“What?” cried the Queen, “a man without dignity or heart who would have let d’Ascoli be hanged in mistake for himself without saying a word? And that I, daughter of Marie Thérèse, should be his wife! It is enough to make one doubt of Providence. Oh, if I were a man, if I wore a sword!”

  “It could not be better than this,” said Emma, playing with Nelson’s, “and, from the moment that this protects you, you have no need of another, thank God.”

  Nelson laid his hand on Emma’s head and gazed at her with an expression of infinite love.

  “Alas! dear Emma,” said he; “I also have my fears.”

  “You?” demanded Emma.

  “Oh, I guess what he desires to say,” cried the Queen, carrying her handkerchief to her eyes; “Oh, I weep, but with tears of rage....”

  “Yes, but I do not guess,” cried Emma. “Nelson, what do you mean by your fears; you must explain!” And, throwing an arm round his neck, and raising herself gracefully by it, she kissed his scarred forehead.

  “I only think of one fear,” she added; “that of being parted from you.”

  “You see then that you have guessed, Emma.”

  “To part!” cried she, with an admirably assumed expression of terror; “and who could part us now?”

  “Oh, Admiralty orders; a caprice of Mr. Pitt; could they not send me to capture Martinique, as they sent me to Calvi, Teneriffe, Aboukir?”

  “But you would not obey such an order, I hope? An order to leave me?”

  “Emma! Emma! do you not see that you are placing me between my duty and my love.... That is to make of me a traitor or to drive me to despair.”

  “Well,” replied Emma, “I admit that you cannot urge our mutual passion to His Majesty George III., but you could say: ‘My King, I do not wish to leave a Queen of whom I am the sole support, the sole defender;’ and if you, a subject, cannot speak thus, his foster-brother, Sir William, can.”

  “Nelson,” said the Queen; “perhaps I am very egotistical, but, if you do not protect us, we are lost; and when it is a question of saving a kingdom, do you not think a man of heart like you may risk something?”

  “You are right, madame,” replied Nelson; “I was thinking only of my love, my heart’s polar star. Your Majesty makes me very happy in showing me devotion where I saw but a passion. This very night I will finish a letter to Lord St. Vincent begging and praying him to attach me to your service; he will understand, he will write to the Admiralty.”

  “Do you realise, Nelson,” the queen went on, “how much we need you, and what immense services you can render us! In all probability we shall be obliged to leave Naples and go into exile.”

  “But if the King wished....”

  The Queen shook her head, and smiled sadly.

  “No, Nelson,” she said. “The Neapolitans hate me; they are a race jealous of all talent, beauty and courage; they hate Acton because he was born in France; Emma because she was born in England; me because I was born in Austria. Suppose that if by a courageous effort of which he is incapable the King rallies-the débris of the army and checks the Jacobins in the Abruzzi, the Jacobins here will profit by the absence of the troops and rise, and then the horrors of France in 1792 and 1793 will be repeated. The King is shielded by his nationality, his lazzaroni adore him, but we others are lost. Would it not be a great role reserved for you by Providence, dear Nelson, should you be able to do for me what none of her protectors were able to do for my sister the Queen of France.”

  “It would be glory too great, an eternal glory to which I do not aspire, madame,” replied Nelson.

  “Then should you not give due weight to this,” the Queen went on, “that it is through our devotion to England that, we are compromised? If, faithful to its treaties with the Republic, the Government of the Two Sicilies had refused you permission to take in water, stores and to repair your damage at Syracuse, you would have been obliged to revictual at Gibraltar, and would not have found the French fleet at Aboukir.”

  “True, madame, and in that case I should have been lost myself.”

  “Finally,” continued the Queen, “was it not àpropos of the fêtes we gave in our enthusiasm for you that this war burst out? Ah, Nelson, the fate of the kingdom and sovereigns of the Two Sicilies is bound up with you. It will be said in the future: ‘They were abandoned by all, by their allies, by their friends, by their relations; they had the world against them; but Nelson was for them, Nelson saved them.’ “And, on pronouncing these words, the Queen held out her hand, which Nelson took, and kneeling, kissed.

  “Madame,” said he, becoming enthusiastic at the Queen’s flattery, “will Your Majesty grant me one thing?”

  “You have the right to ask everything from those who will owe all to you.”

  “Then, I ask your royal word that on the day you leave Naples, Nelson’s ship and no other shall guide to Sicily your sacred person.”

  “Oh, that, I swear it, Nelson; and I add that, wherever I shall be, my sole, my only, my eternal friend, my dear Emma will be with me.” And the Queen took Emma’s head in her two hands and kissed her upon the eyes.

  “My word is pledged to you, madame,” said Nelson. “From this moment your friends are my friends, and your enemies my enemies; and even had I to lose myself in saving you, I will save you.”

  “Oh!” cried Emma; “you are truly the knight, of kings and the champion of thrones! You are truly such as I have dreamed, the man to whom I should give all my love and all my heart! “And this time it was to her lover’s lips that the modern Circe set her own.

  At this moment there was a gentle tap at the door.

  “Go in there, dear friends of my heart,” said the Queen, pointing to Emma’s room; “Acton is coming to give me an answer.”

  Nelson, intoxicated with praise, love, and pride, drew Emma into that room with its perfumed atmosphere, the door seeming to shut upon them of itself.

  In a moment the Queen’s expression changed, as if she had dropped a mask. “Come in,” she said in a short voice, and as Acton entered, “Well, who was waiting for His Majesty?”

  “Cardinal Ruffo, and they sent for Ferrari.”

  “I suspected as much. All the more reason, Acton, for doing what you know of.”

  “It shall be done on the first opportunity. Has Your Majesty any other commands?”

  “No,” replied the Queen. Acton bowed and went out.

  CHAPTER XVII.

  A SERVANT OF THE QUEEN AND A SERVANT OF THE KING.

  IT will be remembered that the King in one of his letters to the Queen had urged that the trial of Nicolino Caracciolo should be hastened on. This was from no philanthropic motive. The King had his own reasons for hating him, one of them his relationship to the handsome Duke of Rocca-Romana, whom scandal connected with the Queen, another that Nicolino, half French by birth and wholly French in his ideas, had been one of the first to offend the King’s eyes by leaving off powder, sacrificing his queue, and letting his whiskers grow; and had actually exchanged knee breeches for trousers.

  But the King’s suspicions, vague and instinctive as they were, were well founded, since Nicolino was involved in that great conspiracy extending to Rome, the object of which was, by inviting the French to Naples, to bring in with them light, progress and liberty. Nor was the Marquis Vanni, who had charge of Nicolino’s case, to be blamed for neglect of the royal wishes. He had the man safe, he had proofs of his guilt, he was sure he could not escape him; but he had feline instincts, he was merely amusing himself a little with his victim before cutting off his head. And even so, with all his advantages, armed with the law, torture and the scaffold, the game did not always go as he wished. Nicolino Caracciolo held firmly to a policy of non-avowal, and to all the questions put to him by Vanni as regards all those matters not of general knowledge, replied in every

  interrogatory by putting questions himself. These questions were of such a personal kind that Vanni did not even dare to let the clerk record them, and finally, having threatened the prisoner to put him to the torture if he continued to make game of justice in this matter, he arrived at St. Elmo on the morning of the ninth of December, quite decided, if Nicolino persisted in his impertinences, to put his threat into execution. He was, of course, ignorant of the secret return of the King from Rome, which was only known so far to the intimate circle at Caserta.

  Vanni was escorted by Master Donato, the Naples executioner, with two of his assistants, as well as by his clerk, a man so silent in his devotion to his master that he appeared to be his very shadow. For this solemn occasion of the revival of torture in Naples, fallen into disuse for sixty-five years for the benefit of a member of one of the first families of the kingdom, orders had been given to the Governor of the Castle of St. Elmo to get ready the old torture chamber, in which process seven hundred ducats had actually been expended.

  At the news of Vanni’s arrival the Governor accordingly came to meet him and conduct him into this ancient museum of pain, where he was able to study a fine collection of instruments, drawn for the most part from the arsenals of ecclesiastical inquisition. By the care of the Governor, each instrument was ready for use.

  Leaving Master Donato and his assistants in this funereal apartment, lighted only by torches clamped to the walls, the Governor and Vanni passed into an adjoining room, railed off by an iron grille, before which hung a heavy curtain of black serge. This room had been that of the secret tribunal, abandoned at the same time as the torture chamber; no daylight reached it, and it was furnished only by a table covered with a green cloth, lighted by two candelabra, and supplied with paper, pens and ink; an armchair for the judge, a stool for the prisoner, and a little table for the clerk; a most forbidding-looking crucifix carved out of the trunk of an oak; and a lamp hanging from the ceiling, which lit up this terrible agony on the cross.

  Vanni, after inspecting everything in silence, complimented the Governor on his zeal, of which he promised the Queen should hear, and requested him to send the prisoner with an escort; and if it so pleased him, to accompany him himself, that is if he cared to witness the manner in which he, Vanni, would conduct the necessary operations. The Governor thanked him warmly for this permission, and bowing to the ground, withdrew to fetch Nicolino Caracciolo. The short interval which elapsed was employed by the fiscal attorney in putting a judge’s robe over his town suit, in covering his long horny head with an enormous wig, which added, he thought, to the majesty of his countenance, and in placing on this wig a lawyer’s cap. The clerk began by laying on the table as evidence the two pistols engraved with an N and the Marchioness of San Clemente’s letter; and then made the same toilette as his superior, that is, he put on a narrower robe, a smaller wig, a lower cap. After which he sat down at the little table.

  The Marquis Vanni took his place at the large one, and prepared himself as effectively as possible to impress Nicolino.

  Unfortunately, Nicolino was not easily impressed. He came in smiling and humming a tune, accompanied by four soldiers, and followed by the Governor, and took his seat on the stool with these words:

  “Marquis, have you by any chance read ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho?’”

  “Sir, we are here to concern ourselves with other matters than novels,” replied Vanni.

  “Well, I merely wished to observe that in ‘The Mysteries of Udolpho ‘there is a description of a room exactly like this; it is in that apartment that the chief brigand held his sittings.”

  Vanni summoned his dignity to his aid.

  “Prisoner, you are accused of a plot against the State.”

  “Oh come! You have relapsed into your mania again.”

  Vanni stamped impatiently.

  “Have you at last made up your mind to answer the questions I am going to put to you?”

  “That depends on the questions.”

  Vanni thereupon, as he had already often done, demanded the accused’s age, name, domicile, and finally, “Did you form one of the assembly of conspirators in the ruins of the palace of Queen Joanna on the 22nd-23rd September?”

  “I do not know of such a place.”

  “You do not know the ruins of the palace of Queen Joanna at Pausilippo, almost in front of your house?”

  “Pardon, Marquis, I am surprised that an archaeologist like you should fall into such an error. You mean to say the palace of Anna Caraffa, wife of the Duke of Medina.... if this gets rumoured you will be taken for a real Marquis.”

  “Very well, were you in the ruins of the palace of Anna Caraffa during the night of 22nd-23rd September? Answer yes or no!” insisted the furious Vanni.

  “And what the devil should I have gone looking about there for? Don’t you remember the awful weather that night? I don’t go conspiring when it rains; it is tiresome enough in fine weather.”

  “Did you that evening lend your great coat to someone?”

  “Not so stupid on such a night if I had had two I should have put one on top of the other.”

  “Do you recognise these pistols?”

  “No,” said Nicolino.

  “They are marked with an N however.”

  “Am I the only person in Naples whose name begins with an N?”

  “Do you recognise this letter? “And Vanni showed the Marchioness San Clemente’s letter to the prisoner.

  “Pardon, Marquis, I should like to have a nearer view of it,” and he looked at the two soldiers, one on either side of him, saying: “Is it permitted?”

  The soldiers drew back; Nicolino approached the table, took the letter and examined it.

  “Oh fie! to ask a gallant man if he recognises a woman’s’ letter! Oh, Marquis! “And calmly holding the letter to one of the candelabra, he set fire to it.

  Vanni got up, furious: “What are you doing?” cried he.

  “I am burning it, as you see; one should always burn women’s letters, or the poor creatures will be compromised,” and he blew the ashes into Vanni’s face and quietly went back to his seat.

  “Good,” roared Vanni, “he may laugh who laughs last,” then, though shaking his snuff-box furiously, he appeared to calm down, and went on: “You are the nephew of Francesco-Caracciolo?”

  “I have that honour.”

  “Do you see him often?”

  “As often as I can.”

  “You are aware that he is infected with bad principles?”

  “I am aware that he is the most honest man in Naples, and His Majesty’s most faithful subject, without excepting you, Marquis.”

  “Have you heard it said that he had to do with Republicans?

  “Yes, at Toulon, where he fought against them so gloriously that to his various combats with them he owes his rank of admiral.”

  “Come,” said Vanni, as if he were taking a sudden resolution, “I see that you will not speak, and that we shall draw no avowal from you by mildness.”

  “Nor by force, I warn you.”

  “Nicolino Caracciolo, my powers as judge are extensive. I warn you that I shall be forced to put you to the torture.”

  “Do so, Marquis, do so; that will help pass the time,” Nicolino yawned.

  “Master Donato!” cried the fiscal attorney, “show the torture chamber to the accused.”

  Master Donato pulled a cord, the curtains parted; Nicolino could then see the executioner, his two assistants, and the formidable instruments of torture surrounding them.

  “Hum,” said Nicolino, “this appears to be a very curious collection; can one see it a little nearer?”

  “You will see it too nearly, immediately, miserable hardened sinner. Donato, seize the accused.”

  The grille turned on its hinges, and Donato stepped towards the prisoner.

  “The guide?” asked the young man.

  “I am the executioner,” replied Master Donato.

  “To the torture; to the torture!” yelled Vanni.

  “Marquis,” said Nicolino, “I believe that by being in a hurry you are depriving yourself of the great pleasure of explaining to me the uses of these curious machines; but do you prefer to begin immediately? It is all the same to me.”

  Vanni lowered his eyes and considered for a moment.

  “It shall not be said that I refused delay to an accused, however guilty,” he replied, and he forthwith commenced to point out the workings of the estrapade, the cuffia del silenzio, the red-hot chair, the boot, and the torture by water. Nicolino continued to jest at each explanation.

  “Then you refuse to confess,” finally demanded Vanni.

  “More than ever.”

  “Reflect that it is no longer a joking matter; I shall begin by the estrapade. Executioner, remove the prisoner’s coat.”

  But Nicolino, with the greatest calmness, saved him the trouble, and also took off his waistcoat and shirt.

  “Once more, will you confess?” cried Vanni, desperately shaking his snuff-box.

  “Has a gentleman two ways of speaking?” returned Nicolino.

  “Bind his hands behind his back, attach a weight of a hundred pounds to each foot, and raise him to the ceiling,” Vanni directed.

  The executioner’s assistants threw themselves on Nicolino, bound him and fixed the weights to his feet.

  “You won’t confess? You won’t confess?” cried Vanni approaching the prisoner.

  “Yes; come nearer,” said Nicolino.

  Vanni approached; Nicolino spit in his face.

  “Christ!” cried Vanni; “raise him, raise him.”

  But at that moment the Governor, hurriedly going up to him, said, “A note by express from the Prince of Castelcicala.”

  Scarcely had Vanni taken the note and cast an eye over it than he turned livid; read it again and became paler still. Then, after a moment’s silence, passing his handkerchief over his damp forehead, “Loose the prisoner and take him back to prison,” he ordered; “the torture will be another day,” and he instantly rushed out of the room, without even speaking to his clerk.

  “You are forgetting your shadow,” Nicolino called after him.

  “A devil’s trade!” cried Master Donato. “One is never sure of anything.”