MOORISH SLAVES.
A clatter of horses' feet in the court-yard announced the arrival of new
guests; and when these proved to be noble kinsmen and friends of the
Duchess, who had hastened to rally round her in her danger, the Cardinal
inly congratulated himself on having been the first comer and the
recipient of her first thanks.
The old feudal castle, lately the nest of a few defenceless women, now
resounded with the clank of arms. Nothing could be more graceful than
the Duchess's reception of her guests. There was just enough of danger
past, and possibly impending, to give zest to present safety and
sociality. The feast was spread in the old ancestral hall, where the
family plate shone in beaufets ten feet high, music breathed from the
gallery amid the pauses in conversation, and the cobwebbed banners waved
heavily overhead in the cool evening air from the Mediterranean, that
stole through the open windows. Giulia's little cloud had entirely
disappeared: it was simple and even needful that she should just now
only seek to embellish the passing hour; and the Cardinal, as the
noblest dignitary present, fully seconded her as leader of the feast, or
rather took the initiative in entertaining and pledging the rest, while
she had only to sit by, smile, and enjoy it all. The Moorish girl, with
splendid jewels in her ears, stood behind the Duchess with a feather
fly-flapper.
Barbarossa's enormities were the favourite theme; there was plenty of
red put in the brush. The streams of blood he had shed would float a
squadron; his beard was bright scarlet. He was even worse than his
brother Horuc had been; and now that he was Dey of Tunis, as well as of
Algiers, and the ally of Solyman the Magnificent, the world would not
hold him! He would swallow Italy, some of these nights, at a snap.
Yet it was astonishing what some of the company were ready to do,
single-handed, against him! Only let him come on! _They'd_ show him
something. The Duchess need not be afraid. Not a hair of her head should
he touch.
The next day or two these bold spirits scoured the neighbourhood,
and--as Barbarossa was out of sight--they did not spare their bragging.
They only wished he would come back, that they might give him his
deserts. The Cardinal grudged these vapourers their share of Giulia's
ear. True, he sat at her right hand; and none of them were younger,
braver, handsomer, or wittier than himself. And it was sweet, with all
its mixture of bitter, to be here at all; but then, how soon it would
end! How soon pass into that hungry, never-satisfied abyss of vanished,
irreclaimable joys! And then his old feeling of blank, gnawing
dissatisfaction returned.
"That Mauritanian slave of yours," he said one day to Giulia, as they
returned from a reconnoitering party, "is singularly beautiful. She
would make a good study for Sebastiano. How I wish you knew that
remarkable man! You would delight in his musical attainments. He touches
the lute and viol with rare perfection, and has composed some exquisite
motets. As a portrait painter he is unrivalled. The Pope is so pleased
with the likeness he has painted of him, that he has conferred on him
the office of keeper of the papal signet. His verses are charming, and
he is a most excellent companion."
"You excite my curiosity," said the Duchess. "Cannot you invent some
excuse to bring him here?"
"Certainly," said the Cardinal, who was aiming at this very point.
"There could be no better method than for me to tell him you had
promised me your picture. This would draw him hither quite easily, after
such representations as I should make to him; for you must know,
Sebastiano is becoming exceeding coy and difficult, and will only on
much importunity be prevailed on, now, to paint a portrait. It is really
the branch in which he excels, and by which he will be known to
posterity; but he is slow and irresolute in his execution, and his taste
chiefly inclines him to large historical pieces, in which he is excelled
by Michael Angelo and Raffaelle. I beseech you, let me send him to paint
your portrait. You will be repaid for your complaisance by becoming
acquainted with a really great artist."
"So let it be, then," said the Duchess. "With regard to my Moorish girl,
he may introduce her in the background if he will. Beautiful she is,
but the crossest patch at times! I pity her, and humour, and perhaps
spoil her a little, yet I shrink from her sometimes, for we hardly seem
of the same flesh and blood."
"Is she converted?" inquired the Cardinal.
"Baptized," said the Duchess, "but she seems utterly unimpressible as to
Christian doctrine. Confess she will not, and when we endeavour to
enforce its obligation on her, she answers us in her Arabic jargon, 'I
do not understand.'"
"Is it safe to have her about you?" said the Cardinal.
"I know not that there is any harm in her," said the Duchess, "and she
can be very ingratiating when she likes; but I own, a horrible thought
crossed my mind when she and I were escaping through the caverns. 'What
if she should have brought Barbarossa on us?'"
"That is quite possible," said the Cardinal, gravely. "Has she any
confederates hereabouts, think you, among her own people?"
"The only other Moor in my establishment is a poor boy whose tongue has
been cut out. His own people thus punished him, when he fell into their
hands, for having come over to us; he escaped from them, and knows too
well his own interest to betray us. He is in my stables."
"I do not altogether like this," said De Medici, meditatively; "it would
be well to induce the girl to confess, even by a little wholesome
torture; for as long as she is unshackeled by Christian obligations, you
have no hold on her."
"Torture, however," said Giulia, "is a course I particularly dislike."
They were now riding into the castle court-yard; and, as the day was
very warm, she was thirsty, and called for a glass of iced water. It
was brought her by Cynthia; and at the moment she appeared with the
goblet on a salver, a large Spanish bloodhound, belonging to Alfonso
Gonzaga, sprang at her throat.
The poor girl screamed piercingly, and so did the Duchess, who sprang
from her horse. Gonzaga, brutally laughing and swearing, called the dog
off without success; but the Moorish stable-boy, seizing it by the tail,
bit it till his teeth met. The unfortunate Cynthia was released, and she
fell swooning into the arms of her compassionate mistress, whose dress
was stained with her blood. She was instantly relieved of her burthen,
however, by her _maestro di casa_, Perez, who bore her off to her women,
while the hunting-party pressed round Giulia to extol her humanity to
the skies. Turning to the Cardinal she said, expressively--
"She _is_ of the same flesh and blood, after all!" And then went to
visit her poor wounded maiden, and change her dress.
Cynthia, more dead than alive, was laid on a pallet bed, and Caterina
was in anxious attendance on her, while a Jewish physician dressed the
wound.
"Do you think she will die?" said the Duchess in a low voice.
"It is impossible, at present," returned he, "to pronounce an opinion."
Cynthia opened her languid eyes, and seeing the Duchess's dress stained
with her blood, mutely drew it to her lips. Giulia kindly patted her
hand, saying--
"My poor girl! Keep quiet; be patient, and you will soon be well," and
then withdrew.
When she re-entered the _sala di compagnía_, her cousin was telling
stories in a loud over-bearing voice, of the feats of his dog in hunting
up and pulling down Moors, Jews, and heretics. The brute's ancestors had
distinguished themselves in this line during the repeated massacres in
Spain.
"Pray desist, Alfonso," said the Duchess, "or I shall be unable to eat
my dinner."
He laughed, and continued his narrations in a lower voice. This was the
Cardinal's last day, and he grudged every moment of Giulia's time that
was devoted to any but himself.
"Is the girl going on well?" said he to her.
"The wound is dressed, but her recovery is considered doubtful by Bar
Hhasdai. Do you disapprove of my employing a Jewish leech?"
"By no means; there are none equal to them. The Spaniards did very
foolishly, I think, to expel the whole race. There are no such
physicians, astronomers, or metaphysicians."
"They are sad infidels, however, and Bar Hhasdai is unconverted."
"All the better," said the Cardinal lightly. "I distrust renegades.
Better be a good Jew than a bad Christian. In medicine especially, I
believe a baptised Jew loses half his virtue; the charm is broken."
"That never occurred to me," said the Duchess. "But I dare say it is so,
since you say it."
"Your Jew," observed Ippolito, "will deal kindly by your Moorish girl,
for, under the western caliphs, his people were fostered by her people.
The prime minister of Abderrahman the Second was a Jew of the same name
as your physician, who probably claims descent from him. The two peoples
promoted each other's prosperity, for the Jews extended their commerce
with the East, and supplied them with the sinews of war. The Moors let
them peaceably accumulate wealth, occupy high offices, build synagogues,
and cultivate learning, insomuch that there was not a Jewish family
without a copy of the law; and they all could read it. So that 'the
Moor's last sigh' was nearly the last sigh of the Hebrew too. We are
profiting by the short-sightedness of Spain and Portugal. Clement the
Seventh permits even the Jews who have been forcibly baptised, to come
and settle in his dominions, without any inquiry into their past lives;
and owing to their industry Ancona is becoming a flourishing sea-port.
But, Giulia, if this girl is about to die, she had better receive the
last offices of the Church. I should like to receive her confession.
Tell her, if she will confess to me, she shall receive a cardinal's
absolution."
"Are you in earnest?"
"Quite."
This was so high an honour, that the Duchess did not fail to acquaint
Cynthia with it. But Cynthia had no mind for confession, nor any respect
for a cardinal's absolution. She feigned lethargy, and could not be
induced to admit that she heard or understood anything that was said to
her while the Cardinal remained.
"This looks bad," said he. "Can anything be made of the Moorish boy,
think you?"
"He is dumb."
"True; but not deaf, I suppose?"
"No."
"Let us have him in, then. I should like to speak to him."
The boy was sent for. He was a sad object, poor lad.
The Cardinal, without any preface, said to him in the _lingua Franca_,
which was commonly understood among the Moors--
"Did you send for Barbarossa?" The boy's eyes flashed fire.
"If I have any reason to think you did so, you shall be flayed alive;
and I shall be sure to find out."
The boy looked unmoved.
"Your only chance of escaping punishment is your being henceforth
inviolably faithful to your mistress. There, go; and be a good boy."
The boy made a salaam and retired.
"There can be no harm," said the Cardinal to Giulia, "in giving him a
little reminder."
Next day the boy was found drowned. Whether he had tried to escape by
swimming, or had intentionally ended his life, nobody knew. He could no
longer be a traitor at any rate. But this is anticipating.