the company passed away quickly--the talking, the
merriment, and laughter were resumed, and soon it seemed as though
the untoward circumstance were entirely forgotten. Only Guido
Ferrari seemed still somewhat disturbed in his mind--but even his
uneasiness dissipated itself by degrees, and heated by the quantity
of wine he had taken, he began to talk with boastful braggartism of
his many successful gallantries, and related his most questionable
anecdotes in such a manner as to cause some haughty astonishment in
the mind of the Duke di Marina, who eyed him from time to time with
ill-disguised impatience that bordered on contempt. I, on the
contrary, listened to everything he said with urbane courtesy--I
humored him and drew him out as much as possible--I smiled
complacently at his poor jokes and vulgar witticisms--and when he
said something that was more than usually outrageous, I contented
myself with a benevolent shake of my head, and the mild remark:

"Ah! young blood! young blood!" uttered in a bland sotto-voce.

The dessert was now served, and with it came the costly wines which
I had ordered to be kept back till then. Priceless "Chateau Yquem,"
"Clos Vougeot," of the rarest vintages, choice "Valpulcello" and an
exceedingly superb "Lacrima Cristi"--one after the other, these were
tasted, criticised, and heartily appreciated. There was also a very
unique brand of champagne costing nearly forty francs a bottle,
which was sparkling and mellow to the palate, but fiery in quality.
This particular beverage was so seductive in flavor that every one
partook of it freely, with the result that the most discreet among
the party now became the most uproarious. Antonio Biscardi, the
quiet and unobtrusive painter, together with his fellow-student,
Crispiano Dulci, usually the shyest of young men, suddenly grew
excited, and uttered blatant nothings concerning their art. Captain
Freccia argued the niceties of sword-play with the Marquis
D'Avencourt, both speakers illustrating their various points by
thrusting their dessert-knives skillfully into the pulpy bodies of
the peaches they had on their plates. Luziano Salustri lay back at
ease in his chair, his classic head reclining on the velvet
cushions, and recited in low and measured tones one of his own
poems, caring little or nothing whether his neighbors attended to
him or not. The glib tongue of the Marchese Gualdro ran on smoothly
and incessantly, though he frequently lost the thread of his
anecdotes and became involved in a maze of contradictory assertions.
The rather large nose of the Chevalier Mancini reddened visibly as
he laughed joyously to himself at nothing in particular--in short,
the table had become a glittering whirlpool of excitement and
feverish folly, which at a mere touch, or word out of season, might
rise to a raging storm of frothy dissension. The Duke di Marina and
myself alone of all the company were composed as usual--he had
resisted the champagne, and as for me, I had let all the splendid
wines go past me, and had not taken more than two glasses of a mild
Chianti.

I glanced keenly round the riotous board--I noted the flushed faces
and rapid gesticulations of my guests, and listened to the Babel of
conflicting tongues. I drew a long breath as I looked--I calculated
that in two or three minutes at the very least I might throw down
the trump card I had held so patiently in my hand all the evening.

I took a close observation of Ferrari. He had edged his chair a
little away from mine, and was talking confidentially to his
neighbor, Captain de Hamal--his utterance was low and thick, but yet
I distinctly heard him enumerating in somewhat coarse language the
exterior charms of a woman--what woman I did not stop to consider--
the burning idea struck me that he was describing the physical
perfections of my wife to this De Hamal, a mere spadaccino, for whom
there was nothing sacred in heaven or earth. My blood rapidly heated
itself to boiling point--to this day I remember how it throbbed in
my temples, leaving my hands and feet icy cold. I rose in my seat,
and tapped on the table to call for silence and attention--but for
some time the noise of argument and the clatter of tongues were so
great that I could not make myself heard. The duke endeavored to
second my efforts, but in vain. At last Ferrari's notice was
attracted--he turned round, and seizing a dessert knife beat with it
on the table and on his own plate so noisily and persistently that
the loud laughter and conversation ceased suddenly. The moment had
come--I raised my head, fixed my spectacles more firmly over my
eyes, and spoke in distinct and steady tones, first of all stealing
a covert glance toward Ferrari. He had sunk back again lazily in his
chair and was lighting a cigarette.

"My friends," I said, meeting with a smile the inquiring looks that
were directed toward me, "I have presumed to interrupt your mirth
for a moment, not to restrain it, but rather to give it a fresh
impetus. I asked you all here tonight, as you know, to honor me by
your presence and to give a welcome to our mutual friend, Signor
Guido Ferrari." Here I was interrupted by a loud clapping of hands
and ejaculations of approval, while Ferrari himself murmured affably
between two puffs of his cigarette. "Tropp' onore, amico, tropp'
onore!" I resumed, "This young and accomplished gentleman, who is, I
believe, a favorite with you all, has been compelled through
domestic affairs to absent himself from our circle for the past few
weeks, and I think he must himself be aware how much we have missed
his pleasant company. It will, however, be agreeable to you, as it
has been for me, to know that he has returned to Naples a richer man
than when he left it--that fortune has done him justice, and that
with the possession of abundant wealth he is at last called upon to
enjoy the reward due to his merits!"

Here there was more clapping of hands and exclamations of pleasure,
while those who were seated near Ferrari raised their glasses and
drank to his health with congratulations, all of which courtesies he
acknowledged by a nonchalant, self-satisfied bow. I glanced at him
again--how tranquil he looked!--reclining among the crimson cushions
of his chair, a brimming glass of champagne beside him, the
cigarette between his lips, and his handsome face slightly upturned,
though his eyes rested half drowsily on the uncurtained window
through which the Bay of Naples was seen glittering in the
moonlight.

I continued: "It was, gentlemen, that you might welcome and
congratulate Signor Ferrari as you have done, that I assembled you
here to-night--or rather, let me say it was PARTLY the object of our
present festivity--but there is yet another reason which I shall now
have the pleasure of explaining to you--a reason which, as it
concerns myself and my immediate happiness, will, I feel confident,
secure your sympathy and good wishes."

This time every one was silent, intently following my words.

"What I am about to say," I went on, calmly, "may very possibly
surprise you. I have been known to you as a man of few words, and, I
fear, of abrupt and brusque manners"--cries of "No, no!" mingled
with various complimentary assurances reached my ears from all sides
of the table. I bowed with a gratified air, and when silence was
restored--"At any rate you would not think me precisely the sort of
man to take a lady's fancy." A look of wonder and curiosity was now
exchanged among my guests. Ferrari took his cigarette out of his
mouth and stared at me in blank astonishment.

"No," I went on, meditatively, "old as I am, and a half-blind
invalid besides, it seems incredible that any woman should care to
look at me more than twice en passant. But I have met--let me say
with the Chevalier Mancini--an angel--who has found me not
displeasing to her, and--in short--I am going to marry!"

There was a pause. Ferrari raised himself slightly from his
reclining position and seemed about to speak, but apparently
changing his mind he remained silent--his face had somewhat paled.
The momentary hesitation among my guests passed quickly. All
present, except Guido, broke out into a chorus of congratulations,
mingled with good-humored jesting and laughter.

"Say farewell to jollity, conte!" cried Chevalier Mancini; "once
drawn along by the rustling music of a woman's gown, no more such
feasts as we have had to-night!"

And he shook his head with tipsy melancholy.

"By all the gods!" exclaimed Gualdro, "your news has surprised me! I
should have thought you were the last man to give up liberty for the
sake of a woman. ONE woman, too! Why, man, freedom could give you
twenty!"

"Ah!" murmured Salustri, softly and sentimentally, "but the one
perfect pearl--the one flawless diamond--"

"Bah! Salustri, caro mio, you are half asleep!" returned Gualdro.
"'Tis the wine talks, not you. Thou art conquered by the bottle,
amico. You, the darling of all the women in Naples, to talk of one!
Buona notte, bambino!"

I still maintained my standing position, leaning my two hands on the
table before me.

"What our worthy Gualdro says," I went on, "is perfectly true. I
have been noted for my antipathy to the fair sex. I know it. But
when one of the loveliest among women comes out of her way to tempt
me--when she herself displays the matchless store of her countless
fascinations for my attraction--when she honors me by special favors
and makes me plainly aware that I am not too presumptuous in
venturing to aspire to her hand in marriage--what can I do but
accept with a good grace the fortune thrown to me by Providence? I
should be the most ungrateful of men were I to refuse so precious a
gift from Heaven, and I confess I feel no inclination to reject what
I consider to be the certainty of happiness. I therefore ask you all
to fill your glasses, and do me the favor to drink to the health and
happiness of my future bride."

Gualdro sprung erect, his glass held high in the air; every man
followed his example, Ferrari rose to his feet with some
unsteadiness, while the hand that held his full champagne glass
trembled.

The Duke di Marina, with a courteous gesture, addressed me: "You
will, of course, honor us by disclosing the name of the fair lady
whom we are prepared to toast with all befitting reverence?"

"I was about to ask the same question," said Ferrari, in hoarse
accents--his lips were dry, and he appeared to have some difficulty
in speaking. "Possibly we are not acquainted with her?"

"On the contrary," I returned, eying him steadily with a cool smile.
"You all know her name well! Illustrissimi Signori!" and my voice
rang out clearly--"to the health of my betrothed wife, the Contessa
Romani!"

"Liar!" shouted Ferrari--and with all a madman's fury he dashed his
brimming glass of champagne full in my face! In a second the wildest
scene of confusion ensued. Every man left his place at table and
surrounded us. I stood erect and perfectly calm--wiping with my
handkerchief the little runlets of wine that dripped from my
clothing--the glass had fallen at my feet, striking the table as it
fell and splitting itself to atoms.

"Are you drunk or mad, Ferrari?" cried Captain de Hamal, seizing him
by the arm--"do you know what you have done?"

Ferrari glared about him like a tiger at bay--his face was flushed
and swollen like that of a man in apoplexy--the veins in his
forehead stood out like knotted cords--his breath came and went hard
as though he had been running. He turned his rolling eyes upon me.
"Damn you!" he muttered through his clinched teeth--then suddenly
raising his voice to a positive shriek, he cried, "I will have your
blood if I have to tear your heart for it!"--and he made an effort
to spring upon me. The Marquis D'Avencourt quietly caught his other
arm and held it as in a vise.

"Not so fast, not so fast, mon cher" he said, coolly. "We are not
murderers, we! What devil possesses you, that you offer such
unwarrantable insult to our host?"

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