THE NIGHT-RIDE
The villa of the Princess Paulina was one of those soft, idyllic
paradises which lie like so many fairy-lands around the dreamy
solitudes of Rome. They are so fair, so wild, so still, these villas!
Nature in them seems to run in such gentle sympathy with Art, that
one feels as if they had not been so much the product of human skill
as some indigenous growth of Arcadian ages. There are quaint terraces
shadowed by clipped ilex-trees, whose branches make twilight even in
the sultriest noon; there are long-drawn paths, through wildernesses
where cyclamens blossom in crimson clouds among crushed fragments
of sculptured marble green with the moss of ages, and glossy-leaved
myrtles put forth their pale blue stars in constellations under the
leafy shadows. Everywhere is the voice of water, ever lulling, ever
babbling, and taught by Art to run in many a quaint caprice,--here
to rush down marble steps slippery with sedgy green, there to spout
up in silvery spray, and anon to spread into a cool, waveless lake,
whose mirror reflects trees and flowers far down in some visionary
underworld. Then there are wide lawns, where the grass in spring is a
perfect rainbow of anemones, white, rose, crimson, purple, mottled,
streaked, and dappled with ever varying shade of sunset clouds. There
are soft, moist banks where purple and white violets grow large
and fair, and trees all interlaced with ivy, which runs and twines
everywhere, intermingling its dark, graceful leaves and vivid young
shoots with the bloom and leafage of all shadowy places.
In our day, these lovely places have their dark shadow ever haunting
their loveliness: the malaria, like an unseen demon, lies hid in their
sweetness. And in the time we are speaking of, a curse not less deadly
poisoned the beauties of the Princess's villa,--the malaria of fear.
The graveled terrace in front of the villa commanded, through the
clipped arches of the ilex-trees, the Campagna with its soft,
undulating bands of many-colored green, and the distant city of Rome,
whose bells were always filling the air between with a tremulous
vibration. Here, during the long sunny afternoon while Elsie and Monica
were crooning together on the steps of the church, the Princess Paulina
walked restlessly up and down, looking forth on the way towards the
city for the travelers whom she expected.
Father Francesco had been there that morning and communicated to her
the dying message of the aged Capuchin, from which it appeared that
the child who had so much interested her was her near kinswoman.
Perhaps, had her house remained at the height of its power and
splendor, she might have rejected with scorn the idea of a kinswoman
whose existence had been owing to a _mésalliance_; but a member of
an exiled and disinherited family, deriving her only comfort from
unworldly sources, she regarded this event as an opportunity afforded
her to make expiation for one of the sins of her house. The beauty and
winning graces of her young kinswoman were not without their influence
in attracting a lonely heart deprived of the support of natural
ties. The Princess longed for something to love, and the discovery
of a legitimate object of family affection was an event in the weary
monotony of her life; and therefore it was that the hours of the
afternoon seemed long while she looked forth towards Rome, listening to
the ceaseless chiming of its bells, and wondering why no one appeared
along the road.
The sun went down, and all the wide plain seemed like the sea at
twilight, lying in rosy and lilac and purple shadowy bands, out of
which rose the old city, solemn and lonely as some enchanted island of
dreamland, with a flush of radiance behind it and a tolling of weird
music filling all the air around. Now they are chanting the Ave Maria
in hundreds of churches, and the Princess worships in distant accord,
and tries to still the anxieties of her heart with many a prayer.
Twilight fades and fades, the Campagna becomes a black sea, and the
distant city looms up like a dark rock against the glimmering sky,
and the Princess goes within and walks restlessly through the wide
halls, stopping first at one open window and then at another to listen.
Beneath her feet she treads a cool mosaic pavement where laughing
Cupids are dancing. Above, from the ceiling, Aurora and the Hours look
down in many-colored clouds of brightness. The sound of the fountains
without is so clear in the intense stillness that the peculiar voice
of each one can be told. That is the swaying noise of the great jet
that rises from marble shells and falls into a wide basin, where
silvery swans swim round and round in enchanted circles; and the other
slenderer sound is the smaller jet that rains down its spray into the
violet-borders deep in the shrubbery; and that other, the shallow
babble of the waters that go down the marble steps to the lake. How
dreamlike and plaintive they all sound in the night stillness! The
nightingale sings from the dark shadows of the wilderness; and the
musky odors of the cyclamen come floating ever and anon through the
casement, in that strange, cloudy way in which flower scents seem to
come and go in the air in the night season.
At last the Princess fancies she hears the distant tramp of horses'
feet, and her heart beats so that she can scarcely listen: now she
hears it,--and now a rising wind, sweeping across the Campagna, seems
to bear it moaning away. She goes to a door and looks out into the
darkness. Yes, she hears it now, quick and regular,--the beat of
many horses' feet coming in hot haste along the road. Surely the few
servants whom she has sent cannot make all this noise! and she trembles
with vague affright. Perhaps it is a tyrannical message, bringing
imprisonment and death. She calls a maid, and bids her bring lights
into the reception-hall. A few moments more, and there is a confused
stamping of horses' feet approaching the house, and she hears the
voices of her servants. She runs into the piazza, and sees dismounting
a knight who carries Agnes in his arms pale and fainting. Old Elsie and
Monica, too, dismount, with the Princess's men-servants; but, wonderful
to tell, there seems besides them to be a train of some hundred armed
horsemen.
The timid Princess was so fluttered and bewildered that she lost all
presence of mind, and stood in uncomprehending wonder, while Monica
pushed authoritatively into the house, and beckoned the knight to bring
Agnes and lay her on a sofa, when she and old Elsie busied themselves
vigorously with restoratives.
The Lady Paulina, as soon as she could collect her scattered senses,
recognized in Agostino the banished lord of the Sarelli family, a race
who had shared with her own the hatred and cruelty of the Borgia tribe;
and he in turn had recognized a daughter of the Colonnas. He drew her
aside into a small boudoir adjoining the apartment.
"Noble lady," he said, "we are companions in misfortune, and so, I
trust, you will pardon what seems a tumultuous intrusion on your
privacy. I and my men came to Rome in disguise, that we might watch
over and protect this poor innocent, who now finds asylum with you."
"My Lord," said the Princess, "I see in this event the wonderful
working of the good God. I have but just learned that this young
person is my near kinswoman; it was only this morning that the fact
was certified to me on the dying confession of a holy Capuchin,
who privately united my brother to her mother. The marriage was an
indiscretion of his youth; but afterwards he fell into more grievous
sin in denying the holy sacrament, and leaving his wife to die in
misery and dishonor, and perhaps for this fault such great judgments
fell upon him. I wish to make atonement in such sort as is yet possible
by acting as a mother to this child."
"The times are so troublous and uncertain," said Agostino, "that she
must have stronger protection than that of any woman. She is of a most
holy and religious nature, but as ignorant of sin as an angel who never
has seen anything out of heaven; and so the Borgias enticed her into
their impure den, from which, God helping, I have saved her. I tried
all I could to prevent her coming to Rome, and to convince her of the
vileness that ruled here; but the poor little one could not believe me,
and thought me a heretic only for saying what she now knows from her
own senses."
The Lady Paulina shuddered with fear.
"Is it possible that you have come into collision with the dreadful
Borgias? What will become of us?"
"I brought a hundred men into Rome in different disguises," said
Agostino, "and we gained over a servant in their household, through
whom I entered and carried her off. Their men pursued us, and we had a
fight in the streets, but for the moment we mustered more than they.
Some of them chased us a good distance. But it will not do for us to
remain here. As soon as she is revived enough, we must retreat towards
one of our fastnesses in the mountains, whence, when rested, we shall
go northward to Florence, where I have powerful friends, and she has
also an uncle, a holy man, by whose counsels she is much guided."
"You must take me with you," said the Princess, in a tremor of anxiety.
"Not for the world would I stay, if it be known you have taken refuge
here. For a long time their spies have been watching about me; they
only wait for some occasion to seize upon my villa, as they have on
the possessions of all my father's house. Let me flee with you. I have
a brother-in-law in Florence who hath often urged me to escape to him
till times mend,--for, surely, God will not allow the wicked to bear
rule forever."
"Willingly, noble lady, will we give you our escort,--the more so that
this poor child will then have a friend with her beseeming her father's
rank. Believe me, lady, she will do no discredit to her lineage.
She was trained in a convent, and her soul is a flower of marvelous
beauty. I must declare to you here that I have wooed her honorably to
be my wife, and she would willingly be so, had not some scruples of a
religious vocation taken hold on her, to dispel which I look for the
aid of the holy father, her uncle."
"It would be a most fit and proper thing," said the Princess, "thus to
ally our houses, in hope of some good time to come which shall restore
their former standing and possessions. Of course some holy man must
judge of the obstacle interposed by her vocation; but I doubt not the
Church will be an indulgent mother in a case where the issue seems so
desirable."
"If I be married to her," said Agostino, "I can take her out of all
these strifes and confusions which now agitate our Italy to the court
of France, where I have an uncle high in favor with the King, and who
will use all his influence to compose these troubles in Italy, and
bring about a better day."
While this conversation was going on, bountiful refreshments had been
provided for the whole party, and the attendants of the Princess
received orders to pack all her jewels and valuable effects for a
sudden journey.
As soon as preparations could be made, the whole party left the villa
of the Princess for a retreat in the Alban Mountains, where Agostino
and his band had one of their rendezvous. Only the immediate female
attendants of the Princess, and one or two men-servants, left with her.
The silver plate, and all objects of particular value, were buried in
the garden. This being done, the keys of the house were intrusted to a
gray-headed servant, who with his wife had grown old in the family.
It was midnight before everything was ready for starting. The moon cast
silver gleams through the ilex-avenues, and caused the jet of the great
fountain to look like a wavering pillar of cloudy brightness, when
the Princess led forth Agnes upon the wide veranda. Two gentle, yet
spirited little animals from the Princess's stables were there awaiting
them, and they were lifted into their saddles by Agostino.
"Fear nothing, Madam," he said, observing how the hands of the Princess
trembled; "a few hours will put us in perfect safety, and I shall be at
your side constantly."
Then lifting Agnes to her seat, he placed the reins in her hand.
"Are you rested?" he asked.
It was the first time since her rescue that he had spoken to Agnes. The
words were brief, but no expressions of endearment could convey more
than the manner in which they were spoken.
"Yes, my Lord," said Agnes firmly, "I am rested."
"You think you can bear the ride?"
"I can bear anything, so I escape," she said.
The company were now all mounted, and were marshaled in regular order.
A body of armed men rode in front; then came Agnes and the Princess,
with Agostino between them, while two or three troopers rode on either
side; Elsie, Monica, and the servants of the Princess followed close
behind, and the rear was brought up in like manner by armed men.
The path wound first through the grounds of the villa, with its plats
of light and shade, its solemn groves of stone-pines rising like
palm-trees high in air above the tops of all other trees, its terraces
and statues and fountains,--all seeming so lovely in the midnight
stillness.
"Perhaps I am leaving all this forever," said the Princess.
"Let us hope for the best," said Agostino. "It cannot be that God
will suffer the seat of the Apostles to be subjected to such ignominy
and disgrace much longer. I am amazed that no Christian kings have
interfered before for the honor of Christendom. I have it from the best
authority that the King of Naples burst into tears when he heard of the
election of this wretch to be Pope. He said that it was a scandal which
threatened the very existence of Christianity. He has sent me secret
messages divers times expressive of sympathy, but he is not of himself
strong enough. Our hope must lie either in the King of France or the
Emperor of Germany: perhaps both will engage. There is now a most holy
monk in Florence who has been stirring all hearts in a wonderful way.
It is said that the very gifts of miracles and prophecy are revived in
him, as among the holy Apostles, and he has been bestirring himself to
have a General Council of the Church to look into these matters. When I
left Florence, a short time ago, the faction opposed to him broke into
the convent and took him away. I myself was there."
"What!" said Agnes, "did they break into the convent of the San Marco?
My uncle is there."
"Yes, and he and I fought side by side with the mob who were rushing
in."
"Uncle Antonio fight!" said Agnes, in astonishment.
"Even women will fight, when what they love most is attacked," said the
knight.
He turned to her, as he spoke, and saw in the moonlight a flash from
her eye, and an heroic expression on her face, such as he had never
remarked before; but she said nothing. The veil had been rudely torn
from her eyes; she had seen with horror the defilement and impurity
of what she had ignorantly adored in holy places, and the revelation
seemed to have wrought a change in her whole nature.
"Even you could fight, Agnes," said the knight, "to save your religion
from disgrace."
"No," said she; "but," she added, with gathering firmness, "I could
die. I should be glad to die with and for the holy men who would save
the honor of the true faith. I should like to go to Florence to my
uncle. If he dies for his religion, I should like to die with him."
"Ah, live to teach it to me!" said the knight, bending towards her, as
if to adjust her bridle-rein, and speaking in a voice scarcely audible.
In a moment he was turned again towards the Princess, listening to her.
"So it seems," she said, "that we shall be running into the thick of
the conflict in Florence."
"Yes, but my uncle hath promised that the King of France shall
interfere. I have hope something may even now have been done. I hope to
effect something myself."
Agostino spoke with the cheerful courage of youth. Agnes glanced
timidly up at him. How great the change in her ideas! No longer looking
on him as a wanderer from the fold, an enemy of the Church, he seemed
now in the attitude of a champion of the faith, a defender of holy
men and things against a base usurpation. What injustice had she done
him, and how patiently had he borne that injustice! Had he not sought
to warn her against the danger of venturing into that corrupt city?
Those words which so much shocked her, against which she had shut her
ears, were all true; she had found them so; she could doubt no longer.
And yet he had followed her, and saved her at the risk of his life.
Could she help loving one who had loved her so much, one so noble and
heroic? Would it be a sin to love him? She pondered the dark warnings
of Father Francesco, and then thought of the cheerful, fervent piety
of her old uncle. How warm, how tender, how life-giving had been his
presence always! how full of faith and prayer, how fruitful of heavenly
words and thoughts had been all his ministrations!--and yet it was for
him and with him and his master that Agostino Sarelli was fighting,
and against him the usurping head of the Christian Church. Then there
was another subject for pondering during this night-ride. The secret
of her birth had been told her by the Princess, who claimed her as
kinswoman. It had seemed to her at first like the revelations of a
dream; but as she rode and reflected, gradually the idea shaped itself
in her mind. She was, in birth and blood, the equal of her lover, and
henceforth her life would no more be in that lowly plane where it had
always moved. She thought of the little orange-garden at Sorrento, of
the gorge with its old bridge, the Convent, the sisters, with a sort of
tender, wondering pain. Perhaps she should see them no more. In this
new situation she longed once more to see and talk with her old uncle,
and to have him tell her what were her duties.
Their path soon began to be a wild clamber among the mountains, now
lost in the shadow of groves of gray, rustling olives, whose knotted,
serpent roots coiled round the rocks, and whose leaves silvered in
the moonlight whenever the wind swayed them. Whatever might be the
roughness and difficulties of the way, Agnes found her knight ever at
her bridle-rein, guiding and upholding, steadying her in her saddle
when the horse plunged down short and sudden descents, and wrapping
her in his mantle to protect her from the chill mountain-air. When
the day was just reddening in the sky, the whole troop made a sudden
halt before a square stone tower which seemed to be a portion of a
ruined building, and here some of the men dismounting knocked at an
arched door. It was soon swung open by a woman with a lamp in her hand,
the light of which revealed very black hair and eyes, and heavy gold
ear-rings.
"Have my directions been attended to?" said Agostino, in a tone of
command. "Are there places made ready for these ladies to sleep?"
"There are, my Lord," said the woman, obsequiously, "the best we could
get ready on so short a notice."
Agostino came up to the Princess. "Noble Madam," he said, "you will
value safety before all things; doubtless the best that can be done
here is but poor, but it will give you a few hours for repose where you
may be sure of being in perfect safety."
So saying, he assisted her and Agnes to dismount, and Elsie and
Monica also alighting, they followed the woman into a dark stone
passage and up some rude stone steps. She opened at last the door of a
brick-floored room, where beds appeared to have been hastily prepared.
There was no furniture of any sort except the beds. The walls were
dusty and hung with cobwebs. A smaller apartment opening into this had
beds for Elsie and Monica.
The travelers, however, were too much exhausted with their night-ride
to be critical; the services of disrobing and preparing for rest were
quickly concluded, and in less than an hour all were asleep, while
Agostino was busy concerting the means for an immediate journey to
Florence.