CHAPTER IV. MADONNA BIANCA
Pier Luigi's original intent had been to spend no more than a night atPagliano. But when the morrow came, he showed no sign of departing, norupon the next day, nor yet upon the next.
A week passed, and still he lingered, seeming to settle more and more inthe stronghold of the Cavalcanti, leaving the business of his Duchy tohis secretary Filarete and to his council, at the head of which, as Ilearnt, was my old friend Annibale Caro.
And meanwhile, Cavalcanti, using great discreetness, suffered the Duke'spresence, and gave him and his suite most noble entertainment.
His position was perilous and precarious in the extreme, and it neededall his strength of character to hold in curb the resentment that boiledwithin him to see himself thus preyed upon; and that was not theworst. The worst was Pier Luigi's ceaseless attentions to Bianca,the attentions of the satyr for the nymph, a matter in which I thinkCavalcanti suffered little less than did I.
He hoped for the best, content to wait until cause for action shouldbe forced upon him. And meanwhile that courtly throng took its ease atPagliano. The garden that hitherto had been Bianca's own sacred domain,the garden into which I had never yet dared set foot, was overrun nowby the Duke's gay suite--a cloud of poisonous butterflies. There in thegreen, shaded alleys they disported themselves; in the lemon-grove,in the perfumed rose-garden, by hedges of box and screens of purpleclematis they fluttered.
Bianca sought to keep her chamber in those days, and kept it for aslong on each day as was possible to her. But the Duke, hobbling onthe terrace--for as a consequence of his journey on horseback he haddeveloped a slight lameness, being all rotten with disease--would growirritable at her absence, and insistent upon her presence, hinting thather retreat was a discourtesy; so that she was forced to come forthagain, and suffer his ponderous attentions and gross flatteries.
And three days later there came another to Pagliano, bidden thither bythe Duke, and this other was none else than my cousin Cosimo, who nowcalled himself Lord of Mondolfo, having been invested in that tyranny,as I have said.
On the morning after his arrival we met upon the terrace.
"My saintly cousin!" was his derisive greeting. "And yet another changein you--out of sackcloth into velvet! The calendar shall know you as St.Weathercock, I think--or, perhaps, St. Mountebank."
What followed was equally bitter and sardonic on his part, fiercely andopenly hostile on mine. At my hostility he had smiled cruelly.
"Be content with what is, my strolling saint," he said, in the tone ofone who gives a warning, "unless you would be back in your hermitage, orwithin the walls of some cloister, or even worse. Already have you foundit a troublesome matter to busy yourself with the affairs of the world.You were destined for sanctity." He came closer, and grew very fierce."Do not put it upon me to make a saint of you by sending you to Heaven."
"It might end in your own dispatch to Hell," said I. "Shall we essayit?"
"Body of God!" he snarled, laughter still lingering on his white face."Is this the mood of your holiness at present? What a bloodthirsty braveare you become! Consider, pray, sir, that if you trouble me I have noneed to do my own office of hangman. There is sufficient against youto make the Tribunal of the Ruota very busy; there is--can you haveforgotten it?--that little affair at the house of Messer Fifanti."
I dropped my glance, browbeaten for an instant. Then I looked at himagain, and smiled.
"You are but a poor coward, Messer Cosimo," said I, "to use a shadow asa screen. You know that nothing can be proved against me unless Giulianaspeaks, and that she dare not for her own sake. There are witnesses whowill swear that Gambara went to Fifanti's house that night. There is notone to swear that Gambara did not kill Fifanti ere he came forthagain; and it is the popular belief, for his traffic with Giulianais well-known, as it is well-known that she fled with him after themurder--which, in itself, is evidence of a sort. Your Duke has too greata respect for the feelings of the populace," I sneered, "to venture tooutrage them in such a matter. Besides," I ended, "it is impossible toincriminate me without incriminating Giuliana and, Messer Pier Luigiseems, I should say, unwilling to relinquish the lady to the brutalitiesof a tribunal."
"You are greatly daring," said he, and he was pale now, for in that lastmention of Giuliana, it seemed that I had touched him where he was stillsensitive.
"Daring?" I rejoined. "It is more than I can say for you, Ser Cosimo.Yours is the coward's fault of caution."
I thought to spur him. If this failed, I was prepared to strike him, formy temper was beyond control. That he, standing towards me as he did,should dare to mock me, was more than I could brook. But at that momentthere spoke a harsh voice just behind me.
"How, sir? What words are these?"
There, very magnificent in his suit of ivory velvet, stood the Duke. Hewas leaning heavily upon his cane, and his face was more blotched thanever, the sunken eyes more sunken.
"Are you seeking to quarrel with the Lord of Mondolfo?" quoth he, and Isaw by his smile that he used my cousin's title as a taunt.
Behind him was Cavalcanti with Bianca leaning upon his arm just as I hadseen her that day when she came with him to Monte Orsaro, save that nowthere was a look as of fear in the blue depths of her eyes. A littleon one side there was a group composed of three of the Duke's gentlemenwith Giuliana and another of the ladies, and Giuliana was watching uswith half-veiled eyes.
"My lord," I answered, very stiff and erect, and giving him back lookfor look, something perhaps of the loathing with which he inspiredme imprinted on my face, "my lord, you give yourself idle alarms. SerCosimo is too cautious to embroil himself."
He limped toward me; leaning heavily upon his stick, and it pleased methat of a good height though he was, he was forced to look up into myface.
"There is too much bad Anguissola blood in you," he said. "Be carefullest out of our solicitude for you, we should find it well to let ourleech attend you."
I laughed, looking into his blotched face, considering his lame leg andall the evil humours in him.
"By my faith, I think it is your excellency needs the attentions of aleech," said I, and flung all present into consternation by that answer.
I saw his face turn livid, and I saw the hand shake upon the goldenhead of his cane. He was very sensitive upon the score of his foulinfirmities. His eyes grew baleful as he controlled himself. Then hesmiled, displaying a ruin of blackened teeth.
"You had best take care," he said. "It were a pity to cripple such finelimbs as yours. But there is a certain matter upon which the Holy Officemight desire to set you some questions. Best be careful, sir, and avoiddisagreements with my captains."
He turned away. He had had the last word, and had left me cold withapprehension, yet warmed by the consciousness that in the briefencounter it was he who had taken the deeper wound.
He bowed before Bianca. "Oh, pardon me," he said. "I did not dream youstood so near. Else no such harsh sounds should have offended your fairears. As for Messer d'Anguissola..." He shrugged as who would say, "Havepity on such a boor!"
But her answer, crisp and sudden as come words that are spoken onimpulse or inspiration, dashed his confidence.
"Nothing that he said offended me," she told him boldly, almostscornfully.
He flashed me a glance that was full of venom, and I saw Cosimo smile,whilst Cavalcanti started slightly at such boldness from his meek child.But the Duke was sufficiently master of himself to bow again.
"Then am I less aggrieved," said he, and changed the subject. "Shall weto the bowling lawn?" And his invitation was direct to Bianca, whilsthis eyes passed over her father. Without waiting for their answer,his question, indeed, amounting to a command, he turned sharply tomy cousin. "Your arm, Cosimo," said he, and leaning heavily upon hiscaptain he went down the broad granite steps, followed by the littleknot of courtiers, and, lastly, by Bianca and her father.
As for me, I turned and went indoors, and there was little of the saintleft
in me in that hour. All was turmoil in my soul, turmoil and hatredand anger. Anon to soothe me came the memory of those sweet words thatBianca had spoken in my defence, and those words emboldened me at lastto seek her but as I had never yet dared in all the time that I hadspent at Pagliano.
I found her that evening, by chance, in the gallery over the courtyard.She was pacing slowly, having fled thither to avoid that hateful throngof courtiers. Seeing me she smiled timidly, and her smile gave me whatlittle further encouragement I needed. I approached, and very earnestlyrendered her my thanks for having championed my cause and supported mewith the express sign of her approval.
She lowered her eyes; her bosom quickened slightly, and the colour ebbedand flowed in her cheeks.
"You should not thank me," said she. "What I did was done for justice'ssake."
"I have been presumptuous," I answered humbly, "in conceiving that itmight have been for the sake of me."
"But it was that also," she answered quickly, fearing perhaps that shehad pained me. "It offended me that the Duke should attempt to browbeatyou. I took pride in you to see you bear yourself so well and returnthrust for thrust."
"I think your presence must have heartened me," said I. "No pain couldbe so cruel as to seem base or craven in your eyes."
Again the tell-tale colour showed upon her lovely cheek. She began topace slowly down the gallery, and I beside her. Presently she spokeagain.
"And yet," she said, "I would have you cautious. Do not wantonly affrontthe Duke, for he is very powerful."
"I have little left to lose," said I.
"You have your life," said she.
"A life which I have so much misused that it must ever cry out to me inreproach."
She gave me a little fluttering, timid glance, and looked away again.Thus we came in silence to the gallery's end, where a marble seat wasplaced, with gay cushions of painted and gilded leather. She sank toit with a little sigh, and I leaned on the balustrade beside her andslightly over her. And now I grew strangely bold.
"Set me some penance," I cried, "that shall make me worthy."
Again came that little fluttering, frightened glance.
"A penance?" quoth she. "I do not understand."
"All my life," I explained, "has been a vain striving after somethingthat eluded me. Once I deemed myself devout; and because I had sinnedand rendered myself unworthy, you found me a hermit on Monte Orsaro,seeking by penance to restore myself to the estate from which I hadsuccumbed. That shrine was proved a blasphemy; and so the penance I haddone, the signs I believed I had received, were turned to mockery. Itwas not there that I should save myself. One night I was told so in avision."
She gave an audible gasp, and looked at me so fearfully that I fellsilent, staring back at her.
"You knew!" I cried.
Long did her blue, slanting eyes meet my glance without wavering, asnever yet they had met it. She seemed to hesitate, and at the same timeopenly to consider me.
"I know now," she breathed.
"What do you know?" My voice was tense with excitement.
"What was your vision?" she rejoined.
"Have I not told you? There appeared to me one who called me back to theworld; who assured me that there I should best serve God; who filled mewith the conviction that she needed me. She addressed me by name, andspoke of a place of which I had never heard until that hour, but whichto-day I know."
"And you? And you?" she asked. "What answer did you make?"
"I called her by name, although until that hour I did not know it."
She bowed her head. Emotion set her all a-tremble.
"It is what I have so often wondered," she confessed, scarce above awhisper. "And it is true--as true as it is strange!"
"True?" I echoed. "It was the only true miracle in that place of falseones, and it was so clear a call of destiny that it decided me to returnto the world which I had abandoned. And yet I have since wondered why.Here there seems to be no place for me any more than there was yonder.I am devout again with a worldly devotion now, yet with a devotion thatmust be Heaven-inspired, so pure and sweet it is. It has shut out fromme all the foulness of that past; and yet I am unworthy. And that is whyI cry to you to set me some penance ere I can make my prayer."
She could not understand me, nor did she. We were not as ordinarylovers. We were not as man and maid who, meeting and being drawn each tothe other, fence and trifle in a pretty game of dalliance until the maidopines that the appearances are safe, and that, her resistance havingbeen of a seemly length, she may now make the ardently desired surrenderwith all war's honours. Nothing of that was in our wooing, a wooingwhich seemed to us, now that we spoke of it, to have been done when wehad scarcely met, done in the vision that I had of her, and the visionthat she had of me.
With averted eyes she set me now a question.
"Madonna Giuliana used you with a certain freedom on her arrival, andI have since heard your name coupled with her own by the Duke's ladies.But I have asked no questions of them. I know how false can be thetongues of courtly folk. I ask it now of you. What is or was thisMadonna Giuliana to you?"
"She was," I answered bitterly, "and God pity me that I must say it toyou--she was to me what Circe was to the followers of Ulysses."
She made a little moan, and I saw her clasp her hands in her lap; andthe sound and sight filled me with sorrow and despair. She must know.Better that the knowledge should stand between us as a barrier whichboth could see than that it should remain visible only to the eyes of myown soul, to daunt me.
"O Bianca! Forgive me!" I cried. "I did not know! I did not know! Iwas a poor fool reared in seclusion and ripened thus for the firsttemptation that should touch me. That is what on Monte Orsaro I soughtto expiate, that I might be worthy of the shrine I guarded then. Thatis what I would expiate now that I might be worthy of the shrine whoseguardian I would become, the shrine at which I worship now."
I was bending very low above her little brown head, in which the threadsof the gold coif-net gleamed in the fading light.
"If I had but had my vision sooner," I murmured, "how easy it would havebeen! Can you find mercy for me in your gentle heart? Can you forgiveme, Bianca?
"O Agostino," she answered very sadly, and the sound of my name from herlips, coming so naturally and easily, thrilled me like the sound of themystic music of Monte Orsaro. "What shall I answer you? I cannot now.Give me leisure to think. My mind is all benumbed. You have hurt me so!"
"Me miserable!" I cried.
"I had believed you one who erred through excess of holiness."
"Whereas I am one who attempted holiness through excess of error."
"I had believed you so, so...O Agostino!" It was a little wail of pain.
"Set me a penance," I implored her.
"What penance can I set you? Will any penance restore to me my shatteredfaith?"
I groaned miserably and covered my face with my hands. It seemed that Iwas indeed come to the end of all my hopes; that the world was become asmuch a mockery to me as had been the hermitage; that the one was to endfor me upon the discovery of a fraud, as had the other ended--with thedifference that in this case the fraud was in myself.
It seemed, indeed, that our first communion must be our last. Ever sinceshe had seen me step into that gold-and-purple dining-room at Pagliano,the incarnation of her vision, as she was the incarnation of mine,Bianca must have waited confidently for this hour, knowing that it wasforeordained to come. Bitterness and disillusion were all that it hadbrought her.
And then, ere more could be said, a thin, flute-like voice hissed downthe vaulted gallery:
"Madonna Bianca! To hide your beauty from our hungry eyes. To quench thelight by which we guide our footsteps. To banish from us the happinessand joy of your presence! Unkind, unkind!"
It was the Duke. In his white velvet suit he looked almost ghostly inthe deepening twilight. He hobbled towards us, his stick tapping theblack-and-white squares of the marble floor. He halted before
her, andshe put aside her emotion, donned a worldly mask, and rose to meet him.
Then he looked at me, and his brooding eyes seemed to scan my face.
"Why! It is Ser Agostino, Lord of Nothing," he sneered, and down thegallery rang the laugh of my cousin Cosimo, and there came, too, aripple of other voices.
Whether to save me from friction with those steely gentlemen who aimedat grinding me to powder, whether from other motives, Bianca set herfinger-tips upon the Duke's white sleeve and moved away with him.
I leaned against the balustrade all numb, watching them depart. I sawCosimo come upon her other side and lean over her as he moved, so slimand graceful, beside her own slight, graceful figure. Then I sank to thecushions of the seat she had vacated, and stayed there with my miseryuntil the night had closed about the place, and the white marble pillarslooked ghostly and unreal.