CHAPTER LVII. THE DUEL
The Italian sportsman does not pursue the partridge in the thicket, butafter covering up the waters of all the small pools save one, he thereawaits his sport with shot, with net, or with bird-lime, at the momentthat the innocent creature seeks refuge and refreshment. It is duringthe sultry hours that the ploughman lies in wait at the watering-place,to restore his rebel oxen to the yoke from which they have escaped. Thecorsair, who would be in vain sought on the ocean, is trapped at themouth of his hiding place, to which he conducts his prey.
Such was the reasoning of our four Romans as regards Prince T-, for whomthey vainly sought in every hole and corner. After they had discoveredand sent home the cut-throats of the Holy Office, through the forcedassistance of Cencio, they placed themselves on the lookout, in thevicinity of the Victoria Hotel, awaiting the appearance of T-. In fact,about twelve o'clock, he made his appearance, and was followed to hisroom by his friends, who made him acquainted with the design of theassassin, and other circumstances.
The Prince was too reserved to inform his friends of his approachingduel, especially Orazio, whose ardent nature he well knew, and who wouldnot have yielded to any other the office of second; still he needed asecond, and taking advantage of a moment's animated discussion among hiscompanions, he summoned Attilio to the balcony by a glance, and askedhim to remain with him for that night. Orazio, Muzio, and Gasparofinally took leave, and Attilio remained, under pretext of particularbusiness.
At the first dawn of day, a young man in a red shirt knocked at the doorof a room marked No. 8 in the Victoria Hotel, and presented toPrince T------ a cartel, signed Morosini, and thus worded:--
"I accept your challenge, and await you at the door of your hotel in mygondola. I have weapons with me, but you had better bring your own,in case mine should not be suitable. The seconds will regulate theconditions of the duel.
"Morosini."
After the Prince had risen, and summoned Attilio, he introduced him tothe second of Morosini, and in a few minutes the conditions were settledas to arms, which were to be pistols; distance, twenty steps, to bewalked over, firing _a volonte_. The ground chosen was behind theMurazzi, to which the combatants could immediately repair.
And truly, when one has to die, or to kill, it is best over as soon aspossible, because even the stoutest hearts are disinclined to eitheralternative, and wish the time of expectancy abridged.
What shall I say of duelling? I have always thought it disgraceful thatmen can not come to an understanding without killing one another. But,on the other hand, it is not time for us, who are still oppressed bythe powerful of the earth, still the despised of Europe, to preachindividual or general peace, to advocate the forgiveness of privateoutrages, when we are often so publicly outraged. We, who are trampledupon in our rights, our consciences, our honor, by the vilest sectionof our nation--we, who, in order to be allowed life, consideration, andprotection, are compelled to debase ourselves, must not quite despoilourselves of our one protection!
Away with duelling, then, when we shall have a constitution, awell-organized government--when we shall enjoy our rights within as wellas without; but, in the present dangerous times for honor and right, wecan not proclaim peace.
Meanwhile, the gondolas carrying the combatants proceeded towardsthe Murazzi, the rowers for some time coasting the immense rampartconstructed by the Venetian republic as a defense against the fury ofthe Adriatic, and finally disembarking their passengers on the desertedshore, which is dry when the north winds or the siroccos blow.
The antagonists leaped on the sand, chose a convenient place, and, afterhaving measured twenty steps, the seconds handed the pistols to theprincipals, who placed themselves on the two spots marked on the sand.Attilio had to clap his hands three times, and at the third signal thecombatants were to walk forward and fire a volonte. Already two signalswere given; Attilio's hands were again raised to make the third, when avoice cried, from the spot where the gondolas awaited, "Hold!"
The four men all turned in that direction, and saw one of thegondoliers, a venerable, gray-haired man, who was advancing towards them.
"Hold!" repeated the old man; and he came forward without stopping untilhe stood between the two antagonists. Then he spoke, with a somewhatfaltering voice, yet still in a manly tone, with such force as couldhardly have been expected in one of his breeding and age-
"Hold! sons of one mother! The act you are about to accomplish willstain one of you with the blood of a compatriot--blood which might flowfor the welfare of this unhappy land, which has still so much to do ereshe can attain the independence she has aimed at for so many centuries.The vanquished will pass away without one word of love or blessing fromthose dear to him; the victor will remain for life with the sting ofremorse in his heart. You, by whose bronzed and noble face I recognizea child of this unhappy land, has not Italy still many enemies? does shenot need all her offspring to loosen the chains of centuries? Abandon,then, this fraticidal struggle, I beseech you, in the name of our commonmother! Why should you gratify the enemies of Italy by the murder of herfriends? You came forth antagonists, return companions and brothers!"
The waves of the Adriatic were breaking with more effect against therocks that border Murazzi than the patriotic and humane words of theold man on the obstinate will of the two angry compatriots; and, witha certain aristocratic impulse of pride, the Prince exclaimed to hiscounsellor "Retire!"
The seconds recommenced with the same number of signals as before, andat the third the adversaries marched towards one another, with pistolcocked in the right hand, with eyes unflinchingly fixed on each other,and with the deliberate intention of homicide. About the twelfth stepthe Prince fired, his ball grazed the side of Morosini's neck, bloodflowed, but the wound was slight. The soldier of Calatafimi, cooler thanhis antagonist, approached closer. At about eight paces he fired, andthe brother of Irene sank on the ground--the ball had pierced his heart.
The Holy Office of the Vatican laughed at the news, with the infernaljoy which it experiences every time that blood shed by private discordreddens the unhappy soil.
And who spilt that Italian blood? An Italian hand, alas! consecrated tothe redemption of his country. How often it has been thus!
Rule of the Monk; Or, Rome in the Nineteenth Century Page 58