Valperga (27 page)

The plan for the entrance of the marquess was now arranged. On
the night of the fourth of August he was to pass Lago Scuro, and
halt with his troops, at the path which led to the secret entrance
to the Malvezzi palace. The marquess, Castruccio, and a small party
were to enter the house of the viscountess; and Galeazzo to lead
the greater part of the remainder to the gates of the town by
day-break the following morning; a part was to remain as a corps de
reserve, if the small escort of the marquess should prove
insufficient to force the opening of the gates, and the entrance of
Galeazzo. In that case this more numerous troop was to enter the
city through the house of the viscountess, and bring the necessary
succour to their prince.

The assembly then broke up; and Castruccio, wearied by the
events of the day, fatigued with want of rest, his spirits sinking
after their relaxation from the powerful excitements they had
sustained, retired early to repose. He took an affectionate leave
of the good old prelate, who charged him with many messages of
fidelity and attachment to his prince.

The dawn of day beheld Castruccio on the road to Rovigo. The
wide plain of Lombardy awoke to life under the rising sun. It was a
serene morning; the cloudy mists that settled on the horizon,
received the roseate glories of the rising sun, and the soft clouds
of gold and pink that awaited his appearance in the east, would
have pictured forth to a Grecian eye the chariot of Aurora, or the
golden gates which the Hours threw back as Phoebus entered upon his
diurnal path.

And does the beauteous prophetess seek her tower to behold the
glories of the morn? Beatrice is on the donjon of the palace; and
it is true that her eyes are directed towards the rising sun; but
there is a casque which flashes under its first beams, a horseman
who gallops away from Ferrara, whose form her eyes strain to
behold, even when he appears only as a black spot in the distance.
She leans her cheek upon her hand, and, lost in meditation, she,
most unfortunate, mistakes for the inspirations of Heaven the wild
reveries of youth and love: but still her heart was hidden even
from herself by a veil she did not even wish to throw aside. She
felt gently agitated, but happy; a kind of Elysian happiness, that
trembled at change, and wished only for a secure eternity of what
it was.

Castruccio was hailed with joy by his friends at Rovigo; and,
when the intelligence he brought was heard, every voice was busy in
congratulation, every hand in preparation. The knights assisted the
squires in furbishing their arms, and securing the various joints
and fastenings of their heavy armour, in looking that the trusty
blade of the sword was well fixed in the pummel, in selecting the
stoutest lances, and in attending to all the other equipments of
war; while the fair hands of the ladies prepared the scarfs, which,
tied over the hearts of their knights, would preserve them from
every wound. No thought of danger and death,--this was to be rather
a tournament, wherein with blunted lances they tilted for a
sovereignty; and the idea of the Pope, and of their priest-ridden
opponents and their foreign guards excited derision alone.

The sun set on the fourth day, and the troops of the marquess
Obizzo to the number of four hundred were drawn out before the
gates of Rovigo. The expedition was ordered as it had been
arranged; and in the depth of night the viscountess, opening the
low door of her secret entrance, found the marquess, Castruccio,
and their followers, waiting in silence round the short half-buried
cross on the marshy moor. A few whispered words of recognition
having been spoken, she led them along her galleries, and up the
staircase to the inhabited rooms of the palace, lifting up the
tapestry of the first apartment; Castruccio did not again know the
old, neglected chamber with its decaying furniture. It was hung
with silk, festooned with flowers, and lighted by a hundred wax
lights; a table was spread with wines, and fruits, and sweetmeats,
and other more substantial refreshments; several couches also were
placed round the room for the convenience of those who wished to
repose.

The viscountess with courtly grace welcomed the marquess to her
palace. "My lord," she said, "for a few hours you
must be imprisoned in this apartment; I have endeavoured to
decorate your poor dungeon to the best of my power, and indeed
shall ever hold this room honoured, since it affords refuge and
protection to my sovereign."

The old lady received the marquess's heartfelt thanks, and
then retired satisfied, to recount to Beatrice the arrival of her
guests, and the whispered enquiry of Castruccio concerning the
health of the prophetess. But, although she had gilt their cage,
the hours passed heavily to the imprisoned chiefs; they watched the
stars as they still burned brightly in the sky, and almost uttered
a cry of joy when they first perceived them, one by one, fading in
the morning light. At length the steps of men were heard about the
streets; and the horses which the bishop had provided for the troop
came to the door of the palace. The trampling of these horses as
they were led to their destination, attracted a small crowd along
with them; and, when the strange knights mounted them, and advanced
in slow procession along the streets, the crowd increased, and the
name of the marquess was whispered, while every one gazed in
wonder. At length, when the troop had reached the principal street
of Ferrara, they put their horses to the gallop, and raising the
Ghibeline war-cry, rode through the town calling on the people to
join them, and invoking downfall to the foreign tyrants: a band of
citizens, who had been already prepared, obeyed the summons, and
they were followed by others, who espoused the party of the prince
in their hearts, and joyfully aided his restoration.

The trampling of the steeds, the clash of arms, as the knights
struck their shields with their spears, the war-cry of the troops,
and the vivas of the crowd, awoke the papal governor, who called
out the Gascon soldiery. But it was too late; the marquess reached
the gate of the town, put the sentinels to flight, and admitted
Galeazzo into the city: then, joined by all the nobility of
Ferrara, he rode towards the palace of the governor. The Gascons
were drawn up in the great square of the town, but they were unable
to withstand the first onset of Obizzo's party; they fled, and
shut themselves up in Castel Tealdo, the fortress of the town,
where they were at least safe from sudden attack. The marquess drew
his troops around, and threw up his works to prevent their egress;
and, leaving to his principal captain the care of the siege,
returned to his palace to receive the congratulations of his
delighted subjects.

Now joy was the order of the day; the Italians, who had been
intrusted with the charge of some of the gates of the town, brought
the keys to the feet of their sovereign; the others were broken
open; every magistrate brought in his resignation, and many of them
petitions for mercy; and lying traitors, who assured him that their
faith had never been broken, crowded to the presence-chamber. His
throne was erected in the great square, covered with the richest
cloth, and surmounted by a magnificent canopy; the troops were
marshalled before him, the standards brought and lowered to his
feet. A deputation of the noblest counts and knights of Ferrara
were sent to convoy the caroccio to the throne of the prince. They
went to the cathedral; and the monks led it forth, adorned with its
splendid trappings and standards, the gold cross and white flag of
the Popes waving above all. They yoked to it four beautiful dove
coloured oxen, on whom they cast rich trappings of scarlet cloth;
and then, to the sound of trumpets, surrounded by the knights, and
followed by a procession of priests singing a Te Deum, it was drawn
to the square before the throne of Obizzo; then with a triumphant
flourish, the standard of the Pope was lowered, and that of the
house of Este raised to its ancient eminence. Festivities of every
kind followed this joyful event, triumphant festivities,
untarnished with blood; for few of the subjects of the marquess
were hostile to his return, and these either went into voluntary
exile, or joined the refugees in Castel Tealdo.

CASTRUCCIO was no inactive partaker in this busy scene. But,
after the combat was finished, and he perceived that Obizzo was
engaged in acts of peaceful sovereignty alone, he hastened to the
palace of the bishop; for he was painfully surprised in not seeing
him among the nobles who waited on the prince. The old man was ill:
he had been dreadfully agitated by the scenes of the preceding
days, and his health for a while sunk under it. Castruccio was
introduced into his chamber, where he lay peacefully sleeping on a
magnificent couch, his adopted child, the lovely Beatrice, watching
before him, who, when she beheld Castruccio, blushed deeply, while,
in spite of every effort, a smile of delight spread itself over her
expressive countenance.

"He is not very ill," she said in a low voice, in
answer to Castruccio's enquiries; "the fever has left him
entirely; he is weak, but recovering. He sleeps sweetly now: look
at him; at his reverend grey hairs strewn over his naked temples;
look at his eyes, sunken with age, yet, when open, beaming with
benevolence and affection: look what a gentle smile there is upon
his pale lips; there he sleeps, affection, benevolence, matchless
virtue, and excelling wisdom, all cradled by the baby Sleep; I have
been contemplating him for more than an hour; he draws his breath
as regularly as a sleeping infant who has sucked its fill, and his
heart heaves slowly, but calmly. It is a heavenly sight to look on
the repose of this good old man; it calms wild passion, and sheds
the fresh dew of healthful meditation over the strange reveries of
youth."

She spoke in a whisper; but her countenance was all animation.
The old man moved; and, pressing her finger on her lips, she
paused. "Beatrice, my child," he said, "I have slept
long and soundly, and feel quite well. Who is that stranger? does
he bring news from the marquess? Aye, I remember this is the
day,--I am strangely confused; I recollect now that I heard of his
success before I slept."

"Father, it is my lord Castruccio, who, after having
reinstated our prince in his sovereignty, visits your sick
chamber."

Castruccio remained several hours conversing with the bishop; he
gave him an account of the action of the morning, and Beatrice
listened with her whole soul in her eyes; yet, attentive as she was
to the narration, she watched with sweet earnestness her sick
friend, turning her looks from him to the animated face of
Castruccio; and again, as she crept near her adoptive father, she
adjusted some pillow, or performed some little office that marked
her earnest observation.

"How beautiful she is!" thought Castruccio, "and
what will become of her?" He fixed his eyes on the silver
plate on her forehead. "Yes, she is the Ancilla Dei, a maiden
vowed to God and chastity; yet her eyes seem penetrated with love;
the changeful and blooming colours of her face, her form, which is
all that imagination can conceive of perfect, appear not like those
of a cloistered nun. Ah! Beatrice, if you would be sacred to your
God, you ought to hide your surpassing loveliness with thick veils,
behind treble grates. But she is a prophetess; something more than
human;--a character unapproachable even in thought."

Thus Castruccio tried to disentangle his perplexed thoughts,
still looking on the maiden, who, suddenly raising her eyes, and
meeting his which were fixed on her silver plate, blushed even till
the tips of her fingers became a rosy red; and then, complaining in
an hesitating voice, that the plate hurt her brow, she untied it;
while her silken hair, no longer confined, fell on her neck.

Thus many hours passed, and when at length the prophetess
retired, it was to feverish meditation, and thoughts burning with
passion, rendered still more dangerous from her belief in the
divine nature of all that suggested itself to her mind. She prayed
to the Virgin to inspire her; and, again giving herself up to
reverie, she wove a subtle web, whose materials she believed
heavenly, but which were indeed stolen from the glowing wings of
love. Kneeling, her eyes raised to heaven, she felt the same
commotion in her soul, which she had felt before, and had
recognised as divine inspiration; she felt the same uncontrollable
transport and burst of imaginative vision, which she believed to
flow immediately from the invisible ray of heaven-derived prophecy.
She felt her soul, as it were, fade away, and incorporate itself
with another and a diviner spirit, which whispered truth and
knowledge to her mind, and then slowly receding, left her human
nature, agitated, joyful, and exhausted;--these were her
dreams,--alas! to her they were realities.

The following morning she again met Castruccio in the chamber of
the bishop. She now looked upon him fearlessly; and, if the virgin
modesty of her nature had not withheld her, her words would have
been as frank as she innocently believed them to be inspired. But,
although she was silent, her looks told that she was changed. Her
manner the day before had been soft, concentrated, and retiring;
now she was unconstrained; her eyes sparkled, and a joyous
expression dwelt in every feature. Her manner towards her guardian
was endearing, nor was the affectionate modulation of her voice
different when she addressed his guest: Castruccio started to hear
it. It reminded him of the accents of Euthanasia, whom for a while
he had forgotten; and, looking at Beatrice, he thought, "How
lovely she is, and yet how unlike!"

Several days passed thus; Beatrice became embarrassed; it seemed
as if she wished to speak to Castruccio, and yet dared not: when
she approached, she blushed, and again drew back, and would again
seek him, but again vainly. She had framed the mode of her address,
conned and reconned the words she should say; but, when an
opportunity occurred to utter them, her voice failed her, the
memory of what she was about to utter deserted her, and it was not
until the approach of a third person took from her the possibility
of speaking, that speech again returned, and the lost occasion was
uselessly lamented. At night she sought the counsels of heaven, and
gave herself up to her accustomed ecstasies; they always told her
the same things, until to her bewildered and untamed mind it seemed
as if the spirit that had power over her, reprimanded her
hesitation, her little trust in the promises of heaven, and her
reluctance to follow the path it pointed out.