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Updated: May 23, 2025
The foregoing extract shows something of the kind of reading in which the little Brontës were interested; but their desire for knowledge must have been excited in many directions, for I find a "list of painters whose works I wish to see," drawn up by Charlotte Brontë when she was scarcely thirteen: "Guido Reni, Julio Romano Titian, Raphael, Michael Angelo, Coreggio, Annibal Carracci, Leonardo da Vinci, Fra Bartolomeo, Carlo Cignani, Vandyke, Rubens, Bartolomeo Ramerghi."
At last Simon stood still in the middle of the room; the scar on his cheek was of a fiery red, and his eyes rolled around restlessly. "Shall I then be forever ruined? Nothing is left me in the world but misery and infamy! Julio, is the arm-chair progressing?" "The arm-chair! Then the arm-chair was destined as a snare for Geronimo?" said the servant, stupefied. "What do you mean?"
I must return to Kipdorp, and you will do me the favor to wait a few minutes, in order to accompany me to my dwelling. Follow me." Geronimo, the watchmen, and Julio soon reached the residence of Mr. Van de Werve. He knocked, and was immediately admitted.
When I went, Julio, Simon Turchi's servant, pushed me into a chair prepared as a trap, in which my body was caught and held immovable by steel springs. Then Simon entered with a dagger in his hand; he took from me the note, and destroyed it in my presence. He attempted to stab me in the breast, but the blow was warded off by a copper amulet which I wore around my neck.
He retired to the other side of the cellar, knelt by the side of the grave, and with a smile upon his lips and his eyes lifted to heaven, he calmly awaited the fatal blow. He heard Julio trying to insert the key in the lock as if his hand were unsteady.
Then, trembling and shuddering, she suddenly weakened, and fumbling for her handkerchief, broke down in desperate weeping. Upon opening the studio door one afternoon, Argensola stood motionless with surprise, as though rooted to the ground. An old gentleman was greeting him with an amiable smile. "I am the father of Julio."
"Very well, then; if you are not a Frenchy, shout, 'Down with Napoleon!" And he looked around him to see if Desnoyers might be near, believing that this would displease him greatly. But his son-in-law pursued the even tenor of his way, shrugging his shoulders. "Down with Napoleon!" repeated Julio. And he instantly held out his hand while his grandfather went through his pockets.
He determined to go to the cellar at nightfall, when the search must be interrupted, to examine the arrangements made by Julio.
Julio put his hand to his throat and said, dejectedly: "The affair looks serious. I seem to be strangling; I feel the rope around my neck. It is all your fault, signor. Why did you murder your best friend? Did I not warn you that so frightful a crime would come to light?"
When Julio was left alone he put his hand in his pocket, chinked the gold coins, and drew out a handful for the pleasure of contemplating them; but he soon returned the money to his doublet, and fell into deep thought. "If," he muttered, "I could only set off at once! Here I am obliged to pass a whole night in that accursed pavilion!
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