Italian towns are very perplexing to strangers. Keep to the principal thoroughfares built in modern days, and you may have a reasonable hope of finding your way about; but once get enmeshed in the crooked, narrow, winding streets of the period of the middle ages and you are lost. The Italians, like Nature, delight in curves, and these narrow alleys, with cobble-stone pavements and no side-walks, dignified by the name of streets, twist in and out, and here and there, between forbidding houses, seven or eight stories in height, under heavy archways, which threaten to fall and crush the unwary stranger, and down steep flights of worn steps, until you become quite bewildered by the labyrinthian windings. Then these houses are built high in order to exclude the burning sun from the alleys, and a cold, humid feeling pervades the entire network of streets; so that what with the gloom, the twistings, and the treacherous pitfalls in dark corners, one feels like Orpheus going down to Hades in search of lost Eurydice.

Having been warned of the difficulty of exploring these unknown depths, I had mostly confined my wanderings to the broad, modern streets and the populous piazzas; therefore as long as my spectre guide kept to the Via Pallone, which begins at the Ponte Aleardi and ends at the Piazza Vittoria Emanuele, I felt quite safe. When, however, after leaving the Piazza she plunged into the narrow streets of the medieval period, I hesitated at first to follow her. I did not know my way, I was a stranger, and unarmed; moreover, I knew not into what unknown dangers I might be led by this mysterious woman who had emerged from the graveyard.

Curiosity, however, prevailed over fear, and as at any moment I might lose sight of her, and thereby never discover if she were of this or the other world, I followed her boldly into the intense gloom into which she had vanished. My eyes could hardly pierce the darkness, and I feared I would not be able to keep her in sight, when luckily a portion of her cloak became disarranged, and I saw the vivid glimmer of a white dress, on which I kept my eyes fastened as a guiding star.

Here and there in the houses lights were burning dimly, but the hour being late, no people were in the streets; and as I followed this noiseless phantom along the solitary alleys, with the dark houses on either hand, and the white gleam of the moonlit sky above, I felt as if I were moving in a dream.

Onward she glided, turning down here, climbing up there, until my feet were weary with walking; and besides, not knowing the way, I stumbled frequently, which gave me many a bruise. The darkness, however, seemed no obstacle to the ghoul, who walked onward as rapidly as if she were still in the moonlight; on the contrary, it was only by the greatest care that I could grope my way sufficiently quickly to keep her in sight, and prevent her from discovering me by my frequent stumbles.

I was about to give up the chase in despair, when suddenly she led me out on to a small square, and hastening across it, disappeared into a palace at the further end. I remained in the alley until she vanished, as I feared if I followed her too closely she might perceive me in the moonlight. The place, which occupied the whole of one side of the square, was a richly decorated building, with a great arched portal in the centre; but I had no time to examine it closely, for, fearful of losing my ghoul, I ran quickly across the square, came to the portal, and was stopped by an iron gate.

It was one of those heavy iron gates common to Italian palaces, which stretching across from wall to wall, afford a view of the inner court, and are only open on festive occasions, or to admit vehicles. I knew that entrance was ordinarily afforded by a side door, and without doubt this was the way she had gone, unless indeed, being supernatural, she found bolts and bars no hindrance. Determined to pursue this strange adventure to the end, I sought the side door, but, on finding it, discovered to my vexation that it was locked. I could not enter that way, and the bars of the iron gate were so close together, that a man of my size could not possibly squeeze through them, so to all appearances the adventure, as far as I was concerned, was finished.

Making one last effort, however, I felt all the iron bars singly, to see if any one was loose, in which case I could remove it and thus slip through; when to my astonishment, on the left side of the gate furthest from the door, I found that one of the bars had been wrenched away. Without waiting to consider this, which was curious to say the least of it, I concluded that the woman, if indeed she were flesh and blood, had entered by this breach in the gate, so at once took advantage of my discovery and soon found myself in the courtyard. The palace appeared to be quite deserted, as the windows were all broken, and the ironwork of the balconies which ran round the four sides of the courtyard, at different heights, was twisted out of all shape; besides which, the mosaic pavement upon which I stood was smashed in several places, and grass grew between the interstices. I could see all this plainly in the moonlight, and, moreover, as a great door at the end of the courtyard opposite the iron gate was slightly ajar, while all the other smaller doors were closed, I came to the conclusion that the ghoul had gone in there. My conjecture proved correct, for as, hiding in the shadow, I peered into the gloom of the building, I saw the sudden flare of a torch which the woman had just fired, and with this in her hand she began to climb up a flight of steps--at least, so I judged from seeing the torch rise higher and higher in the darkness until it vanished altogether.

The lightning of the torch made me believe that I had to do with flesh and blood, as certainly no phantom would use natural ways and means in preference to supernatural; so directly the light disappeared, I stole cautiously across what appeared to be a large hall, grasping my walking-stick tightly in case of any surprise. I could not disguise from myself that my curiosity had led me into a very perilous adventure, but, as since the affair of the torch I had quite recovered my nerve, I went resolutely forward, and, feeling my way carefully in the dark, climbed up the staircase.

At the first turning of the ascent all was still in darkness, but on taking the second turning I saw the torch gleaming like a fierce yellow star in the gloom of a long corridor. Luckily I had very light, thin shoes on, and trod cautiously, otherwise the echo of my footsteps would most surely have betrayed me to the mysterious torch-bearer. The palace was certainly not inhabited, as I heard nothing to support such a belief; but as I hastened along the wide corridor, through the windows on the left side streamed the pale moonlight, and I saw that the glass in these windows was painted to represent coats-of-arms, so without doubt this deserted mansion had once been the residence of some great Veronese noble.

But what was the ghoul doing here? Why had she come from her vault in the churchyard to this neglected habitation? Again the fear seized me that this creature was a phantom of some splendid lady of the middle ages, come to revisit the scenes or her antique magnificence. The cold air as I passed along seemed full of the strange perfume of sandalwood, and this sensuous odour in conjunction with the flitting torch, the coloured shadows cast on the floor by the moonlight streaming in through the painted windows, and the state of nervous excitement in which I was, all made me feel like the hero of one of those amorous adventures which are described in the glowing pages of Boccaccio.

Once more the torch disappeared round a corner to the left, but in a moment I had it again in sight; another flight of shallow steps, another short corridor, and at the end an arched door, through which the phantom disappeared. At the door I paused to consider what I should do next, as, if I rashly entered the room, I might pay for my temerity with my life; so I stood irresolutely at the half-open door, ready to fly at the least sign of danger.

As I stood at the door in the intense gloom, for there were no windows in this corridor, I saw a faint glimmer of light in the room within, and this light remaining stationary for some considerable time, I judged that the lady of the sepulchre had left the torch there and retired into some inner chamber. Resolving, therefore, to risk the attempt, I peered into the apartment, and saw the torch stuck in a socket made in a small table in the centre of this small hall, which was hung with ancient tapestry. At the end opposite the portal through which I was looking, was an opening draped with heavy red curtains embroidered with gold, for every now and then as they stirred I saw the dull glitter of the tarnished metal.

Determined not to be discovered, I thought it a capital plan to hide between the tapestry and the wall, so as to secure good concealment, and then steal along the walls until I arrived at the curtained opening, through which I hoped to be able to see into the room beyond. Just as I made up my mind to put this plan into practice, the torch, which had been burning very low, flickered and went out, so that the hall was in complete darkness. In the gloom, however, rays of bright light shone through the embroidered curtains. I heard the murmur of voices, and then the sharp, clear notes of a mandolin. The ghoul evidently had some one with her, perhaps the unfortunate individual whom she proposed to devour; so as no time was to be lost, I slipped into the apartment, enconced myself between the tapestry and the wall on the left of the door, and prepared to creep along, if possible, to the curtained archway. While I paused a moment to regain breath and courage, for certainly the situation was not without an element of danger, the metallic notes of the mandolin ceased and a man's voice began singing some Italian song, but one with which, in spite of my knowledge of music, I was not acquainted. It was a slow and sensuous melody of passionate sweetness with an undercurrent of sadness, and the singer had a remarkably fine tenor voice, sounding full and rich even through the heavy curtains, which prevented me hearing the words clearly. Evidently this was an amorous rendezvous, but why was it taking place in this deserted palace, and why had the lady come from a vault in a graveyard to keep it?

All at once the singer stopped abruptly in the middle of a phrase, I heard the mandolin suddenly smashing on the marble floor, and then sounded the low, wicked laugh I had first heard at the burial-ground. Filled with anxiety to learn the meaning of all these strange events, I glided rapidly along the wall, and speedily arrived at the curtained opening. Being afraid to pull it to one side lest I should be discovered, I took out my penknife and made a slit in the heavy embroidery; then, looking through the opening thus obtained, I beheld a most extraordinary spectacle.

A circular chamber, not very large, but very lofty, surrounded by eight half-pillars of veined white marble built into the wall, and supporting a domed ceiling richly painted with garlands of flowers, from amid which peered the smiling faces of beautiful women. Between these noble pillars hung voluminous draperies of darkly red velvet, all magnificently embroidered with fantastic designs in tarnished gold thread, but, curiously enough, the apartment had no windows, neither in the ceiling nor at the sides, so whatever took place within could not be seen save through the curtained archway.

In the centre of the white marble floor stood a low, heavy table, richly gilt, and covered with the remains of a splendid feast. The gorgeousness of the vessels thereon was truly marvellous, consisting, as they did, of elaborately chased silver epergnes filled with brilliantly-coloured fruits; many-branched candelabra of gold, bearing slender wax tapers to illuminate the apartment; gracefully carved jugs, of wonderful designs which must have emanated from the brains of Cellini himself; and strangely shaped antique goblets which put me in mind of the sacramental cups used in Italian churches at the celebration of the mass. The voluptuous scent of sandalwood pervaded the heavy atmosphere of the chamber; gold and silver and crystal shone in the mellow light of the myriad tapers, and the whole appearance of this sensuous banquet was like those of former ages presided over by Can Grande or splendour-loving C?sar Borgia. I thought I was in dreamland, the more so when I saw the bizarre costumes worn by the two occupants of the room.

One was the lady I had followed from the graveyard, who, having thrown off her heavy cloak, now appeared in a white silk dress of antique cut, richly embroidered with gold. Round her slender neck she wore an old-fashioned necklace of superb rubies, set in silver, which flashed forth crimson flame with every heave of her snowy bosom, while strings of soft-shining pearls were twisted in her magnificent red hair; an Eastern girdle of gold fretwork encircled her waist, and broad gold bracelets radiant with gems clasped her milk-white arms. The profusion of jewels she wore scintillated, with her every motion, throwing out sparks of many-coloured fire, and she looked like one of those proud dames of Venice who smile so haughtily in the pictures of Titian. But her face! Oh, heavens! what a beautiful, cruel, relentless face!--the tigerish look in the splendid eyes, the wicked laugh of the full red lips! Was she truly a woman, or some fiend sent upon earth to lure men to hell by the fascination of her evil beauty?

If the woman was curiously dressed for modern days, her companion, a handsome young man of seven-and-twenty was still more so, as he wore a doublet of pale-blue velvet slashed with white satin and diapered with gold embroidery; a small ruff round his neck; high riding-boots of black leather, reaching to the thigh, with gilt spurs; and a short mantle of azure silk, which drooped gracefully from his shoulders. He had no rapier, but at his girdle hung a small poniard, the handle of which was thickly encrusted with gems, and on the velvet-covered chair beside him lay a large cloak and a small mask of black velvet. I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself to see if I were really awake, for the whole fantastic scene looked like one of those which had doubtless taken place at Verona in the opulent days of her splendour.

"I am mad, asleep, or intoxicated," I thought, as I looked at this Boccaccian feast, at these Boccaccian lovers. "What does it mean? This must be the phantom of Lucrezia Borgia, who has risen from the tomb to meet one of her dead lovers and renew for a time the joys of the past. Oh! I am mad or asleep. I will wake up and find this is all a dream--some fantasy of the brain created by the delirium of fever!"

Between the lovers lay the broken mandolin, and the woman, pointing to this, talked volubly while the young man stood listening with a scornful smile on his lips. Not being a very good Italian scholar, I could not follow all this rapid talk without great difficulty, but from what I could gather it seemed to me that the phantom of Lucrezia Borgia was accusing her lover of infidelity. At length, when she seemed exhausted, he caught up his mantle and mask as if about to go, but she fell prostrate before him, and seemed to implore him to stay. He shook his head, and then springing to her feet in anger, she snatched the poniard from his belt and tried to strike him. The young man warded off the thrust with his left arm, round which was wrapped his heavy black cloak, whereupon she let the dagger fall and began to beseech him again. I could not understand the meaning of this terrible dumb-show any more than I could the curious dresses, the antique chamber or the deserted palace. It was the phantasmagoria of a dream seen by the soft light of the tapers, and my brain being quite upset by the strange events of the night, I entirely forgot the nineteenth century, and seemed to live, to breathe, to tremble, on the threshold of one of those fatal chambers wherein the Medici, the Scaligers and the Borgias feasted, loved, betrayed, and slew their friends, their lovers, and their enemies.

The woman, evidently seeing it was useless, stopped beseeching the young man, upon which he picked up his dagger, and throwing the fold of his cloak over his right shoulder, advanced towards the door without saying good-bye to the lady. I withdrew quickly, fearful of discovery, when, just as his hand was on the curtains, her voice sounded once more slow and deliberate, so that I was able to understand what she said:--

"So you leave me for ever?"

"Yes!" he replied with the same deliberation, "for ever."

"Then before you go, let me drink to your future happiness."

"With pleasure, madame."

He appeared to hesitate at first, but after saying these words I heard him move away from the curtain, upon which I looked again and saw him standing by the chair, while the woman, with her face turned away, was filling a goblet with wine. Her back was towards him, so that he could not see what she was doing, but I could perceive her least action. She filled two goblets with wine, then taking something from her breast, dropped it into one of them, and, turning round with a smile, presented the cup to him. It flashed across me that she was trying to poison her lover, and I would have called out to warn him, but the extreme peril of my position, the terrible appearance of this woman, and the uselessness of interference kept me silent during this supreme moment.

The young man took the cup she gave him, and drained it with a bow, while she simply touched her lips with the other goblet, and smiled again.

"To your future happiness," she said in a significant voice, and set the goblet down on the table.

They talked together after this reconciliation for some time and seemed better friends than before, but I saw that the woman kept furtively glancing at his face with a wicked smile on her lips. At length he handed her the mask, which evidently did not belong to him, and, after kissing her hand, was about to turn in the direction of the archway, when suddenly he grew pale, put his hand to his head quickly, and grasped the chair near which he stood to keep himself from falling.

"Why, what is this?" he cried in a hoarse, strained voice. "Gran Dio! what does it mean?"

She bent forward with a wicked laugh, and the rubies flashed forth venomous red flame in the soft light.

"It means that you have betrayed me and I have revenged myself!"

He looked at her with a dazed expression, made a step forward as if to kill this terrible woman, who, dangling the mask in her hand, stood mocking at his agony with a cruel smile, then suddenly flung up his hands with a wild cry of despair and fell at her feet--dead.

"Fool!" she said, without displaying the least sign of emotion. "Fool!"

I wished to rush forward and denounce the demon in woman's shape who had so vilely perpetrated this cold-blooded murder, but, overcome with horror, I reeled away from the curtain and fell--fell into the arms of some one who held me with a powerful grip. I gasped with alarm and was about to call out, when I felt a handkerchief dashed suddenly over my face wet with some liquid. In spite of my struggles it was held firmly there, and I gradually felt my senses leave me until I knew no more.

* * * * * *

When I came to myself it was early morning, and I was seated on a stone bench in the Piazza Vittoria Emanuele, surrounded by a group of curious onlookers.

"Where am I?" I asked in English.

No one answered, and I repeated the question in Italian, upon which a fat woman spoke up,--

"Signor, you are in the Piazza Vittoria!" she said in a husky voice; "we found you here when we came first."

"But the palace, the woman, the poison!" I said stupidly, for my head was aching terribly.

The peasants looked at one another with a meaning smile and shook their heads. I saw that they thought I had been drinking, so, giving a piece of money to the fat woman who had spoken, I took my way at once to my hotel, which I reached in a state of bewilderment better imagined than described.