The Bravo of Venice | Page 5

a tear; the night wind is sharp and bitter, and makes the eyes water; but as for TEARS--Absurd! my weeping days are over."
And as he spoke, the unfortunate (for such by his discourse and situation he appeared to be) dashed his forehead against the earth, and his lips were already unclosed to curse the hour which gave him being, when he seemed suddenly to recollect himself. He rested his head on his elbow, and sang mournfully the burthen of a song which had often delighted his childhood in the castle of his ancestors.
"Right," he said to himself; "were I to sink under the weight of my destiny, I should be myself no longer."
At that moment he heard a rustling at no great distance. He looked around, and in an adjacent street, which the moon faintly enlightened, he perceived a tall figure, wrapped in a cloak, pacing slowly backwards and forwards.
"'Tis the hand of God which hath guided him hither--yes--I'll--I'll BEG--better to play the beggar in Venice than the villain in Naples; for the beggar's heart may beat nobly, though covered with rags."
He then sprang from the ground, and hastened towards the adjoining street. Just as he entered it at one end, he perceived another person advancing through the other, of whose approach the first was no sooner aware than he hastily retired into the shadow of a piazza, anxious to conceal himself.
"What can this mean?" thought our mendicant. "Is yon eavesdropper one of death's unlicensed ministers? Has he received the retaining fee of some impatient heir, who pants to possess the wealth of the unlucky knave who comes strolling along yonder, so careless and unconscious? Be not so confident, honest friend! I'm at your elbow."
He retired further into the shade, and silently and slowly drew near the lurker, who stirred not from his place. The stranger had already passed them by, when the concealed villain sprang suddenly upon him, raised his right hand in which a poniard was gleaming, and before he could give the blow, was felled to the earth by the arm of the mendicant.
The stranger turned hastily towards them; the bravo started up and fled; the beggar smiled.
"How now?" cried the stranger; "what does all this mean?"
"Oh, 'tis a mere jest, signor, which has only preserved your life."
"What? my life? How so?"
"The honest gentleman who has just taken to his heels stole behind you with true cat-like caution, and had already raised his dagger, when I saw him. You owe your life to me, and the service is richly worth one little piece of money! Give me some alms, signor, for on my soul I am hungry, thirsty, cold."
"Hence, scurvy companion! I know you and your tricks too well. This is all a concerted scheme between you, a design upon my purse, an attempt to procure both money and thanks, and under the lame pretence of having saved me from an assassin. Go, fellow, go! practise these dainty devices on the Doge's credulity if you will; but with Buonarotti you stand no chance, believe me."
The wretched starving beggar stood like one petrified, and gazed on the taunting stranger.
"No, as I have a soul to save, signor, 'tis no lie I tell you!--'tis the plain truth; have compassion, or I die this night of hunger."
"Begone this instant, I say, or by Heaven--"
The unfeeling man here drew out a concealed pistol, and pointed it at his preserver.
"Merciful Heaven! and is it thus that services are acknowledged in Venice?"
"The watch is at no great distance, I need only raise my voice and-- "
"Hell and confusion! do you take me for a robber, then?"
"Make no noise, I tell you. Be quiet--you had better."
"Hark you, signor. Buonarotti is your name, I think? I will write it down as belonging to the second scoundrel with whom I have met in Venice."
He paused for a moment, then continuing in a dreadful voice, "And when," said he, "thou, Buonarotti, shalt hereafter hear the name of ABELLINO--TREMBLE!"
Abellino turned away, and left the hard-hearted Venetian.


CHAPTER II
: THE BANDITTI.

And now rushed the unfortunate wildly through the streets of Venice. He railed at fortune; he laughed and cursed by turns; yet sometimes he suddenly stood still, seemed as pondering on some great and wondrous enterprise, and then again rushed onwards, as if hastening to its execution.
Propped against a column of the Signoria, he counted over the whole sum of his misfortunes. His wandering eyeballs appeared to seek comfort, but they found it not.
"Fate," he at length exclaimed in a paroxysm of despair, "Fate has condemned me to be either the wildest of adventurers, or one at the relation of whose crimes the world must shudder. To astonish is my destiny. Rosalvo can know no medium; Rosalvo can never act like common men. Is it not the hand of fate