Chapter THE NINTH: The Story of Guiseppo

“On the day my young Lord--so I must still call him--was doomed to die by the Duke and Lords of Florence, I felt very dull, and the brightest piece of gold in the wide world would not have hired me to smile. And as for laughing--St. Guiseppo, that came not with my thoughts!

(Rosalind very quietly asked if nothing could have made him smile? He pressed his lips to hers and did not dispute the matter any further.)

“Being in this melancholy mood, I requested permission of my gracious master the Duke, to visit Lord Adrian that night. My request was granted.

“It was but half an hour after midnight, that I stood at the door of the Doomed Cell, where I learned, to my great regret, that the Duke had just departed, leaving his commands that no one should see the prisoner until morrow. There was an order of state affixed to the door to that effect, having the private seal of the Duke impressed upon it.

“No sooner had I perused this paper of state--thou knowest, Rosalind, that I can both read and write--thanks to Count Aldarin, who taught me, with much care and not a little pains--no sooner had I perused this paper of state, then unslinging my cloak of blue velvet and silver embroidery, I assumed all the pertness of a page at court, as I cried--Stand aside, Sir Beetle-brow, and make room for my couch--and you, gallant sir, of the squinting orb, be pleased to shift your lazy carcass an inch or so, an’ it suits you.

“The beetle-browed sentinel Balvardo, and his companion Hugo of the sinister eye, looked upon me with the most unfeigned astonishment, as throwing my cloak upon the stone pavement, I proceeded to lay my person upon its bedizened folds.”

“Well, Sir Malapert,” cried Balvardo, “thou art surely moonstruck. In the fiend’s name what mean you by thus sprawling out upon the pavement, like a cat near the end of her ninth life, eh, Sir Page?”

Here Hugo chimed in with his say, consisting of a “by’r Lady!” expressed in tones of the most interesting wonder, which he finished with a “w-h-e-w!” given with twisted lips and great musical effect.

“Why, noble Sir, of the bull-head,” I answered, “and right worthy Sir of the Squinting Orb, I intend to watch the coming forth of my Lord Adrian, an’ it please your lordships--and, as I wish to sleep, I will thank thee Balvardo to turn thy ugly visage another way, for, an’ I shut my eyes after looking at thee I’ll be certain to dream of half-a-dozen devils or so. Hugo _do_ try and look straight ahead for only an instant, or the warriors in my dreams will all be cross-eyed--by St. Guiseppo!”

“‘Hist! thou magpie,’ exclaimed Hugo, ‘hear’st thou not a noise, Balvardo?’”

“The sound that rivetted Hugo’s ear, proceeded from the Doomed Cell, and was certainly the most curious of all sounds. It was not exactly like the mewing of a cat, neither did it altogether resemble the howling of a cur and it certainly did not sound like the bellowing of a bull, or the chattering of a magpie, yet in good sooth, it seemed as if all these noises had been caught and put in a sack, and having been shaken well together, produced the most infernal discord that ever saluted mortal ear.

“‘The Saints preserve us!’ shrieked Balvardo. ‘Surely the devil has taken possession of the murderer--hark _how_ he howls!’

“‘_He_ indeed!’ cried Hugo, ‘it’s not only _he_; by’r Lady, there’s a score of them. There it goes again. Beshrew thee but, ’tis like the howl of a whipped cur--’

“‘Nay Hugo, nay Hugo, ’tis like the spitting and mewing of an hundred cats.’

“‘Or the chattering of a score of magpies.’

“‘Now it bellows like a bull.’

“‘St. Peter be good to us!’ exclaimed Balvardo, as the howling grew louder and louder. ‘It is the yelling of devils, and naught else. Hark! Didst ever hear such a horrible noise, Sir Page?’

“I answered his question by repeated bursts of laughter; for although my heart was full heavy at the fate of Adrian Di Albarone, yet for my soul I could not hear such whimsical sounds without giving full rein to my laughing humor.

“Suddenly the noise ceased. In an instant a voice shouted from the inside of the Cell--‘Ho! guards, without there! guards!’

“I was thunderstruck at the tones of this voice, which I at once knew could not belong to the Doomed Adrian.

“‘Well!’ exclaimed Balvardo, ‘if the devil hasn’t stolen the voice of our gracious Lord the Duke!’”

Hugo pursed up his lips and gave his musical “whew!” which intended to express astonishment itself astonished.

“‘W-h-e-w!--By’r Lady, but the devil _does_ speak in the voice of our Lord the Duke.’

“‘_I am the Duke of Florence!_’--shouted the voice from the cell. ‘Open the door, ye slaves!’

“‘Avoid the Sathanas!’ quoth Balvardo.

“‘Be quiet, fiend!’ cried Hugo.

“Exquisite sport--exquisite!” muttered I to myself, as a curious idea flitted through my brain, “Ho--ho--ho! The Duke of Florence locked up in one of his own prisons! Ha--ha--ha!”

“Louder rose the voice within the cell, and louder and fiercer swelled the exclamations of the sentinels; until having strained every bone in my body, with excessive laughter, I fell asleep thro’ mere weariness.

“When I awoke, the first beams of morning were streaming along the prison galleries, and engaged in earnest converse with Hugo and Balvardo stood the ill-looking, wry-mouthed, and hump backed Doomsman of Florence.

“‘The irons are hot, and the wheel is ready,’ said the deformed caitiff, bring your prisoner forth. The cauldron of lead is hissing and seething while it awaits his coming. ’Tis long since I’ve tried my hand upon one of noble blood. Bring forth this noble boy, and let me see what mettle his flesh is made of. Thanks, Balvardo--thanks, Hugo, for ’twas ye that gave him to the Doomsman!’

“Here the villain performed several very graceful actions, such as tying an imaginary knot around his neck, with a ‘chick’, and then rehearsing in dumb show the whole process of punishment upon the wheel; concluding with an animated waving, pushing and thrusting of his hands, descriptive of the entire manner of disemboweling.

“And this, this was to be the fate of Adrian Lord of Albarone!

“Meanwhile Hugo had unlocked the door of the Doomed Cell, and, called the name of the prisoner without receiving an answer.

“‘I’ll wake him,’ quoth the Doomsman, entering the cell; ‘see! he lays flat upon his face. Get up, Sir Parricide; get up. There--there,’ he concluded, bestowing a few kicks upon the prostrate occupant of the cell.

“The prisoner replied with a groan.

“‘Ho! ho!--You will not stir, will you?’ continued the Doomsman, as he dragged the prisoner from the cell into the gallery:--‘See, Hugo, how the caitiff’s hat is slouched over his face, and his hands are bound with his own belt. By St. Judas, this is a rare sight!’

“‘His hands bound!’ exclaimed Balvardo. ‘This is not my work!’

“‘Nor mine!’ responded Hugo.

“‘Remove his slouched hat, one of ye,’ exclaimed the Doomsman, ‘see ye not that both of my hands are employed in holding his carcass.’

“Hugo reached forth his hand and removed his slouched hat--‘O! an’ I live till fourscore, I’ll never forget the scene that followed.’

“There, his arms ignominiously bound, resting in the embrace of the Doomsman, lay the Duke of Florence, his face pale with ire, his mouth frothing like a madman’s, and his eyes bloodshot; and there stood the Doomsman, his gray eyes protruding with astonishment, until they seemed about to drop from their sockets, his mouth agape and his tongue lolling out upon his bearded chin; and there, likewise, stood Hugo and Balvardo, looking first at one another, then at the Duke, and then clasping their hands, they fall upon their knees and screaming for mercy--and there in the back-ground, his cloak muffled over his face, and his frame shaking with laughter while his eyes run over with tears of mirth, stands his grace’s page, the trim Guiseppo. Was’t not a rich scene, Rosalind?”