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lit Bran of laples.
by ALEXANDRE DUMAS*
* CHAPTER L
THE WALK ON THE! BEACH.
®N the 6th of July, 1C47, two
women furtively issued,
somewhat late in the day,
from the palace of the Vica
ria, that ancient residence
of the kings of the Two
Sicilies, which is known at
present by the name of Cas
tel Capuano, and which now
serves as a court of justice to modern
Naples.
The two persons in question, one of whom
was a young girl of 18, and was dressed in
the picturesque costume of a Neapolitan
merchant’s daughter, while her companion
had the appearance of her nurse, immedi
ately dived into a labyrinth of steep and
narrow streets, paved with dingy looking
flagstones, and in which the population of
Naples began to assemble from all parts,
now that the burning heat of the day was
beginning to abate.
After walking for about ten minutes they
J| descended a rapid slope, and found them-
- Ives on the harbor. Suddenly the young
girl seized her companion’s arm and ex
claimed:
“Oh, heaven! what do I see? Look!’’
She pointed toward the bay, where Dame
Pedrilla saw a line of Spanish galleons sail
ing about, with their bright colored stream
ers floating in the evening breeze.
“It is the squadron of Don Juan Fernan
dez—be is come!” added the young girl in a
voice full of emotion.
“Mercy on us! Let us return to the pal
ace immediately, or wo shall be lost,” said
the nurse.
“How so?” asked the young girl, who
ioemed to have recovered a little from her
fright.
“Need you ask?” said the old nurse, with
amazement.
“Why, what have we to fear?”
“In a few moments your future husband
will disembark, and the viceroy will neces
sarily ask for you.”
“Well, Inez has orders to say that I keep
my room through illness, and that 1 can see
no one.”
“Reflect well, my dear Isabella; on an
occasion like this, the arrival of your future
husband, the viceroy will surely insist on
your appearing.”
“Fear nothing; Inez will say that 1 am
asleep, and my father would not think of
disturbing my repose.”
The daughter of the duke of Arcos—for it
is she whom we thus find traversing the
streets of Naples under the costume of a
common tradesman’s daughter—again took
tho arm of het nurse, and they both con
tinued walking along the quay.
■I They wore soon out of the town, and con
f tinued to pursue their way on that part of
the beach called the Mergellina.
At first Isabella took no notice of the
duenna’s piteous exclamations; but they be
came so frequent, and the old woman
trembled so excessively, that Isabella sud
denly stopped, and, stamping on the ground
with lmr foot, exclaimed: “You begin to
tiu me; 1 will take upon myself to shield
you from all disagreeable consequences; so,
silence!”
Dame Pedrilla sighed.
“Come, daughter,” said she, “fly not into
a passion, hut be reasonable. Did I ever
give you any advice but what w-as good and
prudentr
“There you are right, nurse, and lam
always most willing to follow it, unless it is
too good and too prudent. We will return
to the palace before nightfall, you may rely
on it. But, apropos, what was this riot?
My father was all day away at the council,
and so l could ascertain nothing from him.”
Isabella evid ntly wished to give the con
versation a different turn, and to make a
diversion in favor of her nurse’s fears.
“I thought you had heard all the particu
lar of it," answered Pedrilla.
A’: ! know is, that the people appear dis
satisiio.i with my father.”
“Yes, the\ are, but the viceroy laughs at
them, and lie is right.”
“No; he is wrong,” replied Isabel.a.
“Gracious goodness! why, it would be
ridiculous for him to cure one straw‘about
the brawlings of such a rabble—a set of
drunkards and tatterdemalions, who, all put
together, are not worth a single maravedi.”
“Silence! you know that I do not. like such
W, “Yes, I know. Jeanne’s brother, your fine
fisherman, biases your mind, and represents
all these lazaroni to you as so many saints,
w Mle there is not one of them who does not
deserve to be hanged.”
“But w at if they are hurried on to crime
by the harshness with which their misery is
treated?”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Pedr’lla.
“We shall never agree on this head, nurse.
But, tell me, what was the cause of the
riot?”
“A peasant girl, who was carrying a
basket of fruit this morning along the mar
ket p!ace, could not pay the dues; the col
lectors of the customs therefore seized her
basket, and turned her out of the market.”
“Poor woman!”
“Slie ought to have remained at home,”
observed Pedrilla.
“Put to take her fruit! the only means
p Thaps had of keeping herself from dy
-I:‘g of hunger.”
“Tush! it was a got up affair. The fruit
had scarcely been confiscated, when a whole ,
horde of scoundrels rushed to the defense cf
this woman, pillaged the office of the ro
coivcr general, and hastened to the Church
of Santo Domenico, where the viceroy was
mass. They waited for him under
hie portico, surrounded him with the most
frightful exclamations and Tore from him,
by their menaces, the promise that he would
a bolish the tax on fruit.”
“By their menaces? Are you quite sure of
I that?”
“I suppose so, at least. Is it possible for
hiem to act otherwise? But once within his
palace the viceroy ordered his guards to
charge these rips, and the tax is now as
in vogue as ever.”
“After iny father had given his word? Is
tt Possible?”
“vJertainly it is; they withdrew hqwling
uko wild beasts, and force remained with
right.”
W hat right?” said Isabella, sighing; “that
hta question. But, come, let us hasten ou;
I am desirous of learning what our. friends
yond r think of all this.”
“V* hat!”'exclaimed Pedrilla; “is it your
intention to go its far os the fisherman’s hut
this evening?”
“Host assuredly it is.”
“Are you serious, Isabella? The sun is
sinking fast, and it would be dangerous for
us, after what has happened today, to be
overtaken by night in the s reets of Naples.”
“Fear nothing; we shall have some one to
accompany us on our return. Besides, there
is no cause for alarm with respect to the
arrival of Don Juan Fernandez. All vessels,
you know, coming from iSjMiin, are forced to
perform quarantine.”
“True; 1 had forgotten that."
“You see, then, that w$ can go in all safety
to the hut. I have not seen Jeanne for a
week.”
“Isabelle, is it really on Jeanne’s account
that we take such frequent walks on the
beach? Is it really on Jeanne’s account that
a high bory lady of Spain, that Isabella
d’Arcos treads under foot all the rules of
etiquette, and assumes a costume uiike un
worthy of her rank and birth?”
“On what other person’s account should it
be then C asked the young girl, with a blush,
which she tried to keep down by forcibly
laughing at her nurse’s attempts at re
monstrance.
Pedrilla saw that it would bo useless to say
more, so she patiently followed her mistress,
who set off running along tho road, as happy
as a lark escaped from prison, and as light us
a hind bounding through a glade Every
now and then she stopped, in order to give
Pedrilla time to rejoin her; and, while wait
ing for the duenna, she would gaze with
rapture on the beautiful scenery that sur
rounded her.
Before her was the azure bay, in which
were seen in the distance the little verdant
islands of Procida, Ischia and Capri, three
graceful emeralds, placed there on purpose
to break the uniformity of this ocean of
sapphires.
On her left, Vesuvius raised its majestic
headland the setting sun crowned it with a
diadem of gold and fire; and behind her, on
the declivity of Its hills, lay Naples, in the
form of an amphitheatre—Naples, that frag
ment of heaven, fallen by accident to the
earth —Naples, that ever smiling city, the
foot of which is washed by the finest sea of
all the world, and whose head is hidden like
a driad beneath the shade of Pausilippo.
CHAPTER 11.
TIIE TEMPEST.
The Duke of Arcos had governed tho peo
ple of Naples for the last three years, and
this was not the first time that Isabella had
heard their words of complaint and cries of
distress. Either from want of energy or ex
cess of love, the viceroy allowed his daughter
to do pretty much as she liked; and she bad
long since given a proof of the liberty she en
joyed by entirely breaking off with her
maids of honor, to form elsewhere acquaint
ances more in unison with her ideas and
tastes.
On hoaring that the people were oppressed,
she resolved to examine their condition and
prove for herself their misery; and this was
one of the causes of her mysterious walks
about the city of Naples.
Her *,wo confidants were Dame Pedrilla
and a sly young Castilian, named Inez, the
same who was at present fulfilling the func
tions of Cerberus at the door of her apart
ments.
Dressed in a costume beneath which it was
impossible to recognize her, the daughter of
the viceroy fearlessly visited the steep and
somber streets of Naples, which form a con
tinual staircase that you ascend and descend
in turn.
At other times she mixed with the labo
rious population of the harbor, and w r hen she
met with any one in need of assistance Dame
Pedrilla drew forth a purse, and a few' Span
ish ducats were slipped into the hands of the
unfortunate person, who w r as hardly ever
allowed time to express his thanks, for Isa
bella immediately disappeared, and w r as soon
beyond the reach of all words of gratitude.
But Isabella’s benevolence was more par
ticularly exercised in favor of those fisher
men who then lived outside the city, and
whose wretched cabins, scattered about the
Mergellina, betrayed great indigence, if not
complete destitution.
One day, as she was leaving one of these
cabins with a joyful heart, for she had just
saved a whole family from ruin, she ex
pressed a wish to go out for a sail on the
bay, and run over to Procida to eat oranges
there.
Pedrilla and she, therefore, went down to
the shore, and begged a young fisherman
who was mending his nets to convey them to
the island in his bark.
“I will do so willingly,” replied he, with
out quitting his work. “The sea is calm, and
I was about to take my sister Jeanne out for
a little trip. So, if you like to go as far as
my but yonder and fetch Jeanne, we will set
out directly.”
Isabella ran off in the direction mentioned
by the fisherman, and soon returned, accom
panied by a tall, handsome girl, with a seri
ous expression of countenance and proud,
noble look, resembling a princess hidden be
neath the poor attire of a woman of the
lower classes.
“Good evening, Jeanne,” said the fisherman
to his sister as she approached.
“Good evening, brother,” replied Jeanne,
offering her fine forehead to her brother’s
lips. “You’ve not been lucky, I see.”
“No, Jeanne, l have not. 1 caught a mag
nificent salmon, but he broke through my
net at the very moment I was about to drag
him into my boat. He got off quite safe, and
this will cost me two days’ work. Ido not
complain. When the slave breaks his chain
it is his master who suffers; it is but just.
Has Dorn Francesco been here?”
“Yes, brother, and he left this letter for
you.”
The young fisherman took the paper which
Jeanne offered him and attentively perused
its contents.
“Dom Francesco,” said he, ‘'cannot come
for a week, and he begs in.* to visit him at
his convent to-tnorrow. 1 wonder whether
he’s ill.”
“Alas!” replied Jeanne, “that would be all
that is wanting to complete our misery.”
“Tranquiliza yourself. I recollect now
that he has shut himself up to finish his great
work, before submitting it to the court of
Rome. Rut you appear melancholy, Jeanne.
What is the matter wi.li you? Pietro came,
no doubt, to see you yesterday, as he
promised.”
“Pietro was seriously wounded last night
by the soldiers of the viceroy,” replied Jeanne.
“Heavens! what do J hear?”
“It was his father himself who came and
told me of it. I immediately hastened to
their cabin and dressed his wounds.”
“Kind, good girl! your presence, doubt
less, proved a salutary balm to him. But do
you care much about the trip 1 promised
you?” added he in a low voice, taking his
sister aside. “Don't you think that I should
do better to go and pay the wounded man a
visit”
“No, for he lias just got some rest, and
muyt not be disturbed. Besides, we have not
a farthing in the house, all Pietro’s things
have been seized, and he also is without
money. I bwe not been able to go to mar
ket, and it will, you say, take you two
day 3 to repair your nets. 80, how aro wo to
live till then? These two persons will, of
course, give you something for taking them
to the islaa 1."
“You ar* right, sister. We must try, in
the first place, not to die of starvation.”
He picked up his nets, and loosened the
cable by which the bark was tied to the shore,
while Jeanne aided Isabella and Pedrilla to
take their places in the little craft.
Tnev seated themselves at one end of it.
and the fisherman took up his station at the
other. He unfurled his triangular sail, seized
the rudder, and the light bark, skimming the
water’s surface like a sea rnew, immediately
bore away toward Procida.
Isabella, as may lie imagined, had been
struck by certain remarks which fell from
Jeanne in the course of the conversation she
had with her brother before quitting the
shore. She was desirous of knowing why
the soldiers of her father bad, the night be
fore, wounded a man in whom the fisherman
and his sister seemed to take so great an in
terest. Isabella hesitated a long while, for
the brother’s countenance was overcast, and
the sister appeared pensive; neither seemed
disposed to enter into conversation. At last,
however, Isabella ventured to break the
silenca
“If you will tell me your name,” said she
to the young inan, “I shall be happy to send
you those of my friends who may be desirous
of sailing about the bay.”
“My name is Thomas Aniello, senora,” said
the fisherman, “but my companions call me
Masaniello.”
“Why do you call me senora V' asked Isa
bella.
“Because you have a Spanish accent. Be
sides, I heard you just now address a few
words in Castilian to the person who is with
you.”
“Oh!” said Isabella, much confused; “you
understand Castilian, then?”
“Yes,” replied Masaniello; “the slave ought
ever to know how to sj>eak the language of
his masters. It is a means of being the bet
ter able to serve them, when they are kind
hearted, and of more easily demanding jus
tice when they are tyrannical.”
A deep carnation covered the cheeks of the
young girl, for while Masaniello and his sis
ter were talking of their own affairs, she
recollected having said to her nurse: “What
a pity it is that a handsome young man like
this should wear the woolen cap und the ugly
canvas jacket of a common sailor! A more
accomplished cavalier could not be found at
court. ”
Her embarrassment was, therefore, ex
treme, when she learned that Masaniello
had understood this phrase; but hs the young
man, who continued to look grave, seemed
to pay little attention to the stranger’s opin
ion of his person, Isabella soon gained cour
age to go on with the conversation.
“You are right,” said she, “I am Spanish,
and my father is an officer in the viceroy’s
guards. I was therefore much grieved just
now to hear that some soldiers, who are
perhaps commanded by my father, had
wounded a person who seems dear to you.
Let me know the place where the attack was
made, as well as the corps to which these
soldiers belong, and 1 give you my word of
honor that they shall be punished.”
“These soldiers only obeyed their orders,
senora,” replied the fisherman; “it is not
they, therefore, who are guilty. They are
but passive instruments in the hands of
tyranny, and it is with this tyranny itself
that we must cope hand to hand.”
“With the viceroy?” exclaimed the young
girl, in a voice full of emotion.
“Yes, senora; with the viceroy!”
“What do you reproach him with, then?”
“I reproach him with making the people
groan beneath the weight of the taxes heaped
upon them.”
“But he acts in the name of Spain; it is
not he whom you ought to accuse.”
“ ’Tis he alone that 1 accuse. And it is too
much the interest of Spain to preserve her
conquest, for her not to disavow his malad
ministration and his vile, unbearable despot
ism, which, if continued, will someday force
the people of Naples to revolt.”
“Great heaven! can this be true?”
“Senora, you will be of my opinion, when
you have heard how Pietro Luis been treated.”
“Speak?” said Isabella, trembling with
emotion.
“Pietro,” began the fisherman, “has been
my friend since childhood. We are both
from Amalfi, and lie came last year to Na
ples, where ho hoped, by his lubor, to keep
himself from want. But at Naples labor
produces nothing, and only leads to ruin.”
“How so?” asked Isabella.
“You shall hear,” replied the fisherman.
“Pietro had an aged father to support. He
first of all turned laborer, so that he might
scrape together enough money to buy a boat
with. By dint of hard work and privations
he succeeded, and then he came and built a
hut next to mine. The viceroy issued two
edicts, one after the other, about this time.
The first of them announced that every fish
erman possessing a boat should pay an an
nual tax of sixty silver reals, and, by the
second, ail the cabins built along the shore
were subjected to a duty of from twenty to
thirty ducats, according to their size. Thus
Pietro and 1 had, each of us, to pay annually
to the fisc about two hundred reals, that is,
much more than we make by our trade.”
“Merciful powers! But did you make no
representations to the viceroy?”
“The viceroy turns a deaf ear to all com
plaints, and only thinks of enriching himself
with our spoils. His yearly allowance is a
hundred thousand ducats, and he sends an
nually to Spain thirty ships, each loaded
with three millions of piasters. Reflect on
the largeness of the sum! For it is out of
the people of Naples that all this gold is
sweated!”
Isabella turned pale, but kept silent.
“When called upon to pay I, heaven be
thanked, was ready; for Jeanne is an angel,
and courageously gets up every morning at
5 o’clock to go and sell her fruit at the mar
ket of Naples. No tax has as yet been put
on this calling. Fruit forms almost the sole
food of the people; and the government
merely hesitates, because it is afraid to at
tack them in their very existence. Oh! if
our tyrants were ever mad enough to do
that!”
Jeanne raised her fine and melancholy
head, and, looking at her brother, said;
“The tax on fruit will be decree J this week:
it was said so at the market yesterday.”
“Great Heaven! it is impossible!” ex
claimed the daughter of the viceroy.
“Everything is possible to insensate power,
which ever refuses to see the light,” replied
Masaniello. “But to return to Pietro: 1 had
200 reals by me, but he, poor fell was far
from possessing such a sum. With his face
bathed in tears, he f ll on his knees before
the tax gatherers, who were taking away his
furniture, and implored them to leave him,
at least, the bed of his poor old father; but
he prayed in vain. In his rage, therefore, he
seized his musket, and 1 arrived just in time
to prevent the perpetration of a murder, for
his musket was already leveled at the de
spoilers of his hut. 1 seized his arm, saying:
‘Patience, Pietro: these are not the persons
you must punish.’ His boat was taken along
vith the rest. He was now entirely without
the means of living, so he turned smuggler,
but he is not, for all that, one bit the less an
honest man. Do you not now believe, senora,”
continued the fisherman, “that the 50,000
others who have been treated like Pietro will
some day rise up, and, in their 'turn, crush
those by whom thev have been oppressed so
long?”
“I believe,” answered Isabella, “that if
the Duke of Arcos were informed of the real
state of tbiugs, he would prevent all revolt
by doing the people justice.”
“May Heaven inspire him!” said the fish
erman.
Five minutes afterward, Isabella skipped
lightly out of the boat, and taking the hand
of Masaniello’s sister, so>n disappeared be
neath the shady trees of the island of Pro
cida.
As soon as they were well laden with or
anges, which they had bought of the peasant
girls, they hastened to return to the seashore.
As they approached within sight, they ob
served Masaniello, who had remained in the
boat, waving a piece of sail as a signal of
distress.
“Make haste!” cried be, as soon as they
were within bearing. “The sky looks threat
ening, and the sea begins to swell.”
“Mercy on us!” said Dame Pedrilla, mak
ing the sign of the cross. “It would be bet
ter for us perhaps to remain on the island.”
“Make up your mind us to what you mein
to do,” said Masaniello. “As for Jeanne and
myself, we shall leave, happen what may.”
“Then you don’t think there is aniy danger?”
asked the viceroy’s daughter.
“I think we shall have a tempest. But we
shall brave it, shall we not, Jeanne?”
“Oh! yes.”
“And so will I,” said Isabella, leaping into
the bark.
“My child, you are mad!” cried Dame Pe
drilla, in the greatest alarm.
“You can remain behind,” said the fisher
man to the duenna; “but we have no time to
lose, so you must be quick, if you are coming
with us.”
“I order you to come,” said Isabella im
periously.
Dame Pedrilla obeyed, but she really
thought her Just hour was come. She there
fore drew forth her rosary, ami began to in
voke every saint with whose name she was
acquainted.
The sun had disappeared, and the sea now
began to assume that greenish tint which an
nounces the approach of dreadful disorder in
its fathomless depths. The foaming waves
dashed boisterously against the sides of the
frail bark, and the sea mew shrieked forth
its shrill notes, as it flew backward and for
ward over the heads of the fisherman and
his companions.
Masaniello, stationed at the stern of the
boat, grasped the rudder with a steady hand,
and dexterously guided his bark through the
roaring billows. His look was intrepid, and
his bearing noble.
“How is it,” said Isabella to him, “that
you still follow the calling of a fisherman,
when you might aspire to a more lucrative
and less perilous profession 7”
“Because it gives me freedom,” said the
young man. “There is no profession which
the foreign domination now exercised at
Naples would allow me to follow without a
blush.”
“What do you mean?” asked Isabella.
“When the poor man,” continued Masa
niello, “renounces manual labor, he has but
two resources left him—domestic or military
service; but the former is the worst of
slavery, for it degrades aud dishonors him.”
“Well,” added Isabella, “but what say you
to the military profession?”
“It is,” answered Masaniello, “a holy one,
when it calls on 3-011 to deliver your country,
but a cowardly one, w-hen it merely serves
to oppress it. The oul3 T profession which
would have suited me,” continued the fisher
man, “is that of an artist. Twenty times
has the celebrated painter, Salvator Rosa,
sketched before 1113- eyes, in this very bark,
the majestic views by which we ore sur
rounded. ”
“Why did you not become his pupil, then?”
asked Isabella.
“I contented m3 T self with being his friend,”
replied Masaniello, “for it was too late to
begin to studv*. He also advised me to enter
the army; but he soon understood my aver
sion to do so, for he, too, loves liberty, and
abhors despotism. No, no! I would sooner
starve than serve under the viceroy.”
“You hate the viceroy, then?”
“1 hate injustice and t3 r ranny.”
These words were exchanged in the midst
of the noise caused b3 T the thunder and lae
roaring of the waves; but Isabella paid no
attention to the storm: she was entirety ab
sorbed by contemplating the pilot of the lit
tle argosy.
“How handsome! how grand he looks!”
thought she.
The violence of the tempest increased;
flash upon flash of lightning turned the
gloomy heavens into a vivid glare; the
thunder rolled forth its heavy peals in quick
succession, and seemed to whirl the wind
along like monster cannon balls before it, so
boisterousty did it blow. The waves, too,
rose like precipices, touching the skies; and
as one of these living mountains appeared
about to fall on Isabella’s head, she suddenly
3-ielded to her fright, uttered a shriek, and
fell, half dead, into Masaniello’s arms. A
' v AA 1 -
And fell , half dead, into Masaniello'a
arm3.
sort of electric shock ran through the bodies
of these two beings. The Spanish noble’s
daughter and the offspring of the poor man
felt that they were about to love!
CHAPTER 111.
THE CABIN ON THE MERGELLINA.
Ten minutes afterward, Masaniello brought
his bark and its occupants safely into the
roadstead of Pozzuoli. They immediately
set oti for Naples, whence they were distant
two go :>d leagues. Such was the origin of
the singular acquaintance which was formed
between the daughter of the viceroy and the
poor fisherman and his sister.
From that time Isabella constantly en
deavored to inspire her father with some
compassion for the misery of the people. But
the viceroy of Naples, whose policj was in
spired by a cold, unrelenting nature, and
whose heart was closed to every generous
feeling, facetiously*jokad his daughter on her
new “hobby;” and when she hinted at the
possibility of a revolt, he replied, with a
burst of laughter:
“The people, my dear child, are like a beast
of burden—the more you load them, the less
will they kick.”
A few da\*s after her attempt to convert
her father, Isabella, who strove to persuade
herself that she was attracted by the sister
rather than bj r the brother, paid another visit,
with Dame Pedrilla, to the cabin of
Masaniello.
As they ap;>touched, they perceived Jeanne
seated outside on a stone bench, w ith her face
buried in her hands. At the sound of the
visitors’ footsteps she rose up, and Isabella
then perceived that her face was bathed in
tear's.
"Merciful goodness! what is the matter
with youf' exclaimed Isabella, clasping
Jeanne to her bosom.
"Alas!" replied Jeanne, “had you come
sooner, you would perhaps hive hindered
him from leaving.”
“Who? M.asuniellor’
“Yes! we are ruined! He would listen to
nothing: but it is not to bo wondered at.”
“Come, tell me what has happened,
Jeanne,” said Isabella, taking he hand.
Masauiello’s sister rose up slowly, threw
the door of the cabin wide open, and said to
Isabella.
“Look!”
“Gracious Heaven 1 where is all your furni
ture?" exclaimed Lame Pedrilla, stupefied;
“there is nothing left but the bare walls!”
“Is it the people from the fisc who have
done tliis?" asked Isabella.
“Yes,” replied Jeanne; “they have taken
everything, and 1 passed the night on the
bare ground.”
“Oh! this is frightful!” said Isabella.
“But the seizure of our furniture is noth
ing in comparison with the rest. You don’t
know know all yet.”
“Heavens! What else has happened?”
“I had time to save two 'baskets of fruit
yesterday. They formed the sole resource
of us all, for Pietro, who was lately wounded
in a fray with the excise men, is not yet suf
ficiently recovered to do any kind of work.
It is we who have kept him till now, and this
is one of the reasons why we are not able to
pay the tax gatherer.”
“I understand your ruin luxs been the price
of a good action.”
“My brother,” continued Jeanne, “insisted
on accompanying me to the market. I
begged him not to do so, for I foresaw what
has happened. Oh, dear! oh, dear!”
“Go on, Jeanne,” said Isabella, with great
anxiety.
“Well, then, what I wanted was to obtain
permission from the head clerk at the fisc to
sell uiy fruit before paying the market dues,
which is contrary to custom. They not only
refused me, but one of the men there bru
tally wrested my baskets from me, and all
my fruit rolled into the gutter.”
“Poor girl!” said Isabella.
“As 1 have already told }'on,” continued
Jeanne, “my brother had insisted on ac
companying me, and in this lies the greatest
cause for regret. On seeing me so roughly
treated it was impossible for him to remain
quiet. His cheeks burned with rage, and
with one blow he felled to the ground the
man who had thrown my oranges and figs
into the gutter. Every one said my brother
was right, and 200 lazaroni, who cried aloud
for vengeance, immediately placed them
selves at his orders. The head clerk in
stantly took to flight with his men, and their
office was delivered to the flames,”
“A fine piece of work, indeed!” said Dame
Pedrilla.
“Silence!” replied Isabella, harshly. “You
must be either mad or void of all feeling to
talk thus.”
“When the outbreak was at its height,”
continued Jeanne, “some one cried out that
the Duke of Arcos was ut the Church of
Santo Domenico, and Masaniello exclaimed:
‘Brothers, let us go and see if the viceroy
has ordered cowardly custom house officers
to insult our wives and sisters.’ When the
viceroy left the church,” continued Jeanne,
“and was about to get into his carriage my
brother addressed him at the wish of the peo
ple. He did this with proper respect. He
held me by the hand, and I heard him relate
the circumstances to the viceroy as they had
happened. Oh! both his and the people’s t>e
havior merited something better than such
scandalous treachery as has been practiced
by the viceroy.”
“Treachery 1” said Isabella, with affright.
“Yes,” repeated Jeanne, “treachery; for
the duke thought our complaints well
founded; and when the crowd, ufter my
brother’s speech, exclaimed: ‘No more taxes!
no more taxes!’ the viceroy hastened to re
ply: ‘No, my friends, there shall be no more
taxes, be assured; I will immediately take
measures for abolishing every tax which
weighs on the indigent and laborious classes.
You ask for justice, and you shall have it; 1
give you m3' word for it.’ These words,”
continued Jeanne, “were received with cries
of enthusiasm. The viceroy got into his car
riage, and the people accompanied him to
the palace. But his carriage had scarcely
entered the Vicaria when a troop of mer
cenary German soldiers, supported by Span
ish arquebusiers, suddenly issued forth and
charged the inoffensive crowd. Women,
children and old men were alike shot down
and trampled under foot. I saw' all this my
self. Oh, ’twas horrible!”
Isabella took Jeanne tenderly by the hand
and asked her what had become of Mas
aniello.
“We were driven back to the harbor,
where, after u short deliberation, the people
resolved to rise in arras, and Masaniello was
chosen chief of the -revolt.”
“Great heaven! what do I hear?” ex
claimed Isabella. “Why did you not turn
him, on }'our knees, from such certain
ruin?”
“I did all that the love I bear him could
do, but he remained inflexible.”
“May heaven protect us all I” murmured
Isabella.
“He brought me back here,” continued
Jeanne, “and implored me not to attempt to
shake him in his purposa. ‘Have they not,’
said he, ‘taken everything from us? My boat
is seized, and we have neither bread nor the
means of earning any; and shall 1 see >'ou
die of want? Never. Under such circum
stances revolt is a sacred duty. I will de
liver Naples, and punish her tyrants.”
“But where is ho now?” asked Isabella,
anxioushn
“1 know not. He has not told me where
the conspirators are to meet.”
“But is he not coming back?”
“Yes; 1 am without a home for to-night;
he has undertaken to find me one.”
Isabella took her nurse aside, and said a
few words to her in a low voice. Dame
Pedrilla washed to offer some objections, but
Isabella immediately interrupted her, and,
throwing her a purse of money, said:
“It is my wish. Let everything bo herein
an hour.”
The duenna said not another word, but si
lently left the two 3’oung girls, and took the
road that led to Naples, while Isabella went
and sat down by the side of Jeanne on the
stone bench.
An hour afterward Dame Pedrilla came
back, followed by a cart and three porters.
The cart stopped before the cabin, and
Jeane cried out in amazement:
“It is our furniture! they have brought us
back our furniture!”
“And the\ T have not forgotten Masaniello’s
boat,” said Isabella, pointing to another cart,
which had stopped about a hundred yards
off.
The boat was taken out of the cart and put
into the sea again.
As her mistress had ordered her, Dame
Pedrilla had been to pay to the fisc the two
hundred reals, and redeemed all the objects
which had been seized the evening before.
“Oh! my benefactress!” cried Jeanne, her
eyes streaming with tears of joy, “how can 1
ever thank and bless you sufficiently?”
“Ycusioe, Jeanne,” replied Isabella, “the
harm done you is* repaired. You will now
be able to continue your customary mode of
life. Masaniello has no longer any reason
for encouraging the revolt, and he must now
appease the people,”
“Here ut* conies!” exclaimed Jeanne, with
an expression of joy.
And the young fisherman was perceived in
the distance, with a musket on his shoulder,
coming at a rapid pace in the direction of the
cabin.
CHAPTER IV.
THE CONSPIRATOR.
Isabella and Jeanne left the duenna at the
door, and ran to meet Masaniello. But, when
the\’ approached him. both of them shuddered,
and uttered simultaneousl}'a cry of terror.
The features of the young man were full of
terrib e animation; his eyes were bloodshot,
and it was easy to see that rage, hatred and
every other violent passion filled his breast.
“You here, seuora!” cried he, ’on recogniz
ing Isabella. “To-day is not a day for visits
and walking. You must return instantly to
the city, and take care to leave your father’s
bouse no more, for to-morrow carnage and
death will reign triumphant in the streets of
Naples.”
[TO HE CONTINUED.]
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