us. But this is the fallow of the Great Husbandman. The stubble and weedy growth of the old year must be passed under the ploughshare, for thus only will the good seed bear fruit. Europe is reproduced in America, and has found in union the secret of Asiatic strength. Asia crouches on the eastern shore of the Atlantic, sullen, threatening, wary; sions and rivalries, which once nourished and now oppress. Her mountains have done their work, and now no longer present, before the science of the nineteenth century, the same forbidding and impenetrable fronts. If Europe possessed the same accessibility in every section as does our continent, had she the same wide natural channels by which the wave of population could roll freely-America stands before her, daring, and through all her shores and find its natural level, filling up the waste places and possessing every forgotten nook, then surely the path of the future is as open for them as for These great channels nature does at last provide through science, but the shadows of the past yet obscure the future, the long shadows of the setting sun. And for this the Russian bear still advances, and his hug is fate. His tread crushes the life out of the nations, and with them die their feuds and mutual exasperation, their baneful political forms and still more odious social castes, and all is enveloped in the pall of a barbarous oriental monarchy. Does such a foreboding seem idle dreaming before the glories of that cluster of kingdoms whose power is felt to the antipodes? Have we then forgotten the fears that oppressed society when the star of Bonaparte was in the ascendant? when the wisest saw and shrunk from the coming night of a universal despotism? Bonaparte passed away, for he was but the forerunner of the scourge of God, which has ever come from the east and not from the west. The great northern Czar sits in his judgment-seat, and will interpret to Europe the handwriting on the wall. The spirit of humanity is eager and hopeful, but the miseries of men are greater than they can bear, and the iron grasp of the Kalmuck conqueror, with the chill of death in it, is preferable to the chronic horrors of European misrule. lavish of her young strength. Again they meet on the opposing Pacific coasts. If ever the horoscope of nations was so plainly cast that even the most incredulous must have faith, it is in the fact of the absorption of European civilization by the fast-growing power of Russia. But along with this, we read the twin fact, that the race that now inhabits the temperate regions of North America must also absorb and spread over the whole of the new world, from the Cape of Storms to the Frozen Ocean. This globe is too narrow for two such mighty antagonisms. We of to-day are darkened by a shadow from the spectral twentieth century. There is a murmur, too, as of arms-clamorque virum-a monstrous Titan-war, which shall chill the flaming heart of the old Earth, lest her children perish utterly. Then the primeval Saturnian desolation, which has for so long devoured its own offspring, will be met by its last and mightiest. Front, flank, and rear, over the placid Pacific,-out of the typhoon-swept Southern Ocean,-across the hardy Atlantic,-the stream of emigration and invasion pours back towards its fountains. Through the wreck of kingdoms the columns of the new world hold their steady march, revivifying and raising the nations from their trance, tramping out narrow patriotisms and lingering national traditions, and bringing back the light of a new day to the ancient homes of the human family. BENVENUTO CELLINI: A TALE. THE CHAPTER III. FROM THE FRENCH. SECOND TRIAL. [CONCLUDED.] On the following day Gabuzzi was in his studio, when he saw Fiorentino enter. The two young men at once began to converse in a friendly tone; a secret sympathy attracted them towards each other. "Are you aware," said the artist, "that you have excited the hatred of many here against you?" "That disturbs me but little," said Fiorentino; "my aim and only wish is to relieve this young maiden from her fearful malady." a quick eye. Do you know who executed these two works of art?" my "Yourself, I suppose." "Ah! I would gladly give ten years of life to have sculptured them." "By whom were they sculptured, then?" "The torso by Michael Angelo, the vase by Benvenuto Cellini." "I am no longer astonished that they attracted my attention." "Ah, there lives not a man, whether an artist or not, who could gaze coldly upon the works of such men." "You appear to feel a very ardent enthusiasm for them." "Next to God and Nature, there is noththat excites my admiration like Genius." "You have been their friend or pupil, perhaps ?" "Stay, there is one thing which grieves me; it is the thought that you are to meeting this Captain Fiaramonti in single combat, for, I swear to you, he is a very dangerous adversary." "You do not think me able to contend against him, then?" "To speak frankly, no. Besides his physical superiority, he has this advantage over you, to wit: he handles the sword with unequalled address. I have every reason, therefore, to fear that the result of this combat may prove untoward for you, and I shall deem you very fortunate if you escape with but a single wound, even though it may be as serious as your two former ones." "I hope to escape with less. But enough of myself: let us speak a little of your own affairs, Signor. You have consecrated your life to the art of sculpture, it appears, and so far as an ignorant person like myself can judge, you are very skilful; for here is an admirable torso, and your vase of bronze that I have just seen in the Princess's chamber seemed to me a most exquisite piece of workmanship." "By my life, Signor Fiorentino, you have "Would to God it were so! it has ever been my dearest wish, my cherished dream, but I have been compelled to renounce it." "Ah! and wherefore?" "Michael Angelo is a gloomy spirit, who delights only in solitude and seclusion. As to Benvenuto Cellini, he leads too wandering a life to find leisure to instruct a pupil. I am obliged, therefore, to renounce the hope of studying under either of these great men' and I confess to you, it is a never-ceasing source of vexation to me; for I doubt no but under their guidance, and daily inhaling their genius, I should make rapid progress: while, abandoned to my own inspirations, Į shall not rise above mediocrity, and my name will always remain buired in obscurity." "With all this admiration for these two men, you must attach great value to their productions." "Far greater than you could believe, Signor. This torso and that vase are in my eyes an inestimable treasure, and it is with great pain that I resign a part of it to you; but you assert that this sacrifice is necessary to restore reason to the daughter of my aged and unhappy friend, and I submit." "You have a noble heart," said Fiorentino, with an expression that deeply moved the young artist; "and I shall be proud of your friendship, if you will grant it to me." "With all my heart," said the artist; "for, I know not wherefore, I felt attracted towards you at the first moment, and while you excited anger and hatred in all these hearts, I felt impelled to hasten towards you, and to clasp your hand.” "It is still time," said Fiorentino. With these words he reached his open hand to the artist, with an air of the most cordial friendship. "And now," said Fiorentino, with the energy which he infused into his actions as well as into his words, "now, Signor Gabuzzi, it is for life and death between us. Whether you are rich or poor, whether your name remain; unknown or shines above the crowd, my hand has clasped your hand, and henceforth you will find me always ready to devote myself to your service; my poignard and my purse are at your disposal." At this moment a domestic entered, with Signor Gabuzzi's vase, which he placed in a corner of the studio. "It was I who ordered this vase to be brought here," said Fiorentino, "for it is here, Signor Gabuzzi, that the sacrifice must be accomplished." "And when?" said the artist. all is over, come and join me on the lawn; but be silent, do not speak to me of it." He left the apartment, and a few moments after his departure, Fiorentino saw the Princess and Signorina Giulia enter the studio, followed by Vivaldi and all his guests. Fiorentino permitted no one to enter, but Giulia and the maniac. "Place yourself yonder near that window," he said in a low voice to the Signorina, "and contrive it so that not one of my movements may escape Vanina's notice." He then took Gabuzzi's hammer and chisel, approached the vase of bronze, gazed upon it long, motionless and dreamy, and at last, applying the chisel to one of the figures of the vase, he struck it with a slight blow, as if employed in carving it. He then recoiled suddenly, and began to pace back and forth in the studio, striking his forehead with every sign of despair, and pausing often, with a gloomy and thoughtful air, before the work upon which he appeared to be engaged. At first, wrapped entirely in Giulia, in whom since the scene upon the meadow she seemed strangely interested, Vanina at last began to pay some attention to Fiorentino, and by degrees her interest increased to such a pitch, that soon he alone appeared to occupy her entire thoughts. When he approached the chisel to the vase, she started, and when he gazed upon it, motionless and gloomy, her glance became sad, and she imitated the expression of his features, and the attitude in which he stood. But sud "As soon as the Princess shall have en-denly, seeing his despair, she began to tremtered this studio." "But how will you contrive to guide her steps in this direction?" "Nothing is easier. Since yesterday the Princess has been smitten with a sudden friendship for the beautiful Giulia; she follows her every where, and she will accompany her of her own accord, when the charming Signorina repairs hither, as has been agreed." "And when will she come?" "In a few moments." "So soon!" said Gabuzzi, casting a troubled glance at his vase. "Poor youth!" murmured Fiorentino. ble, and grasping Giulia's arm, she said in a brief, affrighted tone: lia. 66 Vanina, are you not afraid?" "Why should I be afraid?" replied Giu "Do you not remark his grief? do you not forbode some misfortune?" "What misfortune?" ory. Vanina appeared to question her mem "What misfortune?" she said; "ah! you know, indeed he wishes to die at your feet; he wishes to descend the stream with you, to the flowery banks. I know not what more he wishes. Come, my Vanina, we will repair to France, where there are sweet blue lakes and fair green isles; come!" She was silent, and her eyes were turned again upon Fiorentino. "Vanina!" she resumed, "who is this man? Is it not the Captain, Hector Fiaramonti ?" 66 "Yes," replied Giulia, "it is he." "I know him well, but he is greatly changed. Despair is in his glance. What can have happened to him?" At this moment Fiorentino approached the vase, with a gesture replete with anger, and Vanina began to tremble. these fragments that I have already accomplished one of the conditions which I imposed upon myself; to-morrow at this hour the other will be accomplished also.” CHAPTER IV. THE THIRD TRIAL. THE Captain Hector Fiaramonti had scarce "Be silent!" she said, whispering in Giu-ly finished dressing, when Fiorentino entered lia's ear; "restrain even your breathing. Do his apartment, bearing beneath his arm one you not see how wretched he is? Some mis- of those long basket-hilted swords which fortune is about to happen to us; be silent!" were at that time commonly used in single She pushed Giulia to the wall, nestled combat. close against her, and followed every movement of Fiorentino, pallid, dejected, scarcely venturing to breathe. After remaining for some moments silent and motionless, she suddenly uttered a piercing cry, and fell senseless in Giulia's arms. "He has broken it!" she murmured in a languid voice; "I knew that he would break it !" Fiorentino, in truth, had just dashed Gabuzzi's beautiful vase in pieces. At the cry uttered by his daughter, Prince Vivaldi rushed into the studio, followed by all his friends, who had assembled to witness the result of this second trial. When he beheld his daughter swooning in Giulia's arms, turning to Fiorentino, he exclaimed: "Great Heaven! what have you done?" "What have I done?" replied Fiorentino. "I have restored your daughter to perception and emotion. Instead, therefore, of despairing, rejoice to see her thus, for it is a certain prelude to her recovery. I had not hoped so much. She has understood what has just passed beneath her eyes, since she is so deeply affected by it: is not this a most convincing proof that order and clearness are beginning to awake in her intellect? I repeat it, fear nothing; to-morrow a more violent shock will cast her into a more prolonged swoon, and when she recovers from it, her reason, at present still disordered, will be as clear and lucid as your own." "You prophesy with the conviction of an apostle, Signor Fiorentino," said Captain Fiaramonti, with a laugh. "Captain," replied Fiorentino, with the steadfast calmness which never forsook him, "when I undertook to heal this young maiden, I said that it would be necessary for me to break this vase and your life. You see by "Hail to the bravest of captains!" said Fiorentino, bowing profoundly. "My young Signor," said the Captain, without returning his salutation, "do you know how the gladiators formerly saluted the Roman Emperor, at the moment when they were about to butcher each other for his pleasure?" "I do not precisely remember, Captain: how did they salute them?" "Cæsar Imperator, morituri, te salutant! If you properly understood your position, this is the manner in which you would have saluted me." "Pardon my forgetfulness; I will not delay to repair it. Captain, I have come to request your opinion, upon a subject that you should comprehend better than any one else, perhaps." "I am perfectly at your service, my poor Signor; express to me your last wishes." Fiorentino drew his sword from its sheath. "You see this blade, Captain; the sculptor Gabuzzi has lent it to me, assuring me that it is of excellent temper: what say you to it?" Fiaramonti took the sword, and bent the blade in his muscular fingers. 66 "In a strong and skilful hand," he said, this weapon would be of inestimable value." "Do you think that it could strike a breast like yours, for example, without breaking?" Fiaramonti laughed. "As to that," he said, "have no fear; your sword will never reach so far." "If, by chance, this little blade should reach so far," said Fiorentino, showing his unsheathed poignard, "do you think that it is of a length sufficient to touch the heart?" "It would be a pity to stain its lustre,” replied the Captain, " for it is very beautiful; ] ture; in short, all that intoxicated his soul, the hilt, above all, is of admirable workman- and inflamed his imagination-combats and ship; therefore, my young Signor, we will blood. manage matters so that it shall remain innocent of all blood, for I presume it has nothing as yet upon its conscience." "You judge it too favorably, Captain; there are already a few trifles with which it may be reproached." "Your weapons are magnificent, Signor," said Fiaramonti, "but tell me, do you think them sufficiently vigorous to contend against these ?" Ile now displayed to Fiorentino a sword and a poignard, of nearly the same dimensions as his own, except that the blades were much broader and thicker. "You find these weapons somewhat weighty for your arm, ha, Signor?" said Fiaramonti haughtily. "I find them coarse and fit for a common hireling," replied Fiorentino, glancing at them with contempt. For the first time the Captain was stung by Fiorentino's words, and he was unable to repress his fury. This affront to his arms robbed him of all his coolness, and tearing them roughly from the hands of him who dared to asperse them, he cried, his face purple with rage: "Miserable adventurer! know that these arms which you despise, you are not worthy to touch, for I have dipped them in the blood of twenty enemies, while yours have never been aught but a ridiculous bauble in your hands." "You jest admirably when you choose, Captain," said Fiorentino, in a tone of calm disdain; "but you will not jest long; it is a pity." "In this I confess you have the advantage over me," replied the Captain, striving to resume a tone of irony; "you have given me a striking proof that there is no affront, how ever galling, which you cannot endure without wincing, and I own I cannot push my meekness to such a pitch." "My poor Captain, you have not understood one thing, then; to wit, that I have but one way of replying to him who insults me: I slay him, or he slays me; that is all." The Captain did not reply; he gazed at his sword, and remained long in contemplation before the weapon, which recalled to him all that composed his life, all that composed his joy in the past, the present, and the fu VOL. VIII. NO. III. NEW SERIES. "When do we fight?" he said, turning suddenly to Fiorentino, and casting upon him a glance that seemed to thirst for vengeance. "On the instant, for all are awaiting us near the great torrent to the south. If we but stand face to face, with weapon in hand, what matters the place? Are you ready?" "I am!" "Follow me, then." "You will confess, Captain," said Fiorentino, as he struck into one of the narrow forest paths which led to the lawn, "you will confess that the plan which I have adopted to heal the Princess is much more simple, more rapid, and less troublesome than that employed by Signor Pezzolini." "By my life, your assurance confounds me," said the Captain; "you speak of this cure as accomplished, and yet the Princess is still a maniac." "True; but the clouds which obscure her reason have receded at each trial; you cannot deny this, and I announced it in advance. You see then, in truth, that I am not a lying prophet, and if you were not destined to play so important a part in the third trial, you might judge that my prediction will be verified throughout." "Is it then absolutely necessary for the Princess's recovery that I should be the one to fall?" said the Captain, in a tone of raillery. "Would not the result be the same, if I should have the misfortune to pass my sword through your body?" Alas, my brave Captain! it would not be the same in any manner; it is absolutely necessary, therefore, that you should play your proper part on this occasion." "You have but little time left to jest, my young Signor; you do well to profit by it. But by what road are you leading me? We are advancing in a direction exactly opposite to that of the torrent." "It is true, Captain; but a few steps, and we are upon the lawn." "Wherefore have you led me hither?" "Captain," said Fiorentino, whose countenance suddenly put off its expression of mockery, to assume the gravity and energy habitual to it, "do you recognize this spot?" 15 |