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.