The Duke's Prize; a Story of Art and Heart in Florence / Ballou, Maturin Murray, 1820-1895

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Title: The Duke's Prize
       A Story of Art and Heart in Florence

Author: Maturin Murray

Release Date: January, 2004 [EBook #4956]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on April 4, 2002]

Edition: 10

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DUKE'S PRIZE ***




This eBook was edited by Charles Aldarondo (www.aldarondo.net).




THE DUKE'S PRIZE.

A STORY OF ART AND HEART IN FLORENCE.

BY LIEUTENANT MURRAY.

NEW YORK:






PREFACE.





THE scenes of the following story are laid in Italy, that land of
the sun. They are designed to impress a goodly moral, as well as to
amuse the reader--to show that patience and perseverance will conquer
all things--and that a poor coat may cover a rich heart. The reader
will find also herein, that love raises the humblest; and that true
merit, like true genius, tramples upon misfortunes; and that "some
falls are means the happier to rise."






THE DUKE'S PRIZE.

CHAPTER I.

FLORENCE.





Lend thy serious hearing to what I shall unfold.

-Hamlet.

COME with me, gentle reader, on the wings of fancy into the mild and
genial latitude of the Tyrrhenian Sea. The delightful region of the
Mediterranean has been the poet's ready theme for ages; then let us
thitherward, with high hopes (and appreciating eyes) to enjoy the
storied scenery of its shores. Touch, if you will, at Gibraltar; see
how the tide flows through the straits! We go in with a flowing
sail, and now we are at Corsica, Napoleon's home. Let us stop at
Sardinia, with its wealth of tropical fruits; and we will even down
to Sicily,--for this mimic ocean teems with subjects to delight the
eye even of the most casual observer, with its majestic boundary of
Alps and Apennines, and the velvet carpet of its romantic shores,
while its broad breast is dotted with the sails of the picturesque
craft whose rig is peculiar to these seas.

It were worth the journey we have taken, if only to behold the
curious maritime scene before us now-made up of the felucca, the
polacre, and the bombard, or ketch all equally unknown in our own
waters.

Well, on with us still; let us up again and new through the canal of
Piombino, touching at the isle of Elba, the "Great Emperor's" mimic
domain; step into the town lying beneath this rocky bluff; which is
crowned by a fort-it is Porto Ferrajo. Look off for a moment from
this rocky eminence, back of the town, and see the wild beauty of
these Tuscan mountains on the main land. Now, we will over to the
Italian coast, and cross, if you will, from Leghorn to Florence.
There, we are now in the very lap of genius and of poetry; let us
pause here and breathe the dreamy, soothing, balmy air of Italy.

Florence, most favored daughter of Italy, sweet, sunny Florence,
where dwelleth the gallantry and beauty of Tuscany, with thy wealth
of architectural beauty, thy magnificent churches and palaces, thy
princely court and hoarded beauties-favorite of that genial land, we
greet thee! How peacefully dost thou lay at the very foot of the
cloud-topped Apennines, divided by the mountain-born Arno in its
course to the sea, and over whose bosom the architectural genius of
the land is displayed in arched bridges; loveliest and best beloved
art thou of sunny, vine-clad Italy.

The poetical luxury of Italian genius is nowhere more plainly
manifested than in Florence. 'Tis the artist's favorite resort and
best school; 'tis the city the traveller likes least to turn his
back upon; and the spot being consecrated by poetry and art, where
the blood flows quickest through the veins, warmed by a fervid and
glowing clime. A clime which breathes in zephyrs of aromatic
sweetness, wafted over the fragrant blossoms of the land so redolent
of loveliness, that they would seem to rival the fabled Loto tree,
which springs by Allah's throne, and whose flowers have a soul in
every leaf.

There is a breathing of the arts in the very air of Florence, whose
galleries are crowded with the choicest collections of paintings and
statuary in the world. Here have ever congregated the talent and
beauty of every clime. With the painter, the poet, the sculptor,
here sleep, in the city of the silent, Michael Angelo, Alfieri, and
like spirits, rendering it hallowed ground to the lovers of art.
Proud and lovely city, with thy sylvan Casino spreading its riches
of green sward and noble trees along the banks of the silvery Arno,
well may a Florentine be proud of his birthplace!

It is in Florence, this very paradise of art, that our tale opens.
Here the poor scholar or artist, who seeks to perfect himself by
viewing the glorious works of the old masters, may live like a
prince on the most moderate and frugal means, in a bright and sunny
land, where the heart's blood leaps most swiftly to the promptings
of imagination; where the female form earliest attains its wonted
beauty, and longest holds its sway over the heart; where art and
nature both combine to entrance the soul in admiration; in that land
of the sun-genial Italy; that soft, yet wild country, whose children
learn the knowledge of poetry and art from visible things, while the
rest of the world derive them from books.

It was noonday in Florence, and a group of artists were wending
their way from the grand gallery to their midday meal. It was a
motley sight to look upon them as they gaily chatted together-for
among them were men of different countries. There was the rough,
hearty Englishman, the light, witty Frenchman, the intelligent and
manly-looking American, the dark, swarthy Spaniard side by side with
the dark Italian-fit companions, both in outward hue and their native
character-and many others, forming a group of peculiar interest to
the beholder.

As the troop emerged from a narrow street and came full upon the
bright and sunny piazza, near the splendid shaft of the Campanile,
the gorgeous equipage of the Grand Duke was passing the spot. The
monarch was returning from a morning drive in the Casino with a
small retinue, and accompanied by one or two strangers of
distinction. The group paused for a moment to witness the passing of
the duke and his suite, and then turned gaily towards their hotel to
dine, the duke forming a new theme of conversation to those who,
conversing under the disadvantage of but partially understanding
each other, from the variety of tongues among them, ever chose the
most visible subject for comment.

"What a brilliant turn-out," said one, in honest admiration.

"Those leaders are as proud as their master," said another.

"But he becomes his state well, if he is proud," answered a third.

"Newman couldn't get up a better four in hand," said the first
speaker, a young Londoner.

"Who is that by the side of the duke?" asked one.

"The English consul," replied his countryman; "you ought to know
him."

"The whole affair now is wanting to my eye," said a young,
sentimental artist.

"And what does it want, pray, Mister Critic?" asked the Englishman.

"A woman."

"Egad, that's true! There should be a woman in the picture, if it
was to be painted, if only to introduce color."

"Don't be so mercenary," added the other.

And the group thus idly conversing lounged on their way to dine. But
see, one of their number still lingers near the base of the shaft,
apparently absorbed in admiring its beautiful proportions; his pale
but fine intellectual features overspread by a spirit of admiration
as he beholds the column. But still there is some other motive than
mere curiosity that engages him thus; he seems to have thus
designedly dropped the company of the party he was just with. Now
suddenly turning and satisfying himself that his late companions
were out of sight, the young artist-for so his appearance evidently
bespoke him-slowly and sadly retraced his steps toward the grand
gallery.

The expression of his countenance was that of suffering and physical
pain, as well as of mental inquietude; but his late companions had
none of them noticed or cared for this. They could take especial
cognizance of the points of excellence in the duke's horses, but not
of the grief that shaded a fellow-being's countenance. No, the
single artist, who now retraced his steps from the base of the
Campanile, let his cause for sadness arise from whatever source it
might, was alone in his sufferings, and without any one to share his
sorrows.

Once or twice he seemed to hesitate and half turn round again, as if
to join the party he had left; but some inward prompting appeared to
prevent him from doing so, and once more he walked on by the same
street which he had just came. A sigh now and then heaved his
breast, as though some mental or physical suffering moved him, but
his form was erect, and his step not that of one weakened by
physical disease. And yet in looking upon him, an instinctive desire
would have possessed the careful observer to offer him aid in some
form.






CHAPTER II.

OUR HERO AND HEROINE.





But love is blind, and lovers cannot see.

-Merchant of Venice.

AT the close of a long summer's day under the skies of Italy, the
shades of twilight were deepening on a verdant and vine-clad
hillside of the Val d'Arno, when two lovers, who had evidently been
strolling together, sat down side by side under a natural trellis of
vines. The twilight hour of midsummer will lend enchantment to
almost any scene; but this is peculiarly the case in Italy, where
every shadow seems poetic-every view fit for the painter's canvass.

The gentleman was of frank and manly bearing, and as he had
approached the spot where they now sat, with the graceful figure of
his fair companion leaning upon his arm, he evinced that soft and
persuasive mien, that easy elegance of manner and polish in his
address, which travel and good society can alone impart. Around his
noble forehead, now bared to the gentle breeze, his long auburn hair
hung in waving ringlets, after the style of the period, while his
countenance was of that intelligent and thoughtful cast, tinted by a
shade of sorrow, which rarely fails to captivate the eye.

In person, he was rather tall, erect and well-proportioned, though
perhaps he was rather thin in flesh to appear to so good advantage
as he might have done, yet altogether he was of handsome form and
pleasant mien. His dress bespoke the hollowness of his purse,
notwithstanding he bore about him the indelible marks of a
gentleman; and the careful observer would have recognized in him the
artist that had separated from his companions on the Plaza at
noonday near the shaft of the Campanile.

His companion was manifestly a lady of rank and a most lovely
female, satisfying the eye at the first glance, and constantly
pleasing the longer it dwelt upon her. When we describe an Italian
lady as being beautiful, she must be so indeed; for there is no half
way between beauty and the opposite extreme here. There are but few
really handsome women in Tuscany, but these few are of a class of
beauty that may well have ravished the rest of their sex in this
fair clime. Her countenance was radiant with thought and feeling,
and her large and dewy eyes of blue--nature's own sweet tint--rested
fondly on him by her side.

Her rich and abundant dark hair was parted smoothly across her
unblemished forehead, which might have been marble, so smooth and
pure, but for the warm blood that flowed through those delicate blue
channels. The mouth and features were of the Grecian model, and when
she smiled she showed a ravishing sweetness of expression, and teeth
that rivalled those of an Indian. In form, her person was slightly
voluptuous, though strictly within the most true female delicacy.
Such is a sketch of the two whom we at the outset denominated as
lovers; and such they were, as the progress of our story will
disclose.

"There is much between thee and me, Florinda," said her companion,
sighing heavily; "and of a metal worse than all others-pride and
gold! jailors both of the daring heart!"

"Nay, dear Carlton, thou art ever foreboding ills," said the lady
persuasively, and in a voice as sweet as that of the idolized Pagoda
Thrush of India.

"Perhaps so; and yet full well I know that I am no favorite of
fortune, by stern experience."

"She will smile on thee yet, believe me, Carlton; and the more
sweetly for this seeming neglect. She's a fickle goddess, and often
plays the coquette, but, like others of this class, she seldom
chides but she smiles again the more winningly."

"She has already done so through thee, Florinda."

Florinda answered with her eyes.

"Ah, I am blessed indeed in thee; and poorly do I appreciate the
blessing of thy love, when I forget myself and complain."

"Now thou art content."

"In thy smiles, dearest, ever."

And Carlton pressed the hand with fervor to his lip that was
smilingly extended towards him.

"Ah, how long it may be, before I can call this little hand mine."

"It is thine already, Carlton."

"Thy heart is, I trust; but the hand, Florinda, is quite another
thing."

"True, Carlton."

"My means are so humble."

"You would make them so."

"But are they not, Florinda?"

"Not in my eyes."

"The future looks dark to me."

"The great proficiency you have attained in your profession, as an
artist, dear Carlton, argues well for our hopes. Already has thy
name reached the Grand Duke as one of remarkable ability in thy
noble art; and such constant attention and unwearied industry must
ensure improvement."

"True, dearest, I may in time hope to be counted, a worthy follower
of those whose noble efforts grace the grand gallery, and the halls
of the Palazzo Pitti; but alas, many years of toil might not place
me in the pecuniary eye of the duke, as a fitting suitor for thy
peerless portion. And then, Florinda, the pride of birth! Alas! I
have little hopes of ever attaining my most earnest wish-that which
would render me the envy of all Florence-thy hand, Florinda."

"Have I not possessions enough for both of us, dear Carlton? Indeed,
I am told that my rightful property bears a goodly proportion to
that of the Grand Duke himself, who has the reputation here in
Florence of possessing unbounded wealth-actually unequalled in
amount by that of any European monarch. Until the prospect of aiding
you by this amplitude of fortune occurred to my mind, I saw no value
in this boasted wealth; but now that I know that you will be
benefited by it, Carlton, I rejoice at its possession and its
magnitude."

"Dearest," said the artist, as he listened to her generous
declaration.

"There will be no want, no question of necessity; all shall be
yours."

"In your love and kindness of heart, you do not consider these
things as does the world, Florinda. The greater the amount of thy
riches, the farther art thou removed from me; thus reasoneth the
world-the cold and calculating world."

"Nay, Carlton, thou art again foreboding," said the lady in the
sweet, honeyed tongue of her land. "All will yet be as our hearts
could wish, I am confident."

"Love sees with blind eyes, dearest."

"I know the proverb; but each case is a peculiar one, and this-is
not this more so than any other?"

"So thy gentle heart would make it," he answered tenderly.

"And will not yours assent?"

"In one respect-yes."

"And that is--"

"Never was one so loved as thou art; and yet who could look upon
those eyes, and hear thee speak thus, and know the goodness and
gentleness of thy kind heart, and not love thee, Florinda?"

"Ah, flatterer!"

"Dost thou mean that?" said Carlton, earnestly and quickly.

"Nay, forgive me, Carlton," said his fair companion.

"Always but when thou shalt question my sincerity; and yet," he
continued, after a moment's pause, "there are ample grounds for such
suspicions."

"Say not so, Carlton."

"Behold thy large fortune; am I not penniless?-thy noble birth; am I
not an humble citizen? O, Florinda, there are few in this cold and
mercenary world that would accord to me, under these circumstances,
the meed of sincerity."

"There is one who will never doubt thee," said the lovely girl,
placing a hand affectionately within his.

"Dear Florinda, I have thought of another tie to bind us to each
other still more dearly, if possible."

"Pray, what is that, Carlton?"

"We are both orphans, Florinda; both stand, as it were, alone in the
world, without any natural protectors even from childhood."

"True," said Florinda, "my parents died while I was yet too young to
know or love them and thine, Carlton?"

"While I was an infant."

"How pleasant it must be to have parents to love and advise one. I
have often envied my companions."

"Ay, it must indeed be a source of happiness; and none would seem to
deserve them more than so gentle a spirit as thine."

"It is indeed an enviable blessing."

"Father and mother are sweet words," said the artist,
thoughtfully,--and drawing her gently to his side.

"They are sweet words," said Florinda; while a sympathetic tear
trembled for a moment beneath those long eyelashes, proving the
poet's words, "that beauty's tears are lovelier than her smiles."
Carlton saw and marked the truant jewel as it glided down her fair
cheek.

And thus they talked on of love, of griefs and hopes, Carlton
pressing the hand of his lovely companion affectionately to his lips
at times, with a gentle and affectionate tenderness far more
eloquent than words; while the response that met this token from her
expressive face might have told the most casual observer how dearly
and how deeply she loved the young artist, and how the simplest
token of tenderness from him was cherished by her.

La Signora Florinda was a grand-daughter of the house of Carrati,
one of the oldest and proudest of all Italy. Having been placed in a
convent in the environs of Florence for her education, the Grand
Duke by chance met her while quite young, and learning her name, he
at once knew her to be an orphan, and now under the care of her
uncle Signor Latrezzi. By his own request he became her guardian,
and from that time Florinda became an inmate of the palace of the
duke, and the constant companion of the duchess.

Her parents deceased, as the reader has already gathered, while she
was yet a child, leaving her an immense property, which was now in
the hands of her protector, the monarch himself. About the time, or
rather some months previous to the commencement, of our tale, the
duchess had died of consumption. Florinda for more than a year had
been her intimate and dearly loved companion, and for this reason
alone was dearly prized by the Grand Duke, who still sincerely
mourned his wife's death.

The deep devotion and constancy of this monarch, Leopold of Tuscany,
to his wife, evinced an affection rarely found in marriages of
state. Inconsolable for her death, he shut himself from the world
for a long time, weeping in secret the affliction he had sustained
in her loss. To this day there ornaments the private apartments of
the Pitti Palace busts of the grand duchess, and portraits of her by
the first artists; on the walls of the duke's private study there is
a full length portrait of his wife done in fresco, representing her
to be what she really was, a noble and lovely woman.

Since the death of the duchess, Florinda had experienced, as we have
intimated, an increased degree of fatherly care and affection from
the duke, because of the fact of her intimacy with her whom he had
now lost. The duchess, during the period that Florinda had been with
her, had contracted for her a tender affection, and did not forget
in the trying moments of her last hours to commend her to the
continued and true guidance of the duke. This circumstance of course
rendered her an object of renewed interest and regard in the eyes of
her noble protector, with whom she dwelt as though she had been his
own well-beloved child.

In addition to this, she presented claims to his kind protection,
from the fact that she was an orphan, the last of a proud and noble
house long attached to the service of the crown-a fact that had in
the first place attracted his interest.

"Come, Carlton," said the lady, with a sweet smile, "now tell me one
of those Rhine legends which you relate with such spirit. You
promised me another."

"I will, dearest," was the reply; and her companion, drawing still
closer to her side, began as the next chapter will relate.






CHAPTER III.

A RHINE LEGEND.





An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

-King Richard III.

"THE valley of the Rhine," commenced Carlton, "is no more famous for
its classic beauty than for the romance of its historic story; and
the traveller is sure, while his eyes drink in of the beauty of its
scenery, to have his ears regaled with the tragic record of its
neighborhood. The name of Petard-the name of as bold a bandit as
ever led a company of mountain-robbers--has become classic as any
historic name of the Germanic confederacy, or the Italian states, by
reason of the influence he exerted, the boldness of his deeds, the
oftentimes chivalric character of his conduct; but, above all, for
his singular personal bravery, and his remarkable prowess in battle.
Only second, as it regarded the extent of his fame, to the renowned
Schinderhannes, he even exceeded that bold and romantic bandit in
the general character of his purposes, and the extraordinary success
that attended his plans of operation.

"Petard held one of those lofty mountain-passes," continued Carlton,
"that lead from the valley of the Rhine, and through which at times
much travel passed. Here he had so thoroughly entrenched himself,
with his band of some sixty bravadoes, at the time of our story,
that ten and twenty times his own force sent against him, in the
shape of the regular government troops, had utterly failed to reach
even the outer walls of his retreat, they being entrapped in all
manner of snares, and shot down like a herd of wild and distracted
animals. Several repetitions of these attempts with similar results
had fairly disheartened the officers and soldiery, and they utterly
refused to proceed on any such dangerous service for the future,
while the officers of the government in their weakness were quite
powerless. So that Petard remained virtually the master of the
district, and levied such tax as he pleased upon such of the better
classes as he could arrest upon the road.

"The story of Petard's generous charity to the peasantry is
preserved and related to the traveller by the grateful people; and
there is no doubt that, springing from this class, he felt a
sympathy for them that induced this honest generosity towards them
on his part. The cunning plans which he and his band adopted to
obtain the necessary information for the prosecution of their
designs, it would be tedious to relate. The peasantry, ever
oppressed by those in authority, were, of course, most faithful to
the interests of this famous outlaw, to whose open hand they often
came for bread, and who was ever ready to aid them. Thus, no bribery
nor offered rewards could induce one of these rough but true-hearted
mountaineers to betray Petard, or disclose the secret paths that led
to his lofty stronghold.

"Cunning beyond what usually falls to the lot of roguery," continued
Carlton, "Petard delighted in outwitting his enemies of the law, and
in leading those whom he desired to fleece into his net. Thus
practised in intrigue, he plumed himself in detecting any trick that
was attempted against him; and thus on the constant qui vive, he was
enabled to avoid detection and arrest. Every effort, however
ingenious, that the officers of the government made, was therefore
futile and of no advantage; and Petard was still regarded as master
of his mountain home, and leader of as brave a band as ever beset a
traveller's carriage, or broke the ranks of a treasury escort.

"Those were wild and lawless times when the feudal spirit and power
had not yet lost all its sway, and when each man's house was often
made to be his castle, and himself called upon to defend it with his
life. Might made right; the strong hand often carried it against the
law, and justice often, slept. It sounds like romance indeed to
depict those times."

"It does, indeed," said Florinda; "but go on, Carlton, do not
interrupt the story."

"On the left bank of the noble river, in whose valley this story is
laid," said Carlton, "rose the turrets and towers of Botztetz
castle, the remains only of one of the fine old strongholds of the
middle ages, which had by degrees descended through generations,
until it was now the home of a rich, retired merchant from Coblentz,
who was repairing it and removing the rubbish that age had collected
about it. Himself a man of distinguished family, Karl Etzwell had
retired from the bustle of his heavy business, purchased this place,
and proposed here to make himself home, and here to die. The old
merchant had an only child whom he idolized, and for whom alone he
seemed to live since his wife and other children had died.

"Bettina was one of those delicate, lovely-featured children of
grace and beauty that would have been chosen in "Merrie England" to
preside over a tournament, as queen of beauty, in Ivanhoe's time.
Born to bloom in a peculiar period of history, her character partook
in some measure of the characteristics of the times. To our age,
Florinda, and our appreciation, this lovely woman would have seemed
rather Amazonian. She rode her fine and dashing horse with a free
rein, and in the vigor of her robust health she could walk for
miles, if need be. Yet still Bettina lacked not for tenderness and
gentleness of spirit. She loved her father, was fond of music, and
sung most sweetly to her own accompaniment upon the guitar.

"Egbert Hosfeldt was the descendant of a proud line of ancestors,
and was himself now left alone of all his family. His castle was on
the opposite side of the Rhine, and ere Karl Etzwell's daughter had
been a twelvemonth at her father's new home among the now
half-restored towers of Botztetz Castle, Egbert Hosfeldt and Bettina
were the most tender friends. His boat was ever on the left shore at
nightfall, though his castle was on the right. No carpet knight was
he, Florinda; he pulled his own oar. He was as stout of limb as of
heart, and yet was as gentle when by Bettina's side as the tame
doves she fondled. His was indeed a knightly figure to look upon. He
had often distinguished himself upon the tented field, and in the
forest sports. He lived in an age when personal prowess was highly
esteemed, and when those high in birth failed not to mature the
strong muscles and stout limbs which Providence had vouchsafed to
them.

"My story, Florinda, opens upon one of those soft summer twilights
which hang over this incomparable valley to-day, as they did
centuries gone by. Two figures rested near a soft bed of flowers in
the broad grounds of Botztez Castle. The luxuriant, curling hair of
delicate auburn that strayed so freely over the neck and shoulders
of the female figure, betrayed her to be the lovely daughter of Herr
Karl Etzwell; while the reader would have recognized at once in the
person by her side, the fine athletic figure of Egbert. They sat in
tender proximity to each other, and Bettina was listening to
Egbert's eloquent story of the olden times, and of the many
chivalric deeds for which the neighborhood of this spot was
celebrated. He told her, too, of legends connected with the very
towers and battlements that now surrounded them, until at last the
lateness of the hour warned them that they must part; and the
gallant Egbert, pressing her hand tenderly to his lips, bade her a
brief farewell as he said, and would meet her there again with the
twilight hour on the following day.

"Scarcely had he left her side when a decrepit figure, dressed in as
shabby garb as ever clothed a beggar woman, tottled towards her, and
in saddest tones besought the fair girl to come a few steps from the
castle walls to aid her in carrying her sick infant, who she feared
was dying. The chords of tender sympathy were at once touched and
Bettina followed the old woman outside the walls, and beyond an
angle of the ruins a few rods, when the person who had so excited
her commiseration suddenly stopped, and tossing off the wretched
rags he wore, he stood before her the athletic leader of banditti,
Petard!"

"How frightful!" said Florinda, interrupting him.

"The faint scream Bettina uttered," continued Carlton, "was
smothered by his ready adroitness; and seizing the fainting girl, as
though she was an infant, the robber bore her away to a spot
concealed by the darkness, where several of his confederates met
him, as had been preconcerted; and in a few minutes after Egbert had
left her side, Bettina, all unconscious, was being carried fair away
to the almost impregnable stronghold of the robbers.

"It would be vain to attempt a description of the consternation and
misery of her father when it was found that his child-she who was
everything to him; whom he loved better than life itself-was lost.
Whither to seek her no one knew. The most improbable places were
searched. Egbert, who was last seen with her, was sent for; but he
could give them no information. He supposed, of course, that she
returned directly home after he parted with her. Every conceivable
means were adopted to discover some trace of the missing girl, but
all in vain, and the most tantalizing anguish took possession of
every bosom. Two days had passed in this fruitless and agonizing
search, when a note was delivered at the castle which threw light
upon her disappearance. The purport of the note was to this effect:

"KARL ETZWELL:-Your daughter is safe in my possession. Her simplest
wish is strictly regarded. No harm will come to her, provided you
pay the ransom of one thousand marks of gold. You may not possess
the ready means, rich as you are, to produce this sum at once;
therefore it may be paid in four instalments, and in four months of
time, if you can do no better. red When the sum shall be paid, your
daughter will be restored to you as pure and unharmed as when she
left you. You have two days to think upon this. My messenger will
then see you, and receive the first instalment of the money. Those
who know me will tell you that you had better not harm one hair of
that messenger's head, but your best course will be to meet this
demand. 'Signed,' PETARD.

"The mystery was solved, and the father knew that the robber, vile
as he was, would keep his word; that though Bettina was thus
fearfully situated, Petard would protect and restore her, if he
acceded to his demand. The sum named was far beyond his means to
raise before the expiration of a considerable period of time; for
though, as the robber chief denominated him, rich, yet the princely
sum of money demanded could hardly have been raised at once, had the
united interest of the country for miles round been brought to bear
upon it.

"After consulting with Egbert and other friends, the father saw that
there was but one course left for him to pursue under the
circumstances of the case, and that was to comply with the demand as
far as was possible, and to get ready the first instalment of the
money for the following day. It would have been madness for him-his
daughter's safety, of course, being paramount to every other idea-to
have called upon the authorities to serve him. They had already, as
we have before stated, often failed in their efforts upon the
robber; and to incense Petard against him, was for the father to
sacrifice the life of his child. Thus influenced, the sum of money
demanded as the first instalment was made up by the assistance of
Egbert and others, and was quietly paid over to the robber
messenger, by the anxious father of Bettina.

"It was a fearful thought to father and lover, that there was even a
possibility of Bettina's remaining in the hands of those fierce and
lawless men for such a period of time as had been named. Yet it
would be impossible to raise the amount of the ransom in a shorter
period of time. Four months seemed to them almost as so many years,
and Egbert longed, at the head of a few faithful followers, to
attack the redoubtable brigand; but this would have been to
sacrifice Bettina's life at once. Alas! the ransom, and the ransom
only, could liberate her, all agreed.

"But I weary you, dearest, and will at another time complete my
story."

"Nay, by no means."

"But the story is not yet half told."

"The more of interest is then in store."

"But it will keep until our next meeting."

"As you will, Carlton; and so now, indeed, good night. You will come
with the sunset, tomorrow?"

"I will, dearest."

And Carlton turned away to seek his own humble lodgings, while the
lady returned to the sumptuous apartments which she called her home,
to dream of the young artist, and the tale he had thus left but half
related. In the meantime with the reader we will turn to another
chapter in the thread of our story.






CHAPTER IV.

THE DUKE'S PRIZE.





I see this hath a little dashed your spirits.

-Othello.

CARLTON was a young American, passionately devoted to the art he was
studying at Florence, the home of the arts. His pecuniary means,
which were of a limited character, were, at the time our story
opens, at an unusually low ebb-indeed, he was almost penniless. He
had been able, by losing much valuable time upon trifling and toyish
pieces, to procure nearly enough for subsistence, taken in
connection with the little he already possessed. But of late he had
not been able to find any spare time for the trifles he had
heretofore engaged himself upon at times, when he was obliged to
obtain money for daily food, for reasons which we shall understand
as we proceed with our story.

Though of highly respectable birth, yet he was an orphan, and
dependent upon the liberality of a rich relative for the advantage
he had already received in an excellent classical education, and the
means of travelling while in the study of his art. A few months
previous to the opening of our tale, this patron, who had been a
father indeed to Carlton, died suddenly, and the news of his decease
reached the young American at the time he was just expecting a
remittance of money. The consequence was, he found himself
friendless and without means, thousands of miles from his native
land. He had incurred some small debts in anticipation of the
expected remittance, which placed him in a still more unpleasant
situation.

It was a severe blow to Carlton to lose one who had been so kind to
him almost from childhood. It was hard, too, to sink at once from a
state of plenty to one of absolute want. But thus it was, and he
endeavored to bear his lot with all the philosophy and resignation
he could command; but it was a bitter stroke for him to bear,
particularly at this time, when so much depended upon his being able
to pursue his calling uninterrupted, and still make the proper
appearance in his person. He felt that at no previous moment had he
so much at stake as now; that at no previous time in the course of
his life could such an event have been more unfortunate. But Carlton
was blessed with a heart easy to keep afloat; and though his future
was hard, he looked upon its sunny side, and bore bravely up against
it, enduring not only mental but positive physical suffering in his
manliness. For months he had been almost constantly engaged in
secret upon a painting, which he designed to present to the Grand
Duke, for his private collection in the Palazzo Pitti, and on which
he was to stake his reputation as an artist. He worked in secret, we
have said-ay, and with the pains of hunger gnawing him often, his
scanty purse scarcely affording him the means of procuring
sufficient to sustain life. But still he worked on unwearied, in the
hope, if not to gain the hand of Florinda, at least to be thought
more worthy of her.

Little did she he loved know of the actual want he experienced. He
was too proud to acknowledge it even to her; and often did he sit by
her side faint and hungry, while he held a hand, the jewelled
ornaments of which alone would have rendered a peasant independent
for life. He exerted every faculty to obtain the means of dressing
at least with seeming good taste; he endeavored to do this for
appearance sake, and that he might pass well with the world, which
scans with inquisitive eye the outside show, and pays homage
accordingly. He did not fear that it would make any difference with
Florinda, yet he felt some pride, of course, in that quarter. It
required in his present emergency the sacrifice of many a meal to
procure him a coat, or any other necessary article of clothing.

Carlton was not in the practice of meeting Florinda at the palace;
the manifest impropriety of the thing rendered this out of the
question. It was the practice of Florinda to call at certain periods
at the palace of a relation in the environs of the city, and here
Carlton often went to meet her; it was hard by the monastery where
she had been educated, and where they had first met. The two sat
together one twilight hour; it was their chosen time of meeting.

"Carlton," said Florinda.

"Well, dearest."

"Why dost thou--" here Florinda hesitated.

"Speak freely; what would you ask?"

"You will not be offended?"

"Indeed, no!"

"Nor think strange of me?"

"Nay, I promise thee."

"Then--"

"Well, Florinda."

"Why dost thou wear such a threadbare coat, Carlton? You know I care
not for such things, but I would have thee appear among thy
fellow-artists as well clad as the best of them."

"You know, Florinda," said Carlton, blushing in spite of himself, "I
told you of my misfortune in losing my friend and patron."

"True, but what has that to do with thy coat, Carlton?" asked the
lady, who, never having known the want of money, could not realize
the effect of such a condition. And then, too, she did not exactly
understand the dependency of Carlton upon his patron.

"O, nothing particular, dearest; but one must dress according to his
means, you know."

Florinda mused for a moment, and at length appeared to understand
the meaning of his words, when taking a rich purse of gold from her
girdle, she endeavored to give it to him in such a manner as to
spare his feelings, but her utterance failed her, and she burst into
tears! Carlton could not accept it. He would rather have starved
first; his proud spirit could not brook the deed.

"No, Florinda," ho said, "I cannot accept the purse, or any
assistance from thee, noble lady. But if you will bear with my
humble attire for a while, I hope to be able to dress in a style to
suit thy taste, and which will render me worthy, at least in point
of personal appearance, to walk by thy side."

"Do you forgive me, Carlton, for this? It was but the impulse of the
moment. I did not mean to insult thee."

"Insult me!"

"Alas! I was but rude."

"Nay, dearest."

"You forgive me?"

"Florinda, I appreciate the feeling that prompted the generous act.
Forgive thee? Yes, dearest, and love thee more for it."

He pressed her hand to his lips, and they parted-Florinda to the
regal palace of the duke, and Carlton to his humble lodgings. That
night he went to his bed without having tasted food throughout the
whole day. The next morning with the first light he rose, unable to
sleep from hunger, and sought his canvass. While he could summon his
pride, and season it with his ambition, this formed food and
stimulus enough for him-a sustaining principle equal to natural
nutriment. But in his sleep, when nature asserted her power, and the
physical system claimed precedence over the brain, then the gnawings
of hunger could not be stilled; and thus he awoke, and, as we have
said, sought his canvass to drive away the demon; for it was a
demon-a tormenting fiend to him now!

Among the collection of artists at Florence-as in all Italian
cities-there were representatives from nearly every part of the
world; and much rivalry and pride often showed itself, not only
among the students of the academy, but even among the masters or
teachers themselves. This feeling at the time to which we allude,
prevailed to an unusual extent, and its pernicious effects had been
the cause of one or two duels of fatal termination. Carlton had long
since been obliged to leave the academy from want of means, and even
while there, he labored under great disadvantage in not being able
to keep up the appearance of a gentleman among his fellow-students,
who were generally well supplied with pecuniary means.

His comrades finding that he far exceeded them in point of
application, and consequently in execution and general improvement,
naturally disliked him; and strange enough, too, the teachers
treated him with marked coolness and dislike, whether from a similar
sense of his superior ability even over themselves, or otherwise,
remains to be seen.

"What a hang-dog look that Carlton has," said one artist to another.

"But he's a master with the brush, and bids fair to distance some of
us," was the reply.

"For my part, I hate all Americans."

"Or rather all successful rivals," suggested the other,
sarcastically.

"Rival or not, this Carlton is a bore."

"So far I agree with you," answered the other.

"He's the poorest dressed artist in Florence."

"There you are right again."

And thus they sneered at him.

Under all these disadvantages, Carlton was by no means discouraged.
He was sustained by his ambition and love of his noble art, and,
above all, by the love he bore Florinda. He hoped, through the means
of the picture he was engaged upon, to introduce himself to the good
will of the duke; and this accomplished, one important step would be
taken towards the goal his fancy had pictured in futurity.

As we have said, Carlton left the academy through necessity, but he
still studied constantly in the grand gallery, and other places, as
his means would admit, while he worked on in secret. He had
determined that his picture should be presented without a name, that
it might thus rise or fall honestly, upon its own merits.

The duke had offered a princely prize for the favored picture, to be
selected from out a collection to be exhibited to himself and court
on a certain day. The monarch was devotedly attached to the art, and
thus each year, by a like method, strove to encourage the talent and
industry of the students assembled at Florence. There were many
competitors among the artists of the city on the occasion alluded
to. Those who had gained renown in bygone years now took up the
brush anew, and pupils and masters strove alike for the enviable
goal.

And this was not so much for the mere winning of the prize-though
that was a princely object-but it was well-known that whoever
succeeded in the contest, established his fame at once in Italy, and
from that time forward could command his own terms for his pictures,
and find a ready sale, too, for as many as he chose to complete. It
was, in short, a diploma in art that was almost beyond value to the
ambitious students that had devoted themselves to art in Florence.

Carlton worked incessantly and in secret upon his picture, which was
of a most elaborate and original design. Alone in his humble
apartment he worked by himself, without any kind word of
encouragement, or skilful suggestion. The time for the exhibition
was fast approaching. Carlton was met by his former fellow-students
every morning,--pale and emaciated, returning from his frugal meal,
of which he was obliged to eat enough to serve him through the day;
for with his limited means he could afford but one! They joined him
often, and asked, insultingly, why he did not try for the rich prize
offered by the Grand Duke for the choicest painting.

Smothering the resentment he felt at these a insults, Carlton made
no answer to them, but contented himself with redoubling his
exertions with the brush; and it did seem to him after such
encounters, and every new insult, that his hand received a fresh
inspiration, and his mind renewed vigor. Perhaps he needed the
incentive of pride, as well as that of love and ambition, to lead
him on, and sustain him in the prosecution of his noble endeavors.

Thus it was, when the long expected day at last arrived-the day
which was to make or mar his hope of the future; he trembled as he
realized it. The various competitors had sent in their pieces
accompanied with their names, each confident in the excellence and
finish of his own production. All were arranged in the favorite
gallery of the Grand Duke, and among them Carlton's, simply bearing
the name of "The Unknown."

The hearts of the artists of Florence beat high on that day, and the
moments were impatiently counted by all until the hour should arrive
for the public presentation and audience in the picture gallery. The
selection having been made on the previous day by the Grand Duke and
his court, the time had now arrived for him to award the prize he
had offered.

Among the throng that crowded the gates of the palace, Carlton was
observed humbly pursuing his way, turning neither to the right nor
left, and passing unnoticed some of his brother artists, who
ventured a jeer at his expense.

"That coat of thine is not fit for the presence of the Grand Duke,"
said one.

"Carlton, you forgot to dress, today," said another, tauntingly.

"Don't bother him," added a third; "he's only a looker-on."

"That is all, gentlemen," said Carlton, as he quietly passed the
portals of the palace, secretly biting his lip with restrained
feeling. He had other business in hand than to notice these insults.
His soul was pre-occupied, and he scarcely heeded them a moment
after they had been spoken.






CHAPTER V.

AWARDING THE PRIZE.





Let the end try the man.

-Henry IV.

THE beauty and the aristocracy of Florence crowded the gorgeous
apartments of the ducal palace, admiring the matchless pictures now
first exhibited to the public view-the productions of the artists of
the city for the prize of the liberal monarch.

There was not one which did not draw forth high and just encomiums
for its beauty and excellence; but all paused to admire above the
rest, one which, from originality of conception and perfection of
finish, was pronounced to surpass all its competitors, and great was
the curiosity expressed as to who was the author.-Some said that
Michael Angelo himself must have arisen from the tomb to produce so
perfect a picture. Throughout the hours of the exhibition, until the
time appointed for the awarding of the prize, the superb picture
bearing the name of "The Unknown," was the constant theme of all,
and the centre of attraction.

Among that lovely collection of beauty and fashion stood Florinda,
in all the loveliness of youth and high-born beauty, "the star of
that goodly company." How different was the expression of her face
from the majority of those about her. No pride or envy could be
traced on that beautiful brow, stamped with innocence and
gentleness; those mild deep blue eyes knew no deceit, but frankly
shared the promptings of her pure, untainted soul at every glance.

She looked more like the formation of the fancy in some fairy dream
than a reality, so angelic did she seem amid that princely throng.
She did not know that Carlton had contended for the prize; he had
kept his own secret, and she expressed her unfeigned admiration of
the picture by "The Unknown." She was the belle of the hour, if not
of the court, and her commendation alone would have served to
attract attention to the picture; but already had the duke in person
pointed out some of the most prominent beauties in the piece to
those about him.

After a few preliminary remarks addressed by the liberal monarch to
the large assembly, which was now as still as death itself, he went
on to compliment the rare collection of art which was exhibited on
the occasion; and to prove the sincerity of his remarks, and the
compliment to all on this point, he offered a most princely price
for each and all presented for the prize. He observed that had one
of the pieces which had been sent in failed to have been received, he
should have found it absolutely impossible to designnate the best
painting from out the collection, each one of which was so excellent
and perfect in itself. He then remarked that he was unable to award
the prize he had proposed to present to the author of the painting
which would seem to himself and court to embody the greatest degree
of excellence, inasmuch as the picture which had been decided upon
as possessing the most merit, in every department of its execution,
had been sent to the gallery by unknown hands, and was the work of
an unknown artist.

He closed his remarks by saying that the piece alluded to must be
the work of one high in his profession, for it fell little short of
the works of the old masters themselves. "And," added the duke, "if
there is any one in this assembly who can inform us as to the
authorship of the piece in question, we most earnestly hope they
will oblige us by doing so at this tine, that we may do the author
the honor his talents merit, and also avail ourselves of his
unequalled powers in his art."

After a short pause, he proceeded to designate some of the most
prominent points of excellence in the painting; and being a
connoisseur in these matters, the assembly were highly entertained
by his well-chosen remarks, and his subject being one to call forth
all his admiration, he was unusually eloquent. Indeed, his remarks
were so in unison with the appreciation of all who were present
there and heard his voice, that he seemed to carry them along with
him, and to infuse fresh enthusiasm among those who had already
expressed so much admiration of the picture.

There was another pause, the duke evidently awaiting an answer to
his query as to the authorship of the piece. Yet there was no answer
given, nor was there any perceptible movement among the group of
artists, who were assembled together in one corner of the gorgeous
apartment, and upon whom all eyes were turned. But they also stared
at one another, wondering who could be the man. Many of them had
been liberal enough to express a feeling of delight and admiration,
in beholding, as they said, so noble a production of modern times,
and by a living artist. There were those, among them who really
loved the art they followed, and thus were constrained to
acknowledge their admiration.

"I hope," again repeated the duke to the assembly, "if there is any
one present who can inform us as to the authorship of this masterly
effort of genius, he will do so at once, and confer a personal favor
upon us."

There was a slight movement perceptible among the group of artists
at this moment, and Carlton, the young American, was seen making his
way to the front of his companions, several of whom rebuked him for
his forwardness in so doing.

"Why do you push forward, Carlton?"

"Nay, give way but a moment," said our hero.

"What would you?"

"To speak to the duke."

"Fie, man, don't you see he's busy now?"

"Give way but a moment," was the reply.

"May it please you, excellenza," said Carlton, stepping before the
group of artists, and addressing the monarch in Italian, which he
spoke like a native, "I am the humble author of the picture it has
pleased you to compliment so highly."

All eyes were turned upon the speaker, who stood forth from his
companions with downcast eyes and burning cheeks, for well he knew
that the eyes of all Florence, or rather its nobility, were resting
upon him at that moment. The countenances of his former companions
evinced no emotions of resentment, as one might have expected who
understood their former feelings toward the American. No; they were
too much filled with surprise to entertain any other feeling for the
moment, and they looked at each other in the utmost amazement,
scarcely believing their senses.

The eyes of the assembly were bent upon him, and in wonder, too, at
the threadbare coat and emaciated countenance, which told but too
plainly the tale of hunger and want he had suffered. And so it was,
as the reader has seen. Carlton was too proud to make known his
necessities, and he had suffered most incredibly from want.

Hardly had Carlton spoken in answer to the question of the duke,
when there was a visible commotion among the high-born dames that
surrounded his seat, and one was carried by the attendants from the
apartment fainting. It was the duke's, ward, the Signora Florinda.
The surprise and delight which crowded itself upon her gentle
sensibility, was too much for her to bear, and she sank insensible
into the arms of those about her.

"What so strangely affected the Signora Florinda?" asked the duke.

"We know not, your highness," replied one of her late companions.
"She seemed regarding this young artist at the moment when she was
taken ill."

"Singular."

"Very, your highness."

"Hasten after her, and return and let me know how she is."

"Si, excellenza."

"Say I will join her anon."

"I will, excellenza."

It was many minutes before the Grand Duke recovered from the
surprise occasioned by the appearance of Carlton, and the confusion
consequent upon the sudden illness of his ward; but at length he put
the question inquiringly:

"Americano?"

"Si, excellenza."

"And this is the work of thy hands?"

"It is, excellenza."

"It is a most masterly piece, by our lady," said the duke, looking
first upon the painting and then at Carlton, as if half in doubt as
to the truth of the young American's assertion.

"Your excellenza is pleased to honor me," said Carlton, with a
respectful inclination of the head.

"If the piece be thine, it is well merited," continued the duke.

"It shall be proved to thy satisfaction, excellenza."

Carlton thanked in his heart the long auburn hair that covered in
part his burning cheeks, while he thus stood before that gallant
assembly of the elite of the court of Florence.

"What proof, sir artist," said the duke, "shall we have of the
genuineness of this production?"

"By referring to the painting, excellenza," replied Carlton; "you
will find a peculiarity of expression, a want of finish in the
features of the third figure on the extreme left of the canvass."

"You speak truly, Signor Americano; we had before noticed the
defect, and were at loss to account for it in so perfect a picture
as this before us. But what of the flaw, signor?-the discovery of
that which any one of thy profession would have noticed does not
prove the piece to be the work of thine own hands, for we also had
observed it."

"Very true, excellenza," replied Carlton, "but with your permission,
I will complete the expression of that countenance with a touch; and
when complete, it shall agree in strength of touch, style, tone of
finish, and every particular, with the rest of the piece. And,
moreover, you shall be enabled therein to recognize the likeness of
one of your own household. Is it the pleasure of your excellenza
that I add the finish before the present assembly?"

"It is our desire," said the now deeply interested monarch.

A hum of admiration arose as Carlton, after retiring for a moment,
returned with his palette and brush, and approached the picture.

While the duke's band now played to the deeply interested assembly,
Carlton, with a firm, bold touch, immediately supplied the
indescribable something that had been wanting-the je ne sais quoi
that had been referred to as being requisite to its proper finish.
It was done with such judgment and skill, that the addition, though
fresh, could not be detected unless by a very close observation.
None save the author, who had purposely left that flaw, could so
have remedied it. It was done almost instantly, yet with precision
and accuracy.

The duke gazed upon the canvass for a moment, and then exclaimed
with admiration:

"The Grand Chamberlain!-by our lady, what a likeness! Sir artist,
thou hast the pencil of a Raphael!"

"Is your excellenza satisfied?"

"We are convinced that the piece is thine own. None other than its
author could have accomplished that which we have just witnessed."

"Come hither, gentlemen," said the duke to several of his court
about him; and pointing to the canvass, and the touch it had just
received, said, "This proof is incontestable!"

"It is, indeed," was the response,

"Are you, too, satisfied, gentlemen?"

"We are."

"Enough."

The duke then assuming his seat of state, directed the artist to
approach him. First complimenting him as a son of America, the
glorious Republic of the West, and on his extraordinary genius-as he
was pleased to express himself-he awarded him the rich prize
prepared for the occasion, at the same time offering him a sum for
the painting which would have rendered a man of moderate wishes
independent for life.

"The prize, your excellenza," said Carlton, "I gladly accept as a
token of your liberality in advancing the interests of the noble art
I follow. But as it regards the high price you have set upon my
humble effort, I can only say, that I had designed it from the first
as a present for your excellenza, and only ask in return, that it
may find a place in your private and unrivalled collection-if,
indeed, it shall be deemed worthy of that honor."

"Signor Americano," said the duke, "it shall share the Tribune with
our best pictures, and shall be prized alike with them."

Now the Tribune, so called, was a small apartment of the duke's
gallery devoted to the gems of his collection, and so named after a
similar appropriation in the departments of the grand gallery of
Florence. The hanging of a picture in this place was of itself alone
the highest compliment the author could receive through his
production; and so did Carlton understand and appreciate the honor
thus designed him, which also was the more welcome, being entirely
unexpected.

He could hardly realize that his humble effort should be deemed
worthy of such preferment, or that it could possibly possess such
merit as to warrant its being placed side by side with those of the
immortal masters, whose humblest follower he had ever deemed
himself. No wonder his heart beat now so quickly, and he breathed so
fast; the goal of his ambition was before him, and almost within his
grasp. It seemed only necessary for him to reach out his hand and
pluck the garland of success and of renown. The pause that had
intervened here was but for a single moment of time, when it was
once more broken by the duke himself, who spoke, as he felt, most
kindly and in encouraging tones.

"Signor Americano," said the duke, "thy habiliments are those of one
whose purse is but narrowly lined, and we are at a loss to account
for this willingness to part with that which has cost thee labor of
months, and in which thou hast been so eminently successful. We do
much crave the picture, but will nevertheless forego its possession
unless it can be had at our own valuation."

"As the picture was painted for your excellenza, and you design for
it such honor, I could wish its free acceptance; but it must be
yours on any terms," said Carlton.

The assembly then dispersed, and our hero received a purse of gold
for his picture, exceeding in amount his wildest expectations of
what he might earn by his art in years of industry and frugality.

The scene he had successfully perfected, represented two applicants
for justice, standing before the Pope of Rome. They were priests,
and had come before him for his judgment in the matter of contention
between them. They were ushered into the presence of the pope by a
high official, and to this usher had Carlton given the features of
the duke's chamberlain. It was a superb design, and represented a
late occurrence well-known to the people of Florence, and for this
reason, aside from that of its acknowledged superiority, possessed
peculiar interest at that time.

The deep, yet natural expression of feeling depicted in each
countenance, the perfect harmony of the general conception and its
completeness of finish, rendered the picture a study requiring time
to comprehend and appreciate all its many excellences. It was
finished, and the work of half a year, pursued with the utmost
assiduity in secret, had proved successful. All his pains and
self-denials were now forgotten; he was doubly paid for all his
sufferings-he even looked back upon them with a conscientious pride,
and deemed that he had bought his preferment cheaply.

And such is ever the fate of true genius; it rarely receives the aid
of fortune in gaining fame, but struggles on, dependent upon its own
slow but sure preferment. This is self-evident; for genius may
remain ever latent, unless brought out and improved by stem
necessity.






CHAPTER VI.

THE MASQUERADE BALL.





Prosperity's the very bond of love.

-Winter's Tale.

WHAT a perfect chequer-board is this same game of life on which we
all hold so transient a lease. Time is the board, and the various
vicissitudes of life make up the chequered field, ourselves the
wooden "men;" each and all strive for preferment, and whether it be
gained or not, depends solely upon the shrewdness of him who plays
the game. The "king-row" may designate the pinnacle of earthly
wishes and hopes, while the various "moves" may show the struggle
for that desirable goal-happiness. Ah! how many of us get "penned"
and "cornered"--and many too, in their headlong course, are "jumped,"
and taken off the scene of action. Truly, there is a vast similitude
between this game of chequers and the bolder one of life.

Here was poor Carlton but lately struggling along the chequered
field, now moving literally towards the king-row. In a few
subsequent weeks, with a well-filled purse, he was enjoying life and
his art like a true gentleman, and was the envy of every artist in
Florence; and yet they all strove to do him honor, at least; so it
appeared, orders for his productions crowded upon him from all the
nobility, not only of Florence, but of all Tuscany. The private
palaces of the environs of the city were thought incomplete in their
collections, unless supplied with one at least of his pictures, the
patronage of the Grand Duke, and his own work, which occupied the
favored place in the Pitti Palace, having raised him to the pinnacle
of fame as an artist.

All Italy honored the productions of the fortunate American, and
scarcely could a Raphael or a Titian have been more respected or
honored. It was his own genius that had raised him and no accident
of fortune.

"This young American monopolizes the market with his brush just
now," said one artist to another.

"Ay, and gets such princely prices, too, for his pictures! Funny
world, this! It is scarcely three months since he was likely to
starve for want of work."

"All the Grand Duke's doings; he can make as easily as he can mar a
man", replied the other.

"But a man must have genius to fill the place Carlton holds."

"As much as you might put on a knife's point-no more," said the
other, enviously.

The long Italian day is past, and its shadows have died over the
neighboring mountains, giving place to the voluptuous and dewy
twilight, which lightly wraps itself with its soft mantle of studded
stars closely about the lovely breast of the Val d'Arno. But a few
hours later, and the Palazzo Pitti is one blaze of light, and the
thrilling music of the duke's favorite band resounds already among
the fountains and groves of the gardens; already have commenced to
congregate the gay courtiers and lovely dames of this land of the
sun. The diamond tiaras that sparkle on those lovely brows are less
dazzling than the lovely and soul-ravishing eyes that look out from
that mental diamond, the soul within; the jewelled stars upon those
manly breasts well become the noble bearing of the wearers.
Brilliant indeed was the soiree of the rich and liberal Grand Duke
of Tuscany. The Austrian-born monarch seemed to delight in
surrounding the nobles of his court with the most magnificent luxury
and display that wealth could procure, as if he would fain show his
Italian subjects his own national taste.

"The duke spares no expense in his entertainments," said the English
consul to a friend, by whom he was standing.

"I have known him send to Rome frequently for an artifice to serve
him a single evening," was the reply.

"It may be a weakness thus to lavish expenditure, but it is a most
brilliant one," said the consul.

"And one which is dictated as much by policy as by his own personal
gratification," said the other.

"Perhaps so; but without questioning his motives, we may at all
events enjoy the feast he spreads."

"That is but proper and reasonable, and I most heartily subscribe to
the same,"

It is a masked ball that occupies the gay throng in the ducal
palace. That is to say, in accordance with a general custom of the
times, those who please are masked until midnight, when, at the
sound of the hour from the great throat of the bell, all masks are
removed, and all disguises laid aside. Carlton as the successful
protege of the Grand Duke, and Carlton the humble artist, was a very
different person. He was the observed of all observers; and many a
rich belle sought his side-nay, even leaned upon his arm, as he
strolled through the gorgeous rooms of the palace. They were
sufficiently disguised by their masks to remove any fear of personal
recognition; and therefore, those who knew him not, save by the late
scene of winning the prize, besought his escort for the dance-a
piece of forwardness quite allowable during the masked part of the
ball. Many were the eyes that were bent upon him; and more than one
glance of jealousy was shot towards him by s young nobles, as they
saw the belles drawn to his side.

[SEE ENGRAVING.]

Carlton was naturally graceful, dignified and handsome, and bore his
new position as though he had ever filled it-now chatting gaily with
this lady, now with that, but all the while striving to detect
through the many disguises of dresses and masks, the one form that
was to him all in all-the queen of his heart and his love, Signorina
Florinda. He was himself unmasked, and wore a rich Grecian
head-dress, a tunic of dark velvet, trimmed with rich ermine, and
clasped close about the throat with checks of gold. His silken hose,
and velvet shoes faced with silver thread, set off his fine limbs to
perfection. A light, graceful dirk hung at his silver girdle,
finishing a costume of great simplicity and beauty. On his right arm
there now leans the peerless figure of a countess, with whom he
promenades and chats in his gay and spirited way, while she is
evidently much captivated with him-indeed, so much is this apparent,
that a figure of less height, dressed in a simple peasant's garb and
masked, steals up to his side and whispers some words into his ear;
but though the reader may easily guess who that peasant girl really
was, for the moment Carlton knew her not, and gently declining some
proposal from her lips, he turns and walks on with the countess
through the blaze of light and grandeur.

"That fellow carries it with a high hand," said one young noble to
another, referring to Carlton.

"Ay, but he has the full countenance and favor of the duke, and none
can gainsay him."

"Well, he is deuced clever," said the English consul, who was
talking with the other two.

"Is it a fact that he is American?" asked the first speaker, still
regarding him.

"Undoubtedly. You know he was announced as such when he won the
duke's prize."

"How the ladies take to him," said the English consul.

"And he to them," added another.

"The Signora Florinda is said particularly to affect him, and he may
win a prize there," said one of the group.

"That would be too bad-the richest heiress in Florence to throw
herself away thus!"

"'There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip,'" quoted the
English consul, and then walking away.

And thus Carlton was the unconscious theme of comment to a large
portion of the assembly. But the hour approaches when the heavy bell
of the palace strikes the midnight hour, and the masquerade will be
broken up, and each and all appear before each other in their true
characters. Peasant girls will don the attire more fitting their
station; kings and queens will descend to their true estates;
brigands will lay by the threatening paraphernalia of the
mountain-robber, and hooded monks will assume a more worldly attire.
The hour is struck, and the scene changes!

All is once more life and gayety, but the mask is discarded, and
each one is undisguised. See, as the grand chamberlain, with the
golden key of office wrought ostentatiously upon his ample velvet
mantle, aids in arranging the preliminaries of the dance, he pauses
to address with respect, and yet with a degree of familiarity, a
tall, manly person of noble bearing, and of handsome features,
opposite to whom stands, as partner for the dance, Signora Florinda,
the duke's ward. The queenly beauty of her person is the same as
when we first met her, so lovely and captivating. The few months
which have intervened since that period, have only served still more
to perfect her ripening mould; and though scarcely nineteen summers
have shed their golden wealth upon that genial land since her natal
hour, yet she is in the full bloom of lovely womanhood.

See how gracefully glides that beautiful form through the mazes of
the dance!-how fondly, as she rests within the encircling arm of her
partner, does she look up into his face, drinking from the eloquent
eyes that meet her own of the nectar of love, as the Suri rose of
Syria sips the dewy treasures of the twilight hour. That partner on
whom she rests so fondly, gentle reader, is the humble painter who
won the prize of the Grand Duke; the now rich and honored Carlton,
the protege of Leopold.

The generous monarch who ruled over that portion of Italy under his
charge with the liberal and provident hand of a father, held most
regal court-spending of his enormous revenue with a gallant and open
hand. His excellency was a connoisseur in all matters of the arts,
to which he was enthusiastically devoted, and also a most liberal
patron to their interest; consequently he lavished all honor on him
whom he thought so deserving of it, and the entire court now pointed
to the envied artist as being the favorite of the Grand Duke.
Carlton's new patron found qualities in the young American artist to
admire and love, and there grew up between him and the duke a real
and earnest friendship quite remarkable.

"No more thanks," said the duke to him one day as they were
together. "You challenge me to praise, to reward, and to love you,
and I cannot help doing all three."

"Your highness is only too lavishly kind to me," was the earnest
reply.

"But touching this affection which has sprung up between you and my
ward. I shall have plenty of opposition in that matter; but if
Florinda loves you, by our lady, she shall be yours."

"Your highness is ever adding to my indebtedness to you," said
Carlton.

"Say no more, say no more, Carlton, but make your own terms."

The consent of the duke was thus freely obtained to the marriage of
Florinda and Carlton, and the observant monarch discovered the
preference of his ward long before it was announced formally to him.
So far from opposing the object, he even encouraged it in every way
that propriety suggested; forwarding its interests by such delicate
promptings as his feelings would permit. He loved Florinda as though
she had been his own child. This feeling, as we have seen, was first
induced by the affection which existed between his ward and his
lamented wife, and was afterward strengthened by her many beauties
of mind and person.

Carlton and Florinda sat together in a private apartment in the
royal palace. The latter was playing a favorite air upon the guitar
to the artist, who sat at her feet watching with admiration every
movement of that beautiful and dearly loved form. He found every
attribute there worthy a heart's devotion. Like the worshippers of
the sun, who believe that God sits there on his throne, so did he,
in his homage, picture the good angel of all things in the heart of
Florinda.

Let us pause for a moment, to describe the apartment in the Palazzo
Pitti, devoted to the fair Signora Florinda, and where she now sat
with him she loved. It was fittingly chosen, being in a retired yet
easily accessible angle of the palace; an apartment lofty and large,
yet not so much so as to impart the vacant and lonely feeling that a
large room is wont to do over the feelings of the occupant when
alone.

It was lighted by two extensive windows, reaching nearly from the
ceiling to the floor. The magnificence of the furniture, the rich
and well chosen paintings that ornamented the walls, and in short,
the air of unostentatious richness that struck the beholder on
entering it, showed at once the good taste and general character of
the occupant.

On a little table of elaborate and beautiful workmanship, were
placed with a few rare and favorite books, some curious ornaments
from the hands of the cunning artificers of the East, most
beautifully fancied, and from which a moral might be read telling
the fair occupant of the unhappy state of her own sex in that far
off clime.

The broad, heavy and richly-wrought curtains that tempered the light
admitted through the gorgeously stained glass windows, were of
Tuscan satin, blending, like the skies under which they were
manufactured, a most happy conceit of rich and rosy colors. Pendant
from the hoops in which both were gathered, hung a bunch of ostrich
feathers of showy whiteness belieing, as it were, the country of
their nativity-swarthy Africa. They were more for fancy than for
use, though they did sometimes serve to chase the flies.

The seats and couches were of stuffed and figured velvet from the
manufactories of the queen of the Adriatic, Venice. The scarcely
less soft and pliant carpet was of eastern ingenuity, and no richer
served the Turkish Sultan himself. Two opposite sides of the
apartment were ornamented each with a mirror of extensive size.
About their richly gilded frames was wound, in graceful festoons,
the finest Mechlin lace as a screen for the eye.

On one side of the room stood an American piano, and beside it a
harp of surpassing richness. Here Carlton and Florinda were seated
at this time in all the confidence and enjoyment of acknowledged
love.

"Carlton, I told thee that fortune would smile upon thee; thou
rememberest that I told thee."

"It has indeed, and I am blessed."

And thus saying, he pressed the delicate, jewelled hand that he held
affectionately to his lips, while his eyes beamed with love.

"You have promised me that you will visit my native land with me
after our marriage, dear Florinda."

"O, nothing will delight me more than to see the American Republic;
the cities and towns of the New World, its people and customs. O,
how I have ever wished to travel! Only to think, Carlton, I have
scarcely been out of Italy! I once made a trip with uncle across the
sea to Malaga and back, touching at the islands; that was years gone
by. Since then I have been at times to Milan, Genoa, Leghorn and
Bologna, but never out of Italy."

"America is not like thy sunny land, Florinda."

"Ay, but it is the land of thy nativity, and I will love it for thy
sake, And then it is a free, republican government; there are no
serfs there-all are freemen. How proud you should feel to belong to
such a country."

"I do indeed feel proud, dear one; and doubly so when thy eloquent
tongue describes it so well."

He touched the guitar lightly and gaily, while he thought of the
happy tour they would make together.

"How proud I shall be of thee," he continued.

"How proud I am of thee."

"There is little pride in thee, Florinda, or thou wouldst never have
consented to marry one of my humble pretensions."

"Carlton," said the lady, reproachfully.

"And thou wilt marry the humble painter?"

"Nay, the envied artist, and protege of the duke."

"Ah, little have I coveted this advancement, but for the hope that
it has given me concerning thee, Florinda! The favored friend of the
Grand Duke has dared boldly to ask for that which the poor artist
could only hope for."

Florinda and Carlton were happy in the anticipation of future joy,
foreseeing for themselves a path of roses in the fairy future.

"But fortune is fickle, dearest, and even now I tremble."

"You are ever suspicious, Carlton."

"Not in most matters, but in those relating to thee, Florinda."

"Now, I am ever looking on the sunny side of our life-picture."

"It is good philosophy to do so, if one can but accomplish the
purpose."

"And yet, Carlton, one will sometimes be reminded that there is a
shadowed side to the brightest scenes and hopes."

"We will seek its bright side, dearest."

"With all my heart.-Carlton, do you not remember that you left the
heroine of that story you were last telling me in a most critical
situation?"

"True, she was carried off by the banditti. Shall I complete the
story?"

"Yes, pray do."






CHAPTER VI.

THE RHINE LEGEND COMPLETED.





They laugh that win.

-Othello.

"WELL, Florinda, you must go with me in imagination to the mountain
fastness, which I referred to as the robbers' stronghold in the
mountains. A month nearly had passed since the period of Bettina's
being carried away from her home, and the time I would introduce you
there. It is a wild spot, almost inaccessible, unless one knows the
secret paths which have been hewn up the sides of the rocks, and
through the otherwise impassable undergrowth of the forest, by the
perseverance and labors of the robbers. The rude castle, which I
would now describe to you, was built with consummate military skill,
and the walls and bastions, though small and low, could hold out a
long time against any strength that might be brought against it.
Ever prepared for an enemy, too, was its cautious master and his
outposts were as regularly set as are those of an advancing army in
an enemy's country.

"Hither had the fair Bettina been conducted; and here, with a simple
peasant girl to serve her, had she been treated with all respect,
save that she was a prisoner. Rude were the inhabitants of this
uncongenial spot; fierce in aspect, but completely under the control
of the master spirit, whom they called captain. Hark! A peculiar
wild cry rings over the tree-tops, and echoes among the rocks and
hills; and observe how quickly those who have been loitering upon
the ground spring to their feet, and Petard himself comes forth from
that portion of the tower devoted to his retirement. That was some
recognized signal-that cry which, to the uninitiated, might have
been mistaken for the whoop of an owl, or some wild bird's cry of
fright.

"The secret is soon disclosed. That signal betokened the taking of a
captive, and there was soon led into their midst the person of one
whom misery seemed to have laid violent hands upon, with garments
torn and soiled, with a step that indicated weakness almost to death
itself, the face disfigured by unshorn beard and hair, and eyes that
looked sunken and large from famine. Such was the bent and
woe-begone figure that was now half-supported, half-led into the
midst of the band.

"'From whence comes this man?' asked Petard, regarding him
curiously.

"'He was found lurking about our outskirts, captain, and we thought
it best to arrest and bring him in.'

"'It is well,' continued the captain of the robbers. 'What have you
to say for yourself, fellow? What brought you in these regions, away
from town and habitations?'

"'Give me food, food!' gasped the prisoner.

"'Ay, by our lady, he's famished,' said Petard, with a natural
burst of feeling. 'Here, bring bread-a flask of wine.'

"He was obeyed, and the new comer drained the flask to the bottom,
and devoured the food voraciously, until those about him interfered,
saying that he would kill himself after so long an abstinence; and
truly there seemed to be some grounds for this fear, so ravenously
hungry did he seem. Gradually, as the wine warmed his veins, and the
food, to which some dried meats had been added, began to satisfy the
cravings of hunger, the stranger rose from his bending posture, and
new life seemed infused into his system. His eyes, though somewhat
hollow, seemed to brighten and light up his rugged face. There was
manhood in him, and that pleased the bandits; he showed no signs of
fear, and looked boldly about him, like one who was accustomed to
rely on himself, and was prepared to stand forth at any moment in
defence of his rights.

"'If thou canst fight as well as thou canst eat, my man, thou art a
jewel of a fellow,' said Petard, carefully scanning the new comer,
who seemed every moment brightening up from the effects of the
nourishment.

"'Give me but rest and more food, and you may then try me,' was the
brief reply.

"'Thou art a sensible fellow,' continued Petard, who was evidently
pleased with the stranger, 'and shalt be humored.'

"A rude couch was spread by the robbers amidst their stacks of arms,
and throwing himself upon the skins thus prepared for him, the
stranger slept for hours, until the bright sun was high in the
heavens on the following morning, when, after another abundant meal,
he seemed like a new creature; he stood erect, and his fine dark eye
shone with the fire of resolution and of strength. His story was
soon told; he had outraged the laws, was seized and condemned to
punishment, had effected his escape and fled to the mountains, and
wandered about until half-starved, and nearly dead with fatigue, he
had thus been found.

"'Your story is plausible, but what shall we do with you? You know
the secret of our paths through the mountain, and it is not safe to
let thee go abroad to reveal them,' said the bandit chief.

"'Make me one of you, then,' said the stranger.

"'We make but few members,' replied Petard. 'It is not our way; and
men must possess peculiar qualities to obtain a place with us, and a
share of our prize-earnings.'

"Probably courage, strength and a ready hand are worth something
among you,' said the stranger.

"'Yes, but we all possess these,' replied Petard.

"'In a degree,' said the stranger, emphasizing the last word.

"'What mean you?' asked Petard.

"'That perhaps he who offers you his services is a better man than
you take him for,' said the other.

"'In what respects?' asked Petard.

"'In all things that constitute manhood,' was the reply. 'Yesterday
I was weak and worn; to-day I am myself again. And no man of this
band can bear the palm from me in the use of those powers which
Heaven has given us.'

"'Without weapons, you mean to say,' added Petard.

"'Without weapons I defy your best man,' said the stranger,
evidently desiring to display some prowess which should gain him
admission to the band.

"There was a consultation between Petard and a few of his officers
and men, and finally there stepped forth a large, powerful member of
the troop-the bully of the band-who offered without weapons to
contend with the new comer. The terms were properly stated by the
captain, the ground chosen, and the contest begun. The skill,
strategy and strength of the stranger were confounding to the
robber, and he was cast upon the ground totally disabled in a very
few moments. The robbers being angry at this, another stepped
forward, was vanquished as quickly, and another, and still another,
until Petard himself interfered, declaring that he who could thus
fight without weapons, and with such skill and decision, must be a
strong auxiliary in time of need. He was installed, therefore, with
due ceremony, as a member of the band.

"It was a fine, clear night," continued Carlton, "that on which it
came the turn of the new comer to guard the tower in which Bettina
Etzwell was confined. The stars shone out like mystic lamps, and the
broad turrets of the robbers' stronghold cast deep shadows upon the
open plats that had been cleared about the spot. All was still.
After an evening of revelry, the band was sleeping, and the single
guard paced to and fro, apparently not daring to sit down lest he
should fall asleep. In the lone tower above him was the fair
prisoner. She realized her true situation, and she knew that her
father would use every endeavor to raise the sum requisite for her
ransom. She knew enough about the habits and practices of the
banditti, not to have any fears for her personal safety, since it
was so much for their pecuniary advantage to protect and respect
her. Indeed, Petard had frankly told her of the communications that
had taken place between her father and himself concerning her
ransom.

"But hark! What startles the fair girl so suddenly? See, she hastens
to the turret window, and listens absorbedly to the low but musical
notes of a human voice. Is it because the song is so familiar to her
ear, that she is thus moved? Perhaps there are recollections
connected with this air that are particularly affecting to her, for
her fair bosom heaves quickly, and her whole figure seems agitated,
as she gazes out upon the night, and her eyes rest upon the person
of the robber who guards her captivity, while a clear, manly voice,
though in subdued cadence, pours forth the touching notes of a Rhine
song with singular delicacy and sweetness.

"'Can there be two such voices?' she asked herself. 'Is there magic
at work? That is certainly the voice of Egbert, but yonder guard who
sings thus is one of these detested banditti!'

"In her excitement, she leaned forth from the turret-window, while
at the same moment the new member of the band drew towards it. All
was still; the revellers slept. Petard himself slept. Only this
single sentinel and the prisoner were awake!

"'Bettina, Bettina!' whispered the guard, with his hands to his
mouth, so as to direct the sound to her ears alone.

"'God be praised, Egbert! Is it indeed you?' she exclaimed aloud.

"'Hush, it is your devoted lover; be discreet!' he answered."

"I knew it was he," interrupted Florinda.

Carlton continued. "'I will, I will. But this dress-the office you
fill. What does this mean? I am amazed, Egbert.'

"'I am here under a disguise,' he replied, 'and have just joined the
robbers to liberate thee. Be careful, watchful, but never appear to
regard me let what may occur, for I may be foiled at first in my
purpose.'

"'My father-' lisped Bettina.

"'Is well,' said her lover. 'All will go well if thou wilt but be
cautious.' Come to the outer door-I have the key.'

"'Shall we fly?' she asked.

"'Not to-night; preparation must be made. Perhaps to-morrow night,
for I have the watch here for two nights, and shall see you then.
Come down for a few moments.'

"In an instant more the lovers were folded in each other's arms.
Egbert had never before embraced her; but their present situation
was one to break down all barriers of mere formality, and Bettina
sobbed upon his breast, blessing him for his, courage in thus seeking
to rescue her. These were precious moments, and they improved them
in arranging everything for the coming night. Egbert, as she bade
him good night, handed her a jewelled dagger, saying that let what
might occur, she had that silent friend!

"It is just four weeks since the first instalment on the robber's
demanded ransom was paid, when the agent of Petard again appeared in
the hall of Botzletz Castle, confident in his personal security,
well knowing that the old man's daughter was the hostage held for
his safety and the fulfilment of the contract, and demands a second
quarter of the ransom. He was a dark, sinister looking Jew-for this
was the class through whom the bandits universally performed all
their business arrangements with people whom they could not
personally approach-himself interested by the large percentage which
was the payment for his part of the business. The Jew was most
pertinacious in his demand.

"Karl Etzwell, the merchant, received the Jew, listened patiently to
his demand, and then calmly said:

"'Two hundred and fifty marks of gold thou hast already received
from me on this business.'

"'I have,' replied the Jew.

"'And thou now demandest an additional two hundred and fifty?' said
the merchant.

"'It is my business,' was the answer.

"'Canst change me a good obligatory note for five hundred?' asked
the merchant.

"The Jew drew forth his bag of gold, and after a brief examination,
said:

"'If thou wilt take a few diamonds at their true valuation, I can
make up the sum on the spot, but I shall charge you goodly usury.'

"'It is well,' replied the merchant.

"'You agree to this?'

"'Count out the money,' said the old merchant.

"It was done, and the Jew deposited upon the table two hundred and
fifty marks of gold, partly made up by a score of fine diamonds.

"'We should have some witnesses to this transaction,' said the
merchant. 'I will summon them.'

"'It were better done between ourselves alone,' said the Jew.

"At the same moment the heavy folding-doors behind the seat occupied
by Karl Etzwell were thrown open, and two persons, a lady and
gentleman, advanced towards the old merchant, They were Bettina and
Egbert!

"'Foiled with thine own weapons!' said Egbert, advancing and
securing the money which the Jew had deposited upon the table. 'This
is the exact sum that was paid to thee four weeks since. It is now
returned, and you are a marked man. If seen again in these parts, I
will myself have thee cut in piecemeal, and hung at my castle gates.
Now, villain, get thee hence!'

"'Gentlemen, you forget that there is a captive who will pay the
penalty of all this,' said the Jew, with a demoniacal grin.

"'You are not fully informed, Sir Jew,' said Egbert. 'Your principal
could inform you that his bird has flown, and I tell you that there
she stands beside her father.'

"The Jew uttered a smothered execration, and tore his hair for a
moment in despair at the loss he had experienced. But the iron grip
of Egbert's powerful hand upon his shoulder awoke him to a sense of
pain and fear for his safety, and he hurried away.

"The descendants of Egbert and Bettina still live happily in their
ancestral home," added Carlton, "and often relate the story of the
manner in which the famous bandit Petard was foiled by the gallant
and daring stratagem of Egbert Hosfeldt."

"This is a happy ending, indeed," said Florinda.






CHAPTER VIII.

A RIVAL.





Excellent! I smell a device.

-Twelfth Night.

EVERY picture has its dark side-no scene is all sunshine; and so it
is our duty to depict the shadow as well as the brightness of the
fortunes of those whose story we relate. Carlton had met with
opposition, circumstances which he had bravely overcome had impeded
his progress, physical suffering had been patiently endured, and yet
the dark side of his fortune might be said to have hardly been
turned upon his gate as yet. The love of Florinda had ever sustained
him; her solemn promise to be his wife, her tender love and constant
affection-all these had rendered his hardships mere pastimes. But
now matters were to assume a different aspect; a new stumbling-block
was to appear in his path, and a most serious one, indeed.

Florinda had an uncle resident at Bologna, where he had lived some
three years previous to the opening of our story, filling some post
delegated to him by the government. This uncle, Signor Latrezzi, was
very fond of Florinda, or at least he had always appeared to be so;
and up to the time the Grand Duke had become her guardian, he had
himself assumed the care of his lovely young niece. Some openly
declared that he had done this from mercenary motives; but be that
as it may, the story will divulge his character. He had not left her
surrounded by the gayety and dissipation of the court of Florence
without some misgivings, lest some untoward circumstance might
befall her, or that she might become entangled in some alliance
contrary to her own interests and his desires.

In consequence of these promptings, he had earnestly impressed upon
Florinda at the time of his parting from her, on his way to Bologna,
to be wary and careful. The truth was, that her uncle had laid out a
plan for her future, and would have been very glad to have remained
by her side in order the more surely to carry it out, but he could
not decline the office to which he was now appointed, and thus he
was obliged to leave. He had long designed her hand for an equally
favorite nephew on his wife's side, and on this match had firmly
fixed his heart. Some said that this was because he desired so
earnestly to sustain the character, name and blood of the house of
Carrati, of which Florinda was the sole survivor; others, more
shrewd, declared that the uncle had a sinister motive beneath all of
those so apparent.

Florinda was no stranger to this expectation, but had never given it
thought, either in favor or against the consummation of her uncle's
ideas. The subject was rarely alluded to, and even her uncle deemed
her still too young to entertain the idea of matrimony. In a country
and among a class where matches were so commonly mere matters of
business and mercenary calculation, such an affair did not create
much remark or interest between even the parties themselves. Aside
from the considerations of family honor, the pride of birth and
noble blood, the large, nay, unequalled fortune of Florinda-always
excepting that of the Grand Duke-was a strong inducement to this
step. That her relation had some personal ends in view, in
connection with the proposed alliance, was equally obvious to all
who knew the mercenary and selfish character of his general
disposition. His treatment towards Florinda had ever been kind and
fatherly, but this course was adopted only that he might gain the
necessary ascendancy over her mind and purpose to make sure of his
plan.

This plan of procedure, artfully adopted by her uncle from her very
childhood, had completely deceived Florinda-as we shall have
occasion to see-and she was led to believe him kind and affectionate
to her, who was proud and selfish in all his dealings with the rest
of the world. His nephew, Petro Giampetti, was probably the only
being he really loved; nor was his regard for him unalloyed, but
tempered with that selfishness that formed a prominent trait in his
natural disposition. He was childless himself, and had lost his wife
by death not many years previous to the time of which we write-two
circumstances which had rather tended to augment his unhappy
disposition.

At times he was moody and thoughtful, and some matter seemed to
weigh heavily upon his mind. He was, however, a peculiar man, with
few personal friends and no confidants, and there were some dark
hints thrown out touching his honesty in the matter of a sum of
money entrusted to his care and disbursement by the government. But
policy had led to this report's being hushed up on the part of
government, for he was of noble blood.

This nephew, Petro Giampetti, was a handsome youth after the style
of the Italians, possessed of all the noble and revengeful passions
so common to his countrymen, yet by no means an evil-disposed
person. His dark, swarthy countenance was rendered handsome by a
remarkably deep, piercing eye, about which there was a certain
something which, while you could not exactly describe, yet left an
unpleasant effect upon the beholder; a certain expression that
seemed to say that when an object was to be gained, the means would
sometimes be disregarded.

He had been much with Florinda from childhood, and he was taught to
consider her as his future wife. As to love, he might be said to
admire her beauty of person and mind, for none knew better how to
appreciate both than Petro; and, taken in connection with his
anticipated union with her, he perhaps loved her as the world goes.
But she had never excited in his bosom that latent passion which
smoulders in every heart, and which chance, earlier or later, will
eventually fan into a flame.

He thought the matter settled, and lived accordingly, giving himself
little trouble or thought as to the affair. He had often
congratulated himself, since he had become of an age to appreciate
such things, that he was to be so nobly connected, aside from the
unbounded wealth there was in store for him. To speak more
particularly, this latter consideration was of no little weight with
one whose family coffers and private purse were sadly low and much
needed replenishing.

Petro held the office of private secretary to his uncle in his
capacity as an officer of state, and was consequently called with
him to Bologna, and there resided with him until a few months
subsequent to the awarding of the prize by the Grand Duke for the
favored picture presented at the Pitti palace, when the business
which had called them from home being completed, he followed his
uncle on his return to Florence. He came back with a light heart,
little anticipating the scenes that were to follow, or deeming that
his hopes of future wealth and distinction by means of the proposed
alliance with Florinda, had suffered in his absence.

Thus stood matters at this period of Carlton's good fortune; and
here might have commenced our tale, but that we wished to show the
reader "how love does not level the proud, but raiseth the humble."

When Signor Latrezzi learned what had occurred during his
absence-that his most darling wish was about to be frustrated, and
the work of years overthrown, as it were, in a single day--his anger
knew no bounds, nor did he attempt to control it. He threw aside the
mask, and the storm burst about the devoted head of Florinda in all
its wrath and fury.

The uncle could hardly realize the present state of affairs, so
unexpected was it to him, Was it to this end he had played the
hypocrite so many years, that he had given away to all the caprices
of a wayward girl, and humored her most annoying fancies? He could
scarcely contain himself. Here was a denouement for the proud old
noble-his niece engaged to an American artist; his Italian blood
boiled at the thought. Petro, too, as we have intimated, little
dreamed of the fire that had been kindled in Florinda's heart-a
flame that all the coldness of her uncle, ay, and his assumed
authority, too, could not possibly quench.

She was an inmate now of her uncle's household, or rather, he had
full charge of her father's house, where she resided; and though in
many respects entirely independent of him, still, in the matter of
forming so important a connection, she hardly dared to proceed
openly and at once contrary to his expressed wish, and even orders.
Immediately on her uncle's return to Florence, Florinda had removed
from the duke's palace to that of her forefathers, in order to
assume, in some degree, the direction of her own affairs. Here
Carlton was peremptorily refused admittance by the directions of her
uncle; and thus poor Florinda was little less than a prisoner, in
her own house, not daring to meet Carlton, if she could have done
so. Thus commenced a drama which was to have a tragical end; and
Florinda and Carlton found a sudden end to their late happy and
joyful intercourse which neither had anticipated.

"Signor Latrezzi," said the duke one day to Florinda's uncle, "this
young American is a noble fellow."

"Doubtless, if your highness thinks so."

"Think so-I know so, signor!"

"Your highness has much befriended him."

"No more than his merit deserves."

Signor Latrezzi bowed, but said nothing.

"Signor, you have observed his intimacy with Florinda?"

"Excellenza, yes."

"A fine couple they would make."

"Does your excellenza think so?"

"To be sure I do; and if I mistake not, so does the lady."

"I know not that, excellenza."

"Ask her then, Signor Latrezzi. Either I cannot read the language of
her fair face, or she loves the artist."

"But he's a foreigner, excellenza."

"What of that?"

"Nothing, save that Florinda is nobly born, and bears some of the
best and oldest blood of Italy."

"Time will settle the matter," said the duke, turning away.

Signor Latrezzi having ascertained that the duke favored the
alliance of his niece with the American artist, was too good a
subject-or rather, too experienced a courtier-to attempt openly
before his master to oppose the matter, taking good care to avoid
any interference with one whose wish, when expressed, was law. His
opposition to the proposed marriage was, however, none the less
rigorous; and he determined, on such occasions as he could do so, to
exercise his spirit with impunity, and he was often heard to say
that the affair should never take place, even if he was himself
obliged to call out the young American to single combat.

The thought of the bare possibility of the connection as sanctioned
by the duke, so embittered his feelings as to render him
disagreeable to all about him. His conscious pride and self-interest
both prompted him in this emergency; for in the case of Florinda's
marrying Petro, as we have already intimated, there would be some
important pecuniary interest of his own benefited thereby-and then
his old aristocratic notions were shocked at the prospect of the
plebeian match.

Now was poor Carlton cornered on the chequer-board of life, and he
must play boldly, if he would reach the desired goal. He had those
to deal with who possessed every facility and advantage successfully
to battle him in his hopes and plans. But then he was no longer the
poor painter, who did not know where his next meal was to be
obtained; he was no longer the hungry artist-the butt and jest of
his old companions. No! he was under the patronage of the Grand
Duke, whose personal friendship he could boast. His brush brought
him daily-or as often as he was pleased to exert himself-large sums
of money; and his well-lined purse was significant of his unbounded
success in his profession as an artist.

Carlton knew as well as those who had ever possessed the means, how
best to employ them when at his command. His noble person was now
garbed in the rich dress of a court favorite, while the plenty and
comfort he now enjoyed had again filled his sunken cheek, and lit up
the fire of his bright hazel eye; his hair, long and curling about
his spirited and intelligent face, was the pride of Florinda, and
the envy of the whole court.

His fellow-students of the academy were also but too happy to
receive the least attention from their late companion; he now moved
in a grade of society far above them-a circle which was as
inaccessible to them as the throne itself. What was his return to
them for the spirit they had ever manifested towards him? Did he
retaliate and put them to shame? He did not retaliate, and yet he
put them to shame-ay, his was a noble revenge; he returned them good
for evil.

Carlton's kindness to those who had so illy treated him was
unbounded; they received no such return from him-far from it. He
encouraged in every way their studies, and even condescended
gratuitously to teach them, and they were very ready and happy to
thrive under his instruction. Thus did he heap coals of fire on
their heads, showing them what sort of a spirit they had trampled on
in its adversity.

"Whither away, in such haste?" asked one young artist of another in
the streets of Florence.

"To Signor Carlton's, the American artist," was the reply.

"All Florence is after him-what want you?"

"He is to give a finishing touch to a bit of canvass for me."

"That's clever of him."

"Yes, since no one can do so well as he," was the ready
acknowledgement.

Thus were the tables completely turned. Little did his former
companions and fellow-students dream of this transition of good
fortune to the share of him they had so lately scoffed at in the
open streets of Florence. One, to see their ready obeisance now, and
their earnest endeavors to please him, would hardly think they had
ever treated him with less respect.

So goes the world. If ill fortune betide us, how many stand ready to
give us a push on our downward course, and to scoff at our misery;
but let the tide turn and set favorably on our bark, and none are so
ready to do obeisance as those very curs who have barked and growled
at us the loudest. Carlton, the court favorite, the unrivalled
artist, the now liberal and wealthy Carlton, was a very different
person from the threadbare artist who turned from his companions on
the piazza at noonday.

He retraced his steps towards the grand gallery at that time, faint
and hungry, because he had not the means to procure for himself a
dinner, avoiding his fellow-artists to escape the mortification of
expressing the extent of his poverty and want.

Carlton was in doubt as to the most proper course for him to pursue.
He hardly dared to lay the matter in its present form before the
duke, lest it might seem impertinent and obtrusive in him towards
one who had already extended unprecedented kindness and protection
towards him; and yet he knew no other source upon which he might
rely. In this dilemma, Carlton grew quite dejected. He was one of
those persons who, notwithstanding he possessed a strong mind and
determination of purpose, was easily elated or depressed in his
spirits; and the present state of affairs rendered him sad enough.

He was rudely repulsed in every endeavor to gain an audience of
Florinda by the menials of Signor Latrezzi-who had been instructed
to this effect by their master-and Carlton was obliged to content
himself with an epistolary communication, having to conduct even
this in secret.

At length one day, finding the duke in a happy mood and at leisure,
he frankly stated the matter to him as it actually existed, and
begged of him to advise him what course to pursue in the case.

"Signor Carlton," said the duke, kindly, after hearing him to the
end, "I have little love for this uncle of Florinda's, and therefore
avoid any issue with him, or I would openly express my wishes on
this point. But as it is, Signor Americano, there are fleet horses
in Florence, and ready postilions about the gates of the city, who
know the route to Bologna over the mountains! Thou hast ridden in a
cabriolet, signor?"

"A cabriolet?" repeated Carlton, inquiringly.

"Yes, there are plenty in Florence."

"Your highness is pleased to be facetious."

"Not at all."

"Then why speak of cabriolets in this connection?"

"Canst not take the hint?"

"Your excellenza speaks in riddles."

"One of thy discernment, Signor Carlton, should understand me."

"Would your excellenza have me clo--"

"I would not have you do anything but that which your own judgment
should approve," interrupted the duke.

"Thanks, excellenza, I understand you."

"You may be assured of my friendship in all cases when it can be
reasonably exercised," continued the duke.

"Your excellenza is ever kind."

A new field was opened for Carlton, and he was as much elated as he
had heretofore been depressed; and he resolved to take the hint of
the duke, and bring matters to an issue in the most summary manner.

Young Petro Giampetti immediately on his return to Florence, having
learned the state of affairs between Carlton and Florinda, had
resolved at once to challenge his rival; being an expert swordsman,
and knowing Carlton's peaceful occupation, he made no doubt that he
could easily despatch him in single combat, and thus rid himself of
one who, to say the least, was a very dangerous rival.

In this frame of mind, Petro sought some cause of difference with
Carlton other than the true one at issue-a quarrel could hardly be
raised, inasmuch as the latter remained ignorant even of the
pretensions of Petro, or the design of Florinda's uncle up to the
time of their return from Bologna.

Failing otherwise to accomplish his purpose, Petro, whose standing
and connection served him as a key to the royal presence, sought to
offer at court some slight to Carlton, so public and marked as to
render it necessary for him to demand satisfaction after the code of
Italian honor. Three times, in pursuance of this object, he had
vainly endeavored to accomplish his purpose; but each time, Carlton,
basking in the sunshine of royal favor, turned by without notice the
intended insult in such a manner as to show himself as feeling far
above an insult from such a source, and again in so cool and
diplomatic a manner, as to turn the very game upon poor Petro
himself, who found that nothing save some open and decided offense
could bring matters to an issue.

"You don't seem to get along very fast in this little matter," said
one of his friends rather tauntingly to him.

"No, it doesn't look much like a draw-game between them, either,"
said another friend, venturing a pun.

"Curse him," growled Petro, "he's a coward, and wont take offence.
What can a man do in such a case as that?"

"Carlton doesn't look to me just like a coward," said one of the
speakers; "but he doesn't want to fight you, Petro."

"Can't help it," said Petro, "he must do it."

"Well, then, give him a chance, and have it over."

"I'll improve the first opportunity, believe me."

But Petro did not further annoy Carlton that evening; the coolness
and self-possession he evinced quite nonplussed the angry Italian.






CHAPTER IX.

THE DUEL.





What folly 'tis to hazard life for ill.

-Timon of Athens.

AS we have said, Petro, finding that nothing short of an open and
downright insult could bring Carlton to be the challenging party,
therefore resolved to make a bold attempt to accomplish this. He was
revolving this matter over in his mind, when an event occurred which
led him to be the challenger in fact. He was strolling home from the
weekly cordon of the Grand Duke one evening, and was just turning an
angle of his uncle's palace walls, when hearing the voice of a
female in answer to that of a man, he paused, and following the
sound, discovered Florinda leaning from a balcony in the lower range
of the palace, and in close conversation with his hated rival,
Carlton. This was sufficient, under the circumstances, to raise all
his fiery spirit, and he determined that it should serve him as a
pretext for a quarrel.

Placing himself hard by where he knew Carlton must pass in his
leave-taking of the palace, he patiently awaited his coming; and but
a short time elapsed before Carlton, bidding good night to Florinda,
was hastening from the spot, when he encountered Petro, whose dark
countenance was the very picture of rage, while his large, dark eyes
were wild with inward passion.

"Signor Carlton!"

"Signor Petro!"

They exclaimed, on confronting each other.

Carlton for a moment was thrown off his habitual guard, and losing
his temper, was about to retort upon Petro with interest, both in
frown and, if need be, with blows also. But recalling himself, he
assumed his usual precaution, and looked upon the angry Italian
coolly, and without the least exhibition of temper.

"Well, Signor Carlton."

"Well, Signor Petro."

"Your mock me, signor."

"You mock me, signor."

"Signor, you are my enemy."

"You seem to wish me so."

"This talk will not serve for you, signor."

"If you like it not, it were best for you to step on one side, and I
will pass."

The Italian bit his lips with suppressed rage, and seemed too angry
to trust even his voice; but he did not remain long silent.

"Signor Americano," said Petro, warmly, "you have insulted my uncle
and myself by this secret interview with Signora Florinda, and I
demand of you immediate satisfaction for it."

"Signor Petro, I have no cause for contention with you," was the
reply of Carlton. "I know you love not the lady, and you are equally
aware of her feelings towards you. Why then, I ask, should there be
strife between us upon this subject? Surely, you would not seek the
hand of one who does not love you! This is inconsistent, Signor
Petro."

"Do you accept my challenge, or shall I brand you as a coward in the
streets of Florence," was the abrupt and passionate rejoinder. "It
would sound bravely, by our lady, to write coward against the name
you have rendered so popular, sir artist, among the nobilita in
Florence."

"I will have no contention with thee," said Carlton, his feelings
struggling warmly with his determination to avoid the course which
his early education had taught him to regard with the utmost
abhorrence.

"Then I will brand thee as a coward!"

"Until you do that, I shall never fight you," said Carlton, calmly.
"I would rather lose my hand than draw the blood of one related by
any ties to her I love; but if it must be so, you can take your own
counsel."

"This is fine language, signor."

"It is honest language."

"I should require other evidence to make me think so."

"Because you cannot appreciate the feelings that dictate it."

"In what respect?"

"As they are caused by my regard for Signora Florinda."

"It is well to assume a virtue, if we have it not," said the
Italian, scornfully.

"I assume nothing, Signor Petro."

"Flatter not yourself that you can escape me by this assumed tone of
feeling, Signor Americano."

"You have my answer, signor."

"I shall take an early opportunity to keep you at your word," was
the menacing reply, and they separated.

Carlton would rather have engaged with any other person in an affair
of this kind than with Petro, for obvious reasons; and, as he said
to him, besides which, he had the greatest aversion to "affairs of
honor," but from principle only, for his was as brave a heart as
ever drew sword.

Petro at length hit upon a plan which must necessarily bring on the
desired meeting. Accordingly, at the cordon of the Grand Duke, on
the following week, at the Pitti Palace, when Carlton entered the
gorgeous apartments, a murmur ran through the assembly, raised by
the friends of Petro, who had preconcerted the plan, of "Coward,
coward!"

It was uttered, as we have said, in whispers, but it is a word that
can be heard a long distance. The young American did not even change
color, but turning his bright and sparkling eyes upon some of the
principal offenders, he gave them a look that touched them keenly.
He did not evince by any outward appearance how deeply his pride was
wounded, but he felt it at heart none the less severely. He even
looked more cheerful than was his wont, conversing gaily with the
ladies of the court. His fine noble countenance was lit up with
additional spirit, and his friends even complimented him on his
happy appearance. Yet it was all forced-ay, a lie that his proud
heart compelled him to.

"What a goodly outside falsehood hath!" How many there are like
Carlton at that moment! While they smile, they but hide a raging
passion within. A smile may cover up the wildest storm of the
spirit, as well as show forth its own sunshine!

The giddy dance went on, and gayety was the mistress of the hour.
Carlton mingled in the dance, and even by good chance succeeded in
gaining the hand of Florinda for a set. Her uncle, fearing the
displeasure of the duke, avoided any public opposition as we have
before said, to the attentions of Carlton; consequently in public he
enjoyed her society as one friend may enjoy that of another, while
the world are by. The hours flew by as hours only fly along the
happy, until the time had nearly arrived for the guests to depart,
when Carlton, coolly walking up to Petro, who stood in an exposed
situation, said, in a tone not to be mistaken:

"Signor Petro, follow me!"

"Si, Signor Americano," was the prompt reply.

Both left the hall together, the friends of Petro alone
understanding the probable design of the movement. The two sought a
secluded cafe in silence, and then settled the preliminaries for a
meeting, or duel, on the following morning, in which Petro declared
one of them should fall.

"I would have escaped this encounter for your sake as well as my
own," said Carlton, after the arrangements were concluded. "I know
very well that you have a reputation for being an expert swordsman,
but I fear not. Justice is stronger than art, and you will find it
so, Signor Petro, on the morrow."

"I do not wish to anticipate, Signor Americano, but I must advise
thee to prepare for death on the morrow."

"True, Signor Petro," said Carlton, earnestly, "neither of us
knows what the morrow may bring forth."

"Signor," said Petro, now in evident good humor at his anticipated
success, "you should have chosen the pistol, to have placed yourself
in any possibility on equal terms with me."

"I can use either," was the reply.

"Ay, as a child would use them. What has thy profession to do with
arms, that thou shouldst ever deign to know their use? It is not yet
too late-say, shall it be pistols? You can yet choose," said Petro,
touched with that spirit of honor which would sometimes actuate him.

"I have already spoken on that point," said Carlton.

"Very well, then, signor, with the sword. But in that case, the game
will possess but little interest, being all on one side."

"To-morrow's sun can speak more fittingly of these things than we
can do to-night," was Carlton's reply.

"You bear yourself with assurance, signor."

"We will not hold any controversy, Signor Petro."

"Until to-morrow."

"At the appointed time I shall be ready."

"Be sure I shall expect you."

"We understand each other on that point."

"Hold, will you bring weapons, or shall I procure them?"

"Our seconds can arrange for us."

"True."

Thus saying, the two separated to meet on the following morning at a
secluded spot in the Apennines, which rise gracefully from the very
gates of Florence, gradually attaining to an immense height, and
making their home among the clouds. To have travelled where we would
fain have taken the reader at the outset, one must have sailed in
the southern seas among the islands, have run the Gibraltar passage,
and seen the blue water that lies among the Italy mountains. He must
have looked upon the Apennines from the sea, and run down the coast
that teems with the recollections of three thousand years.

The mist was slowly creeping up the mountain's side on the following
morning, scarcely three hours from the time that the duke's guests
had departed, when Petro and his friends, closely followed by
Carlton and his companion, sought the appointed rendezvous for the
meeting. The cool, fresh breeze of the morning air, that
strengthened as they ascended the mountain, one would think should
cool the passions of any creature. Not so with Petro; for the
Italian fire of his spirit was up-the dark, deep passions of his
nature-and nought but blood could appease their cravings.

The spot was gained, and each made the usual preliminary
arrangements-all being prepared, the two approached each other.
Carlton had disrobed himself of coat and vest, and now stood before
his antagonist clothed only in his lower garments and linen. Petro
laughingly told his companions that he could punish the Americano
with his garments on, not deeming the task of sufficient weight to
compel him to remove his tight-fitting upper garments. A few moments
were passed in the usual guards and thrusts, when anon commenced the
feint, the ward, as each grew warmer in the contest.

It was evident to all at the outset that Carlton as well as Petro
was master of his weapon. This much had surprised those who had
supposed him not possessed of the least knowledge of the exercise.
But Petro found him far more than a match for all his boasted skill
and experience, but with great astonishment, he continued to exert
himself to the utmost.

It was a singular scene, that presented by the two combatants thus
arraigned before each other in mortal combat. The Italian heated,
his eyes and face swollen with excitement and passion, while his
antagonist was as calm and unmoved in temper, as though he were
fencing with the foils, and only for pleasure. It was a tragic
scene, as evincing the brute nature to which man can bring himself.

In the heat of the contest, Petro soon lost his temper, while
Carlton, cool and collected, parried his wild and headlong thrusts
with consummate skill; and at length, after showing him how
fruitless were all his efforts to wound him, Carlton by a masterly
movement disarmed his antagonist of his blade, at the same time
striking the left hand of the Italian a blow with the flat of his
sword that laid it bare to the bone!

This put a stop to the duel for a few moments, when Petro, almost
beside himself with rage, now threw from him his upper garments in
imitation of Carlton, and having had his hand properly dressed, yet
smarting under the severe wound he had received, resumed his sword--
Carlton remaining in the meantime resting upon his sword, careless,
as it were, whether the fight was resumed or not.

"Signor Petro," said Carlton, when they approached each other the
second time, "it is evident to your friends, I presume, that you are
no match for me in the weapons we hold. I advise you to withdraw
from the contest. You have already expended your blood in the
vindication of this system of honor, and wounded as you now are, can
hardly do yourself justice."

"Stand to your defence!" said the enraged Petro, whose blood was now
completely up. And unheeding the generous proposal and language of
his antagonist, he rushed upon Carlton almost without warning, thus
essaying to take advantage of him; but the quick and practised eye
of the latter saved him, and the rain of blows and thrusts that
Petro made at him were as harmless as hail-stones upon a slated
roof. Carlton acted entirely on the defensive; had it been
otherwise, he could at any moment have drawn the heart's blood of
his enemy, who, only intent on the life of his successful rival,
strove not at all to protect himself from the sword of Carlton while
they fought.

Carlton again permitted him to work thus in his wild fury for some
minutes, when at length, by another masterly effort with his weapon,
he again disarmed his antagonist, throwing his blade over the heads
of the company, and immediately, apparently with the same effort, he
wounded Petro in the sword arm with such force and earnestness, that
it fell powerless by his side. Though severely wounded in both arms,
still in his wild rage the Italian could hardly be persuaded to
leave the ground peaceably.

Thus ended the duel between Carlton and Petro.






CHAPTER X.

THE ELOPEMENT.





Not vanquished, but cozened and beguiled.

-King Lear.

THE duel described in the last chapter, it will be remembered, was
not sought by Carlton. Indeed, he would gladly have avoided it, if
possible-first and foremost, because it was diametrically contrary
to his principles and sense of moral rectitude; and secondly,
because his opponent was indirectly kin to her whom he loved above
all in life. Thus much we say to place our hero rightly before the
reader, who should not look upon him inconsistently.

The critical reader may perhaps question the propriety of Carlton's
wounding Petro at all, inasmuch as he is represented to be able to
have defended himself with comparative ease from the heated and
headstrong Italian's sword. In answer to this, we would say, that
besides there being always the possibility of his being wounded by
the enemy's sword, the very fact of his returning to the fight when
severely wounded, showed that Carlton had rightly judged of his
character, its vindictive impulses, when he deemed both wounds
necessary. He gave the second one unwillingly; and not one moment
before he thought it absolutely necessary to do so; all those on the
ground could have borne testimony that there was scarcely an instant
of time that Carlton had not Petro's life at his command, if he had
chosen to take it.

"Why, Carlton," said a merry-faced Englishman, who had been his
companion during the interview, and who was now walking with him
down the mountain's side, "I could hardly believe my eyes to see
thee such a master of thy weapon. How hast thou possibly attained to
such extraordinary proficiency with the sword?"

"You remember the little Frenchman, who lived so long with me?"
asked Carlton. "He who had his snuff-box ever in his hand?"

"That I do," said his companion; "and a merry, studious, jocund,
lazy, cowardly and brave little fellow he was. In short, I believe
there was no quality, however contradictory-good, bad, or
indifferent-that he did not possess."

"He was a bundle of inconsistencies," added Carlton, smiling at his
friend's description.

The truth was, he had accurately described a certain class of that
versatile nation, the French, which are often met with in every
country, wanderers or exiles from home. While we write, we have one
in our own mind, well known to our good citizens who is familiarly
designated by the sobriquet of "the Emperor."

"Well, Carlton, what of our little knight of the snuff-box, eh?"

"You remember that I was poor in those days, and the clever little
Frenchman offered to teach me the sword exercise, if I could teach
him to speak English. It was a bargain, and so did he, and so did I,
until I flatter myself both became proficients in their distinctive
branches of learning. Carnot taught the exercise in the Grand Army;
so he graduated in a good school, and was indeed an excellent master
of the weapon. It has been my only recr