Chapter 2

AND now rushed the unfortunate wildly through the streets of Venice. He
railed at fortune; he laughed and cursed by turns; yet sometimes he
suddenly stood still, seemed as pondering on some great and wondrous
enterprise, and then again rushed onwards, as if hastening to its
execution.

Propped against a column of the Signoria, he counted over the whole sum
of his misfortunes. His wandering eyeballs appeared to seek comfort, but
they found it not.

“Fate,” he at length exclaimed in a paroxysm of despair, “Fate has
condemned me to be either the wildest of adventurers, or one at the
relation of whose crimes the world must shudder. To astonish is my
destiny. Rosalvo can know no medium; Rosalvo can never act like common
men. Is it not the hand of fate which has led me hither? Who could ever
have dreamt that the son of the richest lord in Naples should have
depended for a beggar’s alms on Venetian charity? I—I, who feel myself
possessed of strength of body and energy of soul fit for executing the
most daring deeds, behold me creeping in rags through the streets of this
inhospitable city, and torturing my wits in vain to discover some means
by which I may rescue life from the jaws of famine! Those men whom my
munificence nourished, who at my table bathed their worthless souls in
the choicest wines of Cyprus, and glutted themselves with every delicacy
which the globe’s four quarters could supply, these very men now deny to
my necessity even a miserable crust of mouldy bread. Oh, that is
dreadful, cruel—cruel of men—cruel of Heaven!”

He paused, folded his arms, and sighed.

“Yet will I bear it—I will submit to my destiny. I will traverse every
path and go through every degree of human wretchedness; and whate’er may
be my fate, I will still be myself; and whate’er may be my fate, I will
still act greatly! Away, then, with the Count Rosalvo, whom all Naples
idolised; now—now, I am the beggar Abellino. A beggar—that name stands
last in the scale of worldly rank, but first in the list of the
famishing, the outcast, and the unworthy.”

Something rustled near him. Abellino gazed around. He was aware of the
bravo, whom he struck to the ground that night, and whom two companions
of a similar stamp had now joined. As they advanced, they cast inquiring
glances around them. They were in search of some one.

“It is of me that they are in search,” said Abellino; then advanced a few
steps, and whistled.

The ruffians stood still; they whispered together, and seemed to be
undecided.

Abellino whistled a second time.

“’Tis he,” he could hear one of them say distinctly, and in a moment
after they advanced slowly towards him.

Abellino kept his place, but unsheathed his sword. The three unknown
(they were masked) stopped a few paces from him.

“How now, fellow!” quoth one of them; “what is the matter? Why stand you
on your guard?”

_Abellino_.—It is as well that you should be made to keep your distance,
for I know you; you are certain honest gentlemen, who live by taking away
the lives of others.

_The First Ruffian_.—Was not your whistling addressed to us?

_Abellino_.—It was.

_A Ruffian_.—And what would you with us?

_Abellino_.—Hear me! I am a miserable wretch, and starving; give me an
alms out of your booty!

_A Ruffian_.—An alms? Ha! ha! ha! By my soul that is whimsical!—Alms
from us, indeed!—Oh, by all means! No doubt, you shall have alms in
plenty.

_Abellino_.—Or else give me fifty sequins, and I’ll bind myself to your
service till I shall have worked out my debt.

_A Ruffian_.—Aye? and pray, then, who may you be?

_Abellino_.—A starving wretch, the Republic holds none more miserable.
Such am I at present; but hereafter—I have powers, knaves. This arm
could pierce a heart, though guarded by three breastplates; this eye,
though surrounded by Egyptian darkness, could still see to stab sure.

_A Ruffian_.—Why, then, did you strike me down, even now?

_Abellino_.—In the hope of being paid for it; but though I saved his
life, the scoundrel gave me not a single ducat.

_A Ruffian_.—No? So much the better. But hark ye, comrade, are you
sincere?

_Abellino_.—Despair never lies.

_A Ruffian_.—Slave, shouldst thou be a traitor—

_Abellino_.—My heart would be within reach of your hands, and your
daggers would be as sharp as now.

The three dangerous companions again whispered among themselves for a few
moments, after which they returned their daggers into the sheath.

“Come on, then,” said one of them, “follow us to our home. It were
unwise to talk over certain matters in the open streets.”

“I follow you,” was Abellino’s answer, “but tremble should any one of you
dare to treat me as a foe. Comrade, forgive me that I gave your ribs
somewhat too hard a squeeze just now; I will be your sworn brother in
recompense.”

“We are on honour,” cried the banditti with one voice; “no harm shall
happen to you. He who does you an injury shall be to us as a foe. A
fellow of your humour suits us well; follow us, and fear not.”

And on they went, Abellino marching between two of them. Frequent were
the looks of suspicion which he cast around him; but no ill design was
perceptible in the banditti. They guided him onwards, till they reached
a canal, loosened a gondola, placed themselves in it, and rowed till they
had gained the most remote quarter of Venice. They landed, threaded
several by-streets, and at length knocked at the door of a house of
inviting appearance. It was opened by a young woman, who conducted them
into a plain but comfortable chamber. Many were the looks of surprise
and inquiry which she cast on the bewildered, half-pleased, half-anxious
Abellino, who knew not whither he had been conveyed, and still thought it
unsafe to confide entirely in the promises of the banditti.