THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
*1 
 
 v 
 
A CREATURE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 AN ITALIAN ENIGMA 
 
 FERGUS HUME 
 
 mm*, or "the arrsronr or a hansom cab," " madams micas," 
 "miss MxMUToraaun," "momuru* visas" 
 
 Y«a, oat of fho womb of the night 
 
 For evil a rod, 
 With vampire wings plumed for a flight 
 
 It Cometh abroad, 
 Th« mission to curse and to blight 
 .by God, 
 
 LONDON i 
 
 RICHARD EDWARD KING, Limited, 
 
 k*, toS, i to, Tasbrmacu Strut, B.C. 
 
MMKBOM 
 
 reiirrsB *t bichabd bdvta.bb tnifa, lubtbo, 
 
 TJLBJBiwN ACLS 8TJHSST, B <fc 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 t- 
 ii.- 
 iii- 
 
 IV.- 
 
 V- 
 
 VI.- 
 
 VII.- 
 
 VIII.- 
 
 IX.- 
 
 X. 
 
 XI, 
 
 XII. 
 
 XIII, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 XV, 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII, 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 •The Ghoul • • 
 A Boccaccian Adventure 
 •The Feast or Ghosts . 
 ■The Ajkjellq Household 
 •Lost .... 
 A Haunted Palace 
 At the Teatro Ezzelino 
 -The Phantom of Lucrezia 
 -Fiore della Casa 
 -A Voice in the Darkness 
 -The Marchese Beltrami 
 -Death in Life 
 -" Down among the Dead 
 — The New Lazarus 
 
 Found .... 
 
 An Interrupted Honeymoon 
 
 Nemesis . 
 
 A Last Wor* 
 
 Borgia 
 
 Men 1 
 
 z 
 
 9 
 20 
 
 J* 
 3* 
 46 
 
 56 
 65 
 73 
 81 
 90 
 
 97 
 108 
 119 
 , 128 
 136 
 »43 
 »5* 
 
GRAHAM PRICE, 
 
 KBMKMBaAWCB OF ITALIAN IDLINGS, 
 tPRINO, 189I. 
 
A CREATURE OF THE NIGHT. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 THE GHOUL. 
 
 I think it is Lord Beacorisficld who, in one of his 
 brilliant stories, makes the clever observation that 
 " adventures are to the adventurous," and certainly he 
 who seeks for adventures even in this prosaic nineteenth 
 century will surely succeed in his quest. Fate leads 
 him, chance guides him, luck assists him, and although 
 the adventure supplied by this trinity of circumstances 
 may be neither, so dangerous nor so picturesque as in 
 the time of Borgia or Lazun, yet it will probably be 
 interesting, which after all is something to be grateful 
 for in this eminently commonplace age of facts and 
 figures. Still, even he who seeks not to prove the truth 
 of Disraeli's aphorism, may, after the principle of Maho- 
 met's mountain, have the adventure come to him, with- 
 out the trouble of looking for it, and this was my case 
 at Verona in the summer of 18 — . 
 
 The Cranstons were always a poor family, that is as 
 regards money, although they certainly could not com- 
 plain of a lack of ancestors ; and when it came to my turn 
 to represent the race, I found that my lately deceased 
 father had left me comparatively nothing. Not having 
 any fixed income, I therefore could not live without 
 doing something to earn my bread ; and not having any 
 business capacity, I foresaw failure would be my lot in 
 mercantile enterprise. I was not good-looking enough 
 to inveigle a wealthy heiress into matrimony ; and as, 
 
a A Creature of the Night, 
 
 after a survey of my possessions, I found I had nothing 
 but a few hundred pounds and an excellent baritone 
 voice, I made up my mind to use the former in culti- 
 vating the latter with a view to an operatic career. 
 
 Italy, living on the traditions of the days of Rossini, 
 of Donizetti and of Bellini, has still the reputation of 
 possessing excellent singing-masters, so to Italy I went 
 with a hopeful heart and a light purse, and established 
 myself at Milan, where I took lessons, in singing, from 
 Maestro Angello. Milan is a detestable city, hot and 
 arid in summer, cold and humid in winter ; and as a 
 year after I arrived in the land of song the end of soring 
 was unusually disagreeable, Maestro Angello went to 
 Verona for a change of air, and thither I followed him 
 with no small pleasure at escaping from that dreary 
 commercial capital of the norths which has all the dis- 
 agreeables of Italian life without any of the compen- 
 sating advantages of romance and beauty. 
 
 But Verona ! ah, it was truly delightful, that sleepy 
 town lying so peacefully on the banks of the rapid 
 Adige, dreaming amid the riotous present of the splen- 
 did past, when Can Grande held his brilliant court, 
 and received as an honoured guest the great poet Dante, 
 exiled by ungrateful Florence. The city of the gay 
 rhymer Catullus, merry lover of Lesbia, who wept more 
 tears over her sparrow than she did over her poet. The 
 city of Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed lovers as they 
 were, who were recompensed for their short, unhappy 
 lives by gaining immortality from the pen of Shakespeare 
 as types of eternal love and eternal constancy, for the 
 encouragement of all succeeding youths and maidens of 
 later generations. Yes, indeed, with all these memories, 
 historical and poetical, Verona was a pleasant place in 
 which to idle away a summer, so I thanked the kind 
 gods for my good fortune and enjoyed myself. 
 
 Not that I - was idle. By no means ! Maestro 
 Angello kept me hard at work at exercises and scales, 
 so I studied industriously most of the day and wandered 
 abftit most of the night in the soft, cool moonlight, 
 
Th$ GhouL 3 
 
 when Verona looked much more romantic than in the 
 garish blaze of the Italian sun. 
 
 It was on one of these nights that an adventure 
 happened to me, an adventure in which I was involved 
 by the merest chance, although I confess that the 
 vice of curiosity had a good deal to do with my en- 
 tanglement therein. 
 
 After dining at the hotel I went out for my customary 
 
 stroll, and having lighted a pipe as a preventive against 
 the evil odours which seem inseparable from all Italian 
 towns, I wandered on through the deserted streets in a 
 listless, aimless fashion, contrasting in my own mind 
 the magnificent Verona of the past with the dismal 
 Verona of the present. Taken up with these fantastic 
 dreamings, I did not notice particularly where I was 
 going, or how quickly the time was passing, until I found 
 myself on the Ponte Aleardi — that iron bridge which 
 spans the Adige — and heard the church bells chiming 
 the hour of eleven. 
 
 The moon was shining in the darkly blue sky amid 
 the brilliant stars, and the leaden waters of the river 
 shone like a band of steel in the pale, silvery light. On 
 either side of the stream lowered dark masses of houses, 
 from the windows of which gleamed here and there 
 orange-coloured lights, while against the clear sky 
 arose the tall steep.es of the churches and the serrated 
 outlines of full-foliaged trees. It was ^wondeifully 
 beautiful, and the soft wind blowing through the night, 
 rippled the swift waters to lines of ever- vanishing white ; 
 so leaning over the balustrade of the bridge, I dreamed 
 and smoked, and smoked and dreamed, until the 
 chiming of the half-hour warned me to return to my 
 hotel. 
 
 The night, however, was so beautiful and cool, that I 
 could not but think of my hot sleeping-chamber with 
 repugnance, and feeling disinclined for rest, I made 
 up my mind to stroll onward for some time. I 
 might have visited that fraudulent tomb of Juliet in 
 the moonlight, but as I had already sees it by 
 
4 A Creature of the NigH. 
 
 day, and could not feel enthusiastic about suoh a 
 palpable deception, I refused to be further victimized, 
 and crossed over the bridge to the left shore of the 
 river. 
 
 It was somewhat solitary there, but I was not afraid 
 of robbers, as I had but little money and no jewellery 
 on me, and moreover I felt that, should occasion arise, 
 I could use my fists sufficiently well to protect myself. 
 Being thus at ease regarding my personal safety, I lighted 
 a cigar which luckily happened to be in my pocket, 
 and wandered on until I came within sight of the 
 cemetery. 
 
 Now I firmly believe that everyone has in him a 
 vein of superstition, which is developed in accordance 
 with his surroundings. Place a man at midday in a 
 bustling city, and he scoffs at the idea of the super- 
 natural ; but let him find himself at midnight alone on 
 a solitary moor, with the shadows of moonlight on 
 every side, and all his inherent superstition will start to 
 life, peopling the surrounding solitude with unseen 
 phantoms, more terrible than those of the Arabian 
 Nights. Whether it was the time of night, or the 
 proximity of the burial-ground, I do not know, but I 
 felt my breast fill with vague fears, and hastened to 
 leave the uncanny spot as quickly as possible. 
 
 Fate, however, was against me, for in my blind speed, 
 instead of crossing the bridge, I turned to the left, and 
 unexpectedly found myself in the vicinity of another 
 burial-ground. It was apparently much older than the 
 one I had first seen, and there was a ruined wall around it, 
 overtopped by tall, melancholy cypresses, looming 
 black and funereal against the midnight sky. By this 
 time I had recovered my nerve, and feeling somewhat 
 ashamed of my former ignominious flight, I determined 
 to punish myself by entering this antique abode of the 
 dead, and examining it thoroughly. 
 
 With this idea I climbed over a portion of the broken 
 wall, and in the shadow of the cypress-trees— shadow 
 dense as the darkness of Egypt—I viewed the mournful 
 
The Ghoul, 5 
 
 scene before me, with mingled feelings of curiosity and 
 dread. 
 
 It was evidently very old, for even under the soften- 
 ing light of the moon, the near tombs looked dis- 
 coloured and timeworn. I saw the soft swell of the 
 green turf, betokening graves, upon which grew the 
 grass long and rank; the milky gleam of slender 
 white columns, broken at the top to typify the short 
 lives of those who slept below ; and while yonder, in 
 frowning grey stone, stood a solemn pyramid, built in 
 imitation of those Egyptian monsters by the Nile, here, 
 near at hand, a miniature temple of white marble, 
 delicate and fragile in construction, hinted at the 
 graceful architecture of Greece. Among these myriad 
 tombs arose the slender, lance-shaped cypress-trees, and 
 their dark forms alternating with gleaming crosses of 
 white marble, sombre pyramids, classic temples, and 
 innumerable lines of tall columns, gave to this singular 
 scene the aspect of a visionary city of the dead, which 
 had become visible to mortal eyes by the enchantments 
 of the moon. 
 
 Fascinated by the weirdness of this solitude, I let my 
 cigar fall to the ground, and, hidden in the gloom of the 
 cypress-trees, stared long and earnestly at this last 
 abode of the old Veronese, when suddenly my hair 
 bristled at the roots, a cold sweat broke out on my 
 forehead, and a nervous shudder made my frame tremble 
 as if with ague. 
 
 The cause of this sudden fear was that, while rapt 
 in contemplation of this desolate necropolis,, I heard a 
 laugh, a low, wicked laugh, which seemed to come from 
 the bowels of the earth. It was now nearly midnight, 
 that hour when the dead are said to come forth and 
 wander among the living, whose nightly sleep so 
 strangely mocks the semblance of that still repose which 
 chains these spectres to their tombs during the day. 
 This idea pierced my brain like a knife, and for the 
 moment, under the influence of the hour, the ghastly 
 scene, the evil laugh, I believed that I was about to 
 
6 A Creature o/ths Night. 
 
 witness this terrible resurrection. I tried to turn and 
 fly, but my limbs were paralyzed, and like a statue of 
 stone I stood there rooted to the earth, feeling as if I 
 were under the influence of some horrible nightmare. 
 
 Again I heard that wicked laugh, and this time it 
 seemed to come from a tomb near me, a square block 
 of grey stone, in the centre of which was an iron door, 
 evidently the entrance to some vault Beside this 
 portal stood a life-size figure in white marble of the 
 Angel of Death, guarding the entrance with a flaming 
 sword, the undulating blade of which seemed, to my 
 startled eye, to waver against the blackness of the 
 door. All round this strange tomb the grass grew long 
 and thick, but, half-veiled by the tangled herbage, star- 
 shaped flowers glimmered in the moonlight. 
 
 In another moment I would have fled, when for the 
 third time I heard the evil laugh, the iron door of the 
 tomb slowly opened, and a dark figure appeared on the 
 threshold. The sight was so terrifying that I tried to 
 mutter a prayer, feeling at the time as firm a belief in 
 the visitation of the dead as any old woman ; but my 
 throat was so dry that I could do nothing but remain 
 silent in my hiding-place and stare at this ghoul, 
 vampire, wraith, or whatever it was, leaving its tomb. 
 
 To add to the horror of the situation, the moon had 
 obscured herself behind a thick cloud, and there was 
 now a deep darkness over all the graveyard, a darkness 
 in which I could see nothing, and only hear the faint 
 sigh of the wind, the rustle of the dry grasses, and the 
 loud beating of my heart. 
 
 Suddenly I felt that this creature of the night was 
 passing near me, and in abject terror I shrank back 
 against the rough trunk of the tree under which 1 was 
 standing. I heard nothing in the still night, I saw 
 nothing in the thick darkness ; but I felt it pass, by that 
 sixth sense which is possessed by those who have 
 highly-strung nerves. In another moment the moon 
 emerged from behind the clouds in all her splendour, 
 and the burst of light gave me courage, for without 
 
considering the danger, either material or immaterial, I 
 rushed quickly towards the broken wall, in which direc- 
 tion I judged this unseen ghoul had gone. 
 
 The white moonlight flooded the whole space between 
 the burial-ground and the river, so that I saw clearly 
 this figure walking quickly away in the direction of the 
 Ponte Aleardi. It was draped in a long black cloak 
 with a monkish hood, and with its trailing, noiseless 
 garments it seemed to glide along in the moonlight like 
 a shadow. 
 
 I had been so quick in my pursuit that it was only a 
 little distance away and as I peered cautiously over the 
 broken wall it paused for a moment, and, throwing back 
 its hood, looked towards the place where I was hiding. 
 The space between us was so small and the moonlight 
 so lustrous that I could see the face and head plainly 
 rising from amid the dark drapery. 
 
 The face was that of a woman, a beautiful woman with 
 full crimson lips, large dark eyes, and great masses of 
 reddish-coloured hair, for even in the cold moonlight I 
 could see the warm, bronze glint of her tresses. One 
 hand, slender and white, clasped the dark robe to her 
 breast, and she looked towards the darkness of the 
 broken wall as if she knew that some one had seen her 
 terrible resurrection. On her delicate features there 
 was a cold, stern look, like that of the ancient Medusa, 
 and truly I felt as if I were turning into stone before the 
 cruel glare of those eyes which seemed to pierce the 
 gloom in which I lay hid. It will be said that I describe 
 somewhat minu'ely the appearance of this ghoul, seeing 
 that I only beheld her for a moment in the pale, uncertain 
 gleam of the moon ; but so close was she to the wall, and 
 so highly strung were my nerves by the weirdness of 
 the situation, that the sudden apparition of this crea- 
 ture of the night photographed itself indelibly upon 
 my brain. 
 
 At last she seemed satisfied with her gazing at the 
 burial-ground from whence she had emerged, and, a^ain 
 drawing her hood over her face, glided rapidly away 
 
8 A Creatur* of the NigkL 
 
 towards the Ponte Aleardi. Moved by curiosity and 
 supernatural fear, I determined to follow this spectre 
 and find out where she was going, so without a moment's 
 hesitation I jumped down, and, keeping in the shadow 
 of the wall, stole after her noiselessly and swiftly. 
 
 Who was she? Some unhappy ghost of antique 
 Verona, who had committed one of those terrible crimes 
 invented by Lucrezia Borgia, and who was condemned 
 by God to nightly revisit the scene of her former 
 splendour as a punishment for her evil life? Some 
 ghoul who left the feast of the dead in order to prey 
 upon the living? Some vampire, lusting for blood, 
 hastening towards the sleeping city to select her victim 
 and drain him of his life-blood ? All the wild, weird 
 tales which I had heard recurred to my memory ; all the 
 terrible legends of Brittany, of the East, of Spain, and of 
 the savage North. The memories of witches rifling the 
 dead for their unholy needs, of wizards holding orgies 
 in lonely churchyards, of magicians evoking the silent 
 tenants of the grave by powerful spells, and of demons 
 entering the bodies of the newly dead in order to roam 
 the midnight world — all these gruesome ideas surged 
 in my brain like the delirium of fever. 
 
 My fear had passed away. I felt intensely curious to 
 know the errand upon which this woman was bent, and, 
 with all my faculties sharpened by danger, I sped 
 swiftly after this flying spectre, which, looking neither 
 to right nor left, glided rapidly onward towards the 
 sleeping city of Verona, 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 A BOCCACCIAN ADVENTURE. 
 
 Italian towns are very perplexing to strangers. Keep 
 to the principal thoroughfares built in modern days, and 
 you may have a reasonable hope of finding your way 
 about ; but once get enmeshed in the crooked, narrow, 
 winding streets of the period of the middle ages, and you 
 are lost. The Italians, like Nature, delight in curves, 
 and these narrow alleys, with cobble-stone pavements 
 and no side-walks, dignified by the name of streets, 
 twist in and out, and here and there, between for- 
 bidding houses, seven or eight stories in height, under 
 heavy archways, which threaten to fall and crush the 
 unwary stranger, and down steep flights of worn steps, 
 until you become quite bewildered by the labyrinthian 
 windings. Then these houses are built high in order to 
 exclude the burning sun from the alleys, and a cold, 
 humid feeling pervades the entire network of streets ; 
 so that what with the gloom, the twistings, and the 
 treacherous pitfalls in dark corners, one feels like 
 Orpheus going down to Hades in search of lost 
 Eurydice. 
 
 Having been warned of the difficulty of exploring 
 these unknown depths, I had mostly confined my 
 wanderings to the broad, modern streets and the 
 populous piazzas ; therefore as long as my spectre guide 
 kept to the Via Pallone, which begins at the Ponte 
 Aleardi and ends at the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, I 
 felt quite safe. When, however, after leaving the Piazza 
 she plunged into the narrow streets of the mediaeval 
 
io A Creature efthe Night* 
 
 period, I hesitated at first to follow her. I did not know 
 my way, I was a stranger, and unarmed ; moreover, 
 I knew not into what unknown dangers I might be led 
 by this mysterious woman who had emerged from the 
 graveyard. 
 
 Curiosity, however, prevailed over fear, and as at any 
 moment I might lose sight of her, and thereby never 
 discover if she were of this or the other world, I followed 
 her boldly into the intense gloom into which she had 
 vanished. My eyes could hardly pierce the darkness, 
 and I feared I would not be able to keep her in sight, 
 when luckily a portion of her cloak became disarranged, 
 and I saw the vivid glimmer of a white dress, on which 
 I kept my eyes fastened as a guiding star. 
 
 Here and there in the houses lights were burning 
 dimly, but the hour being late, no people were in the 
 streets ; and as I followed this noiseless phantom along 
 the solitary alleys, with the dark houses on either hand, 
 and the white gleam of the moonlit sky above, I felt 
 as if I were moving in a dream. 
 
 Onward she glided, turning down here, climbing up 
 there, until my feet were weary with walking ; and be- 
 sides, not knowing the way, I stumbled frequently, 
 which gave me many a bruise. The darkness, however, 
 seemed no obstacle to the ghoul, who walked onward as 
 rapidly as if she were still in the moonlight ; on the 
 contrary, it was only by the greatest care that I could 
 grope my way sufficiently quickly to keep her in sight, 
 and prevent her from discovering me by my frequent 
 stumbles. 
 
 I was about to give up the chase in despair, when 
 suddenly she led me out on to a small square, and, 
 hastening across it, disappeared into a palace at the 
 further end. I remained in the alley until she vanished, 
 as I feared if I followed her too closely she might 
 perceive me in the moonlight The palace, which 
 occupied the whole of one side of the square, was a 
 richly decorated building, with a great arched portal 
 in the centre ; but I had no time to examine it closely, 
 
A Boccatcian Adventure. \\ 
 
 for, fearful of losing my ghoul, I ran quickly across 
 the square, came to the portal, and was stopped by an 
 iron gate. 
 
 It was one of those heavy iron gates common to 
 Italian palaces, which stretchi. g across from wall to wall, 
 afford a view of the inner court, and are only open 
 on festive occasions, or to admit vehicles. I knew that 
 entrance was ordinarily afforded by a side door, and 
 without doubt this was the way she had gone, unless 
 indeed, being supernatural, she found bolts and bars no 
 hindrance. Determined to pursue this strange adven- 
 ture to the end, I Sought the side door, but, on finding 
 it, discovered to my vexation that it was locked. I 
 could not enter that way, and the bars of the iron gate 
 were so close together that a man of my size could not 
 possibly squeeze through them, so to all appearances the 
 adventure, so far as I was concerned, was finished. 
 
 Making one last effort, however, I felt all the iron 
 bars singly, to see if any one was loose, in which case I 
 could remove it and thus slip through ; when to my 
 astonishment, on the left side of the gate furthest from 
 the door, I found that one of the bars had been wrenched 
 away. Without waiting to consider this, which was 
 curious to say the least of it, I concluded that the 
 woman, if indeed she were flesh and blood, had entered 
 by this breach in the gate, so at once took advantage 
 of my discovery and soon found myself in the courtyard. 
 The palace appeared to be quite deserted, as thewindows 
 were all broken, and the ironwork of the balconies 
 which ran round the four sides of the courtyard, at 
 different heights, was twisted out of all shape ; besides 
 which, the mosaic pavement upon which I stood was 
 smashed in several places, and grass grew between the 
 interstices. I could see all this plainly in the moon- 
 light, and, moreover, as a great door at the end of the 
 courtyard Opposite the iron gate was slightly ajar, while 
 all the other smaller doors were closed, I came to the con- 
 clusion that the ghoul had gone in there. My conjec- 
 tui e proved correct for as, hiding in the shadow, I peered 
 
is A Creature of the Night. 
 
 into the gloom of the building, I saw the sudden flare 
 of a torch which the woman had just fired, and with 
 this in her hand she began to climb up a flight of 
 steps — at least, so I judged from seeing the torch rise 
 higher and higher in the darkness until it vanished 
 altogether. 
 
 The lighting of the torch made me believe that I had 
 to do with flesh and blood, as certainly no phantom 
 would use natural ways and means in preference to 
 supernatural ; so directly the light disappeared, I stole 
 cautiously across what appeared to be a large hall, 
 
 f rasping my walking-stick tightly in case of any surprise, 
 could not disguise from myself that my curiosity had 
 led me into a very perilous adventure, but, as since the 
 affair of the torch I had quite recovered my nerve, I 
 went resolutely forward, and, feeling my way carefully 
 in the dark, climbed up the staircase. 
 
 At the first turning of the ascent all was still dark- 
 ness, but on taking the second turning I saw the torch 
 gleaming like a fierce yellow star in the gloom of a 
 long corridor. Luckily I had very light, thin shoes on, 
 and trod cautiously, otherwise the echo of my footsteps 
 would most surely have betrayed me to the mysterious 
 torch-bearer. The palace was certainly not inhabited, 
 as I heard nothing to support such a belief; but as I 
 hastened along the wide corridor, the moonlight stream- 
 ing through the windows on the left side showed me 
 that the glass in these windows was painted to represent 
 coats-of-arms,so without doubt this deserted mansion had 
 once been the residence of some great Veronese noble. 
 
 But what was the ghoul doing here ? Why had she 
 come from her vault in the churchyard to this neglected 
 habitation ? Again the fear seized me that this creature 
 was a phantom of some splendid lady of the middle 
 ages, come to revisit the scenes of her antique magni- 
 ficence. The cold air as I passed along seemed full of 
 the strange perfume of sandalwood, and this sensuous 
 odour, in conjunction with the flitting torch, the coloured 
 ^ ^ows cast on the floor by the moonlight streaming 
 
A Boccaccian Adventure. 13 
 
 in through the painted windows, and the state of nervous 
 excitement in which I was, all made me feel like the 
 hero of one of those amorous adventures which are 
 described in the glowing pages of Boccaccio. 
 
 Once more the torch disappeared round a corner to 
 the left, but in a moment I had it again in sight ; another 
 flight of shallow steps, another short corridor, and at the 
 end an arched door, through which the phantom disap. 
 peared. At the door I paused to consider what I should 
 do next, as, if I rashly entered the room, I might pay 
 for my temerity with my life ; so I stood irresolutely at 
 the half-open door, ready to fly at the least sign of 
 danger. 
 
 As I stood at the door in the intense gloom, for there 
 were no windows in this corridor, I saw a faint glimmer 
 of light in the room within, and this light remaining 
 stationary for some considerable time, I judged that the 
 lady of the sepulchre had left the torch there and 
 retired into some inner chamber. Resolving, therefore, 
 to risk the attempt, I peered into the apartment, and saw 
 the torch stuck in a socket made in a small table in the 
 centre of this small hall, which was hung with ancient 
 tapestry. At the end opposite the portal through which 
 I was looking, was an opening draped with heavy red 
 curtains embroidered with gold, for every now and then 
 as they stirred, I saw the dull glitter of the tarnished 
 metal. 
 
 Determined not to be discovered, I thought it a 
 capital plan to hide between the tapestry and the wall, so 
 as to secure good concealment, and then steal along the 
 walls until I arrived at the curtained opening, through 
 which I hoped to be able to see into the room beyond. 
 Just as I made up my mind to put this plan into prac- 
 tice, the torch, which had been burning very low, 
 flickered and went out, so that the hall was in complete 
 darkness. In the gloom, however, rays of bright light 
 shone through the embroidered curtains. I heard the 
 murmur of voices, and then the sharp, clear notes of a 
 mandolin. The ghoul evidently had some one with her, 
 
14 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 perhaps the unfortunate individual whom she proposed to 
 devour ; so as no time was to be lost, I slipped into the 
 apartment, ensconced myself between the tapestry and 
 the wall on the left of the door, and prepared to creep 
 along, if possible, to the curtained archway. While I 
 paused a moment to regain breath and courage, for 
 certainly the situation was not without an element of 
 danger, the metallic notes of the mandolin ceased and 
 a man's voice began singing some Italian song, but one 
 with which, in spite of my knowledge of music, I was 
 not acquainted. It was a slow and sensuous melody of 
 passionate sweetness with an undercurrent of sadness, 
 and the singer had a remarkably fine tenor voice 
 sounding full and rich even through, the heavy cur- 
 tains, which prevented me hearing the words clearly. 
 Evidently this was an amorous rendezvous ; but why 
 was it taking place in this deserted palace, and 
 why had the lady come from a vault in a graveyard to 
 keep it ? 
 
 All at once the singer stopped abruptly in the middle 
 of a phrase, I heard the mandolin suddenly smashing on 
 the marble floor, and then sounded the low, wicked laugh 
 I had first heard at the burial-ground. Filled with 
 anxiety to learn the meaning of all these strange events, 
 I glided rapidly along the wall, and speedily arrived at 
 the curtained opening. Being afraid to pull it to one 
 side lest I should be discovered, I took out my penknife 
 and made a slit in the heavy embroidery, then, looking 
 through the opening thus obtained, I beheld a most ex- 
 traordinary spectacle. 
 
 A circular chamber, not \x*y large, but very lofty, 
 surrounded by eight half-pillars of veined white marble 
 built into the wall, and supporting a domed ceiling richly 
 painted with garlands of flowers, from amid which peered 
 the smiling faces of beautiful women. Between these 
 noble pillars hung voluminous draperies of darkly red 
 velvet, all magnificently embroidered with fantastic de- 
 signs in tarnished gold thread ; but, curiously enough, the 
 apartment had no windows, either in the ceiling or at 
 
A Boceaccian Adventure* 15 
 
 the sides, so whatever took place within could not be 
 seen save through the curtained archway. 
 
 In the centre of the white marble floor stood a low, 
 heavy table, richly gilt, and covered with the remains of 
 a splendid feast. The gorgeousness of the vessels thereon 
 was truly marvellous, consisting, as they did, of elabo- 
 rately chased silver epergnes filled w!th brilliantly- 
 coloured fruits ; many-branched candelabra of gold, 
 bearing slender wax tapers to illuminate the apartment ; 
 gracefully carved jugs, of wonderful designs which must 
 have emanated from the brain of Cellini himself; and 
 strangely shaped antique goblets which put me in mind 
 of the sacramental cups used in Italian churches at the 
 celebration of the mass. The voluptuous scent of sandal- 
 wood pervaded the heavy atmosphere of the chamber ; 
 gold and silver and crystal shone in the mellow light of 
 the myriad tapers, and the whole appearance of this 
 sensuous banquet was like those of former ages presided 
 over by Can Grande or splendour-loving Caesar Borgia, 
 I thought I was in dreamland, the more so when I saw 
 the bizarre costumes worn by the two occupants of the 
 room. 
 
 One was the lady I had fallowed from the graveyard, 
 who, having thrown off her heavy cloak, now appeared 
 in a white silk dress of antique cut, richly embroidered 
 with gold. Round her slender neck she wore an old- 
 fashioned necklace of superb rubies, set in silver, which 
 flashed forth crimson flame with every heave of her snowy 
 bosom, while strings of soft-shining pearls were twisted 
 in her magnificent red hair ; an Eastern girdle of gold 
 fretwork encircled her waist, and broad gold bracelets 
 radiant with gems clasped her milk-white arms. The 
 profusion of jewels she wore scintillated with her every 
 motion, throwing out sparks of many-coloured fire, and 
 she looked like one of those proud dames of Venice who 
 smile so haughtily in the pictures of Titian. But her 
 face ! Oh, heavens ! what a beautiful, cruel, relent- 
 less face !— the tigerish look in the splendid eyes, the 
 wicked laugh of the full red lips ! Was she truly a 
 
1 6 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 woman, or some fiend sent upon earth to lure men to 
 hell by the fascination of her evil beauty ? 
 
 If the woman was curiously dressed for modern 
 days, her companion, a handsome young man of seven- 
 and-twenty, was still more so, as he wore a doublet 
 of pale-blue velvet slashed with white satin and 
 diapered with gold embroidery ; a small ruff round his 
 neck ; high riding-boots of black leather, reaching to the 
 thigh, with gilt spurs ; and a short mantle of azure silk, 
 which drooped gracefully from his shoulders. He had 
 no rapier, but at his girdle hung a small poniard, th§ 
 handle of which was thickly encrusted with gems, and 
 on the velvet-covered chair beside him lay a large cloak 
 and a small mask of black velvet. I rubbed my eyes 
 and pinched myself to see if I were really awake, for 
 the whole fantastic scene looked like one of those which 
 had doubtless taken place at Verona in the opulent days 
 of her splendour. 
 
 " I am mad, asleep, or intoxicated," I thought, as I 
 looked at this Boccaccian feast, at these Boccaccian 
 lovers. ** What does it mean ? This must be the phantom 
 of Lucrezia Borgia, who has risen from the tomb to 
 meet one of her dead lovers and renew for a time the 
 joys of the past. Oh! I am mad or asleep. I will 
 wake up and find this is all a dream — some fantasy of 
 the brain created by the delirium of fever ! " 
 
 Between the lovers lay the broken mandolin, and the 
 woman, pointing to this, talked volubly while the young 
 man stood listening with a scornful smile on his lips. 
 Not being a very good Italian scholar, I could not follow 
 all this rapid talk without great difficulty, but from 
 what I could gather it seemed to me that the phantom 
 of Lucrezia Borgia was accusing her lover of infidelity. 
 At length, when she seemed exhausted, he caught up 
 his mantle and mask as if about to go, but she fell pros- 
 trate before him, and seemed to implore him to stay. 
 He shook his head, and then springing to her feet in 
 anger, she snatched the poniard from his belt and tried 
 to strike him. The young man warded off the thrust 
 
A Boccaccian Adventure. \ J 
 
 with Ms left arm, round which was wrapped his heavy 
 black cloak, whereupon she let the dagger fall and began 
 to beseech him again. I could not understand the 
 meaning of this terrible dumb-show any more than I 
 could the curious dresses, the antique chamber or the 
 deserted palace. It was the phantasmagoria of a dream 
 seen by the soft light of the tapers, and my brain being 
 quite upset by the strange events of the night, I entirely 
 forgot the nineteenth century, and seemed to live, to 
 breathe, to tremble, on the threshold of one of those fatal 
 chambers wherein the Medici, the Scaligers and the 
 Borgias feasted, loved, betrayed, and slew, their friends, 
 their lovers, and their enemies. 
 
 The woman, evidently seeing it was useless, ceased 
 beseeching the young man, upon which he picked up 
 his dagger, and throwing the fold of his cloak over his 
 right shoulder, advanced towards the door without say- 
 ing good-bye to the lady. I withdrew quickly, fearful 
 of discovery, when, just as his hand was on the curtains, 
 her voice sounded once more, slow and deliberate, so 
 that I was able to understand what she said : — 
 
 * So you leave me for ever ? " 
 
 " Yes 1 " he replied with the same deliberation, "for 
 ever." 
 
 " Then before you go, let me drink to your future 
 happiness." 
 
 "With pleasure, madame." 
 
 He appeared to hesitate at first, but after saying these 
 words I heard him move away from the curtain, upon 
 which I looked again and saw him standing by the 
 chair, while the woman, with her face turned away, was 
 filling a goblet with wine. Her back was towards him, 
 so that he could not see what she was doing, but I could 
 perceive her least action. She filled two goblets with 
 wine, then taking something from her breast, dropped 
 it into one of them, and, turning round with a smile, pre- 
 sented the cup to him. It flashed across me that she 
 was trying to poison her lover, and I would have called 
 out to warn him, but the extreme peril of my position, 
 
1 8 A Creator* ofth* Night* 
 
 the terrible appearance of this woman, and the useless- 
 ness of interference, kept me silent during this supreme 
 moment 
 
 The young man took the cup she gave him, and 
 drained it with a bow, while she simply touched her lips 
 with the other goblet and smiled again. 
 
 " To your future happiness," she said in a significant 
 voice, and set the goblet down on the table. 
 
 They talked together after this reconciliation for some 
 time and seemed better friends than before, but I saw 
 that the woman kept furtively glancing at his face with 
 a wicked smile on her lips. At length he handed her 
 the mask, which evidently did not belong to him, and, 
 after kissing her hand, was about to turn in the direction 
 of the archway, when suddenly he grew pale, put his 
 hand to his head quickly, and grasped the chair near 
 which he stood to keep himself from falling. 
 
 " Why, what is this ? " he cried in a hoarse, strained 
 voice. M Gran Dio ! what does it mean ? " 
 
 She bent forward with a wicked laugh, and the rubies 
 flashed forth venomous red flame in the soft light 
 
 " It means that you have betrayed me and I have 
 revenged myself ! " 
 
 He looked at her with a dazed expression, made a 
 step forward as if to kill this terrible woman, who, 
 dangling the mask in her hand, stood mocking at his 
 agony with a cruel smile, then suddenly flung up his 
 hands with a wild cry of despair and fell at her feet — 
 dead. 
 
 " Fool I " she said, without displaying the least sign of 
 emotion. " Fool 1 " 
 
 I wished to rush forward and denounce the demon in 
 woman's shape who had so vilely perpetrated this cold- 
 blooded murder, but, overcome with horror, I reeled away 
 from the curtain and fell— -fell into the arms of some 
 one who held me with a powerful grip. I gasped with 
 alarm and was about to call out, when I felt a handker- 
 chief dashed suddenly over my face wet with some 
 liquid. In spite of my struggles it was held firmly there, 
 
A Boccaccian Adventure* 19 
 
 and I gradually felt my senses leave me until I knew 
 no more. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 When I came to myself it was early morning, and I 
 was seated on a stone bench in the Piazza Vittoria 
 Emanuele, surrounded by a group of curious onlookers. 
 
 " Where ami?" I asked in English. 
 
 No one answered, and I repeated the question in 
 Italian, upon which a fat woman spoke up, — 
 
 " Signore, you are in the Piazza Vittorio 1 " she said in 
 a husky voice; "we found you here when we came 
 first." 
 
 " But the palace, the woman, the poison I n I said 
 stupidly, for my head was aching terribly. 
 
 The peasants looked at one another with a meaning 
 smile and shook their heads. I saw that they thought 
 I had been drinking, so giving a piece of money to the 
 fat woman who had spoken, I took my way at once to 
 my hotel, which I reached in a state of bewilderment 
 better imagined than described. 
 
20 A Creature of the Night* 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 THE FEAST OF GHOSTS. 
 
 WAS it a dream? Common-sense said "Yes." My 
 bruises said "No! " But certainly the whole affair was 
 most remarkable, and quite out of the ordinary kind 
 of events which take place in this prosaic nineteenth 
 century. We have done with those romantic episodes 
 in which the heroes and heroines of Boccaccio, Le Sage 
 and M. Dumas pere take part, and in the searching light 
 of the Tress lantern, which is nowadays turned on all 
 things and on all men, it is impossible to encounter 
 those strange events of the middle ages. Judging from 
 my experiences of the previous night I had been 
 entangled in a terrible intrigue, which might have taken 
 place under Henri Trois or Lorenzo di Medici, yet, as 
 the past can never become the present, the whole affair 
 was a manifest anachronism. I was inclined to think 
 that I had been the sport of some Italian Puck, but as 
 there are no fairies nowadays, such an idea was absurd, 
 so the only feasible explanation of the bizarre occurrence 
 was that I had been dreaming. 
 
 I had certainly gone to the old burial-ground and had 
 seen the phantom of Lucrezia Borgia emerge from an 
 old Veronese tomb, and as certainly I had followed her 
 to the Piazza VittOrio Emanuele, but here, without 
 doubt, reality ended and fiction began. Evidently I had 
 sat down upon the stone bench where I was discovered 
 by the peasants, and had there fallen asleep to undergo 
 this extravagant adventure in a vision of the night. In 
 sleep I had dreamed a dream after the fashion of the 
 
The Feast of Ghosts* 2 1 
 
 Athenian lovers in Shakespeare's comedy, and the 
 antique chamber, the quaint costumes, and the phantom 
 characters had been idle visions of the brain, which had 
 played their several parts in this mediaeval phantasma- 
 goria. 
 
 To put entirely to one side the impossibility of living 
 people dressing themselves in rococo costumes in order 
 to play a fantastic comedy-tragedy in a deserted palace, 
 if I had really seen all I imagined, how did I find my- 
 self in the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele at daybreak ? The 
 visionary pursuit of the lady of the sepulchre had been 
 a long one, and I certainly could not have walked back 
 such a distance to the Piazza without knowing some- 
 thing about it But memory ceased at my fainting at 
 the door of the fatal chamber, and revived on my finding 
 myself on the stone bench in the Piazza ; therefore, 
 granting that the whole adventure had actually occurred, 
 how had I been taken from the deserted palace to 
 the Piazza ? 
 
 Idling over my midday meal at the Hotel d'Este, I 
 thought of the extraordinary series of events in which 
 I had taken part ; and kept puzzling my brain as to 
 whether they had really occurred or whether I had been 
 the victim of a grotesque nightmare. I had received a 
 letter from the Maestro Angello, saying he could not give 
 me my usual lesson, therefore I determined to devote the 
 whole day, which was thus at my disposal, to finding 
 out the truth or falsehood of this mysterious adventure. 
 
 My bruises were very painful, but I doctored myself 
 as I best could, so that without much difficulty I was 
 able to walk. Doubtless I had received these bruises 
 whilst pursuing the unknown from the graveyard to the 
 Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, and thus far I was certain of 
 the actuality of my adventure. With this idea in my 
 head, I made up my mind to go to the old graveyard 
 and discover, if possible, who was buried in the tomb 
 from which the ghoul had emerged. By finding out 
 the name I might possibly ascertain that of the lady, as 
 there must certainly have been some connection between 
 
22 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 her and the person buried in the mysterious vault. No 
 sooner had I thus sketched out my plan of action than 
 I put it at once into execution, and as I found 9ome 
 difficulty in walking, I sent for Peppino's fiacre in order 
 to drive to the cemetery. 
 
 Peppino was a merry little Florentine, whose services 
 I employed for two reasons, one being that he spoke 
 excellent Italian, so that I understood him easier than I 
 did the general run of these Northern Italians, who 
 usually gabble a vile patois which no Englishman can 
 understand without constant practice, and my acquaint- 
 ance with the modern Latin tongue was not sufficient 
 to warrant my indulging in liberties with it ; the other 
 reason was that Peppino, having lived a long time in 
 Verona, knew the town thoroughly, and would be able 
 to tell me better than any one if such a deserted palace 
 as I had dreamed of really existed ; besides which, he 
 was also a very amusing companion. 
 
 The fiacre duly arrived, and on going outside I found 
 Peppino grinning like a small black monkey as he held 
 the door open for me to enter. 
 
 "Dio !" said Peppino in a commiserating tone, seeing 
 how I leaned on my stick, " is the Signor not well ? " 
 
 ** Oh, yes ! quite well, Peppino, only I fell yesterday 
 and hurt myself, so you see I have to get you to drive 
 me to-day." 
 
 " Bene ! " replied Peppino philosophically, mounting 
 the box, " the ill of one is the good of another. To 
 where, Signor ? " 
 
 " To the cemetery near the Porta Vittorio." 
 
 " The new or the old one, Signore ? " 
 
 " The old cemetery ! " 
 
 Peppino cast a queer look at me over his shoulder, 
 and, muttering something about the " mad English," 
 drove away towards the Via Pallone. As he was on the 
 box-seat, and the fiacre made a good deal of noise going 
 over the rugged stone pavement, in addition to the 
 incessant jingling of the bells, I could not question him 
 as I desired to do, so making up my mind to wait until 
 
The Feast of Ghosts. 23 
 
 I arrived at the graveyard, I leaned back in the carriage 
 and gave myself up to my own thoughts. 
 
 Then a curious thing occurred which made me certain 
 that the events of the previous night had actually taken 
 place, for without the least effort of memory on my part 
 the strange melody sung by the young man in the 
 palace came into my head. I could not possibly have 
 dreamed that, and I could not possibly have composed 
 the air, so I concluded that I had really heard the song, 
 and, having an excellent musical ear, it had impressed 
 itself on my memory. Of course I did not recollect the 
 words, but only the tune, and thinking it might prove 
 useful as a link in the chain of circumstances, I hummed 
 it over twice or thrice so as to keep it in my mind. 
 
 I therefore concluded from this piece of evidence that I 
 had actually been to the deserted palace and witnessed 
 that strange feast ; but if so, how had I found myself at 
 dawn in the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele ? It was no use 
 puzzling my brains any more over this mysterious affair, 
 so the wisest plan would be to wait until I found out 
 the name on the tomb, and then perhaps Peppino would 
 be able to tell me about the palace, in which case, with 
 these two facts to go on, I might hope to discover the 
 meaning of these extraordinary events. 
 
 Meanwhile the fiacre had left the Via Pallone, crossed 
 over the Ponte Aleardi, and was now being driven 
 rapidly along the left bank of the Adige, past the 
 Campo Marzo. We speedily arrived at the old burial- 
 ground, and Peppino, stopping his horse near the gate, 
 assisted me to alight from the carriage. 
 
 "Peppino," I said when this was done, "tie your 
 horse up somewhere and come with me into the 
 cemetery." 
 
 " Diamine ! " replied Peppino, crossing himself with 
 superstitious reverence, " I like not these fields of the 
 deaoV , 
 
 ■ ' It's broad daylight, you coward ; besides* I wish you 
 to tell me about the tombs." 
 
 w But why does not the Signor go to the beautiful 
 
24 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 new cemetery ? " said Peppino, leading his horse to the 
 wall and fastening him to a heavy stone ; " the statues 
 there are beautiful. This is old, very old ; no one is 
 buried here now." 
 
 " When was the last person buried, Peppino ? M 
 
 u Dio ! I don't know — eh, oh yes, Signore, last year an 
 Illustrious was buried in his own vault, but he was mad. 
 Ecco!" 
 
 "Why did he have a vault built in such an old 
 cemetery ? " 
 
 " Oh, the vault was old — as old as the Trezza. 
 All the signori of his family had been buried there for 
 many days." 
 
 u Since the Republic ? " 
 
 * Dio 1 yes, and before." 
 
 ** What is the name of this family ? w 
 
 " I don't know, Signore, I forget 1 " 
 
 " Well, come along, Peppino. As you know so much 
 about one tomb, you will probably know something 
 about another." 
 
 " Command me, Illustrious." 
 
 I did not enter the burial-ground by the gate, as I 
 wanted to go the same way as on the previous night 
 in order to be certain of finding the tomb I was in 
 search of, so, with some little difficulty, and the help 
 of Peppino, I managed to climb over the broken wall, 
 and soon found myself in my old hiding-place. Pep- 
 pino looked at me with considerable curiosity, as he 
 could not conceive my object in coming to this dreary 
 locality ; but ultimately, shrugging his shoulders, he 
 put it down to a freak on the part of a mad English- 
 man, and waited for me to speak. 
 
 The tomb looked scarcely less forbidding and gloomy 
 in the daytime than it did at night, with its massive- 
 looking architecture, and the stern-faced angel guarding 
 the iron door. Advancing through the long grass which 
 grew all round it, I looked everywhere for a name, but 
 could find none, then tried to open the iron door, to the 
 great dismay of Peppino. 
 
The Feast of Ghosts. 25 
 
 " Signore," he said in a faltering voice, ° do not let out 
 the ghosts." 
 
 " There are no ghosts here, Peppino. They have all 
 departed," I replied, finding the door locked. ' 
 
 " Dio ! I'm not so sure of that, Illustrious. Many dead 
 are in there." 
 
 " Oh, they've been dead so long that their ghosts 
 must have grown weary of this gloomy sepulchre." 
 
 " Yes, Signore, but the ghost of the mad Count buried 
 last year ! " 
 
 " Oh 1 " I cried with lively curiosity, a is this the 
 vault where he was buried ? " 
 
 "Yes, Illustrious!" 
 
 " And the name, Peppino ? What was his name ? " 
 
 The little Italian looked perplexed, as he could not 
 understand the interest I took in this sepulchre ; still, 
 seeing I was in earnest, he tried to think of the name, 
 but evidently could not recall it. 
 
 u Cospetto ! Signore, I have the memory of Beppo, 
 who forgot the mother who bore him ; but the name 
 will be here, Illustrious, for certain." 
 
 " See if you can find it, Peppino," I replied, sitting 
 down on a stone near the iron door. " I am anxious 
 to know to whom this tomb belongs." 
 
 Peppino, being more conversant with Italian tombs 
 than myself, went to look for the name, and In a 
 wonderfully short space of time came back with a satisfied 
 smile on his face. 
 
 u Signore, the tomb Is that of the Morone." 
 
 " The Morone ? " 
 
 " Yes, Signore, they were a great family of Verona, 
 as great as the cursed Medici of my beautiful Flo- 
 rence." 
 
 "And this Count, who died last year, was their 
 descendant ? " 
 
 " Dio ! Illustrious, he was the last of them. No father, 
 no brother, no child. He was the last. Basta, basta 1 " 
 
 " Had he a wife ? " I asked, thinking of the woman 
 who had emerged from this tomb. 
 
26 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 "Yes, Signore, a beautiful wife, but when he died 
 she left Verona for Roma, I heard. She is not now 
 here.** 
 
 Well, I had found out the name of the family buried 
 in the tomb, and that the wife was the sole representa- 
 tive of the race, so I naturally thought she was the 
 only person who would have been able to enter the 
 tomb ; although why she did so, unless it was to pray 
 beside the corpse of her late husband, I could not under- 
 stand. Besides, Peppino, who was one of the greatest 
 gossips in the town, said she had left Verona, so perhaps 
 the midnight visitor was not the Contessa Morone at 
 all." 
 
 u Were the Count and Countess an attached couple, 
 Peppino ? " 
 
 The Italian shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 u Dio ! I know not indeed," he replied carelessly ; " the 
 Signor Conte was certainly mad. I saw him at times, 
 and he had the evil eye. Diamine 1 often have I made 
 horns for that eye, Illustrious." 
 
 " And the Countess, Peppino ? Have you ever seen 
 the Countess ? " 
 
 u No, Signore ! The Conte let her not out Ah ! he 
 was jealous, that madman. He was old and the Signora 
 was young. Per Bacco 1 the husband was afraid of the 
 handsome officers. Ecco 1 *' 
 
 A mad and jealous husband, old, too, into the bargain. 
 With such a trinity of imperfections a young and 
 beautiful woman could hardly be much in love with 
 him, and,, a year after his death, would certainly not have 
 taken the trouble to pray at his tomb. No 1 the un« 
 known lady could not possibly have been the Contessa, 
 Who then was this mysterious visitant ? I had now 
 quite got over my fancy that she was a spectre, and 
 felt profoundly curious to find out who she was, and 
 why she had come to this ancient burial-place at mid- 
 night 
 
 u Is there a Palazzo Morone, Peppino ? M 
 
 Peppino changed colour. 
 
The Feast of Ghosts. 27 
 
 "What do you know of the Palazzo Morone, 
 Signore ? " 
 
 * Oh, there is one, then ! " 
 
 ." Yes, Illustrious ! It is haunted 1 " 
 
 " Haunted ! Nonsense ! " 
 
 M Dio ! Signore, I speak the truth. No one has lived 
 there for the last two hundred years. It is shut up 
 for the rats and the owls and the spectres of the 
 tomb." 
 
 " What tomb— this one ? * 
 
 " Ah, Signore, do not jest, I pray you, or the illustrious 
 Signori Morone will hear us." 
 
 Peppino looked so serious that I forebore to smile at 
 this absurdity, lest I should offend his pride and thus 
 lose the story. 
 
 "Well, Peppino, tell me all about this haunted 
 palace." 
 
 " Not here, Signore, I am afraid !" 
 
 " Then help me back to the carriage." 
 
 He obeyed with great alacrity, and, when I was once 
 more in the fiacre, prepared to loosen his horse. 
 
 "No, no! Peppino," I said, smiling; "the ghosts 
 can't hear us here, so tell me the story of the Morone/' 
 
 Peppino cast a doubtful glance in the direction of the 
 burial-ground, and then, seating himself on the step of 
 the carriage, began his story. His Italian, as I have said 
 before, was very good, so, making him speak slowly, I 
 was easily able to understand the strange legend he 
 related. 
 
 " Signore," he began, with a solemn look on his 
 usually merry face, " the Morone were very famous in 
 Verona four hundred years ago. Dio ! they fought 
 with the Scaligers, and afterwards with the Visconti. 
 They were Podestas of the city before the Delia Scala, 
 and several of them were great Cardinals. One would 
 have been his Holiness himself, but the Borgia asked 
 iiim to supper and he died of their poison. About two 
 hundred years ago Mastino Morone weddea the Donna 
 Renata della Moneta, who was said to have been de- 
 
28 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 scended on the wrong side from Donna Lucrezia 
 herself/ 1 
 
 "You mean that this Renata was an illegitimate 
 descendant of Lucrezia Borgia ? " 
 
 ** Yes, Signore. Ah ! she was a devil of a woman, that 
 Madonna Lucrezia. Ebbene 1 Signore. This Donna 
 Renata wedded with Count Mastino Morone, and a 
 pleasant life she led him, for she loved all other men but 
 him. Cospetto ! he would have strangled her, but he 
 was afraid of her many lovers. There was a room in 
 the Palazzo Morone, without any windows, where Donna 
 Renata supped with those she favoured." 
 
 " And the room is there still ? " I said, thinking of 
 that mysterious chamber. 
 
 " Of a surety, Signore ! It is haunted by the ghost of 
 the Marchese Tisio ! " 
 
 "Who was he?" 
 
 "Signore, he was the last lover of Donna Renata, whom 
 she killed with the Borgia poison because he was faith- 
 less. Eh 1 it is true, Illustrious. She found out by her 
 spies that the Marchese loved another, so she asked him 
 to a last feast in her room, and when he was going she 
 gave him a cup of wine. Dio ! he drank it, the poor 
 young man, and died. Ecco ! " 
 
 "And why was he her last lover? Did she 
 repent?" 
 
 " No, Signore I The Count Mastino was watching at 
 the door, and when she had killed the Marchese he 
 went in to see her." 
 
 " And killed her, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Per Bacco! Signore, no one knows. She never came 
 out of that room again. The friends of the poor 
 Tisio found his body, but they never found Donna 
 Renata." 
 
 " Then what became of her ? " 
 
 "Cospetto! No one ever found out Mastino 
 married again and said nothing, but after that last feast 
 his first wife was never seen again. Diamine! it is 
 strange," 
 
The Feast of Ghosts, 29 
 
 " It's a curious story, Peppino, but it does not explain 
 how the palace is haunted." 
 
 " Listen, Illustrious ! I will tell," said Peppino in a 
 subdued whisper. "The spirits of the Donna Renata, of 
 the Conte Mastino, and of the Marchese Tisio, haunt the 
 palace, and in the month of May, when the crime was 
 committed, the lovers hold a feast in that secret room 
 while the husband watches at the door. Then the 
 Donna Renata poisons the Marchese, the husband 
 enters, and cries of pain and terror are heard. Then the 
 lights go out and all is still." 
 
 It was certainly very curious, for Peppino was de- 
 scribing the very same I had beheld — the terrible Renata, 
 the unhappy lover, and the poisoned cup, but the 
 Count — 
 
 " Tell me, Peppino, has any one ever beheld this feast 
 of ghosts?" 
 
 " Dio ! Signore,the people who lived in the palace were 
 so afraid of the ghosts that they left altogether, and no 
 one has lived there for two hundred years." 
 
 "Yes, yes! but this spectral banquet seems all 
 imagination — no one has seen it ? " 
 
 " Yes, Signore. A holy Frate, who did not fear the 
 devil, went one night in May and saw the feast through 
 the door, but just as the poisoned cup was given, the 
 ghost of the Conte dragged him away and tried to kill 
 him." 
 
 " Oh I and did the ghost succeed ? " 
 
 " No, Illustrious ! The Frate made the sign of the 
 cross and called on the Madonna, on which the ghosts 
 all vanished with loud cries, and the Frate fainted. 
 Next morning he found himself — " 
 
 " In the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele ? " 
 
 " No, Signore ; lying on the floor of the palace." 
 
 I was somewhat disappointed at this different ending 
 to the narrative of Peppino, but it was very extraor- 
 dinary that my adventure and that of the Frate should 
 be so similar. It was broad day, I had overcome my 
 superstitious fancies, yet the whole affair was so strange 
 
30 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 that I could not help feeling a qualm of fear, which I 
 tried to laugh off, a proceeding which mightily offended 
 Peppino. 
 
 " Signore, it is the truth I tell." 
 
 " Suppose I prove it, Peppino. This is the month of 
 May, and no doubt the feast takes place every night. You 
 will show me the palace, and I will watch at the door of 
 the secret room." 
 
 " Dio ! do not think of it, Illustrious," cried Peppino 
 in alarm ; " the Frate himself, a holy priest, was nearly 
 killed, and you, Signore, you are a heretic." 
 
 " And, therefore, liable to be carried off by his Satanic 
 Majesty. You are complimentary, Peppino. Never- 
 theless, to-morrow you must show me the palace." 
 
 " The Illustrious must excuse me." 
 
 " And watch with me for this feast of ghosts." 
 - " Dio ! the Signor jests ! " 
 
 " No, indeed, Peppino ! I am in sober earnest. We 
 will go to the Palazzo Morone to-morrow ; and now drive 
 back to my hotel, as I feel very tired. Your story has 
 been very entertaining, nevertheless." 
 
 " Ah ! the Signor does not believe me ? " said Peppino, 
 getting on the box again. 
 
 " Yes I do, Peppino ; but I believe your ghostly party 
 can be explained away," 
 
3* 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ANGELLO HOUSEHOLD. 
 
 The bruises I had received during my nocturnal adven- 
 ture turned out to be worse than I expected, especially one 
 on the left knee-cap, which quite incapacitated me from 
 walking ; therefore I was forced to remain in the house 
 all day. This was somewhat annoying, as I was anxious 
 to find out the Palazzo Morone, and see the chamber of 
 Donna Renata during daylight. I thought also that as 
 the palace bore such an evil reputation, my lady of the 
 sepulchre would think herself safe in leaving the dead 
 body of the young man lying in the room, and if I dis- 
 covered the corpse I intended to give notice to the 
 authorities of the crime I had seen committed. 
 
 Unluckily, however, I had to remain in bed most of 
 the day, and when Peppino came in to say that his 
 fiacre was at the door I was obliged to send him away, 
 much to his gratification, as he was by no means 
 anxious to guide me to the haunted palace. The 
 curious resemblance between my own experience and 
 the legend related by Peppino had rather startled me ; 
 but, being certain that I had to deal with the natural, 
 and not the supernatural, I was firmly resolved to 
 unravel this mystery before leaving Verona- To do 
 this every moment was of value, and I bitterly regretted 
 that my stiff knee kept me confined to the house. 
 Everything, however, is for the best, and before I saw 
 the Palazzo Morone, fresh light was thrown upon the 
 events of the night in a most unexpected manner. 
 
 After my one day of enforced idleness I was fully 
 
32 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 determined to seek the conclusion of my adventure the 
 next, when on the following morning I received a note 
 from Maestro Angello, asking me to be sure and come 
 to my lesson. As the Maestro was always annoyed at 
 the non-appearance of a pupil, I judged it wise to go, 
 and arranged with Peppino to search for the Palazzo 
 Morone in the afternoon. The lesson would only last 
 an hour, and I would thus have plenty of time to carry- 
 out my intention, as Peppino, knowing the Palazzo, 
 would be able to take me there direct. 
 
 I felt much better this second day after my adventure, 
 as the pain had quite left my knee; so having thus 
 arranged my plans for the afternoon, I started in a very 
 contented frame of mind for the Casa Angello. 
 
 It was a dreary day, for there are dreary days even 
 in Italy, and at intervals there fell heavy showers, which 
 made me feel somewhat depressed. Pedestrians were 
 hurrying along with large umbrellas of the Gamp species, 
 red being the prevailing colour; and what with the 
 sloppy streets, the gloomy houses, and the absence of 
 the chattering Italian populace, the whole place looked 
 infinitely melancholy, so in order to keep up my spirits 
 I hummed the weird air I had heard in the Palazzo 
 Morone. 
 
 Maestro Angello lived in a narrow street, more like a 
 drain than anything else, and I entered into a damp 
 courtyard through a dismal little tunnel barred by an 
 iron gate. The portanaia, who lived in a glass-fronted 
 room as if she were a unique specimen of the human 
 race preserved in a case, nodded her head to intimate 
 that the Maestro was at home, so I climbed up the evil- 
 smelling stone stairs which went up the side of the 
 courtyard, and soon arrived at Angello's door. Ring- 
 ing a little bell which tinkled in a most irritating 
 manner, I was admitted into the dingy ante-chamber 
 by Petronella, a short, fat, good-natured woman 
 who managed the whole household, and made a 
 great deal of noise over doing so. She was dressed 
 in an untidy print gown, with a bright red shawl over 
 
The Angello Household, 33 
 
 her shoulders, and wore wooden clogs which clattered 
 noisily on the terra-cotta floor. Her plenteous hair 
 was roughly twisted into a knot and stuck through 
 with large brass pins, which gave her a spiky ap- 
 pearance about the head. This curious apparition 
 saluted me with a jolly smile in a gruff voice, with 
 the usual familiarity of Italian servants, — $ 
 
 "Sta bene, Signore? Ah, the Maestro! povero 
 Maestro ! " 
 
 " What's the matter with him, Petronella ? " 
 
 " Eh ! Signore, he cannot live much longer." 
 
 As Angello was considerably over eighty years of 
 age I thought this highly probable, and was about to 
 condole with Petronella over his illness, when she saved 
 me the trouble of a reply by bursting out into a long 
 speech delivered with much dramatic effect : — 
 
 " It is nothing but trouble, Signore. Such a fine young 
 man, and the piccola loved him so ! It will surely place 
 the Maestro among the saints. Four masses for his 
 soul, Signore ; and those priests are such thieves. I said 
 * No lesson,' but the Maestro is a mule for having his own 
 way. Let him teach, say I ; it will divert his mind ! 
 There, Signore, go in with you ! But I always thought it 
 would come ; four times I heard the cock crowing, a 
 bad sign, as Saint Peter knew. There, there! the 
 Madonna aid us ! " 
 
 Not understanding in the least what Petronella was 
 talking about, I allowed myself to be pushed mechani- 
 cally into the inner room in a state of bewilderment. 
 The Maestro, seated in his usual chair, was waiting for 
 me, and his granddaughter, Bianca, who assisted him 
 with his lessons, was looking out of the window at the 
 falling rain. An atmosphere of sadness seemed to per- 
 vade the dull, grey room, and as Bianca advanced to 
 meet me I saw that her eyes were red with crying, while 
 old Angello stared at her in a listless, indifferent manner, 
 being so old as to be past all sympathetic feelings. 
 
 He was a mere mummy, this old man who had been 
 celebrated as a teacher of singing in the days of Pasta 
 
34 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 and Malibran ; a faint shadow of his former self, only 
 kept alive by the mechanical exercise of his art. Yet, 
 in spite of his great age, his ear was wonderfully keen 
 and true ; the sense of hearing, from continuous cultiva- 
 tion, being the only one which had survived the wreck 
 of his faculties, and, with the assistance of Bianca, he 
 was still enabled to teach his wonderful system in an 
 intelligible manner. Many of his pupils had been 
 European celebrities on the operatic stage during 
 the past fifty years, and his rooms in Milan were 
 crowded with souvenirs of famous artists of undying 
 fame. His children, and, with the exception of 
 Bianca, his grandchildren, were all dead ; his friends 
 and acquaintances and the generation that knew him 
 had all passed away ; but this Nestor of lyrical art 
 still survived, alone and sad, amid the ruins of his past. 
 White-haired, wrinkled, blear-eyed, silent, he sat daily 
 in his great armchair, taking but little notice of the life 
 around him, save to ask childish questions or talk about 
 some dead-and-gone singer whose fame had once filled 
 the world ; but place a baton in hi hand, strike the piano, 
 lift the voice, and this apparent corpse awoke to life. He 
 beat time, he corrected the least false note, he explained 
 the necessary instructions in a faltering voice, and, 
 during the lesson, bore at least some semblance of life; 
 but when all was finished, the baton fell from his withered 
 hand and he relapsed into his former apathy. One would 
 have thought that he would have been glad to rest in 
 his old age, but such was his love for his art that he 
 insisted upon teaching still, and it was this alone 
 which kept him alive. His granddaughter, Bianca, 
 trained in the family traditions, was enabled to inter- 
 pret his words, and, as his system of singing was 
 unique, in spite of his apparent uselessness, he had many 
 pupils. 
 
 Bianca herself was a charming Italian girl of twenty, 
 more like a graceful white lily in appearance than any- 
 thing else, so fragile, so delicate, so pallid did she seem. 
 Her mournful eyes, dark and soft as those of a gazelle, 
 
The Angello Household. 35 
 
 seemed to© large for her pale, oval face ; and her figure, 
 small and slender, always put me in mind of that of a 
 fairy. Indeed, in sport, I sometimes called her the Fairy 
 of Midnight, after some poet-fancy that haunted my 
 brain, for all her strength seemed to have gone into those 
 glorious masses of raven-black hair, coiled so smoothly 
 round her small head. This portraiture seems to give 
 the idea that Bianca was a melancholy young person, 
 yet such was not the case, for I have seen her as gay 
 as a bird on bright days, or when she received a letter 
 from her lover. 
 
 Yes ! she had a lover to whom she was engaged to be 
 married, but, curiously enough, I knew nothing about 
 this lover, not being sufficiently intimate with Bianca to be 
 the confidant of her tender little secret. This unknown 
 lover was always away in other parts of Italy, and when 
 he did visit Bianca it was during my absence, so I used 
 to joke with the Signorina about this visionary being. 
 But she, with one delicate finger on her lip and an arch 
 smile of glee, would tell me that he — she never mentioned 
 his name — had an actual existence, and some day I 
 would see him in person at Verona. Well, here was 
 Verona, here was Bianca, but the lover had not ap- 
 peared, so I would have jestingly asked this Fairy of 
 Midnight the reasons of his absence, had not the real 
 grief expressed on her face deterred me. 
 
 "Signorina, are you in trouble ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes! Signore, great trouble; but you cannot 
 help me. No one can help me. 
 
 " But perhaps I — " 
 
 " No, Signore, it is useless. Come, you must have the 
 lesson at once. The Maestro is dull to-day, he needs 
 amusement ; so come, the lesson." 
 
 " It is very cruel of you to make a joke of my lesson, 
 Signorina." 
 
 Bianca made no reply to my jesting remark, but 
 heaving a little sigh, placed the ivory baton in the 
 hand of the Maestro and sat down at the piano. The 
 mummy, finding his services required, woke up and 
 
36 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 had a llitte conversation with me before beginning the 
 lesson. 
 
 " Eh ! Signor Inglese," he croaked — this being his 
 name for me — " London is dark ! *' 
 
 He had a fearful prejudice against London, which he 
 had once visited at a foggy season, and always made 
 the above remark to his English pupils, which no one 
 ever thought of contradicting. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " he said, nodding his old head like a 
 Chinese mandarin ; " London is always dark." 
 
 "Yes, Maestro." 
 
 " You've not been working ? " 
 
 " Indeed I have, Maestro." 
 
 " Come then, Signor Inglese, we will see," and the 
 lesson commenced. 
 
 Oh, those lessons ! what agonies I suffered during 
 them, trying to attain the impossible ! To how many 
 fits of despair have I given way in failing time after time 
 to manage my breathing ! It was all breathing — a deep 
 drawing in, a slow letting out — the exercise of internal 
 muscles of which I had never heard even the name — the 
 weariness of incessantly practising notes in a still, small 
 voice hardly audible, — it was enough to discourage the 
 most persevering. Some of the female pupils, I believe, 
 cried with vexation when not able to do what was re- 
 quired by the severe Maestro, who denied the exis- 
 tence of the word " impossible " in connection with 
 singing ; but I, not being a woman, was reduced to swear- 
 ing, which certainly relieved my feelings after a battle 
 with a particularly aggravating exercise. 
 
 Even now, when I am successful in my art, I often 
 turn cold as I think of those apparently insurmountable 
 obstacles which I had to overcome ; but with these painful 
 memories there is mixed at the same time a kindly 
 thought of that noble old Maestro, so patient, so courteous, 
 so painstaking, whose devotion to his art was so great, 
 who was so severe on the least fault and so encouraging 
 of the least success in conquering a difficulty. 
 
 Well, the lesson went on slowly, with frequent in- 
 
The Angello Household, 37 
 
 terruptions from the Maestro, who was satisfied with 
 nothing less than perfection ; and I breathed according to 
 directions, sang " ah ! " " eh," "ee's" in a tiny, tiny voice, 
 until at the end of the hour I was glad to sit down and rest 
 before departing. I felt tired out, I felt hungry, and, as 
 the weather was bad, I felt cross, but at the same time I 
 felt curious to know what was the matter with Bianca. 
 
 The Maestro, having remarked encouragingly that I 
 had the voice of a goose and would never sing in La 
 Scala, relapsed into silence, evidently thinking of his 
 colezione which was being prepared in the kitchen 
 with some trouble, judging from the raised tones of 
 Petronella's voice ; and as Bianca still sat at the piano, 
 striking random chords, there was nothing for me to do 
 but to take my departure. She was not prepared to 
 tell me her trouble, and indeed she had no reason to do 
 so, but feeling anxious to aid the poor child if I could, 
 I ventured to speak to her on the subject. 
 
38 A Creature of the Night* 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LOST. 
 
 WHILE I was wondering which was the best way to 
 approach this somewhat delicate matter, the door was 
 flung open to its fullest extent and Petronella stalked 
 majestically into the room. There was a wrathful look 
 on her strongly marked features, and Bianca trembled in 
 expectation of a storm. Both she and the Maestro 
 were terrib'y afraid of Petronella, who ruled the house- 
 hold and looked after them as she would a couple of 
 children ; sonowthat she frowned they acted like children, 
 and were cowed by her eagle eye. Petronella surveyed 
 the three of us grimly, and, being satisfied that her 
 entrance had produced an effect, spoke with a dramatic 
 gesture that Rachel herself might have envied, — 
 
 " I am enraged to-day. Let no one speak to me." 
 
 Neither the Maestro nor Bianca seemed inclined to 
 accept this tread-on-the-tail-of-my-coat challenge, so 
 Petronella looked from one to the other to see on 
 whom she should pour out the vials of her wrath. 
 Ultimately she chose Bianca. 
 
 " Ah, it is you, Signorina ! it is you who enrage me. 
 And for why ? you ask. Holy Saints ! you ask why. 
 Because you sit there like a statue in the Duomo. 
 Will that bring him back ? say I. No, Signorina, let 
 the bad young man go. Ecco ! " 
 
 " Guiseppe is not a bad young man," cried Bianca, 
 rising angrily to her feet. 
 
 " Are you older than I am, piccola ? No ! Have 
 you been married like I was ? No ! Then let me 
 
Lost. 
 
 39 
 
 speak, child that you are. All men are bad — ask the 
 Signor there ! All men are bad ! " 
 
 Petronella made a comprehensive sweep of her arms 
 so as to indicate the whole masculine portion of the 
 human race, and I, seeing an opportunity of finding out 
 what was the matter, did not attempt to defend mas- 
 culine depravity in any way, but artfully asked a ques- 
 tion, — 
 
 "I can hardly say. I don't know what you are 
 talking about!" 
 
 " Eh ! has the Signor no ears ? I speak of Guiseppe 
 Pallanza!" 
 
 " What, the tenor at the Teatro Ezzelino ? " 
 
 " Yes, Signore, he is the engaged one of the Signorina 
 here, and — " 
 
 " Enough, enough, Petronella ! " cried Bianca, her 
 face flushing. " Do not trouble the Signor with these 
 chatterings." 
 
 " Oh, it's no trouble," I replied quickly. " Perhaps I 
 can help you, Signorina, if you require help ! " 
 
 " Eh, eh ! " assented Petronella approvingly, " the 
 English have long heads, piccola. Tell him all and he 
 will find out what others cannot find out. And you, 
 Maestro, the colezione is ready." 
 
 She tenderly led the old man into the next room, 
 and I was thus left alone with Bianca, who had retreated 
 to the window, where she stood twisting her handker- 
 chief with nervous confusion. 
 
 "Do not tell me, Signorina, if you would rather not," 
 I said gently. 
 
 " Ah, Signore, if I thought you would be my friend ! " 
 
 " Certainly I will be your friend." 
 
 " The Maestro is so old. Petronella is so foolish. 
 We know none in Verona, and I can do nothing for my 
 poor Guiseppe ! " 
 
 " Your lover, Signorina ? " 
 
 "Yes. I promised you should see him at Verona, 
 but— now — ah now ! — but perhaps you have heard him 
 singing at the Ezzelino ? " 
 
40 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 " No ; I have not been to the opera since my arrival 
 here. What is the matter with him ? Is he ill ? " 
 
 " I know not ! I know not ! He is lost ! " 
 
 "Lost?" 
 
 " Yes, Signore. My Guiseppe has disappeared and no 
 one knows where he is ! " 
 
 Could there be any connection between the dis- 
 appearance of Guiseppe and the death of that young 
 man I had seen in the fatal chamber? The thought 
 flashed across me as she spoke, but I dismissed it as 
 idle. _. 
 
 "And you want some one to look for Signor 
 Pallanza ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " 
 
 " Well, I will undertake the task ! * 
 
 " You, Signore ! " she cried joyfully ; u will you search 
 for him ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Signorina ; I promised to be your friend. 
 Now sit down, and tell me all about your lover and his 
 disappearance. I may be able to do more for you 
 than you think." 
 
 The fact is, that by some subtle instinct I connected 
 the disappearance of this young man with the curious 
 events of two nights before, and, leading Bianca to a 
 seat, I prepared to listen attentively to her recital. 
 
 " Signore," she began in her flute-like voice, " I 
 have been engaged to marry Guiseppe Pallanza for 
 some months. He was a pupil of the Maestro, and we 
 loved each other when we first met ; but ah ! Signore, he 
 was poor then, and we could not marry, but now he is 
 rich and famous." 
 
 " Yes, I have heard of the tenor Pallanza, but have 
 never seen him on the stage." 
 
 "He has the voice of a god, Signore, and at La 
 Scala, two seasons ago — oh, Signore, it was the talk of 
 the whole city. The papers called him the New Mario, 
 and he is so handsome — like an angel. After La Scala 
 he went to Florence, to Naples, and then to Rome, where 
 he sang in ' Faust * and ' Polyeuct ' at the Apollo, then 
 
Lost, 41 
 
 he came on here a week ago for the season at the 
 Ezzelino ; but now he is lost. Dio ! how unhappy I 
 am." 
 
 She covered her face with her hands, and wept 
 quietly for a few minutes, and, impatient as I was to 
 hear the particulars of the affair, I did not dare to 
 disturb her grief. After a time she dried her tears, and 
 went on again, — 
 
 " He came to Verona on Saturday, Signore, and we 
 were so happy together talking about our marriage ; 
 and on Monday he sang in ' Faust* at the Ezzelino. I 
 went to the theatre with Petronella, and that was the 
 last time I saw him." 
 
 " Oh, then he disappeared on Monday night ! " I 
 asked, quickly feeling my heart begin to beat rapidly 
 with excitement, for it was on Monday night that my 
 extraordinary adventure had taken place. 
 
 " Yes, Signore. He was to come here after the opera, 
 to tell the Maestro how he had sung — you know how 
 anxious the Maestro is over his pupils — but he never 
 came, nor the next day either ; so this morning I went 
 to ask at the Ezzelino, and they told me he had disap- 
 peared." 
 
 " It's curious I never heard of it. The disappearance 
 of a popular tenor is not a common thing ! " 
 
 "Signore, he sang on Monday and was to sing 
 again to-night, so nothing was thought about him 
 not coming to the theatre yesterday ; but this morning 
 they sent to his lodgings, to find that he had not 
 been there since he left the Ezzelino after the opera on 
 Monday." 
 
 " The papers will be full of it to-night I " 
 
 " Ah ! that will not bring him back," said poor little 
 Bianca in a melancholy tone, shaking her small head, 
 which drooped like a faded flower. 
 
 I was now certain that my adventure on Monday 
 night had something to do with the disappearance of 
 Guiseppe Pallanza, and doubtless the young man I had 
 seen in the deserted palace was the missing tenor ; but 
 
42 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 the antique dress, the amorous rendezvous— these needed 
 some explanation. 
 
 " Was he in love v/ith any one, Signorina ? " 
 
 It was a cruel but necessary question which angered 
 Bianca, who threw back her little head with great 
 haughtiness. 
 
 " Signore, he loved me and no one else." 
 
 " Had he any reason for disappearing ? " 
 
 " Signore ! " 
 
 " Forgive me if I appear rude," I said in a deprecating 
 tone ; " but indeed, Signorina, to find out all I must 
 know all." 
 
 " Well, Signore, I am telling you all," she replied 
 petulantly. " It was most strange his going away from 
 the theatre." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " He left the Ezzelino in his stage-dress ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 I jumped to *ny feet in a state of uncontrollable ex- 
 citement, for I saw at once that I was on the right track. 
 The antique dress was explained now ! it was the dress 
 he wore in the last act of " Faust." 
 
 " But surely, Signorina, that was very extraordinary/' 
 I said, pausing in my walk ; " no one would walk the 
 streets of Verona in a dress like that." 
 
 " I can explain that, Signore ! When Guiseppe came 
 from Rome, a friend came with him who was very ill — 
 a baritone singer, who was in the same company at the 
 Apollo. I was told at the Ezzelino that just before the 
 last act of the opera, Guiseppe received a note saying 
 that his friend was dying, so as soon as the curtain fell, 
 he threw on a cloak which hid his dress, and went 
 away as quickly as possible, so as to see his friend 
 before he died." 
 
 " Oh ! and is the friend dead yet ? " 
 
 " I do not know, Signore." 
 
 The story of the dying friend might be true, yet to 
 me it seemed highly improbable, and I guessed that 
 the people at the theatre had told this fiction to 
 
Lost. 43 
 
 pacify the fears of Signorina Angello, to whom they 
 knew that Pallanza was engaged. The real truth of 
 the matter was doubtless that the letter came from the 
 woman I had followed, asking him to meet her at the 
 deserted Palazzo Morone, and he had gone there 
 innocently enough, to be poisoned as I had seen. This 
 explained a great deal, but it did not explain why the 
 meeting should have taken place at such an extra- 
 ordinary spot, and why the woman should have come 
 from a burial-ground to keep the appointment. Taking 
 all the circumstances into consideration, I was certain 
 that it was Pallanza I had seen murdered on Monday 
 night, but in order to be quite sure of his identity, I 
 asked Bianca if she had any photograph of her 
 betrothed. 
 
 " Of a surety, Signore," she replied, and going to an 
 album on the table, brought me a cabinet portrait. 
 " This is Guiseppe as Faust, the dress in which he left 
 the theatre/' 
 
 It was as I surmised. The portrait was coloured, 
 and I saw an exact representation of the young man I 
 bad beheld at the Palazzo Morone. The typical Italian 
 face with the black curly hair, dark eyes, small 
 moustache and sallow skin ; the slender figure arrayed 
 in a doublet of blue velvet, slashed with white satin ; 
 the azure silk cloak, the poniard and the high riding- 
 boots — nothing was wanting ; the successful tenor of 
 the portrait was the man who had taken poison from 
 the hand of the lady of the sepulchre. Still it was no 
 use telling Bianca of my suspicions until I had dis- 
 covered the whole secret ; and besides, as Guiseppe was 
 dead, I naturally shrank from being the bearer of such 
 bad news. I suppose my face betrayed my thoughts, 
 for I saw the Signorina watching me anxiously ; so to 
 lull any fancies she might have, I made the first remark 
 that came into my head, — 
 
 *' I never saw Faust in riding-boots before ! " 
 
 " Ah, Sig Tjre ! " replied the girl with a fond look, 
 " Guiseppe was an artist as well as a singer, and de- 
 
44 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 signed his own dresses. He said that as Faust in the 
 last act was going to fly with Marguerite, and Mephi- 
 stopheles speaks of the horses waiting, it is natural that 
 he should wear a riding-dress." 
 
 This explanation was quite satisfactory, and having 
 thus learned the identity of the young man whom I 
 had seen murdered, I prepared to go, when another 
 idea entered my head, and, going over to the piano, I 
 began to play by ear the strange air" I had heard at the 
 Palazzo Morone. Bianca gave a cry of surprise as 
 she heard the melody, and came over to the piano 
 with a puzzled look on her face. 
 
 "Ah, you know it, Signorina?" I said, turning round 
 quickly. 
 
 " Yes ! in fact I gave it to Guiseppe. It is an old 
 air by Palestrina, which I found among the music of 
 the Maestro, to which Guiseppe set words. He is 
 very fond of it and sings it a great deal. Ah, Signore, 
 you must have heard him sing it, for no one else has a 
 copy." 
 
 I turned off the matter with a careless remark, not 
 caring to tell Bianca where I had heard it ; and now 
 being quite certain that I would be able to unravel the 
 whole mystery, I wanted to get away as quickly as 
 possible in order to arrange my plans. 
 
 "Addio, Signorina," I said, giving her my hand. 
 " When I see you again I may be able to give you 
 news." 
 
 " Good news ? " 
 
 " Yes, I hope so, Signorina," I replied hurriedly as 
 Petronella appeared at the door. " Do not anticipate 
 evil, I beg of you. I have no doubt Guiseppe is quite 
 well." • 
 
 " Oh, I hope so ! I trust so ! Addio ! Signor Hugo, 
 you will come back soon ? " 
 
 " To-morrow, Signorina." 
 
 " Ah ! I see you have brought back the smiles," said 
 Petronella's gruff voice as she ushered me out. " What 
 do you think of this evil one going away, Signore ? I 
 
Lost. 45 
 
 was going to have four masses if he is dead, but those 
 
 priests are such thieves. Ecco ! " 
 
 " Why should you think he is dead, Petronella ? " 
 " Eh, Signore, he loves the piccola so much that 
 
 nothing but death would keep him away/' 
 " Except — " 
 " I know what you would say, Signore, except a 
 
 woman. Well, maybe men are all bad. I've been 
 
 married, Signor — I know, I know ! " 
 
 " Well, I don't think I'm particularly bad, Petronella." 
 " Eh ! then you're not a true man, Signore," retorted 
 
 Petronella, closing the argument and the door at the 
 
 same time. 
 
46 A Great tire of the Night, 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 A HAUNTED PALACE. 
 
 I NEED hardly say that I was very much excited over the 
 strange discovery I had made, as there now appeared to 
 be a reasonable chance of clearing up the mystery of 
 the Palazzo Morone. I had discovered the name of the 
 unhappy young man, which gave me a most important 
 clue to the reading of the enigma ; but I had yet to find 
 out the name of the lady who had behaved in such an 
 extraordinary manner and committed so daring a crime. 
 After hearing Peppino's story I fancied that she might 
 perchance be the Contessa Morone, but had later on 
 dismissed this idea as idle, seeing that she had been 
 absent from Verona for many months ; but now that 
 Bianca had told me that Pallanza had come straight 
 from Rome, I began to suspect that I had been right 
 in my surmise. According to Peppino the Contessa 
 had taken up her residence at the Italian capital, so 
 what was more likely than that she had fallen in love 
 with Guiseppe while he was singing at the Teatro 
 Apollo, and, following him to Verona, had killed him by 
 means of poison, in revenge for his determination to 
 leave her ? 
 
 So far everything was feasible enough, but two points 
 of the affair perplexed me very much, one being the 
 choosing of the deserted palace as a place of meeting, 
 the other the visit to the burial-ground by the woman. 
 We do not live in the times of the Borgias, when noble 
 ladies can thus rid themselves of their lovers with im- 
 punity, else I might have believed that this phantom of 
 
A Haunted Palace. 47 
 
 Donna, Lucrezia had gone to the old Veronese cemetery 
 to select a grave for the unfortunate young man she in- 
 tended to murder. To think thus, however, was foolish, 
 and although I guessed that she had used the old palace 
 of her family as a safe place for a lovers' meeting, seeing 
 its gruesome reputation secured it from public curiosity, 
 yet I was quite unable to explain the cemetery mystery. 
 One thing, however, appeared to me to be certain, that 
 Guiseppe Pallanza had been carrying on an intrigue 
 with the Contessa — presuming the ghoul to be her — and 
 that he had gone to the Palazzo Morone on the night 
 in question at her request. As to the sick friend — 
 
 Now I greatly mistrusted that sick-friend story. So 
 many fast young Englishmen whom I knew had adopted 
 the same lie to cover their little peccadilloes that I was 
 quite sure Pallanza had employed the same fiction to pre- 
 vent the scandal of his intrigue with this unknown woman 
 from reaching the ears of his fiancee. Bianca was a very 
 proud girl, and I felt certain, from what little I had seen of 
 her character, that if she discovered Guiseppe was playing 
 her false, she would at once break off the engagement at 
 any cost. Like all Italian women, when she loved she 
 loved with her whole soul, and expected the same single- 
 hearted return to her passion ; so that the discovery of 
 her lover's infidelity could only be punished sufficiently, 
 according to her ideas, by an everlasting parting between 
 them. Pallanza knew this, and therefore tried to hide 
 his guilt by the plausible story of his dying friend, which 
 appeared to me to be such a remarkably weak fabrication 
 that, before going to the Palazzo Morone, I determined 
 to find out if this mythical invalid existed. 
 
 Curiously enough, although I was studying for the 
 musical profession and was devoted to operatic per- 
 formances, I had not been to the Teatro Ezzelino since 
 my arrival at Verona, preferring to wander about the 
 streets of the romantic old city in the moonlight to 
 sitting night after night in a stifling atmosphere of heat, 
 glare, and noise. I made up my mind, however, to 
 go on this special night, in the hope thai I might 
 
4.8 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 hear some talk about Pallanza's disappearance, and be 
 guided thereby in my future movements; but mean- 
 while I went to the theatre in the afternoon, and, 
 introducing myself to the impresario as a friend of 
 Guiseppe's, asked him if he had heard any news of the 
 missing tenor. 
 
 The impresario, a dingy old man of doubtful cleanli- 
 ness, was in despair, and raged against the absent 
 Pallanza like a Garrick of the gutter. He had heard 
 nothing of this birbante — this ladrone who had thus dis- 
 appeared, and left an honest impresario in the lurch. 
 " Faust" was the success of the season ; without Pallanza 
 there could be no " Faust," and the season would be a 
 failure. What was he to do ? Cospetto ! it was the luck 
 of the devil. Why had this scellerato run away ? A 
 sick friend ? Bah ! there was no sick friend. It was a 
 > man who had enticed away this pazzo. A dying 
 friend from Rome was not a very likely story, but a lie 
 — a large and magnificent lie. Here was the basso of 
 his company, who had been singing with Pallanza at the 
 Apollo ; ask him, truth is on his lips. Behold this good 
 man! 
 
 Signor Basso-profundo advanced, and though truth 
 might have been on his lips it certainly was not apparent 
 on his face, for a more deceitful countenance I never 
 beheld. However, I have no doubt he spoke truth on 
 this occasion, as there was no money to be made by 
 telling a lie, and he confirmed the words of the wrathful 
 impresario. The sick friend was a myth, but in Rome 
 Pallanza had been friendly with a lady. Per Bacco ! a 
 great lady, but the name was unknown to him. It ap- 
 peared that Signor Basso-profundo dressed in the same 
 room as Pallanza, and it was just before the last act of 
 " Faust" that Guiseppe received the note. He told the 
 basso-profundo that it was from a dying friend, and had 
 departed quickly when the opera was ended, in his stage- 
 dress, with a cloak wrapped round him. The basso- 
 profundo was sure the note was from a lady. The 
 impresario was also sure, and devoted the lady in question 
 
A Haunted Palace, 49 
 
 to the infernal gods with a richness of expression I have 
 never heard equalled in any language. 
 
 Having thus found out what I suspected from the 
 first, that the dying friend was a mere invention to cloak 
 an intrigue, I left the impresario to tear his hair and 
 call Guiseppe names in company with Signor Basso- 
 profundo, and went back to my hotel, where] I found 
 Peppino waiting with his fiacre to drive me to the 
 Palazzo Morone. 
 
 He was still unwilling to take me to this place of evil 
 reputation, and made one last effort to shake my deter- 
 mination by gruesome stories of people who had gone 
 into the palazzo and never come out again ; but I laughed 
 at all these hobgoblin romances, and, getting into the 
 fiacre, told him to drive off at once, which he did, after 
 crossing himself twice, so as to secure his own safety 
 should the ghosts of Palazzo Morone take a fancy to 
 carry me off as a heretic. 
 
 We speedily left the broad, modern streets, and rattled 
 down gloomy, mediaeval passages, the humid atmosphere 
 of which chilled me to the bone, in spite of the heat of 
 the day. The fiacre— with its jingling bells — bumped 
 on the uneven stones, turned abruptly round unexpected 
 corners, corkscrewed itself between narrow walls, crept 
 under low archways, and after innumerable dodgings, 
 twistings, hairbreadth escapes from upsettings, and 
 perilous balancings on the edges of drains, at length 
 emerged into that queer little piazza at the end of which 
 I saw the great facade of the richly-decorated palace I 
 had beheld in the moonlight of two nights before. 
 
 I had been an ardent student of Baedeker since my 
 arrival in Italy, and, from the fortified appearance of the 
 palazzo, judged that it had been built by Michelo Sammi- 
 cheli, who, according to the guide-book, was the greatest 
 military architect of the middle ages. The building 
 was four stories high, with long lines of narrow windows 
 closely barred by curiously ornamented iron cages — 
 which bulged outwards, — as a protection against thieves 
 or enemies, and the whole front was adorned with 
 
50 A Creature of the Night 
 
 almost obliterated paintings after the style of the Genoese 
 palaces. In addition to the brush, the chisel had done 
 its work, and wreaths of flowers, grinning masks, nude 
 figures of boys and girls, elaborate crests and armorial 
 devices with fishes, birds, tritons, shells, and fruit were 
 sculptured round the windows, aldng the fortified cas- 
 tellated top, and over the great portal. All the square 
 in front of this splendid specimen of Renaissance art 
 was overgrown with grass. The houses on every side 
 were also deserted, and what with the broken windows, 
 the empty piazza, and the closed doors, everything had 
 a melancholy, desolate appearance, as if a curse rested 
 upon the whole neighbourhood. 
 
 Peppino evidently was of this opinion, for although it 
 was broad daylight, and the hot sunlight poured down 
 on the grass-grown square, yet he kept muttering 
 prayers in a low voice ; and if by chance he looked 
 towards the Palazzo, he always crossed himself with 
 great devoutness. I was not, however, going to be 
 baulked of my intention by any superstitious feeling on 
 the part of an Italian cab-driver, so I ordered Peppino 
 to tie up his horse and come with me into the palace. 
 This modest request, however, so horrified Peppino that 
 he absolutely squeaked with horror, like a rabbit caught 
 in a snare. 
 
 " I, Signore ! " he whimpered, touching the relic on his 
 breast. " Dio ! not to be King of Italy would I go into 
 that house ! If you are wise, Signore, look and come 
 away lest evil befall you. Cospetto ! Signore, remember 
 the Frate. Think of Madonna Matilda ! " 
 " What about Madonna Matilda, Peppino ? " 
 " Eh, Illustrious, do you not know ? She was a friend 
 of his Holiness at Canossa, and, though a woman, 
 wanted to celebrate mass, but II Cristo burnt her to 
 ashes with fire from above! — and she died. Eccol 
 Cospetto ! Signore, it is foolish to meddle with holy 
 things." 
 
 " Well, you can't call this palace holy, Peppino ? " 
 • No, Illustrious. It is accursed ! " replied the Italian, 
 
, A Haunted Palace. 51 
 
 crossing himself; "but there is fire below as well as 
 above, and you are a heretic." 
 
 "Which means that I had better beware of the 
 devil ! eh, Peppino. Well, well ! I'm not afraid, so I 
 will enter the palace, and if you see me carried off by 
 the ghosts, you can tell the carabinieri." 
 
 " Dio ! Illustrious, do not jest ; but if you will go you 
 must go. I will wait here and pray for your soul." 
 
 Peppino was as obstinate as a mule in his fear of 
 ghosts, so leaving him to smoke his long Italian cigar 
 and watch the brown lizards scuttling over the hot 
 stones in the sunshine, I advanced towards the palace 
 with the determination to find out the secret chamber. 
 As I knew it would be dark therein, owing to its want of 
 windows, I had taken the precaution to provide myself 
 with a candle and a box of matches. Feeling that 
 these were safe in my pocket, I went to the iron gate 
 and entered the courtyard in the same way as I had 
 done on that night. This time, however, I examined 
 the ironwork, and found to my surprise that the miss- 
 ing bar had been half filed through and then wrenched 
 away. The marks left were quite fresh, and it had 
 been done so recently that the bar had not had time to 
 grow rusty. This discovery astonished me not a little, 
 as I did not see the reason of such an entrance being 
 made. If it were the Contessa who used tr - palace, 
 she would have the key of the side door, and could thus 
 admit herself and her lover at her pleasure, while this 
 breach could only have been made by some one who 
 could not enter in any other way. 
 
 I thought of the person into whose arms I had fallen, 
 the person who had placed a handkerchief wet with some 
 liquid over my face, and although, according to Peppino's 
 story, this watcher at the door was the phantom of 
 Count Mastino Morone, yet dismissing such an explana- 
 tion as due to superstition, I began to think that 
 another person had followed the lady of the sepulchre 
 besides myself. Yes, there could be no doubt about it, 
 some third person had tracked her to the palazzo, and, 
 
52 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 unable to enter in the ordinary way, had filed through 
 and broken the iron bar in the gate. Gaining access 
 to the interior of the palazzo in this way, the unknown 
 had penetrated to the secret chamber, and doubtless 
 had witnessed the same strange scene as I had done. 
 My presence had been discovered, and to preserve, for 
 some unknown reason, the secret of this terrible 
 chamber, I had been seized, "rendered insensible by 
 chloroform, and taken to the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, 
 so that I would be unable to re-discover the Palazzo 
 Morone. 
 
 All these thoughts flashed through my brain with 
 the rapidity of lightning, and I wondered who this 
 unknown could be — a friend of Pallanza ? an accom- 
 plice of the Contessa ? I did not know what to think ; 
 so leaving all such conjectures to a more seasonable 
 time, I crossed over the dreary courtyard and entered 
 the great hall. 
 
 It was a magnificent entrance, and when thronged 
 with courtiers, men-at-arms, pages, and ladies, must have 
 presented a noble appearance. Of enormous size, the 
 high walls and lofty roof were painted with glowing 
 frescoes representing the ancient glories of the 
 Republic, and the floor was brilliant with gorgeous 
 mosaics of coats-of-arms and fantastic figures. The 
 painted windows on either side of the huge portal blazed 
 with variegated tints, and the bright sun streaming in 
 through the glass — as many-coloured as Joseph's coat— 
 dyed the floor with vivid lights and gaudy hues. 
 Ancient tapestries hung here and there between the 
 two lines of black marble columns running down the 
 sides of the hall, and the wind, stealing in through the 
 open door, shook the grey dust from these mouldering 
 splendours of the loom. At the end of this immense 
 vestibule arose a broad staircase of white marble with 
 balustrades of elaborate bronze fretwork, and from the 
 first landing two other flights sloped off to right and 
 left of the main branch. All the air was filled with 
 floating shadows, the soft wind moved the hangings 
 
A Haunted Palace. 53 
 
 without sound, and I was alone in the deserted hall, 
 over which brooded an intense silence, which made me 
 shiver in the chill atmosphere pervading this abode of 
 desolation. 
 
 However, the afternoon was passing quickly, and as I 
 had plenty to do before nightfall, I rapidly ascended the 
 shallow stairs. Turning to the right, which was the 
 way the unknown lady had taken the other night, I 
 soon found myself in the long corridor with the win- 
 dows looking out on to the courtyard. Many of these 
 were broken, but others were quite whole, their colours 
 as bright and glowing as when they had first been 
 placed there. 
 
 At the end of the corridor I turned to the left, and 
 found the short flight of shallow steps, which, however, 
 led Up into darkness, so that before ascending them I 
 had to light my candle. Luckily there were no draughts, 
 for the air was absolutely still, and the flame of my 
 candle burned clear and steady. Up these steps I 
 went, entered the short corridor, and paused before the 
 heavy door which gave admission into the ante-chamber 
 of the fatal room. Realizing what had taken place in- 
 side on that fatal night, I dreaded to enter, lest I should 
 find the corpse of the unfortunate Pallanza on the floor ; 
 but overcoming my emotions, with a strong effort I 
 thrust open the door and entered. 
 
 The tapestried chamber presented exactly the same 
 appearance, with the small table in the centre, the burnt- 
 out torch lying on the floor, and at the end the rich folds 
 of the gold-worked curtains veiling the entrance to the 
 inner apartment. I stood on the threshold, half expect- 
 ing to hear the shrill notes of the mandolin, and the 
 passionate song ring through the silence, but all was 
 still and mute, as if it were indeed the tomb of the 
 dead I expected to find. 
 
 At last, with a thrill of dread, I parted the heavy 
 curtains and found myself in the circular chamber. 
 The faint light of the candle just hollowed out a gulf in 
 the Cimmerian darkness, and I saw the dim glitter of 
 
54 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 the gold and silver on the table, the ghastly glimmer of 
 the white cloth, and the sparks of weak fire flashing from 
 the tarnished gold embroidery of the curtains. All was 
 as I had seen it — the eight white pillars, the dull-red 
 hangings with their Arabesque patterns of golden 
 thread, the gilt table, the massive metal goblets and 
 silver candelabra, even the half-eaten fruit, with every- 
 thing on the table in disorder; but, somewhat to my 
 relief, I found nothing else. The dead body, which I 
 had seen lying at the feet of that terrible woman, had 
 vanished, and, although I searched over every inch cf 
 the chamber, I could find no trace of the fearful crime 
 which had been committed. The demon who had en- 
 ticed the unhappy young man to his ruin had completed 
 her evil work by secreting his body, and f began to 
 think that all trace of Guiseppe Pallanza had disap- 
 peared from the earth for evermore. 
 
 Who was this woman who, in this room, had so 
 wickedly slain her lover ? Who was the man — I felt 
 sure it was a man — who had seized me at the door, and 
 borne me insensible from the palace ? I could answer 
 neither of these questions, and had it not been for the 
 story of Bianca, for the disappearance of Pallanza, I 
 would have fancied the whole some hideous dream, some 
 nightmare of mediaeval devilry, which had filled my 
 brain with the phantasmagoria of delirium. Everything, 
 however, was too real, too terrible to admit of such an 
 explanation, so as I could discover nothing more from 
 examining the chamber I prepared to leave. The atmo- 
 sphere > et had a faint aroma of the sandalwood per- 
 fume which emanate! from the unknown woman ; at my 
 feet still lay the broken mandolin ; and the rich wine- 
 cups still glittered in the dim light. I no longer 
 wondered at such wealth being left here undefended, 
 for superstition, more of a safeguard than bolts and bars, 
 protected this cave of Aladdin from thievish Italian 
 fingers ; and even if a thief had known of these riches, 
 I doubt whether he would have had the courage to dare 
 the unseen horrors of the palazzo. 
 
A Haunted Palace. 55 
 
 For myself, standing there in the perfumed atmo- 
 sphere, with the light just showing the intense gloom, the 
 dim glitter of gold and silver, the absolute stillness and the 
 horrible memories of the chamber — I felt as though I 
 were in the presence of the dead. At the table sat the 
 phantoms of Donna Renata and her lover, smiling at one 
 another with hatred in their ghostly hearts ; at the door 
 watched the evil face of the outraged husband awaiting 
 the consummation of the tragedy ; and in imagination I 
 could see the wicked smile of the woman, the scowl of 
 the husband, the loathing look on the face of the lover. 
 My breath, coming quick and fast, made the flame of the 
 candle flicker and flare until, overcome by the horror of 
 the room, and by the workings of my imagination, I 
 turned and fled— fled from the evil gloom, from that 
 blood-stained splendour, out into the blessed sunshine 
 and pure air of heaven. 
 
 " Dio ! " cried Pej pino, as I walked quickly out into 
 the square, " how pale you are, Illustrious ! Eh, Signore, 
 have the ghosts — " 
 
 " I have seen no ghosts, Peppino, but I have felt their 
 presence." 
 
 " Cospetto ! did I not warn the Signor against the 
 accursed place ? Come, Illustrious, jump in and we will 
 leave this abode of devils/' 
 
 " Very well, Peppino," I replied, entering the fiacre ; 
 " but drive slowly, as I want to know the way to this 
 palazzo." 
 
 " Dio ! the Signor will not come again ? " 
 
 " Yes ! I am coming some night this month." 
 
 " Saints ! the Signor is mad and lost ! " muttered 
 Peppino with a pale face. Then, hastily gathering up 
 the reins, he drove rapidly away from the lonely square, 
 leaving this gruesome palace to the night and to the 
 feast of ghosts. 
 
56 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AT THE TEATRO EZZELINO. 
 
 From my mother I had inherited one of those highly 
 strung organizations which are largely affected by 
 their surroundings, and which, like an Eolian harp 
 to the sighing wind, vibrate with every breath of 
 -passion that passes over them — organizations which 
 take their colour, their bias, their desires from the 
 last event which occurs, and which are entirely 
 in sympathy with the predominating feeling of the 
 moment. In childhood this dangerous spirit of moods 
 and fancies had been fostered by an old Scottish nurse, 
 who used to thrill me with wild stories of highland super- 
 stitions, and with weird ballads of elfish fantasy ; but 
 since I had mixed in the world I had learned to control 
 and sway my imaginative faculty, and had thus acquired 
 a command over myself. But, as I said before, super- 
 stition is in every one, and waxes or wanes according to 
 their surroundings ; so the terrors of childish tales, which 
 had been half-forgotten in the bustle of worldly life, now 
 came upon my soul with full force in this haunted city 
 of Verona. The burial-ground, the ghostly room, 
 the accursed palace, the phantoms of evil-seeming, 
 all these peopled the chambers of my brain with their 
 unreal horrors, until I became so nervous and unstrung 
 that every sudden noise,, every unexpected sound, and 
 every shadowy corner, made me thrill with supernatural 
 fear as if I were again a child listening to tales of 
 devildom. 
 I knew this mood was a bad one, and would have 
 
At the Teatro Ezzelino. 57 
 
 sought cheerful society to drive away the evil spirit had 
 I known where to seek it. But there were no English at 
 my hotel, and, in the present state of affairs, the Casa 
 Angello was not particularly cheerful ; so as I did not 
 care about spending a lonely evening, I bethought 
 myself of my intention to go to the Teatro Ezzelino. 
 On glancing at the paper I saw that the opera for the 
 night was " Lucrezia Borgia," and this name gave me a 
 renewed sensation of horror. The lady of the sepulchre 
 had taken in my imagination the semblance of Ferrara's 
 Duchess, and the memory of the terrible daughter of Pope 
 Alexander seemed never to leave me. She had come 
 from the graveyard, she had supped in the fatal chamber, 
 she had murdered her lover ; and now, when she had 
 vanished into thin air, I was to see her represented on 
 the stage in all her magnificent wickedness. I had a 
 good mind not to go, but seeing that there was a ballet 
 .after the opera, I thought I would brave this phantom 
 of the brain, and find in the lightness of the dancing an 
 antidote to the gloomy terrors of the lyrical drama. 
 
 The cooking at my hotel was somewhat better than 
 the usual run of Italian culinary ideas, so I made an 
 excellent dinner, drank some Asti Spumanti, an agree- 
 able wine of an exhilarating nature, and felt much better 
 when I started for the Ezzelino. 
 
 It was one of those perfect Italian evenings such as 
 one sees depicted by the glowing brush of Turner, and 
 there yet lingered in the quiet evening sky a faint purple 
 reflection of the sunset glories. No moon as yet, but 
 here and there a burning star throbbing in the deep 
 heart of the sky, and under the peaceful heavens the 
 weather-worn red roofs and grey walls of antique 
 Verona mellowed to warm loveliness in the twilight 
 shadows. Beautiful as it was, however, with the memory 
 of that eerie night still on me, I had no desire to renew 
 my moonlight wanderings, so, without pausing to admire 
 the enchanting^ scene, I hastened on to the theatre to be 
 in time for the first notes of Donizetti's opera. 
 
 The Teatro Ezzelino is a very charming opera- 
 
58 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 house, built in a light, airy fashion, with plenty of 
 ventilation, a thing to be grateful for on hot summer 
 nights. All the decorations are white and gold, so 
 that it has a delightfully cool appearance ; nevertheless, 
 what with the warmth of the. season without, and the 
 glaring heat of the gas within, I felt unpleasantly hot. 
 The gallery and stalls were crowded, but as it was only 
 eight o'clock, most of the boxes were empty, and I 
 knew would not be filled until late in the evening by 
 those who, tired of the well-known music of " Lucrezia," 
 wanted to see the new ballet. 
 
 Having glanced round the theatre, I bought a book 
 of the words, hired an opera-glass from an obsequious 
 attendant, and settled myself comfortably for the 
 evening. The orchestra — a very excellent one, directed 
 by Maestro Feraldi, of Milan— played the prelude in a 
 sufficiently good style, and the pictured curtain arose 
 on the well-known Venetian scene which I had so often 
 beheld. The chorus, in their heterogeneous costumes of 
 no known age, wandered about in their usual aimless 
 fashion, shouted their approval of smiling Venice in the 
 ordinary indifferent style; and a very good contralto, who 
 sang Orsini, having delivered her first aria with great 
 dramatic fervour, they all vanished from the stage, 
 leaving the sleeping Genaro to be contemplated by 
 Lucrezia Borgia. 
 
 I was disappointed with the Duchess when she 
 arrived, and I must say that my majestic evil lady of 
 the sepulchre looked far more like the regal sister of Caesar 
 Borgia than this diminutive singer with the big voice, 
 who raged round the stage like a spitfire, and gave one 
 no idea of the terrible Medusa of Ferrara, whose smile 
 was death to all, lovers and friends alike. The tenor 
 was a long individual, and Lucrezia being so small, their 
 duets, in point of physical appearance, were sufficiently 
 ridiculous, but as they sang well together, their ren- 
 dering of the characters, artistically speaking, was enjoy- 
 able. The chorus entered and discovered Lucrezia with 
 Genaro, the prima-donna defied them all with the look 
 
At the Teatro Ezzelino. 59 
 
 and ways of a cross child, there was the usual dramatic 
 chorus, and the curtain fell on the prologue with but 
 slight applause. I did not go out, as I felt very com- 
 fortable, so amused myself with looking round the house, 
 when, during the first act of the opera, two officers 
 entered the theatre and took their seats in front of mine. 
 They were two gay young men, who talked a great deal 
 about one thing and another in such raised voices that I 
 could hear all they said, some of which was not parti- 
 cularly edifying. 
 
 During the first act which succeeds the prologue they 
 were comparatively quiet, but when Lucrezia entered in 
 the second to sing the celebrated duet with Alfonso, 
 they were loud in their expressions of disapproval con- 
 cerning her appearance. The music of this part of the 
 opera is particularly loud and noisy, but even through 
 the crash of the orchestra I could hear their expressions 
 of disapproval. 
 
 " The voice is not bad, but the appearance — the 
 acting — oime ! " 
 
 "Eh, Teodoro, what would you ? Donna Lucrezia is 
 not on the stage." 
 
 " Not on the stage ! " said Teodoro in an astonished 
 tone. " Ebbene ! where is she ? " 
 
 " Look at the box yonder ! " 
 
 " Per Bacco ! the Contessa Morone." 
 
 I started as I heard this name, and, looking in the 
 same dire tion as the young men, saw a woman seated 
 far back in the shadow of a box, the fourth or fifth from 
 the stage. She was talking to three gentlemen, and 
 her face was turned away so that I could not see her 
 features ; but, judging from the glimpse I caught of her 
 head and bust, she seemed to be a very majestic woman. 
 
 The Contessa Morone ! She was then in Verona 
 after all. This discovery removed all my doubts con- 
 cerning the identity of the ghoul. She was the woman 
 who had left the vault in the burial-ground. She was 
 the woman who had slain Guiseppe Pallanza in the 
 secret chamber of the deserted palace, and she was the 
 
60 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 woman seated in the shadow of the box, talking idly as 
 though she had no terrible crime to burden her con- 
 science. If I could only see her face I would then recog- 
 nize her ; but, as if she had some presentiment of danger, 
 she persistently looked everywhere but in my direction. 
 As I gazed she moved slightly, the bright light of a 
 lamp shone on her neck, and I saw a sudden tongue of 
 red flame flash through the semi-twilight of the box, 
 which at once reminded me of the necklace of rubies 
 worn by that terrible vampire of the graveyard. 
 
 Eager to know all about this woman, who 1 felt 
 sure was the murderess of Pallanza, I listened breath- 
 lessly to the two officers who were still talking about 
 her. 
 
 "It is a year since Morone died," said Teodoro, 
 lowering his opera-glass, "and she has lived since at 
 Rome, where I met her. Why has she returned 
 here?" 
 
 " Eh, who knows ! Perhaps to reside again at the 
 Palazzo Morone." 
 
 " That tomb ? Diamine ! She must become a ghost 
 to live there." 
 
 " Ebbene, Teodoro ! the ghost of Lucrezia Borgia ! 
 Why does she not marry again ? " 
 
 " Who knows ! I wouldn't like to be her husband, 
 in spite of her money. Corpo di Bacco ! a woman who 
 sees in the dark like a cat." 
 
 " The evil eye ! " 
 
 " Yes ! and everything else that's wicked. I do not 
 like that Signora at all." 
 
 " Che peccato ! you might marry her." 
 
 " Or her money ! Ecco ! " 
 
 They both laughed, and, the act being ended, left 
 their seats. I also went out into the corridor for a 
 smoke and a breath of fresh air, feeling deeply sorry 
 that this interesting conversation had been interrupted. 
 From what one of the officers had said she was evi- 
 dently a nyctalopyst, and could see in the dark, which 
 accounted at once for the unerring way in which she had 
 
At the Teatro Ezzelino* 6 1 
 
 threaded the dark streets, and was also the reason that 
 she now remained secluded in the shadow of her box, 
 preferring the darkness to the light. Puzzling over these 
 things, and wondering how I could get a glimpse of 
 her face, I lighted a cigarette and strolled about in the 
 vestibule of the theatre with the rest of the crowd. 
 
 There were a goodly number of civilians of all sizes, 
 ages, and complexions, while the military element was 
 represented by a fair sprinkling of officers in the pic- 
 turesque uniforms of the Italian army. The air was 
 thick with tobacco-smoke, there was a clatter of 
 vivacious voices, and the great doors of the theatre were 
 thrown wide open to admit the fresh night air into the 
 overpoweringly hot atmosphere. Being wrapt up in 
 my ideas about the Contessa Morone and her extraor- 
 dinary behaviour, I leaned against a pillar and took no 
 notice of any one, when suddenly a tall officer stopped 
 in front of me and held out his hand. 
 
 " What ! Is it you, Signor Hugo ? Come sta ? " 
 " Beltrami ? you here ! I am surprised ! " 
 " Ma foi," replied Beltrami, who constantly introduced 
 French words into his conversation ; " you are not so 
 surprised as I am. I thought you were in your foggy 
 island, and behold you appear at Verona. How did 
 you come here ? What are you doing ? Eh ! Hugo, 
 tell me all." 
 
 I do not think I have mentioned Beltrami before, 
 which is curious, considering I have been talking so 
 much about Italy and the Italians ; but the fact is, my 
 friend the Marchese only now enters into this curious 
 story I am relating, so thus being introduced in due 
 season I will tell all I know about him. 
 
 During my narrative I fancy I have mentioned that 
 I spoke and understood Italian tolerably well for an 
 Englishman. Well, I did not learn my Italian in 
 Italy — no, indeed ! foggy London saw my maiden 
 efforts to acquire that soft bastard Latin which Byron 
 talks of, and the Marchese Luigi Beltrami gave me my 
 first lessons in his melodious language. He had come 
 
62 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 to England some years before, with a card of introduc- 
 tion to rny father from a friend in Florence, and on 
 being introduced' to our household we had taken a great 
 fancy to one another. Even in those days, perhaps as 
 a premonitory symptom of my operatic leanings, I was 
 mad on all things Italian, and discoursed about art, 
 raved of Cimabue and Titian, and quoted Dante, 
 Ariosto, and Alfieri until every one of my friends 
 were, I am sure, heartily wearied of my enthusiasm. 
 Beltrami appeared, and, feeling flattered by my great 
 admiration for his country, advised me to learn Italian. 
 I did so, and with his help soon became no mean 
 proficient in the tongue which the Marchese, being a 
 Florentine, spoke very purely. In return I taught him 
 English ; but either I was a bad master, or Beltrami 
 was an idle scholar, for all the English he ever learned 
 consisted of two sentences : " You are a beautiful 
 miss," and " I love you," but with these two he got 
 along comparatively well, particularly with women. 
 
 English ladies at first were indignant at this out- 
 spoken admiration, but Beltrami was so good-looking, 
 and apparently so sincere in his use of these two 
 English sentences, that they usually ended by pardon- 
 ing him ; nevertheless the Marchese found that if he 
 wanted to get on in society he would have to moderate 
 his transports. Ultimately, if I remember rightly, he 
 took refuge in French, and said a great many pretty 
 things in that very pretty tongue. 
 
 My friend Beltrami and myself were the antithesis of 
 one another in character, as he had a great deal of the 
 subtle craft of the old Italian despot about him ; yet 
 somehow we got on capitally together, perhaps by the 
 law of contrast, and when he returned to Italy I was 
 sorry to see the last of him. I promised to some day 
 visit him at his palazzo in Florence, and fully intended 
 to do 90 before leaving Italy ; but here was Verona, and 
 here, by the intervention of chance, was the Marchese, as 
 suave, as subtle-faced, and as handsome as ever. He 
 appeared to be delighted to see me, and as J was a 
 
At the Teatro Ezzelino. 63 
 
 stranger in a strange land, I was glad to find at least 
 one familiar face. 
 
 In response to his request I told him about the death 
 of my father, of my determination to study singing, and 
 the circumstances which had led me to Verona, to all 
 of which Beltrami listened attentively, and at the con- 
 clusion of my story shook hands with me again. 
 
 " Ebbene ! my friend Hugo, I am glad to see you in 
 our Italy. As you see, I serve the King and am sta- 
 tioned in this dismal place, so while you are here I will 
 make things pleasant. Ecco ! " 
 
 " No, no ! my dear Marchese, I know what you mean 
 by making things pleasant. I have come here to work, 
 not to play." 
 
 " Dame, mon ami ! too much work is bad." 
 
 " Eh, Marchese, and too much play is worse ; but tell 
 me, how have you been since I saw you last ? " 
 
 " Gh, just the same ; I am as poor as ever, but soon I 
 will be rich ! " 
 
 "Bravo, Beltrami! Is your uncle, the Cardinal, 
 dead?" 
 
 " My uncle, the Cardinal, is immortal," replied the 
 Marchese cynically. " No, he still lives in the hope to 
 succeed to the Fisherman's Chair. I am going to be 
 married ! " 
 
 " I congratulate you." 
 
 "Eh, Hugo, I think you will when you see the future 
 Marchesa ! She is in the theatre to-night. I am en- 
 gaged to marry her, and as she takes my friends for her 
 own, come with me and I will introduce you." 
 
 I drew back, as I wanted to watch the Contessa 
 Morone, and if I went to Beltrami's box I would per- 
 haps lose sight of her. 
 
 " Vou must excuse me, Signor Luigi, because— be- 
 cause you see I am not in evening dress." 
 
 It was the best excuse I could think of, but, being a 
 very weak one, Beltrami laughed, and, slipping his arm 
 into mine, dragged me along the corridor. 
 
 "Sapristi ! you talk like a child. You are my friend. 
 
64 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 Signora Morone will be delighted to see you. She 
 adores the English." 
 
 " Madame Morone I " I exclaimed, thunderstruck. 
 
 " Yes, the Contessa ! Do you know her by sight ? 
 Mon Dieu ! is she not beautiful ? You shall speak the 
 English to her. She loves your foggy islanders." 
 
 I was so bewildered by the chance thrown in my way 
 of finding out if the Contessa Morone had anything to 
 do with the burial-ground episode, that I only replied to 
 Beltrami's chatter by an uneasy laugh, and suffered 
 myself to be led unresistingly along. 
 
 The Marchese did not take me into the box itself, but 
 into one of those small ante-rooms, on the opposite side 
 of the corridor, which are used by Italian ladies as 
 reception saloons for their friends when at the theatre. 
 I heard the loud chatter of many voices as Beltrami 
 opened the door, and there, standing under the glare of 
 the gas-lamp, with the wicked smile on her lips, the 
 pearls in her hair, the ruby necklace round her throat, 
 I saw the woman who had come from the vault, the 
 woman who had poisoned Pallanza in the secret room, 
 the phantom of Lucrezia Borgia. 
 
$5 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE PHANTOM OF LUCREZIA BORGIA. 
 
 I WAS duly introduced by the Marchese, and Signora 
 Morone received me in the most amiable manner. She 
 was certainly a very charming woman, and had I not 
 known her true character, I would doubtless have been 
 fascinated by her gracious affability ; but, in spite of her 
 courtesy, I could hardly speak to her without a feeling 
 of repulsion. This beautiful woman, so suave, so 
 smiling, so seductive, inspired me with that sensation of 
 absolute dread which one experiences at the sight of a 
 sleek,velvet-footed pantheress — a comely beast to admire, 
 but a terrible one to caress. I replied to her polite 
 inquiries in a somewhat mechanical fashion, which she 
 doubtless put down to my imperfect knowledge of 
 Italian, for in spite of all my efforts to feel at ease in her 
 society, yet I was unable to do more than behave with 
 strained courtesy towards this woman whose mask I 
 had torn off, whose secret I had penetrated, and the 
 wickedness of whose heart I knew. 
 
 There were several other gentlemen in the room, who 
 talked gaily with the Contessa, and amused themselves 
 by eating the bonbons and crystallized fruits provided 
 for refreshments. The last act of the opera had not yet 
 commenced, so Signora Morone sank gracefully into a 
 velvet-cushioned chair, and permitted her courtiers to 
 retail all the news of the day for her amusement. I am 
 afraid this description sounds somewhat hyperbolical, but 
 indeed it is the only way in which I can describe this 
 woman, whose every movement was full of sinuous grace 
 
66 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 and feline treachery. Cat, tigeress, pantheress as she 
 was, her claws were now sheathed in her velvet paws, 
 but the claws were there all the same, and would doubt- 
 less scratch at the least provocation. 
 
 Some people do not believe in transmigration, but I 
 am a true disciple of Pythagoras in that bizarre doctrine, 
 and I firmly believe that in a former existence the soul 
 of Giulietta Morone had animated the body of some 
 tawny tigeress who had stolen through the jungle 
 beneath the burning skies of Hindostan, slaying and 
 devouring her victims in conformity with the instincts 
 of her savage nature. Now she was a woman— a fair, 
 majestic woman — but the instinct of the beast was there, 
 the desire for slaughter and the lust for blood. What 
 made me indulge still more in this fancy was the colours 
 of the dress she wore — black and yellow — all twisted in 
 and out with a curious resemblance to the sleek fur of 
 the beast to which I had likened her. The soft glimmer 
 of the pearl strings twined in her magnificent red hair 
 seemed out of place as ornaments for this woman; but 
 the rubies suited her nature well, the red, angry rubies 
 that shot flashes of purple fire from her neck at every 
 heave of her white bosom. Leaning back in her deep 
 chair with a cruel smile on her full crimson lips, the 
 glimmer of pearls, the fire-glint of the fierce-tinted gems, 
 and the bizarre mixture of amber and black in her 
 dress, she slowly waved her sandalwood fan to and fro, 
 diffusing a strange, sleepy perfume through the room, 
 and looking what I verily believed her to be, the type of 
 incarnate evil in repose. 
 
 While I was thinking in this fanciful fashion, the 
 Contessa was talking to her friends in a slow, rich voice, 
 and Beltrami — well, Beltrami was watching me closely. 
 Do you know that strange sensation of being watched ? 
 that uneasy consciousness that some unseen eye is 
 observing the least movement ? Yes, of course you do ! 
 Every one has felt it, in a more or less degree, according 
 to their nervous susceptibility. At the present time, 
 with all my senses on the alert for unexpected events, 
 
The Phantom of Lucrezia Borgia. 67 
 
 it was therefore little to be wondered at that I felt 
 the magnetism of Beltrami's gaze, and, on looking 
 up, saw his keen black eyes fixed upon me with an 
 enigmatical expression. For the moment I was 
 startled, but immediately that feeling passed away, 
 for I well knew the strange nature of the Marchese, 
 which was a peculiar mixture of good and evil, of 
 kindness and cruelty, of hate and love, which must 
 have proceeded from some aberration of his subtle 
 intellect. 
 
 Beltrami's face always put me in mind of that sinister 
 countenance of Sigismondo Malatesta, which sneers 
 so malevolently at the curious onlooker from the walls 
 of the Duomo at Rimini. He had the same treacherous 
 droop of the eyelids, the same thin nose with wide, 
 sensitive nostrils, and the same malignant smile on his 
 thin lips. Yet he was handsome enough, this young 
 Italian ; but his face, in spite of my friendship, repelled 
 me — in a less degree, it is true, but still it repelled me 
 in the like manner as did that of the Contessa Morone. 
 So he was going to marry her. Well, they were certainly 
 well-matched in every respect, and if the man had not 
 the active wickedness of the woman, still the capability 
 of evil was there, and would awaken to life when 
 necessary to be exercised. Both Beltrami and his 
 future wife were anachronisms in this nineteenth 
 century, and should have lived, sinned, and died in the 
 time of the Renaissance, when they would have been 
 fit companions of those Italian despots of whom 
 Machiavelli gives the typical example in his book 
 " The Prince." 
 
 The Marchese saw my inquiring look, and with an 
 enigmatic smile walked across to where I was standing 
 in the warm, yellow light. 
 
 " Ebbene ! Signor Hugo," he whispered, with a swift 
 glance at the Contessaj " tell me what you think of my 
 choice." 
 
 "It does you credit, Marchese. You will have a 
 beautiful wife." 
 
68 A Creature of the Night t 
 
 " And a loving one, I hope. Tell me, mon ami, do 
 you not envy me ? " 
 
 I hesitated a moment before replying, and then 
 blurted out the truth, — 
 
 "Honestly speaking, Signor Luigi, I do not !" 
 
 "Dame! and why?" 
 
 " Well, I can hardly tell you my reasons, but I have 
 them, nevertheless." 
 
 Beltrami looked hard at me with an inquisitive look 
 in his dark eyes, and a satirical smile on his thin lips. 
 
 ■ You are not complimentary, my friend," he said, 
 turning away with a supercilious laugh. 
 
 I laid my hand on his shoulder and explained,— 
 
 " Pardon me, Beltrami, you do not understand — " 
 
 " Eh ! do not apologize I I understand better than 
 you think." 
 
 He was evidently not at all offended, and I felt 
 puzzled by his manner. It was true he had candidly 
 acknowledged that he was making this marriage for 
 money, but surely he must also love this woman, whose 
 ripe beauty was so attractive to the passionate nature 
 of the Italians. Yet, judging from his mode of speech, 
 he evidently had some mistrust — a mistrust for which 
 I could not account. He could know nothing of the 
 affair at the Palazzo Morone, so there certainly could 
 be no reason for suspicion on his part. She was a 
 beautiful woman, a rich woman, an attractive woman, 
 so with this trinity of perfections she decidedly merited 
 a warmer love than Beltrami appeared inclined to give 
 her. Could it be that her evil beauty repelled him, as 
 it did me ? No ! that was impossible, seeing that, 
 according to my idea, their natures were wonderfully 
 alike. Altogether the whole demeanour of the Marchese 
 perplexed me by its strangeness, and I watched him 
 narrowly as he approached the Contessa, to see if she 
 perceived the lack of warmth on the part of her lover. 
 
 To my surprise, as he bent over her chair to speak, 
 She shrank away with a gesture of disdain, and the 
 rubies shot forth a red flame, as if to warn the lover that 
 
The Phantom of Lucre zia Borgia. 69 
 
 there was danger in pressing upon this woman his un- 
 welcome attentions. Unwelcome I am sure they were, 
 for as he adjusted her cloak and aided her to rise, in 
 order to return to the box, I saw that she accepted all 
 his politeness with forced civility and cold smiles. So 
 then she did not love him — he had almost openly ac- 
 knowledged to me that he did not love her, and yet 
 these two people, who had no feeling of love in their 
 hearts, were about to marry. It was most extraordinary, 
 and I marvelled greatly at the juxtaposition of these 
 two human beings, who evidently hated one another 
 heartily. 
 
 At this moment the Contessa spoke of the man she 
 had murdered, and I was horrified at the cold, callous 
 tones in which she veiled her iniquity. 
 
 " Do you know, gentlemen, if anything has been heard 
 of this lost tenor ? " 
 
 Beltrami shot a keen glance at her, then a second at 
 me, and I felt more bewildered than ever by this strange 
 action. 
 
 " Nothing has been heard of him, Countess/' he said 
 quickly, before the others could speak ; " he has vanished 
 altogether, but no doubt he will appear again." 
 
 " Ah, you think so ? " observed the Contessa, with a 
 cruel smile. 
 
 " I am sure of it ! " 
 
 She winced, and looked at him in a startled manner, 
 upon which, impelled by some mysterious impulse, I 
 know not what, I joined in the conversation, — 
 
 " On the contrary, Madame, I do not think Signor 
 Pallanza will ever be seen again." 
 
 All present turned round in surprise, and the Contessa 
 darted a look at me which seemed to pierce my soul. 
 Only Beltrami was unmoved, and he, with a smile on 
 his face, laid his hand upon my shoulder. 
 
 "Eh, Signor Hugo, and why do you think so I " 
 
 " A mere fancy, Marchese, nothing more." 
 
 " Ma foi ! and a fancy that may turn out true ! " 
 
 I was annoyed at having yielded to the impulse and 
 
;o A Creature of the Night, 
 
 spoken out, as, unless I told all about my adventure, I 
 could not substantiate my statement, and I was cer- 
 tainly not going to reveal anything I knew, particularly 
 in the presence of the woman so deeply implicated in 
 the affair. Beltrami's mocking manner irritated me 
 fearfully, the more so as it was so very unaccountable, 
 and I was about to make some sharp reply, when the 
 opening chorus of the last act sounded, and all the 
 gentlemen, after making their adieux to the Contessa, 
 left the room. 
 
 The Marchese offered his arm to Madame Morone, 
 but she dismissed him with a haughty gesture. 
 
 " One moment, Marchese — I wish to speak with this 
 Signor for a few minutes." 
 
 Beltrami darted one of his enigmatic looks at us both, 
 and, with a low bow to conceal the smile on his lips, 
 left the room. As soon as he had disappeared, Madame 
 Morone turned round on me with a quick gesture of 
 surprise. 
 
 " Signor Hugo, why did you say the tenor Pallanza 
 would never be seen again ? ' 
 
 " I have no reason, Signora," I replied, being deter- 
 mined to baffle her curiosity; " I merely spoke on the 
 impulse of the moment." 
 
 " Do you know Signor Pallanza ? " 
 
 "No, Madame, I have not the pleasure of his 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " Ah ! " 
 
 She heaved a sigh of relief, and looked at me long and 
 earnestly, as if to see whether I was speaking the truth. 
 Apparently she was satisfied with her scrutiny, for she 
 laughed softly, and placed her hand within my arm. 
 
 " Confess now, Signor Hugo, you think me most 
 mysterious, but I will tell you why I speak thus. I 
 heard Pallanza at Rome, when he sang at the Apollo, 
 and I hoped to see him again here, therefore I am 
 annoyed at his disappearance and anxious for him to 
 be found. A selfish wish, Signor Hugo, for it is only 
 my desire to hear him sing again. Ecco ! " 
 
The Phantom of Lucrezia Borgia. 71 
 
 " I do not think your wish at all selfish, Madame, for 
 I hear he is a charming singer." 
 
 " Oh yes ! the New Mario they call him in Milan. 
 Will you not hear the rest of the opera in my box ? " 
 
 " If you will excuse me, Madame, I will say no, as I 
 have an engagement." 
 
 This was a lie, but I was so fearful of betraying my- 
 self to this terrible woman, who had evidently a half- 
 suspicion that I knew something of Pallanza, that I 
 was anxious to get away as * soon as possible. She, 
 saying good-night in a cold, polite manner, re-entered 
 the box, and I was moving away when Beltrami sud- 
 denly appeared. 
 
 " Eh, Hugo, how cruel ! the Contessa tells me you 
 must go ? " 
 
 " Yes. I will see you again, Marchese ! " 
 
 " To-morrow, then ; if not, the next day. Here is my 
 card, and I am always at home in the afternoon. Do 
 not fail to come, mon ami — I wish to speak to you about 
 —about—" 
 
 He paused, and I asked curiously, — 
 
 "About what?" 
 
 " Ma foi ! I forget. I will tell you at our next 
 meeting. A rivederci ! Signor Hugo. Don't forget your 
 old friend, or he will quarrel with you." 
 
 He nodded, smiled, and vanished, then I took my 
 departure from the theatre, and wandered up and down 
 the street in the moonlight. I felt that to sit out the 
 ballet would be more than I could bear, as I was so 
 excited over the meeting with the Contessa Morone, 
 therefore I strolled up and down the street, smoking 
 and thinking. As time passed on I grew calmer, and 
 thought I would return to the Ezzelino, not to see the 
 ballet, but to catch a glimpse of the Contessa once 
 more. 
 
 As I reached the portico of the theatre she was just 
 coming down the steps to her carriage, leaning on the 
 arm of Beltrami, and I, hidden in the crowd, could see 
 her looking hither and thither as if searching for some 
 
72 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 one. She could not see me, and in order to satisfy 
 myself in every way as to her identity with the creature 
 of the night I had seen leave the graveyard, with a 
 sudden inspiration I hummed a few bars of the strange 
 song I had heard in the fatal chamber. 
 
 Being close to me she could hear quite plainly, and 
 gave a kind of gasping cry as she fell back into the 
 arms of Beltrami, just as he was helping her into the 
 carriage. 
 
 " What is the matter, cara ? " he asked quickly. 
 
 She clutched his arm with so powerful a grasp that 
 it made him wince, and I heard her mutter with white 
 lips, — 
 
 " Pallanza ! Pallanza ! " 
 
 This was all I wanted to hear, and, fearful of discovery, 
 I threaded my way quickly among the crowd, and 
 hastened home to my hotel. 
 
 I had recognized Guiseppe, I had found the woman 
 who had slain him, but I had yet to discover where she 
 had hidden the body of her victim — and then ! — well, 
 my future movements would be guided by circum- 
 stances. 
 
f$ 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 FIORE DELLA CASA. 
 
 I DID not get much sleep that night after the excite- 
 ments of the day, but towards the morning fell into an 
 uneasy slumber, during which I had fragmentary dreams 
 in which Pallanza, the Contessa, and the antique 
 chamber were all mixed up together. One moment I 
 was at the iron door of the tomb, and the guardian 
 angel took the semblance of Signora Morone ; the next 
 I was kneeling beside the corpse of Pallanza, illuminated 
 by the faint light of the candles ; and I ever saw the 
 pallid shade of Donna Renata pointing towards the 
 watchful face of her husband, filled with ghastly mean- 
 ings in the dim shadows. No wonder, after these terrific 
 visions which blended the real and the ideal, I awoke in 
 the grey morning light unrefreshed and haggard ; so 
 when the waiter brought me my roll and coffee I left 
 them untouched, and, lying quietly in bed, wondered 
 what step it was necessary to take next in solving this 
 riddle. 
 
 Riddle do I say ? No ! it was a riddle no longer, 
 save as to the visit of the Contessa to the vault of her 
 family, for otherwise everything was clear enough. 
 She had met Pallanza at Rome, and had fallen in love 
 with his handsome face. The young man, flattered by 
 the attentions of a great lady, had yielded readily 
 enough to the charm of the situation, but, growing 
 tired of the intrigue, had come to Verona, where Bianca 
 awaited him, with the intention of breaking it off. With 
 a woman of Giulietta Morone's fiery nature the sequel 
 
74 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 can easily be guessed— she had followed him hither, and 
 having in some way forced him to come to the deserted 
 palace, had there poisoned him out of revenge for his 
 contemplated infidelity. 
 
 Of course, this was all theoretical, but from one thing 
 and another I guessed that this could be the only feasible 
 way of accounting for the whole affair. Two points, 
 however, remained to be cleared up before the reading 
 of the riddle could be successfully accomplished : the 
 first being the reason of the burial-ground episode, the 
 second the strange disappearance of the dead man's 
 body. 
 
 In thinking over the legend related by Peppino, one 
 thing struck me as peculiar — that Donna Renata had 
 never been seen again after her husband entered the 
 chamber, and I guessed from this that there was some 
 secret oubliette or alcove in the room, with a concealed 
 entrance in which Mastino Morone had entombed his 
 guilty wife as a punishment for her crimes. Doubtless, 
 from tradition or from old family papers, Madame 
 Morone knew of this secret hiding-place, and having 
 killed Pallanza, had put his body therein so as to 
 destroy all evidences of her criminality. No one had 
 seen Pallanza enter this deserted palace, so once his 
 body was hidden in the secret alcove it would remain 
 there for ever undiscovered, and no human being, save 
 the Contessa herself, could ever tell what had become of 
 him. She, for her own sake, would remain silent, and 
 thus Guiseppe Pallanza's fate would remain a mystery 
 for evermore. 
 
 Fortunately, however, God, who had thus permitted 
 this evil woman to conceive and carry out her crime, 
 had also permitted me to behold the murder, so 
 that, secure as she no doubt felt of her safety, yet one 
 word from me and the whole affair would be revealed. 
 I never thought, however, of going to the Veronese 
 police and telling them what I had seen, as in their 
 suspicions of foreigners they would doubtless regard me 
 as an accessory, and thus I would get myself into 
 
Fiore della Casa. 75 
 
 trouble, which I had no aesire to do. I therefore deter- 
 mined to once more go to the fatal chamber and make 
 a final effort to discover what had become of the body 
 of the unfortunate Pallanza. 
 
 So far so good, but now the question arose, How much 
 of this story was I to reveal to Bianca ? I could not tell 
 her the whole, for if the body of her lover were dis- 
 covered, the poor child would suffer quite enough with- 
 out the additional information of Guiseppe's infidelity ; 
 so, making a virtue of necessity, I determined upon 
 telling her a pious lie. To do this it was necessary to 
 leave out the Contessa Morone altogether, as the least 
 mention of a woman's name would arouse Bianca's sus- 
 picions, and for the Contessa I substituted a robber, who 
 had decoyed Guiseppe to the deserted palace by means 
 of a false letter, and there ended his life. Of course it 
 was somewhat difficult to be consistent in the narrative, 
 but I was so anxious to hide the cruel truth of Pallanza's 
 worthlessness from Bianca that I went over the story I 
 had invented, again and again, until I thought I had 
 the whole pious fraud quite perfect. 
 
 Having thus arranged my plans, I arose, finished my 
 roll and coffee, then, having dressed myself rapidly, set 
 off at once for the Casa Angello, as it was nearly time 
 for my lesson. All my bruises were now quite well, 
 yet I felt very depressed and downcast, as the state of 
 nervous excitement which I had been in for the last 
 few days had told terribly on my system. However, 
 having once put my hand to the plough I could not, 
 with satisfaction to myself, turn back ; and although I 
 heartily dreaded the coming interview with Bianca, yet 
 it was unavoidable, as the poor child was so anxious over 
 her lost lover that it was necessary to tell my fictitious 
 story without delay in order to set her mind at rest. 
 
 On my arrival at the Casa Angello I found no one 
 there but Bianca, who was anxiously awaiting me. It 
 appeared that the Maestro had taken it into his head 
 that he would like a walk in the sunshine, and had gone 
 out under the care of Petronella ; but, as Bianca knew I 
 
76 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 was coming to take my usual lesson, and was anxious to 
 hear if I had any news of her lover, she remained in doors 
 to speak to me. 
 
 The " Fiore della Casa," as old Petronella tenderly 
 called her in the poetic language of the Italians, looked 
 even paler than usual, and the dark shadows under her 
 dark eyes made them appear wonderfully large and star- 
 like. She had a bunch of delicate lilies-of-the-valley 
 in the bosom of her white dress, and she looked as pale 
 and blanched as the frail flowers themselves. Lying 
 back on the green-covered sofa on which she was seated. 
 she reminded me of a late snowflake resting on the 
 emerald grass of early spring, which at any moment 
 might vanish under the pale rays of the sun. 
 
 We were talking together in the room in which I 
 generally had my lessons, and my eyes wandered from 
 one thing to another with vague hesitation as I looked 
 everywhere but on the face of this delicate girl to whom 
 I had to tell such a cruel story — for, soften it as I might, 
 the story was cruel, and could not fail to affect her 
 terribly. Every object in the apartment photographed 
 itself on my memory with terrible distinctness, and, even 
 after the lapse of years, by simply closing my eyes I can 
 recall the whole scene with the utmost truthfulness. The 
 dull red of the terra-cotta floor, the heavy, time-worn 
 furniture, covered with faded green rep, the small ebony 
 piano with its glistening white keys alternating with the 
 black, the mirror-fronted press in which Petronella 
 kept everything from food to clothes, the many photo- 
 graphs of operatic celebrities, and the gaudily painted 
 picture of St. Paul, the Maestro's patron saint, encircled 
 by a faded wreath of withered laurel-leaves and dead 
 flowers, flung to some favourite pupil in her hour of 
 triumph. Even the view from the window I can recall, 
 with the slender campanile tower, from whence every 
 quarter rang the brazen bells, and then the faltering 
 voice of Bianca, "Fiore della Casa," stealing like a 
 melancholy wind through the silence of the room. 
 
 "Signorl" she said, twisting her thin white hands 
 
Fiore della Casa. 77 
 
 nervously together, "you have something to tell me 
 of Guiseppe. I can see it in your face — is it good or 
 evil?" 
 
 " What does my face tell you, Signorina ? " 
 
 " Evil, evil ! your eyes are sad, your mouth does 
 not smile ! Oh, tell me quickly what you know ! Is he 
 found ? is he ill ? is he — dead ? " 
 
 She brought out the last word in a shrill scream, 
 with dilated eyes that almost terrified me by the fear 
 expressed in them, and, dreading the effect of a sudden 
 shock on this fragile child, I hastily replied in the 
 negative. 
 
 " No, Signorina, no ! Do not look so fearful, I pray 
 you. He is not dead. Child, I am sure he is not 
 dead!" 
 
 " Then you have not found him yet ? " 
 
 " No ; I have not found him, but I think I know 
 where he is to be found." 
 
 " What do you mean, Signor Hugo, tell me all— tell 
 me all. See, I am strong, I can bear it — I wish to know 
 everything." 
 
 "Signorina, the note which Guiseppe Pallanza re- 
 ceived at the Ezzelino was not from a friend but from 
 an enemy." 
 
 " An enemy ! " 
 
 "Yes! from one who wished him ill. Thinking it 
 was from his dying friend, he obeyed the letter and 
 was lured to the deserted Palazzo Morone." 
 
 "I do not know that palazzo, Signor. I am a 
 stranger in Verona." 
 
 " I know where 'it is, Signorina, for on that night I 
 was wandering about near it, when I saw Pallanza go 
 into it alone. Knowing the evil reputation of the 
 place, I followed him, although he was a stranger to me. 
 He went to a room in the palace where his enemy met 
 him, and — and — " 
 
 "Yes! yes, Signor — for the love of the Saints go 
 on." 
 
 " I can tell you no more, Signorina, except that I 
 
78 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 do not believe Guiseppe left that room again. I 
 believe he is there still, perhaps held captive by the 
 robber who lured him thither in the hope of obtaining a 
 ransom." 
 
 Bianca looked at me searchingly. She was a simple 
 little thing as a rule, but this ridiculous story I had 
 manufactured of brigands in the heart of Verona was 
 too much even for her confiding nature, and she made 
 a gesture of disbelief. 
 
 " It is not true ! it is not true ! " she cried vehemently. 
 " Why do you deceive me, Signor?" 
 
 " I am not deceiving you." 
 
 'An enemy ! a false letter! a deserted palace ! held 
 captive ! Oh, I cannot believe it. If it is true, why 
 did you not rescue him ? " 
 
 " Because some one I do not know seized me 
 from behind as I watched, and, rendering me in- 
 sensible with chloroform, bore me away from the 
 palace. I had great difficulty in finding it again, I 
 assure you." 
 
 "Signor, your story is that ot a dream. I cannot 
 believe you." 
 
 " It is true, nevertheless." 
 
 Bianca said nothing, but tapped her little foot on the 
 ground with a thoughtful frown on her small face. I 
 was glad that my task was over, for absurd as was the 
 story I had told her, it was more merciful than the 
 truth. Now that I had to some extent quieted her 
 fears by telling her that Guiseppe was alive — a thing, 
 alas ! that I could not be certain of myself — I hoped to 
 get away at once to the Palazzo Morone and make one 
 last effort to find his body. If I failed, there would be 
 nothing left for me to do but to inform the police, and 
 in the interests of Bianca I was unwilling to do this 
 until I had exhausted every means of solving the 
 mystery myself. 
 
 Suddenly Bianca's face cleared, and she looked at 
 me with steady determination. 
 
 " Signor, you know this palazzo ? " 
 
Fiore delta Casa. 79 
 
 " Yes, Signorina." 
 
 " And this room where you think Guiseppe is held 
 captive ? " 
 
 " I do, Signorina." 
 ■ Then take me to it at once." 
 
 She started to her feet with a deep flush on her face, 
 and threw out her hands towards me with an appealing 
 gesture. As for me, I sat still, transfixed with astonish- 
 ment at the spirit displayed by this gentle girl, who 
 was thus willing to dare the dangers of the unknown 
 in order to save her lover. 
 
 " Take me to it at once ! " she repeated quickly. 
 " Signorina, I — I cannot. You are mad to think of 
 such a thing." 
 
 " Is your story true or false, Signer Hugo ? " 
 " True ! yes, it is true ! " 
 
 " Then I will judge of its truth myself — with my own 
 eyes. Wait, I will put on my hat, and you will take 
 me to this palazzo at once." 
 " Signorina — " 
 
 Not another word, I have made up my mind. You 
 promised to be my friend, Signor Hugo. I hold you to 
 that promise. Ecco ! •' 
 
 She was gone before I could utter further remon- 
 strance, and during her absence I reflected rapidly. 
 It was true that Guiseppe was dead, that I believed his 
 body was concealed somewhere in that room, so perhaps 
 after all it was best that Bianca should come, as her 
 quick woman's wit might succeed where I had failed. 
 She knew nothing about the implication of the Contessa 
 Morone in the affair, the palazzo would be quite 
 deserted during the daytime, so I would be able to 
 take her there, let her examine the room, and if by 
 chance the truth were revealed that Guiseppe was dead, 
 it would be a more merciful way than by the lips of a 
 stranger. Yes, I would take her there at once. If we 
 failed in our mission, she would be no wiser than before, 
 but if we succeeded — ah ! how I pitied the poor child 
 if we succeeded in finding out the terrible secret of the 
 
So A Creature of the Night. 
 
 Contessa. At this moment she returned trembling with 
 ill-suppressed excitement. 
 
 " Well, Signor Hugo, are you ready — are you willing 
 to help me ? " 
 
 " With all my heart, Signorina." 
 
 " Ebbene ! come, then." 
 
 She ran lightly out of the room, and I followed with 
 a heavy heart, for I had a presentiment of evil. I 
 feared that fatal chamber, which held so many impure 
 memories — I feared the discovery of the dead — I 
 feared for this child who went forward in ignorance to 
 face such horrors. 
 
Si 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A VOICE IN THE DARKNESS. . 
 
 On returning from my last visit to the palace I had 
 carefully noted the way thereto, so I was able to escort 
 Signorina Angello without calling in the services of 
 Peppino. I was unwilling to drive there, as the presence 
 of a fiacre even in that deserted piazza might be noticed, 
 and I did not want any comment made by the scandal- 
 loving Italian populace on our visit to this out-of-the- 
 way locality. So in company with Bianca, who had put 
 on a veil, and who said nothing to me from the time we 
 left Casa Angello, being apparently occupied with her 
 own reflections, I walked down the gloomy, narrow 
 streets towards that terrible Palazzo Morone, the very 
 idea of which inspired me with horror and dismay. 
 
 It was one of those burning days common to that 
 time of the year in Italy, and much as I despised and 
 cursed those drain-like alleys in wet weather, 'yet I now 
 saw there was method in the madness of their style of 
 building, for their cool shadow and humid atmosphere 
 were wonderfully pleasant after the glare, the dust, and 
 heat of the great piazza. We walked on the broad 
 carriage-way, which was less painful to the feet than the 
 cobble-stone paving between, and every now and then 
 saw some typical picture of Italian life. A dark-faced 
 woman with a red handkerchief twisted carelessly round 
 her head, leaning from a high balcony, on the iron rail- 
 ings of which was displayed the family washing ; a 
 purple cloud of wisteria blooming in some pergola near 
 the red roof-tops ; sleek grey donkeys laden with pan-* 
 
82 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 niers, stepping complacently along the narrow way; 
 slender Italian men presiding over fruit-stalls, piled high 
 with their picturesque contents ; and over all, the viva- 
 cious clatter and din of voices, struck through at times 
 with the sharp, metallic notes of the mandolin. It was 
 very charming, and I would have enjoyed it thoroughly, 
 artistically speaking, had it not been for the local 
 odours. Oh, the smells of those picturesque streets ! 
 they were too terrible for description ; and how the 
 Italians are not swept off the face of the earth by a 
 plague of typhoid is more than I can understand. I 
 smoked cigarettes most of the time, as a preventive 
 against infection ; but on beholding ideal paintings of 
 Italian scenes, I always shudder at the memory of the 
 malodorous reality, and on arriving in well-drained 
 London again, my first prayer was one of thanks for 
 having escaped from ill-smelling Italy. 
 
 My thoughts during this portentous walk were, I am 
 afraid, rather frivolous ; but so fearful had been the 
 strain on my nerves for the past few days, that it was a 
 great relief to think idly of anything and any one. Not 
 so Bianca : even through her veil I could see the glisten 
 of tears, and catch the sound of her quick indrawn 
 breath as she strove to fight down the emotion that 
 threatened to overwhelm her. I saw that the poor 
 child was nearly hysterical with her efforts to control 
 herself, and stopped short in dismay. 
 
 "Signorina, you are not well. Do not go to this 
 palazzo." 
 
 "Yes, yes! I must, Signor Hugo. I cannot pass 
 another night in this state of suspense. I must know 
 all, and at once. Is the Palazzo Morone far off? " 
 
 " We are just at it, Signorina." 
 
 And so we were ; for at that moment we entered the 
 silent, grass-grown square, at the end of which stood the 
 palazzo, looking gruesome even in the sunshine, with 
 its broken windows, damp, disfigured walls, and general 
 air of weird solitude. Some swallows were shooting 
 through the still air and twittering round the rich sculp- 
 
A Voice in the Darkness. 83 
 
 tures of the facade, but their merry chirpings only added 
 to the eerie feeling inspired by the great mansion — a 
 feeling which I noticed thrilled Bianca with fear as 
 she paused shuddering, under the grinning masks and 
 unlovely faces peering downward from the arched 
 entrance. 
 
 '•' Oh, how could he come to this terrible place at 
 night ! " she cried, crossing herself, with a look of fear in 
 her eyes. " Desolate as it is in the sun, what m jst it be 
 when the moon shines ! It is an abode of the dead — a 
 tomb — a tomb ! Dio ! his tomb." 
 
 " Signorina, do not affright yourself thus ! Things 
 may not be so bad as you think." 
 
 " It is like the Inferno of Dante ! and turns my blood 
 cold with fear ; but I will not go back ! I must find 
 Guiseppe, even if it cost me my life. Come, Signor, 
 presto ! there is no time to lose." 
 
 She crossed herself once more, then flitted through 
 the opening in the iron gate like a noiseless-winged bird, 
 upon which I hastily followed her, and we stood for a 
 moment in the lonely courtyard, gazing at the great 
 portals of the door leading to the hall, which stood Tialf- 
 open. 
 
 " Signorina, I will lead you to the room. You are 
 not afraid ? You do not tremble ? " 
 
 " Ah ! I am afraid, and I do tremble, Signor, for I am 
 only a girl ; but lead on, love will make me strong, and 
 you will protect me. Give me your hand, Signor ; I am 
 not afraid when I hold your hand." 
 
 With a fleeting smile on her pale lips, she placed 
 her hand in mine, and as I grasped its cold whiteness, I 
 guessed how terrified this delicate, superstitious girl was 
 of this unholy place. But for the resolute look on her 
 pallid face, I would have insisted upon her turning back ; 
 but it was useless to urge retreat now, so with the 
 name " Guiseppe ! Guiseppe ! " on her lips, as if to 
 inspire her with courage, she almost dragged me 
 through the half-closed door into the hall of shadows. 
 
 " Ah ! Mother Mary, it is like a church ! " 
 
84 A Creature of the Nighti 
 
 It was like a church— like some old deserted church, 
 filled with the chill atmosphere of the grave ; and the 
 slow movement of the wind-shaken tapestries, the 
 glimmer of the ghostly white stairs in the dim distance, 
 and the solemnity of the huge pillars of black marble, 
 made me think of those God-cursed cities of the " Thou- 
 sand and one Nights," whose silence is only broken 
 by tbs voice of the one survivor chanting the melan- 
 choly verses of the Koran. Bianca, overpowered by 
 this mute spectacle of a dead past, clung convulsively 
 to my arm with faltering prayers on her lips, and I 
 became afraid lest, by a feeling of sympathy, her terror 
 should unnerve me also, so with a cheerful laugh which 
 echoed dismally through the* vast vestibule, I led her 
 onward towards the grand staircase. 
 
 " Come, Signorina, do not be afraid. You are quite 
 safe with me." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Guiseppe ! Guiseppe ! " 
 
 We slowly ascended the staircase, gained the 
 corridor, and at length arrived at the second flight of 
 shallow steps leading to the secret room. Here Bianca, 
 seeing the darkness, nearly fainted with nervous fear, 
 for, deeply imbued with grim Italian superstitions, she 
 beheld unseen terrors in every shadowy corner. I 
 again wanted her to return, but with wilful obstinacy 
 she refused, so, as I luckily had a pocket-flask of 
 brandy with me, I made her take a little to revive her. 
 The fiery spirit put new life into her sinking limbs, and, 
 after lighting my candle as usual, I led her up the steps, 
 through the short corridor, through the tapestriad ante- 
 chamber, until at last we stood in the fatal room. 
 
 "Here, SignorHugo!" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 She flung back her veil with a feverish gesture, and 
 peered into the darkness, which was hardly broken by 
 the feeble light of the small candle I carried. Suddenly 
 a thought struck me which I at once put into execution, 
 and lighted all the tapers yet remaining in the candelabra 
 on the table. To the darkness succeeded a blaze of 
 
A Voice in the Darkness. 85 
 
 mellow light, and Bianca, with a look of surprise on her 
 face, gazed round the singular room with the white 
 pillars, the ominous blood-red hangings, and the ban- 
 quet of the dead set forth with such splendid display on 
 the gilt table. 
 
 " What a strange room ! " she said timidly. " Signor 
 Hugo ! what does it mean ? " 
 
 " I have told you all I know, Signorina. Your lover 
 was lured to this room. I saw him pass through that 
 door, and then I was drugged as I have said." 
 
 " You did not then see who received him here ? " 
 
 " No ! I did not." 
 
 The first part of the lie was difficult to utter on 
 account of a choking feeling in my throat, but the last 
 sentence came out with tolerable grace. 
 
 " And you do not think Guiseppe left 'this room 
 again ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid not, Signorina ! " 
 
 " Then, where can he be ? " she asked with an 
 anxious look around. 
 
 " I think he is concealed in some secret cell, the 
 entrance to which is from this apartment." 
 
 " Oh, Signor Hugo, let us look for it at once." 
 
 " Certainly ! " 
 
 " A meal on the table — all this gold and silver. It is 
 a robber's cave, Signor." 
 
 " Y— es — I suppose so ! " 
 
 "Come, let us be quick then, or the robbers may 
 arrive." 
 
 She looked nervously towards the door, but I, 
 taking a candle off the table, reassured her with a gay 
 laugh, — 
 
 " Do not be afraid, Signorina. No one comes here 
 during the day." 
 
 " Hush ! what is that ? " 
 
 Infected by her terror my heart gave a jump, and I 
 listened intently, but could hear no sound* 
 
 "It is nothing, Signorina. Your nerves are un- 
 strung!" 
 
86 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 " No ! No ! I can hear it. Some one is coming. 
 Listen ! " 
 
 In order to humour her fancy I remained silent with 
 all my senses on the alert, and with a feeling of dread 
 I heard the sound. The light fall of footsteps, the 
 rustle of a silken dress — a dress ! — the full horror of 
 the situation rushed on me at once. 
 It must be the Contessa Morone ! " 
 In a moment I had blown out all the candles, and, 
 dragging Bianca with me, retreated in the darkness to 
 the far end of the room. The girl gave a little cry as 
 the lights disappeared, but I pressed her hand signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " Hush, Signorina. Not a word ! " 
 At the time I heard the steps they were at the door 
 of the antechamber, where the new-comer was evidently 
 pausing a moment, and as the curtains of the inner 
 room had been half drawn aside on our entrance, it was 
 for this reason we had heard them so clearly. The 
 steps recommenced. I heard their soft, light fall on 
 the marble floor, the rustle of the silken gown, like the 
 sound of dry leaves in an autumnal wind, and then I 
 felt that this woman was standing in the arched door- 
 way, looking straight at myself and the shrinking girl 
 through the darkness. 
 
 " Why are you here, Signor Hugo, and who is that 
 woman ? " 
 
 It was the voice of the Contessa, and I gave a cry of 
 horror as I suddenly remembered how ineffectual the 
 darkness was to conceal us from the eyes of this 
 nyctalopist. Bianca, however, knew nothing of this 
 woman, or of her gift of seeing in the dark ; so, over- 
 come with fear at the demoniacal power she believed 
 the unknown possessed, she gave a shriek of terror and 
 sank fainting at my feet. 
 " What does this mean ? " 
 
 Again the voice of the Contessa sounded cruel and 
 menacing in its tones ; so feeling myself at a disadvan- 
 tage in the dark, through not possessing the terrible 
 
A Voice in the Darkness, 87 
 
 attribute of this woman, I staggered forward and lighted 
 the candles. At once out of the gloom sprang that 
 evil face with a frown on the white brow, a deadly- 
 glitter in the cruel eyes, and an ominous tightening of 
 the thin lips. 
 
 I don't think I can call myself a coward, but at that 
 moment my blood ran cold at the horror of that Medusa- 
 like countenance, and I stood before this phantom of 
 Lucrezia Borgia as if turned into stone, unable to move 
 or speak. 
 
 The Contessa moved forward to the table and looked 
 at me steadily, with a wicked smile frozen on her red 
 lips. 
 
 " You do not reply, Signor Hugo ; but I begin to un- 
 derstand. You have been here before ? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 I hardly recognized my own voice, so hoarse and 
 broken did it sound, stealing in a whisper from between 
 my dry lips. She still looked at me steadily, and I felt 
 fascinated with dread by the snake-like glare of those 
 cruel eyes. 
 
 " When were you here, Signor ? " 
 
 " On Monday night ! " 
 
 "And you saw — nothing," she said in a meaning 
 tone. 
 
 "Yes!" I replied, lifting my head boldly, "I saw 
 you receive Guiseppe Pallanza, and I saw you give him 
 the poisoned cup ! " 
 
 She gave a cry of rage like a trapped animal, and 
 made a step forward, but, restraining herself with a 
 powerful effort, sank into a chair and leaned her elbow 
 on the table. Dressed in heavy black garments of 
 velvet and silk, she looked more like the Borgia than 
 ever, and the ruby necklace she constantly wore flashed 
 forth rays of red fire in the glimmer of the tremulous 
 light. 
 
 " I understand now why you said Guiseppe Pallanza 
 would not come back," she said with a scornful smile. 
 " I thought last night you knew more than you told. 
 
88 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 Eh ! Signor, and it was you who sang at the door of the 
 Ezzelino." 
 
 " Yes, it was I." 
 
 "Meddlesome Englishman that you are, do you 
 not fear that I will treat you as I treated that false 
 one ? " 
 
 " No ! I mistrust your wine ! " 
 
 " True, Signor Machievella ! forewarned is fore- 
 armed. So you came here to look for Pallanza ? " 
 
 " I came to look for his body, Madame Morone, but I 
 do not know where it is." 
 
 " No ; nor will you find it. And who is this woman ? " 
 
 " Guiseppe's betrothed." 
 „ The Contessa gave a cry of rage, and, rising from her 
 seat, rushed towards the unconscious girl where she lay 
 in the darkness. Owing to her singular gift she needed 
 no light to see by, but examined the face of her rival 
 minutely in the gloom. I had stepped forward, fearing 
 lest, carried away by jealous anger, she should do the 
 poor child an injury ; but such was not her intention, for, 
 after a minute's examination, she arose from her stooping 
 position with a burst of wicked laughter. 
 
 " So it was for this white-faced thing that he was going 
 to leave me —me, Giulietta Morone ! Eh, I feel much 
 flattered at having such a rival. Why is she here, Signor 
 Hugo?" 
 
 " To find Pallanza," I replied shortly. 
 
 "She will never find him ; he is lost to her for ever. 
 But," she added, with a wicked smile, " I am not afraid 
 of your betraying me, Signor Hugo. I am not afraid of 
 this poor fool, who thought to take Guiseppe from me, 
 so I will revenge myself." 
 
 " Revenge yourself? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have said it. You came here like a thief in 
 the night, and saw what you were not meant to see. 
 She comes in the daylight to seek her lover. Well, she 
 shall see him. Wait till she revives, and I will blast her 
 eyes with the sight of what he is now." 
 
 " You are a demon ! " 
 
A Voice in the Darkness, 89 
 
 "I am a wronged woman, whom a man sought to 
 deceive. Ecco ! Behold, then, Englishman that you 
 are, how we Italian women revenge ourselves I " 
 
 She stepped past the unconscious body of the girl, 
 and, going to one of the pillars on the right side of the 
 room, apparently touched a spring, for the whole pillar 
 — which, as I have described before, was half built into 
 the wall — revolved slowly with a grating sound and dis- 
 played a cavity. I bent forward with a shudder of 
 horror, and saw — nothing ! 
 
 The cavity was empty I 
 
 Signora Morone gazed at it with a look of horror on 
 the wild beauty of her face ; then, with a cry of rage, of 
 fear, and of dread, rushed out of the room. 
 
 I heard her 'shriek, " Lost ! lost! lost!" three times, 
 then the sound of her retreating footsteps died away in 
 the distance, and I was left alone in the ghastly gloom 
 with the unconscious girl at my feet, and an agony in 
 my heart such as I never hope to feel again in this life. 
 
 How I got out of that accursed room I hardly know ; 
 but I faintly remember lifting Bianca in my arms, and, 
 guided by instinct, staggering" through the dark corridors^ 
 down the silent stairs, and out into the courtyard. The 
 fresh air seemed to revive me, and, collecting my scattered 
 senses together with a. gigantic effort, I looked round 
 for some means by which to bring Bianca out of her 
 faint, the length of which alarmed me terribly. 
 
 In the corner of the courtyard there was a sculptured 
 trough, which the late rains had brimmed over, so, 
 hastening towards this, I filled my cap with water, and, 
 returning to Bianca, threw it in her face. 
 
 She revived slowly with a shuddering sigh, and looked 
 round vacantly ; then, with a sudden recollection of 
 what she had come through, she flung herself into my 
 arms with an imploring cry, — 
 
 " Oh, that voice ! that voice I Take me away from 
 that cruel voice 1 " 
 
go A Creature of the Night, 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE MARCHESS BELTRAMI. 
 
 I MANAGED to take Bianca home without much diffi- 
 culty, for it was my good fortune to meet a disengaged 
 fiacre in one of the narrow streets leading to the Piazza 
 Vittorio Emanuele, and, placing the poor girl therein, 
 we drove straight to the Casa Angello. The Signorina 
 was in a very excited state, as that menacing voice, 
 issuing out of the darkness, had quite unnerved her ; so, 
 placing her in charge of Petronella, who made her lie 
 down, I went for a doctor. Being a stranger in Verona 
 it was difficult to find one, but at last I did so, and took 
 him at once to see Bianca, for whom he prescribed a 
 soothing draught, and assured me that she would be all 
 right after a few hours' sleep. This trouble therefore 
 being off my mind, I went back to my hotel, in order to 
 consider what was best to be done in the present 
 emergency. 
 
 I now saw that my surmise was right, and that the 
 Contesia had hidden the body of the unfortunate 
 Pallanza in the concealed tomb contrived by Count 
 Mastino Morone for his guilty wife. It was a horribly 
 ingenious idea, that revolving pillar, and no one would 
 have guessed its ghastly secret without being shown. 
 Doubtless the wicked Donna Renata, shut up in this 
 circular prison, had there starved slowly to death in an up- 
 right position, for, of course, the cavity was too narrow 
 and too shallow to admit of any human being lying down. 
 The skilful devilry of the device made me feel quite ill, 
 especially when I thought how the worthy descendant 
 
The Marchese Beltrami. 9 1 
 
 of Borgia's accursed daughter had utilized this secret cell 
 for her own infamous purpose. In this frightful oubliette 
 the body of Guiseppe Pallanza would have remained 
 for ever concealed ; but then, according to the evidence 
 of my own eyes, the body was not there. 
 
 That the Contessa had placed the corpse in the 
 pillar I had not the slightest doubt, as in showing the 
 hiding-place she evidently expected to overwhelm me 
 by the hideous evidence of her barbarous criminality. 
 That the cavity was empty was as much a surprise to 
 her as to me, and the shriek of terror she had given 
 when flying from the chamber showed me that she was 
 overpowered with fear at the thought that her gruesome 
 secret was shared by another person, for, putting me out 
 of the question altogether, there appeared to be a third 
 party implicated in this singular affair. 
 
 For my own part I believed it to be the man who had 
 watched with me at the curtained archway, and who, after 
 drugging me, had borne me insensible from that terrible 
 place. After doing so, and thus, according to his idea, 
 putting it out of my power to re-discover the palace, he 
 had returned to his post and seen the Contessa conceal 
 the body of her victim in the cavity of the pillar. On 
 her departure, for some reason best known to himself, 
 he had removed the corpse, and hidden it somewhere 
 else. This was, no doubt, the true story of the affair, 
 but who was the man who had watched at the door, 
 and who had taken away the body of Pallanza ? It was 
 impossible to guess the reasons for his behaving in this 
 mysterious way, and the Contessa was evidently as 
 ignorant as myself of his actions, judging from her 
 terrified flight on discovering the truth. Whosoever 
 this unknown person was, he, to all appearances, held 
 the key to the whole riddle, and, could I find him, I 
 would doubtless learn the reason of Madame Morone's 
 visit to the burial-ground, and the final fate of the 
 unhappy tenor whom she had lured to his destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 But how to find him I that was the question, and one 
 
92 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 to which I could find no satisfactory answer ; so in the 
 dilemma in which I thus found myself involved, I decided 
 to tell Luigi Beltrami, as the only friend I had in Verona, 
 the whole devilish story. In addition to the desire I 
 felt to ask his advice and opinion, I thought it but 
 right that he should know the real character of the 
 woman he was about to marry, and not discover too 
 late that he was tied for life to a ghoul, a vampire, 
 a murderess. 
 
 With this determination I looked for the card the 
 Marchese had given me, and finding it in one of my 
 pockets, discovered that my Italian friend lived in the 
 Via Cartoni. As he had mentioned that he was always 
 at home in the afternoon, doubtless to take a siesta 
 during the heat of the day, on finishing my midday 
 meal I went out to pay him a visit. 
 
 In spite of his assertion that he was poor, Beltrami 
 had a sufficient income to warrant him living in a 
 moderately expensive manner, and on my arrival at his 
 rooms in the Via Cartoni, I was shown into a very well- 
 furnished apartment. As the Marchese was stationed 
 with his regiment at Verona for some considerable time, 
 he had evidently brought a portion of his furniture from 
 his Florentine palazzo, for the rocjm was too handsome 
 to be that of the ordinary class of furnished apartments. 
 As usual, the ceiling was charmingly painted ; the floor 
 was of marble, covered here and therewithsquare Turkish 
 carpets ; and in addition to a piano there were plenty of 
 pictures and photographs, showing the artistic taste of 
 the owner of the place. 
 
 Beltrami himself, dressed as usual in his uniform, was 
 seated at a desk placed in the window, writing letters, 
 but he desisted when I was announced, and arose to 
 greet me with marked cordiality. 
 
 " Ma foi, Hugo, this is kind of you to call so soon," 
 he said when I was comfortably established in a chair. 
 " I was just writing you a letter asking you to dine with 
 me and go to the Ezzelino to-night, but as you are here 
 the note is useless." 
 
The Marckese Beltrami. 93 
 
 The fact is, my dear Marchese, I have called on a 
 selfish errand." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes ; still it is one that concerns yourself also." 
 
 11 How so, mon ami ? Come, tell me this mystery 
 about which I know nothing and you know everything ; 
 but first here are some excellent cigarettes — Russian, 
 my friend, not Italian. Dio 1 the tobacco of this 
 country, it is horrible. Will you have some wine ? " 
 
 "No, thank you, Beltrami, but I will be glad to 
 smoke." 
 
 " Bene! help yourself." 
 
 He pushed the box towards me, and, after I had taken 
 a cigarette, followed my example, then, throwing him* 
 self into a chair near me, he nodded his head to show 
 that he was ready to hear what I had to say. 
 
 " Marchese ! " I said, after some slight hesitation, " I 
 think we are old enough friends to admit of my speak- 
 ing to you freely." 
 
 "Eh! certainly!" 
 
 " I trust you will not be offended." 
 
 Beltrami blew a wreath of smoke, and laying back 
 his handsome head on the cushions of the chair, laughed 
 heartily. 
 
 " No, my doubting Englishman, I promise you I will 
 not be offended at anything you say." 
 
 "But, Luigi, it is about the Contessa Morone!" 
 
 " Eh ! about the Contessa ? — I thought as much ! " 
 
 " How so ? " I asked in some surprise. 
 
 The face of the Marchese assumed that cruel, cunning 
 look I so much dislike to see, and he eyed me in a non- 
 chalant manner. 
 
 " Dame ! Signor Hugo, I will tell you when I hear 
 your story of the Contessa." 
 
 Thus committed to narrative, I told Beltrami the 
 whole story of my adventure from the time I had seen 
 the Contessa at the graveyard to the hour when she had 
 fled in dismay from the Palazzo Morone. He listened 
 attentively, and, when I had finished, remained silent 
 
94 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 for a few moments with a thoughtful look on his dark 
 face. 
 
 " Why do you tell me all this, mon ami ? " he asked, at 
 length, twisting his moustache in a reflective manner. 
 
 " For two reasons. First, you may be able to aid me 
 in my search for Pallanza ; and second, you must have 
 been ignorant of the character of the woman you are 
 going to marry." 
 
 " As to the first reason, Hugo, you are right. As to 
 the second, you are wrong." 
 
 u What, you know — " 
 
 " I know most of the story you have told me, and as 
 to the Signora Morone, mon Dieu ! I know her better 
 than she does herself." 
 
 " Then why marry her ? " 
 
 Beltrami shrugged his shoulders and selected another 
 cigarette. 
 
 '•' Eh ! she is rich and I am poor. It is time I ranged 
 myself, as the French say, and I cannot afford to marry 
 a poor wife ; besides — " 
 
 " Besides what ? " 
 
 " I rather like the task of taming this demon of a 
 woman. Madame Morone is Satan's mistress in the 
 matter of temper, I know, but I come of a race who 
 either broke the will of their wives or — " 
 
 " Or ? " I asked interrogatively. 
 
 " Or killed them ! " 
 
 "That's rather risky nowadays, Marchese. We do 
 not live in the time of the Renaissance, remember. But 
 let us leave off this discussion of Madame Morone. I 
 have told you my story, and you say you knew most 
 of it before ! ; ' 
 
 "And I say truly. Now listen, you cold-blooded 
 islander, and see if I cannot disturb your phlegmatic 
 disposition." 
 
 He paused a moment to give greater weight to his 
 remarks, the conclusion of which I impatiently awaited. 
 
 " I was the man who drugged you and had you 
 carried to the Piazza Vittorio." 
 
The Marchese Beltrami. 95 
 
 ■ You ! * 
 
 "I was the man who carried away the body of 
 Guiseppe Pallanza." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 " I am the man who, knowing what I do, calmly and 
 with open eyes, have made up my mind to marry Madame 
 Morone." 
 
 "You!" 
 
 I was so overwhelmed with the disclosures made by 
 Beltrami that I could only sit thunderstruck in my chair, 
 looking like an idiot and repeating " You ! you ! you ! " 
 parrot-fashion. Beltrami enjoyed my confusion for some 
 time, and then went on speaking with a mocking smile : — 
 
 " Eh ! I astonish you, Hugo. Well, I admit I treated 
 you rather badly, my friend ;- but then at the time I 
 did not know who you were. Dame ! I cannot see 
 in the dark, like Madame Gatta." 
 
 The Marchese, then, was the man who held the key 
 to this enigma, and, far from being offended at his rough 
 treatment of me on that fatal night, I was only too 
 delighted at discovering the unknown person who, in 
 this strange repetition of the old legend, had played the 
 part of Count Mastino Morone. 
 
 " I have rather startled you, I fancy, Hugo ? " said 
 Beltrami with an ironical laugh. 
 
 " I would be a fool to deny it ; but now that your 
 dramatic surprise has come off so excellently, perhaps 
 you will tell me what it all means." 
 
 " Without doubt ; confidence for confidence! Besides, 
 I want your help to carry this comedy to its legitimate 
 conclusion." 
 
 " Comedy, you call it ? To my mind it is more like a 
 tragedy." 
 
 " There you are wrong, mon ami. In a tragedy there 
 must be a death." 
 
 " Well ! You forget Pallanza ? " 
 
 " Not at all, Hugo ; that is the whole point. Pallanza 
 is not dead." 
 
 I stared at the Marchese in astonishment. 
 
96 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 " Pallanza not dead ! Impossible ! I saw him die on 
 that night." 
 
 " You saw him fall insensible at the feet of the 
 Contessa Morone, but insensibility is not death." 
 
 " Then he is alive ? " 
 
 " Naturally I One must either be alive or dead. And 
 as this devil of a tenor is not the latter, he must there- 
 fore be the former." 
 
 " Then where is he ? " 
 
 ■« Eh ! that is part of the story." 
 
 This epigrammatic fencing on the part of Beltrami 
 annoyed me greatly, as it piqued my curiosity without 
 satisfying it, and I threw my half-smoked cigarette away 
 with an outburst of bad temper. 
 
 " My dear Luigi, you have promised to tell me the 
 story of this mystery, ancHnstead of doing so you fire 
 off epigrammatic squibs like Pasquin during the Carnival, 
 The story, the story ! I beg of you.** 
 
 u Eh ! certainly! Then take another cigarette, and I 
 will tell you this • Thousand and Second Might* 
 romance." 
 
97 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 DEATH IN LIFE. 
 
 " It is such a long story, Hugo," said Beltrami, a trifle 
 maliciously, "that we must really have some wine." 
 
 M I do not want wine ; I want ' The Thousand and 
 Second Night.'" 
 
 " Bene 1 you shall have both. - ' 
 
 The Marchese arose and summoned his servant, who 
 brought up a bottle of Barbera, that rough-tasting wine 
 which is so pleasant and cool in hot weather. For the 
 sake of companionship I took some with Beltrami, and 
 having thus attended to the duties of hospitality, he 
 signed to his servant to withdraw, and without further 
 preamble began his tale. 
 
 "Eh, Hugo, mon ami," he said, settling himself com- 
 fortably in his chair, "this would be a charming story 
 for M. Bourget, that modern Balzac, who analyzes the 
 hearts of the ladies of this generation in so masterly a 
 fashion. Dame ! I would like to give him Madame 
 Morone's to dissect — he'd find some strange things 
 there. Yet — would you believe it ? — this woman, 
 worthy to be a sister of Lucrezia Borgia, came out of 
 a convent to marry my poor friend Morone." 
 
 " You knew him, then ? " 
 
 " Ma foi ! I should think so, for many years. People 
 said he was mad, but the only mad action he committed, 
 to my mind, was in marrying Giulietta Rossana." 
 
 " Yet you propose to do the same thing ! " 
 
 M True, but I possess a means of taming this tigress 
 of which the unfortunate Giorgio Morone knew nothing. 
 
98 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 He was a great chemist, this poor Count, and parti- 
 cularly fond of toxicology, a dangerous science with 
 such a wife, as he found out to his cost. Cospetto ! I 
 would not care myself about forging weapons for 
 another to use against me, but that is exactly what 
 Morone did." 
 
 " She poisoned him ? " 
 
 " Eh ! nobody says so, yet everybody thinks so. For 
 my part, I believe the Contessa capable of anything. 
 At all events, Morone died very suddenly, and was duly 
 buried in that old ancestral vault to which his devoted 
 wife, a year after his death, paid a visit. Well, before 
 he died, Morone grew suspicious of the Contessa, and 
 as he had just invented or re-discovered a poison 
 which left no trace of having been used, and also an 
 antidote to the same, he determined not to give the 
 Signora an opportunity of exercising it on him, so this 
 toxicological secret was buried with him." 
 
 " Ah ! I see now why she went to the graveyard. It 
 was to get this poison." 
 
 " Exactly ! Whether it was put in the coffin of the 
 dead man, or merely hidden in the vault, I don't know, 
 but we will go and see." 
 
 " To what end ? She has the poison ! " 
 
 u Certainly ! I believe that, after seeing it exercised 
 upon Pallanza ; but she has not got the antidote." 
 
 " How do you know that, Beltrami ? " 
 
 " Because the Contessa knows nothing of the exis- 
 tence of the antidote. Morone talked enough about 
 the poison itself, but he only mentioned the antidote to 
 one man, and that was myself. You see, Hugo, he 
 thought Madame might try a little of his own poison on 
 himself, in which case I would be able to give him the 
 antidote." . 
 
 " Couldn't he have taken it himself? " 
 
 " No ! this poison does not kill unless given in a large 
 quantity : five drops make you feel chill and listless ; ten 
 drops take away your senses and convert you into what 
 I may paradoxically call a breathing corpse ; but fifteen 
 
Death in Life, 99 
 
 drops kill. So if Madame had given her husband fifteen 
 drops he would have lapsed into a stupor and died, 
 unless the antidote were given, so that is why he 
 bestowed it on me." 
 
 " Well, but she killed him after all ? » 
 
 " Yes, but with another poison not of home manu- 
 facture. Eh ! what would you, Hugo, the Contessa was 
 not going to be thwarted by a husband who kept his 
 laboratory locked. However, he tricked her over this 
 particular poison, for he either gave instructions that it 
 was to be put into his coffin without the knowledge of 
 his dear wife, or he hid it himself in the vault, as he 
 hinted to me one day he intended to do." 
 
 " There's no doubt, then, that the Contessa went to 
 the vault for the poison ; but what about the antidote ? 
 Is it in your possession ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately, no, mon ami. I was ordered away 
 from Verona, and gave back the antidote to the Count ; 
 but on my return here, I heard casually that he had 
 left a letter for me, to be delivered after his death. I 
 went to Rome, where the Contessa was one of the orna- 
 ments of the Court, and asked for the letter. Of course, 
 she denied ever having beard of it." 
 
 " And what do you think was in this letter ? " 
 
 " Eh ! I believe it told me where the poison 
 ~vvas hidden in the vault, and that our dear Contessa 
 found the letter, went to the vault on the night you saw 
 her, and obtained the poison." 
 
 " Also the antidote ? " 
 
 " I'm not so sure of that. I knew about the anti- 
 dote so well that I don't think Morone would have 
 mentioned it in the letter, in case it should meet the eye 
 of his wife. No ! No ! mon ami ! she has the poison, of 
 course ; but the antidote, I believe it is still in the vault, 
 where we will look for it." 
 
 " For what reason ? " 
 
 " Diamine ! to revive this wretched tenor who has 
 had the misfortune to take ten drops of the Signora 
 morone's mixture." 
 
ioo A Creature of the Night. 
 
 " But where is Pallanza ? " 
 
 " All in good time, Hugo, all in good time. I must 
 tell you the rest of the story first." 
 
 " I am all impatience, Beltrami." 
 
 The Marchese, I saw, was enjoying this conversation, 
 as the subject-matter was of an involved and difficult 
 character which appealed to the subtleties of his Italian 
 nature ; and the chance of playing a part in this intrigue, 
 worthy of the Court of Lorenzo di Medici, delighted him 
 beyond measure. He was, as I have said before, an 
 anachronism, and this every-day, commonplace life of 
 the nineteenth century offered no field for the exercise 
 of his cunning brain and delicate diplomacy, which 
 revelled in those bizarre complications, full of sophistry 
 and double meanings, which distinguished the intricate 
 statecraft of the Italian republics. 
 
 " You wonder," continued the Marchese reflectively, 
 " you wonder, no doubt, after hearing my opinions about 
 the Contessa Morone, that I should care to marry her ; 
 but, as I told you before, there are reasons. I am poor, 
 she is rich, and I marry her for her money. This is 
 brutal, is it not ? but then you see I look at the matter 
 from a Latin point of view, you from an English. As 
 Euclid — whom, by the way, I always hated — says, ' Two 
 parallel straight lines cannot meet,' it is no use our arguing 
 over this point, as neither of us would convince the other. 
 It is a question of race, Hugo, nothing mere. Ebbene ! 
 my other reason is that I wish to tame this woman with 
 the heart of a tigress. I am wearied of the dulness of 
 this present life, and the task of fencing with Signora 
 Morone will be a perpetual excitement, particularly as 
 I know it will not be unattended with danger. This is 
 also a question of race, and the theory of straight lines 
 applies, so again we will not argue ; but you can see one 
 thing plainly, that I want to marry the Contessa ? " 
 
 " Yes, I can see that, and I wonder at your daring." 
 
 " Straight lines, for the third time, Signor Hugo. 
 Ebbene ! Although I wanted to marry the Contessa, she, 
 hating and detesting me with her whole soul, as a friend 
 
Death in Life, 101 
 
 of her late husband, would not listen to me at all, so as 
 she would not go to the altar willingly, I determined to 
 force her there. I made it my business to find out all 
 about her life, and a devil of a life it is, I can tell you. 
 Pallanza is not the fiist lover this daughter of Venus has 
 smiled on." 
 
 " Oh ! " I broke out in disgust, " how can you think 
 of marrying this infamous woman — a murderess, a 
 poisoner, a fiend in human form ? " 
 
 " Dio ! I have given you my reasons, and you, 
 straitlaced Englishman that you are, cannot under- 
 stand them. However, we will talk of this again ; mean- 
 time, to continue. The Contessa was so madly in love 
 with Pallanza, who I grant you is a handsome fellow 
 with a charming voice, that I foresaw when he attempt ed 
 to leave her there would be trouble. I discovered that 
 he was engaged to some Signorina of Milan, that she 
 was at Verona, and that Pallanza was going to sing at 
 Verona ; so when he did arrive I was in nowise as- 
 tonished at the appearance of Madame Morone at the 
 Ezzelino. Things were coming to a climax, so I watched 
 for the bursting of the storm. The rendezvous of these 
 lovers would be, I knew, the deserted Palazzo Morone. 
 How did I know ? Mon cher ami, you are simplicity 
 itself. Have 1 not told you that I knew the Contessa 
 when she lived at Verona with her husband, and — and 
 —well it is not the first time she has used that palazzo 
 and played at Boccaccian stories in that room. You know 
 she fancies herself like Lucrezia Borgia, and tries to 
 imitate those picturesque feasts to which Ferrara's 
 Duchess was so addicted — yes, even to the use of poison. 
 Dame ! I thought I was at the opera when I saw that 
 supper the other night." 
 
 '• How did you get into the palazzo ?" 
 
 " Ah, that is an adventure worthy of Gil Bias. I filed 
 through a bar in the gate and wrenched it out." 
 
 " I thought so, for I entered the same way 1 " 
 
 " I guessed as much, my friend. Ebbene ! I watched 
 the palace from the time Madame Morone arrived in 
 
102 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 Verona, and my patience was rewarded on Monday 
 night by seeing our picturesque tenor use his key and 
 enter by the side door. I was not alone, for I greatly 
 mistrusted Madame Morone should she discover me in 
 that lonely palazzo ; so, as I had two men absolutely 
 devoted to me, I took them with me." 
 
 " They were very brave to go near that ghastly palace, 
 considering the reputation it has." 
 
 " Ma foi, they are Florentines, and know nothing 
 about Verona. Their ancestors have been in the service 
 of mine for many years, and in their eyes a Beltrami 
 can do no wrong. Now is that not wonderful in this 
 present age of ducats and steam-engines ? " 
 
 " So wonderful, Marchese, that I can hardly believe 
 it!" 
 
 " Cospetto ! it is true I tell you. These men are 
 absolutely devoted to me, and think me a much greater 
 man than Umberto of Savoy. Ebbene ! I posted my 
 two men in a dark corner of the palazzo with instructions 
 not to move until I told them ; then I went after our 
 tenor, and found him strumming on the mandolin while 
 he awaited the arrival of the Contessa." 
 
 " Ah ! she had gone to the burial-ground/' 
 
 " Yes ! I did not know that until you told me. How- 
 ever, I hid myself behind the tapestry in the outer room 
 and waited. The Contessa arrived, and, to my surprise, 
 you also appeared. I caught a glimpse of you at the 
 door before that torch went out, but, of course, I did 
 not recognize you, and was puzzled to account for your 
 presence there. Luckily, I had a bottle of chloroform in 
 my pocket, which I took with me to the palace in case 
 of accidents — '* 
 
 " But what good would chloroform do ? " 
 
 " Eh ! have you ever seen Madame Morone in a 
 rage?" 
 
 "No!" 
 . " Then it is not a pretty sight, I can tell you. That 
 woman is a devil, and, for all I know, might haye had 
 some one in the palace to do her bidding. If I had 
 
Death in Life* 103 
 
 been found there, and taken at a disadvantage, I might 
 have occupied that delightful pillar and never been seen 
 again. Ah ! you smile, mon ami, but remember this is 
 Italy, not England, and with a woman like the Contessa, 
 who recalls the Borgia times so admirably, it is always 
 well to be prepared. If she had discovered me, my 
 chloroform might have come in useful." 
 
 " It certainly did in my case ! " 
 
 " Ma foi, I've told you before, I did not know it was 
 you. I only beheld a stranger, and thinking that the 
 stranger might interfere with my plans, 1 stole across 
 the antechamber, and when you fell back — well, I used 
 my chloroform. Then I left you lying hidden behind 
 the tapestry, and went on watching Madame Morone at 
 her Borgian supper. She was dragging Pallanza's body 
 to the pillar, and, having safely shut him up there, 
 departed with a satisfied smile on her face ; so I was 
 left alone with two apparently dead men— Pallanza in 
 the pillar, and you behind the tapestry." 
 
 " A sufficiently dramatic situation I think, Marchese." 
 
 " Eh ! no doubt. There is more drama in life — 
 especially in Italian life — than people think, and even 
 stranger events than this comedy of the Palazzo Morone 
 take place in our midst." 
 
 " From what I have seen of your people, Luigi, I 
 quite believe it. Well, about this dramatic situation — 
 what did you do next ? " 
 
 " Cospetto ! I played my part on the stage with great 
 judgment, I can tell you. When I was sure that Madame 
 Morone had left the palazzo I re-lighted the candles, 
 and went to see what appearance my man behind the 
 tapestry presented. To my surprise I recognized Signor 
 Hugo Cranston, and you may fancy I was considerably 
 astonished, as I could not understand how you had 
 become mixed up in this Boccaccian adventure. Friend- 
 ship said, • Revive him and apologize.' Caution re- 
 marked, ' Remove him from the palazzo, and let him 
 think the events of the night a dream.' " 
 
 " Oh I and you adopted the advice of caution ? " 
 
104 A Creature of ike Night. 
 
 " Diavolo ! what else could I do ? You might have 
 interfered with my plans ; and, besides, I always intended 
 to give you an explanation when the Contessa became 
 the Marchese Beltrami. Circumstances, however, have 
 brought about the explanation sooner than I intended." 
 
 " So I see," I replied dryly. " However, you removed 
 me from the palace." 
 
 " Yesl I called up my two men, and, telling them 
 you were— well — overcome by Bacchus, ordered them 
 to take you to the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele and leave 
 you there. Ecco ! " 
 
 "Oh! Beltrami." 
 
 " Eh ! you reproach me. Well, I no doubt deserve 
 your reproaches, but it was the best excuse I could 
 think of, as it doesn't do to trust servants too much. 
 Ebbene ! they took you away and left you in the Piazza, 
 where you awoke in the morning ? " 
 
 " I did, with a confounded headache." 
 
 " Ma foi ! that was the chloroform, no doubt. Having 
 thus arranged your little matter, I went to the pillar and 
 released Guiseppe Pallanza." 
 
 " He was not dead, then ?" 
 
 " No ! She gave him ten drops, I tell you. So that, 
 although he was not actually dead, he had all the 
 appearance of a corpse. I could not revive him as I 
 had not the antidote ; so, when my two men returned, 
 I had him brought here." 
 
 "Here! In this house?" 
 
 " Precisely ! he is in the next room. We will go and 
 look at him presently. But to continue : the next day I 
 called upon the Contessa, and told her I had seen all, 
 suppressing, however, the fact that I had carried off this 
 unfortunate lover." 
 
 " Which accounted for her surprise to-day on seeing 
 the pillar empty ? " 
 
 " Of course ; she never dreamed that I would meddle 
 with her work. Well, I gave her a choice of either 
 explaining her little adventure to the authorities, and 
 thus run a chance of being imprisoned for life, or of 
 
Death in Life. 105 
 
 becoming my wife. Of these two evils she chose the 
 least ; so now I am engaged to marry her, and she will 
 become the Marchesa Beltrami next month. Interesting, 
 is it not, Hugo?" 
 
 It was no use arguing with this man, who, as he said 
 himself, looked at the affair in a totally different light 
 from what I did, and I did not know whether to loathe 
 his brutal candour, to despise his mercenary designs, or 
 to admire his undoubted courage in marrying this 
 woman. However, I reflected that his subtle intriguing 
 would undoubtedly be sufficiently punished by his 
 marriage with this tigress of a Contessa, and as my 
 only desire was to restore Pallanza to the arms of 
 Bianca, I neither condemned nor praised Beltrami's 
 singular conduct, which seemed admirable in his own 
 eyes, but simply complimented him on his adroitness in 
 following the precepts of Niccolo Machievella. He 
 listened to my cold remarks with a disbelieving smile 
 on his face, and laughed mockingly when I ceased 
 speaking. 
 
 " Eh ! Hugo, you do riot approve of my ideas ? Well, 
 I do not wonder at that. Fire and water are not mora 
 different than an Italian and an Englishman. Your 
 cool blood comes from generations of church-going, 
 strait-laced ancestors, whose beliefs ruled their lives 
 in a simple manner ; but my fiery blood burned in the 
 veins of those condottieri of the Renaissance who were 
 at war with King and Pope and Republic, who con- 
 stantly stood on the verge of unseen precipices, and 
 who needed all their craft, their courage, and their iron 
 nerve to preserve their lives and fortunes. Dame 1 let 
 us talk no more of such contrasts, but come with me, 
 and I will show you this missing lover of Madame 
 Morone." 
 
 I acquiesced eagerly in this proposal, and followed 
 Beltrami, who led me into his bedroom, and, having 
 unlocked a door in the opposite wall, ushered me into a 
 small, bare apartment, containing a bed on which lay 
 the still form of Guiseppe Pallanza. There he was,dressed 
 
106 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 the same as on that fatal night, with his eyes closed, a 
 frozen look on his white face, and his hands crossed on 
 his breast. Lying thus in his antique garb, he put me 
 in mind of one of those coloured statues which adorn 
 the tombs of great men ; where the face, the hair, and 
 the vestments are all tinted so as to produce the sem- 
 blance of life. But was life here, in the body of this 
 young man, who lay so passively before me with closed 
 eyes as though he were indeed buried in some sepulchre 
 of the dead ? 
 
 " Oh ! he is alive," said Beltrami, guessing my 
 thought as I shrank back from the bed ; " it is a case 
 of suspended animation." 
 
 " But lasting three — four days ? " 
 
 " Dame, yes 1 It would last much longer, I have no 
 doubt. Ten drops produce this life-in-death state 
 which you see, fifteen drops the same thing ; but the 
 one ends in death after a certain time, the other does 
 not." 
 
 " But why did you not go to the vault and find this 
 antidote at once ? " " 
 
 "Well, to tell you the truth, Hugo, I thought it 
 would be a useless errand, as I do not know where to 
 look for it. I fancied that Madame Morone might 
 have found another bottle of this damnable poison, but 
 it never struck me until I heard your story that she 
 had read the letter addressed by Morone to me, and 
 gone to the vault for the poison." 
 
 " And what are we to do now ? " 
 
 " Go to the vault, to be sure, and look for this 
 antidote." 
 
 " But the vault is locked !" 
 
 " True, I forgot that/' said Beltrami, with a thought- 
 ful frown, " however, I think I can procure the key." 
 
 " From Madame Morone ? " 
 
 " No ! that would put her on her guard at once. 
 I want her to think Pallanza is still in this cataleptic 
 state, otherwise she won't marry me, as my power 
 over her will be gone. I'll get the key somehow ; if 
 
Death in Life, 107 
 
 not, one of my men knows something about picking 
 locks, so we will take him with us." 
 
 "A reputable servant, truly 1" 
 
 " Eh ! what would you ? " said Beltrami carelessly, 
 as he led the way out of the room and locked the 
 door j " Even lock-picking is useful on occasions — wit- 
 ness the present one. Well, are you ready to go to the 
 vault with me to-night }" 
 
 "At night, Beltrami?" 
 
 "Most certainly. If we went in the day-time all 
 Verona would be in commotion. No ! we must go at 
 midnight when no one is about. Have you the 
 courage'?" 
 
 " I think so ! but I hope Madame Morone will not be 
 there ! " 
 
 " There's no fear of that, as she has no reason to pay 
 a second visit to the remains of her husband. She has 
 got the poison, and knows nothing about the antidote, 
 so make yourself easy on that score. Ecco ! " 
 
 " What are you going to do now, Marchese ! " 
 
 " See if I can obtain that key. If I fail to obtain it, 
 I will bring Matteo with me. As for you, my friend, go 
 and take something to eat, and meet me on the Ponte 
 Aleardi at midnight." 
 
 " I will be there, Beltrami. Good-bye for the 
 present." 
 
 " A revederci, Hugo ; I am obliged for your confi- 
 dence, as it has solved the difficulty of knowing what to 
 do with Signor Cupid." 
 
 We both went different ways ; Beltrami to search for 
 his key, and myself to hasten home to my hotel, and 
 prepare myself for the fatigues of this midnight 
 excursion, which, however much it appealed to the 
 Marchese's sense of the romantic, was certainly not 
 relished by me. 
 
io8 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 "DOWN AMONG THE DEAD MEN." 
 
 Do you know that gruesome old ballad, with its 
 sombre refrain of "Down! Down! Down among the 
 dead men " ? A friend of mine, with a deep bass voice, 
 used to sing it in order to display his lower notes, upon 
 which — and not without reason — he flattered himself 
 greatly ; but in after years, I never heard it sung without 
 a shudder, so vividly did it recall to my mind the 
 grotesque horrcr of that midnight visit to the Tomb of 
 the Morone, in that old burial-ground of Verona. Of 
 late I had been so much mixed up with ghosts, vaults, 
 ghouls and crimes, that I was by no means anxious to 
 continue the category, and would have infinitely pre- 
 ferred to have let Beltrami, who liked such uncomfort- 
 able things, go alone ; but being an Englishman, 
 I had to uphold the honour of my country, so never 
 thought for a moment of showing the white feather. 
 Besides, the only chance of saving Pallanza was by 
 obtaining possesion of the antidote, and in spite of my 
 repugnance to the errand, I fully made up my mind to 
 be on the Ponte Aleardi at the appointed time. 
 
 Meanwhile I fortified myself against possible hor- 
 rors by having an excellent dinner, supplemented by a 
 small bottle of champagne. I could not afford that 
 luxurious wine, and it was sinfully extravagant of me to 
 waste my small stock of money upon such a thing, but 
 in the face of this midnight adventure I really felt that 
 a little stimulant would comfort me under the circum- 
 stances. The result was admirable, for all my nervous 
 
•• Down among th$ Dead Men** 109 
 
 apprehensions disappeared, and I sat in the smoking- 
 room puffing at my after-dinner pipe in a very con* 
 tented frame of mind, considering what awaited me at 
 twelve o'clock p.m. Was I a coward ? I don't think 
 so. Many men who have no physical fear, and would - 
 ride gaily enough into battle, shrink with superstitious 
 awe from the eerie neighbourhood of the dead, and I, 
 owing to the causes I have stated before, am of this class. 
 Come, then, ye dauntless scoffers, who would dare any- 
 thing — in the broad daylight, and let me see if you would 
 contemplate a midnight visit to an antique vault with 
 equanimity ! I think not, for however brave a man 
 may be, it is the law of Nature that he should thrill 
 with fear at the approach of the supernatural. 
 
 I sat smoking and thinking in the twilight, which 
 was a bad preparation for the event, as twilight 
 thoughts are invariably mournful, and my own dear dead 
 ones seemed to throng in the dusky shadow of the 
 room, reproaching me in voiceless grief for the inten- 
 tion I had of profaning the sanctity of the tomb. To 
 rid myself of these melancholy reflections, and banish 
 from my brain the mute crowd of ghosts, I went out 
 for a walk, intending to call at the Casa Angello, in 
 order to ask after the Signorina Bianca. 
 
 Petronella told me that the poor child was much 
 better, but exhausted by the shock she had sustained 
 at the Palazzo Morone, and had fallen into a deep sleep 
 which would do her more good than all the drugs of 
 the doctor. The worthy domestic was very wrathful 
 at me, and wanted to know what I had told her 
 " piccola," but I put her off with some excuse, as I had 
 no desire that she should know the events of that day. 
 On taking my departure I gave Petronella a note for 
 the Signorina, which contained only three words, " Wait 
 and hope," with instructions that it was to be delivered to 
 her when she woke up. Petronella, somewhat mollified 
 by my assurance that all would be right, promised to 
 fulfil this commission, and I returned to my hotel very 
 content with the present aspect of affairs. 
 
no A Creature of the Night. 
 
 On regaining my bedroom I lay down about eight 
 o'clock, in order to get a little sleep, but the remedy 
 was worse than the disease, for when my eyes were closed 
 the phantoms of waking hours reappeared still more 
 vividly to my inner senses. However, I fought against 
 the dread which threatened to overwhelm me, and fell 
 into a comparatively dreamless slumber, from which I 
 awoke shortly after eleven. Rising from the bed upon 
 which I had thrown myself half dressed, I hurriedly 
 completed my toilette, and bathed my burning face in 
 cold water. On my arrival in Milan, I had bought ope 
 of those picturesque Italian cloaks which one only sees 
 in England on the operatic stage, and throwing this 
 around me, I put on a soft black wide-awake, so that what 
 with the mantle draped around me, and my naturally 
 dark face, I looked very much like a native of Italy. 
 Lighting a cigarette, I took my heavy stick, and thus 
 prepared, went out to keep my appointment with Luigi 
 Beltrami on the Ponte Aleardi. 
 
 To the hot day had succeeded the hot night, but a 
 strong dry wind was blowing which drove the filmy 
 clouds across the face of the haggard-looking moon. 
 A few stars peeped out here and there through the frail 
 woof, and the chill moonlight waxed and waned 
 with the appearing and disappearing of the pale planet, 
 almost lost amid the wild confluence of drifting clouds. 
 A misty circle round the moon was prophetic of rain, 
 and under this wild, wind-vexed sky lay the sleeping 
 city, dark and sombre, with the rough blasts sweeping 
 drearily down the lonely streets. 
 
 In spite of the heat, so eerie was the aspect of the 
 night that I drew my cloak around me with a shiver of 
 nervous fear, and leaving the Piazza Vittorio Emanuele, 
 hastened along the Via Pallone, in the direction of the 
 Ponte Aleardi. I arrived there just as the clock of St. 
 Fermo sounded the three-quarters, and as Beltrami was 
 not yet at the meeting place, I leaned on the balustrade 
 of the bridge and watched the grey waters swirling 
 under the fitful light of the moon. I could not help 
 
" Down among the Dead Men." 1 1 1 
 
 thinking of the strange events which had taken place 
 since I had last occupied the same position — the 
 antique chamber with its associations of love and crime 
 — the Teatro Ezzelino, where I had beheld the phantom 
 of Lucrezia Borgia — the grief and pain of poor little 
 Bianca, and the extraordinary conversation I had held 
 with Beltrami a few hours before. It was all most un- 
 real and feverish, this mediaeval intrigue into which I 
 had been drawn ; and I question if any student of sing- 
 ing had ever before been involved in such a bizarre 
 adventure — an adventure which I hoped and prayed 
 and trusted would end to-night. 
 
 Buried in these sombre reflections, I did not hear the 
 sound of approaching footsteps, and it was only when I 
 felt a hand On my shoulder that I turned round, with a 
 sudden start, to see the Marchese standing beside me 
 wrapped in his military cloak, and accompanied by 
 a man who waited a little way off in respectful 
 silence. 
 
 u Bravo, Signor Hugo ! " cried the Marchese in a 
 cheerful tone, " you have been waiting long ? " 
 
 "About a quarter of an hour. So you have not 
 obtained the key, Beltrami ? " 
 
 " Unfortunately I have not ! However, here is Matteo, 
 and I daresay we shall manage to get the door open in 
 some way. Come, Caro," continued Beltrami, taking 
 my arm, " we have no time to lose. Ecco ! " 
 
 I do not believe Beltrami had any nerves, for 
 the whole way to the burial-ground he chatted cheer- 
 fully about the antidote, the Contessa and the tenor, not 
 appearing to be at all impressed with the solemnity of 
 the affair. What Matteo felt I do not know, as 
 he never opened his mouth, but glided after us like a 
 shadow, until we arrived at the broken wall. 
 
 The Marchese climbed over first, his long sabre 
 clashing heavily against the stones as he jumped down 
 on the other side. I followed without delay, and Matteo 
 having joined us, we went on through the dense shade 
 of the cypress trees, until we arrived at the forbidding- 
 
H2 A Creaturt of the Night, 
 
 looking tomb, the sight of which put me in mind of my 
 uncanny adventure. 
 
 Beltrami, undeterred by the flaming sword of the 
 guardian angel, tried the iron door, on the chance that 
 it might be unlocked ; but, finding it fast closed, signed 
 to Matteo to get to work at once. Without a word the 
 man obeyed, and as the moon was now shining down 
 in her full splendour he could see perfectly well without 
 the aid of artificial light, for, although he carried a 
 torch, Beltrami did not wish it lighted, lest the glare 
 should attract attention. 
 
 While Matteo was working away at the lock I took 
 my seat on the fallen stone near the door, and Beltrami, 
 throwing off his cloak, flung himself down on the grass 
 beside me. 
 
 " Dio, how hot I am !" he exclaimed, wiping his 
 brow. 
 
 " And how very imprudent, Luigi. Remember, you 
 are in uniform." 
 
 "Ma foi, I'm never in anything elce," retorted the 
 Marchese gaily ; "don't trouble yourself, Hugo, no one 
 will dare to come near the cemetery at this hour, so 
 uniform or no uniform I'm safe from observation. Will 
 you have a cigar ? " 
 
 " No, thank you. But you surely do not intend to 
 smoke now ? " 
 
 " Why not ? " s^iid Beltrami, lighting his cigar ; " it 
 cannot harm the Signori Morone, and I've no wish to 
 go down into that evil-smelling vault without takii:g 
 some precaution against fever. Ecco." 
 
 " Oh, well, do as you will," I replied, indifferently, 
 beginning myself to grow callous ; ** but I want to ask 
 you something, Luigi." 
 
 "Ebbene!" 
 
 "Was Count Giorgio Morone really mad?" 
 
 " Eh ! I'm not sure. Everyone said he was, but I 
 did not think so. Dame ! they call every man mad who 
 has brains above his fellows, and Morone was a clever 
 man. Though, to be sure, it was curious his hiding 
 
" Down among the Dead Men* 9 113 
 
 this poison in the vault, instead of destroying it alto* 
 gether." 
 
 " That would certainly have been the wisest plan." 
 
 " Very likely, but you see, my wise Englishman, 
 Morone had a tenderness for this child of his brain, and 
 he could not bear to destroy his work. Oh 1 inventors 
 are wonderful egotists, I assure you." 
 
 At this moment Matteo, who had been working in 
 silence for some considerable time, approached his 
 master. 
 
 " Eccellenza, it is open ! " 
 
 "Bene!" cried Beltrami, springing to his feet, and 
 wrapping his cloak around him again, "give me the 
 torch. Come, Signor Hugo, let us go down, and you, 
 M atteo, stay at the door, and see that we are not in- 
 terrupted." 
 
 *■ Si, Eccellenza ! " 
 
 Beltrami stepped cautiously into the tomb, and I 
 followed him, then half closing the iron door so that 
 the light might not attract attention, he fired the torch, 
 the flame of which shot upward with a red flare and 
 resinous odour of smoke, showing us that we stood on the 
 top of a flight of steep steps which led downward into 
 the darkness. A chill, humid atmosphere pervaded 
 this abode of the dead, and seemed to penetrate 
 into my very bones, notwithstanding the heavy cloak I 
 wore. 
 
 For a moment we paused on the height, looking 
 downward into the thick gloom ; then Beltrami descended 
 the steps slowly, tossing the flaring torch up and down, 
 to and fro, in order to illuminate the darkness, and as 
 I followed him the smoke, with its pungent odour, 
 streamed backward towards my face. A bat, startled 
 by the glare, flew round our heads with a rapid sweep 
 of its noiseless wings, then vanished through the half- 
 open door into the night beyond, like some escaping 
 spectre of the tomb. 
 
 At last we reached the floor of the vault, which was 
 paved with broad black marble slabs so highly polished 
 
H4 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 that the crimson blaze of the torch was reflected therein. 
 All around in niches were innumerable coffins, some 
 covered with tattered velvet palls, while others stood 
 out grim and bare in their leaden hideousness, the 
 coverings having long since mouldered away. In the 
 gloom, there every now and then could be perceived 
 the glimmer of some white figure sculptured on the 
 massive wall, the glitter of tarnished silver ornaments, 
 and the outlines of painted devices, while the smoky 
 torch with its angry flame cast strange gleams upon 
 these mouldy splendours of the dead. 
 
 In the centre, on a square stone hidden by a rich pall 
 of black velvet, embroidered with armorial devices in 
 silver braid, rested the gorgeous coffin of the last 
 Morone, which I presume was to remain there until the 
 death of the Contessa, when it would be removed to its 
 already-prepared niche to. make way for the sole 
 survivor of the proud race. 
 
 The Marchese at once advanced to the coffin, and 
 waving the torch above it, examined the decorations 
 closely. True to his determination he was smoking, 
 and it gave me an unpleasant shock to see this cloaked 
 figure behaving so disrespectfully in the solemn presence 
 of the dead. 
 
 " Bene ! " he said at length in a satisfied tone, " there 
 is one thing certain. It is not in the coffin ?" 
 
 " How do you know that, Beltrami." 
 
 "Because the lid is screwed down, and" the Contessa, 
 who as you say was alone, could not have taken that 
 off. Besides, even if she did, Madame Morone knows 
 the value of time too well to waste it in replacing the 
 lid. No, it is not in the coffin, but it's somewhere 
 about the coffin." 
 
 "What makes you think so, Luigi ? " 
 
 " All this elaborate silver work ! There's too much 
 of it to be there without some reason. Caro, Hugo, 
 just hold the torch and I will make an examina- 
 tion. 
 
 I took the torch in silence and watched his actions 
 
" Down among the Dead Men" 1 1 5 
 
 with great curiosity. The coffin, as he said, was most 
 elaborately adorned with silver work representing the 
 arms of the Morone family, interspersed with wreaths 
 of flowers and tangled seaweed. On the lid was a 
 broad silver plate similarly adorned, setting forth the 
 name, titles, and date of death of the deceased, and 
 round the oblong sides of this shell ran another broad 
 wreath of flowers, shells, crests, and seaweeds, designed 
 in the same style as the decorations on the lid. 
 Beltrami, who was a clever prestidigitator and 
 could perform the most marvellous tricks with cards, 
 had a wonderfully delicate sense of touch, and trusting 
 to this more than to his eyes, he ran his slender 
 fingers rapidly over the raised silver ornaments on the 
 lid of the coffin. 
 
 I saw at once that he suspected this useless silver 
 ornamentation concealed some secret hiding-place in 
 which the bottles of the poison and its antidote were 
 hidden, and I could not help admiring the wonderful 
 cleverness of the man in thinking of such an . extra- 
 ordinary idea, particularly as I saw at once that if the 
 poison were anywhere it would be in some such 
 ingenious hiding-place. 
 
 After running his hands twice or thrice over the lid, 
 he shook his head with an angry ejaculation, and 
 desisted from his apparently useless task. 
 
 " Dame ! it's not on the top, that's certain/' he 
 said, stamping his foot with vexation. " My fingers never 
 deceive me, and I'm sure I haven't missed anything. 
 From what I've told you I don't think it can be within 
 the coffin. Ecco ! let us try the sides." 
 
 He carefully wiped the tips of his fingers with his 
 handkerchief, and beginning at the side nearest the head 
 ran his fingers delicately along the cold silver work. 
 Nothing was discoverable at the side, but when he came 
 to the end of the coffin at the feet of the corpse he gave 
 a cry of triumph which brought me at once to his 
 side. 
 
 1 Bravo, Hugo ! what did I tell you ! The poison- 
 
n6 A Creator* of the Night. 
 
 bottle was in the silver work. Behold, infidel, how truly 
 I speak. Ecco ! " 
 
 The decoration at this narrow end was a heart- 
 shape shield, bearing the arms of the Morone family 
 and wreathed with flowers, but this shield which curved 
 outward had a spring at the top. In touching this, the 
 whole shield fell downward, working on a single hinge, 
 and there was a cavity in which a small bottle might 
 easily be concealed. 
 
 "I see the hiding-place, Beltrami ; but where is the 
 poison ? " 
 
 11 Eh ! have you forgotten the visit of the Contessa, 
 mon ami ?" 
 
 " No, no ! of course not ! She, no doubt, took the 
 poison away, and, I daresay, the antidote with it." 
 
 " Mon cher, I will never make anything of you," cried 
 the Marchese in despair ; " what did I tell you ab~>ut 
 that letter ? " 
 
 " You said that no doubt as the Count was afraid of 
 it being found by his wife he would only mention where 
 the poison was concealed, and keep silent about the 
 antidote." 
 
 ° Ebbene ! The Contessa knew nothing of the exis- 
 tence of the antidote, so when she found the poison she 
 thought she had found all. Is that not so, you stupid 
 Englishman ? " 
 
 " Yes, I suppose so." 
 
 " Good I Well I, knowing of the existence of the 
 antidote not mentioned in the letter, and only finding 
 the poison at the feet, would naturally look for the 
 antidote — where ? " 
 
 " I daresay at the head," I suggested, after a pause ; 
 upon which Beltrami laughed, and walked to the other 
 end of the coffin. 
 
 " Of course; it would be the most natural thing to do. 
 Behold, mon ami ! " 
 
 He touched the top of a similar shield at the head of 
 the coffin ; it fell stiffly outward, and lo ! in the hollow 
 of the curve, lay a small bottle, which Beltrami took in 
 
° Down among the Dead Men,' ' 117 
 
 his hand, and then restored the shield to its former 
 position. 
 
 " Luigi, you are a most wonderful man ! " I cried, with 
 a burst of genuine admiration at the clever way in which 
 he had guessed this riddle. 
 
 " 1 only use my brains," he replied, with a grati- 
 fied laugh. "The poison being at the feet, it was 
 not difficult to guess the antidote was at the head ; 
 particularly as the decorations on both ends of the 
 coffin are the same precisely. Dame ! if the Contessa 
 had only known the antidote was in existence she would 
 have argued in the same way as I have done, and carried 
 it off as she has done the poison." 
 
 11 Well, we can now restore that unfortunate Pallanza 
 to life." 
 
 '•Yes, I suppose so," said the Marchese, slipping 
 the bottle containing the antidote into his pocket; 
 " though he certainly does not deserve to have another 
 chance of existence. But as it is inconvenient keeping 
 him in my house, I suppose I must send him away 
 on his legs. Ecco! But come along, Hugo. We 
 have what we desire, and I care not for this abode 
 of death." 
 
 We went up the stairs and out of the iron door, where 
 we found Matteo still keeping guard. It was quite a 
 relief to get out of the fetid atmosphere of the tomb 
 into the cool fresh air again, and I felt like a released 
 prisoner who was free for the first time after many 
 years. The Marchese, however, man of iron as he was, 
 did not seem to be affected in any way, but wrapping 
 his cloak round him, prepared to go. 
 
 " Can you close that dcor again, Matteo ?" 
 
 ■ Kccellcnza ! it is done 1 " 
 
 " Bene ! Let us go ! " 
 
 In fact the moment we emerged, Matteo, knowing 
 our task was Concluded, had reclosed the door by some 
 trick known to himself ; so we all three climbed over 
 the broken wall, and took our way to the Ponte 
 Aleardi. 
 
n8 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 " And when are you going to give Pallanza the anti- 
 dote ? " I asked, as we walked along arm-in-arm. 
 
 " Eh ! Signor Hugo, to-morrow ! " 
 
 "Why not to-night?" 
 
 " Ma foi ! I am tired. A few hours will not make 
 much difference; besides, I want a doctor to be present. 
 The antidote will revive the poor devil, but he will be 
 so weak after going without food all these days that 
 the doctor will have to take charge of him." 
 
 " Well, then, I will see you to-morrow, Marchese. At 
 what hour ? " 
 
 " Two and a half in the afternoon. I attend to my 
 military duties in the morning. Buona sera, Hugo ! " 
 
 '* Good-night, Beltrami." 
 
 We parted with a hearty shake of the hand, and I 
 suppose after all I had gone through, nature was 
 thoroughly tired out ; for I went straight to bed and 
 slept soundly without dreams, visions, or phantoms 
 of any kind coming to disturb my rest. 
 
U9 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE NEW LAZARUS. 
 
 FOR the first time during the week I had a good night'a 
 rest, for ever since my adventure the events in connec- 
 tion therewith had succeeded one another so rapidly 
 that my brain was kept in too active a state to admit of 
 slumber, but now that everything seemed to be at 
 an end, that the antidote had been found, and that 
 Pallanza would be restored to Bianca Angello, my mind 
 was relieved of the strain upon it, and I slept soundly 
 till morning. In fact I did not waken till nearly eleven 
 o'clock, and having taken my bath I dressed myself 
 slowly, made a good meal at mid-day, and altogether 
 felt better than I had done for the last week. 
 
 As my appointment with Beltrami was for half-past 
 two I did not go to Casa Angello for my usual singing 
 lesson, not wishing to see the Signorina until I could 
 tell her the good news that her lover was alive and well. 
 It was true Beltrami had asserted that the antidote 
 would awaken the young man from his death-like 
 slumber, but remembering that he had now been in this 
 state of catalepsy for nearly a week I felt doubtful as to 
 the success of the experiment. However, a few hours 
 would now decide the fate of Pallanza for life or death, 
 and in the event of the antidote acting according to the 
 expectations of the Marchese, I promised myself I 
 should be the first to carry the joyful news of this 
 wonderful resurrection to the Signorina Bianca. 
 
 When two o'clock struck I could no longer restrain 
 my impatience, but set off without further delay to see 
 
120 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 Beitrami at his apartments. He had just returned 
 from the barracks, and was taking some biscuits and 
 wine when I was announced, but jumped up when 
 he saw me and came forward with outstretched 
 hand, — 
 
 " Eh ! mon ami, T am delighted to see you ! Sit down, 
 while I finish this small meal. Will you have a glass of 
 wine ? " 
 
 " No, thank you, Marchese ! " 
 
 "Then take a cigarette, there are some on that 
 table." 
 
 The Marchese returned to his wine and biscuits, while 
 I lighted a cigarette, and lay down on the sofa. 
 
 " Excuse me lying down, Luigi, but our last night's 
 experience has knocked me up terribly." 
 
 "You would never do for a soldier, Signor Hugol 
 I've been drilling some stupid recruits all the morning, 
 and I feel perfectly fresh. Ecco ! I'm glad to sec you, 
 however, as 1 have some news to tell you." 
 
 " About Fallanza?" 
 
 '• Eh ? No ! About Madame Morone." 
 
 " Ah ! she has found out we were at the vault ? " 
 
 " Dame ! not a bit of it. She left Verona by the five 
 o'clock train last night." 
 
 " Left Verona ! " I cried, rising hastily from my 
 recumbent position. " Why has she gone away ? "_ 
 
 " Kh ! who knows ? " replied Beltrami, shrugging his 
 shoulders " She didn't even leave a message for me, 
 her promised husband. I think, myself, the empty 
 pillar of yesterday startled her. She evidently thought 
 everything was discovered, therefore has gone to 
 Rome so that she can appeal to the King in case of 
 trouble." 
 
 u And what are you going to do, Marchese ? " 
 
 "The best thing I can do under the circum- 
 stances. I have applied for, and obtained, leave of 
 absence, so I will give this infernal tenor the antidote 
 to-day, and start for Rome by the night train." 
 
 " But when you arrive at Rome? " 
 
The New Lazarus, 121 
 
 "I will see Madame Mororie. and tell her that I 
 removed the body <>f Pallanza from the pillar." 
 
 "The body! Beltrami. You forget Pallanza is 
 alive ! " 
 
 "Of course he is, but I'm not going to tell her that 
 Cospetto ! if she discovered that this devil of a tenor 
 was still in existence my power over her would begone, 
 and she would not marry me. Ecco ! " 
 
 " But as Pallanza will sing again, she is bound to find 
 it out sooner or later." 
 
 " Eh ! no doubt, Signor Hugo ; but by the time she 
 finds out I hope to be married. In that case it does not 
 matter. Besides, I am going to make Pallanza promise 
 not to sing anywhere for a month." 
 
 " Suppose he refuses ? " 
 
 "He won't refuse. Dame ! he owes me something for 
 bringing him into existence again." 
 
 " And what about the doctor? " 
 
 " He will soon be here," said Beltrami," glancing at 
 his watch ; " I expect him every minute." 
 
 " Will he keep this affair quiet ? " 
 
 " Per Bacco ! 1 should think so, mon ami. I ascer* 
 tained that before I told him anything. Not that I told 
 him much, ma foi, no ! I invented a delightful story 
 about Pallanza, which he swallowed as easily as I do 
 this wine." 
 
 "And the story?" 
 
 "I have not the, time to tell it to j'ou, but it is a 
 beautiful story, worthy of Boccaccio. Oh, he will keep 
 his mouth shut, I promise you, Hugo. He is a great 
 friend of mine, and I never associate with those who 
 talk of other people's business." 
 
 " Have you the antidote, Marchese ?-" 
 
 " Here it is," said Beltrami, rising and taking the 
 small bottle from his desk near the window ; "and, ma 
 foi ! here is the doctor coming up the street." 
 
 "How fond you are of French," I remarked, 
 laughingly. "Parisian ejaculations are never out of 
 your mouth." . 
 
122 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 " One must ejaculate in some language, Hugo, and 
 I've been so often in Paris that I've got into the trick in 
 some way." 
 
 "What about London?" 
 
 " Your city of fogs ! Eh ! You know I cannot 
 master your tongue, Signor Hugo. ' You are a beautiful 
 mees ; I loove you ' — Dio ! what a difficulty I had in 
 learning those two sentences." 
 
 " Which are perfectly useless." 
 
 " I have not found them so. But here is Signor 
 Avenza, the doctor I spoke of. Good-day, for the 
 second time, my friend. Permit me to introduce Signor 
 Hugo Cranston, an Englishman." 
 
 The doctor, a fat little man with a round smiling face 
 and two twinkling black eyes, executed an elaborate 
 bow, for which purpose he brought his feet smartly 
 together in military fashion, and, having thus saluted 
 me, rashly entered into a contest with the English 
 language, which vanquished him at once. 
 
 " I spik Inglis," he said, mincingly. Then, with a 
 gigantic effort, " Gif me your tongued ! Ah ! he is bad. 
 Dis writing is your cure. Goot-day! I vil taake a 
 leetle valk wis you agin." 
 
 Signor Avenza had evidently learned these choice 
 English phrases for the purposes of his profession. 
 
 While this lesson in philology was going on the 
 Marchese had opened the door leading into the room 
 where Pallanza was concealed, and called to us to enter. 
 Both the doctor and myself, obeying the summons, went 
 through the bedroom, and soon found ourselves by the 
 couch, whereon lay the still form of the young man, with 
 that terrible death-in-life look on his white face. 
 
 "See, Avenza, this is what I spoke about," said 
 Beltrami, holding up a small phial filled with a red 
 liquid. "It is the antidote to the poison which this 
 Pallanza was foolish enough to take." 
 
 "And all through a love disappointment," replied 
 Avenza, lifting his eyes. " Ah ! the poor young man ! " 
 
 I now began to see the kind of story Beltrami had 
 
The New Lazarus, 133 
 
 told Avenza to account for the condition of Pallanza, 
 and I must say it did credit to his powers of invention. 
 
 " The amount of the poison he took was ten drops," 
 went on Beltrami, uncorking the bottle, " so it will re- 
 quire ten drops of this antidote to revive him, but when 
 the life is once more in him I suppose he will be weak." 
 
 "Most certainly," answered Avenza, nodding his 
 head, " since you say he has been like this for nearly a 
 week. But proceed, Marchese, I am anxious to see the 
 result of this antidote." 
 
 Beltrami bent over the face of the unconscious man, 
 and forced the teeth slightly apart with a spoon he held 
 in his left hand. Having done this, he poised the 
 bottle over the pale lips, and began to pour the red 
 liquid drop by drop into the mouth. 
 
 Both Avenza and myself bent forward eagerly to 
 watch the operation, and held our breaths with anxiety 
 as the Marchese counted, slowly, — 
 
 " One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, 
 ten!" 
 
 The body made no movement, and Beltrami drew 
 back, looking somewhat anxious. 
 
 " Dio ! I am afraid ten drops are not enough ! " 
 
 ••' V/ait," said Avenza, taking his watch out of his 
 pocket, and placing his fingers on the pulse of the 
 seemingly-dead man. "You cannot expect this anti- 
 dote to act at once." 
 
 The minutes passed slowly, and We all three remained 
 with our eyes eagerly watching for some sign of life 
 on that still face, while Avenza occasionally glanced at 
 his chronometer. 
 
 " His pulse beats," he said at length in a low voice, 
 " faintly, it is true, but still it beats." 
 
 I heaved a sigh of relief, but Beltrami remained 
 silently looking at the face of Pallanza with an anxious 
 frown. 
 
 "She cannot have given him fifteen," he muttered 
 under his breath, " if so, he would have been dead by 
 this time ; but his pulse beats, so he is alive." 
 
124 d> Creature of the Night, 
 
 He looked irresolutely at the phial in his hand, and 
 then turned to Avenza, who was still counting the feeble 
 pulsation of the blood. 
 
 " Doctor, I will give him three more drops ! " 
 
 " Eh ! and why not ? " replied Avenza, raising his eye- 
 brows ; " as that is an antidote a few drops more or less 
 cannot kill him after the dose of poison lie has taken." 
 
 The Marchese made no further remark, but, bending 
 forward again, he held the phial over the half-open 
 mouth for the second time. 
 
 " One, two, three ! " 
 
 This time the effect was magical ; for after an Interval 
 of about two or three minutes, we saw a shudder run 
 through the rigid body, the left arm jerked upward in 
 a spasmodic manner, the face flushed crimson with the 
 rush of blood once more flowing freely through the 
 arteries, and at last the heavy eyelids lifted slowly. 
 Pallanza gazed at us with a dazed unseeing expression, 
 then some tremendous force seemed to take possession 
 of the body, for a spasm of pain passed over his face, 
 a choking cry issued from his lips, and in a moment he 
 was shrieking, writhing, twisting, rolling and plunging 
 about the bed like a demoniac. All the nerves and 
 muscles which had been dead and inert for so 
 many days were now waking again to life, and the 
 agony which racked his frame from head to foot must 
 have been truly terrible. Both Beltrami and myself made 
 a step forward to hold down this agonized body, but 
 Avenza shopped us. 
 
 " The antidote is doing its work," he said rapidly ; 
 "the dead body is renewing its life throughout every 
 particle. Wait 1 wait I the paroxysm will soon pass 
 away." 
 
 The doctor was right, for in a short time the writh- 
 ings stopped, the cries grew fainter, and at last, with a 
 heavy sigh, the young man sank back on the pillows in 
 a state of exhaustion, on seeing which, both Beltrami 
 and the doctor fan out of the room to get some brandy, 
 leaving me alone with this new Lazarus. During their 
 
The New Lazarus* 125 
 
 absence he opened his eyes, to which the light of sanity 
 had now returned, and spoke in a feeble voice,— 
 
 " Where ami?" 
 
 "With friends." 
 
 "And theContessa?" 
 
 " She is not here ! You are quite safe! Hush ! do 
 not speak, I beg of you." 
 
 Pallanza gave me a look of gratitude, then, closing his 
 eyes, relapsed into silence. Avenza returned with a 
 glass of weak brandy and water, which he gave to the 
 young man in spoonfuls, while I went back into the 
 sitting-room to see Beltrami, whom I found standing by 
 the window with a frown on his face. 
 
 " Ebbene ? " he asked, turning round. 
 
 "He is much better, and I think will soon be all 
 right." 
 
 " That's a blessing. But what a nuisance ! I 
 want to go to Rome to-night by the five o'clock train, 
 but Avenza tells me that Pallanza will have to sleep for 
 a few hours, so I won't have an opportunity of speaking 
 to him." 
 
 " Go with a light heart, my dear Beltrami ; I will 
 arrange everything." 
 
 "You will?" 
 
 " Yes ; Pallanza can sleep in that room for an hour 
 or two, then I will get a fiacre and take him to his 
 lodgings. No one shall come near him but myself, and 
 when he is quite sensible 1 will make him promise all 
 you want." 
 
 " Bene ! you are a good friend, my dear Hugo," said 
 the Marchese, in a tone of relief ; " but do you think he 
 will do what you ask ? " 
 
 " Most certainly 1 I can force him to obey me." 
 
 "Mow so?" 
 
 *' By threatening to tell Signorina Angello about his 
 aHair with Madame Morone. She knows nothing as 
 yet. and Pallanza is afraid of her knowing. Witness the 
 lie he told about that note at the Ezzelino, asking him 
 to come to the Palazzo! " 
 
126 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 Beltrami, with his cynical estimate of the Contessa's 
 character, was not at all disturbed by this somewhat 
 blunt speech, but laughed cheerfully. 
 
 " Eh ! Hugo. I think I will make you Italian after all. 
 Your plan is a good one, mon ami, so make Pallanza 
 promise not to sing anywhere for a month, to leave 
 Verona and keep quiet. By that time I will be married 
 to the Contessa, and all will be well." 
 
 " I will arrange everything as you desire, Luigi." 
 
 " Excellent ! Then that trouble is off my mind." 
 
 At this moment the doctor entered, rubbing his fat 
 hands together with an expression of glee. 
 
 " Eh ! he sleeps, this young man," he said in a satis- 
 fied tone, "he will sleep for one, two, three hours, then, 
 if you like, Marchese, you can send him to his own 
 house." 
 
 "Signor Hugo will attend to all that, Avenza." 
 
 " Bene ! Well, Marchese, a revederci ! And you, 
 Signor." 
 
 "Wait a moment, Signor Avenza; I am coming 
 too." 
 
 " Where are you going, Hugo ? " asked Beltrami, 
 looking at me in some surprise, and nodding his head in 
 the direction of Pallanza. I crossed over to him, and 
 while Avenza was getting his hat, whispered in his 
 car, — 
 
 " I am going to the Ezzelino to find out Pallanza's 
 address, so as to know where to take him." 
 
 " Ah ! a good idea ! I will wait here till you return." 
 
 I accompanied Signor Avenza to the Piazza Vittorio 
 Emanuele, where we parted. I then went to the 
 Teatro Ezzelino and found out Pallanza's address from 
 the stage-door keeper. While I was returning to 
 Beltrami's rooms I saw Peppino, and arranged with him 
 to be at the Via Cartoni at seven o'clock that evening 
 to take a sick gentleman away. At first Peppino 
 objected, being, like all Italians, terribly afraid of disease, 
 but I soon quieted his objections, and he promised to 
 call as directed. 
 
The New Lazarus. 127 
 
 On returning to Beltrami I found him packing up, 
 and at five o'clock he took his departure for Rome, 
 promising to write me immediately he arrived, and in 
 return I assured him I would let him know everything 
 as soon as I arranged matters with Pallanza. 
 
 That young man slept until nearly seven, when he 
 woke up and began to ask me questions as to where he 
 was. I insisted upon his keeping quiet, telling him I 
 was a doctor, and when Peppino arrived with his fiacre 
 I wrapped him up in his cloak so as to hide his stage 
 costume, and helped him down stairs to the carriage. 
 We soon arrived at his lodgings, where, dismissing 
 Peppino, I made Pallanza go to bed at once, and gave 
 him a light supper, together with some weak brandy and 
 water. After this he fell asleep, and I sat watching by 
 his bed all night, wondering why I was such a fool as to 
 do all this for a cynical man of the world like Beltrami, 
 who would probably laugh at my good nature when all 
 was over. Yet there was something about Luigi 
 Beltrami which I liked ; and in spite of his affected 
 cynicism and his extraordinarily loose notions of right 
 and wrong, I believe that he had a sincere regard for 
 me, which regard I considered not the least curious 
 part of his whimsical nature, seeing that my character 
 was the antithesis of his own in every way. Perhaps it 
 was by the law of contrast, or illustrated inversely 
 the saying that " like draws to like ; " but whatever was 
 the reason, though we had nothing in common either in 
 nationality or character, yet we were friends, and I leave 
 this problem to be worked out by those who deny that 
 such an enigma can exist, 
 
128 A Creature of the NighU 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 FOUND. 
 
 GUTSErPE PALLANZA slept soundly all night, while I 
 took snatches of sleep in the arm-chair by his bedside. 
 At nine o'cl< ck in the morning he awoke, feeling much 
 stronger, and after I had given him something to eat I 
 prepared to go out. 
 
 ** Where are you going, Signor ? "asked Pallanza, in an 
 anxious tone. 
 
 " I am going to send a doctor to see you, and then I 
 am going to the Caso Angello." 
 
 "And for what reason ? " 
 
 11 To bring Signorina Bianca here 1 " 
 
 " Do you know the Signorina Bianca ? " 
 
 "Very well, Signor Pallanza. I am the Englishman 
 of whom you have no doubt heard her speak." 
 
 " Signor Hugo ! yes, I know," muttered Guiseppe ; and 
 then, after a pause, " I wish to speak to you, I wish to 
 tell you something." 
 
 " You shall tell me all shortly but, meanwhile lie 
 down quietly, and when the doctor comes say nothing 
 about the Palazzo Morone." 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Pallanza, starting up in his bed, " do you 
 know that horrible place ? " 
 
 " I know all ! But there, you are still weak," I an- 
 swered, forcing him to lie down. "When I return I will 
 speak to you about some important matters." 
 
 " Important 1— to me ? " 
 
 H Yes, and to the Contessa Morone." 
 
 w Ah I that terrible woman." 
 
Found* 129 
 
 H Meanwhile, Signer Pallanza, say nothing about your 
 visit to the palace or about Madame Morone." 
 
 u Not a word ! And you will bring Bianca to see 
 me r 
 
 11 Yes ! I promise you." 
 
 With this hope, Pallanza was perfectly contented, and 
 after instructing his landlady, who was in a state of 
 great bewilderment at this sudden reappearance, to look 
 after him, I wertt out to find Avenza. Fortunately he 
 was well known in Verona, and I had no difficulty in 
 discovering his house. He saw me at once, listened to 
 my account of the way Pallanza had passed the night, 
 and promised to see him without delay. Having thus 
 carried out satisfactorily the first part of my mission, 
 I departed to perform the second, which involved 
 a somewhat embarrassing interview with Signorina 
 Angello. 
 
 On arriving at the house of the Maestro, I was re- 
 ceived by Petronella, who threw up her hands with an 
 appeal to the saints when she saw my haggard appear- 
 ance, and burst out into a volley of questions. 
 
 "Eh! Signor In;;lese. Is it not well yvith you ? San 
 Pietro ! how the w«ne does change a face. Here has the 
 Maestro been asking for you every day ! * Well ! Well ! ' 
 said I, ' he has gone away like the lover of the piccola 1 ' 
 And it is true ! I see how you return. Eh ! Madonna, 
 all men are bad. I have been married — 1 know." 
 
 " You are wrong on this occasion, Petronella. I have 
 not been at the wine as you seem to think ! " 
 
 " But your face, Signor lnglese — like that of a sick 
 person ! Gran dio ! " 
 
 " Comes from sitting up all night by the bedside of 
 Guiseppe Pallanza." 
 
 Petronella clapped her hands together with an ejacu- 
 lation of delight. 
 
 " He is found, then, the poor young man ! Ah ! it is 
 well I did not waste a centesimo in masses; and tlmse 
 priests are such thieves. Eh! this news will be l.ke 
 wine to the piccola. Go in ! go in, Signor lnglese 1 the 
 
130 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 Signorina is there, but the Maestro 1 he is in bed, which 
 is the best place for him, say I." 
 
 After this breathless harangue Petronella ushered me 
 into the sitting-room, where I found Bianca sitting by 
 the window, contemplating a portrait of her lost lover. 
 She arose when she saw me and came forward with an 
 anxious look on her pale face, while the faithful but 
 noisy domestic left the apartment. 
 
 " Well, Signorina, do you feel better ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes, Signore, much better j but you have news I 
 news of Guiseppe." 
 
 " The best of news, my poor child. Guiseppe is found, 
 and is now at his lodgings." 
 
 The blood rushed into her hitherto pale cheeks, her 
 melancholy dark eyes sparkled with joy, and from a 
 pallid, worn-looking girl she changed into a bright, 
 joyful woman. It was a most wonderful transformation, 
 as if a wan lily had suddenly blossomed under the wand 
 of some fairy into a rich red rose. 
 
 " Signor Hugo ! Signor Hugo ! Ah, the good news ! 
 Oh, how happy I am ! He is alive, then ? he is well ! 
 Oh, say he is well, Signor Hugo ! " 
 
 " Signorina, he is still weak after his adventure, and 
 at present he is in bed." 
 
 " Oh, let me go to him ! let me go at once ! He may 
 die, my poor Guiseppe ! " 
 
 " No, he will not die ; but put on your hat and I will 
 take you to him, for you alone, Signorina, can nurse 
 him back to health and strength." 
 
 Bianca ran to put on her hat and tell the Maestro the 
 good news, which evidently delighted the old man 
 greatly, judging from the extraordinary chuckling sounds 
 which shortly proceeded from his bedroom. Petronella 
 at the doorway celebrated a noisy triumph on her own 
 account, and at last, amid the chucklings of trie 
 patriarch and the loud delight of his handmaiden, 
 Bianca took her departure under my wing to visit the 
 newly-found prodigal. 
 
 She absolutely danced along the pavement, so 
 
Found. 13 1 
 
 exuberant was her delight at the good news, and I 
 thought how easily I could damp this joy by telling her 
 the true story of Guiseppe's disappearance. It was a 
 cruel thought, and I regretted it the moment after it 
 flashed across my mind ; for it would have been the 
 Wanton act of a boy crushing a butterfly to have de- 
 stroyed the happy ignorance of this merry child, who, 
 tripping gaily along by my side, put me in mind of the 
 smiling Hebe of the Greeks, that charming incarnation of 
 joyous maidenhood. 
 
 " Signore ! " said Bianca, moderating her transports, 
 "you have not told me the reason of Guiseppe's 
 absence." 
 
 " I am afraid there is very little to tell, Signorina ! 
 He was lured to the Palazzo by an enemy, who kept 
 him there until last night, when, luckily, I discovered 
 where he was concealed and released him." 
 
 " Ah, Signor Hugo, how can I thank you for your 
 kindness ! Then my poor Guiseppe was hidden in that 
 terrible room ? " 
 
 " He was concealed near it, at all events," I replied 
 evasively. 
 
 " And the voice in the darkness, Signor ? Oh, that 
 cruel, cruel voice ! It has haunted my dreams ever 
 since ! " 
 
 " It was nothing, Signorina ; it was— it was a friend 
 of mine, who came to assist me to look for Guiseppe ! " 
 
 " Was it a signor or a signora ? " asked Bianca, who, 
 evidently in her nervous agitation, had not distinguished 
 the feminine tones of the unknown. 
 
 " It was a signor ! a young signor, whom I know! " 
 
 " But he saw us in the darkness. Dio ! how terrible." 
 
 " No ; he did not see us. He guessed we were there, 
 as I told him we were going to look for Guiseppe, and 
 he came to assist me." 
 
 Bianca was satisfied with this-^-I flatter myself — 
 skilful explanation, and stopped asking questions, much 
 to my relief. The number of lies I was forced to tell 
 in connection with this affair was truly surprising, but 
 
132 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 as it was absolutely necessary to keep this poor child 
 in ignorance of the true state of the case, I ventured to 
 lio.ae that the Recording Angel would treat them in the 
 same way as he did the oath of my Uncle Toby, in 
 Sterne's delightful story. Italian intrigue, from the 
 experience I had of it, was certainly very little to my 
 ta te, as I was by no means a convert to the Jesuitical 
 maxim that the end justifies the means, therefore it 
 was with a thankful heart that I saw the whole in- 
 tricate affair was nearly finished. 
 
 By this time we had arrived at Pallanza's lodgings, 
 and I placed Bianca in an outer room with strict in- 
 junctions that she was not to leave it until I called 
 her. 
 
 " Guiseppe is still weak, Signorina, and I must prepare 
 him for your coming." 
 
 The fact is I wanted to carry out my promise to 
 Beltrami, in asking Pallanza to live in retirement for a 
 few months, and, until this was arranged, I was unwill- 
 ing that he should see Bianca. The poor child fully 
 believing what I said, promised to obey me faithfully in 
 all things ; so leaving her in the outer room I went in 
 to see Pallanza, whom I found eagerly expecting my 
 arrival. 
 
 To my surprise, the young man was up and dressed, 
 as Dr. Avenza, finding him so much better, had insisted 
 on him leaving his bed, to remain in which, he declared, 
 was weakening ; so I found Pallanza walking slowly to 
 and fro to exercise his muscles, but on seeing me he 
 came forward with an anxious look, — 
 
 •' Is she here, Signor Hugo ? Has Bianca come ? " 
 
 w She is in the next room, Signor 1 No, do not go 
 to her. I wish to speak to you. w 
 
 " I am at your service, Signor Hugo. You have done 
 so much for me that I can never repay you." 
 
 " Yes, you can, by telling me how you went to the 
 Palazzo Morone on that night" 
 
 " 1 will tell all, Signorel Vou have a right to know. 
 But, Bianca?" 
 
Found, 133 
 
 " She knows nothing." 
 
 A look of relief came over the anxious face of the 
 young man, and we both sat down to continue the 
 conversation. 
 
 "I met Madame Morone at Rome, Signore," said 
 Pallanza with some faint hesitation ; " and we were 
 together a great deal. I did not love her exactly, but 
 she being a great lady flattered my pride. Of course, 
 I should have remembered Bianca, but she was not 
 beside me, and as to the Contessa! ah, Signor Hugo, 
 who can escape when a woman wills? Madame Morone 
 made me afraid at last. She is a tigress, that woman, 
 and threatened to kill me if I left her for another. I 
 saw how dangerous was her love, and telling her I was 
 going to marry the Signorina Angello, left Rome for 
 Verona. She followed me here and took me to the 
 Palazzo Morone on Sunday, where she exhausted every 
 means of making me give up Bianca. I should not 
 tell you all this about a woman, Signor, but by her 
 attempt to kill me she has released me from the laws 
 of honour. Cospetto ! she is a mistress of the devil 
 Her rage is terrible, and on Sunday she implored, she 
 wt-pt, she raged, she threatened, but I was true to 
 Bianca, and at last escaped from the palazzo intending 
 never to see her again. On Monday night, however, I 
 received a letter — " 
 
 " From a dying friend ?" I interrupted meaningly. 
 
 "Eh! I said so in order to keep the affair from 
 Bianca, as I knew if the heard about it I sh' uld be lost. 
 Ko 1 Signor Hugo. The letter was from the Contessa, 
 saying that if I did not come by eleven o'clock to the 
 room in the palazzo, in order to bid her farewell, she would 
 go at once to the Signorina Angello and tell all. Per 
 Bacco ! Signor, you may guess my fear at this message ; 
 and I determined to go to the palazzo at any cost. 
 The opera was long that night, and before the curtain 
 descended it was past eleven. I was so afraid of the 
 Contessa fulfilling her threat that I did not wait to 
 change my costume, but throwing on my cloak over my 
 
134 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 dress of Faust, went at once to the palazzo. She was 
 not in the room, and I had a horrible fear that I was 
 too late, but I waited for some time, and she came. 
 We had another scene of tears, reproaches and rage, 
 then-" 
 
 " I can tell you the rest, Signor Pallanza. Sht gave 
 you the poison in a cup of wine, and when you fell at 
 her feet she shut you up in a hiding place, from whence 
 you were rescued.' 7 
 
 " By you, Signor, by you ? " 
 
 " No ; by the Marchese Beltrami, who took you to his 
 house, and after many days revived you with an 
 antidote to the poison which he obtained with great 
 difficulty." 
 
 " But the Marchese ! You, Signor, how did you see 
 all this?" 
 
 "Ah I that is a long story. I will tell it to you 
 another time, but at present you must promise me 
 something." 
 
 •' Anything, Signor Hugo ! For you have saved my 
 life from that terrible woman." 
 
 " She is indeed a terrible woman ; and it is to escape 
 her vengeance that I advise you not to sing for at least 
 two months." 
 
 " But my engagement at the Ezzelino ? " 
 
 " Pay forfeit- money. Say you are ill and cannot sing. 
 Then return to Milan with the Signorina and marry her 
 at once." 
 
 " But the Contessa ? " 
 
 " Has gone to Rome for the present ; but as soon as 
 she finds out you are alive she will come after you ; so 
 if you are wise, Signor Pallanza, you will obtain some 
 engagement out of Italy." 
 
 " Basta, Signor ! your advice is good, and I will do 
 what you ask. For two months I will not sing. I will pay 
 the forfeit-money to the Ezzelino and return to Milan 
 with Bianca. It is best so. Per Bacco ! what a demon 
 I have escaped ! " 
 
 I felt greatly relieved that everything had thus been 
 
Found, 135 
 
 settled, so arose from my chair to take Pallanza to the 
 Signorina, after which I intended to go straight to my 
 hotel and write a letter to Beltrami, telling him of all 
 that had taken place. 
 
 " Come, Signor Pallanza, lean on me, and I will take 
 you to Bianca." 
 
 *' Ah ! cara Bianca," he cried joyfully, as I led him to 
 the door ; " Bianca, Bianca, gioja della mia vita ! " 
 
 " Guiseppe ! " 
 
 She saw him standing with outstretched arms on the 
 threshold of the room, and with a cry of joy flew to- 
 wards him like a bird to its nest, and flung herself on 
 his breast. 
 
 As for me, I went out of the room and left them 
 together.. 
 
X36 A Creature of the Nigkt* 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AN INTERRUPTED HONEYMOON. 
 
 WELL, at last I was back in Milan, much to my satis- 
 faction, as after the strange adventures I had met with 
 in Verona that city became positively hateful to me. 
 Two months had elapsed since the affair of the Palazzo 
 Morone had come to an end, and during that time two 
 marriages in connection therewith had been celebrated— 
 that of Beltrami with the Contessa Morone, at Rome ; 
 and that of Guiseppe Palianza with Signorina Hianca, at 
 Milan. True to his promise, Guiseppe had forfei cd his 
 engagement at the Kzzelino, much to the wrath of the 
 impresario, and had rested quietly since at Milan, pass- 
 ing most of his time with Bianca, who was now in a 
 state of high glee preparing lor her marr age. 
 
 It took place at the church of St Stefano, in Milan, 
 and out of consideration for the great age of the Maestro 
 it was a very quiet affair, I being the only one present 
 beyond the Angello household, but that was at the 
 urgent request of both Bianca and her husband, who 
 never forgot the services I had rendered them at Verona. 
 
 Thanks to my dexterity, Bianca never discovered the 
 truth, and fully believed that Guiseppe had been kept a 
 prisoner at the Palazzo Morone by some enemy who 
 had lured him thither, by means of the letter purporting 
 to come from a d\ ing friend. At first considering the 
 weak way in which Guiseppe had acted, I did not con- 
 sider that he deserved his good fortune in marrying such 
 a chiming £ ir l as the Signorina, but during the time 
 that preceded the marriage he was so devoted to her 
 
An Interrupted Honeymoon, 137 
 
 in every way, and apparently so remorseful for his 
 amorous folly, that I quite forgave him his momentary 
 infidelity. It was a very pretty wedding, the bride and 
 bridegroom making a handsome couple, and when the 
 ceremony was ended Signor and Signora Pallanza went 
 to spend the honeymoon of a few days at Monza, and I 
 was left alone in Milan. 
 
 Guiseppe had obtained an engagement at the Madrid 
 Opera House, and on their return from Monza the 
 young couple were to start almost immediately for 
 Spain, leaving the Maestro under the tender care of 
 Petronella. The old man's health had been failing 
 sadly of late, and I doubted very much whether Hianca 
 would find him alive on her return to Italy, seeing how 
 frail he was in every respect. 
 
 Now that he was deprived of his right hand by 
 the marriage of his granddaughter, the Maestro 
 decided to give up teaching, at which decision I was 
 profoundly sorry, as only having been with him a year 
 1 had still many things to Scam in the art of vocaliza- 
 tion. There was, unfortunately, no one else with whom 
 I could study the same system, for l'aolo Angello 
 taught the old, pure Italian method, of which he was 
 the last exponent ; and I infinitely preferred the round 
 sonorous notes which this training produced to the 
 shouting, colourless style of present- day singing, which 
 curses the voice with a perpetual tremolo. The 
 elaborate fioriture scLool of Pasta, Grisi, Ronconi, and 
 Malibran has almost entirely passed away, and in its 
 place what have we in Italy ? — nothing but the present 
 abominable fortissimo singing, without grace, sweetness, 
 steadiness, or colour. The old Italian operas were com- 
 posed, not so much as stage performances as to show off 
 the beauty, execution and brilliancy of the voice, while 
 this new school of music-drama, designed principally for 
 dramatic effect, is interpreted by singers who rely but 
 little on the perfection of the vocal organ, and pride 
 themselves not so much on the individual colouring 
 of a single number as on the general broad effect of 
 
138 A Creatun of the Night, 
 
 the whole. Fortunately, however, by incessant work 
 during my one year under Angello, I had acquired a 
 pretty good idea of his system of vocalization, and hoped, 
 by cautious industry in following out his hard and fast 
 rules, to perfect my singing in accordance with his 
 severely pure method. 
 
 Of the Marchese Beltrami and his wife I heard but 
 little, save through the medium of the papers, as except 
 one letter announcing his marriage with the Contessa, 
 and thanking me for my attention to his interests, this 
 ungrateful Luigi had not written to me. I consoled my- 
 self with philosophical reflections on the hollowness of 
 friendship, when one day, towards the end of July, I 
 was astonished to receive a visit from the Marchese. 
 
 Pallanza and his wife had returned to Milan, and were 
 making preparations for their departure, which was now 
 near at hand. I had just come back from a visit to the 
 Maestro with whom they were staying, and was writing 
 letters in my bedroom, when Beltrami's card was 
 brought to me, upon which I ordered him to be shown 
 into the room in which I was scribbling, so as to secure 
 perfect privacy during our conversation. 
 
 In those days of poverty I lived like a cat on the 
 tiles, up four flights of stairs just under the roof, and 
 my one room served me for everything, — that is, 
 as dining-room, reception-salon, and sleeping chamber. 
 I took my meals at a sufficiently good restaurant near 
 at hand, but otherwise the whole of my indoor life was 
 bounded by the four walls of that small apartment, which 
 contained an ingenious bed made to look like a sofa 
 during the day, a wardrobe, a wash-stand, and a dimi- 
 nutive piano of German manufacture hired by myself. 
 Yet, as Beranger sings, " One is happy in a garret at 
 twenty years of age," and I think the days spent in that 
 dingy Milanese eyry were among the most delightful of 
 my life. I was young, enthusiastic, not badly off for a 
 poor man, and devoted to my art, so I used to strum 
 chords on that small piano while I practised my voice, 
 act operatic scenes in front of the looking glass, and 
 
An Interrupted Honeymoon. 139 
 
 dream impossible dreams of applausive multitudes, of 
 recklessly-generous impresarios, and of a career like 
 that of the kings of song. 
 
 Then I had a view — a delightful view — of the red- 
 roofed houses of Milan, seen from the window, with here 
 and there a tall factory chimney, the slender tower of a 
 church from whence sounded the jangling bells which 
 used to irritate me, at least, every quarter of an 
 hour, and just a glimpse of the white miracle of the 
 great Duomo, rising like a fairy creation of milky 
 lacework against the deeply blue sky. Even a vision 
 of green trees I obtained by craning my head round 
 the corner of the window, and when it was fine weather I 
 looked at my roof-top view while enjoying a pipe, but 
 when it rained — oh ! heavens, Milan was as dreary as 
 London in a fog, and the blue skies of Italy became a 
 fable of inventive minds. The intense heat changed to 
 humid cold, and then I used to shut out this decep- 
 tive city of the Visconti by closing my window and, 
 retreating to the piano, practised exercises with a voice 
 rendered, I am afraid, rather gruff by the chill terra- 
 cotta floor and the damp atmosphere. 
 
 It was in this poor but honest abode, as the novelists 
 say, that I received Beltrami, who entered gaily in 
 civilian dress with outstretched hands, looking exactly 
 the same as when I had last seen him at Verona. 
 Marriage evidently had not changed him, as he had the 
 same subtle smile on his dark face, talked in the same 
 vein of cynicism, and interlarded his conversation with 
 his usual number of French ejaculations. 
 
 * Eh ! Hugo, mon ami," shaking both my hands 
 heartily, " you are astonished to see me ! " 
 
 " Considering you have never written me a line since 
 your marriage, Beltrami, I certainly am." 
 
 I suppose I spoke with a certain bitterness, for the 
 Marchese shrugged his shoulders, with a slight flush 
 reddening his cheeks, and sat down on the bed — I mean, 
 seeing it was day-time — the sofa. 
 
 " Ma foi ! I am a newly-married man, Hugo ! " he 
 
140 A Creature of the NighU 
 
 said, in an apologetic tone, " I have forgotten everything 
 in the delightful society of that dear Contcssa. But you 
 are right to reproach me ; I ought to have written, only 
 I am so terribly negligent." 
 
 " And fickle ; don't forget that trait of your character, 
 Luigi. However, I'm glad to see you, fickle friend as 
 you are." 
 
 " Dame ! 3'ou don't spare me. I have called on you 
 for a purpose ! " 
 
 " That goes without saying. When one requires a 
 friend one always knows where to find him. Well, 
 Marchcse, and in what way can I assist you ? " 
 
 " I will tell you 1 but I see you do not ask after my 
 wife?" 
 
 " I trust Madame Beltrami is well ! " I said stiffly, not 
 feeling any particularly warm feeling towards that 
 lady. 
 
 " Yes ! her health is good." 
 
 "And you are happy, Beltrami?" 
 
 " Tolerably 1 But tell me, how is Tallanza and his 
 wife ? " 
 
 "Oh, they live in Elysium, Marchese. At present 
 they are in Milan, but leave next week for Madrid, 
 where Pallanza is going to sing." 
 
 " I le'll have to go by himself, then 1 " 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 "That Madame, my very good wife, is hunting 
 through Milan for this Klysium, with that famous bottle 
 of poison in her pocket." 
 
 ••Great heavens 1 Is she going to try and poison 
 Pallanza again ?" 
 
 " No ! you remember the Latin maxim, ' Non bis in 
 idem.' She is going to try the effect of the poison on his 
 wife." 
 
 " And yet you can sit there calmly without making 
 an attempt to save this innocent creature! Beltrami, 
 it is infamous ! " 
 
 I was walking up and down the room in a state of 
 great excitement, for it seemed horrible and incompre- 
 
An Interrupted Honeymoon* \\\ 
 
 hensible to see the Marchese sitting there so calm and 
 composed, when he knew that a reckless,' dangerous 
 woman like his wife was in Milan bent on murder. 
 
 " Eh ! Hugo, keep cool," said Beltrami, quirtly. " It 
 is just this affair I have come to see you about Sit 
 down, mon ami, and I'll tell you all about it." 
 
 11 Hut every moment is of value ! " 
 
 " No doubt, but as it will take Madame some time 
 to find out where Signor Pallanza is staying, I think 
 we can safely talk for five minutes." 
 
 " Go on, then ! I am all impatience !" 
 
 " So I see ! Ebbene 1 When I went to Rome I told 
 the Contcssa that I had taken away Pallanza's body ; 
 tut of course I did not say he was alive, and swore that 
 if she did not marry me 1 would tell everything to the 
 authorities. The sequel you know — she married me." 
 
 " A horrible contract," I muttered savagely, looking 
 at the whole affair from an English point of view. 
 
 " I think we argued that matter before," said Beltrami, 
 coolly, "and, if I remember rightly, you did not agree 
 with my reasons. However, it is too late now to blame 
 me, seeing I have been married for nearly five weeks. 
 We spent our honeymoon at Como— in fact, mon ami, 
 we are spending it there still, only a perusal of yester- 
 day's Lombardia sent my excellent wife off to this city 
 in search of Signora Pallanza." 
 
 " I do not understand." 
 
 "No? Then I will enlighten you. Madame, my 
 wife, thought this devil of a tenor dead, and, as he has 
 been keeping quiet all this time, she never for a moment 
 suspected the truth. I saw an announcement of his 
 marriage in the newspapers, but you may be sure I did 
 not let the Marchesa see it. Everything was going 
 beautifully, and we were a model couple — outwardly — 
 when, as ill-luck would have it, this paragraph appeared 
 in the paper." 
 
 Beltrami handed me a copy of La Lombardia y and 
 pointed to a paragraph, which I read. It stated that 
 Guiseppe Pallanza, the famous tenor, was going to sing 
 
142 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 at the Grand Opera House, Madrid, and would be ac- 
 companied to Spain by his wife, the granddaughter 
 of Maestro Angello, the celebrated teacher of singing. 
 
 " You can guess what a rage she was in,'" said Beltrami, 
 when I had finished reading this fatal information. 
 " Diavolo ! she has a temper ; but, as I told you, I am 
 quite a match for Madame, and held my own during this 
 furious quarrel. She demanded an explanation, and I 
 gave her one." 
 
 " What ? _ You told her— 
 
 " Everything, mon ami. Your story, my story, Pal- 
 lanza's story — all about the antidote, the vault, the 
 supper. Eh ! Hugo, she now knows as much as you or 
 I. Mon dieu, you should have seen her when I had 
 finished ! " 
 
 " Why ? what did she do ? " 
 
 " She smiled, that was all ; but it was the smile that 
 alarmed me." 
 
 " For your own safety ? " 
 
 " Ma foi, no ! I told her she need not try the poison 
 on me, as I had the antidote. In reply, she gave one of 
 those wicked laughs that freeze your blood, and said that 
 Signora Pallanza had not an antidote, and it would be 
 the worse for her." 
 
 11 Then she intends to poison the poor girl ? " 
 
 " I fancied so yesterday, and I was sure of it this 
 morning, when I heard from my servants that the 
 Marchesa Beltrami had gone to Milan. I knew what 
 she was after, so followed by the next train, and came 
 straight to you." 
 
 " And what do you want me to do, Beltrami ? " 
 
 " Come with me at once to the Casa Angello, to warn 
 Signora Pallanza ? I suppose she is still staying with 
 the Maestro Angello ? " 
 
 " Yes, until she goes to Spain with her husband. Let 
 us go at once, Luigi. But, oh ! Beltrami, if we are too 
 late!" 
 
 "Do not be alarmed! I have the antidote in my 
 pocket." 
 
*43 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 NEMESIS. 
 
 The Maestro had a very comfortable suite of apart- 
 ments in Milan overlooking the Via Carlo Alberto, near 
 the Piazza del Duomo, which were chosen by him on 
 account of their situation, as he could sit at the window 
 of his bedroom and amuse himself by gazing at the 
 crowded street. This watching of the populace was his 
 great delight, and when not giving a lesson he was 
 generally stationed at his window, or else employed in 
 reading // Secco/o, which he did in a curious fashion, 
 by holding it close to his best-seeing eye. 
 
 Of course, like all the entrances to these Milanese 
 flats, the stairs were singularly damp, dark, and mal- 
 odorous, and after running the gauntlet of a fat portanaia, 
 who was devouring a large dish of polenta in her glass 
 house, we climbed up the humid steps, and speedily 
 arrived at the second storey, where dwelt the Maestro 
 when in Milan. To make up for the filth under our 
 feet the ceilings over our heads were gorgeously painted 
 with mythological figures ; and even at that moment I 
 could not help recalling George Sands' remark anent 
 the contrast between these two. However, we had no 
 time to admire the clumsy Jupiter throwing fire-brand 
 thunder bolts, for at this moment Petronella, who had 
 seen us through the dingy glass of her own little 
 sanctum, opened the door, and was about to burst into 
 a torrent of greetings, when I stopped her to ask if the 
 Signora Pallanza was at home. 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! the Signora is in, but she is engaged^ 
 engaged in talking with a lady — Dio ! a great lady ! " 
 
144 A Creature of the Night, 
 
 '* Great heavens ! we may be too late ! " I muttered 
 to Beltrami, who nodded his head silently. " Petronella, 
 speak low. This gentleman and myself came on an 
 important errand to the Signora. What is the lady's 
 name?" 
 
 " Signor, she said she was the Marchesa Beltrami," 
 replied Petronella, her jolly face growing rather grave 
 at all this mystery. 
 
 " Is Signor Pallanza in ? " 
 
 " No, Signor Hugo ; he has gone to see an impre- 
 sario." 
 
 " She is alone with Madame, let us go in at once," 
 whispered Beltrami, exhibiting the first signs of alarm 
 I had ever beheld in him. 
 
 '' One moment I What about the Maestro, Petro- 
 nella?" 
 
 " In his bedroom, Signor Hugo, at the window. 
 Holy Saints ! what is wrong ? " 
 
 " Nothing ! nothing ! I will explain all shortly ; but 
 meanwhile, Petronella, show us a place where we can 
 see into the room where the Signora is talking to the 
 Marchesa, without being seen." 
 
 Beltrami nodded his head approvingly, for he saw 
 my plan was to overhear the conversation, and only in- 
 terrupt it should there be any danger to the Signora. 
 Petronella was bursting with curiosity, but seeing, from 
 the expression of our faces, that something important 
 was going on, she screwed up her mouth with a shrewd 
 look, to assure us we could depend upon her, and, closing 
 the outside door cautiously, led us into the room adja- 
 cent to that in which the conversation was taking place. 
 Pointing to an archway, veiled by curtains, to intimate 
 that there was nothing else but the drapery to impede 
 our hearing, she retired on tiptoe, with a puzzled, serious 
 look on her usually merry face. 
 
 It seemed my fate to~overhear mysterious conversa- 
 tions through veiled archways, but this one was not 
 used as an entrance between the two rooms, for, as I 
 peered through the curtains, 1 saw in front of them a 
 
Nemesis, 145 
 
 small square table, upon which • was placed a lacquered 
 tray with glasses, and an oval straw-covered bottle of 
 Chianti wine. 1 drew back for a moment, to see if Bel- 
 trami had noticed this obstacle to our sudden entrance 
 into the room ; but, instead of appearing dismayed, 
 he had a grim, satisfied smile on his lips, as if he rather 
 approved than otherwise of this table blocking up the 
 doorway. Puzzled at this, I withdrew my eyes from his 
 face, and looked again into the room beyond, where the 
 Marchesa Beltrami was seated, talking to Biauca in 
 what appeared to be a very friendly fashion. 
 
 It must be remembered that Bianca knew nothing 
 about the Contessa Morone's intrigue with her husband, 
 as both Guiseppe and myself had carefully kept all 
 knowledge of the affair from her ; and moreover, owing 
 to her nervous agitation, she had not recognized the 
 voice of the Marchesa when she spoke to us in the 
 darkness of that fatal chamber at Verona. Conse- 
 quent y she was completely in ignorance of the real 
 character of her visitor, and only beheld in her a lady 
 who had called to see Signor Pallanza about some im- 
 portant business ; this, as I afterwards learned, being 
 the excuse she gave for her presence in the Casa An- 
 gello. It was truly terrible to see these two women 
 seated together in friendly discourse, the one so inno- 
 cent of the danger she was in, the other so ruthless in 
 her determination to revenge herself on her rival. The 
 pure white dove was in the clutches of this relentless 
 hawk, who, while watching her victim so closely, was 
 meditating as to the best means of carrying out her 
 plans 
 
 " Oh, it is horrible 1 ° I murmured, turning pale with 
 emotion. 
 
 "Hush!" whispered Beltrami with a sinister look; 
 "she will fall into her own pit." 
 
 What did he mean by these strange words ? I could 
 not understand ; but 1 had no time nor desire to ask for 
 an explanation, as the terrible drama being played out 
 in the next room riveted my attention ; so, with a 
 
146 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 violent effort of self-repression, I resumed my post of 
 observation, and listened to the conversation between 
 the two actresses in the tragedy. It was idle and 
 frivolous, the conversation of two strangers who had 
 nothing to talk about but the merest commonplace \ 
 but this frivolity had for us a ghastly meaning ; this 
 commonplace concealed a frightful intention. 
 
 " And so, Signora Pallanza, you have never heard your 
 husband mention my name ! " 
 "No, Madame!" 
 
 " It is strange," said the Marchesa, smiling ; " for in 
 Rome I did what I could to help him in his profession. 
 Eh ! yes. I heard him singing Faust at the Apollo, 
 and told all my friends to go and hear the New Mario." 
 " That is what they call him here, Signora," replied 
 Bianca proudly ; " but, indeed, it was kind of you to aid 
 him. I wonder Guiseppe never spoke to me about you, 
 for he never forgets a kindness." 
 
 " Ah ! I'm afraid some men have not much grati- 
 tude," said Madame Beltrami with a laugh. " Never 
 mind, when Signor Pallanza comes in you will see he 
 has not forgotten me." 
 
 "He could hardly do that, Madame," answered 
 Bianca, looking with honest admiration at the splendid 
 beauty of the woman before her. " Had I seen you 
 before I would always have remembered you 1 But — it 
 is so strange ! " 
 
 " What is strange, Signora ? " 
 
 " I do not recognize your face, and yet I seem to have 
 heard your voice before." 
 
 11 Possibly ! " said the Marchesa indifferently. " I go 
 about a good deal." 
 
 " Were you ever in Verona ? " 
 
 Madame Beltrami was startled for the moment at this 
 apparently innocent question, but recovered her self- 
 possession in a moment, and laughed gaily in a rather 
 • forced fashion, — 
 
 " Yes, Signora ! I lived there a long time with my 
 first husband, Count Giorgio Morone." 
 
Nemesis, 147 
 
 " Morone ! " cried Bianca, starting to her feet with a 
 cry of alarm. " Oh ! Madame, do you know that 
 palace ? " 
 
 The Marchesa saw that she had made a mistake by 
 mentioning that fatal name, but with iron nerve opened 
 a fan she had hanging to her girdle and fanned herself 
 slowly. 
 
 " Of course I do," she answered quietly ; " it belongs 
 to the family of my late husband, and is said to be 
 haunted." 
 
 Bianca shivered. 
 
 " So it is ! so it is ! " she muttered in a fearful tone. 
 " I have been in that room. Signor Hugo took me 
 there.;' 
 
 " Signor Hugo ! " repeated the Marchesa reflectively. 
 " I think I have heard my husband speak of that gentle- 
 man. He is English, is he not ? " 
 
 "Yes, Madame. A great friend of my husband's. A 
 terrible thing happened to Guiseppe at Verona ! Oh ! 
 a terrible thing. And that room, that fearful room ! 
 Dio ! I shall never forget it." 
 
 " You are trembling, Signora ! You are ill," cried 
 Madame Beltrami, rising to her feet and crossing 
 quickly to the table before the curtain behind which we 
 were concealed. " Let me give you some wine." 
 
 " No, no ! thank you. I am quite well ! " said 
 Bianca, going to the window and opening it. " It is 
 only the heat. The fresh air will do me good." 
 
 " A glass of wine will be better," replied the Mar- 
 chesa, pouring out a glass of Chianti. 
 
 I felt myself seized with a kind of vertigo at seeing 
 this demon take from her breast a small bottle and 
 empty the whole contents of it into the glass. I would 
 have cried out only the voice of Bianca arrested 
 me,— 
 
 " I am perfectly well, Madame ; but will you not 
 take some wine yourself, since the day is so warm ? " 
 
 " Certainly, if you will drink with me ! " said 
 Madame Beltrami, turning round with a calm smile ; 
 
148 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 "but indeed the wine will do you good, you seem to 
 faint." 
 
 She poured out another glass of the Chianti for herself, 
 and was about to take the fatal drink to Bianca, when 
 the latter called quickly from the window,— 
 
 " Madame ! quick I come here 1 Guiseppe is coming 
 down the street ! " 
 
 Out of courtesy the Marchesa was forced to obey the 
 c*ll of her hostess, and went quickly to the window, 
 leaving the two wine-glasses close together on the table, 
 the one on the left containing the poison destined for 
 Bianca, the other on the right innocent of any drug, 
 which she intended to drink herself. 
 
 At this moment, while the two women were looking 
 out of the window, I heard the voice of Beltrami, 
 hoarse and broken, sound in my ear, — 
 
 " Go to the door and tell the servant to detain Pal- 
 lanza ! " 
 
 1 looked at him in astonishment, for there was a 
 frightful look of agitation in his- pale face, and great 
 drops of sweat were standing on his brow ; but he made 
 an imperative gesture, and I obeyed him without a 
 word. 
 
 Petronella was in the kitchen, and I hurriedly told 
 her to keep Pallanza at the door on some pretext or 
 another, and stole quickly back to the room, where I 
 found Beltrami leaning against the wall with a haggard 
 look on his face. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " I whispered quickly. " Are 
 you ill ?" 
 
 " No, no ! Look ! — look ! — see ! See what she is 
 doing ! " 
 
 I had only been gone a little over two minutes be- 
 tween the time I had last looked in the room and the 
 moment I resumed my post of observation, but during 
 that period the Marchesa, evidently afraid of the en- 
 trance of Pallanza, had given Bianca the fatal wine, and 
 the girl was drinking it at the window. Madame Bel- 
 trami herself, with rather a pale face, but a devilish look 
 
Nemesis. 149 
 
 In her eyes, had just set down her glass upon the table, 
 empty. A moment after Bianca, having drained the 
 fatal draught to the dregs, came across to the table and 
 placed her glass beside that of the Marchesa's with a 
 merry laugh. 
 
 " I am glad you persuaded me to have the wine, 
 Signora. It is so refreshing." 
 
 " Yes, I think you will find it so," replied the Mar- 
 chesa, with a strange smile. 
 
 The whole of this terrible scene had passed so rapidly 
 that I had no time to interfere. My tongue clove to 
 the roof of my mouth, as I saw Bianca drink the 
 Borgian wine ; yet with a mighty effort I was about to 
 cry out, when Beltrami seized my arm in his powerful 
 grasp, and dared me, with lurid eyes, to utter a sound. 
 
 The Marchesa, having completed her devilish work, 
 was about to go, for I heard her say something to Bianca 
 about seeing Pallanza on the stairs, when suddenly we 
 heard Guiseppe's gay voice talking to Petronella. who 
 strove to detain him ; but with a merry laugh he brushed 
 past her, and a moment afterwards was in the room. 
 Standing there in the grasp of Beltrami, hidden by the 
 curtains, there seemed to be a silence lasting an eternity ; 
 then we heard Guiseppe give a terrible cry of rage and 
 fear, and despair, — 
 
 " Giulietta ! you here ! Demon 1 what are you 
 doing ? " 
 
 Slow and soft, like the hiss of a snake, came the 
 answer, — 
 
 " Doing to her what I did to you." 
 
 " Poison 1 Bianca 1 " 
 
 The poor girl gave a terrible shriek of agony, and 
 flung herself into the arms of her husband, while again 
 there sounded the wicked laugh of the Marchesa. 
 
 " Ah ! you cannot save her now, traitor ! perjurer that 
 you are ! she will die I " 
 
 There was a sudden smash of glass, as Beltrami 
 hurled himself through the archway and stood before 
 his terrible wife. 
 
150 A Creature of the Night. 
 
 "You lie, wretch ! Here is the antidote ! " 
 
 Bianca was lying unconscious in Guiseppe's arms, 
 and he, with a cry of joy, stretched out his hand for the 
 phial which Beltrami, standing midway between his 
 wife and the tenor, was holding. Suddenly, with a 
 shriek of rage, the Marchesa sprang forward, and tearing 
 the phial from his hand, hurled it through the Open 
 window into the street. 
 
 " No, no ! She shall die ! She shall die ! " 
 
 I shall never forget that supreme moment of anguish. 
 Bianca lying pale as a lily in the arms of her agonized 
 husband ; myself standing amid the ruins of the table 
 in the archway ; the Marchesa erect, defiant, and snarl- 
 ing like an enraged tigress ; and only Beltrami calm — 
 Beltrami standing cold and inflexible, with folded arms 
 and a sinister smile on his thin lips. The whole of this 
 frightful drama had only lasted a few minutes, but the 
 denouement, more terrible than anything that had gone 
 before, had now arrived. 
 
 " She shall die ! " repeated the Marchesa with devilish 
 persistency. 
 
 Beltrami gave a wild laugh that sounded like the 
 mocking merriment of a fiend,-^ 
 
 " Fool ! you have thrown away your life ! " 
 
 Guiseppe looked up with sudden hope, and the 
 Marchesa with a cry of abject terror reeled back with 
 staring eyes and outstretched arms as the truth flashed 
 across her mind. 
 
 "Life ! life ! oh ! devil that you are, you — you— have 
 changed — " 
 
 The fierce beauty of her face was suddenly distorted 
 by a spasm of agony. She put her hands to her throat 
 and tore open her dress, tore off the ruby necklace, the 
 gems of which flashed down to the floor like a rain of 
 blood, then with a yell of fear which had nothing 
 human in its despair, she fell at our feet — dead. 
 
 Yes, she had fallen into her own pit ; she had flung 
 away her only chance of life in her desire to doom her 
 rival and there amid the brilliant sunshine, amid the 
 
Nemesis, 151 
 
 blood-red jewels scattered around her, with all her 
 crimes, devilries, and wickedness on her head, lay the 
 dead body of that Creature of the Night I had seen 
 issue like a vampire from the old sepulchre to fulfil her 
 evil destiny ; and over her with folded arms, sinister and 
 cruel, towered the man who, as the instrument of God, 
 had sent her back to the hell from whence she had 
 emerged. 
 
152 A Creature of the Night* 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A LAST WORD. 
 
 It was at the Paris Opera House that I last saw 
 Beltrami, three years after the death of that terrible 
 woman. Things had gone exceedingly well with me 
 since my student life in Milan, and 1 can say without 
 vanity, that Signor Hugo Urbino holds a very good 
 position among operatic artistes of to-day. After 
 leaving Ange lo I devoted another year to haid study, 
 and was finally pronounced fit to appear before an 
 Italian audience by my last Maestro. - This, however, 
 was only half the battle, for now, having gained complete 
 control of my vocal powers; I had to take le>sons in 
 scena from Maestro Biagio, or, in other words, I had to 
 study the art of acting. I elected to make my debut in 
 the rine part of Renato in Verdi's opera, " Un Ballo in 
 Maschcra," and having learned the music thoroughly, 
 Biagio taught me how to render the character, drama- 
 tically speaking. This took some time, as every move- 
 ment, every action, every gesture had to be studied ; 
 but with perseverance I overcame all difficulties, and at 
 length found myself capable of rendering the character 
 of Renato in a sufficiently good style. In passing I 
 may say that, as far as I have found, it is ridiculous to 
 think that acting comes instinctively. No doubt a 
 histrionic genius is able to give a gesture or strike an 
 attitude during the emotion engendered by the perform- 
 ance of a part, but he must always hold himself well 
 under control, and, broadly speaking, act the character 
 as he studied it, in cold blood. Otherwise, carried away 
 by his powers, he would do things likely to upset the 
 entire mechanism of the scene; I have sung the part of 
 
A Last Word, 153 
 
 Renato many times since my first appearance, and the 
 critics are pleased to consider it a striking performance, 
 but whatever touches on the spur of the moment I have 
 introduced, the broad rendering of the character always 
 remains precisely the same as taught to me by Maestro 
 Biagio. 
 
 Being thus in a position to sing and act the part, my 
 greatest difficulties commenced, and I can safely say 
 that I never met a more unscrupulous set of scoundrels 
 than these sixth-rate impresarios who go about Milan, 
 like degraded Satans, seeking whom they may devour. 
 English students, being popularly supposed to be made 
 of money, are their favourite victims, and they demand 
 from these the sum of four or five hundred francs as the 
 price of a scrittura, i.e. an appearance on the stage. 
 In a playful, ironical fashion they call this sum a present, 
 I suppose after the fashion of Henry VIII. — I think it 
 was that king — who dubbed his taxes " Benevolences ;" 
 and if you do not make the impresario "a present," you 
 certainly will not get an appearance in Italy. With this 
 money they take a theatre in a small town and put on 
 the opera in which you desire to sing, but even then it 
 is doubtful whether the debut so dearly purchased will 
 come off at all. 
 
 The first impresario with whom I had to deal was a 
 dingy individual, who, according to his own account, 
 had brought out all the greatest singers of Europe for 
 the last twenty years, and, having made him " a present " 
 of two hundred francs — he was a modest man and asked 
 no more— it was arranged that I should make my ddbut 
 at Como, but on arriving there for rehearsals I found 
 that both the present and the impresario had vanished, 
 like Macbeth's witches, into thin air. Considerably dis- 
 heartened by this sample of Italian honesty, I yet had 
 sufficient faith to trust another gentleman in the same 
 fashion, but he must have been a brother of the first 
 impresario, for he too vanished. I now began to per- 
 ceive that there were still brigands in Italy, but that, 
 having become civilized, they were either hotel-keepers 
 
154 -A Creature of the Night, 
 
 or impresarios, and as my two unfortunate attempts to 
 get a scrittura had ended in disaster, I was not very 
 anxious to make any one a third " present." 
 
 However, it was no use turning back when within 
 sight of the goal, so I consulted Maestro Biagio, who 
 kindly interested himself on my behalf, and introduced 
 me to an honest impresario, who required the necessary 
 present, but nevertheless fulfilled his promise of intro- 
 ducing me to the Italian public. I made my d£but at 
 Brescia with great success, and at the conclusion of the 
 season, for which, of course, I did not receive a penny > 
 I had plenty of offers from all parts of the Continent. 
 To make a long story short, I sang everywhere I possibly 
 could, and, having secured an excellent reputation, by 
 an unexpected stroke of good fortune I was engaged to 
 sing at the Paris Opera House two years after my 
 debut. I think Dame Fortune was anxious to make 
 reparation to Hugo Urbino for the misfortunes of Hugh 
 Cranston, for, to my great delight, I was favourably 
 received by the critical Parisians, and before the season 
 ended was overwhelmed with offers of lucrative engage- 
 ments. 
 
 What with my good fortune and the constant excite- 
 ment of the life of an artiste, I had almost forgotten the 
 episode of Verona when I was reminded of it by the un- 
 expected appearance of Luigi Beltrami, who came to 
 my dressing-room one night at the conclusion of" II Bar- 
 biere," in which I had been singing the part of Figaro. 
 
 He was changed, this' cynical Marchese, since I had last 
 seen him, and changed for the better, as he had lost his 
 former sinister air and looked much happier and brighter 
 than formerly. Since our parting in Milan he had 
 written me frequently, but of late his letters ceased, so 
 I was somewhat puzzled how to account for this new air 
 of cheerfulness. However, we shook hands heartily, being 
 glad to see one another, and Beltrami, lighting one of 
 his eternal cigarettes, sat down to wait until I was ready 
 to leave the theatre. 
 
 " Eh ! Hugo," he said, gaily blowing a cloud of smoke, 
 'so things have gone well with you, mon ami ? " 
 
A Last Word. 155 
 
 " Exceedingly well, Beltrami, or you would not see me 
 in this room." 
 
 " Bene ! I congratulate you." 
 
 " Many thanks, Marchese ; but you look as if life were 
 agreeing with you." 
 
 Beltrami laughed, not with his former sardonic merri- 
 ment, but with a hearty sense of enjoyment. 
 
 " Ma foi, yes ! I am married again ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I hope I can congratulate you this time/' I said 
 with great significance. 
 
 " The present Marchesa is an angel, mon ami. Dame ! 
 I had enough of demons with the Contessa Morone." 
 
 " Well, she was punished for her sins." 
 
 " Eh ! what would you ? There is a God, mon ami, 
 and He was wearied of the crimes of that Lucrezia Borgia. 
 But what about the poor girl she tried to poison ? " 
 
 " Signora Pallanza ! Oh, I hear she is in America with 
 her husband. He has made a wonderful success in New 
 York, and Bianca tells me they have two children, a boy 
 and a girl." 
 
 " A new Mario and Patti, I suppose. Diavolo ! what 
 a pity the old Maestro is not alive to train the voices of 
 his great-grandchildren ! " 
 
 " Yes, he is dead, poor old man ! I heard all about it 
 in Vienna, and Petronella has gone to America to look 
 after her beloved piccola. Well, Angello had a long life, 
 but he was not immortal." 
 
 " Dame ! perhaps his system is immortal. It ought 
 to be if your singing is an example." 
 
 " Ah, flatterer ! " 
 
 " No ; upon my word your Figaro was delightful. It is 
 such a relief to hear a voice without that awful -tremolo. 
 But come, are you ready ? I want you to sup with me." 
 
 " I will be delighted, Beltrami. Is the Marchesa in 
 Paris ? " 
 
 " Eh ! no, not this time. I am here en garqon for a 
 few days. Madame is in Florence, where you must 
 come and visit us. We are wonderfully happy. Dame ! 
 who wouldn't be with health, wealth, and an angel of a 
 wife ? Ecco ! " 
 
X56 A Creature of the Night* 
 
 11 You inherited the wealth of Madame Morone ? M 
 
 " Ma foi 1 yes. It was the only good turn she ever 
 did me." 
 
 " Oh ! " I cried, with a revulsion of feeling, " you are 
 becoming cynical again." 
 
 "I always become cynical when I think of that 
 demon." 
 
 " Beltrami," I said after a pause, as we left the Opera 
 House, " there is a question 1 have often wished to ask 
 you." 
 
 I felt the Marchese's arm tremble a little in mine, but 
 l.e laughed in a nonchalant manner. 
 
 "Eh ! ask what you will, mon ami." 
 
 " Did you put your hand through the curtains and 
 change the position of those glasses ?" 
 
 Beltrami stopped and looked at me steadily with a 
 grave look in his bright eyes. 
 
 " Hugo, mon ami," he said slowly, "I neither deny 
 nor affirm what you say. Giulietta Morone was a 
 demon who came into the world to work evil, and God, 
 wearied of her crimes, sent her back to the hell from 
 whence she came. I am not much given to religion, 
 Hugo, as you know, but I believe in a God ; and whoso- 
 ever He chose as an instrument to destroy that which He 
 permitted to exist, rest assured that such a one will be 
 held guiltless for executing the just decree of Heaven ! " 
 
 He ceased speaking, and we walked on in silence 
 through the crowded streets under the dark-blue summer 
 sky. I understood perfectly what he meant, and whether 
 it was right or wrong it is not for me to say, still I firmly 
 believe that this man obeyed his impulse at that terrible 
 time, not from any selfish motive, but because he saw 
 clearly that in removing this frightful creature from the 
 world he was doing a service to the humanity upon 
 which she preyed. 
 
 All the same, I do not intend to visit the Marchese 
 Beltrami at his Florentine palazzo. 
 FINIS. 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Mystery- 
 Detective 
 H764