Quoth Cacus-"This is he she spoke of, His Godship who, for all his brag On mother earth once more to place them- C. L. BORELLI AND MENOTTI.* BY THE AUTHOR OF "SCENES IN POLAND." "Nineteen-twenty-twenty-one," muttered old Pietro, stretching his grey head out of the window, as he listened to the thunder of cannon, which echoed majestically through the valley, reverberating from the opposite cliffs of Santa Maria. "That's a salute," continued the old man. "What it will bring Heaven only knows! Should it be that we are fortunate-" he muttered, drawing in his breath, like one afraid of being overheard, and looking anxiously around, and then into the distance, from which at intervals swelled a distracted clamour.— The cause of the noise seemed rapidly approaching. "Protect us, Jesus, Maria, and Joseph, and all the blessed army of saints!" said Bettina, the wife of old Pietro; " All the people of Reggio are in the park, men, women, and children. I saw Memmo and Guiseppe whetting their daggers behind the cascade-" The old man turned with a vacant stare towards the speaker, who went on. "And I asked them what they wanted, and they said that they had a right to be here, and to look after Jacobins and infidels; and that our time is out, and that the Duke is come." 999 "Save us from evil!" said the old man, signing himself with the cross, and turning towards a folding-door, which he opened, and passed through. "And she still reposes, unconscious of what is going on around us, and before us, and we are utterly powerless! Alas! my limbs, how feeble they are! I can scarcely move." Pietro faltered towards a bed, and opening the curtains, looked wistfully on a female who lay upon it, whether slumbering or dead it would at first sight have been difficult to tell. Her form was of exquisite beauty and of the truly Roman cast. Whiter than the sheet around her, she lay like a marble statue of antique workmanship. She seemed a vision, without breath or motion. Only at long intervals of respiration her pale lips opened slightly and tremulously, but with as little of vitality or volition as leaves fluttered by the wind. "So she has continued for the last seven nights!" said Bettina, bending anxiously over the bed. The fate of these high-minded men was truly deplorable.-Encouraged to raise the standard of independence by the assurance of French assistance, they were basely left to the Austrians and the scaffold.-Must Italy be for ever in bondage to the "Corinthian boor?" "We must not disturb her," said Pietro in a whisper, drawing his wife back. The sounds, at first faint and distant, and only perceptible from the echo which had returned them, like the rushing and roaring of mighty waters, assumed gradually a more distinct character. Wild tumultuous shouts ever and anon swelled nearer and nearer. The lovely sleeper opened her lips, murmured some inarticulate syllables, and closed them again. The noise increased, the cries, "Long live the Duke!-Religion! the Pope!" were repeatedly heard. On a sudden a discharge of musketry shook the whole windows and building, and the gates of the villa were burst asunder. Pietro, who had been standing unconscious of every thing, his eye bent on his mistress, now hurried out of the room. He was not gone long, when a shrill cry arose from below. The slumbering form shuddered slightly, again opened her lips, and faultering" Dio!" relapsed into a state of suspended energy. The confusion had, in the meanwhile, spread all over the villa, above and beneath, and in the adjoining room. An occasional crash was heard, which made the fabric rock to its foundation. They show their valour on our furniture," said Pietro, who re-entered the room, his bloody head tied up with a handkerchief. "These miserable men, who have run away before the Tedeschi, are breaking chairs, and tables, and sofas, and bottles, and casks. They are in the cellars, in the buttery, in the library-Matteo and Filippo are at their head." While he was speaking, the door was dashed open, and two men entered, dressed in the uniform of the Ducal police, followed by ten soldiers, all armed with muskets and swords, their hats decorated with broad yellow and black cockades. The chief of the party paused for a moment on beholding the lady on the bed, then elevating his head with an authoritative mien, he traversed the apartment and began to scrutinize its contents. All at once his attention was fixed by a portrait which hung over the fair sleeper; his eyes were filled with fury, and brandishing his sword he thrust it through the painting, and brought it to the ground. "Ah!" whispered one of the men," how valiant Filippo is!" “Abiano te trovati !" exclaimed the furious Italian, "te trovato finalmente? Voleva essere un' re et dar' lege alla sua Altezza Imperèale"- -so saying, he cut the painting and frame into fragments. "Ma lui sta qui sono sicuro que sta qui; deve essere in questa stanza!" and leaping forwards, he, with a single jerk, flung aside the sheet which mantled the pallid wife of Borelli, and exposed her to the gaze of his companions. The men had been standing in deep silence; a couple of them now sprang forward, and replacing the sheet, drew the officer from the bed; their attention was attracted by a slight movement of the lady-a protracted shivering crept over her frame; her teeth chattered; she stretched forth her hands, as if to withdraw somebody from the grasp of an enemy; she struggled with all her might "No," she cried, "No, barbarians, you shall not have him!" and with a fearful shriek she added, "All in vain! All in vain!-They have him! They have him!"-Convulsions seized her, and again she sank into a lethargy. It was on the 10th of April, 1831, two days after the scene just described, when from the road which winds through the dreary flat that spreads from the vine-covered hills of Reggio towards Modena, two carriages were seen entering the city gate, surrounded by a detachment of Austrian cuirassiers, an immense multitude flocking at the same time from all sides. Ducal dragoons, in their primitive uniforms, just recovered from the pawnbrokers; mendicants, half naked, with black and yellow ribbons round their necks; women and children in a similar dishabille, and with the same decorations, in honour of their Austrian deliverers, intermingled with robbers, monks, and Ducal soldiers, were pressing with furious execrations towards the carriages. These carriages contained Borelli and Menotti, the two leaders of the popular party of Modena, who had at length come within the grasp of sovereign vengeance. The news had been brought by an express to Reggio, and the people had been called upon to testify their loyalty, and to deliver his Imperial Highness from the Jacobins. The loyal subjects had assembled in consequence, and they were not a little disappointed when they found the object of their hatred in the hands of the Austrians. To the right, towards the St. Maria gate, a troop of cuirassiers were trotting up and down to keep off the crowd, which, recoiling under shouts of " Live the Duke!" advanced again, shouting "the Austrians!" Some Modenese employées more daring than the rest, climbed up the arcades and windows, to throw stones and all sorts of missiles at the carriages, and those who protected them; while from the opposite quarter, the peasants came in crowds, with their priests riding on mules, and waving exultingly their broad-flapped hats. The carriage was approaching towards the Ducal palace, from which Francis the IVth had fled six weeks before, and where his life was saved by the firmness of Borelli, from the infuriated mob, that now demanded the blood of their late idol. The balconies and windows were filled with the creatures of the Duke; the cries of "Death to the Jacobins!" waxed louder and louder, and the same populace, who a fortnight before, a squadron of Tedeschi would have chased the whole length of the Peninsula, now pressed forward upon the cuirassiers, regardless of blows and swords, to satisfy their vengeance-Italian vengeance. They had succeeded in stopping the carriages. "Death to the traitors!" shouted the monks. One of the most ferocious-looking of the mob sprang upon the coach-step, and holding fast by the left hand, aimed with the right a thrust through the window. At the moment, the sword-hilt of a cuirassier descended on his neck, and knocked him down so effectually, that carriage and riders passed over his loyal corpse. The cavalcade neared the bastions of the citadel, the gates of which were guarded by a numerous detachment of Polish lancers. The sight of blood had stimulated the Italians, and again they pressed upon the escort; but the Poles wheeled forward, the carriage rolled into the arch-way, and the subjects of his Imperial Highness, men, women, monks, and robbers, tumbled over each other in angry confusion. The gates closed, the vehicle moved a few steps farther into the open court-yard, and there halted. The two prisoners descended; a deep melancholy sat upon the face of the first. It was Borelli-the ardent, the enthusiastic Borelli. His companion evinced more resignation: he caught his faultering fellow-sufferer by the arm, and led him through the gloomy passage into the subterranean chamber of their prison. A slight smile passed across Menotti's lips when the rusty wings of the heavy iron door unfolded. "Ah!" he said, "they are afraid of our escaping. Alas! what a worthless thing is life after what we have just witnessed!" There was no chair-no table-no bed in the room; Ducal littleness thought it necessary to shew its cruelty even there. Borelli reeled into the arms of his friend, and then with the words, " O Luigia !—Luigia !”—dropped on the damp and chill stone floor. At the hour of the promenade, the arcades of the main street of Modena were deserted. Save in the quarter of the populace, the city seemed to be uninhabited; no sound was to be heard--no serenade of the gay lover-nothing except the trotting of the cuirassiers and lancers, who rode up and down the Strada Ducale with a motion as regular as the piston of a steam-engine. Before the ducal palace stood Baron Geppert, the Austrian General, surrounded by his staff and a bevy of officers, damning, in good German, the French and the insurgents. At length he bowed, and the crowd dispersed as the cavalry trotted through the different streets towards their quarters. The clatter of horse-hoofs gradually died away, and nothing was audible save the "Wer da" of the guards, as they called through the night upon the solitary passenger. It was in the evening of the next day, when Count Morovsky, Captain in a regiment of lancers of his Austrian Majesty, entered the room of his friend Baron O'Donnel, a Captain in the same corps. The Baron was so fortunate as to have his quarters assigned in the palace of the Most Illustrious the Contessa He sat before a looking-glass, while his servant arranged the fine curls that clustered around his forehead. "Ma foi, Charles!" exclaimed the Baron—his countenance flushed as if he had been in pursuit of a troop of Independents-" ma foi! she loves me even more than I was aware of! By Jove! what a delightful creature! She herself bandaged this scratch on my left arm. Oh, these tears!-these dejected features!-these sighs!" "You have heard the order of the day?" said the Count. "No trifling with women-" "Pshaw! away with your order! The old grey-beard would turn us into Maltese knights.-Here we are watching and guarding, and what? men who are not worth guarding, and who will run as fast as tailors, and women who are worthy of the noblest men. Besides, you know, she is the sister of the confidant and favourite of the Duke. I would barter all the frauleins of Germany for this widow no coquetry-no grimaces. Let her once answer yes, and you know your ground. And then, rich as a daughter of Israel-beautiful as an angel, or an Englishwoman, and fervid, impetuous, like a daughter of her own impassioned country. One condition alone she demands, to be mine-mine for ever, -and adieu service. But hist! I hear a carriage-her uncle is driving out this very hour." "Probably to have some poor rogue of an Independent made quietly away with. The Duke, I understand, named him a member of the Secret Military Commission." "The better-the better-let this country be a little cleansed of the canaille, and it will not look the worse for it." The speaker was interrupted by a slight tap at the door. "What now?" whispered the Count," I'll step behind the alcove." "No-no;" said the Baron, but his friend was already concealed: no sooner had he gained his retreat, than a female entered-it was the proud and noble Contessa " the fair and youthful widow. She had been weeping—a tear still glittered on her eyelids-she glided towards the Baron. She was a voluptuous figure, with a neck and shoulder of ivory. "O'Donnel!" she said with a voice of music, "O'Donnel! you shall hear the condition;" she paused, "Life of my soul! you must kill my uncle!" The Captain stared, " Kill your uncle ?" "The sole condition," said the dazzling woman. "Kill your uncle, with my sword ?" "Ay, or with your poinard-this poinard." She unwrapped a paper and exhibited a sharp Roman dagger. "This is the condition-fulfil it and I am thine." She fixed her hurried glance on him—she grasped his hand-she led him to a sofa-her mouth hung over him, as if the quicker to catch his utterance, but her lover passively ejaculated" Kill her uncle!" "Kill your uncle?" said the Count, drawing the curtains of the alcove, and stepping towards the beauty-" Why kill him?” The bright-eyed Italian seemed no ways disconcerted; bounding from the sofa, she playfully aimed the dagger at the breast of the officer, who stood quite calm. "Ah! you are my man," and she burst into a laugh. "If Signor O'Donnel will not accept my condition, you will-will you not?" "I kill your uncle, Contessa! You are merry." "No, no," said she, throwing herself on the sofa, "No, no-kill himdeliver me from him, or he will"—she paused. "And is there no other means?" demanded O'Donnel. "Ah!" exclaimed the Contessa, after a moment's musing, Count, you are mounting guard to-night?" "I have it The Count replied in the affirmative-" But how know you this?" said he, shaking his head distrustingly. "Will you exchange with the Baron ?" The two officers looked at each other in surprise. "Will you?" demanded the Contessa, stepping before them, and surveying them with the fiery glance of a love-glowing Italian. "I will," replied O'Donnel. "And you must!" said the Contessa, seizing his hand, and urging him to make arrangements for the change. He departed silent and thoughtful. Something mysterious was going on,something which might secure him a place for life in Mohacz, or some other fortress, but he had given his word of honour, and he went. After he had announced the exchange at the station, he dined at the Traittoria della Villa, and then retired to his lodgings in anxious expectation of what was to ensue. He had opened the smaller wicket in the massive gate, and ascended the marble staircase, when a hollow bass voice resounded from the long corridor, answered by soft feminine accents. The officer listened. It was the voice of his landlord, the Cavaliere S―, in earnest supplication. Saint after saint was invoked in succession. The officer listened in breathless suspense. The old Italian, after the litany was finished, ran over the service for the souls of the dead and the dying, and then over a funeral prayer for Menotti and Borelli. He recited the virtues of the two unfortunate citizens, their devotion to the Holy Virgin, their humanity towards the serviles-towards the Duke himself. "And will they be sacrificed?" cried a female in a heart-broken tone, in the midst of the Cavaliere's prayer. "Our Lord did no harm-no harm to mortal, he benefitted and blessed a sinful race, yet was he crucified!" responded another female. "May the Almighty dispense mercy to the noble Borelli!" said the aged Cavaliere, arising from his knees and quitting the corridor. During his devotions his suspicion had been awakened by the footstep of the Captain, no sooner had he discovered the listener, than retreating, he exclaimed, "I shall follow Borelli-We are overheard." "Be calm!" said the officer, "Be calm, Signor, I shall not betray you, but take care for the future." "Oh! he will not betray us," whispered Rosalia, the eldest daughter of the Cavaliere, a captivating girl of eighteen. "He will not betray us. Will you, sweet stranger?-Oh you will not!" The Count stood gazing at the blooming girl who hung by his side. Her father, mother, and younger sister had left the room. Before he was aware of it he was seated by Rosalia. "You are silent, Signor!" said she, blushing, and looking upwards with an expression so pious-so confidently pure. "And you have not mounted guard ?" said she, after a pause. "No Signora! your friend O'Donnel has had the kindness.” "O'Donnel! O'Donnel," said the girl, and her countenance lighted up, and "O'Donnel! and the a smile of exultation flashed across her countenance. Contessa has permitted him to go? Oh she does not know how to love!" She hesitated. "But how do you know Signora that O'Donnel stays at the palace of the Contessa ?" said the officer, releasing himself from her arm. She hesitated again, and clasped his hands. "O, you will not bring him to the scaffold!-O no, you will not!" She turned to him imploringly. "Whom mean you?" "Borelli!" |