Charles Dickens.]

POISON SOLD HERE!

155

"Is it a secret?"
"No; I will tell it you. When I feel that
I am dying, I order a grave to be dug,—a
very deep grave. You are aware that in the
centre of the earth there is an immense lake,
full of red water—and—and—"

Count Pisani, who had overheard the latter
part of this conversation, here suddenly inter-
rupted Lucca, saying, " Signor Dante, these
people are very anxious to have a dance.
Will you indulge them by playing a quadrille ?"

He then hurriedly dispatched one of the
attendants for a violin, on which instrument,
he informed me, Lucca was a masterly per-
former.

The violin being brought, the Count handed
it to Lucca, who began to tune it. Mean-
while, the Count, drawing me aside, said,
"I interrupted your conversation, just now,
somewhat abruptly; because I observed that
Lucca was beginning to wander into some of
his metaphysical delusions, and I never allow
him to talk on such subjects. These meta-
physical lunatics are always very difficult to
cure.

"But yonder comes one who will never be
cured! " pursued the Count, shaking his
head, sorrowfully, whilst he directed my
notice to a young female, who was advancing
from another part of the garden, attended by
a female servant or nurse. By this time the
dancers had begun to range themselves in
their places, and the young lady's attendant
was drawing her forward, with the view of
inducing her to take part in the quadrille.

The young lady, whose dress and general
elegance of appearance seemed to denote that
she was a person of superior rank, was disin-
clined to dance; and as the attendant per-
sisted in urging her forward, she struggled to
escape, and at length fell into a paroxysm of
grief.

"Let her alone! Let her alone! " said
Count Pisani to the attendant. " It is useless
to contend with her. Poor girl! I fear she
will never endure to see dancing, or to hear
music, without this violent agitation. Come
hither, Costanza," said he, beckoning kindly
to her. " Tell me what is the matter ?"

"Oh, Albano! Albano! " shrieked the poor
maniac. " They are going to kill Albano!"

And then, overcome by her emotion, she
sank, exhausted, into the arms of her attend-
ant, who carried her away.

Meanwhile, the sound of the violin had
drawn together, from various parts of the
garden, a number of patients, male and
female, and the quadrille was formed. Among
the most conspicuous figures in the group
were the son of the Emperor of China, and
the man who believed himself to be dead.
The former wore on his head a splendid
crown, made of gilt paper; and the latter, who
was enveloped in a white sheet, stalked about
with the grave and solemn air which he con-
ceived to be common to a ghost. A melan-
choly madman, who evidently shared in the

festivity with reluctance and regret, and who
was, from time to time, urged on by his
keepers, and a woman, who fancied herself to
be Saint Catherine, and was subject to strange
fits of ecstasy and improvisation, were also
conspicuous among the dancers. Lucca, who
played the violin with extraordinary spirit,
every now and then marked the time by
stamping his foot on the ground, whilst, in a
stentorian voice, he called out the figures, to
which, however, the dancers paid not the
slightest attention. The scene was inde-
scribable. It was like one of those fantastic
visions which are sometimes conjured up in a
dream.

As we were passing through the court yard,
on our way out, I espied Costanza, the young
lady who had so determinedly refused to join
in the dance. She was now kneeling down
on the edge of a fountain, and intently gazing
on her own countenance, which was reflected
from the limpid water as from a mirror.

I asked the Count what had caused the
insanity of this interesting patient. " Alas!"
replied he, " it is a melancholy story of
romantic vendetta, which might almost figure
in a work of fiction." Costanza's husband had
been murdered on her bridal day by a rival.

When Costanza was first brought to the
establishment, her madness was of a very
violent character; but, by degrees, it had
softened down into a placid melancholy.
Nevertheless, her case was one which admitted
of no hope.

Some time after my visit to Palermo, I met
Lucca in Paris. He was then, to all appear-
ance, perfectly himself. He conversed very
rationally, and even appeared to recollect
having seen and conversed with me before.
I enquired after poor Costanza; but he shook
his head sorrowfully. The Count's prediction
was fully verified. Lucca had recovered his
senses; but Costanza was still an inmate of
the Casa dei Matti.

POISON SOLD HERE!

Two centuries ago poisoning was a science;
now, thanks to a sluggish and " never-
minding " legislature, the art may be safely
practised by the meanest capacity. The ex-
citing extent to which murder has been re-
cently done by poison fills a column of every
newspaper and furnishes a topic for general
conversation. Nor is it a new thing. A par-
liamentary return states, that, in the ten years
which ended with 1849—putting aside acci-
dental poisonings, which were countless—the
appalling number of two hundred and fifty
nine persons were murdered by poison (chiefly
by arsenic), yet the practical difficulties of
detection were so great that no more than
eighty-five convictions took place: thus out of
every three poisoners one only could be de-
tected. So easy is murder by poison and so
difficult is detection! The mystery is easy of
solution; as we shall soon show.