University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER THE NINTH.
THE STORY OF GUISEPPO.

“On the day'my young Lord—so I must still call
him—was doomed to die by the Duke and Lords
of Florence, I felt very dull, and the brighest piece
of gold in the wide world would not have hired me
to smile. And as for laughing—St Guiseppo, that
came not with my thoughts!

(Rosalind very quietly asked if nothing could
have made him smile? He pressed his lips to
hers and did not dispute the matter any further.)

Being in this melancholy mood, I requested permission
of my gracious master the Duke, to visit
Lord Adrian that night. My request was granted.

It was but half an hour after midnight, that I
stood at the door of the Doomed Cell, where I
learned, to my great regret, that the Duke had just
departed, leaving his commands that no one should
see the prisoner until the morrow. There was an
order of state affixed to the door to that effect,
having the private seal of the Duke impressed upon
it.

No sooner had I persued this paper of state—
thou knowest, Rosalind, that I can both read and

write—thanks to Count Aldarin, who taught me,
with much care and not a little pains—no sooner
had I perused this paper of state, than unslinging
my cloak of blue velvet and silver embroidery, I
assumed all the pertness of a page at court, as I
cried—“Stand aside, Sir Beetle-brow, and make
room for my couch—and you, gallant sir, of the
squinting orb, be pleased to shift your lazy carcase
an inch or so, an' it suits you.”

The beetle-browed sentinel Balvardo, and his
companion Hugo of the sinister eye, looked upon
me with the most unfeigned astonishment, as
throwing my cloak upon the stone pavement, I
proceeded to lay my person upon its bedizened
folds.

“Well, Sir Malapert,” cried Balvardo, “thou art
surely moonstruck. In the fiend's name what
mean you by thus sprawling out upon the pavement,
like a cat near the end of her ninth life, eh,
Sir Page?”

Here Hugo chimed in with his say, consisting
of a “by'r Lady!” expressed in tones of the most
interesting wonder, which he finished with a
“w-h-e-w!” given with twisted lips and great musical
effect.

“Why, noble Sir, of the bull-head,” I answered,
“and right worthy Sir of the Squinting Orb, I intend
to watch the coming forth of my Lord Adrian,
an' it please your lordships—and, as I wish to
sleep, I will thank thee Balvardo to turn thy ugly
visage another way, for, an' I shut my eyes after
looking at thee, I'll be certain to dream of half-a-dozen
devils or so. Hugo, do try and look straight
ahead for only an instant, or the warriors in my
dreams will all be cross-eyed—by St. Guiseppo!”

“Hist! thou magpie,” exclaimed Hugo, “hear'st
thou not a noise, Balvardo?”

The sound that rivetted Hugo's ear, proceeded
from the Doomed Cell, and was certainly the most
curious of all sounds. It was not exactly like the
mewing of a cat, neither did it altogether resemble
the howling of a cur, and it certainly did not
sound like the bellowing of a bull, or the chattering
of a magpie, yet in good sooth, it seemed as if
all these noises had been caught and put in a sack,
and having been shaken well together, produced
the most infernal discord that ever saluted mortal
ear.

“The Saints preserve us!” shrieked Balvardo.
“Surely the devil has taken possession of the murderer—hark
how he howls!”

“Ho indeed!” cried Hugo, “it's not only he;
by'r Lady, there's a score of them. There it goes
again. Beshrew thee but 'tis like the howl of a
whipped cur—”

“Nay Hugo, nay Hugo, 'tis like the spitting
and mewing of an hundred cats—”

“Or the chattering of a score of magpies.”

“Now it bellows like a bull.”

“St. Peter be good to us!” exclaimed Balvardo,
as the howling grew louder and louder. “It is
the yelling of devils, and naught else. Hark!
Didst ever hear such a horrible noise, Sir Page?”

I answered his question by repeated bursts of
laughter; for although my heart was full heavy
at the fate of Adrian Di Albarone, yet for my soul
I could not hear such whimsical sounds without
giving full rein to my laughing humour.

Suddenly the noise ceased. In an instant a
voice shouted from the inside of the cell—“Ho!
guards, without there! guards!”

I was thunderstruck at the tones of this voice,
which I at once knew could not belong to the
Doomed Adrian.

“Well!” exclaimed Balvardo, “if the devil hasn't
stolen the voice of our gracious Lord the Duke!”

Hugo pursed up his lips and gave his musical
“whew!” which was intended to express astonishment
itself astonished.

“W-h-e-w!—By'r Lady, but the devil does speak
in the voice of our Lord the Duke.”

“I am the Duke of Florence!”—shouted the
voice from the cell. “Open the door, ye slaves!”

“Avoid thee Sathanas!” quoth Balvardo.

“Be quiet, fiend!” cried Hugo.

“Exquisite sport—exquisite!” muttered I to myself,
as a curious idea flitted thro' my brain. “Ho
—ho—ho! The Duke of Florence locked up in
one of his own prisons! Ha—ha—ha!”

Louder rose the shout of the voice within the
cell, and louder and fiercer swelled the exclamations
of the sentinels; until having strained every
bone in my body, with excessive laughter, I fell
asleep thro' mere weariness.

When I awoke, the first beams of morning were
streaming along the prison galleries, and engaged
in earnest converse with Hugo and Balvardo,
stood the ill-looking, wry mouthed, and hump-backed
Doomsman of Florence.

“The irons are hot, and the wheel is ready,”
said the deformed caitiff, “bring your prisoner
forth. The cauldron of lead is hissing and seething
while it awaits his coming. 'Tis long since
I've tried my hand upon one of noble blood. Bring
forth this noble boy, and let me see what mettle

his flesh is made of. Thanks, Balvardo—thanks,
Hugo, for 'twas ye that gave him to the Doomsman!”

Here the villain performed several very graceful
actions, such as tying an imaginary knot
around his neck, with a `chick;' and then rehearsing
in dumb show the whole process of punishment
upon the wheel; concluding with an animated
waving, pushing and thrusting of his hands,
descriptive of the entire manner of disembowelling.
And this, this was to be the fate of Adrian
Lord of Albarone!

Meanwhile Hugo had unlocked the door of
the Doomed Cell, and called the name of the prisoner
without receiving an answer.

“I'll wake him,” quoth the Doomsman, entering
the cell; “see! he lays flat upon his face. Get up,
Sir Parricide; get up. There—there,” he concluded,
bestowing a few kicks upon the prostrate occupant
of the cell.

The prisoner replied with a groan.

“Ho! ho!—You will not stir, will you?” continued
the Doomsman, as he dragged the prisoner
from the cell into the gallery:—“See, Hugo, how
the caitiff's hat is slouched over his face, and his
hands are bound with his own belt. By St. Judas,
this is a rare sight!”

“His hands bound!” exclaimed Balvardo. “This
is not my work!”

“Nor mine!” responded Hugo.

“Remove his slouched hat, one of ye,” exclaimed
the Doomsman, “see ye not that both of my
hands are employed in holding his carcase?”

Hugo reached forth his hand and removed his
slouched hat—O! an' I live till fourscore, I'll never
forget the scene that followed. There, his arms ignominiously
bound, resting in the embrace of the
Doomsman, lay the Duke of Floerence, his face
pale with ire, his mouth frothing like a madman's,
and his eyes bloodshot; and there stood the Doomsman,
his grey eyes protruding with astonishment,
until they seemed about to drop from their sockets,
his mouth agape and his tongue lolling out
upon his bearded chin; and there, likewise, stood
Hugo and Balvardo, looking first at one another,
then at the Duke, and then clasping their hands,
they fall upon their knees and screaming for
mercy—and there in the background, his cloak
muffled over his face, and his frame shaking with
laughter while his eyes run over with tears of
mirth, stands his grace's page,'the trim Guiseppo.
Was't not a rich scene, Rosalind?”