A BOCCACCIAN ADVENTURE.
Italian towns are very perplexing to strangers. Keep to the principal
thoroughfares built in modern days, and you may have a reasonable hope
of finding your way about; but once get enmeshed in the crooked,
narrow, winding streets of the period of the middle ages and you are
lost. The Italians, like Nature, delight in curves, and these narrow
alleys, with cobble-stone pavements and no side-walks, dignified by
the name of streets, twist in and out, and here and there, between
forbidding houses, seven or eight stories in height, under heavy
archways, which threaten to fall and crush the unwary stranger, and
down steep flights of worn steps, until you become quite bewildered by
the labyrinthian windings. Then these houses are built high in order
to exclude the burning sun from the alleys, and a cold, humid feeling
pervades the entire network of streets; so that what with the gloom,
the twistings, and the treacherous pitfalls in dark corners, one feels
like Orpheus going down to Hades in search of lost Eurydice.
Having been warned of the difficulty of exploring these unknown
depths, I had mostly confined my wanderings to the broad, modern
streets and the populous piazzas; therefore as long as my spectre
guide kept to the Via Pallone, which begins at the Ponte Aleardi and
ends at the Piazza Vittoria Emanuele, I felt quite safe. When,
however, after leaving the Piazza she plunged into the narrow streets
of the medieval period, I hesitated at first to follow her. I did not
know my way, I was a stranger, and unarmed; moreover, I knew not into
what unknown dangers I might be led by this mysterious woman who had
emerged from the graveyard.
Curiosity, however, prevailed over fear, and as at any moment I might
lose sight of her, and thereby never discover if she were of this or
the other world, I followed her boldly into the intense gloom into
which she had vanished. My eyes could hardly pierce the darkness, and
I feared I would not be able to keep her in sight, when luckily a
portion of her cloak became disarranged, and I saw the vivid glimmer
of a white dress, on which I kept my eyes fastened as a guiding star.
Here and there in the houses lights were burning dimly, but the hour
being late, no people were in the streets; and as I followed this
noiseless phantom along the solitary alleys, with the dark houses on
either hand, and the white gleam of the moonlit sky above, I felt as
if I were moving in a dream.
Onward she glided, turning down here, climbing up there, until my feet
were weary with walking; and besides, not knowing the way, I stumbled
frequently, which gave me many a bruise. The darkness, however, seemed
no obstacle to the ghoul, who walked onward as rapidly as if she were
still in the moonlight; on the contrary, it was only by the greatest
care that I could grope my way sufficiently quickly to keep her in
sight, and prevent her from discovering me by my frequent stumbles.
I was about to give up the chase in despair, when suddenly she led me
out on to a small square, and hastening across it, disappeared into a
palace at the further end. I remained in the alley until she vanished,
as I feared if I followed her too closely she might perceive me in the
moonlight. The place, which occupied the whole of one side of the
square, was a richly decorated building, with a great arched portal in
the centre; but I had no time to examine it closely, for, fearful of
losing my ghoul, I ran quickly across the square, came to the portal,
and was stopped by an iron gate.
It was one of those heavy iron gates common to Italian palaces, which
stretching across from wall to wall, afford a view of the inner court,
and are only open on festive occasions, or to admit vehicles. I knew
that entrance was ordinarily afforded by a side door, and without
doubt this was the way she had gone, unless indeed, being
supernatural, she found bolts and bars no hindrance. Determined to
pursue this strange adventure to the end, I sought the side door, but,
on finding it, discovered to my vexation that it was locked. I could
not enter that way, and the bars of the iron gate were so close
together, that a man of my size could not possibly squeeze through
them, so to all appearances the adventure, as far as I was concerned,
was finished.
Making one last effort, however, I felt all the iron bars singly, to
see if any one was loose, in which case I could remove it and thus
slip through; when to my astonishment, on the left side of the gate
furthest from the door, I found that one of the bars had been wrenched
away. Without waiting to consider this, which was curious to say the
least of it, I concluded that the woman, if indeed she were flesh and
blood, had entered by this breach in the gate, so at once took
advantage of my discovery and soon found myself in the courtyard. The
palace appeared to be quite deserted, as the windows were all broken,
and the ironwork of the balconies which ran round the four sides of
the courtyard, at different heights, was twisted out of all shape;
besides which, the mosaic pavement upon which I stood was smashed in
several places, and grass grew between the interstices. I could see
all this plainly in the moonlight, and, moreover, as a great door at
the end of the courtyard opposite the iron gate was slightly ajar,
while all the other smaller doors were closed, I came to the
conclusion that the ghoul had gone in there. My conjecture proved
correct, for as, hiding in the shadow, I peered into the gloom of the
building, I saw the sudden flare of a torch which the woman had just
fired, and with this in her hand she began to climb up a flight of
steps--at least, so I judged from seeing the torch rise higher and
higher in the darkness until it vanished altogether.
The lightning of the torch made me believe that I had to do with flesh
and blood, as certainly no phantom would use natural ways and means in
preference to supernatural; so directly the light disappeared, I stole
cautiously across what appeared to be a large hall, grasping my
walking-stick tightly in case of any surprise. I could not disguise
from myself that my curiosity had led me into a very perilous
adventure, but, as since the affair of the torch I had quite recovered
my nerve, I went resolutely forward, and, feeling my way carefully in
the dark, climbed up the staircase.
At the first turning of the ascent all was still in darkness, but on
taking the second turning I saw the torch gleaming like a fierce
yellow star in the gloom of a long corridor. Luckily I had very light,
thin shoes on, and trod cautiously, otherwise the echo of my footsteps
would most surely have betrayed me to the mysterious torch-bearer. The
palace was certainly not inhabited, as I heard nothing to support such
a belief; but as I hastened along the wide corridor, through the
windows on the left side streamed the pale moonlight, and I saw that
the glass in these windows was painted to represent coats-of-arms, so
without doubt this deserted mansion had once been the residence of
some great Veronese noble.
But what was the ghoul doing here? Why had she come from her vault in
the churchyard to this neglected habitation? Again the fear seized me
that this creature was a phantom of some splendid lady of the middle
ages, come to revisit the scenes or her antique magnificence. The cold
air as I passed along seemed full of the strange perfume of
sandalwood, and this sensuous odour in conjunction with the flitting
torch, the coloured shadows cast on the floor by the moonlight
streaming in through the painted windows, and the state of nervous
excitement in which I was, all made me feel like the hero of one of
those amorous adventures which are described in the glowing pages of
Boccaccio.
Once more the torch disappeared round a corner to the left, but in a
moment I had it again in sight; another flight of shallow steps,
another short corridor, and at the end an arched door, through which
the phantom disappeared. At the door I paused to consider what I
should do next, as, if I rashly entered the room, I might pay for my
temerity with my life; so I stood irresolutely at the half-open door,
ready to fly at the least sign of danger.
As I stood at the door in the intense gloom, for there were no windows
in this corridor, I saw a faint glimmer of light in the room within,
and this light remaining stationary for some considerable time, I
judged that the lady of the sepulchre had left the torch there and
retired into some inner chamber. Resolving, therefore, to risk the
attempt, I peered into the apartment, and saw the torch stuck in a
socket made in a small table in the centre of this small hall, which
was hung with ancient tapestry. At the end opposite the portal through
which I was looking, was an opening draped with heavy red curtains
embroidered with gold, for every now and then as they stirred I saw
the dull glitter of the tarnished metal.
Determined not to be discovered, I thought it a capital plan to hide
between the tapestry and the wall, so as to secure good concealment,
and then steal along the walls until I arrived at the curtained
opening, through which I hoped to be able to see into the room beyond.
Just as I made up my mind to put this plan into practice, the torch,
which had been burning very low, flickered and went out, so that the
hall was in complete darkness. In the gloom, however, rays of bright
light shone through the embroidered curtains. I heard the murmur of
voices, and then the sharp, clear notes of a mandolin. The ghoul
evidently had some one with her, perhaps the unfortunate individual
whom she proposed to devour; so as no time was to be lost, I slipped
into the apartment, enconced myself between the tapestry and the wall
on the left of the door, and prepared to creep along, if possible, to
the curtained archway. While I paused a moment to regain breath and
courage, for certainly the situation was not without an element of
danger, the metallic notes of the mandolin ceased and a man's voice
began singing some Italian song, but one with which, in spite of my
knowledge of music, I was not acquainted. It was a slow and sensuous
melody of passionate sweetness with an undercurrent of sadness, and
the singer had a remarkably fine tenor voice, sounding full and rich
even through the heavy curtains, which prevented me hearing the words
clearly. Evidently this was an amorous rendezvous, but why was it
taking place in this deserted palace, and why had the lady come from a
vault in a graveyard to keep it?
All at once the singer stopped abruptly in the middle of a phrase, I
heard the mandolin suddenly smashing on the marble floor, and then
sounded the low, wicked laugh I had first heard at the burial-ground.
Filled with anxiety to learn the meaning of all these strange events,
I glided rapidly along the wall, and speedily arrived at the curtained
opening. Being afraid to pull it to one side lest I should be
discovered, I took out my penknife and made a slit in the heavy
embroidery; then, looking through the opening thus obtained, I beheld
a most extraordinary spectacle.
A circular chamber, not very large, but very lofty, surrounded by
eight half-pillars of veined white marble built into the wall, and
supporting a domed ceiling richly painted with garlands of flowers,
from amid which peered the smiling faces of beautiful women. Between
these noble pillars hung voluminous draperies of darkly red velvet,
all magnificently embroidered with fantastic designs in tarnished gold
thread, but, curiously enough, the apartment had no windows, neither
in the ceiling nor at the sides, so whatever took place within could
not be seen save through the curtained archway.
In the centre of the white marble floor stood a low, heavy table,
richly gilt, and covered with the remains of a splendid feast. The
gorgeousness of the vessels thereon was truly marvellous, consisting,
as they did, of elaborately chased silver epergnes filled with
brilliantly-coloured fruits; many-branched candelabra of gold, bearing
slender wax tapers to illuminate the apartment; gracefully carved
jugs, of wonderful designs which must have emanated from the brains of
Cellini himself; and strangely shaped antique goblets which put me in
mind of the sacramental cups used in Italian churches at the
celebration of the mass. The voluptuous scent of sandalwood pervaded
the heavy atmosphere of the chamber; gold and silver and crystal shone
in the mellow light of the myriad tapers, and the whole appearance of
this sensuous banquet was like those of former ages presided over by
Can Grande or splendour-loving Cæsar Borgia. I thought I was in
dreamland, the more so when I saw the bizarre costumes worn by the two
occupants of the room.
One was the lady I had followed from the graveyard, who, having thrown
off her heavy cloak, now appeared in a white silk dress of antique
cut, richly embroidered with gold. Round her slender neck she wore an
old-fashioned necklace of superb rubies, set in silver, which flashed
forth crimson flame with every heave of her snowy bosom, while strings
of soft-shining pearls were twisted in her magnificent red hair; an
Eastern girdle of gold fretwork encircled her waist, and broad gold
bracelets radiant with gems clasped her milk-white arms. The profusion
of jewels she wore scintillated, with her every motion, throwing out
sparks of many-coloured fire, and she looked like one of those proud
dames of Venice who smile so haughtily in the pictures of Titian. But
her face! Oh, heavens! what a beautiful, cruel, relentless face!--the
tigerish look in the splendid eyes, the wicked laugh of the full red
lips! Was she truly a woman, or some fiend sent upon earth to lure men
to hell by the fascination of her evil beauty?
If the woman was curiously dressed for modern days, her companion, a
handsome young man of seven-and-twenty was still more so, as he wore a
doublet of pale-blue velvet slashed with white satin and diapered with
gold embroidery; a small ruff round his neck; high riding-boots of
black leather, reaching to the thigh, with gilt spurs; and a short
mantle of azure silk, which drooped gracefully from his shoulders. He
had no rapier, but at his girdle hung a small poniard, the handle of
which was thickly encrusted with gems, and on the velvet-covered chair
beside him lay a large cloak and a small mask of black velvet. I
rubbed my eyes and pinched myself to see if I were really awake, for
the whole fantastic scene looked like one of those which had doubtless
taken place at Verona in the opulent days of her splendour.
"I am mad, asleep, or intoxicated," I thought, as I looked at this
Boccaccian feast, at these Boccaccian lovers. "What does it mean? This
must be the phantom of Lucrezia Borgia, who has risen from the tomb to
meet one of her dead lovers and renew for a time the joys of the past.
Oh! I am mad or asleep. I will wake up and find this is all a
dream--some fantasy of the brain created by the delirium of fever!"
Between the lovers lay the broken mandolin, and the woman, pointing to
this, talked volubly while the young man stood listening with a
scornful smile on his lips. Not being a very good Italian scholar, I
could not follow all this rapid talk without great difficulty, but
from what I could gather it seemed to me that the phantom of Lucrezia
Borgia was accusing her lover of infidelity. At length, when she
seemed exhausted, he caught up his mantle and mask as if about to go,
but she fell prostrate before him, and seemed to implore him to stay.
He shook his head, and then springing to her feet in anger, she
snatched the poniard from his belt and tried to strike him. The young
man warded off the thrust with his left arm, round which was wrapped
his heavy black cloak, whereupon she let the dagger fall and began to
beseech him again. I could not understand the meaning of this terrible
dumb-show any more than I could the curious dresses, the antique
chamber or the deserted palace. It was the phantasmagoria of a dream
seen by the soft light of the tapers, and my brain being quite upset
by the strange events of the night, I entirely forgot the nineteenth
century, and seemed to live, to breathe, to tremble, on the threshold
of one of those fatal chambers wherein the Medici, the Scaligers and
the Borgias feasted, loved, betrayed, and slew their friends, their
lovers, and their enemies.
The woman, evidently seeing it was useless, stopped beseeching the
young man, upon which he picked up his dagger, and throwing the fold
of his cloak over his right shoulder, advanced towards the door
without saying good-bye to the lady. I withdrew quickly, fearful of
discovery, when, just as his hand was on the curtains, her voice
sounded once more slow and deliberate, so that I was able to
understand what she said:--
"So you leave me for ever?"
"Yes!" he replied with the same deliberation, "for ever."
"Then before you go, let me drink to your future happiness."
"With pleasure, madame."
He appeared to hesitate at first, but after saying these words I heard
him move away from the curtain, upon which I looked again and saw him
standing by the chair, while the woman, with her face turned away, was
filling a goblet with wine. Her back was towards him, so that he could
not see what she was doing, but I could perceive her least action. She
filled two goblets with wine, then taking something from her breast,
dropped it into one of them, and, turning round with a smile,
presented the cup to him. It flashed across me that she was trying to
poison her lover, and I would have called out to warn him, but the
extreme peril of my position, the terrible appearance of this woman,
and the uselessness of interference kept me silent during this supreme
moment.
The young man took the cup she gave him, and drained it with a bow,
while she simply touched her lips with the other goblet, and smiled
again.
"To your future happiness," she said in a significant voice, and set
the goblet down on the table.
They talked together after this reconciliation for some time and
seemed better friends than before, but I saw that the woman kept
furtively glancing at his face with a wicked smile on her lips. At
length he handed her the mask, which evidently did not belong to him,
and, after kissing her hand, was about to turn in the direction of the
archway, when suddenly he grew pale, put his hand to his head quickly,
and grasped the chair near which he stood to keep himself from
falling.
"Why, what is this?" he cried in a hoarse, strained voice. "Gran Dio!
what does it mean?"
She bent forward with a wicked laugh, and the rubies flashed forth
venomous red flame in the soft light.
"It means that you have betrayed me and I have revenged myself!"
He looked at her with a dazed expression, made a step forward as if to
kill this terrible woman, who, dangling the mask in her hand, stood
mocking at his agony with a cruel smile, then suddenly flung up his
hands with a wild cry of despair and fell at her feet--dead.
"Fool!" she said, without displaying the least sign of emotion.
"Fool!"
I wished to rush forward and denounce the demon in woman's shape who
had so vilely perpetrated this cold-blooded murder, but, overcome with
horror, I reeled away from the curtain and fell--fell into the arms of
some one who held me with a powerful grip. I gasped with alarm and was
about to call out, when I felt a handkerchief dashed suddenly over my
face wet with some liquid. In spite of my struggles it was held firmly
there, and I gradually felt my senses leave me until I knew no more.
* * * * * *
When I came to myself it was early morning, and I was seated on a
stone bench in the Piazza Vittoria Emanuele, surrounded by a group of
curious onlookers.
"Where am I?" I asked in English.
No one answered, and I repeated the question in Italian, upon which a
fat woman spoke up,--
"Signor, you are in the Piazza Vittoria!" she said in a husky voice;
"we found you here when we came first."
"But the palace, the woman, the poison!" I said stupidly, for my head
was aching terribly.
The peasants looked at one another with a meaning smile and shook
their heads. I saw that they thought I had been drinking, so, giving a
piece of money to the fat woman who had spoken, I took my way at once
to my hotel, which I reached in a state of bewilderment better
imagined than described.