Penny Dreadful Multipack Vol. 1 (Illustrated. Annotated. 'Wagner The Wehr-Wolf,' 'Varney The Vampire,' 'The Mysteries of London Vol. 1' + Bonus Features) (Penny Dreadful Multipacks) (59 page)

“‘Listen, beauteous stranger,’ I
exclaimed; ‘I love and adore you. My happiness is at stake. Repeat that cruel
adjuration, and you inflict a death-blow. If I be loathsome to your sight, tell
me so; but leave me not a prey to the most horrible suspense. If you have a
father, I will accompany you to him and make honorable proposals.’

“‘My father!’ she murmured, while
her countenance was suddenly swept by a passing expression of anguish so
intense that I began to tremble for her reason.

“I implored her to speak candidly
and openly, and not in brief sentences of such ominous mystery. She scarcely
appeared to listen to my words, but seemed totally absorbed in the mental
contemplation of a deeply seated woe. At length she suddenly turned her large
dark eyes upon me, and said in a low, plaintive, profoundly touching tone:

“‘Signor Cornari, again I adjure
you to think of me no more. But for my own sake I would not have you believe
that unmaidenly conduct on my part is the cause of the solemn prayer I thus
make to you. No, no; I have naught wherewith I can reproach myself; but there
are reasons of terrible import that compel me to address you in this manner.
Nevertheless,’ she added, more slowly and hesitatingly, ‘if you really should
continue to entertain so deep an interest in me as to render you desirous to
hear the last explanation from my lips, then may you rely upon meeting me on
this spot, and at the same hour, fifteen days hence.’

“She then hurried away. How that
fortnight passed I can scarcely tell. To me it appeared an age. I was deeply,
madly enamored of that strange, beautiful, and apparently conscientious being;
and the mystery which involved her threw around
 
 her a halo of interest that
fanned the flame of my passion. I was prepared to make any sacrifice rather
than abandon all hope of calling her my own. The proud title of Riverola was as
nothing in my estimation when weighed in the balance against her charms—her
bewitching manner—her soft, retiring modesty. I moreover flattered myself that
I was not indifferent to her; and I loved her all the more sincerely because I
reflected that if she gave her heart to me, it would be to the poor and humble
Cornari, and not to the rich and mighty Lord of Riverola.

“At length the day—the memorable
day—came; and she failed not to keep her appointment. She was pale—very
pale—but exquisitely beautiful; and she smiled in spite of herself when she
beheld me. She endeavored to conceal her emotions, but she could not altogether
subdue the evidence of that gratification which my presence caused her.

“‘You have disregarded my most
earnest prayer,’ she said, in a low and agitated tone.

“‘My happiness depends upon you,’
I answered; ‘in the name of Heaven keep me not in suspense; but tell me, can
you and will you be mine?’

“‘I could be thine, but I dare
not,’ she replied, in a voice scarcely audible.

“‘Reveal to me the meaning of
this strange contradiction, I implore you!’ said I, again a prey to the most
torturing suspense. ‘Do you love another?’

“‘Did I love another,’ she
exclaimed, withdrawing the hand which I had taken, ‘I should not be here this
day.’

“‘Pardon me,’ I cried; ‘I would
not offend you for worlds! If you do not love another, can you love me?’

“Again she allowed me to take her
hand; and this concession, together with the rapid but eloquent glance she
threw upon me, was the answer to my question.

“‘Then, if you can love me,’ I
urged, ‘why cannot you be mine?’

“‘Because,’ she replied, in that
tone of bitterness which did me harm to hear it, ‘you are born of parents whose
name and whose calling you dare mention; whereas you would loathe me as much as
you now declare that you love me, were you to learn who my father is! For
mother, alas! I have none; she has been dead many years!’ And tears streamed down
her cheeks. I also wept, so deeply did I sympathize with her.

“‘Beloved girl,’ I exclaimed,
‘you wrong me! What is it to me if your father be the veriest wretch, the
greatest criminal that crawls upon the face of the earth, so long as you are
pure and innocent?’”

“‘No, no,’ she cried hastily,
‘you misunderstand me. There breathes not a more upright man than my father.’

“‘Then wherefore should I be
ashamed to own my marriage with his daughter?’ I asked in an impassioned
manner.

“‘Because,’ she said, in a tone
of such intense anguish that it rent my heart as she began to speak; ‘because,’
she repeated slowly and emphatically, ‘he is viewed with abhorrence by that
world which is so unjust; for that which constitutes the stigma
 
 is hereditary office in his family—an
office that he dares not vacate under pain of death; and now you can too well
comprehend that my sire is the
 
Public
Executioner of Naples
!’

“This announcement came upon me
like a thunderbolt. I turned sick at heart—my eyes grew dim—my brain whirled—I
staggered and should have fallen had I not come in contact with a wall. It
appeared to me afterward that sobs of ineffable agony fell upon my ears, while
I was yet in a state of semi-stupefaction—and methought likewise that a
delicate, soft hand pressed mine convulsively for a moment. Certain it was,
that when I recovered my presence of mind, when I was enabled to collect my
scattered thoughts, the executioner’s daughter was no longer near me. I was in
despair at the revelation which had been made—overwhelmed with grief, too, at
having suffered her thus to depart—for I feared that I should never see her
more. Before me was my hopeless love, behind me, like an evil dream, was the
astounding announcement which still rang in my ears, though breathed in such soft
and plaintive tones! Three or four minutes were wasted in the struggles of
conflicting thoughts, ere I was sufficiently master of myself to remember that
I might still overtake the maiden who had fled from me. It struck me that her
father’s dwelling must be near the criminal prison; and this was in the squalid
quarter of the town where I had first encountered her. Thither I sped—into the
dark streets, so perilous after dusk, I plunged; and at length I overtook the
object of my affection, just as she was skirting the very wall of the prison. I
seized her by the hand and implored her to forgive me for the manner in which I
had received the last explanation to which I had urged her.

“‘It was natural that you should
shrink in loathing from the bare idea,’ she said, in a tone which rent my
heart. ‘And now leave me, signor; for further conversation between us is
useless.’

“‘No,’ I exclaimed; ‘I will not
leave you until I shall have exacted from you a promise that you will be mine,
and only mine! For I could not live without you; and most unjust should I be,
most unworthy of the name of a man, if I were to allow a contemptible prejudice
to stand in the way of my happiness.’

“She returned no answer, but the
rapidity of her breathing and the ill subdued sobs which interrupted her
respiration at short intervals, convinced me that a fierce struggle was taking
place within her bosom. For it was now quite dark and I could not see her face;
the hand, however, which I held clasped in my own, trembled violently.

“‘Beautiful maiden,’ I said after
a long pause, ‘wherefore do you not reply to me? Were I the proudest peer in
Christendom, I would sacrifice every consideration of rank and family for your
sake. What more can man say? What more can he do?’

“‘Signor Cornari,’ she answered
at length, ‘prudence tells me to fly from you; but my heart prompts me to
remain. Alas! I feel that the latter feeling is dominant within me!’

 “‘And you will be mine?’ I
demanded eagerly.

“‘Thine forever!’ she murmured,
her head sinking upon my breast.

“But I shall not dwell
unnecessarily on this portion of my narrative. Suffice it to say we parted,
having arranged another meeting for the next evening. It was on this occasion
that I said to her:

“‘Vitangela, I have thought
profoundly on all that passed between us yesterday; and I am more than ever
determined to make you my wife. Let us away to your father, and demand his
consent to our union.’

“‘Stay,’ she said, in an emphatic
tone, ‘and hear me patiently ere you either renew the promise to wed me, or
reiterate your desire to seek my father. You must know,’ she continued, while I
listened with painful suspense, ‘that my father will not oppose a step in which
his daughter’s happiness is involved. But the very moment that sees our hands
joined, will behold the registry of the marriage in the book kept by the
lieutenant of police; and thereby will be constituted a record of the name of
one who, if need be, must assume the functions of that office which my sire now
fills.’

“‘What mean you, Vitangela?’ I demanded,
horrified by the dim yet ominous significance of these horrible words.

“‘I mean,’ she continued, ‘that
the terrible post of public executioner must remain in our family while it
exists; and those who form marriages with us, are considered to enter into our
family. When my father dies, my brother will succeed him, but should my brother
die without leaving issue, or having a son to take his place, you, signor, if
you become my husband, will be forced to assume the terrible office.’

“‘But I am not a Neapolitan,’ I
exclaimed; ‘and I should hope that when we are united, you will not insist upon
dwelling in Naples.’

“‘I would give worlds to leave
this odious city,’ she said, emphatically.

“‘Nothing detains me here another
day, nor another hour,’ I cried; ‘let the priest unite our hands, and we
forthwith set off for Florence. But why should not our marriage take place
privately, unknown even to your father? and in that case no entry could be made
in the books of the lieutenant of police.’

“‘You have expressed that desire
which I myself feared to utter, lest you should think it unmaidenly,’ she
murmured. ‘For your sake I will quit home and kindred without further
hesitation.’

“I was rejoiced at this proof of
affection and confidence on her part; and it was arranged between us that we
should be married on the ensuing evening, and in the most private way possible.

“Before we parted, however, I
drew from her a solemn pledge that, when once she had become my wife, she would
never even allude to her family—that she would not communicate to them the name
of her husband nor the place of our abode, under
 
 any circumstance—in a word, that
she would consider her father and brother as dead to her,—and she to them.

“With streaming eyes and sobbing
heart she gave the sacred promise I required, ratifying it with an oath which I
made her repeat to my dictation.

“On the ensuing evening Vitangela
met me according to appointment, and it was then I revealed to her my real name
and rank.

“‘Dearest girl,’ I said, ‘you
gave me your heart, believing me to be a poor and humble individual; and you
have consented to become my wife and abandon home and kindred for my sake.
Profoundly then do I rejoice that it is in my power to elevate you to a
position of which your beauty, your amiability and your virtue render you so
eminently worthy; and in my own native Florence, no lady will be more courted,
nor treated with greater distinction than the Countess of Riverola.’

“She uttered an exclamation of
sorrow and would have fallen to the ground if I had not supported her.

“‘Oh!’ she murmured, ‘I would
have been happier were you indeed the humble Signor Cornari!’

“‘No; think not thus,’ I urged,
‘wealth and rank are two powerful aids to happiness in this life. But at all
events; my beloved Vitangela, you now recognize more than ever the paramount
necessity which induces you to maintain inviolate your solemn vow of
yesterday.’

“‘I require no such inducement to
compel me to keep that pledge,’ she answered. ‘Think you that I would bring
disgrace on the name, whether humble or lofty, with which you have proposed to
honor me? Oh! no—never, never!”

“I embraced her fondly; and we
proceeded to the dwelling of a priest, by whom our hands were united in the
oratory attached to his abode. At daybreak we quitted Naples, and in due time
we reached Florence, where my bride was received with enthusiastic welcome by
all the friends of the Riverola family. My happiness appeared to have been
established on a solid foundation by this alliance; and the birth of Nisida in
1495—just one year after the marriage—was a bond which seemed to unite our
hearts the more closely if possible. Indeed, I can safely assert that not a
harsh word ever passed between us, nor did aught occur to mar our complete
felicity for years after our union. In 1500, however, a circumstance took place
which proved to be the first link in the chain of incidents destined to wield a
dire influence over my happiness. It was in the month of April of that year—oh!
how indelibly is the detested date fixed on my memory—the Duke Piero de Medici
gave a grand entertainment to all the aristocracy of Florence. The banquet was
of the most excellent description; and the gardens of the palace were
brilliantly illuminated. The days of Lorenzo the Magnificent seemed to have been
revived for a short period by his degenerate descendant. All the beauty and
rank of the republic were assembled at this festival; but no lady was more
admired for the chaste elegance of her attire, the modest dignity of her
deportment, and the loveliness of her person, than Vitangela,
 
 Countess of Riverola. After the
banquet the company proceeded to the gardens, where bands of music were
stationed, and while some indulged in the exhilarating dance, others sauntered
through the brilliantly lighted avenues. I need not inform you that no husband,
unless he were anxious to draw down upon himself the ridicule which attaches
itself to extreme uxoriousness, would remain linked to his wife’s side all the
evening at such an entertainment as the one of which I am speaking. I was
therefore separated from the countess, whom I left in an arbor with some other
ladies, and I joined the group which had assembled around the prince. I know
not exactly how it was I happened to quit my companions, after a lively
conversation which had probably lasted about an hour; certain, however, it is
that before midnight I was proceeding alone down a long avenue in which utter
darkness reigned, but outside of which the illuminations shone brilliantly.