Milan had its attractions even for the gay court of France. It was a
devout and dissolute city; and we know how jovially, in some countries
and at some times, dissoluteness and devotion have contrived to jog on
together. Pastime and penitence, pleasure and penance, alternated
among the courtiers of Charles VIII. with very agreeable variety; and
it has been whispered that the young king himself was not unwilling
either to finger forbidden fruit, or to express contrition afterward.
At all events, he wasted many precious days in the Lombard capital.
Morning after morning, fresh detachments of his army were sent forward
to Pavia, till that city might be considered in possession of his
troops; but still the young king lingered, and it was not till nine
days after the events we have recorded in the last two or three
chapters that the main host of France took its way southward.
How passed the intermediate time with those we have left in the Villa
de Rovera? It was very sweetly. We must not dwell upon it, because it
was so sweet; but a few words will tell all. Lorenzo almost longed to
remain an invalid, that there might be a fair excuse for Leonora's
tending; and Leonora feared to see him recover health and strength too
soon, lest the order to depart should hurry him away.
Strange tales are told of the effects of Italian poisons in those
days, and doubtless much exaggeration mingles with all the accounts we
have received, but certain it is, that, though the youth recovered
steadily, each day gaining a little, yet his convalescence was slow,
and the subtle bane of Buondoni's sword was more or less felt for many
after days. Still no order to march arrived, but every day, about
noon, the good Lord de Vitry rode over, well attended, from Pavia to
inquire after the health of his young friend; and although it is
certain that Leonora could have given him more minute accounts of
Lorenzo's state, and the old Count de Rovera could have furnished him
with juster and more scientific views of Lorenzo's progress towards
recovery, it was always Bianca Maria he first asked for. He speedily
became a great favorite with the old count nevertheless. There was
something in his frank, soldier-like bearing that pleased, and
something in his ever merry conversation that amused the old man, so
that he began to wish the day far distant when the noble Lord of Vitry
would come no more.
Bianca Maria was very happy too, and she gave the rein to happiness
without fear. Neither she nor De Vitry ever dreamed that he was making
love. She thought herself too young to be the object of passion, and
he thought so too. He fancied he should like to have a daughter just
like herself, without the slightest change in thought or look--he
would not have had a word she said altered--he would not have parted
with one ringlet from her head; and she pictured to herself how
pleasant it would have been to have an elder brother just like De
Vitry.
At the house of the contadino all went on favourably likewise. Antonio
visited the place every day, till at length, one morning early, he
walked forth with a sandaled friar, who passed round the wall of the
podere with him, and mounted a mule which was held by a little
peasant-boy. Some ten minutes after, a troop of twenty French lances
rode slowly on towards Pavia, and the friar, by Antonio's
intercession, was permitted to join himself to the band. The contadino
and the contadino's wife were for once satisfied with the same thing.
At length, however, the eventful day arrived when the King of France
commenced his march from Milan against Naples. Drum, and trumpet, and
pennon, and banderol, and long lines of glittering lances, and
gorgeous surcoats, and splendid suits of armour, passed along the road
within sight of the Villa Rovera, and though no absolute order had
arrived commanding Lorenzo to join his troop and assume the command
which had been bestowed upon him, yet, as he gazed upon the passing
host from the higher windows, he felt that duty required him to linger
no longer, and that the next day, at the latest, he was bound to tear
himself away from those who, in the short space of a few weeks, had
become so dear to him. He felt sad; and yet there was something to a
young and eager mind like his, in the inspiring sight of military
array, which had its consolatory influence. He thought of acquiring
glory and renown for Leonora's sake, and returning to her with bright
fame and a glorious name, with a proud consciousness of courage and of
skill in arms. "If we must part--" he said to himself.
If they were to part! That was the consideration most painful, for he
had flattered himself every day with the hope that the promised letter
of Ramiro d'Orco would arrive, giving him authority to escort his fair
promised bride to join her father: and oh! how many enchanted scenes
had Fancy fabricated out of the vague shadows of that expected
journey! No letter had arrived; the army was on its march; he could
delay no longer; and the bitterness of disappointment was added to the
bitterness of anticipated separation.
The last troopers of the main host of France disappeared; and Leonora
gazed in Lorenzo's eyes, knowing, divining what was passing in his
heart, as they stood, together, with Bianca Maria gazing from the
neighbouring window.
"You must go, Lorenzo," said the beautiful girl, "you must go, I know
it. Fear not to speak the words; Leonora would not keep you from the
path of fame and honour if she could. It will be very terrible, but
still you must go. I had hoped, indeed--"
"See! see!" cried Bianca Maria: "there are more horsemen coming. It is
the king himself and his court; I remember well the array; and there
is Count Ludovic, on the monarch's left."
Leonora and her lover turned to the window again, and saw the royal
train sweep on towards them. But suddenly the king drew in his rein
just opposite the gates. He did not dismount; but a horseman dashed
out from the escort, and rode into the court-yard of the villa.
"It is the order," said Lorenzo, in a low voice, "it is the order, and
I must run down to receive it."
The two lovely girls followed him quickly; for theirs was an age when
nature's impulses have not been curbed and disciplined, restrained and
checked, either by the iron rules of a factitious state of society or
the harder and more terrible shackles of experience. At the bottom of
the great staircase he found the old Count of Rovera speaking with one
of the king's officers, out of whose mouth he took the words of the
monarch's message, saying, as soon as he saw Lorenzo, "His Majesty the
King of France, my young cousin, desires your presence without. He has
not time to dismount, this noble gentleman tells me, otherwise he
would have honoured our poor house by his presence."
Lorenzo hurried away unbonneted, and the count, looking with a smile
at his cousin and granddaughter, said gaily:
"Now would I wager this jewel against a fool's bauble that you girls
would give your ears to hear the conference. If so, take the rich
peaches Giovanozzo brought just now--one take them on the gold salver,
and let the other carry out a cup of our best wine to refresh the
monarch after his long ride."
But there is an innate modesty which requires no teaching of art, and
Leonora answered:
"I pray you excuse me, sir; they are all men there without, and we
should blush to obtrude ourselves upon the gaze of so many eyes."
As she spoke a warm glow came upon the face of Bianca Maria, but it
was not her cousin's words that called it there. A shadow darkened the
doorway, and the sound of a step well-known to the young girl's ear
was heard, which brought the joyous blood from the heart to the cheek
in a moment.
"I have stolen away," said De Vitry, "like a thief, and I have been a
thief, too, sweet ladies, and my noble lord. Just before I set out
from Pavia to meet the king, a courier came from Bologna; and, good
faith, when I found out what he carried, I made free to rob him of his
bags, not knowing who else might finger them. That letter for you, my
lord count--that for you, Signora Leonora; and here is one also for
Visconti, which I may as well trust to you also, very sure you will
deliver it safely."
"And none for me?" asked Blanche Marie, with a faint smile.
"None--only a message," said De Vitry, while the others busied
themselves with their letters they had received; and, as he spoke, he
drew the fair young girl aside, adding, "I must deliver it quickly,
for I must be back ere I am missed."
What he said to her in that low whisper, who shall tell? Her cheek
turned pale, and then glowed crimson red, and her knees shook, and her
lips quivered, so as to stop the words that struggled for utterance,
and yet there was joy in her eyes. It was as if he had given her the
key of some treasury in her own heart which overwhelmed her with the
first sight of the riches within.
"A soldier's love, a soldier's hand, a noble name, an honourable
name--that is all I have to offer," were the words of De Vitry. "I
know I am nearly old enough to be your father; but if you don't mind
that, I don't."
He paused a moment as if for an answer, while Blanche Marie stood
still trembling and silent; and, with a shade upon his broad, frank
brow, he was turning away, when she murmured:
"Stay! stay!" and, drawing the glove from her hand, she put it into
his.
"I will carry it into the cannon's mouth," he said, hiding it in his
scarf; and then he kissed her hand, and returned to the old count and
her fair cousin. "Lady, I must go," he said, taking Leonora's gloved
hand, and bending over it. "My lord the count, farewell. We shall all
meet again soon, I hope; and, in the meantime, you shall hear no evil
of De Vitry, unless some of those foul cannon shot carry off his head.
Adieu! adieu!"
In the meantime, Lorenzo had hurried forth, and stood by the side of
the king's horse. Charles gazed kindly at him, and inquired after his
health, while Ludovic the Moor bent his eyes upon him, but without
suffering the slightest shade of enmity to cross his face.
"How goes it with you, fair cousin?" asked the king: "think you that
you are able to ride on with the army towards Naples in a day or two?"
"Quite able, sir," answered the young man; "to-morrow, if it should be
your Majesty's pleasure."
"Pale--pale," said the monarch, who seemed to have been studying his
countenance. "Is that with loss of blood, Lorenzo, or the venom of the
sword?"
"I lost little blood, sire," answered the young man; "but the poison
was very deadly, and required both skill and careful nursing to bring
me through with life."
"Now curses upon the foul heart and foul mind," exclaimed the young
king, "that first conceived so dastardly a wickedness as that of
smearing a good honest sword-blade with a deadly drug."
The face of Ludovic the Moor turned somewhat white, and his lip
curled.
"Your Majesty's curse," he said, "must go somewhat far back, and
somewhat low down; for the art was invented long ago, and the man who
invented it, if he is to be damned at all, is very well damned by this
time."
"Well, then, my curse shall have greater extent, noble sir," replied
the king, frowning; "I will add--and curses be upon every one who uses
such dark treachery."
The regent did not reply, but there were very angry feelings in his
heart; and it is probable that nothing but the knowledge that the
dominions over which he ruled, and which he intended should soon be
his own in pure possession, were absolutely at the mercy of the French
king's soldiery, prevented him from seeking vengeance. Indeed, nothing
but fear can account for a man so unscrupulous having endured the
mortifications which Charles inflicted upon him during the French stay
in Lombardy; but it must be remembered that not only were many of his
towns and castles in possession of the French, and others without any
preparation for resistance, but that his own person was every hour
within reach of the French swords, and that, though not quite a
prisoner in his own court, he might become so any moment, if he
excited suspicion or gave offence to the young monarch. He endured in
silence then, and treasured his vengeance for a future day.
An unpleasant pause succeeded; and then Charles, turning to Lorenzo,
continued the conversation, saying, "So you think yourself quite ready
to ride. Well, then, join us to-morrow at Pavia, Lorenzo. Methinks no
one, however high his station, will venture to assail you when near
our own person. Yet, as it is evident from what has already happened,
that some one in this land would fain remove you to a better, you
shall have a guard with you, and must not walk the streets of Pavia
unattended. Where is De Vitry? We will give orders for a part of your
troop in his company to join you here to-night."
"He has gone into the villa for a moment, sire," replied Lorenzo, "for
the purpose, I believe, of bidding adieu to the good old count, as I
presume your majesty marches on speedily."
"Nay, he will have plenty of time hereafter," said Charles; "I shall
not leave Pavia for some days. I have matters to inquire into; but, in
the mean time, I will give orders for the men to join you to-night;
and methinks a score of French lances will be sufficient to protect
you from any number of Buondonis who may be inclined or hired to
assassinate you."
There was an insulting tone of superiority in the young king's voice
and manner, which could not have been very sweet to the Regent
Ludovic, but he seemed still to pay no attention to the monarch's
words, gazing forward on the road without change of countenance, as if
busy with his own thoughts.
"Ah! here comes De Vitry," said the young king. "Mount, mount, my lord
marquis. Adieu, my fair cousin Lorenzo. I will give the orders;" and,
thus saying, he rode on.
Lorenzo saw the train depart and pass away, receiving many a
good-natured greeting from old friends in the king's suite as it filed
off along the road. When he returned to the vestibule of the villa
with a somewhat gloomy heart, he found the old Count of Rovera, with
the two young girl's, still there and apparently in earnest
conversation; but Leonora exclaimed, as soon as she saw him, "When
must you go, Lorenzo?"
"To-morrow," said the young man sadly.
"Oh, then you will have plenty of time," exclaimed Blanche Marie,
addressing her beautiful cousin.
"To do what?" asked Lorenzo.
"To get ready to go with you," answered Leonora, "if you will be
troubled with such a companion. Here is a letter for you from my
father which will probably explain all. I have had another from him,
telling me to come on with you, and join him at Bologna, if you have a
sufficient train to render our journey secure; but he says there is
little or no danger by the way."
The old Count of Rovera shook his head with a disapproving look,
murmuring, "Mighty great danger on the way, I think. On my life, I
believe Ramiro is mad; but I must admonish the youth strictly before
he goes, and take care that she has plenty of women about her."