Tommaso Campanells - "The City of the Sun"

Thomas Carlyle - "History of Friedrich II of Prussia V 1x"

Gerald R. Ford - "State of the Union Addresses of Gerald R. Ford"

William Makepeace Thackeray - "The Virginians"

Vendetta

M >> Marie Corelli >> Vendetta




A low ripple of laughter was her response.

"I knew it," she murmured again, half breathlessly, as I drew her
with swifter and more voluptuous motion into the vortex of the
dancers. "You tried to be cold, but I knew I could make you love me-
-yes, love me passionately--and I was right." Then with an outburst
of triumphant vanity she added, "I believe you would die for me!"

I bent over her more closely. My hot quick breath moved the feathery
gold of her hair.

"I HAVE died for you," I said; "I have killed my old self for your
sake."

Dancing still, encircled by my arms, and gliding along like a sea-
nymph on moonlighted foam, she sighed restlessly.

"Tell me what you mean, amor mio," she asked, in the tenderest tone
in the world.

Ah, God! that tender seductive cadence of her voice, how well I knew
it!--how often had it lured away my strength, as the fabled siren's
song had been wont to wreck the listening mariner.

"I mean that you have changed me, sweetest!" I whispered, in fierce,
hurried accents. "I have seemed old--for you to-night I will be
young again--for you my chilled slow blood shall again be hot and
quick as lava--for you my long-buried past shall rise in all its
pristine vigor; for you I will be a lover, such as perhaps no woman
ever had or ever will have again!"

She heard, and nestled closer to me in the dance. My words pleased
her. Next to her worship of wealth her delight was to arouse the
passions of men. She was very panther-like in her nature--her first
tendency was to devour, her next to gambol with any animal she met,
though her sleek, swift playfulness might mean death. She was by no
means exceptional in this; there are many women like her.

As the music of the waltz grew slower and slower, dropping down to a
sweet and persuasive conclusion, I led my wife to her fauteuil, and
resigned her to the care of a distinguished Roman prince who was her
next partner. Then, unobserved, I slipped out to make inquiries
concerning Vincenzo. He had gone; one of the waiters at the hotel, a
friend of his, had accompanied him and seen him into the train for
Avellino. He had looked in at the ball-room before leaving, and had
watched me stand up to dance with my wife, then "with tears in his
eyes"--so said the vivacious little waiter who had just returned
from the station--he had started without daring to wish me good-bye.

I heard this information of course with an apparent kindly
indifference, but in my heart I felt a sudden vacancy, a drear,
strange loneliness. With my faithful servant near me I had felt
conscious of the presence of a friend, for friend he was in his own
humble, unobtrusive fashion; but now I was alone--alone in a
loneliness beyond all conceivable comparison--alone to do my work,
without prevention or detection. I felt, as it were, isolated from
humanity, set apart with my victim on some dim point of time, from
which the rest of the world receded, where the searching eye of the
Creator alone could behold me. Only she and I and God--these three
were all that existed for me in the universe; between these three
must justice be fulfilled.

Musingly, with downcast eyes, I returned to the ball-room. At the
door a young girl faced me--she was the only daughter of a great
Neapolitan house. Dressed in pure white, as all such maidens are,
with a crown of snow-drops on her dusky hair, and her dimpled face
lighted with laughter, she looked the very embodiment of early
spring. She addressed me somewhat timidly, yet with all a child's
frankness.

"Is not this delightful? I feel as if I were in fairy-land! Do you
know this is my first ball?"

I smiled wearily.

"Ay, truly? And you are happy?"

"Oh, happiness is not the word--it is ecstasy! How I wish it could
last forever! And--is it not strange?--I did not know I was
beautiful till to-night."

She said this with perfect simplicity, and a pleased smile radiated
her fair features. I glanced at her with cold scrutiny.

"Ah! and some one has told you so."

She blushed and laughed a little consciously.

"Yes; the great Prince de Majano. And he is too noble to say what is
not true, so I MUST be 'la piu bella donzella,' as he said, must I
not?"

I touched the snow-drops that she wore in a white cluster at her
breast.

"Look at your flowers, child," I said, earnestly. "See how they
begin to droop in this heated air. The poor things! How glad they
would feel could they again grow in the cool wet moss of the
woodlands, waving their little bells to the wholesome, fresh wind!
Would they revive now, think you, for your great Prince de Majano if
he told them they were fair? So with your life and heart, little
one--pass them through the scorching fire of flattery, and their
purity must wither even as these fragile blossoms. And as for
beauty--are you more beautiful than SHE?"

And I pointed slightly to my wife, who was at that moment
courtesying to her partner in the stately formality of the first
quadrille.

My young companion looked, and her clear eyes darkened enviously.

"Ah, no, no! But if I wore such lace and satin and pearls, and had
such jewels, I might perhaps be more like her!"

I sighed bitterly. The poison had already entered this child's soul.
I spoke brusquely.

"Pray that you may never be like her," I said, with somber
sternness, and not heeding her look of astonishment. "You are young-
-you cannot yet have thrown off religion. Well, when you go home to-
night, and kneel beside your little bed, made holy by the cross
above it and your mother's blessing--pray--pray with all your
strength that you may never resemble in the smallest degree that
exquisite woman yonder! So may you be spared her fate."

I paused, for the girl's eyes were dilated in extreme wonder and
fear. I looked at her, and laughed abruptly and harshly.

"I forgot," I said; "the lady is my wife--I should have thought of
that! I was speaking of--another whom you do not know. Pardon me!
when I am fatigued my memory wanders. Pay no attention to my foolish
remarks. Enjoy yourself, my child, but do not believe all the pretty
speeches of the Prince de Majano. A rivederci!"

And smiling a forced smile I left her, and mingled with the crowd of
my guests, greeting one here, another there, jesting lightly, paying
unmeaning compliments to the women who expected them, and striving
to distract my thoughts with the senseless laughter and foolish
chatter of the glittering cluster of society butterflies, all the
while desperately counting the tedious minutes, and wondering
whether my patience, so long on the rack, would last out its
destined time. As I made my way through the brilliant assemblage,
Luziano Salustri, the poet, greeted me with a grave smile.

"I have had little time to congratulate you, conte," he said, in
those mellifluous accents of his which were like his own improvised
music, "but I assure you I do so with all my heart. Even in my most
fantastic dreams I have never pictured a fairer heroine of a life's
romance than the lady who is now the Countess Oliva."

I silently bowed my thanks.

"I am of a strange temperament, I suppose," he resumed. "To-night
this ravishing scene of beauty and splendor makes me sad at heart, I
know not why. It seems too brilliant, too dazzling. I would as soon
go home and compose a dirge as anything."

I laughed satirically.

"Why not do it?" I said. "You are not the first person who, being
present at a marriage, has, with perverse incongruity, meditated on
a funeral!"

A wistful look came into his brilliant poetic eyes.

"I have thought once or twice," he remarked in a low tone, "of that
misguided young man Ferrari. A pity, was it not, that the quarrel
occurred between you?"

"A pity indeed!" I replied, brusquely. Then taking him by the arm I
turned him round so that he faced my wife, who was standing not far
off. "But look at the--the--ANGEL I have married! Is she not a fair
cause for a dispute even unto death? Fy on thee, Luziano!--why think
of Ferrari? He is not the first man who has been killed for the sake
of a woman, nor will he be the last!"

Salustri shrugged his shoulders, and was silent for a minute or two.
Then he added with his own bright smile:

"Still, amico, it would have been much better if it had ended in
coffee and cognac. Myself, I would rather shoot a man with an
epigram than a leaden bullet! By the do you remember our talking of
Cain and Abel that night?"

"Perfectly."

"I have wondered since," he continued half merrily, half seriously,
"whether the real cause of their quarrel has ever been rightly told.
I should not be at all surprised if one of these days some savant
does not discover a papyrus containing a missing page of Holy Writ,
which will ascribe the reason of the first bloodshed to a love
affair. Perhaps there were wood nymphs in those days, as we are
assured there were giants, and some dainty Dryad might have driven
the first pair of human brothers to desperation by her charms! What
say you?"

"It is more than probable," I answered, lightly. "Make a poem of it,
Salustri; people will say you have improved on the Bible!"

And I left him with a gay gesture to join other groups, and to take
my part in the various dances which were now following quickly on
one another. The supper was fixed to take place at midnight. At the
first opportunity I had, I looked at the time. Quarter to eleven!--
my heart beat quickly, the blood rushed to my temples and surged
noisily in my ears. The hour I had waited for so long and so eagerly
had come! At last! at last!

*******

Slowly and with a hesitating step I approached my wife. She was
resting after her exertions in the dance, and reclined languidly in
a low velvet chair, chatting gayly with that very Prince de Majano
whose honeyed compliments had partly spoiled the budding sweet
nature of the youngest girl in the room. Apologizing for
interrupting the conversation, I lowered my voice to a persuasive
tenderness as I addressed her.

"Cara, sposina mia! permit me to remind you of your promise."

What a radiant look she gave me!

"I am all impatience to fulfill it! Tell me when--and how?"

"Almost immediately. You know the private passage through which we
entered the hotel this morning on our return from church?"

"Perfectly."

"Well, meet me there in twenty minutes. We must avoid being observed
as we pass out. But," and I touched her delicate dress, "you will
wear something warmer than this?"

"I have a long sable cloak that will do," she replied, brightly. "We
are not going far?"

"No, not far."

"We shall return in time for supper, of course?"

I bent my head.

"Naturally!"

Her eyes danced mirthfully.

"How romantic it seems! A moonlight stroll with you will be
charming! Who shall say you are not a sentimental bridegroom? Is
there a bright moon?"

"I believe so."

"Cosa bellissima!" and she laughed sweetly. "I look forward to the
trip! In twenty minutes then I shall be with you at the place you
name, Cesare; in the meanwhile the Marchese Gualdro claims me for
this mazurka."

And she turned with her bewitching grace of manner to the marchese,
who at that moment advanced with his courteous bow and fascinating
smile, and I watched them as they glided forward together in the
first figure of the elegant Polish dance, in which all lovely women
look their loveliest.

Then, checking the curse that rose to my lips, I hurried away. Up to
my own room I rushed with feverish haste, full of impatience to be
rid of the disguise I had worn so long.

Within a few minutes I stood before my mirror, transformed into my
old self as nearly as it was possible to be. I could not alter the
snowy whiteness of my hair, but a few deft quick strokes of the
razor soon divested me of the beard that had given me so elderly an
aspect, and nothing remained but the mustache curling slightly up at
the corners of the lip, as I had worn it in past days. I threw aside
the dark glasses, and my eyes, densely brilliant, and fringed with
the long lashes that had always been their distinguishing feature,
shone with all the luster of strong and vigorous youth. I
straightened myself up to my full height, I doubled my fist and felt
it hard as iron; I laughed aloud in the triumphant power of my
strong manhood. I thought of the old rag-dealing Jew--"You could
kill anything easily." Ay, so I could!--even without the aid of the
straight swift steel of the Milanese dagger which I now drew from
its sheath and regarded steadfastly, while I carefully felt the edge
of the blade from hilt to point. Should I take it with me? I
hesitated. Yes! it might be needed. I slipped it safely and secretly
into my vest.

And now the proofs--the proofs! I had them all ready to my hand, and
gathered them quickly together; first the things that had been
buried with me--the gold chain on which hung the locket containing
the portraits of my wife and child, the purse and card-case which
Nina herself had given me, the crucifix the monk had laid on my
breast in the coffin. The thought of that coffin moved me to a stern
smile--that splintered, damp, and moldering wood must speak for
itself by and by. Lastly I look the letters sent me by the Marquis
D'Avencourt--the beautiful, passionate love epistles she had written
to Guido Ferrari in Rome.

Now, was that all? I thoroughly searched both my rooms, ransacking
every corner. I had destroyed everything that could give the
smallest clew to my actions; I left nothing save furniture and small
valuables, a respectable present enough in their way, to the
landlord of the hotel.

I glanced again at myself in the mirror. Yes; I was once more Fabio
Romani, in spite of my white hair; no one that had ever known me
intimately could doubt my identity. I had changed my evening dress
for a rough, every-day suit, and now over this I threw my long
Almaviva cloak, which draped me from head to foot. I kept its folds
well up about my mouth and chin, and pulled on a soft slouched hat,
with the brim far down over my eyes. There was nothing unusual in
such a costume; it was common enough to many Neapolitans who have
learned to dread the chill night winds that blow down from the lofty
Apennines in early spring. Thus attired, too, I knew my features
would be almost invisible to HER more especially as the place of our
rendezvous was a long dim entresol lighted only by a single oil-
lamp, a passage that led into the garden, one that was only used for
private purposes, having nothing to do with the ordinary modes of
exit and entrance to and from the hotel.

Into this hall I now hurried with an eager step; it was deserted;
she was not there. Impatiently I waited--the minutes seemed hours!
Sounds of music floated toward me from the distant ball-room--the
dreamy, swinging measure of a Viennese waltz. I could almost hear
the flying feet of the dancers. I was safe from all observation
where I stood--the servants were busy preparing the grand marriage
supper, and all the inhabitants of the hotel were absorbed in
watching the progress of the brilliant and exceptional festivities
of the night.

Would she never come? Suppose, after all, she should escape me! I
trembled at the idea, then put it from me with a smile at my own
folly. No, her punishment was just, and in her case the Fates were
inflexible. So I thought and felt. I paced up and down feverishly; I
could count the thick, heavy throbs of my own heart. How long the
moments seemed! Would she never come? Ah! at last! I caught the
sound of a rustling robe and a light step--a breath of delicate
fragrance was wafted on the air like the odor of falling orange-
blossoms. I turned, and saw her approaching. With swift grace she
ran up to me as eagerly as a child, her heavy cloak of rich Russian
sable falling back from her shoulders and displaying her glittering
dress, the dark fur of the hood heightening by contrast the fairness
of her lovely flushed face, so that it looked like the face of one
of Correggio's angels framed in ebony and velvet. She laughed, and
her eyes flashed saucily.

"Did I keep you waiting, caro mio?" she whispered; and standing on
tiptoe she kissed the hand with which I held my cloak muffled about
me. "How tall you look in that Almaviva! I am so sorry I am a little
late, but that last waltz was so exquisite I could not resist it;
only I wish YOU had danced it with me."

"You honor me by the wish," I said, keeping one arm about her waist
and drawing her toward the door that opened into the garden. "Tell
me, how did you manage to leave the ball-room?"

"Oh, easily. I slipped away from my partner at the end of the waltz,
and told him I should return immediately. Then I ran upstairs to my
room, got my cloak--and here I am."

And she laughed again. She was evidently in the highest spirits.

"You are very good to come with me at all, mia bella," I murmured as
gently as I could; "it is kind of you to thus humor my fancy. Did
you see your maid? does she know where you are going?"

"She? Oh, no, she was not in my room at all. She is a great
coquette, you know; I dare say she is amusing herself with the
waiters in the kitchen. Poor thing! I hope she enjoys it."

I breathed freely; we were so far undiscovered. No one had as yet
noticed our departure--no one had the least clew to my intentions, I
opened the door of the passage noiselessly, and we passed out.
Wrapping my wife's cloak more closely about her with much apparent
tenderness, I led her quickly across the garden. There was no one in
sight--we were entirely unobserved. On reaching the exterior gate of
the inclosure I left her for a moment, while I summoned a carriage,
a common fiacre. She expressed some surprise on seeing the vehicle.

"I thought we were not going far?" she said.

I reassured her on this point, telling her that I only desired to
spare her all possible fatigue. Satisfied with this explanation, she
suffered me to assist her into the carriage. I followed her, and
calling to the driver, "A la Villa Guarda," we rattled away over the
rough uneven stones of the back streets of the city.

"La Villa Guarda!" exclaimed Nina. "Where is that?"

"It is an old house," I replied, "situated near the place I spoke to
you of, where the jewels are."

"Oh!"

And apparently contented, she nestled back in the carriage,
permitting her head to rest lightly on my shoulder. I drew her
closer to me, my heart beating with a fierce, terrible joy.

"Mine--mine at last!" I whispered in her ear. "Mine forever!"

She turned her face upward and smiled victoriously; her cool
fragrant lips met my burning, eager ones in a close, passionate
kiss. Yes, I kissed her now--why should I not? She was as much mine
as any purchased slave, and merited less respect than a sultan's
occasional female toy. And as she chose to caress me, I let her do
so: I allowed her to think me utterly vanquished by the battery of
her charms. Yet whenever I caught an occasional glimpse of her face
as we drove along in the semi-darkness, I could not help wondering
at the supreme vanity of the woman! Her self-satisfaction was so
complete, and, considering her approaching fate, so tragically
absurd!

She was entirely delighted with herself, her dress, and her
conquest--as she thought--of me. Who could measure the height of the
dazzling visions she indulged in; who could fathom the depths of her
utter selfishness!

Seeing one like her, beautiful, wealthy, and above all--society
knows I speak the truth--WELL DRESSED, for by the latter virtue
alone is a woman allowed any precedence nowadays--would not all the
less fortunate and lovely of her sex feel somewhat envious? Ah, yes;
they would and they do; but believe me, the selfish feminine thing,
whose only sincere worship is offered at the shrines of Fashion and
Folly, is of all creatures the one whose life is to be despised and
never desired, and whose death makes no blank even in the circles of
her so-called best friends.

I knew well enough that there was not a soul in Naples who was
really attached to my wife--not one who would miss her, no, not even
a servant--though she, in her superb self-conceit, imagined herself
to be the adored beauty of the city. Those who had indeed loved her
she had despised, neglected, and betrayed. Musingly I looked down
upon her as she rested back in the carriage, encircled by my arm,
while now and then a little sigh of absolute delight in herself
broke from her lips--but we spoke scarcely at all. Hate has almost
as little to say as love!

The night was persistently stormy, though no rain fell--the gale had
increased in strength, and the white moon only occasionally glared
out from the masses of white and gray cloud that rushed like flying
armies across the sky, and her fitful light shone dimly, as though
she were a spectral torch glimmering through a forest of shadow. Now
and again bursts of music, or the blare of discordant trumpets,
reached our ears from the more distant thoroughfares where the
people were still celebrating the feast of Giovedi Grasso, or the
tinkle of passing mandolins chimed in with the rolling wheels of our
carriage; but in a few moments we were out of reach of even such
sounds as these.

We passed the outer suburbs of the city and were soon on the open
road. The man I had hired drove fast; he knew nothing of us, he was
probably anxious to get back quickly to the crowded squares and
illuminated quarters where the principal merriment of the evening
was going on, and no doubt thought I showed but a poor taste in
requiring to be driven away, even for a short distance, out of
Naples on such a night of feasting and folly. He stopped at last;
the castellated turrets of the villa I had named were faintly
visible among the trees; he jumped down from his box and came to us.

"Shall I drive up to the house?" he asked, looking as though he
would rather be spared this trouble.

"No," I answered, indifferently, "you need not. The distance is
short, we will walk."

And I stepped out into the road and paid him his money.

"You seem anxious to get back to the city, my friend," I said, half
jocosely.

"Si, davvero!" he replied, with decision, "I hope to get many a good
fare from the Count Oliva's marriage-ball to-night."

"Ah! he is a rich fellow, that count," I said, as I assisted my wife
to alight, keeping her cloak well muffled round her so that this
common fellow should not perceive the glitter of her costly costume;
"I wish I were he!"

The man grinned and nodded emphatically. He had no suspicion of my
identity. He took me, in all probability, for one of those "gay
gallants" so common in Naples, who, on finding at some public
entertainment a "dama" to their taste, hurry her off, carefully
cloaked and hooded, to a mysterious nook known only to themselves,
where they can complete the romance of the evening entirely to their
own satisfaction. Bidding me a lively buona notte, he sprung on his
box again, jerked his horse's head violently round with a volley of
oaths, and drove away at a rattling pace. Nina, standing on the road
beside me, looked after him with a bewildered air.

"Could he not have waited to take us back?" she asked.

"No," I answered, brusquely; "we shall return by a different route.
Come."

And passing my arm round her, I led her onward. She shivered
slightly, and there was a sound of querulous complaint in her voice
as she said:

"Have we to go much further, Cesare?"

"Three minutes, walk will bring us to our destination," I replied,
briefly, adding in a softer tone, "Are you cold?"

"A little," and she gathered her sables more closely about her and
pressed nearer to my side. The capricious moon here suddenly leaped
forth like the pale ghost of a frenzied dancer, standing tiptoe on
the edge of a precipitous chasm of black clouds. Her rays, pallidly
green and cold, fell full on the dreary stretch of land before us,
touching up with luminous distinctness those white mysterious
milestones of the Campo Santo which mark where the journeys of men,
women, and children began and where they left off, but never explain
in what new direction they are now traveling. My wife saw and
stopped, trembling violently.

"What place is this?" she asked, nervously.

In all her life she had never visited a cemetery--she had too great
a horror of death.

"It is where I keep all my treasures," I answered, and my voice
sounded strange and harsh in my own ears, while I tightened my grasp
of her full, warm waist. "Come with me, my beloved!" and in spite of
my efforts, my tone was one of bitter mockery. "With me you need
have no fear! Come."

And I led her on, too powerless to resist my force, too startled to
speak--on, on, on, over the rank dewy grass and unmarked ancient
graves--on, till the low frowning gate of the house of my dead
ancestors faced me--on, on, on, with the strength of ten devils in
my arm as I held her--on, on, on, to her just doom!




CHAPTER XXXVI.


The moon had retreated behind a dense wall of cloud, and the
landscape was enveloped in semi-darkness. Reaching the door of the
vault, I unlocked it; it opened instantly, and fell back with a
sudden clang. She whom I held fast with my iron grip shrunk back,
and strove to release herself from my grasp.

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