That was a fair sight which greeted the travellers at the close of the
next day--the towers of Ferrara rising stately out of a green thicket.
The lovers trilled their happiness to each other: surely nothing but
pleasure and a smooth life could come out of so treeful a place!
"In our Venice, you must know," said Bellaroba, "we set great store by
green boughs, having so few of them. We think that harshness and clamour
may hunt the canals, but that birds can sing in gardens of a world
really joyful. What a cloud of green trees--look, look how near the sky
comes to them! Oh, my Angioletto, we are going to be so happy!" And the
young girl laid her hot cheek on her lover's shoulder.
He, though her premises were undeniable, had his doubts. Her words set
him wondering what was to be the end of this light-hearted adventure.
"My dear," said he, "if trees get in a man's way of villainy or
incommode his pleasures he will cut them down, depend upon it."
"Well, silly boy," she cried, and gave him a peck of a kiss, "and does
not that prove what I say, that there are no villainies in Ferrara? For,
see, the trees are as thick as a forest." She made him laugh again
before many paces. His ringing tones caught the ears of Captain Mosca,
and set that great man scowling.
"If I don't get a crumb down that yapping gullet, call me not Mosca," he
grumbled.
"Speak a little louder, Signor Capitano," said his pillion.
"Your pardon, Madonna Olimpia," he answered, "but I believe I was
breathing a prayer on account of the little love-boy yonder."
Olimpia laughed. "I love him as much as you do, I dare swear," said she;
"but he may be very useful. Remember that I am but a poor gentlewoman
with my fortune to make."
"Give me the making of it, my angel," cried the Captain, crushing his
heart with his fist. "You shall have the most crowded _cortile_ in
Ferrara. May I give you a humble bit of advice?"
"Certainly you may."
"It will be this, then, that you hold off from Monna Nanna and keep
yourself very much to yourself. Between us we can arrange a pretty
future. I know Monna Nanna better than becomes me. Believe me, the
acquaintance would become you still less. But with such talents as I
have--and they are all yours--I can arrange for you a most proper
dwelling-place which shall cost little and bring much in."
"But we cannot live there alone, Captain."
"Hey! I am beforehand. I parry with the head, my duchess," cried the
delighted Mosca. "I have thought of all that. There is an old lady of my
friendship in the city, by name Donna Matura. She is something decayed
in estate o' these days, has fewer crusts than teeth, poor soul, but
has mingled with the highest. She will be all that you could wish, and
you more than she could hope for. Think of it, lady, think of it."
"I will," said Olimpia, who had already done so. There is no doubt that
she and the Mosca understood each other.
They were now riding up the long lime-tree avenue which leads to the
Sea-Gate of Ferrara; soon they entered Ferrara itself, that city of warm
red brick, of broad eaves, of laughter, and, as it were, a fairy-tale,
bowered in rustling green. The streets ran wide between garden walls and
the massy fronts of great square houses; they were full of a traffic
which seemed that of a prosperous people bent upon pleasure. Happy
ladies rode by with hawks or leashed dogs, or crowns of flowers.
Cavaliers, in white and yellow, ribboned, slashed, curled, and
feathered, went in and out of the throng to keep an assignation, or to
break one. The priests joked with the women, the very urchins coaxed for
kisses. Every street corner had its lovers' tryst, never a garden walk
without its loitering pair, never a lady came out of a church door but
there stood a devout adorer to beg a touch of holy water from her
finger-tip.
"How happy this people is," cried Bellaroba, flushed and sparkling, to
her little lord. "Everybody loves everybody else."
"My dear, we have nothing to do with their loves; we are going to be
married," replied Angioletto, looking straight before him.
"Yes, Angioletto," said she, as meek as a mouse.
Olimpia, who was not thinking of marriage, was highly entertained.
There was a press of grooms and led horses, richly caparisoned, outside
the open doors of a new and very spacious palace. Round about them
crowded people of a meaner sort, and beggars not a few; but a lane was
kept to the gateway by soldiers in red and yellow, who bore upon their
breasts a quartered coat of eagles and lilies.
"Hist!" said Mosca, pulling up his horse. "This is the fine new palace
of the Duke, which he calls his Schifanoia. He is evidently expected in
from his hawking. The greatest falconer you ever knew, my life! I do
assure you."
"That may very well be," said Olimpia, "for I have never known one at
all."
"You shall know this one before I die, and another who is my most noble
master," cried Mosca, "or I am your kennel-dog for nothing."
"Let us wait a little and see this hawking Duke of yours," Olimpia said,
with a gentle pressure of her arms about the Captain's middle.
"Blood of blood," sighed the Mosca, "I am as wax in the candle of you,
my soul."
Olimpia pulled down her hood. Her patience was rewarded in no long time
by the sound of an approaching cavalcade; presently she saw the nodding
plumes of riders and their beasts at the end of the street. Knights,
squires, and ladies rode with their reigning prince: he himself with two
young men, magnificently dressed, came in advance of the troop, and at a
great pace.
Olimpia judged her time well. At the moment Duke Borso drew rein to turn
into his gates she threw back her hood and looked him full in the face,
as if to dower him with all the splendour of her beauty. The sly,
humorous face of the old fox twitched as his eyes caught the girl's. He
looked a prude with a touch of freakishness in him; his pursed mouth
seemed always to be strangling a smile, the issue of the strife always
in doubt. Now, for instance, though Olimpia said to herself that she was
satisfied, she could never have denied that he disapproved of her, while
nobody could have maintained it. Borso had shot upon her a piercing
glance the minute in which he had turned his horse; Mosca had had the
benefit of another; then he had acknowledged in military fashion the
waving caps and kerchiefs at the gates and had passed into the
courtyard.
"Oh, you may be satisfied, my soul," said the Mosca. "Borso will never
forget us now: it is not his way. But look, look!" Another pair of eyes
was at work, belonging to a very handsome, ruddy youth who had been at
the Duke's left hand. Olimpia needed no nudge from the Captain to tell
her who this noble rider might be. Guarino Guarini for a florin! And so
it was.
"Yes," said Mosca, "that is my most intrepid master. The flaxen lad in
silver brocade, who was on the other side, is Teofilo Calcagnini, of
whom I know little more than that he is Duke Borso's shadow. You shall
hardly see them apart. The other, my charmer, the other is our man.
Leave me to deal with him. Come now to the inn. To-morrow you shall have
your hired house, and the next day company for it more to your taste
than lean old Mosca."
"I shall never forget you, my Captain," said the really grateful
Olimpia; and said truer than she knew. "Come," she added, "we should
seek out Bellaroba and her little sweetheart. There must be an end of
that pretty gentleman, my friend."
"By the majesty of King Solomon, there shall be an end," Mosca swore,
and pricked his horse.
Angioletto and his lady-love had been better exercised than to think of
dukes. They had thought of religion.
They passed by the Schifanoia at a sober walk, regardless of the crowd.
"My heart," Angioletto said, "there is here what I suppose to be the
most famous shrine in Romagna. I mean that of the Madonna degli Greci, a
pompous image from Byzantium, which proceeded undoubtedly from the
_bottega_ of Saint Luke. If that Signore had been as indifferent a
painter as he was great Saint (which is surely impossible), we should do
well to visit his Madonna. Her holiness is past dispute; there are very
few miracles which she could not perform if she chose. As well as
burning a candle apiece before her face, we could lay our prayers and
new love at her feet. Beyond question she will hear and bring us good
luck. What do you think?"
"I think as you think, Angioletto," said Bellaroba, and held him closer.
"Let us go then. I know the way very well."
So they went to the tune which the young lad sang under his breath, and
before long came to a piazza, not very broad, but flagged all over and
set about with stately brick buildings, having on the left the stone
front of a great church, tier upon tier of arches interlaced. The door
of it was guarded by two stone lions, and above the porch was the figure
of a buxom lady with a smile half saucy, half benevolent, to whom
Angioletto doffed his cap.
"They call her Donna Ferrara," he explained. "This is the Duomo. Let us
go in."
They dismounted; a lame boy held the mule; they entered the church.
It was very large, very dark, and nearly empty. Angioletto put his arm
round Bellaroba's waist, and they began to pace the aisle in
confidential talk.
"Where are you going to live in this place, Bellaroba?" he asked her.
"I don't know. Olimpia knows. There was a Monna Nanna we were to live
with, I think. But Olimpia will decide. I must do as she wishes."
"But why?"
"She is older than I am--two years. Besides I always have. And my mother
commanded it."
"Your last appears to me the only reason worth a thought. Do you not
want to know what I think of it, Bellaroba?" He bent his head towards
her. Her answer, the flutter of a quick little kiss, pleased him. "Well,
I will tell you," said he. "I think we should be married at once--this
very minute. I do indeed."
"Oh!" said Bellaroba, blushing beautifully.
"I can see that you are pleased at this, my dear," Angioletto said,
looking at her. They were head for head level, these children. "But
what would Olimpia say?"
Bellaroba paused for strength to tell the painful truth.
"She would say 'Fiddlesticks,' Angioletto."
Angioletto frowned. "Ah! what is to be done?" he asked.
Bellaroba looked down, plucked at her skirt, saw Angioletto's hand
peeping round her waist. It seemed difficult to say, and yet what she
did say was very simple: "We have not asked Olimpia, you know."
"No," Angioletto answered; "we have had no time yet. But we will, of
course."
"Oh, of course," said she, who kept her eyes hidden, and spoke very low.
"Oh, of course. But--"
"Well, dearest?"
"Could we not--would it not be wiser--of course you know best,
Angioletto!--might we not ask her--afterwards?"
Angioletto kissed her.
"You are as wise as you are lovely, my little wife. Come, let us find
the Madonna degli Greci." And he led her away by the hand.
They found her in the north transept, in a little fenced chapel all
starry with tapers and gleaming gold and silver hearts. As it was the
eve of Pentecost she was uncovered; they could see her dark outline with
its wrought metal ring about the head. Half-way down was another metal
ring; Bambino's head should be in there.
Both the hand-fasted pilgrims fell to their knees: Bellaroba crossed
herself, and then hid her face with her left hand, Angioletto with his
right. After a silence, about the space of two Hail Mary's, the youth
looked resolutely up at Madonna, and began to speak to her.
"Holy and most glorious Virgin, Mother of God," said he, "we, thy
children, have sought thee first in this famous city of Ferrara, because
we are sure that thou wilt love us even more than we love each other,
and wilt be glad to share our secret. We are going to marry each other
at this moment, Madonna, and thou shalt be the priest. There can be none
better, since thou hadst in thy womb for many months the great Priest of
all Christians, our sublime Redeemer. Now, behold, Madonna, how I wed
this my wife, Bellaroba. With this ring, which was given me by a very
great lady," and he took a ring from his breast, "I wed my wife, placing
it upon her finger in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the
Holy Ghost. I do not endow her with my worldly goods, for thou knowest I
have none. I do not worship her with my body at this moment, but in the
meantime I worship her unfeignedly with my mind, just as I worship thee
with my soul. It appears, therefore, that I have wedded her enough. It
is useless, most sacred Lady, to ask her whether she will honour and
obey me, because of course she will, seeing that she loves me with all
her good heart. Such as we are--very young, quite poor, but much thy
servants--thou knowest whether thou canst be happy in this mating. I
believe that thou canst. Now, therefore, since she is mine, she shall
say with me three _Aves_ and a _Paternoster_, likewise the _Credo_, or
so much of it as she can remember. And, O Madonna, trust me to cherish
her, and do thou intercede for us. _Per Christum Dominum
nostrum_--AMEN."
"Bellaroba, my wife, look at me," he said, and the girl looked up
wondering. He took her happy face between his hands, and kissed her two
eyes, her forehead, and her mouth. Then they said the appointed prayers,
and rose to their feet to return; nor did they forget the candles, but
purchased them at the door of an old lady, who had a basketful to sell.
Coming out of the church into the sun again, they encountered the
scrutiny of Olimpia. Captain Mosca, slapping his booted leg, was holding
the horse.
"Where have you two children been?" said Olimpia. "Mischief in a corner,
eh? You have missed the sight of Duke Borso and a gilded company."
"We have been saying our prayers to Madonna of the Greeks," said
Bellaroba meekly.
"There are red flames in your cheeks, child, and a ring on your finger.
Did you find those in the church?"
"Madonna gave them to me, Olimpia."
"So, so, so! Do you begin by robbing a shrine, pray?"
"Ah, Madama Olimpia," said Angioletto, "we have only taken from the
shrine what is our due."
Not the least of the minstrel's parts was that of speaking as though he
had something weighty in reserve. Olimpia, though by nature dull, was
also sly. She had a suspicion about Angioletto now; but a
quick-shifting glance from one to the other of the pair before her
revealed nothing but serenity in the boy, and little but soft happiness
in the girl. She opened her lips to speak, snapped them to again, and
turned to the Captain and affairs more urgent than the love-making of
babies. It was the hour of supper; the question was of a lodging.
Captain Mosca knew an inn--the "Golden Sword"--where decent
entertainment could be had for the night. As no one could deny what
nobody knew anything about, it was decided. They sought and found the
"Golden Sword," and put up with it, and in it. The supper party was, at
least, merry, for Angioletto led it. He sang, he joked, made love, spent
money, was wise, unwise, heedless, heedful. He charmed a grin at last
into the very Captain's long face. That warrior, indeed, went so far as
to drink his health in wine of Verona. He and his
Olimpia--unhesitatingly his in the gaiety of the moment--drank it out of
the same glass. "Love and Ferrara!" cried Captain Mosca, with a foot on
the table. "Love in Ferrara," said Angioletto, and stroked Bellaroba's
hair. So everything was very friendly and full of hope. At a late hour,
and for excellent reasons, Olimpia kissed Bellaroba good-night, was
herself kissed by Angioletto, and withdrew. Captain Mosca prayed
vehemently for further and better acquaintance with his friend "the
divine poet," and his pretty mistress. So went Bellaroba's marriage
supper.