"Who times gallops withal!" Alas! dear Rosalind, you might have found
a sweeter illustration than that which you give. Doubtless "he gallops
with a thief to the gallows," but I fear me, impatient joy and
reluctant fear, like most opposites in the circle of all things, meet
and blend into each other. Time gallops full as fast when he carries
along two lovers, and between the hours of meeting and parting his
pace is certainly of the quickest.
Never, perhaps, did he travel so fast as with Leonora and Lorenzo.
Their feelings were so new; they were so eager and so warm; they were
so full of youth and youth's impetuous fire, that----smouldering as
love had been for the last ten days, unseen even by their own eyes,
and only lighted into a blaze by the events of the night before--we
might pursue the image of a great conflagration, and say, both were
confused and dazzled by the light, and hardly felt or knew the rapid
passing of the quick-winged moments.
Blanche Marie might perhaps have estimated the passage of time more
justly; for the unhappy third person--however he may love the two
others, and whatever interests he may feel in their happiness--has,
after all, but a sorry and a tedious part to play; and although the
fairer and the milder of the two girls was not yet more than fourteen,
she might long--while she sat there, silent, and striving not to
listen to the murmured words of the two lovers--she might long for the
day when her happy hour would come, and when the whole heart's
treasury would be opened for her to pick out its brightest gems. Nay,
perhaps, I might go even a little farther, and remind the reader that
life's earlier stage is shorter in Italy than in most other European
countries; that the olive and the orange ripen fast; and that the
fruits of the heart soon reach maturity in that land. Juliet--all
Italian, impassioned Juliet--was not yet fourteen--not till "Lammas
Eve"--when the consuming fire took possession of her heart, and Lady
Capulet herself was a mother almost at the years of Blanche Marie.
But it is an hour----that at which she had now arrived in life's short
day--it is an hour of dreams and fairy forms, in the faint, vapoury
twilight which lies between the dawn and the full day, when the rising
sun paints every mist with gold and rose-colour, and through the very
air of your existence spreads a purple light. The tears of that sweet
time are but as early dew-drops brightened into jewels by the light of
youthful hope, and the onward look of coming years, though kindled
with the first beams of passion, knows not the fiery heat of noon, nor
can conceive the arid dryness of satiety.
Blanche Marie sat and dreamed near her two cousins. At first, she
heard some of the words they spoke; but then she listened more to the
speakers in her own heart; and then she gave herself up to visions of
the future; and the outward creature remained but a fair, motionless
statue, unconscious of aught that passed around her, but full of light
and ever-varying fancies.
How passed the time none of the three knew, but it passed rapidly, and
Bianca was awakened from her reveries by the sound of a strange voice,
saying, "Pardon, sweet lady," as some one passed her, brushing lightly
against her garments, which he could not avoid touching, on his way to
Lorenzo's bedside.
"Why, how now, Visconti!" exclaimed the new-comer, "What! made a
leader, assaulted by an assassin, wounded with a poisoned weapon,
vanquisher in the fight, saved by a miracle, and nursed by two
beautiful ladies--all in twenty-four hours? By my fay, thou art a
favoured child of chivalry indeed!"
Blanche Marie looked round at the speaker, roused from her reverie
suddenly, but not unpleasantly. There was something joyous,
light-hearted, and musical in the voice that spoke, which won favour
by its very tone. Oh! there is a magic in the voice, of which we take
not account enough. Have you not often marked, reader, how one man in
a mixed company will win attention in an instant, not by the matter of
his words, not by the manner, but by the mere tone in which they are
spoken? Have you not sometimes seen two men striving to gain the ear
of a fair lady, and eloquence, and sense, and wit all fail, while
sweet tones only have prevailed? The eye and the ear are but sentries
on guard, and the fair form and the sweet tone are but as passwords to
the camp. Nay, more: some voices have their peculiar harmonies with
the hearts of individuals. One will have no sweetness in its tone to
many, while to another it will be all melody; and all this is no
strange phenomenon; it is quite natural that it should be so. Where is
the man to whom the owlet is as sweet a songster as the lark! and who
can pass the nightingale on his spray, though he may not pause a
moment by the gaudy paroquet? The blackbird's sweet, round pipe, the
thrush's evening welcome to the approaching spring, the lark's
rejoicing fugue in the blue sky, are all sweet to well-tuned ears; but
each finds readier access to some hearts than to others.
The voice which awoke Bianca Maria from her reverie was very pleasant
to her ear. There was an unaffected frankness in it--as if welling up
clear from the heart-which was prepossessing to a pure, young,
innocent mind like hers.
"Ah! Signor De Vitry," replied Lorenzo, "I have, indeed, had good
fortune in many ways; and I suppose I ought in common gratitude to
Heaven, to think it all unmixed good. But I have somewhat suffered in
body, and now I am troubled to think what is to become of my troop
while I lie here useless. I would the king would bestow it upon De
Terrail, and let me have another chance."
"Think not of it," answered De Vitry; "we will arrange all things for
you. Bayard is a noble fellow, who will win high fame some day, but we
must obey the king. I find De Terrail has been here, and suppose you
have seen him, for they tell me he went on two hours ago."
"Two hours!" exclaimed Lorenzo; "hardly so much, I think."
"Ay! time flies fast under bright eyes," answered De Vitry, with a
laugh. "Two hours the servants below tell me, and no less. However, I
must on my way. I only stopped to inquire what had happened, for no
news had reached me when I marched; and I found a prisoner below whom
Bayard left for me--a man who waited without, it seems, while Monsieur
Buondoni busied himself with you within. I had three others of the
villains in my power before, but they do not seem to be as deep in
their master's secrets as this gentleman. But my provost must have
finished the work I gave him by this time, and so I must on. Your
pardon, sweet young lady, will you give me leave just to look forth
from this window?"
He passed Blanche Marie with a courteous inclination of the head, and
gazed forth toward the high road, and then, turning to Lorenzo, added:
"Ay, it is all right. Farewell for the present, Visconti. Rest quietly
till you are quite well. We shall halt at Pavia for two or three days
till the king comes on, and then probably for some days more. But I
will come and see you from time to time, and we will make all needful
arrangements. Shall I be welcome, sweet lady?"
"Oh, right welcome, noble sir," replied Bianca Maria, to whom his
words were addressed; "but you must not go without tasting some
refreshment, and you must see the Count Rovera, my grandsire."
"Nay, I have but little time," answered De Vitry; "and yet a cup of
wine from such fair hands were mightily refreshing after a dusty ride.
Your grandsire I will see when I am in a more fitting attire. 'Tis but
six miles to Pavia, I am told; and I will soon ride over again, were
it but to make excuse to the old count for hanging an assassin just
before his gates. However, it may chance to warn others of the same
cloth to venture here no more."
Bianca Maria's cheek turned somewhat pale, and she suddenly turned her
eyes in the direction toward which De Vitry had been looking from the
window a moment or two before. There was a dark object hanging among
the bare branches of a mulberry-tree long divested of its leaves. She
could not exactly distinguish what that object was, but she divined;
and, turning away with a shudder, she murmured:
"For Heaven's sake, my lord, have him cut down."
"Certainly, if you wish it," replied De Vitry; "but, dear lady, it is
needful to punish such villains, or we should soon have but few of our
French nobles, or those who hold with us, left alive. However, there
can be no great harm in cutting him down now, for my provost does not
do any such things by halves."
He took a step toward the door, and then paused for a moment, as if
not quite certain of the fair young girl's wishes.
"You know, I suppose," he said, in a tone of inquiry, "that this man
whom they have just hanged, is one of those who came to assassinate
Signor Visconti here?"
"My cousin has avenged himself in defending himself," answered Bianca
Maria. "I am sure he does not wish any others to suffer."
"Well," answered De Vitry, with a laugh; "I thought myself mightily
compassionate that I did not hang the other three, as, I dare say,
they all well deserved; but this fellow was caught waiting for
Buondoni, and was, we found, in the whole secret. However, we will
have him cut down, if such be your pleasure."
"Oh, pray do, my lord--pray do, at once!" cried Bianca; "perhaps there
may be life in him yet."
"Now Heaven forbid!" cried De Vitry; "but come with me, sweet lady,
and you shall hear the order given instantly. Adieu, Visconti!
Farewell, beautiful lady with the dark eyes! You have not bestowed one
word upon me; but, nevertheless, I kiss your hand."
Thus saying, he left the room with Blanche Marie, who led him by a
staircase somewhat distant from that which conducted to the great
hall, where the body of Buondoni still lay, to a vestibule, where
several of the marquis's attendants were waiting. There the orders
which De Vitry had promised were soon given, and a cup of wine was
brought for his refreshment. He lingered over it for a longer space of
time than he had intended, and while he did so, he contrived to wile
Bianca Maria's thoughts away from the event that had saddened them.
Indeed, though the young girl was less light and volatile than she
seemed to be, and many of her age really were, he effected his
object--if it was an object--far more readily than could have been
supposed. There was something in his manner toward her which amused
and yet teased her, which pleased but did not frighten her. There was
a certain touch of gallantry in it, and evidently no small portion of
admiration; and yet it was clear he looked upon her as a child, and
that in all his civil speeches there was at least as much jest as
earnest. Nevertheless, every now and then there was a serious tone
which fell pleasantly upon the young girl's ear, and was thought of in
after hours.
"I trust the count will soon be here," she said, at length; "you had
better stay, Signor de Vitry, and see him. He sat up during the
greater part of the night, I am told, anxious about my cousin. But he
must rise soon."
"My sweet lady," answered the soldier, "I must not stay. I have
two--nay, three good reasons for going: first that a beautiful young
lady has already beguiled me to stay longer than I should; secondly,
that a pleasant old gentleman might beguile me to stay still longer;
and, thirdly, that, as I intend to come back again often, I must
husband excuses for my visits, and one shall be to see the count, and
to apologize in person for acting high justiciary upon his lands. You
have forgiven me already, I think, else there in no truth is those
blue eyes; and so I kiss your hand, and promise to behave better when
next I come."
Blanche Marie had ample matter for meditation during the rest of that
day, at least.