the bravo of venice-第1部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！






The　Bravo　of　Venice　…　A　Romance



by　M。　G。　Lewis









INTRODUCTION。







Matthew　Gregory　Lewis；　who　professed　to　have　translated　this　romance

out　of　the　German；　very　much；　I　believe；　as　Horace　Walpole　professed

to　have　taken　The　Castle　of　Otranto　from　an　old　Italian　manuscript；

was　born　in　1775　of　a　wealthy　family。　　His　father　had　an　estate　in

India　and　a　post　in　a　Government　office。　　His　mother　was　daughter　to

Sir　Thomas　Sewell；　Master　of　the　Rolls　in　the　reign　of　George　III。

She　was　a　young　mother；　her　son　Matthew　was　devoted　to　her　from　the

first。　　As　a　child　he　called　her　〃Fanny；〃　and　as　a　man　held　firmly

by　her　when　she　was　deserted　by　her　husband。　　From　Westminster

School；　M。　G。　Lewis　passed　to　Christ　Church；　Oxford。　　Already　he　was

busy　over　tales　and　plays；　and　wrote　at　college　a　farce；　never

acted；　a　comedy；　written　at　the　age　of　sixteen；　The　East　Indian；

afterwards　played　for　Mrs。　Jordan's　benefit　and　repeated　with　great

success；　and　also　a　novel；　never　published；　called　The　Effusions　of

Sensibility；　which　was　a　burlesque　upon　the　sentimental　school。　　He

wrote　also　what　he　called　〃a　romance　in　the　style　of　The　Castle　of

Otranto；〃　which　appeared　afterwards　as　the　play　of　The　Castle

Spectre。



With　his　mind　thus　interested　in　literature　of　the　romantic　form；

young　Lewis；　aged　seventeen；　after　a　summer　in　Paris；　went　to

Germany；　settled　for　a　time　at　Weimar；　and；　as　he　told　his　mother；

knocked　his　brains　against　German　as　hard　as　ever　he　could。　　〃I　have

been　introduced；〃　he　wrote；　in　July；　1792；　〃to　M。　de　Goethe；　the

celebrated　author　of　Werter；　so　you　must　not　be　surprised　if　I

should　shoot　myself　one　of　these　fine　mornings。〃　　In　the　spring　of

1793　the　youth　returned　to　England；　very　full　of　German　romantic

tale　and　song；　and　with　more　paper　covered　with　wild　fancies　of　his

own。　　After　the　next　Christmas　he　returned　to　Oxford。　　There　was　a

visit　to　Lord　Douglas　at　Bothwell　Castle；　there　was　not　much

academic　work　done　at　Oxford。　　His　father's　desire　was　to　train　him

for　the　diplomatic　service；　and　in　the　summer　of　1794　he　went　to　the

Hague　as　attache　to　the　British　Embassy。　　He　had　begun　to　write　his

novel　of　The　Monk；　had　flagged；　but　was　spurred　on　at　the　Hague　by　a

reading　of　Mrs。　Radcliffe's　Mysteries　of　Udolpho；　a　book　after　his

own　heart；　and　he　wrote　to　his　mother　at　this　time；　〃You　see　I　am

horribly　bit　by　the　rage　of　writing。〃



The　Monk　was　written　in　ten　weeks；　and　published　in　the　summer　of

1795；　before　its　author's　age　was　twenty。　　It　was　praised；　attacked；

said　by　one　review　to　have　neither　originality；　morals；　nor

probability　to　recommend　it；　yet　to　have　excited　and　to　be

continuing　to　excite　the　curiosity　of　the　public：　　a　result　set　down

to　the　〃irresistible　energy　of　genius。〃　　Certainly；　Lewis　did　not

trouble　himself　to　keep　probability　in　view；　he　amused　himself　with

wild　play　of　a　fancy　that　delighted　in　the　wonderful。　　The

controversy　over　The　Monk　caused　the　young　author　to　be　known　as

Monk　Lewis；　and　the　word　Monk　has　to　this　day　taken　the　place　of　the

words　Matthew　Gregory　so　generally；　that　many　catalogue…makers　must

innocently　suppose　him　to　have　been　so　named　at　the　font。　　The

author　of　The　Monk　came　back　from　the　Hague　to　be　received　as　a

young　lion　in　London　society。　　When　he　came　of　age　he　entered

Parliament　for　Hindon；　in　Wiltshire；　but　seldom　went　to　the　House；

never　spoke　in　it；　and　retired　after　a　few　sessions。　　His　delight

was　in　the　use　of　the　pen；　his　father；　although　disappointed　by　his


failure　as　a　statesman；　allowed　him　a　thousand　a　year；　and　he　took　a

cottage　at　Barnes；　that　he　might　there　escape　from　the　world　to　his

ink…bottle。　　He　was　a　frequent　visitor　at　Inverary　Castle；　and　was

fascinated　by　his　host's　daughter；　Lady　Charlotte　Campbell。　　Still

he　wrote　on。　　The　musical　drama　of　The　Castle　Spectre　was　produced

in　the　year　after　The　Monk；　and　it　ran　sixty　nights。　　He　translated

next　Schiller's　Kabale　und　Liebe　as　The　Minister；　but　it　was　not

acted　till　it　appeared；　with　little　success；　some　years　afterwards

at　Covent　Garden　as　The　Harper's　Daughter。　　He　translated　from

Kotzebue；　under　the　name　of　Rolla；　the　drama　superseded　by

Sheridan's　version　of　the　same　work　as　Pizarro。　　Then　came　the

acting；　in　1799；　of　his　comedy　written　in　boyhood；　The　East　Indian。

Then　came；　in　the　same　year；　his　first　opera；　Adelmorn　the　Outlaw；

then　a　tragedy；　Alfonso；　King　of　Castile。　　Of　the　origin　of　this

tragedy　Lewis　gave　a　characteristic　account。　　〃Hearing　one　day；〃　he

said；　〃my　introduction　of　negroes　into　a　feudal　baron's　castle〃　（in

The　Castle　Spectre）　〃exclaimed　against　with　as　much　vehemence　as　if

a　dramatic　anachronism　had　been　an　offence　undeserving　of　benefit　of

clergy；　I　said　in　a　moment　of　petulance；　that　to　prove　of　how　little

consequence　I　esteemed　such　errors；　I　would　make　a　play　upon　the

Gunpowder　Plot；　and　make　Guy　Faux　in　love　with　the　Emperor

Charlemagne's　daughter。　　By　some　chance　or　other；　this　idea　fastened

itself　upon　me；　and　by　dint　of　turning　it　in　my　mind；　I　at　length

formed　the　plot　of　Alfonso。〃



To　that　time　in　Lewis's　life　belongs　this　book；　The　Bravo　of　Venice；

which　was　published　in　1804；　when　the　writer's　age　was　twenty…nine。

It　was　written　at　Inverary　Castle；　dedicated　to　the　Earl　of　Moira；

and　received　as　one　of　the　most　perfect　little　romances　of　its　kind；

〃highly　characteristic　of　the　exquisite　contrivance；　bold　colouring；

and　profound　mystery　of　the　German　school。〃　　In　1805　Lewis　recast　it

into　a　melodrama；　which　he　called　Rugantino。



H。M。







THE　BRAVO　OF　VENICE。







BOOK　THE　FIRST。







CHAPTER　I：　　VENICE。







It　was　evening。　　Multitudes　of　light　clouds；　partially　illumined　by

the　moonbeams；　overspread　the　horizon；　and　through　them　floated　the

full　moon　in　tranquil　majesty；　while　her　splendour　was　reflected　by

every　wave　of　the　Adriatic　Sea。　　All　was　hushed　around；　gently　was

the　water　rippled　by　the　night　wind；　gently　did　the　night　wind　sigh

through　the　Colonnades　of　Venice。



It　was　midnight；　and　still　sat　a　stranger；　solitary　and　sad；　on　the

border　of　the　great　canal。　　Now　with　a　glance　he　measured　the

battlements　and　proud　towers　of　the　city；　and　now　he　fixed　his

melancholy　eyes　upon　the　waters　with　a　vacant　stare。　　At　length　he

spoke　…



〃Wretch　that　I　am；　whither　shall　I　go？　　Here　sit　I　in　Venice；　and

what　would　it　avail　to　wander　further？　　What　will　become　of　me？　　All

now　slumber；　save　myself！　the　Doge　rests　on　his　couch　of　down；　the

beggar's　head　presses　his　straw　pillow；　but　for　ME　there　is　no　bed

except　the　cold；　damp　earth！　　There　is　no　gondolier　so　wretched　but

he　knows　where　to　find　work　by　day　and　shelter　by　nightwhile　_I_

while　_I_Oh！　dreadful　is　the　destiny　of　which　I　am　made　the

sport！〃



He　began　to　examine　for　the　twentieth　time　the　pockets　of　his

tattered　garments。



〃No！　not　one　paolo；　by　heavens！and　I　hunger　almost　to　death。〃



He　unsheathed　his　sword；　he　waved　it　in　the　moonshine；　and　sighed；

as　he　marked　the　glittering　of　the　steel。



〃No；　no；　my　old　true　companion；　thou　and　I　must　never　part。　　Mine

thou　shalt　remain；　though　I　starve　for　it。　　Oh；　was　not　that　a

golden　time　when　Valeria　gave　thee　to　me；　and　when　she　threw　the

belt　over　my　shoulder；　I　kissed　thee　and　Valeria？　　She　has　deserted

us　for　another　world；　but　thou　and　I　will　never　part　in　this。〃



He　wiped　away　a　drop　which　hung　upon　his　eyelid。



〃Pshaw！　'twas　not　a　tear；　the　night　wind　is　sharp　and　bitter；　and

makes　the　eyes　water；　but　as　for　TEARSAbsurd！　my　weeping　days　are

over。〃



And　as　he　spoke；　the　unfortunate　（for　such　by　his　discourse　and

situation　he　appeared　to　be）　dashed　his　forehead　against　the　earth；

and　his　lips　were　already　unclosed　to　curse　the　hour　which　gave　him

being；　when　he　seemed　suddenly　to　recollect　himself。　　He　rested　his

head　on　his　elbow；　and　sang　mournfully　the　burthen　of　a　song　which

had　often　delighted　his　childhood　in　the　castle　of　his　ancestors。



〃Right；〃　he　said　to　himself；　〃were　I　to　sink　under　the　weight　of　my

destiny；　I　should　be　myself　no　longer。〃



At　that　moment　he　heard　a　rustling　at　no　great　distance。　　He　looked

around；　and　in　an　adjacent　street；　which　the　moon　faintly

enlightened；　he　perceived　a　tall　figure；　wrapped　in　a　cloak；　pacing

slowly　backwards　and　forwards。



〃'Tis　the　hand　of　God　which　hath　guided　him　hitheryesI'llI'll

BEGbetter　to　play　the　beggar　in　Venice　than　the　villain　in　Naples；

for　the　beggar's　heart　may　beat　nobly；　though　covered　with　rags。〃



He　then　sprang　from　the　ground；　and　hastened　towards　the　adjoining

street。　　Just　as　he　entered　it　at　one　end；　he　perceived　another

person　advancing　through　the　other；　of　whose　approach　the　first　was

no　sooner　aware　than　he　hastily　retired　into　the　shadow　of　a　piazza；

anxious　to　conceal　himself。



〃What　can　this　mean？〃　thought　our　mendicant。　　〃Is　yon　eavesdropper

one　of　death's　unlicensed　ministers？　　Has　he　received　the　retaining

fee　of　some　impatient　heir；　who　pants　to　possess　the　wealth　of　the

unlucky　knave　who　comes　strolling　along　yonder；　so　careless　and

unconscious？　　Be　not　so　confident；　honest　friend！　　I'm　at　your

elbow。〃



He　retired　further　into　the　shade；　and　silently　and　slowly　drew　near

the　lurker；　who　stirred　not　from　his　place。　　The　stranger　had

already　passed　them　by；　when　the　concealed　villain　sprang　suddenly

upon　him；　raised　his　right　hand　in　which　a　poniard　was　gleaming；　and

before　he　could　give　the　blow；　was　felled　to　the　earth　by　the　arm　of

the　mendicant。



The　stranger　turned　hastily　towards　them；　the　bravo　started　up　and

fled；　the　beggar　smiled。



〃How　now？〃　cried　the　stranger；　〃what　does　all　this　mean？〃



〃Oh；　'tis　a　mere　jest；　signor；　which　has　only　preserved　your　life。〃



〃What？　my　life？　　How　so？〃



〃The　honest　gentleman　who　has　just　taken　to　his　heels　stole　behind

you　with　true　cat