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Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
A REGENCY ROMANCE NOVEL

ABIGAIL AGAR
 Copyright © 2024 by Abigail Agar

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Table of Contents
Table of Contents

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Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22
 Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

A Viscount's Mistletoe Encounter

Introduction

Chapter 1

Chapter 2
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Beneath the Beastly Duke's Mask
Introduction

Arabella Lockhart, a spirited woman seeking purpose, becomes entangled in the gripping rumors about the elusive Duke of
Richmond. His face, scarred from a tragic accident, piques her curiosity, leading her to boldly infiltrate his estate as a maid to
uncover the truth. Arabella's journey will slowly unravel the mystery behind the duke's scars drawing her closer to a man
whose visage masks a heart capable of deep love and nobility…

Will this be the start of her fascination for the enigmatic man?

Henry Fitzgerald, bearing scars that mar not just his body but also his soul, stands as a guardian of a dukedom that was never
fated to be his own. Trapped in societal expectations and haunted by his true lineage, Henry finds comfort in Arabella's
kindness. As their connection deepens, the revelation of his heritage sends shockwaves through his already fractured sense of
self… Henry finds himself suddenly torn between the love he harbors for Arabella and the belief that he is unworthy of her.

The battle for his heart becomes a tempest, threatening to drown them both…

In a world filled with doubts, Arabella and Henry's love stands strong, burning bright even in the toughest times. Facing
betrayal, shocking truths, and a scheming cousin, they stay together, ready to forge their own destiny. Will their love last, or
will they succumb to the pressures of their separate worlds?
Chapter 1

Euston Estate

With her hands on her hips, Arabella looked around the area. It seemed ridiculous for one person to own an entire village, but
Euston was such a place. The tales about the duke were rather contradictory as well, with some calling him a kind and
generous man while others spread horrifying stories about his beastly appearance.

This was why she was here. Arabella wanted to know more about the beastly duke, which had led her to take a chance and step
into the unknown. There was no guarantee she would find employment as a maid, but she was willing to try.

Using a footpath instead of the wider dirt road, Arabella ran her hands through a few wildflowers, snagging one with her
fingers. She snapped the stem shorter and looked for little insects before placing it in her hair. She hadn't bothered putting up
her black curls into the usual fashionable style but left it as one long braid down her back. She usually wore it loose at home,
but she no longer had a home.

It was just a house filled with furniture and memories. Arabella would much rather have her parents and live in a hovel than an
empty, spacious house. Having her mother die of consumption two months earlier, followed by her father's death by a broken
heart only a month later, had been harsh and unnecessary. No one deserved that much misfortune.

It had been a difficult time for Arabella, but her mother's death had been somewhat easier to bear. Her mother had been ill for
so long that death had finally brought her much-needed peace, but her father's death had left her devastated, and questioning
God's existence. Arabella's father's health deteriorated quickly after her mother's death, but he wasn't ill.

He had simply lost the will to live, and nothing she had done could snap him out of his self-destructive state. Truthfully, she had
been angry with him immediately after his death, though she eventually accepted it, choosing to understand her father rather
than judge him for leaving her alone. Arabella's parents had been soul mates and unable to live without each other. She couldn't
and wouldn't be angry about that.

She stepped over a rock and paused briefly, raising her head and squinting into the distance. Arabella could just about see
Euston Hall, the duke's residence. Stories about the Duke of Richmond had fascinated Arabella since she was a little girl. One
version claimed the duke was born beastly-looking and hidden away by the old duke until he felt guilty enough to bring him into
the house.

It sounded more like a fairy tale, but Arabella was open to believing it if there was proof. Everyone loved a bit of mystery,
especially when it concerned the most prominent family in the area. There were so many mysteries surrounding the duke, giving
Arabella the purpose she needed to move on from her tragedies and embrace life.

Arabella wanted to live life to the fullest, and that meant not settling for what others believed was the correct course for her
life. She spent months nursing her mother before she succumbed to her illness, only to spend her days watching her father
deteriorate because he couldn't live without his wife. She had willingly put her life on hold for her parents, not wanting to be
anywhere else but with them.

It had been just the three of them all her life, and then she woke up one day and felt like she had lost everything worth living
for. Arabella needed to find purpose to continue living, deciding that an ordinary life was not for her. Instead of accepting her
relatives' wish for her to live with them, she took a leap of faith to live life on her terms, even if that meant becoming a maid.

Drawing in a deep breath, Arabella exhaled it slowly and continued walking. She was stepping into a new adventure—she
could feel it. Even the day seemed to indicate it, with its sunshine and cloudless skies. However, Arabella likely still would
have seen the bright side to the day even if the weather was miserable.

Nothing could deter her from the excitement coursing through her body. She was going to seek employment at Euston Hall and
find out for herself if there was any truth to the stories surrounding the duke. It had nothing to do with ridiculing the duke.
Arabella was sincerely curious about him in the best way possible.

Both her father and grandfather had been well-known physicians, treating the wealthy and poor. However, her grandfather had
the best stories concerning all the people he had treated throughout his life, but none as captivating as the one about the old
duke and his wife.

Arabella's grandfather treated the pair for years and, during his maudlin years, had shared stories with her about their
interesting lives, but none of them made her as curious as the incident that supposedly changed the course of the old duke's life.
Her grandfather had always told her everything, but he had not shared any significant details about the incident, fueling her
curiosity.

His reluctance to say much had led her to create all kinds of interesting stories, her favorite one being that the old duke and
duchess were fae people living as humans to escape persecution in their own realm. Perhaps they had hidden their son away
for as long as they could, but he was injured when the enemy caught him, wounding him terribly. Now, the current duke was
scarred and hiding away in his estate to avoid being caught again.

Chuckling at her imagination, she patted the flower in her hair, ensuring it was still there. If she had a little more time, she
would make a wreath of wildflowers and perhaps gift it to the first little girl she met. Arabella had yet to find a girl who didn't
like a crown of flowers.
She nodded respectfully at a few people who stopped to look at her, smiling cheerfully as she went her way. A sincere smile
was mostly infectious, so most returned the greeting without thinking, only frowning when they realized they didn't know who
she was.

“Good morning, sir,” she said to a man watching over a herd of sheep. “Might I trouble you for just a moment?”

The older man flicked his hat further up, revealing a kind, weathered face. This was a man who had worked for most of his life
and would most likely continue doing so until his body gave up on him. People like him had no other choice unless they had
children willing to look after them in their old age.

“How can I help you, young lady?” he asked, shifting his position on the low stonewall.

“Would you please direct me to the housekeeper?” she said. “I know to continue to the house, but should I go to the house
directly or wait elsewhere? I'm afraid I'm not certain about what one should do when seeking employment.”

The man's bushy gray eyebrows rose. "You wish to work here?" He gave her a once over. "There is no post for a governess as
there are no children. You cannot be a lady's maid because the master is unmarried and has no missus. I think you came to the
wrong place, miss."

Arabella smiled. “I have come to find work as a maid, kind sir. I am sure a grand estate such as this can never have too many
maids.”

"A maid?" he repeated, frowning. "Why would a lady like you wish to be a maid? You do not strike me as someone who does
such manual work. Are you certain you wish to be a maid here? Someone so well-spoken, well-dressed, and with your
manners has no business working as a maid."

Arabella inwardly sighed. Aunt Beatrice had warned her it would be difficult for anyone to believe she could work as a maid.
Arabella's mother had been a disowned baron's daughter and raised her to be a lady. They might have lived as commoners as
her father was a mere physician and not even part of the coveted gentry. However, her mother had ensured she had a proper
education and knew how to carry herself no matter the situation.

“I'm a commoner like you are, sir,” she pointed out. “Do not be misled by my mannerisms. My father was a physician, and my
mother a devoted wife and mother.”
“That doesn't explain why you carry yourself like a lady,” the old man said, tilting his head to the side. “A man my age has
lived and seen many things in his lifetime. You are no commoner, miss.”

“What should I do to behave more like a commoner?” she asked rather than argue. “I wouldn't want to offend anyone. Some
might believe I assume I'm better than them, but that couldn't be further from the truth.”

"Why do you wish to be a maid?" he asked. "And why here, of all places?"

“I have indirect ties to Euston, sir,” she said. “I also have no mother and father, so I should work for my keep. I have no
references to be anything but a maid.”

She didn't dare say she was on an adventure to discover the truth behind the stories about the duke. The old man might not
understand and believe she wished to ridicule the duke.

“I see,” he said, nodding. A look of sympathy entered his light blue eyes. “What about relatives?”

"I do not wish to bother them," Arabella replied. "I would rather work with the two hands and feet the Lord has graciously
given me. Working with the rest of what the Lord has given me would also be helpful," she added with a chuckle.

The old man laughed. “It certainly would,” he said. “I see you're quite determined, young miss. I admire your wish to stand on
your own two feet. Mrs. Cooper will appreciate that.”

“Is Mrs. Cooper the housekeeper?”

Arabella should have done more research into Euston Hall, but her decision to work for the duke had been sudden. She had
decided soon after her father's funeral. She’d hardly had time to learn the necessary information about Euston Hall's main
servants.

“Yes, she is,” the man confirmed. “If you continue along this path, you'll eventually run into the laundry maids hanging up the
laundry. They should be able to tell you where Mrs. Cooper is likely to be.”
Arabella bowed her head slightly. "Thank you so much for your help, sir," she said. She turned away but soon looked back at
him. "May I please know your name?" she asked. "I'm Arabella Lockhart."

“Lockhart?” he said. “The name is oddly familiar. Well, Miss Lockhart, you can call me Rogers.”

“Please, call me Arabella,” she insisted. “I prefer to be informal.”

A ghost of a smile hovered above Rogers' lips. “You should move along if you intend to speak to Mrs. Cooper before the end
of the day. You might need to wait while she runs errands. She's always quite busy.”

“Thank you, Rogers,” she said, bowing her head slightly before continuing on the path.

She passed several other people along the way, asking them for directions just to ensure she was on the right path. The footpath
had split into two earlier, which Rogers hadn't mentioned. Arabella had selected one and confirmed it with the servants near
the path. No one seemed to question her presence on the estate and merely gave her directions to the laundry maids. The house
up ahead was growing closer, but Arabella could tell she still had some distance to go. Loud quacking caught her attention,
prompting her to turn to her left.

A mother duck was guiding her ducklings toward a pond, their waddling amusing and adorable. She leaned against a large rock
and watched them momentarily, intrigued when a large man appeared from a thicket of woods.

He dressed rather plainly with just a white shirt that seemed to pull across his broad shoulders and black, tightly fitted
breeches that showed off his well-formed calves. He was much taller than her five-foot height, but her father had topped six
feet. She doubted the man was as tall.

Arabella was impressed with the sheer breadth of him and imagined he could easily carry a sheep on both shoulders. He was
undoubtedly suited to physical labor, but the nature of his clothes confused her. His white shirt and beige breeches were not
typical servants' attire, but he wasn't dressed like an aristocrat either.

Almost, but not quite. Arabella guessed him to be a steward or someone similar—he earned enough money to buy quality
clothing, but he wasn't raised as a gentleman, which reflected in how he was dressed.

Moving her head about, she tried to take a good look at his face, but his long, dark hair covered it completely. She had never
seen a man with such long hair before. Some let their hair grow longer than their collars, but this man's hair was long enough to
touch his chest. It curled slightly at the ends and moved like a curtain, keeping his face shrouded.

A little disappointed that she couldn't put a face to a body, she merely watched him approach the ducks with a basket
overflowing with lettuce leaves. He made a clucking sound, drawing the creatures' attention before throwing a few leaves on
the grass. They turned and ran toward him, their excited quacks filling the air. They clamored around the man, devouring the
lettuce leaves in seconds.

The man chuckled, the sound warm and comforting. Arabella smiled. One could tell a lot from someone's laughter, especially
when no one was around to hear them. This man had a good and kind heart—just the sort she was drawn to.

Pushing away from the rock, Arabella found she wanted to be closer to the man and finally see his face. The grass crunched
under her feet and should have alerted the man that someone was approaching, but he appeared oblivious to her presence.
Arabella stopped a few feet away from him, not wanting to encroach on his personal space.

"I'm glad you're feeding them leaves, not bread," she said. "Bread tends to wreak havoc with their digestion."

The man stilled, the basket's handle groaning slightly under his suddenly tightened grip.

“I didn't mean to startle you,” she said.

He said nothing but turned away as though he were trying to hide from her. Arabella frowned slightly, her eyes falling on the
golden, olive skin of his exposed forearms. Thick burn scars covered most of the area, making the skin appear tight and
discolored.

Some areas were pink with brown hues, while others were white, making patterns like tiny roads through the thickened skin.
Arabella had the strange urge to trace her fingers along every ridge and wondered how far the scars went.

They resembled a map and... It finally dawned on her that this man could be the duke! She opened her mouth to ask him, but he
walked away quickly as though he knew what she had been about to ask. Arabella closed her mouth, pulling it to the side as she
watched him disappear into the woods.

The duke preferred to stay away from people because of his scars, and this man's forearms were covered in burn scars.
Arabella had assisted her physician father enough to tell the difference between scars, be they from scratches or stab wounds.
Her gut told her this man was likely the duke, hence his wish to keep his face hidden.
Arabella sighed, her compassion stirred to the surface. It had to be difficult living with the need to hide oneself from the public
eye. It couldn't be easy with him being a duke.

Sighing, she looked up at the sky, her eyes widening at how high the sun was. She might never get to see Mrs. Cooper if she
dallied along the path. She increased her pace, hurrying toward the house. Arabella considered going to the back door, but the
servants all told her to go to the front door and ask for Mrs. Cooper.

Perhaps she should have said she wished to find a job as a maid, but it was too late now as she stepped up to the front door and
banged the knocker. A neatly dressed man answered the door, his serious expression potentially intimidating for someone who
cowered under authority. While Arabella respected everyone, she wasn't afraid of people, be they rich or poor.

There was no need because she believed people were equals despite their social class or wealth status. Of course, not many
shared those beliefs, but her parents had ensured she grew up looking further than the outward man.

“Good day, sir,” she greeted, bowing her head slightly. “My name is Arabella Lockhart.”

“Good day,” the man replied, subtly examining her. “How can I help you, young lady?”

“May I speak to Mrs. Cooper?” she asked.

He raised a dark eyebrow. “May I know the reason?”

“I'd very much like to work here,” Arabella said truthfully. “As a maid,” she added quickly. “I was told that I would need to
speak to Mrs. Cooper. Is she available? I'm happy to wait until she is.”

“I am not aware of there being a position available,” the man told her. “However, Mrs. Cooper is the authority on such things,
so if you would wait for a moment."

“Outside?” she asked.

“Of course not,” he replied, stepping back. “Come in and wait in the foyer. I will speak to Mrs. Cooper.”

Arabella smiled. “Thank you, sir,” she said, walking into the house.

He gestured at an upholstered bench, indicating she should sit down. Arabella bobbed her head and thanked him, settling
between cushions.

“Lovely chair,” she commented to herself, looking around the area.

The outside had been impressive enough, with its many windows, chimneys, and vines growing on one half of the building.
Arabella had counted three balconies and had wondered about the rooms behind them. It would be lovely to have a room
where one could wake up and sit outside on the balcony first thing in the morning.

One could have hot chocolate in the winter, curled up with a book, and lemonade in the summer. Perhaps a woman could get
away with just wearing her undergarments in the summer, knowing no one would be able to see. The options were endless.

“Miss Lockhart?” a woman's voice said.

Startled, Arabella jumped to her feet, meeting the dark brown eyes of a plump, attractive woman in her late forties or early
fifties.

“Arabella,” she told the woman cheerfully. “Might you be Mrs. Cooper?”

The housekeeper nodded curtly. “Correct. Mr. Black tells me you wish to work here as a maid. Judging by the looks of you, you
have never worked as a maid before. Show me your hands.”

Arabella held them out, smiling to herself. The housekeeper likely expected smooth hands, but Arabella was a keen archeress.
Constant handling of bows and arrows had left permanent calluses on her palms.

“It seems you're not foreign to work,” Mrs. Cooper said, frowning slightly. “Why have you chosen to work here in particular?”
“I heard many good things about this place,” Arabella said, hoping her lie wouldn't show. “It was my first option. The land is
beautiful, and working in a house like this would be an honor. I've also heard many good things about the duke and his family. It
would be a blessing to work for such an employer."

“You've heard good things about the duke?” Mrs. Cooper asked incredulously.

"Well, I've heard bad things as well, but I don't like to dwell on them," said Arabella. "I generally do not listen to bad news or
rumors. It's a waste of time. I'm more interested in how he manages this village so well. Rarely anyone leaves. He must be a
fair and generous employer. Why not work for someone who treats his people well?"

Mrs. Cooper nodded slowly. “That is all well and good, but what makes you think you'll fit in this environment?”

Arabella had posed the very same question to herself before embarking on her journey. If she couldn't fit in, she wouldn't be
able to fulfill her mission.

"I'm good-natured," Arabella began. "Someone not afraid of work. I'm not one for gossip, but I enjoy hearing good stories. I
generally like everyone, and I choose to see the bright side of every situation. I'm by no means perfect, but I give my best in all
that I do. I like working in harmony with others—it makes the job go faster. That's about it, I think."

Mrs. Cooper didn't answer her immediately. She appeared to be deep in thought, her head slightly tilted as she observed
Arabella.

“I must say I like your disposition, Arabella,” the housekeeper finally said. “We need more bright and cheerful people here.
Perhaps you will influence the others to take more pride in their work.”

Arabella's smile widened. “I would like to try my very best.”

“However,” Mrs. Cooper added. “The final decision rests with the master. You will meet him and speak with him. If he agrees,
you can begin later this week.”

So, Arabella would officially meet the very man who had been in her thoughts for many years, and she could put a face to the
body she had met earlier. She was a tad nervous but mostly excited for what lay ahead. No matter what, she wouldn't regret her
decision to come to Euston Hall.
Chapter 2

Leaning on the balustrade, Henry watched the woman with his housekeeper below. Knowing his land better than anyone else
had ensured he could return to the house before the woman made it to the front door.

Henry had a feeling she was coming to inquire about something, but he didn't know what. He couldn't hear what they were
saying, but he was too intrigued by the young woman to stop staring. She was the same one from earlier, the woman who had
spoken to him while he fed the mother duck and her ducklings.

Henry had wondered about the duck, having encountered her eggs some time ago. When he saw five little ducking following
her, he was relieved and had his cook give him all their lettuce leaves. She had grumbled a bit, but they had plenty in the
garden, so she had relented.

His cook was one of the few women who looked him straight in the face and didn't flinch. Others averted their gazes and tried
their best not to be around him for too long. He didn't blame them. His scarred face was enough to put anyone off their food.

Shifting slightly, Henry leaned over the balustrade, trying to catch a little of the conversation. The young woman had taken him
by surprise earlier, and he still felt rather silly for freezing in place as though his feet had been bolted to the ground. His mind
had momentarily blanked, unsure of what to do. Henry had instantly known the woman wasn't one of his servants in the village
—no woman willingly spoke to him outside Euston Hall.

It had been so long since anyone had dared to talk to him so casually that it had thrown him off balance. Everyone knew the
'Beastly Duke' and didn't venture into the village without some trepidation. Keeping to himself seemed best for everyone, even
for his servants. Henry was most comfortable around his valet, steward, housekeeper, banker, and cook as he spent the most
time around them.

His other employees served him well and respected him, but it was apparent they were uncomfortable being around him.
Perhaps the stories about him being a beast had overtaken their common senses, so all they saw were his scars.

The young woman below had been refreshingly different. Of course, she hadn't seen his face, but anyone with a working mind
would have seen the terrible scars on his arms and have come to a conclusion about his identity. Not many could claim so many
scars on their body. He was a monster, a beastly man who once did a good deed and was rewarded with disfigurement.

How good yet shocking it was to have a woman speak to him normally. Sometimes, Henry missed the simplicity of interacting
with others and wondered what could have been if he had not run away from the dark-haired beauty. Of course, she didn't see
his face, so there was no telling what she would have done. Henry lightly snorted. He was lying to himself.
He knew precisely what would have happened. She would have cried in alarm and taken off running as though the hounds of
Hades were after her. Still, it had been nice to hear someone speak to him without fear in their voice. Although he couldn't hear
what she was saying, he could still detect the clarity in her voice and its soothing effect. She probably has a wonderful singing
voice, but he would never have the honor of hearing it.

Feeling like a peeping Tom, Henry told himself to walk away before someone caught him watching. His feet wouldn't budge,
not until Mrs. Cooper turned away from the young woman and headed to the stairs. Alarmed, he ran across the landing as
noiselessly as possible and bolted into the parlor.

He dove for his armchair, picking up a book to read as he worked on calming his breathing. His housekeeper might not come to
see him, but he still didn't want to be caught in an awkward position or have her ask why he sounded slightly out of breath. It
wasn't so much the mad dash that had altered his breathing but the excitement of possibly knowing why the dark-haired woman
was in his house.

Henry was calm and collected by the time Mrs. Cooper knocked on the door and entered, his expression of mild interest as he
looked over his book.

"Your Grace," she said, frowning slightly at his book. "It's upside down, Your Grace," she pointed out.

Henry's cheeks warmed. “Uh, yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “I'm aware of that. I wanted to see if I could read it upside
down. Just a little experiment.” He put it down. “Do you need something?”

“I was going to speak to you about this before, but we had to let go of one of our maids this past week,” she told him. "It was
quietly done as the situation was of a delicate nature. I wouldn't want Leticia humiliated for succumbing to a man's empty
promises."

Henry sighed, rubbing eyes. “Another one?”

Mrs. Cooper nodded. "Yes, Your Grace. Although I have my suspicions, she refuses to say who it was."

Disappointment sat heavily within him. Henry was against lords seducing maids and impregnating them, only to abandon them
soon after. Leticia was comely enough to attract the roaming eyes of weak-willed men like his cousin Basil, Viscount Kersey.
He had a feeling Basil was flirting with Leticia, one of his newer maids, but he had foolishly not expected it to get to this point
so quickly. Although his housekeeper didn't say it was Basil, he was almost certain it was him.

“Did you give her three months' wages to help her along?” Henry asked.

“Yes, and a place where she can go for young mothers,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Although the house can manage without her, I
prefer to have an even amount of maids for each part of the house. I believe I have found a young woman who will fit in
perfectly, but she needs to meet you first.”

In other words, the woman needed to pass the test given to all servants on his estate. If an employee was capable of
withstanding his presence without crying out in fear and running off, they could stay and work. Henry didn't want his servants
cowering in fear every time he passed them. It was one thing to be apprehensive and avoid eye contact, but another to run off in
fear.

“Is the woman here?” he asked, foolishly not realizing at first that his housekeeper likely meant the woman downstairs. His
eyes widened with the realization before Mrs. Cooper confirmed his thoughts.

“Yes, she is, Your Grace,” his housekeeper replied. “Shall I bring her to you?”

Henry didn't answer immediately. He didn't want to scare the woman away by revealing his face to her, but there was no other
way. However, if Mrs. Cooper believed the woman would fit well into the environment, he merely had to trust her.

“Your Grace?”

“Yes,” he said. “Bring her here.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” she replied and left.

Henry's hands twitched where they lay on the armrests, unable to remain still. He was nervous—he couldn't deny that. For the
first time in many years, Henry wanted the meeting to go well. He generally wanted all first meetings with possible employees
to go well, but this woman was different.
Perhaps it was simply because she had spoken to him earlier and given him a taste of what it felt like to be normal, but it
couldn't last. She would balk when she saw his face, so he needed to prepare himself for her look of disgust or fear—
whichever would come first.

Mrs. Cooper eventually entered the parlor with the woman, and he was tempted to hide his face. However, the need to see her
up close overwhelmed his need to look away.

“Your Grace, this is Arabella Lockhart,” his housekeeper introduced.

Ah, so that was her name. It was as lovely as she was. Arabella's head was down, and her hands clasped before her in respect,
likely waiting for his approval to approach him.

“I understand you wish to work here,” said Henry, willing her to look up.

She finally did, revealing striking amber-colored eyes. It was like someone had infused brown with gold until it gleamed and
looked otherworldly. Henry held his breath, waiting for the rejection to come. Only, it never did. Nothing in her eyes or
expression indicated she was disgusted or afraid.

Instead, she smiled at him with just a hint of compassion. It wasn't pity—Henry knew that emotion well. This was a woman
looking at the horribly scarred face of a man and not caring that he was disfigured. He found himself wanting to smile. This
was a first for him.

“I'm happy to make your acquaintance, Your Grace,” she said, curtsying. “I would very much like to work as a made here at
Euston Hall. I promise to work hard and never give you any hassles. I only ask for an opportunity to prove myself.”

She spoke cheerfully, her smile lighting up her face and the room around her. It was so infectious that the corners of his mouth
had tilted upwards before he could stop himself.

“Why this house in particular?” he found himself asking.

“If I may be just a little cheeky, Your Grace,” she began. “Why not this house and estate? Everything is beautiful, and judging
by the general contentment among your employers, working for you would be much more preferable than being a maid in
another household.”

It was a little inappropriate to be so frank, but Arabella's sweet nature told him she didn't mean to sound rude. She only wished
to tell the truth. Even if she had been a tad rude, he would have dismissed it in favor of the lack of fear in her eyes as she stood
before him.

“You can work here, Miss Lockhart,” he said. “Mrs. Cooper will give you the details you need.”

Arabella's smile widened until her eyes were happy half-moons. "Thank you, Your Grace—you will not regret hiring me," she
said, bowing. "Thank you, Mrs. Cooper."

“You may go now and return tomorrow morning for instructions,” Mrs. Cooper told her.

“Yes, Mrs. Cooper,” Arabella replied. “Thank you once again.”

Arabella left with a spring in her step, her dark braid swaying against her back. Henry was disappointed that she had to leave
so early, surprising himself at how quickly he had developed a bit of an attachment to her. Even the room seemed to lose its
brightness and warmth, leaving it uncommonly cold and bleak. It was rather strange because the room had been just fine before
she arrived.

“I'm glad you approve of her, Your Grace,” said Mrs. Cooper, drawing his attention. “I truly believe she will do well here. We
need someone with a disposition like hers.”

“I agree, Mrs. Cooper,” he replied.

"She also seems well-mannered and speaks well," the housekeeper continued. "Even how she carries herself is quite different
from your usual commoner. She is undoubtedly interesting. I'd like to put her at the front of the house."

Henry had to agree. He had never met a commoner with mannerisms like her. They were rather ladylike and not blunt like the
rest of his maids. It made Arabella rather interesting.

“I trust your judgment, Mrs. Cooper,” he said. “Do as you see fit.”
Either way, Arabella would begin work on his estate soon. The thought excited him more than he believed was wise. Henry
quickly reined in his emotions, realizing how inappropriate they were. An employer should not be excited about a servant, no
matter how charming and intriguing she was.
Chapter 3

Lockhart Residence

“Aunt Beatrice!” Arabella cried, throwing the front door open and running into the kitchen.

Her father's sister loved to cook and was always experimenting with food. Every few months, she fixated on a topic such as a
hundred ways to cook chicken, how to preserve food after it has been cooked, medicinal uses of herbs—the list was endless.

She even had the slightly manic, disheveled look of a scientist keen on finding the answer to every question in the universe.
Aunt Beatrice was rarely without her apron and a hairstyle of hair messily piled atop her head and secured with millions of
pins that somehow still allowed tendrils of pale hair to fall and frame her heart-shaped face.

“Aunt Beatrice?” Arabella called out, upon realizing her aunt wasn't in the kitchen.

“I'm in the garden!” her aunt yelled.

Arabella left through the back kitchen door, finding her aunt kneeling in the herb patch. She was pulling up herbs from the roots
and placing them in an old, large basket.

“What are you doing?” Arabella asked, leaning against a wall.

“I see no reason to leave these herbs for the next owners,” her aunt replied, sitting back on her legs. “Or the flowers and
vegetables. You and your mother painstakingly planted everything in this garden, so we're taking them with us.”

Arabella laughed. “Some people would find that petty behavior.”

"Petty?" Aunt Beatrice replied. "It's petty to take the fruits of your labor? Ridiculous. We'll replant them once we reach
Somerset. I'm thinking about cutting the tops of the herbs and drying them, but preserving the roots in water until we reach
Somerset."
“But why are you doing it now?” Arabella asked. “Uncle still has to sell the house.”

Arabella's mother had taught her to never grow attached to material things and that relationships with people were worthier of
her time. Her mother learned this the hard way when her father disowned her for wanting to marry a physician. Arabella's
mother was stripped of all her jewelry, clothing, dowry—everything.

However, she soon learned that being with the man she loved more than made up for losing the things she used to believe were
important. For that reason, Arabella had vowed not to mourn the loss of her family home. She could live anywhere as long as
she had her memories.

“Your uncle has found a buyer for the house,” Aunt Beatrice informed her. “A lovely couple with two small children. This
house is the perfect size for them.”

“Uncle Daniel found a buyer already?” said Arabella.

Aunt Beatrice smiled. “My husband is a capable and efficient man,” she said. “Of course, it also has to do with the house being
a beautiful piece of history in Thetford.”

The house was a cottage that was once part of a larger estate. Over time, the estate was sold piece by piece until the cottage
was alone, with just a little land around it. It by no means made them landed gentry, but it was also uncommon for commoners
to own their own houses in such a respectable area.

“I suppose that is good,” said Arabella, thinking about her move to Euston at the end of the week.

"It's very good, dear!" her aunt exclaimed. "We can leave earlier than planned and get you settled with us in Somerset.
Everyone is looking forward to you being there. You should label everything you wish to take with you and anything that can be
donated to the less fortunate. My mother always said that if one took care of the poor, the Lord would take care of them."

“What about generosity?” Arabella asked.

"Of course, one must be generous," her aunt said, pulling out some tarragon. "That goes without saying. But is it not the same
thing? Giving to the less fortunate is generous.”
“What about the herbs and flowers you're digging out of the garden?”

Aunt Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “This is entirely different!” she said. “My mother never said we should give everything to
people. We're already selling such a beautiful house to that couple. It's in wonderful condition, and they got it at a reasonable
price. Your uncle could have asked for much more, but you insisted we be fair.”

Arabella pushed away from the wall and knelt next to her aunt. “Mama and Papa would have wanted the same thing,” she said,
pulling on another bundle of tarragon. “When do the couple hope to move in?”

“Well, you still have to decide what we're taking with us,” Aunt Beatrice pointed out. “I've sent letters to your aunts and uncles
to assist us with the moving, so I would say a month. The young couple are eager to move in. They're currently staying with the
woman's parents.”

Arabella nodded. She had yet to tell her aunt that she would start work at the end of the week and would no longer be living in
her old family home.

“Aunt,” she began. “I'll finalize everything before the end of the week. I will not take much, so you should decide what you
would also like to have.”

“You do not have to rush, dear,” Aunt Beatrice protested. “You have a month.”

“Actually, I shall be working at Euston Hall by then,” said Arabella. “In fact, I start at the end of the week. I'm going tomorrow
to get a tour and receive instructions.”

Aunt Beatrice sighed, tossing her shovel to the side and planting her hands on her hips. "Are you really going through with
this?" she asked. "How can you become a maid? Is this what your parents wanted? And you'll be working for the Beastly Duke
of all people. I know you're not one to judge anyone, but this is really too much. Why him, of all people? And it's not like you
need to work. Won't you reconsider?”

Arabella continued to pull herbs out as she spoke, getting her hands dirty. "I'm excited about working at Euston Hall, Aunt," she
said. "The duke is also a lovely man and nothing at all like some people have said. Having scars doesn't make you a terrible
person. His servants seem content, and the estate is beautiful. Mind you, I have noticed their discomfort around the duke
because of his scars, but it has nothing to do with his character."
“Fine, fine, fine,” her aunt said.

“The duke aside, why do you feel the need to work? The money from the sale of this house will go to you, and your father left
you an inheritance. Your uncle said those two combined will allow you to live comfortably for the rest of your life. You'll
never need to work. Just come stay with us until we can find a suitable man for you to marry. I cannot stand the thought of
leaving you behind. In fact, I do not want to think about it.”

Arabella's father had always been one to plan for the future. They may not have been rich, but they had lived comfortably
enough for him to set money aside for her. He didn't want his daughter to depend on anyone should the unthinkable happen,
where she found herself without parents.

“I want you and uncle to take some of the money from the house sale,” Arabella insisted.

Her aunt shook her head. “No, we do not want a cent from that money,” she protested. “It's all yours. And don't you dare give it
to any of your greedy cousins, especially my sister's children. They'll come sniffing at your heels once they know you're sitting
on a small fortune.”

Arabella moved from her knees to her bottom, crossing her legs. “I'm not opposed to helping them if needed, but I'm not foolish
enough to not know when someone is trying to manipulate me.” She sat back on her hands, looking up at the sky. “It feels a little
odd knowing this house will no longer be my home, but I do not regret the decision to sell it and move on.”

“Well, you moved here when you were two, so it's the only home you know,” her aunt pointed out. “I recall how excited your
father was when he bought it. Your grandfather helped as well, asking favors from influential acquaintances to help the sale go
through easily. It had always been his dream to have a beautiful house and family.”

Arabella pressed her lips together, blinking back hot tears. “Papa always wanted the best for us,” she said. “Part of me doesn't
want to give up this house, but Papa wouldn't want me to stay just because it was his dream. He would want me to live my life
as I wish.”

“But I doubt he'd want you to be working for the duke,” her aunt pointed out. “Or working at all. A maid? That is just too much,
Niece.”

“Papa and Mama would understand,” she said firmly. “Will Uncle settle the matter of the house sale and my inheritance at the
bank? He knows more about such things.”
Aunt Beatrice nodded. “He'll ensure you have easy access to it whenever you need it,” she said. “There shouldn't be any
problems since your father's banker will handle your finances. Your father would have put it in his will."

Arabella smiled. “Papa thought about everything.” She stood up, dusting her hands on her dress and leaving smudges of dirt.
“I'll wash up and help you with dinner. I heard Uncle Daniel wanted potatoes and mutton today.”

“Thank you, dear,” her aunt said. “I will not take much longer here.”

Arabella turned to leave, but her aunt called out to her. “Yes, Aunt?” she said, facing her.

"You must have a reason to work for the duke," she began, tilting her head slightly. "I cannot believe it's just to become a maid.
You have never expressed a wish to be a maid, but recently, you've been adamant about it." She smiled. "I suppose you are
your father's daughter. You keep at something even if it seems odd. However, once you achieve whatever it is that you want,
what will you do then? Our home is always open to you."

Arabella hesitated to answer. The truth was that she didn't know what she wanted to do once she discovered all she wished to
know about the duke.

“I'm not used to being idle, so I'll find something else to do,” Arabella told her. “However, if I ever find myself without a plan,
then I will live with you and Uncle Daniel. I promise.”

“Is there a time limit to whatever you're doing at Euston Hall?” Aunt Beatrice asked.

Arabella shook her head. “No. It can take weeks, months, or even years.”

“Years!” Aunt Beatrice exclaimed. “Surely you do not intend to work as a maid for years? What about your future? Finding a
man to marry? Having children? Your mother brought you up to be a lady, not someone at the beck and call of an aristocrat.”

Arabella crouched, folding her arms on her knees. “Do you know what I always wonder about?”
“What?”

“Why more people do not look at life as an adventure,” she said. “I want to experience everything I possibly can, even if it
means becoming a maid despite all the education I received at my parents' hands. I won't be a maid forever, but I intend to
enjoy the experience.”

Aunt Beatrice sighed. "The Lockhart streak of stubbornness is certainly strong within you," she complained. "Very well, if I
cannot convince you otherwise, I can support you. But you must promise me that you will tell us if you need any help. Do not
allow anyone to bully or mistreat you. You have money and family—you never have to put up with anything."

Arabella smiled. “I know,” she said. “I have a loving and supportive family, and my parents are still taking care of me although
they're no longer with me. I couldn't have asked for a better situation.”

Arabella meant every word she said. She was better off than most people, and she didn't take any of that for granted. Needing
an adventure had nothing to do with lack but everything to do with needing purpose other than getting married and having
children. All those things would happen in time, but until then, she intended to live her life to the fullest, starting with learning
more about the duke… and the tales surrounding his life.

***

Euston Hall

Arabella managed to fill ten pages of the journal she brought with her—nothing Mrs. Cooper had told her was too small or big
to include in her notes.

“Are the notes necessary, Arabella?” the housekeeper asked in amusement.

"Very, Mrs. Cooper," Arabella replied, making little blocks for a checking list. "I do not wish to leave anything out. I want to
be the very best at what I do."

“You wish to be the very best at cleaning?” said Mrs. Cooper.

They descended the stairs, ending on the first floor. The housekeeper had taken her through all the rooms in the house,
indicating which were hers to clean and who she would be partnering with to keep these areas clean.

“Yes, ma'am,” said Arabella. “I wish to make a note of how to clean, where to clean, how many times a week something should
be cleaned, what time it should be cleaned, when I should avoid cleaning, who—”

"Yes, yes," Mrs. Cooper said, laughing. "I understand. I have never met another person who shows so much excitement about
cleaning. Mind you, it's a good and honest job. There are rewards when done properly."

“The rewards are from doing the work well,” said Arabella. “That is what my mother and father always taught me. One should
take pride and enjoy whatever they have decided to do, be it good or unpleasant. That way, even that which might have seemed
unpleasant becomes good, and anything that was good but became unpleasant is readily accepted.”

“Your parents are wise people,” Mrs. Cooper said.

“They were,” Arabella told her. “They may not be here with me now, but their teachings live on in me.”

“Oh,” said Mrs. Cooper, sympathy filling her eyes. “I'm sorry to hear that, dear. They would be glad to know they've raised a
good daughter.”

Arabella smiled. “Thank you, ma'am.” She closed her journal. “Is there anything I can do for you today? I know I do not begin
now, but I see no reason not to help a little before I return home.”

Arabella hadn't seen the duke yet, disappointing her. She had hoped to see him during the house tour, only to find he was doing
his usual rounds on the estate. The duke seemed shy, so she wondered if he spoke to anyone during his rounds or if he silently
went about his inspection. He had run away from her when she first met him the previous day but seemed friendly enough when
the housekeeper introduced her to him.

Arabella had found it rather strange, but she had been glad for the second chance to meet him face-to-face. She couldn't
understand why they called him the Beastly Duke when the scars had not disfigured his features so much that one couldn't tell
one feature from the other.

Perhaps the skin around his eyes were a little stretched, and one side of his nose seemed slightly melted, but his lips remained
intact. Even his thick, dark eyebrows had not been affected too much other than a few thin, white scars running across them.

Part of the duke's ear had seemed missing though, or rather, a little melted, but his dark hair had concealed it too quickly for her
to take a better look. However, in all sincerity, he was handsome.

“Arabella?” she heard Mrs. Cooper say, drawing her out of her thoughts.

“Yes, ma'am?”

"I'm afraid daydreaming is frowned upon in this household," said the housekeeper. "Especially when you have chores. I shall
not scold you for it today, but try not to do it once you begin working here."

Arabella blushed, feeling thoroughly chastised, although Mrs. Cooper had claimed she hadn't scolded her.

“My apologies, Mrs. Cooper,” she said. “I shouldn't have let my mind drift. It won't happen again.”

“I trust it won't,” the housekeeper replied, lightening her tone. “I have a task that you can do for me before you leave. If you do
not mind.”

“Not at all, Mrs. Cooper,” Arabella eagerly told her. She opened her journal. “What would you like me to do?”

The housekeeper smiled. "Nothing that would require you to write notes," she said. "It's actually something His Grace does
himself daily, but he hasn't returned from his rounds yet. I know he wouldn't want his dogs to miss their feeding time, so would
you go to the kitchen and get their food? Ask one of the kitchen maids to show you where the dogs are. You just need to divide
the food into their bowls."

“Certainly, Mrs. Cooper,” Arabella replied. “What kind of dogs are they?”

“Whippets,” the housekeeper informed her. “Ten in total.”

Arabella's eyes widened. “Ten? My, I wonder how His Grace handles so many.”

“The duke is a natural with animals,” said Mrs. Cooper. “He always has been. It's the dog's feeding time, so I'd appreciate it if
you could feed them now.”

“Of course,” said Arabella, putting her journal into her book bag. “Let me go to the kitchen.”

She curtsied and hurried away, making a mental note to quickly grow accustomed to Mrs. Cooper's briskness. She was a kind
and fair woman but firm about work and the standards she expected.

Euston Hall was rather big, so she took the wrong turn at first and had to ask another maid to direct her. She eventually made it
to the kitchen, asking for the dog's food. It turned out to be a large bucket of mixed meat, organs, and vegetables. It occurred to
her that the dogs seemed to eat better than many people.

A kitchen maid led her to the doghouse, where what seemed like dozens of dogs came running out of their little houses.
Arabella liked dogs, but it was overwhelming to see so many running toward her. However, she stayed her ground and stared
them straight on. Animals could always sense fear and weakness, and she didn't want them to think she was someone they could
take advantage of. She may be short, but she was far from weak.

“Stay,” she told them, holding out her hand for them to sniff it.

They took turns sniffing and walking around her and seemed to accept her because they moved to the bucket of food. Two of
them dug their noses inside, each coming away with a chunk of meat.

"Wait, wait," she said, laughing. "I have to equally distribute the food."

She hauled the bucket to their bowls, telling them to wait until she was done. The duke had evidently trained them quite well
because they obeyed her almost immediately.

"There," she said moments later. "You can all eat."

But they didn't move. The Whippets continued to look at her expectantly, making her wonder if there was a special word. Mrs.
Cooper didn't say anything about it.

“Eat!” she cried. That didn't seem to work. “Food! Meal time! Come! Heel!”

Arabella frowned. They were undoubtedly hungry. She thought about taking the bowls to them and laying them at their feet, but
a large shadow suddenly appeared, startling her. She jumped back and turned, surprised to see the duke.

“Your Grace!” she cried, curtsying before him.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said, looking a little shy. “I saw you were having some difficulty with the dogs. They only eat
when you say the word 'enjoy.'"

As soon as the Whippets heard the word, they lunged for their bowls and made quick work of their meal.

“Goodness,” she said in awe, temporarily forgetting the duke's presence.

She had always wanted a pet, but her mother reacted in sneezing fits to fur, and her father once had a terrible experience with a
dog that left him mentally scarred.

Arabella could only play with her neighbors' pets but had to ensure to change her dress and wipe down her arms and face
before being around her mother. Watching the Whippets was amusing, and when the first one to finish its food came to sit at her
feet and nudge her leg, her heart just about melted. She bent down, stroking its head.

“I like you too,” she said, ticking the dog behind his ears.

"Hamish likes you," the deep, rumbling voice of the duke said behind her.

She started slightly, straightening to turn to him. Arabella was struck once more by how big the duke was. No one fortunate to
be in his arms would ever feel fearful. It was sad that people called him the Beastly Duke when all she could see was a kind
man. Certainly, his scars were noticeable, but she didn't mind them. Perhaps she was staring a tad too much because he bent his
head forward until his hair partially hid his face.
"How do you tell them apart, Your Grace?" she asked, wanting to set him at ease. "They all look so similar. Are they from the
same litter?"

“I purchased two litters from local farmers,” the duke explained. “I didn't want the siblings to be separated like they usually
are when breeders sell them off.”

Arabella's heart turned into a puddle of warmth. "That is one of the sweetest things I have ever heard, Your Grace," she said.
"They're lucky to have you as their master."

A little smile played at the edges of his mouth as he tilted his head back, revealing more of his face.

“I do not consider it much, Miss Lockhart,” he said. “Even animals keenly feel separation from their family. I try to avoid it as
much as possible.”

“It's still commendable of you, Your Grace,” she insisted. “Others would never consider such a thing.”

His smile widened slightly. "Perhaps," he said. "Thank you for feeding them. It's not your duty, and you haven't begun working
for me yet, so I will count this as a favor."

“Please, do not think too much of it, Your Grace,” she said. “Truthfully, I love animals but was never able to have a pet. This
was a treat for me. Mrs. Cooper said you usually feed them every day, which must strengthen your bond with them.”

More came to sit at her feet, although most went to their master to play around him, some jumping on his chest to get his
attention. She laughed, enjoying his interaction with them.

“You likely take them for walks as well,” she said. “How do you handle all ten of them? Do you divide them into two groups
or more? Are they a tad unruly when they're exploring? I imagine they might go a little wild when they see a squirrel. They
seem rather young. Did you recently buy them? Do you have older pets?”

The duke chuckled slightly. “You ask an awful lot of questions, Miss Lockhart,” he pointed out. “Are you normally this
talkative?”
Arabella could take offense at such a question, as many did, but she was naturally talkative and always had been. Besides, she
doubted the duke had meant to subtly insult her or complain. Perhaps he simply wasn't accustomed to a stranger talking to him
so easily. Arabella didn't blame him. People called him a beast—she wouldn't want to be around people either if she had to put
up with that.

"I'm very talkative, Your Grace," she admitted. "I always have so many thoughts in my head that I try to get them out all at once.
Sometimes, I do not talk fast enough for my thoughts, and the words trip over themselves in their haste to get out. I try to
minimize my chatter at times, but I mostly fail."

“I do not mind your chatter, Miss Lockhart,” he said. “I find it refreshing.”

The duke's eyes suddenly widened as though he had said something he shouldn't have. Arabella was confused, not
understanding what he had said wrong.

“Would you excuse me, Miss Lockhart?” he said. “I have matters to attend to.”

He turned away without another word, marching away quickly. Arabella frowned. Perhaps she had said something wrong, but
she didn't think so. Perplexed, she patted another dog's head and picked up the bucket before returning to the kitchen.

She left the estate thoughtful, still trying to understand what on earth had happened. Despite his sudden behavior and confusion,
she looked forward to the end of the week because the more Arabella saw of the duke, the more intrigued she was.
Chapter 4

“You truly are thorough,” Jane commented, looking down at Arabella. “Just watch your head when you come up. You bumped it
the last time.”

Arabella grinned, removing a cobweb from under a side table. "You would be amazed at all the places a spider builds its
home. There is so much nature outside, yet they choose a house to make their dwelling. And that's not all. They'll watch their
web destroyed, only to build another one not too far from the first. Are they asking for trouble?"

Jane tilted her head in amusement. “You think about many odd things, don't you?” she said. “Yesterday, you yelled at a mouse
you found in our room.”

Arabella and Jane shared a room in the attic and were partners when cleaning. They were a team of ten maids who took care of
the front of the house, such as the parlor, drawing room, ballroom, dining room, and wherever else guests frequented.

"I wasn't really yelling at the mouse," said Arabella. "I merely questioned its choice to live in our room when the house cat
usually goes there for day naps."

“But you were talking to it,” Jane insisted.

"People are not the only animals in this world that can communicate," Arabella explained. "While the mouse may not have
understood my words, it would have heard the urgency and disapproval in my voice. Some people keep mice as pets, and they
respond well to their masters."

“Who keeps mice as pets?” Jane asked incredulously.

“Some people,” she replied vaguely.

Arabella had secretly kept a mouse during her eleventh year because she was so desperate to have a pet. It was rather
intelligent because it would hide whenever her parents came into the room and slept beside her in the bed, usually near her
head. Unfortunately, it escaped its enclosure one day when Arabella wasn't home.
The maid who assisted Arabella's mother with daily chores assumed it was unwanted and took a broom to it. That was the last
time she attempted to hide a pet. Crawling out from under the table, she rose to her feet, tossing the feather duster into a basket
along with other cleaning materials.

“I'm going to Thetford on my free day this week,” Jane informed her. “Perhaps we can ask Mrs. Cooper if we could have our
free time on the same day so we can go together.”

Arabella and Jane had grown close relatively quickly. Being the same age and from the same town had helped, but they were
also similar in disposition. However, Arabella wasn't sure if she wanted to go to Thetford just yet.

“Will you go just for the day or stay with your family?” Arabella asked.

“I think I might stay the night with my family and return to the estate early the next day,” said Jane, fluffing up a cushion. “I also
wish to do a little shopping. It has been so long since I've seen a beautiful piece of fabric or lace. I've saved up some money
for a new dress, so I'd like to see what I can buy.”

“Let me think about it,” said Arabella. “I was actually thinking about taking a walk around the village and getting to know the
area a bit better.”

Several weeks had passed since Arabella started working at Euston Hall. Her aunt and uncle had returned to Somerset, and the
new family was living in her old home. She didn't have a family nearby to visit, and it saddened her to think so. However, she
could visit a few friends of the family and some of her father's old patients. Perhaps she could even stay at the inn run by her
mother's close friend.

Her ties to Thetford had not been completely severed, but sometimes, it was difficult to think about her hometown without
missing her parents. She thought about them every day, but being in Thetford and seeing all their favorite places could be
overwhelming for her.

“Could you let me know by tomorrow?” Jane asked.

Arabella nodded. "I will," she said, picking up the cleaning basket. "Shall I start in the drawing room while you empty the dirty
water?"

Jane nodded with a sigh, eyeing the dirty bucket. “I suppose it is my turn this time,” she said. “The other girls clearly do not
clean this room well on their days," she said. "That's a lot of dirt in there."

“They probably know we'll do it better,” said Arabella.

“Well, perhaps we shouldn't be as thorough as we usually are,” Jane suggested, hauling the dirty water to the door.

“Uh, do you know if the duke will be around today?” she suddenly asked, stopping Jane at the door. “I'm just curious,” she said
quickly. “He always seems to be out on the estate and rarely in the house. I've never known anyone to wish to be anywhere but
his house.”

She chuckled slightly, hoping Jane wouldn't see through the excuse. Arabella had wanted to ask about the duke for some time,
but she had done so much of that during the first few weeks that Jane had questioned her interest in the duke. Arabella had
explained she was merely excited about working at Euston Hall, and it usually showed by asking many questions.

Much to her relief, Jane accepted the lie and provided whatever information she could give about the duke. Unfortunately, Jane
had only been working at the estate for less than a year, so she didn't know much about him.

Mrs. Cooper, on the other hand, had been working at Euston Hall since the old duke married his wife. If anyone knew the duke,
it was her. Arabella doubted Mrs. Cooper would tell her much, so she needed another way to learn about the duke.

“...usually stays in his study, but he's been outside more than typical,” she heard Jane say, drawing her out of her thoughts.

Arabella was almost too embarrassed to ask her to repeat what she had just said, especially as she had asked the question in
the first place. However, upon further thought, Arabella believed she had picked up most of what Jane had said.

“Indeed?” she said. “So, he recently changed his routine?”

"I suppose you could say so," Jane told her. "Although His Grace doesn't have a set daily routine. He has a few things that he
does at a certain time every day, but no day is quite the same. Sometimes, he wakes up before dawn and goes horse riding, or
he sleeps until eight but doesn't have anything to eat until noon. He's unlike anyone I've ever known.”

“How do the servants work around him?” Arabella asked.

“He works around the servants," said Jane. "Usually, a servant has to bow and scrape to please their master, but the duke is
different. It's as though he sympathizes with his servants. He never makes outlandish or silly requests, and he's rather easy to
please."

“It's no wonder that people like to work here,” said Arabella.

Jane nodded. “People are willing to put up with—” she waved over her face. “—for a good workplace. I would say most of
the servants respect the duke, but there are a few who mock him. It's unavoidable, I'm afraid.”

Arabella's lips thinned as anger pulsed through her. “They're all fools!” she exclaimed hotly. “Those who judge him because of
his scars. I cannot stand it when people are mistreated for being different.”

"But that is the way of life," Jane pointed out. "You cannot be too different, or people notice and make it known. People take
advantage of you if you're too beautiful, and they mistreat you if you're lacking in something, be it your appearance, status, or
money. It's better to be in the middle or keep your head down."

“Or one can learn not to care about the opinion of others and simply live as they please,” Arabella suggested.

Jane chuckled. “That is a lovely thought, but it doesn't quite work, does it?” she said. “We are all slaves to society in some way
or other. It's best you know your place and live your life without causing trouble.”

Arabella wanted to disagree, but she held back. While they were both commoners, she had lived a better life, and her parents
had taught her how to think for herself. Jane had not experienced these privileges, so she only knew to obey to live.

“We should move on to the next room,” Arabella suggested. “Or Mrs. Cooper will wonder what we're doing.”

“You're right,” said Jane. “I have a favor to ask, so best I stay on her good side.”

Jane wriggled her fingers in goodbye and left the room, soon followed by Arabella. She entered the drawing room and set the
basket down. The room smelled like the duke—he had to have been there recently, and she had just missed him. She sighed and
piled the cushions on an armchair to dust the settee. Arabella made sure to get into all the crevices, removing dirt and crumbs.
The duke seemed to enjoy eating biscuits because she always found crumbs on most seats in the house. She wasn't one to judge
as she had often left crumbs in her bed during night readings, where a pot of tea and a plate of biscuits always accompanied her
into the early morning hours.

Arabella returned the cushions, lining them up at angles that would soon be ruined. Still, it was aesthetically pleasing enough to
put up with—one did not beautify a cake only to not eat it. Moving on to the tables, she took everything off, wiping the surfaces
with a slightly damp cloth to collect the dust before using another to shine the wood. Arabella noticed a familiar book on one
of the side tables, smiling at the memories that surfaced in her mind.

Don Quixote was one of her father's favorites. She imagined he had probably read the book a dozen times in his lifetime,
always finding something new he had missed during the previous read. Picking up the book, she flipped through its pages,
looking for her father's favorite parts. He often made notes in the margins, especially if he knew she would likely read the same
book.

“Have you read this book before, Miss Lockhart?” the duke asked beside her.

Arabella cried out and jumped almost a foot in the air, dropping the book. She stepped back, her hand on her heaving chest.

“Y—your Grace,” she said, trying to regain her composure.

“My apologies,” the duke said. “I didn't mean to startle you.”

Arabella looked up at him. They were finally in the same room together, but she would have preferred to be prepared.

“Please, do not apologize, Your Grace,” she insisted. “I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. Let me just get this book.”

"Let me," he said, reaching for the book just as she bent for it.

Their heads collided, and Arabella was reminded of just how big he was because she sort of bounced off him and landed on
her bottom. She looked up at the duke in shock, seeing a similar expression on his face. Perhaps she should have been
embarrassed, but the situation was so amusing that she burst out laughing.
“My apologies, Your Grace,” she managed to say, trying to stifle her laughter.

The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly as he held out his hand. “Let me help you up,” he said.

She nodded, placing her much smaller hand in his palm. The duke's hand engulfed hers easily, the warmth of his palm causing
tingles to race up her arm. It felt a little like someone had plunged her hand into icy cold water, but it didn't hurt. If anything, the
tingles made her feel warm and content, like lying outside under the morning sun.

Arabella had never experienced such a feeling before, making her thoughtful. She giggled a little as the duke pulled her up like
she weighed nothing, the sensation in her belly feeling as if someone had flipped her upside down before righting her on her
feet. Arabella frowned slightly when he quickly let go of her hand and fisted it at his side, averting his eyes.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said, curtsying. She hid her tingling hand in her apron. “Did I hurt you?” she said, pointing at his
head. “I have a pretty hard head, you see.” She knocked on her head for effect. “I was quite clumsy as a child, but I never
suffered any lasting injuries.”

He chuckled a little, the sound causing warm flurries in her belly. "You appear both delicate and strong, Miss Lockhart," he
said. "The two words contrast each other, but it's strangely true of you."

"It's my height and small features that make me appear delicate, Your Grace," she told him. "Everything else about me is sturdy
and strong. I was able to lift my parents by the age of ten."

The duke's eyebrows rose. “Ten?”

"I am rather sturdy, Your Grace," she pointed out. "Also, my mother was only a little taller than me, and my father was rather
thin. Although I must say, I'm doubting my strength since I fell backward just by knocking into you.”

“I'm stronger than most,” he pointed out.

Arabella couldn't help giving him a once over, her eyes trailing over his large frame with appreciation as he placed the book
on the table. The Lord had undoubtedly shone his favor on the duke. Not even his scars could hide the manliness of his
handsome features.

If anything, she believed they made him look like a fierce warrior. In centuries past, many women used to swoon at the sight of
scars on a man's body, especially if he was a gladiator or warrior of some sort. Arabella wouldn't be surprised if the duke had
earned his scars through a good deed.

“Miss Lockhart?” the duke said, cocking his head to the side.

Arabella's eyes widened slightly. She had all but ogled the duke! Arabella enjoyed beauty in everything and usually sketched
what she saw, but perhaps she had gotten carried away with observing the duke.

“Yes, Your Grace?” she said, hoping he hadn't noticed her staring.

“I asked if you knew this book,” he said, tapping the cover.

She nodded, grateful he didn't mention anything about staring at him. “Yes, Your Grace,” she replied. “Don Quixote is one of
my father's favorites.”

“Your father must have been a well-read man,” the duke commented. “Did he have a profession?”

"My father was a physician, just as his father was," Arabella revealed. "He also liked to say being a husband was a
profession," she added with a chuckle. "It was the favorite part of his life, followed by being a father. My mother felt the same.
She was a devoted wife and mother." She sighed. "They worshiped and adored each other in life and followed each other in
death. Theirs was a true love story."

“I'm very sorry to hear your parents are no more,” the duke said.

“I am as well, but it couldn't be avoided.” She had certainly tried to preserve her parents' life, but she had failed. “I am very
sorry for your parents as well, Your Grace. It's hard being without our parents, no matter how short or long it has been.”

“I agree,” the duke replied, trailing a finger along the book's spine. He looked up. “Do you like reading, Miss Lockhart?
Perhaps your father passed the love of books on to you.”
"I like many things, Your Grace," she replied. "One of them is reading. Can I assume the same for you?"

“Reading is one of my favorite ways to while away time,” he confirmed. “Like you, I also have many different hobbies.”

It suddenly occurred to her that not once had he used his long hair to hide his face. Jane had informed her he did that with the
other servants, never wishing to entirely reveal his face. Perhaps her cheerful nature had disarmed him.

“May I ask what these hobbies or interests are?” she asked, wanting to know more about him. He really was an intriguing
fellow. “Are they predominately outdoor related?”

“I suppose so,” he replied. “I enjoy fishing, horse riding, hunting responsibly—”

“Hunting responsibly?” she interrupted.

"Not hunting unless I plan to eat the animal," he explained. "Or if I find a fox interfering with the animals a little too much, I try
to relocate it, or if it's rather stubborn, I have to cull it. I'm mindful if it has a family, though."

The man was a saint. “I sincerely admire you, Your Grace,” she said, smiling at him.

To her surprise, his face turned bright pink, all the way to the tips of his ears. “There's really nothing to admire, Miss
Lockhart,” he insisted.

“Please call me Arabella, Your Grace,” she said. “Everyone does, from babies to the elderly. Well, babies who can talk and
the elderly who can still recall my name.”

The duke nodded, scratching the back of his head as though he were unsure of himself. “Very well,” he said. “I need to deal
with a matter I forgot about,” he told her. “Please, excuse me.”

She frowned as he left the room quickly, as though he were running away from something. They had been getting along so well,
or so she thought. Something had to have happened for the sudden change. Perhaps she said something wrong and just didn't
realize it, or... It slowly dawned on her what the matter could be.

This wasn't her home, and she wasn't seen as an equal. She was a maid talking to her master as though they were friends, which
was just about the most inappropriate thing she could do.

Arabella sighed. It would be more challenging than she thought to learn about the duke.

Tucking her hair into her cap, she resumed cleaning and thought about her interaction with the duke, particularly the part their
hands had touched. Arabella had never experienced that before and wanted to know what it meant.

It wasn't the sting one got from having too much energy in one's body. She had a cousin who always seemed to shock her
whenever they touched, but that hadn't happened with the duke.

“It didn't take you long, did it?”

Arabella frowned, looking behind her. She hadn't heard Mirabel enter the room. It seemed everyone in the house walked on
cotton.

“I beg your pardon, Mirabel?” she said.

The maid sauntered into the room with arms crossed over her chest. “I said it didn't take you long,” she repeated.

“To do what? I'm afraid I'm confused.”

“You were trying to seduce the duke, were you not?”

Arabella's jaw dropped. “I was trying to do what?”

She knew Mirabel didn't like her for some odd reason, but really, this was just too much. The thought had never even crossed
Another random document with
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assassinavano i Francesi, e cacciare alcune famiglie suddite ad
Austria ed a Napoli, e dare a lui il passo per la Bocchetta.
Divincolavansi que’ padri con umilissime scuse; quand’ecco
l’ammiraglio inglese Nelson assalta una nave francese in rada e la
rapisce: dalla quale prepotenza disgustati, i Genovesi accettano
l’amicizia di Francia, escludendo la bandiera britannica.
La Toscana tenevasi quieta e spettatrice della generale
effervescenza, ma che giova? Buonaparte ha in pronto querele di
proprietà francesi violate; e pur confessando che il granduca serbò
imperturbata la neutralità, e che il Direttorio lo trattò
vituperosamente, per ordine di questo fende la Toscana a bandiere
spiegate, spinge una divisione sopra Livorno (1797 27 giugno), e
cacciatane la squadra inglese, col pretesto di vedere se negozianti
britannici vi tenessero merci nascoste ordina un generale esame dei
libri mercantili, rabbuffa il governatore conte Spanocchi come
traditore perchè lasciò sfuggire gl’Inglesi. I mercanti si ricomprarono
dalla visita con cinque milioni, fu ordinata una spontanea
illuminazione delle case, e gl’impiegati si rassegnarono; ma la
popolaglia insorgeva se il municipio e l’arcivescovo di Pisa non
l’avessero rattenuta. Buonaparte, confiscate le sostanze d’Inglesi e
di Napoletani, occupate le fortezze, pensa spossessare il granduca,
soltanto perchè austriaco: intanto solleva la Lunigiana e Massa e
Carrara, piantandovi la libertà o almeno l’albero, e suggendone
denaro.
La Corsica era ambita dall’Inghilterra, e solo Paoli poteva sostenerne
l’indipendenza in faccia alla Francia. — Il popolo côrso che tanto
fece per la propria libertà (diceva egli), darà l’ultimo de’ suoi figli,
anzichè andare confuso con un altro»; e a chi chiedeva se tanto
sangue non dovesse servire che a tingere la porpora d’un principe
straniero, — Prima i coralli sormonteranno l’isola, che Paoli s’infami
di ciò». Chiamato a Londra e ricevuto con grandi onori, stipulò
l’annessione della sua isola colla britannica, conservando
nazionalità, religione, leggi. Male vi s’acconciarono i Côrsi; fomentati
dai Buonaparte, scossero quel dominio; e Saliceti andò a fare
giurare odio alla monarchia, e disporre i suoi patrioti alla nuova
servitù. Paoli, perseguito dalla calunnia, rassicurato dalla coscienza,
prese allora l’estremo congedo dalla patria: — Saluto tutti i buoni; nè
di quelli a cui il mio nome potesse recare qualche rimorso, ricordo
altro che le buone azioni. Insorgemmo per la libertà: questa ora si
gode nell’isola; che importa da quali mani vi sia derivata? Tutto
andrà bene se non più castelli in aria, ma ciascheduno procurerà
vantaggiare nella propria sfera, anzichè come pulcini a bocca aperta
aspettare da altri l’imbeccata. Chiuderò gli occhi al gran sonno,
contento e senza rimorsi sulla mia condotta politica: Iddio mi perdoni
il resto». E ritiratosi a Londra, visse fino al 1807, vedendo un suo
compatrioto assidersi sul primo trono d’Europa, eppure non
rinnegando la fede repubblicana.
Ma l’esercito giacobino non dovea solo spandere rugiada di libertà
sui popoli, sibbene turbinare su Roma la vendetta dei tanti mali, che
proverbialmente imputavansi al clero di tutta Europa. Il Direttorio
scriveva a Buonaparte [16], la religione cattolica sarebbe sempre
irreconciliabile colla libertà, e il maggior ostacolo a consolidare la
repubblica in Francia; andasse dunque, ne distruggesse il centro, e
o la desse a un’altra potenza, per esempio alla Spagna in compenso
di Parma, o v’istituisse un Governo che rendesse spregevole quello
de’ preti, e papi e cardinali lasciasse annidarsi fuori d’Italia.
Altrimenti la pensava Buonaparte, egli nato non a distruggere ma a
sistemare: pure propose di fare una cavalcata sopra gli Stati del
papa, e raccorvi il denaro che gli occorreva per difilarsi sopra
Vienna. Mosse dunque, e posta all’avanguardia la legione lombarda
col generale Lahoz, invano contrastato dal generale Colli a capo de’
Napoletani, depreda Loreto (1797 13 febb.), arricchito di voti da tutto
cristianità, e la madonna ne manda a Parigi. Allora fra il popolo
pretino di Roma più non si parla che d’Attila e del Borbone; si
trafugano robe e persone verso Terracina; e lo scompiglio universale
non lascia al papa altro scampo che di venire a patti. Il cardinale
Mattei presentatosi umilmente a Tolentino al vincitore, ne accetta
una pace (19 febb.), per cui sono ceduti alla repubblica francese il
contado Venesino con Avignone, e alla cispadana Bologna, Ferrara
e la Romagna; libero passo alle truppe; il papa disapprova
l’assassinio di Bassville, e ne risarcisce la famiglia; darà manoscritti
e capi d’arte preziosi, fra i quali Buonaparte, egli devoto
repubblicano, nominatamente inchiuse i busti di Giunio e Marco
Bruto.
Il Governo pontifizio, che già per gli allestimenti avea domandato dai
ricchi metà delle gioje, degli ori, degli argenti, dovette chiederne
l’altra; buttò carta monetata, e dal clero riscosse un prestito
corrispondente al sesto de’ beni che godeva: anche dopo la pace
quattro milioni esigettero le truppe, oltre bovi e bufali e allume in
quantità e accatti d’ogni maniera. Intanto i commissarj andavano a
levare la Bibbia greca, e il Dione Cassio del v secolo, il Virgilio del vi,
il Terenzio dell’viii, la Trasfigurazione di Rafaello, il San Girolamo di
Domenichino, l’Apollo e il Laocoonte; d’un altro milione gravando lo
Stato per trasportarli.
Nè Carlo VIII di Francia, nè Carlo V d’Austria aveano rapito i capi
d’arte a Roma; Federico II di Prussia era entrato due volte in Dresda,
due i Russi e gli Austriaci in Berlino, senza toccarne le famose
gallerie: ora il latrocinio nuovo mascheravasi di civiltà o d’amore alle
arti; e in quest’offesa al diritto delle nazioni, alla politica, al gusto
adopravansi Francesi d’alto ingegno e di buon cuore, e dagli Italiani
ricevevano somme onde rapire di meno [17]; talmente quella nazione
perde ogn’altro vedere quand’è abbagliata dalla gloria. Essa vantava
di regalarci ancora a buon prezzo la libertà conquistata col suo
sangue: ma l’Italia, se era disgustata dei nobili, dei re, dei preti,
serbava affetto per la religione e per le arti; e in questo duplice culto
appunto trovavasi oltraggiata imperdonabilmente.
Buonaparte crebbe le fortificazioni d’Ancona, i cui cittadini aveano
piantato l’albero, e raccomandava al Direttorio che nella pace la
conservasse, come opportuna a dar padronanza nell’Adriatico e
predominio sulla Turchia. Avendo egli mandato complimenti alla
vicina repubblica di San Marino, e offrirle cannoni ed un aumento di
territorio, que’ magistrati risposero: — Semplice costume; intimo
sentimento di libertà sono l’unico retaggio tramandatoci dai nostri
padri; l’abbiamo conservato fra l’urto de’ secoli; nè conati
d’ambizione, nè odio di potenti, nè insidie di nemici potrebbero
impunemente attentarci. Questa repubblica, contenta della sua
picciolezza, non ardisce accettare l’offerta generosa dell’eroe, nè
aspira a un ambizioso ingrandimento, che col tempo potrebbe
mettere in compromesso la sua libertà». Fra le gonfiezze universali
d’allora ricrea questa semplicità; piace una lezione di temperanza
data da pochi montanari all’idolo e terrore del mondo; lezione
inutile [18].
Allora Buonaparte torna sull’Adige per assalire Vienna. Audace
mossa chi consideri ch’e’ lasciavasi a spalle un paese appena
conquistato e molti nemici. Così la campagna d’Italia diveniva
principale, e qui, non più in Germania s’aveva a forzare l’imperatore.
Al Tagliamento Buonaparte vince (1797 11 marzo) e passa,
incalzando l’arciduca Carlo; superate le alpi Noriche, tiene il Tirolo, la
Stiria, la Carintia, Trieste, Clagenfurt; e se all’esercito che trionfa sul
Reno con Moreau e Jourdan, viene fatto di congiungersi a questo,
l’Austria è cancellata dalla carta d’Europa. Ma il Direttorio non ha
denari per sostenere quella marcia, sicchè Buonaparte propone
pace all’arciduca Carlo, e a Leoben se ne segnano i preliminari.
Colla vecchia Europa riconciliavasi dunque (18 aprile) la Francia
repubblicana, ormai convinta che non era possibile farla tutta
democratica. Ben seguitavano a predicarlo per sentimento i
rivoluzionarj, per maschera i governanti: ma i proclami dei generali
dissonavano dalle trattative de’ ministri, il linguaggio diretto ai popoli
da quello tenuto coi re. Piantar alberi, drappellare bandiere,
mantacare paroloni lasciavasi in Lombardia, eppure il Direttorio avea
prestabilito darla all’Austria in cambio dei Paesi Bassi. Se non che
Buonaparte le avea posto affezione come a sua creatura, o come al
primo gradino d’una grande scala; sicchè pensò cercare qualch’altro
compenso per l’Austria, e stabilì di tradire Venezia.
Quelli che contro ai turbini della forza credono valga la prudenza,
tacciano Venezia d’avere smentito l’antica reputazione politica
coll’affettare sicurezza mentre le tribune parigine rintonavano
d’imprecazioni contro la sua nobiltà, i suoi Dieci, i suoi Inquisitori, i
suoi piombi, i suoi pozzi. Accuse convenzionali, mentre vera colpa
n’era l’ostinarsi a custodire gli ordini, anzichè lo scopo a cui quegli
ordini erano diretti. Da ottant’anni sussisteva essa unicamente
perchè mancava chi la soggiogasse.
Minacciata dai democratici, essa diffidava dei despoti, e
principalmente dell’Austria di cui sapeva esser lungo spasimo; ma
credette stornare il pericolo col non confessarlo, e gl’Inquisitori di
Stato vietarono di comunicare al senato i sinceri ragguagli, togliendo
così il fare proposizioni opportune. Nella micidiale perplessità potea
più durarsi quando l’esercito francese già dilagava sul suo territorio?
Gli oligarchi proponeano d’armare, e guaj a chi primo violasse i
confini. — Abbiamo quindici milioni di sudditi; sul continente italiano
venti città popolose e ricche: soldati trarremo dalle isole e
dall’Albania, addestrati nell’incessante nimicizia coi Turchi; le cerne
della Carnia e del Friuli ci daranno bellissimi granatieri; robusta
gioventù le valli della Brenta, dell’Oglio, del Serio, come le pianure
del Polesine, del Trevisano, del Veronese, e i colli padovani e
bellunesi: pieno è l’arsenale, e le vittorie recenti dell’Emo attestano
che l’antica bravura non è morta: buoni ingegneri restaureranno le
fortezze: restano risparmj abbondanti, e il patriotismo de’ privati
verrà a soccorso». Così gli animosi, mentre i timidi avrebbero
preferito gittarsi in braccio all’Austria; ma altri: — Perchè non
piuttosto alla Francia? essa vincitrice e repubblicana, essa non
interessata a distruggere la nostra repubblica, ma solo a svecchiarla
secondo le sue idee».
Si scelse il peggio, la neutralità inerme; e invitata a fare lega colla
Francia, la Spagna, la Turchia contro l’Austria, la Signoria protestò
che la esistenza riponea nella felicità e nell’affetto de’ sudditi, non
aver altra ambizione che di non esporre questi ai mali d’una guerra.
Parole d’oro per un congresso della pace, e che avranno solleticato
a riso i generali combattenti.
Di fatto, come le operazioni belliche lo portarono, Buonaparte entrò
sul Bresciano, protestando non intendeva fare il menomo torto alla
Serenissima; Beaulieu coi Tedeschi ne toglie pretesto di violare
anch’egli il territorio, e sorprendere Peschiera: ma quando
Buonaparte ebbe vinto a Borghetto e passato il Mincio, quegli
dovette lasciarla e ritirarsi pel Tirolo, mentre i Francesi presero
stanza in quella fortezza, e invasero anche Verona (1796 giugno).
L’ordine di mandarla in fiamme come ricovero del conte di Provenza,
fratello dell’ucciso re; Buonaparte non l’eseguì, ma ebbe tutta la
linea dell’Adige, e così agevolato l’assedio di Mantova. Con
altrettanta buona fede il generale Cervoni aveva sorpreso il castello
di Bergamo, levato le lettere da quella posta, e dalla casa Terzi il
tesoro depostovi dall’arciduca quando fuggiva da Milano; del quale
una preziosa scatola di viaggio, da Maria Antonietta regalata alla
nostra Beatrice, crebbe il corredo della donna di Buonaparte [19].
A tal modo trattavasi una repubblica, addossandole poi tante accuse
quante si suole a chi vuolsi sagrificare, e ritessendo con essa i turpi
maneggi, praticati dianzi dai re colla Polonia. Singolarmente vi si
mantenevano emissarj «per promuovere lo spirito pubblico,
sviluppare l’energia, consolidare la libertà»; cioè fomentare gli odj e
le fazioni. I nobili esclusi dal libro d’oro macchinavano contro
l’oligarchia, i poveri contro i ricchi, i gentiluomini della terraferma
contro quei della dominante. In Milano un comitato espresso
attendeva a rivoltare la terraferma veneta, capi il Porro milanese, i
bresciani Lechi, Gámbara, Beccalosi, i bergamaschi Alessandri,
Caleppio, Adelasio. In fatto il 12 marzo si solleva Bergamo, ai 18
Brescia, poi Crema, cacciando i magistrati veneti. La Serenissima
mandò a querelarsene; e Buonaparte le esibì di venire colle armi a
sottometter egli stesso le città ribelli; la repubblica nol consentì ma
doveva aspettar inerme il proprio sfasciamento, e intanto mantenere
con un milione al mese le truppe francesi: le quali non solo volevano
i viveri, ma toglievano i bovi e i cavalli occorrenti all’agricoltura,
disperdeano il vino nelle cantine, tagliavano gli alberi fruttiferi,
batteano, violavano, uccideano, mentre gli abbondanzieri
impinguavano della miseria de’ soldati e degli abitanti. Perchè
gl’imperiali avrebbero operato più moralmente che i Repubblicani? e
chi n’andava di mezzo era la neutra Venezia, era il popolo innocente.
I paesani domandavano armi per difendersi; ma la Signoria calmava,
assopiva, esortava a pazienza; chiunque mostrasse sdegno o
compassione veniva in grido d’aristocratico ed austriacante.
Ma i montanari delle valli Camonica, Trompia, Sabbia insorsero
(1797 marzo) armati contro le novità, capitanati dal conte Fioravanti:
Salò respinse i repubblicani, comandati da Lechi, e lui fecero
prigioniero. Verona, ridotta a puzzolenta caserma, facea schifo agli
stessi cittadini; e se non bastavano le violenze a’ privati, furono rotte
le porte delle fortificazioni, tolte le chiavi della città, le artiglierie dalle
mura, le munizioni dai magazzini, i ponti. La gente indignata afferrò
le armi, e trucidò da quattrocento Francesi in cinque giornate. Il fatto
deplorabile grida vendetta: accorrono Francesi e Lombardi con
Lahoz e Buonaparte, che affrettatosi a soscrivere l’armistizio di
Leoben, punì ferocemente Verona, e le impose taglie così
esorbitanti, che Augereau stesso dovette mostrargliele impossibili.
Buonaparte attribuiva ogni colpa al senato, mentre i democratici
nella capitale urlavano contro il patrio Governo, come contro i re e il
papa. Secondo soleasi nei frangenti, Venezia aveva intimato che
nessuna nave estera penetrasse nell’estuario. Un legno francese di
corso, inseguito dagli Austriaci, ricoverò sotto il cannone di Lido, e fu
fulminato e preso dagl’indignati Schiavoni (1797 17 aprile). Crebbe
allora lo scalpore, e Buonaparte ai deputati spediti a scagionarsi
rispondeva: — Quando avevo a fronte il nemico, offersi l’alleanza di
Francia e fu ricusata: ora che dispongo di ottantamila uomini non
voglio udire condizioni, ma dettarle. Io sarò un altro Attila per
Venezia; più inquisitori, più libro d’oro, rimasugli della barbarie; il
vostro Governo è decrepito»; e dopo minaccie, promesse, lungagne
le indíce guerra, senza brigarsi che questo diritto era riservato ai
Cinquecento.
Anche dopo perduto il continente, Venezia potea reggersi, ove le
fosse bastato costanza quanto al tempo della lega di Cambrai, o
quanto poi nel 1848. Essa contava ventidue vascelli dai settanta ai
cinquantacinque cannoni, quindici fregate, ventitre galere e molti
legni minori, e un ricchissimo arredo di bocche da fuoco e d’ogni
occorrente per allestire la flotta e le fortezze. Per munire le lagune e
provvedere al passaggio delle truppe straniere impose il dieci per
cento sulle pigioni, una tassa sulle gondole e i servi, una taglia sulle
arti; ma appena ricavò seicensessantaduemila ducati, mentre i doni
spontanei salsero a novecentomila: fece prestiti, levò i pegni ai Monti
di pietà, le argenterie alle chiese e alle confraternite, ricchi e
grandiosi corpi, i quali per la patria non ricusavano verun
sagrifizio [20]. Se avesse adoprato tutti i suoi mezzi, chi potea
valutare quanto tempo costerebbe ai Francesi l’impresa? e per poco
che durasse (riflette Buonaparte) [21] qual effetto la resistenza
produrrebbe sul resto d’Italia?
Ma ai consigli mancava la risolutezza che salva; l’occupazione de’
beni in terraferma desolava i patrizj; d’altra parte trapelava che a
Leoben già si fosse patteggiata la vendita delle provincie venete. Dal
terrore altrui prendeano spirito i democratici, cioè i fautori dei
Francesi, i quali imitandone le arroganze, davano d’urto a tutto che
sentisse d’italiano. Sperossi salvare il leone col torgli dalle branche il
vangelo e mettergli i diritti dell’uomo, ma non bastò e veniva
abbattuto da ogni parte: Padova minacciava interrompere i canali
che avvicinano l’acqua dolce alla metropoli: molti agognavano
d’essere i primi a disertare dalla patria per avere posti e guadagni
nell’ordine nuovo.
Mentre i patrioti gridano Viva la libertà, il popolo grida Viva san
Marco, e infuria contro di quelli; gli Schiavoni saccheggiano le case, i
Dalmati, avversi sempre ai Francesi, e più dacchè questi aveano
vilipesi i loro soldati a servizio della Serenissima, si ammutinano,
trucidano i novatori, e bisogna domarli col cannone.
I Manini di Firenze, mutatisi per le patrie turbolenze a Udine, col
soccorrere generosamente ai bisogni di Venezia v’ottennero il
patriziato. Lodovico, discendente da quelli, come procuratore di
Vicenza, di Verona, di Brescia, tanto ben meritò, che la Serenissima
lo elesse procuratore di San Marco, poi doge il 1789, quantunque
non venisse dalle antiche famiglie tribunizie. Splendidissimamente si
solennizzavano queste elezioni [22], e in quella del Manin fu gittato
denaro a profusione alla plebe nel giro consueto della piazza,
diecimila ducati ai nobili poveri, pane e vino a chi ne volle: ma basta
leggere la promissione ducale impostagli per tor molta ragione alle
accuse che gli si danno di negligenza e debolezza, chè male può
fasciarsi un uomo, poi dirgli cammina. In fatto egli non seppe che
esibire di rinunziare la sua carica ai rivoltosi; pusillanimità
applauditagli come eroismo; e l’unico lamento di lui sonò: — Non
semo nemmanco sicuri sta notte nel nostro letto».
Mandasi a Parigi a trattare a qualunque siansi condizioni, e per
averlo meno triste si profonde oro al venale direttore Barras [23]: poi il
granconsiglio rinunzia all’ereditaria aristocrazia, riconosce la
sovranità del popolo, e alla repubblica francese consente sei milioni,
venti quadri e cinquecento manoscritti: per ordine di Francia si
scarcerano i detenuti politici, cioè quelli che tramavano contro la
repubblica, si puniscono gl’Inquisitori e il comandante di Lido, si
licenzia la milizia schiavona.
Con tante bassezze speravasi salvar almeno l’indipendenza; ma
dentro trescavano i demagoghi, e n’era centro Villetard segretario
della legazione francese, e principale turcimanno il Battagia. I
cospiratori spingono il granconsiglio (1797 12 maggio) a decretare
sia introdotta guarnigione francese, e viene istituita una nuova
municipalità. Coloro che aveano trionfato del demolire la Bastiglia, e
trionfato al paro dello scannare migliaja d’ingiudicati all’Abadia e al
Carmine, gemeano e fremeano sull’efferatezza delle carceri di
Venezia; e dimenticando quanti patrioti giacessero in ben altro
squallore nelle regie carceri sottomarine di Messina e nelle alpestri
di Fenestrelle, vollero s’aprissero (16 maggio) gli orribili pozzi e i
piombi ricantati, e vi trovarono... un prigioniero.
Buonaparte, lieto d’un’occasione che diminuiva infamia ai preliminari
di Leoben, finse un accordo col granconsiglio: ma, secondo avea
concertato, il Direttorio francese [24] ricusa le stipulazioni fatte con un
corpo che avea cessato d’esistere; ricusa le riserve, pur tenendo
saldi gli obblighi che v’erano convenuti; onde si decreta abolita
l’aristocrazia, diano tre milioni in denaro, tre in munizioni navali, tre
vascelli di guerra, due fregate [25].
Stabilita la municipalità democratica, cominciano le solite gazzarre
popolane contro tutti i resti dell’antico dominio; si rilasciano i
condannati in galera, si distribuiscono al popolo quattordicimila
ducati; il dì della Pentecoste piantasi l’albero parodiando il Veni
Creator, e si manda a sperpero e saccheggio il palazzo ducale,
testimonio di tanta sapienza politica, tanta virtù patriotica, tanti
omaggi di re, tante devozioni di ministri; e i tributi di tutto il mondo, e
le rarità di cui da secoli i viaggiatori faceano patriotica offerta, e i
doni dei sultani di Bagdad, d’Egitto, di Costantinopoli, vanno preda
del popolo sovrano e degli speculatori; stracciansi le bandiere,
monumenti d’insigni vittorie; si pone il fuoco al seggio ducale, e il
libro d’oro è arso con ischiamazzante solennità [26]. Poi vennero le
consuete depredazioni delle casse, fra cui ducentomila zecchini
depositati dal duca di Modena, poi dei capi d’arte nelle chiese e ne’
musei, il Giove Egioco della biblioteca, il san Pietro martire, la Fede
del doge Grimani, il Martirio di san Lorenzo del Tiziano, lo schiavo
liberato e la sant’Agnese del Tintoretto, il ratto d’Europa, una
Madonna, il convito in casa di Levi di Paolo Veronese, una Madonna
di Gian Bellino ed altri dipinti, e ducento preziosi codici. Dal tesoro di
San Marco si trassero le gemme de’ reliquarj, e l’oro si mandava alle
zecche: delle armi bellissime e storiche conservate presso il
consiglio dei Dieci, fecero preda gli uffiziali: saccheggiato l’arsenale
che aveva quarantasette cale, nove tettoje acquatiche, trentatre
cantieri pel legname, una corderia unica al mondo, arricchita dai
boschi di Montello, di Cansiglio, dell’Istria, dal rame d’Agordo, dalla
canapa ferrarese e bolognese; il bucintoro e i peatoni, di cui la
ricchezza e gl’intagli destavano meraviglia nelle feste del doge,
andarono arsi o sconquassati; affondaronsi alcune navi. Non
bastando il denaro, Haller e Serrurier facevano darsi per
ducencinquantamila franchi in catrame, il doppio in sartiame,
altrettanto in àncore e ferraglie, trecencinquantamila in sevo e ragia,
quattrocentomila in tela da vele, settecentomila in canapa; e si tentò
spegnerne fin le ultime industrie veneziane [27]. Altrettanti segni di
rapacità lascia Massena a Padova; e vuolsi valutare a cinquanta
milioni di ducati lo spoglio pubblico. Fin dalle gallerie private si
tolsero quadri e medaglie e cammei, e per ultimo insulto il leone
della Piazzetta, e i cavalli che diconsi di Lisippo. A Lallemant, capo
del sistematico ladroneccio, furono regalati sette cammei. Il vulgo,
vedendo i Francesi rubare, rubare i municipalisti, si buttò a rubare
anch’esso; altri Veneziani, e non tutti ebrei, compravano il rubato dai
Francesi e dal vulgo. Il municipale Dandolo ordinava una nota di tutti
i benestanti per confiscare quel che avessero d’oro, argento,
contanti, gioje di là del necessario: e solo l’accidente impedì
d’attuare un insano decreto della municipalità, che traeva al fisco le
sostanze eccedenti la rendita di cinquemila ducati.
Intanto un avviso esortava gli artisti: — Orsù, incisori, dateci l’effigie
di quel grande che beneficò l’umanità col sublime trattato Dei delitti e
delle pene; sia quella effigie incoronata dalla filosofia; le stia presso
in atto riconoscente Italia, cinta degli emblemi della libertà;
l’immortalità dall’altro canto tenga in mano il maraviglioso sapiente
dettato». Le procuratìe nuove e le vecchie doveano nominarsi
galleria della libertà e dell’eguaglianza: sul libro del leone si scrisse,
Diritti e doveri dell’uomo e del cittadino; e tutti a leggere giornali, tutti
accorrere ai teatri, sonanti d’insulti ai re, ai nobili, ai preti, ai
magistrati; i cittadini indossavano la carmagnola degli operaj; le
donne procedeano seminude in tuniche all’ateniese aperte sul
fianco, in farsetti all’umanità, cappellini alla Pamela, chioma
raccorcia alla ghigliottina; e satire e caricature scompisciavano il
lacero manto e le glorie di sedici secoli. Vero è che non mancavano
insulti all’albero della libertà, ed alla figura di questa surrogavansi in
più luoghi le aquile e Viva l’Austria e l’arciduca Carlo; il che causò
qualche supplizio. I Dalmati infuriati trucidarono alcune truppe
giacobine a Sebenico, e il console di Francia e la moglie; apersero le
prigioni, s’impossessarono delle artiglierie dicendo voler adoprarle
contro i democratici di Venezia: così a Trau, a Spalatro, a Zara, dove
la gente di campagna accorse distruggendo quanto sapesse di
rivoluzionario, uccidendo chi in fama di democratico, deliberata
piuttosto a darsi a Casa d’Austria.
L’Austria, non che lamentarsi che i Giacobini scorressero a nuovi
acquisti, pensò trarne profitto, ed occupò l’Istria e la Dalmazia,
possessi veneti, «volendo l’imperatore preservare la tranquillità de’
suoi sudditi dallo spirito di vertigine delle vicine provincie»; e si stese
fin a Cattaro, facendosi giurar fede da quello strano misto di razze, di
culti, di lingue. Venezia chiedeva a Buonaparte snidasse
quegl’invasori; ed egli le permise d’allestire una spedizione pel
Levante. Era una nuova perfidia di Buonaparte per trarre la flotta
fuori del porto, e così sguarnire la capitale. Veleggiò essa in fatto a
Corfù, ma con insegne francesi, e da Francesi fu preso il governo
anche delle Jonie [28].
Buonaparte facea far feste a Venezia, e vi mandò la propria moglie,
che fu caricata di doni nella speranza che ammanserebbe il
liberticida, come l’avea sperato Pio VI nell’offrirle statue e una
collana di cammei: egli intanto a Campoformio (1797 16 8bre)
conchiudeva il mercato [29]. Il Direttorio aveagli imposto
l’emancipazione dell’intera Italia; ma egli dissobbedisce e assegna
l’Adige e Mantova alla riconosciuta Cisalpina, Magonza e l’isole
Jonie alla Francia; obbliga l’imperatore a dare la Brisgovia in
compenso al duca di Modena; a Casa d’Austria abbandona la
lungamente agognata Venezia col Friuli, l’Istria, la Dalmazia, le
Bocche di Cattaro. Sì bene il ministro Cobentzel avea saputo
carezzare l’indovinata ambizione di Buonaparte, che tutto il profitto
toccò all’Austria; la quale, colla perseveranza che si ammira anche
in causa che si disapprova, dopo tante sconfitte si rifacea della
perdita de’ Paesi Bassi aquistando il mare e l’immediata
congiunzione delle provincie italiane colle sue slave, toccando anche
alla Turchia ond’essere pronta a partecipare al più o men vicino ma
inevitabile spartimento di quella. Quanto alla Cisalpina essa
confidava ricuperarsela. I Parigini mostrarono tanta esultanza della
conchiusa pace, che il Direttorio non osò palesarsi scontento
dell’operato di Buonaparte.
Trattavasi di metter le catene a quella Venezia, che aveano suscitato
a rivoluzione col pretesto di liberarla. Già le si era tolta la flotta, e
distrutto quanto potesse servire all’imperatore per crearne una
nuova. Il Villetard, fanatico se non colpevole stromento di quella
tradigione, dovette annunziare alla donna dell’Adriatico la sorte
destinatale (1798 gennajo), promettendo ricovero e patria in Francia
o nella Cisalpina a chi volesse. Come un compenso, ai magistrati
suggerì d’arricchirsi colle spoglie della patria; ma dovette rescrivere
al Buonaparte: — Trovai ne’ municipali animo troppo alto sicchè
volessero cooperare a quanto per me proponeste: Cercheremo
libera terra, risposero, preferendo all’infamia la libertà». Buonaparte
rispondeva insultando: — E che? la repubblica francese spargerà il
suo prezioso sangue per altri popoli? I Veneziani sono ciarlieri
dissennati e codardi, che non sanno se non fuggire. Se rifiutano
arricchirsi delle prede pubbliche, non è probità, non altezza
d’animo». Ma quando ai loro lamenti egli replicò, — Ebbene
difendetevi», il veronese De Angeli proruppe: — Traditore, rendici
quell’armi che ci hai rapite».
Venezia ch’era vissuta tredici secoli, con pochissime sommosse e
neppur una guerra civile, finì spossata; eppure fra tante ruine di quel
tempo destò vivo rammarico pei vilissimi artifizj, e lasciò un
affettuoso desiderio in quegli stessi che erano compianti come suoi
servi. Gli abitanti dell’Istria e della Dalmazia non sapeano darsene
pace, e nel consegnare all’austriaco generale il vessillo di San
Marco, versavano lacrime solenni al cospetto de’ nuovi padroni;
alcuni ne mostravano tale accoramento, che fin i soldati austriaci
commossi lasciavano che il conservassero. A Zara, lo stendardo si
porta in duomo, il maresciallo Strático lo consegna al vicario
generale monsignor Armani che intonato il De profundis e lasciatolo
baciar con entusiasmo ai cittadini lo sepellisce: così a Pirano, così
altrove; intanto che i vincitori e i venduti tentavano strappar a
Venezia fin la pietà, ultimo diritto della sventura, diffamandola a
guisa del giovinastro che espone alle risa la donna ch’egli
contaminò.
 CAPITOLO CLXXVII.
La Cisalpina. Conquista di Roma, Napoli e
Piemonte.

La repubblica francese toccava all’apogeo; estesa dai Pirenei al

Reno, dall’Oceano al Po; sostenuta da generali prodi, non ancora
disonorati da egoistica ambizione; rinnovato colla Spagna il patto di
famiglia; l’Impero e l’Austria ridotti ad accettar la pace; Inghilterra
non avea potuto impedirle di acquistare i Paesi Bassi e di
predominare nell’Olanda, e mal reggeva da sola alla guerra, di cui
era stata l’anima e la cassiera. Il mareggio che succede alla procella
non era finito, ma la durata di quindici mesi già dava qualche
consistenza al Direttorio, che venuto in credito per le vittorie di
Buonaparte, potè reprimere violentemente e i Realisti, e i Terroristi, e
circondatosi di altre repubbliche, pensava a sistemarle.
Primogenita di queste, la Cisalpina fin allora restava ad uno di que’
governi militari, che fanno schifo a chi abbia sentimento dell’ordine e
del dovere. Buonaparte, uom di guerra e di disciplina, teneva altro
linguaggio che il gonfio e iracondo de’ repubblicanti; non irritava i
preti, blandiva i ricchi, e pensando che mal si costruisce sul popolo
mobile e capriccioso, repudiava gli esuberanti per rannodarsi i
moderati, e cingeasi coi nomi storici de’ Visconti, de’ Melzi, de’ Litta,
de’ Serbelloni, de’ Contarini, de’ Morosini. Ergevasi anche protettore
de’ dotti, e appena entrato in Milano scrisse all’astronomo Oriani: —
Le scienze e le arti devono nelle repubbliche essere onorate, e chi vi
primeggia nel sapere è francese, ovunque sia nato. So che a Milano
i dotti non godono la considerazione che meritano; ritirati ne’
gabinetti o ne’ laboratorj, credonsi fortunati quando i re e i preti non li
molestino. Oggi tutto mutò; il pensiero è libero in Italia; non più
inquisizione, non intolleranze, non diverbj teologici. Invito i dotti a
farmi conoscere come dare alle scienze e alle arti belle nuova vita
ed essere nuovo. Chi di essi vorrà andare in Francia, sarà accolto
con onore; il popolo francese stima più l’acquisto d’un matematico,
d’un pittore, d’un erudito, che della città più ricca. Cittadino Oriani,
spiegate voi questi sensi del popolo francese ai dotti di Lombardia».
Il nostro patriotismo suole andar in solluchero allorchè qualche
straniero sparla di noi, consolazione che non ci si lascia
scarseggiare. L’Oriani, più semplice e perciò più vero, rispondeva
alla superba compassione del Buonaparte che «i letterati di Milano
non erano stati negletti nè vilipesi dal Governo, anzi godeano oneste
pensioni e stima proporzionata al merito; anche nella guerra
presente n’erano stati puntuali gli assegni, i quali sol da poche
settimane cessarono, a gran costernazione di poche famiglie; sicchè
l’unico modo di farne cessare le calamità e d’affezionarli alla
repubblica francese, sarebbe di rimetterne in corso i soldi».
Soggiungeva volesse il generale attribuire tali parole all’amor suo
per la verità e la giustizia: chè, quanto a lui, avea pochi bisogni, ed
era sicuro di trovar da vivere in qualunque paese, ed anche allora
stava in lui l’accettare una cattedra ben provveduta in una delle più
celebri Università [30]. I democratici non avranno fatto mente al
coraggio della semplicità, ma è tristo modo di rigenerare una
nazione il cominciare dal deprimerla con insulti, col raffaccio iroso,
colla servile imitazione forestiera.
Buonaparte, a dieci valentuomini, tra cui il padre Gregorio Fontana,
commise di preparare una costituzione per la Cisalpina; ma il
Direttorio ordinò vi si applicasse la francese (1797 8 luglio). Dopo le
consuete dichiarazioni dei diritti dell’uomo e del cittadino, essa
portava la repubblica una e indivisibile, distribuita in dipartimenti,
distretti, Comuni. Al 21 marzo gli abitanti di ciascun distretto si
uniscono per nominare i giudici di pace e gli elettori del dipartimento,
uno ogni ducento teste. Le assemblee elettorali al 9 aprile nominano
i membri del corpo legislativo e del tribunale di cassazione, i giurati,
gli amministratori de’ dipartimenti, i giudici e presidenti de’ tribunali,
l’accusatore pubblico. Il corpo legislativo consta di quaranta in
sessanta seniori; di ottanta in cenventi membri il granconsiglio:
questo propone le leggi, quello le approva o rigetta, insieme
stabiliscono l’annua imposta. L’esecuzione è commessa a cinque
direttori nominati dal corpo legislativo, i quali scelgono i ministri
responsali; un’amministrazione centrale in ogni dipartimento, una
municipale in ogni distretto; un’altra corte di giustizia pondera le
accuse contro il Direttorio o i legislatori. Libero a tutti di scrivere,
parlare, stampare; l’esercito è per essenza obbediente.
Allora si abolirono maggioraschi e fedecommessi; si posero all’asta
le commende maltesi; i beni e debiti delle provincie e de’ Comuni si
riconobbero nazionali. La repubblica fu dichiarata libera; ma
l’esercito cisalpino era comandato dal côrso Fiorella; truppe francesi
per tutto il territorio e nelle fortezze; molti Francesi in uffizi principali;
e per un anno sospesa la libera stampa. Così a noi, che già
godevamo una forma di libertà municipale, era tolta per imporci la
costituzione d’un paese che non l’aveva; e Buonaparte nominò egli
stesso per la prima volta i direttori, i consigli legislativi, e quattro
congregazioni, di costituzione, di giurisprudenza, di finanza, di
guerra. La libertà molti l’aveano sulle labbra, alcuni nella testa, pochi
nel cuore; gli uni la simulavano per farsi perdonare l’antica servilità;
gli uni per impinguarsi mercanteggiandone, o per brogliare contro le
leggi e la giustizia; molti, sinceramente scambiando la conquista per
emancipazione, esultavano di vederci dati un nome, una bandiera,
un esercito; speravano che il governo militare finirebbe, e ce ne
rimarrebbero i frutti; lasciavansi ingenuamente lusingare a quelle
apparenze di governo popolare, ed all’indestruttibile fiducia
dell’indipendenza. Buonaparte li conosceva, gli accarezzava, e ne
rideva; trattava superbamente i deputati e le dignità che venivano a
inchinarlo nella villa di Montebello, che già chiamavasi sua reggia, le
api del manto imperiale trasparendo dalla tracolla repubblicana [31];
ma pure veniva ripetendoci le triste conseguenze delle nostre
scissure, il bisogno d’acquistare il sentimento della propria dignità e
d’avvezzarci alle armi; «proponete (raccomandava) le persone
meglio conosciute per attitudine, onestà, civismo, non i terroristi e i
patrioti intemperanti e ringhiosi, amici del sangue e della guerra, che
in ogni cosa trascendono, e non sanno che diffamar il Governo».
La Cisalpina non era soltanto una conquista, sì bene un
inoculamento della rivoluzione in Italia, e bisognava estenderla per
conservarla. Avea vicina la Svizzera, repubblica all’antica, divisa in
Cantoni formanti una confederazione debole e viziata di feudalità.
Nell’interno, le classi godeano i diritti in differente grado, e molte
servivano di sgabello alle privilegiate; alcuni paesi giaceano sudditi
di altri, che liberi dentro, erano tiranni fuori. Di qua dai monti avevano
signoria il Cantone di Uri sulla Leventina: Uri, Schwitz e Unterwald
sulla Riviera e Bellinzona; i dodici Cantoni insieme su Lugano,
Locarno e Valmaggia; sulla Valtellina i Grigioni. Paesi, lasciati in
balìa di magistrati ignoranti, che comprata la carica di governatore o
di giudice, pensavano a rifarsene con usura. Le più volte il balio non
faceva che venir di qua per rivendere la carica a qualche suddito, e
dopo un buon pranzo tornava indietro col titolo e coi quattrini. Quindi
giustizia vendereccia, prepotenze tollerate; che più? vendute
impunità in bianco per delitti da commettersi [32].
Nella val Leventina gli abitanti viveano de’ pingui pascoli e dei
trasporti pel Sangotardo, riconoscendo i loro padroni con lievi
pedaggi e scarsa imposta. Avendo gli Urani negato dar il soldo ai
Leventini che aveano militato, questi fecero turba, cacciarono il balio
(1713), nè si quetarono finchè i cinque Cantoni cattolici non
decretarono dovuti i soldi. La giustizia ripristinò la pace, e furono
detti cari e fedeli alleati: ma più tardi vennero portati ai padroni
lamenti (1755) contro tutori che malversavano le sostanze de’ pupilli;
e gl’imputati pensarono coprire colla sommossa le colpe, e levatisi in
armi imprigionarono il balio. Uscirono gli Urani a domarli; Orso di
Rossura ed altri capi furono decollati davanti a tremila popolani, che
a testa scoperta e a ginocchio piegato dovettero sentir proferita
l’abolizione di tutte le franchigie e garanzie, e giurare la servitù.
Anche nella Valtellina poteasi redimere a contanti ogni delitto, salvo
l’omicidio qualificato; e poichè i processi fruttavano denaro, i podestà
erano attenti non solo a scoprire delitti, ma a farne commettere;
tenevano sciagurate che seducessero, poi accusassero il correo,
desiavano sommosse per toglierne pretesto a confische.
L’immoralità de’ dominanti e le discordie invelenite fra i Planta fautori
dell’Austria e i Salis inchini a Francia, incancrenivano i patimenti
della Valtellina. Quante volte non aveva essa ricorso al duca di
Milano per far osservare il capitolato che aveva ottenuto dopo il
sacro macello del 1620, e di cui esso era garante!
Cessata la confidenza fra governanti e governati, cresceano le
gozzaje; il giureconsulto Alberto Desimoni di Bormio, per avere
scritto a difesa della costituzione della Valtellina, fu condannato a
morte in contumacia: sommovimenti interni cominciarono prima de’
francesi, i quali gl’incalorirono. Ben presto tutta Svizzera ribolle
contro le annose tirannidi (1797); a nome della libertà rovesciansi le
repubbliche; i Francesi, invitati a sostenere i democratici insorgenti,
s’impossessano delle casse, e dichiarano che le leggi e i decreti del
Governo paesano non varranno se contrarj alla Francia. I
repubblicani di Milano e di Como aveano tentato sollevare i baliaggi
italiani, e alcune guardie nazionali penetrarono fino al lago di Lugano
piantandovi l’albero. Furono respinti, e i commissarj svizzeri vennero
a tenere in dovere il paese: ma una mano di patrioti si presenta a
loro, e colla sicurezza che dava la vicinanza della Cisalpina,
domanda i diritti dell’uomo; essi fuggono, e l’albero è piantato, non
col berretto frigio, ma col cappello di Tell. Quando poi furono
dichiarati liberi ed eguali tutti i sudditi della Svizzera, essi baliaggi
divennero membri della repubblica Elvetica, destinata a ben altra vita
che non l’effimera della Cisalpina, a cui ricusarono aggregarsi.
La Valtellina pensò ella pure novità; ma alcuni preferivano unirsi ai
Grigioni come quarta lega in eguaglianza di diritti, altri attaccarsi alla
Cisalpina; e intanto la plebe assaliva i signori, le chiese,
principalmente le cantine, ballonzando e cantando secondo la moda,
spezzavansi gli stemmi de’ vecchi pretori, pur non mancando chi
mettesse fuoco agli alberi della libertà. Un conte Galliano Lechi,
prepotente e dissoluto bresciano, fuggito a Bormio per sottrarsi ai
castighi meritati in patria, e di nuovi meritandosene con braverie ed
altro, eccitò l’ira del popolo, che lo uccise con due suoi bravacci. Le
gazzette li presentarono come martiri della libertà; i comitati di
Bergamo e Brescia inveivano contro le persecuzioni fatte in
Valtellina ai patrioti; il generale Murat, scesovi da Edolo colla sua
brigata, intimò amnistia e pace; e Buonaparte offertosi mediatore,
chiamò a sè deputati grigioni e valtellinesi. Quelli non ascoltarono:
questi sì, e chiesero d’unirsi alla Cisalpina; ma voleano riservare per
unica religione la cattolica, immunità di fôro per gli ecclesiastici, non
partecipare all’ingente debito della repubblica nè alle inesplebili
contribuzioni; a tacere le meschinità da campanile, per cui Bormio
voleva stare disgregato da Sondrio, e Chiavenna fare casa a parte.
Lunghissime anticamere dovettero durare i deputati al quartiere
generale d’Udine: infine Buonaparte proferì (28 8bre) che, non
essendo comparsi i Grigioni, ai Valtellinesi restava facoltà d’unirsi
alla Cisalpina; andassero ad aspettarlo a Milano. V’andarono; e quivi
seppero che «la loro sorte e felicità era ormai fissata stabilmente con
quella dell’Italia libera»; e perchè rimostrarono che ciò trascendeva il
loro mandato, Buonaparte li sbraveggiò come non fossero
«compresi dal gran principio dell’unità e indivisibilità della repubblica,
la quale deve formare una famiglia sola».
Così quella valle divenne parte della Cisalpina; confiscati i beni che i
Grigioni vi possedevano; a Murat, per le gravi spese che diceva
incontrate, si regalarono una ricca sciabola e mille luigi, estorti a
forza dalla valle, dove fra le allegre spensieratezze si cominciò lo
spoglio delle chiese, e l’altre novità religiose. Queste eccitavano
maggior indignazione perchè rammentavano quelle del 1620;
nessuno andava alle assemblee primarie che doveano accettare la
costituzione; v’ebbe congiure e sommosse, domate colla fucilazione;
e il tribunale istituito a Bergamo contro gli allarmisti esercitava
tremenda azione anche nella valle.
Vedemmo come l’Emilia fosse eretta in repubblica Cispadana; e il
congresso accolto a Modena aveva compilato una costituzione alla
francese, e nominato direttori Magnani, Ricci, Guastavillani, persone
moderate: ma Buonaparte ordinò che quella repubblica fosse unita
alla Cisalpina. La quale così abbracciò l’antica Lombardia, Mantova,
Modena con Massa e Carrara, le legazioni di Bologna, Ferrara,
Romagna, oltre Bergamo, Brescia, Crema, Peschiera, cioè i paesi
veneti sulla destra dell’Adige; più Campione e Macagno, feudi
imperiali presso gli Svizzeri, la Valtellina e il ducato di Parma. Divisa
in venti dipartimenti, contava tre milioni e ducentomila abitanti,
coll’Adige, Mantova, Pizzighettone per difesa, e grandi elementi di
prosperità. Nel lazzaretto di Milano solennizzossi la federazione
italiana (1797 9 luglio), i deputati e le guardie nazionali sull’altare
della patria giurando libertà ed eguaglianza: una di quelle feste, che
fanno vivere un popolo intero d’una vita sola, e battere all’unissono
migliaja di cuori; ma non dovea lasciare se non un mesto desiderio.
A Genova, straziata come il debole in mezzo ai forti litiganti,
osteggiavansi a morte aristocrati e democratici, e a questi ultimi
erano stimolo i giornali ed emissarj milanesi; il commissario Faypoult
facea colà quello che Bassville a Roma, e Villetard a Venezia, viepiù
da che quest’ultima fu perita, e ai lamenti de’ nobili rispondendo, — I
tridui e l’altre santocchierie non ritarderanno i lumi, e meglio fareste
a dirigervi regolarmente verso là dove è inevitabile l’arrivare». In
fatto i patrioti insorsero (maggio), ma il popolo ricordandosi del grido
con cui avea cacciato i Tedeschi, ai tre colori oppone le effigie della
Madonna; nella Polcevera e nel Bisagno si diffonde la sommossa
non senza sangue; i patrioti soccombono; e Buonaparte manda
querele pei Francesi trucidati, e rabbuffi contro l’aristocrazia; fa
arrestare alcuni (14 giugno), esige soddisfazioni, modifica la
costituzione sul taglio di moda, all’antico senato sostituendo i due
consigli legislativi, ed un senato esecutivo preseduto dal doge;
garantiti la religione cattolica, il banco di San Giorgio e il debito
pubblico; cassati i privilegi; nei posti colloca persone moderate e
delle varie classi, e scrive alla repubblica: — Non basta astenersi da
ciò che contraria la religione; bisogna non inquietar neppure le più
timorate coscienze... Illuminate le plebi, mettetevi d’accordo con
l’arcivescovo per dare loro buoni curati, meritate l’affetto de’ vostri
concittadini». Ma il popolo coi soliti impeti, brucia il libro d’oro (9bre);
abbatte la statua d’Andrea Doria «il primo degli oligarchi» [33];
consacra alla ligure rigenerazione la casa dello speziale Morando,