Читать книгу Leonora D'Orco - G. P. R. James - Страница 3

There is a mountain pass, not far from the shores of the Lago Maggiore, which has been famous of late years for anything but fêtes and festivals. There, many an unfortunate traveller has been relieved of the burden of worldly wealth, and sometimes of all earthly cares; and there, many a postillion has quietly received, behind an oak-tree or a chesnut, a due share of the day's earnings from a body of those Italian gentlemen whose life is generally spent in working upon the highways, either with a long gun in their hands or a chain round their middles.

But, dear reader, the times I speak of were centuries ago--those named "the good old times," though Heaven only knows why they were called "good."

The world was in a very strange state just then. The resurrection of art--the recovery of letters--the new birth of science, marked out the age as one of extraordinary development; but the state of society from which all these bright things sprang--flowers rising from a dunghill--was one of foul and filthy fermentation, where every wickedness that the corrupt heart of man can devise worked and travailed for the birth of better things. That pass, in those "good old times," saw every day as much high-handed wrong and ruthless bloodshed as any pass in all Italy at the present time.

But such was not destined to be the case upon the present occasion, though the times of which I write were the end of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth centuries. Guilt, and fraud, and even murder, often in those days covered themselves with golden embroidery and perfumed flowers; and, interposed between acts of violence, rapine, and destruction, were brilliant festivals, the luxurious banquet, and the merry dance.

Wickedness, like virtue, proposes to itself enjoyment for its object; and the Bible is right when, as it often does, it uses the word wisdom as synonymous with virtue, for in the wisdom of the means is the certainty of the attainment. But the men of those days, as if they felt--how could they avoid feeling?--the insecurity of the ground on which they based their endeavours for the acquisition of happiness, were content to take the distant and doubtful payment by instalments of fruition, and let the revel, the pageant, the debauch go to the great reckoning as so much gained, without thinking of the terrible per contra.

That pass was well fitted to afford a scene for many of the dealings of those or these days. There the robber might lurk perfectly concealed in the dark nooks and crannies of the rocks, to spring forth upon the unwary traveller when least prepared--there a handful of men might defend the passage against an army--there, the gay, happy party might raise the wild echo of the mountains to their joyous songs--and there the artist might linger for long hours, studying the fantastic shapes into which the ground has been thrown, and filling up the shadowy recesses with forms such as Rosa loved to draw.

For somewhat less than two miles, the road, which, even in those days, was a good and well-constructed highway, passed between two ranges of rocks. On one side--the left hand, going north--a stream ran by the side of the path, some twenty feet below its level; but the bank itself could be easily descended to the river, and the stream, though deep in some places, was easily to be crossed at others, where it spread out over fallen rocks and stones. But what was the use of crossing it? On the other side was no path, and nothing but tall, ragged cliffs, in some places upright and flat, as if they had been cut with a knife, in others assuming the most wild and fantastic forms. Here was a strange grinning face, of gigantic size, starting forth in stone from the surface of the cliff; there a whole statue standing out from the rocky mass, as if a sentinel guarding the pass; then would come a castle with towers and keep, ballium and barbican and all, and yet nought but mere rock, wrought by no hands but those of time, earthquake, and tempest. But every here and there, from pinnacle and point, or out of dell and cavern, would spring a dark pine or light green ash; and the sight of even vegetable life would harmonize the scene with human thoughts.

The average width of the bottom of the valley, including river and road, might be a hundred yards; but there was one place, nearly at the middle of the gorge--probably where, in ages far remote, before history or even tradition began, the stream, rushing new-born from the mountains, had paused in its course to gather strength ere it forced its way through the rocky barrier opposed to it--in which a little amphitheatre appeared, the mountains receding on either hand to let the river make a circuit round a low knoll and its adjacent meadow, some three hundred yards across. A clump of trees had gathered together on the top of the little hillock, the turf was short and smooth; the stream, though still rapid, and fretting at the fallen stones in its way, had less of the torrent-like turbulence which it displayed where the pass was narrower; now and then, too, it would lapse into a quiet, deep, unruffled pool, where the many-coloured rocks and pebbles at the bottom could be seen, glazed and brightened by its crystal waters; and the white clouds, floating over the deep blue Italian sky, would seem to pause, with curious pleasure, in their flight, to look down for a moment on that fair spot, amid so much stony ruggedness.

Through this wild gorge, toward noon of a soft but breezy spring day in the year of grace 1494, coming from the northwest, rode a gay, a numerous, and a brilliant party; too few, indeed, to constitute an army, but too many and too well armed to fear the attack of any party of banditti less in number than those great mercenary bands whose leisure in those days was seldom long enough to rob on their own account, so great was the demand for their services, in the same way, among the princes of the land. And yet the cavalcade of which I speak did not altogether assume a military aspect. It is true that the rear was brought up by a body of a couple of hundred lances, and that between these and those who rode foremost were a number of gentlemen, old and young, from beneath whose surcoats glanced corslet and cuissard, and who, though they rode with velvet cap on head and sometimes a hawk upon the wrist, had helmet, and lance, and shield near at hand, borne by gay and splendidly-dressed pages. But the most remarkable group had no warlike signs about it. All men but ecclesiastics and serfs, in those days, bore some kind of arms during their most peaceful avocations; and thus there were swords and daggers enough among the little party; but there were men in the robes of the Church--bishops, and archdeacons, and even a monk or two, while those of secular habit looked more like the carpet-treading, soft-lying children of a court than warriors born for strife and conquest.

Thrown a little in advance of the mass rode two men-at-arms, heavily harnessed, and behind them, at perhaps twenty paces distance, five or six others, lance in hand. Then, however, came the principal group, at the head of which, with a crimson velvet bonnet or round cap on his head, ornamented with a single large ruby clasping a long, thin feather, appeared, as it seemed, a mere youth. He was short in stature, and somewhat, though not remarkably, deformed; at least, the fall of his wide and fur-trimmed mantle concealed in a great degree the defect of symmetry in his figure. All, indeed, had been done that the tailor's courtly art could do to conceal it, and the eye was more inclined to rest upon the countenance than upon the form. The face was not very handsome, but there was a frank, bold expression about it which won upon the regard at first sight; and yet a certain look of suffering--the trace, as it seemed, of a struggle between a high courage and bodily infirmity--saddened his aspect. A mere passing stranger would have fixed the age of that young horseman probably at eighteen or nineteen, but he had seen, in reality, between twenty-two and twenty-three years; and although many vicissitudes had not attended his course, enough experience of the world, and courts, and men, had been his to have made him older in appearance and older in mind than he was.

Grouped half a step behind this figure, and stretching quite across the road--for no one would yield a place which he could fairly claim near the fountain of all honour and the source of advancement--were a number of cavaliers, of all sorts of callings, distinguished in general by some peculiarity of costume. At least, any eye accustomed to the dress of that day could distinguish among them the hard old warrior, the bishop, the high officer of the law, and gay and gallant courtiers not a few, among whom, holding their rank immediately behind the principal personage, were six pages, habited in what was called purple cloth of gold, mounted on light but beautiful horses, bedizened with silken housings, and knots of ribbons, and flaunting feathers.

Among these last was no rivalry for place, for each had his particular station assigned to him; but with the rest an occasional angry word, and a more frequent angry look, would mark the indignation of some aspiring courtier at what he thought an attempt upon the part of another to get before him.

"My Lord of Tremouille," said one sharply, "I wish you would refrain your horse; I have hardly space to ride."

"He will not be refrained, my reverend lord," replied the other, "'tis an ambitious beast, well nigh as aspiring as a churchman. He will forward, whatever be in his way. Good sooth, he knows his place well too, and thinks that, though he might make a poor show in a king's closet, he may be found better near his sovereign in the march or the battle than any of the mules of the Church."

The words were spoken in no very low tone, and probably they reached the ears of the young man at the head of the cavalcade; but he took no notice, though the prelate turned somewhat red, and several who were near laughed low; and a moment or two after, the whole party emerged from the narrower part of the gorge into that little amphitheatre which I have lately described.

"Why, what is here?" cried the leader of the band, reining up his horse. "This is a scene of fairy land? Who expected to meet with such a spectacle in this desert?"

"Why, sire," replied the prelate, "you may remember his Excellency the Regent of Milan promised to meet you somewhere near this spot--at least before you reached the city."

"Ah, Louis the Moor knows where to lay chaff for young birds," muttered La Tremouille; "commend me to these Italians for wheedling and trickery."

"Hush, hush!" said one of his companions; "you cannot deny, Tremouille, that this Ludovic is a stout and skilful soldier, as well as a shrewd politician. I know not how he gained the name of 'The Moor,' but----"

"Why, they gave him the name because all his relations die black, or turn black after they die," answered the gallant soldier, with a bitter laugh; "but, on my life, the pageant is pretty. 'Tis a gallantry not expected in this wild place. Only, my good friend, look to what wine you drink at Ludovic's expense; it sometimes has a strange taste, and stranger consequences, men say, especially upon his enemies."

"I am no enemy," answered the other; "you, look to yourself, Tremouille. You must either dare the boccone or die of thirst."

"Nay, he will find out that I am one of his best friends," answered La Tremouille; "for I would fain have dissuaded the king from this wild expedition; and Master Ludovic, who urged it so strongly, will find, before he has done, that, ask a Frenchman to dinner, and he'll stay to supper also."

The scene which had excited so much surprise, and even admiration among the French, derived its principal interest from the ruggedness of the objects around. Some twenty or thirty small tents had been pitched in the little meadow, round which the river circled, each with its pennon fluttering from the top of the gilt pole which supported it, while the group of trees upon the little monticule in the midst was so interlaced, at some eight feet from the ground, with ribbons and festoons of flowers, that it afforded as complete a shade from the sun as any of the pavilions. The trunks of the trees, too, were bound round with garlands, and although neither Tasso nor Guarini had yet fully revived the taste for the pastoral amongst the Italian people, the groups which were seen, both in the tents and under the branches, were all habited as shepherds and shepherdesses, according to the most approved notions of Golden Age costume in those days.

In each of the pavilions, the canvas door of which was thrown wide open, was spread a table apparently well supplied, and beneath the trees appeared a kingly board covered with fine linen and rich plate, while a buffet behind groaned beneath a mass of gold and silver. But the sharp eye of La Tremouille soon espied that the two shepherds who stood at either end of the buffet, as well as two more behind it, were especially well armed for a pastoral race; and he did not fail to comment with a laugh upon the anomaly.

"Pooh! pooh!" cried the young King Charles VIII., turning his head over his shoulder to the stout soldier, but smiling at his remarks, "why should not shepherds have arms? They must defend their muttons, especially when such wolves as you are about!"

La Tremouille answered with a proverb of very ancient date, "Well, sire, they cannot say I am a wolf in sheep's clothing. God send your majesty may not find some in this country, where they are plenty, I am told. Will you not dismount, sire, to do honour to this festa?"

"But where are our hosts?" asked Charles, looking round. "My Lord Archbishop, can you distinguish among the shepherds, Prince Ludovic or his fair lady? You have had advantage of us all in seeing their Highnesses."

"On my hopes, sire, I cannot tell which they are, if they be here," replied the prelate. "Here, pretty maiden, will you let us know who is the lord of this feast, and who are to be the guests?"

The last words were spoken in Italian to a very handsome, dark-eyed shepherdess, who, with a coquettish air, had passed somewhat near the royal party. But the girl merely replied by the word "Hark!" bending her head on one side and affecting to listen attentively. A moment after, the flourish of some trumpets was heard from the continuation of the pass on the other side of the meadow; and La Tremouille, turning round, gave some orders in a low tone to one of his attendants. By him they were carried to the rear, and immediately the party of lances which formed the king's escort put itself in motion, and spread out round one side of the meadow in the form of a crescent, leaving the monarch and his immediate attendants grouped on horseback in the midst.

If this was a movement of precaution against any party approaching from the other side, it was unnecessary. A moment after, on the opposite side of the meadow, issuing from the gorge like a stream of gold, appeared a cavalcade which the chroniclers of the day have delighted to describe as the height of splendour and magnificence. At its head appeared Ludovico Sforza, nicknamed "the Moor," accompanied by the Princess of Ferrara his young wife, and followed by the whole court of Milan, each vying with the other in luxury and display. "The princess," says an Italian writer of the day, "was mounted on a superb horse, covered with cloth of gold and crimson velvet. She wore a dress of green cloth of gold, floating over which was a light gauze. Her hair, only bound by a ribbon, fell gracefully upon her shoulders and upon her bosom. On her head she bore a hat of crimson silk, surmounted by five or six feathers of red and grey. Her suite comprised twenty-two ladies of the first rank, all dressed like herself, and six cars followed, covered with cloth of gold, and filled with the rarest beauties of Italy."

It would be tedious as well as difficult to give any description of the scene that followed. The two parties soon mingled together. Ceremony and parade were forgotten in gallantry and enjoyment. The younger men at once gave themselves up to the pleasures of the hour, and even the older and more sedate warriors and counsellors soon shook off their frosty reserve under the warming influence of beauty and wine; and thus began the expedition of Charles VIII. to Naples, more like some festal pilgrimage than the hostile invasion of a neighbour's dominions. Thus it began, and thus it proceeded till the end was obtained, and then the scene changed to hard blows instead of feasts and pageants, and care and anxiety instead of revelry and enjoyment.

I have said it would be tedious to describe what followed; but there were episodes in the little drama acted in that wild amphitheatre which connect themselves with my story, and must be told.