University of Virginia Library

4. CHAP. IV.

The frowning battlements of St. Angelo were
brightened with the glare of lamps across the Tiber,
and the dark breast of the river was laced with bars
of gold like the coat of a captain of dragoons. Here

and there lay a boat in mid-stream, and while the
drift of the current was counteracted by an occasional
stroke at the oar, the boatmen listened to the
heavenly strains of a waltz, dying and triumphing
in alternate cadences upon the breath of night and
the pope's band. A platform was built out over the
river, forming a continuation of the stage, the pit was
floored over, and all draped like a Persian harem;
and thus began a masquerade at the Teatro della
Pergola at Rome, which stands, if you will take the
trouble to remember, close by the bridge and castle
of St. Angelo upon the bank of the “yellow Tiber.”

The entrance of the crowd to the theatre was like
a procession intended to represent the things of which
we are commanded, not to make gravenimages, nor
to bow down and worship them. There was the
likeness of everything in heaven above and on the
earth beneath, and in the waters under the earth.
There were angels, devils, serpents, birds, beasts,
fishes and fair women—of which none except the
last occasioned much transgression of the commandment.
Oddly enough, the fishes waltzed—
and so did the beasts and fair women, the serpents
and birds—pairing off as they came within sound of
the musick, with a defiance of natural antipathies
which would have driven a naturalist out of his
senses.

A chariot drove up with the crest of the Cesarini

on the pannel, and out of it stepped rather a stiff
figure dressed as a wandering palmer, with serge
and scallop-shells, followed by a masked hunchback
whosê costume, even to the threadbare spot on the
ridge of his deformity, was approved, by the loungers
at the door, in a general “bravissimo.” They entered
the dressing-room, and the cloak-keeper was not
surprised when the lump was withdrawn in the
shape of a pad of wool, and by the aid of a hood
and petticoat of black silk, the deformed was transformed
into a slender domino, undistinguished but
for the grace and elasiticity of her movements. The
attendant was surprised, however, when having
stepped aside to deposite the pad given in charge to
her, she turned and saw the domino flitting from the
room, but the hunchback with his threadbare hump
still leaning on the palmer's arm!

“Santissima Vergine!” she exclaimed, pulling out
her cross and holding it between herself and Giulio,
“the Fiend—the unholy Fiend!”

Donna Bettina laughed under her palmer's cowl,
and drawing Giulio's arm within her own, they
mingled in the masquerade.

The old Oount Cesarini arrived a few minutes
after in one of the equipages of the Malaspina,
accompanied by a red-cross knight in a magnificent
armour, his sword-hilt sparkling with diamonds, and
the bars of his visor half drawn, yet showing a

beard of jetty and curling black, and a mouth of the
most regular, yet unpleasant beauty. The upper
part of his face was quite concealed, yet the sneer
on his lips promised a cold and unfeeling eye.

“As a hunchback, did you say, count?”

“It was her whim,” answered Cesarini. “She
has given arms to a poor sculptor with that deformity
till her brain is filled with it. Pray the saints to
affect not your offspring, Lamba!”

Malaspina surveyed himself in the long mirror at
the entrance of the saloon, and smiled back incredulously
with his white teeth.

“I gave Bettina strict orders not to leave her side,”
said Cesarini. “You will find the old donna by her
palmer's dress. The saints speed your suit, Lamba!
I will await you in the card-room when the dance
wearies you!”

It was not for some time after the two old nobles
had affianced their children, that Cesarini had found
a fitting opportunity to break the subject to his
daughter. When he did so, somewhat to his embarrassment,
Violanta listened to it without surprise;—
and after hearing all he had to say upon the honourable
descent, large fortune and courtly accomplishments
of the young Count Lamba, she only permitted
her father to entertain any future hope on the subject,
upon the condition, that, till she was of age, her
proposed husband should not even be presented to

her. For this victory over the most cherished
ambition of the old count, Violonta was indebted
partly to the Holy See, and partly to some qualities
in her own character, of which her father knew the
force. He was aware with what readiness the cardinals
would seize upon the slightest wish she might
express to take the veil and bring her possessions
into the church, and he was sufficiently acquainted
with the qualities of a Cesarini, not to drive one of
their daughters to extremity.

With some embarrassment the old count made a
clean breast to Malaspina and his son, and was
exhausting language in regrets, when he was relieved
by an assurance from Lamba that the difficulty
increased his zest for the match, and that, Cesarini's
permission, he would find opportunitie to encounter
her in her walks as a stranger, and make his way
after the romantic taste which he supposed was
alone at the bottom of her refusal. For success in
this, Count Lambo relied on his personal beauty and
on that address in the arts of adventure which is
acquired by a residence in France.

Since his duel, Amieri had been confined to his
bed with a violent fever, dangerously aggravated by
the peculiar nature of his calamity. The love of
the pencil was the breath of his soul, and in
all his thoughts of Violanta, it was only as a rival
of the lofty fame of painters who had made themselves

the companions of kings, that he could imagine
himself a claimant for her love. It seemed
to him that his nerveless hand had shut out heaven's
intire light.

Giulio had watched by his friend with the faithful
fondness of a woman, and had gathered from his
moments of delirium, what Biondo had from delicacy
to Violanta never revealed to his second, Lenzoni—
the cause of his quarrel with Malaspina. Touched
with this chivalric tenderness toward his sister the
kind Giulio hung over him with renewed affection,
and when, in subsequent ravings, the maimed
youth betrayed the real sting of his misfortune—
the death of his hopes of her love—the unambitious
brother resolved in his heart that if he could aid him
by service or sacrifice, by influence with Violanta,
or by making the almost desperate attempt to establish
his own claims to the name and fortunes of
Cesarini, he would devote himself to his service
heart and soul.

During the confinement of Amieri to his room, the
young countess had of course, been unable to visit
her brother, and as he scarce left the patient's side
for a moment, their intercourse for two or three
weeks had been entirely interrupted. On the first
day the convalescent youth could walk out, she had
stolen to the studio, and heard from Giulio the whole
history of the duel and its consequences. When he

had finished his narrative, Violanta sat, for a few
minutes, lost in thought.

“Giulio!” she said at last, with a gaiety of tone,
which startled him.

Violanta!”

“Did you ever remark that our voices are very
much alike?”

“Biondo often says so.”

“And you have a foot almost as small as mine.”

“I have not the proportions of a man, Violanta!”

“Nay, brother, but I mean that—that—we might
pass for each other, if we were masked. Our
height is the same. Stand up, Giulio!”

“You would not mock me!” said the melancholy
youth with a faint smile, as he rose and set his bent
back beside the straight and lithe form of his sister.

“Listen to me, amato-bene!” she replied, sitting
down and drawing him upon her knee, after satisfying
himself that there was no perceptible difference
in their height. “Put your arm about my neck, and
love me while I tell you of my little plot.”

Giulio impressed a kiss upon the clear, alabaster
forehead of the beautiful girl, and looked into her
face inquiringly.

“There is to be a masquerade at La Pergola,”
she said—“a superb masquerade given to some
prince! And I am to go, Giulio mio!”

“Well,” answered the listener, sadly.

“But do you not seem surprised that I am permitted
to go! Shall I tell you the reason why papa
gave me permission?”

“If you will, Violonta!”

“A little bird told me that Malaspina means to
be there!”

“And you will go to meet him?”

“You shall go to meet him, and I—” she
hesitated and cast down the long dark fringes of her
eyes. “I will meet Biondo!”

“Giulio clasped her passionately to his heart.

“I see!—I see!” he cried, springing upon his feet,
as he anticipated the remaining circumstances of
the plot. “We shall be two hunchbacks—they will
little think that we are two Cesarini. Dear, noble
Violanta! you will speak kindly to Biondo. Send
Bettina for the clothes, carina mia! You will get
twin masks in the Corso. And, Violanta?”

“What, Giulio?”

“Tell Bettina to breathe no word of our project
to Amieri! I will persuade him to go but to see you
dance! Poor Amieri! Dear, dear sister! Farewell
now! He will be returning, and you must be gone.
The Holy Virgin guard you, my Violanta!”