Valperga (57 page)

Read Valperga Online

Authors: Mary Shelley

This was the outline of the plan; there were many smaller
circumstances which Bondelmonti detailed. He then named their
associates in the plot. In calling over the list he mentioned
Tripalda; Euthanasia's eyes flashed angrily at the sound of
that name.

"Tripalda!" she cried, "Battista Tripalda! Is he
one of your associates? Nay then, I am truly sorry that I am now
numbered among you."

"Why this passion, my fair cousin? Tripalda is a man of
infinite talent: his counsels have been of the greatest benefit to
us. I do not think that our plot would ever have ripened into
maturity, had it not been for him. Of what consequence is the
virtue or vice of a man on such an occasion? Edged tools are what
we want; it matters little the evil name with which they may be
branded."

"You reason ill, my friend; and, if you persist, I foresee
the failure of our plan, and the destruction of those engaged in
it. I have promised my assistance, nor will I shrink from the task
imposed upon me; but I can no longer have faith in our success, if
one so treacherous and unprincipled as Tripalda be admitted into a
participation of our counsels. Accident has made me acquainted with
the full extent of his crimes; it is the knowledge of them that has
caused his expulsion from the palace and society of the prince, his
crimes alone impel him to associate in this conspiracy, and they
also ought to induce us to reject him; that cause must be bad,
which requires the assistance of one so wicked as this infidel
priest."

"You are strangely prejudiced, methinks, against this
man," replied Bondelmonti, "but indeed, my dear cousin,
such as he is, we must now tolerate him. He is not only acquainted
with every circumstance of the conspiracy, but has been its most
active member. Many of our most valuable partizans have been gained
over by him alone; he is the tie which binds those who are
personally at variance one with the other, and the stay which fixes
the fluctuating."

"And this then is the trap into which we are about to fall?
This man hates the prince, because Castruccio is fully acquainted
with the extent of his iniquity; for the same reason he detests
me--"

"This expression of yours," interrupted Bondelmonti,
"proves the excess of your misapprehension. So far from
disliking, he esteems and admires you, and it was at his
instigation that I first named our purpose to you."

"All that you say, unfortunately increases my distrust.
But, if, as I believe, I have done well in promising my assistance,
fear shall not withhold me from exerting my powers, and giving my
whole heart to the undertaking. My dear Bondelmonti, you are the
oldest of my friends, you were the friend of my father, I trust
much to your judgement; I confide greatly in the sense of right
which nature has implanted in my own heart; I hope no false view,
no veiled passion, misleads me now, when most I desire to act well,
justly towards others, and towards myself: the catastrophe is in
the hands of that irresistible Power which guides us all; and, if
we fail, no weakness, no vain reproach, or worse treachery, shall
tarnish my defeat. Trust in me to the death."

CHAPTER XXXVI

ONE of the first effects of Euthanasia's entrance into the
conspiracy of Bondelmonti, was a journey from Florence to Lucca. It
was necessary for her to be there some time before the breaking out
of the plot, that she might be able to take the part allotted to
her. She quitted her native city with a heavy heart. It was at the
end of the month of November; and the lowering skies portended
rain, and the bare earth, stripped of its summer ornaments,
appeared chilled by the cold blast that passed over it. The olive
and ilex woods, and the few cork trees and cypresses, that grew on
the declivities of the hills, diversified the landscape with their
sober green: but they had a funereal appearance; they were as the
pall of the dying year, and the melancholy song of their waving
branches was its dirge.

Euthanasia's mind was no store-house of blithe thoughts. She
felt deeply the danger of the project in which she had embarked;
and yet its danger was one of the considerations that reconciled
her to it. To have encountered Castruccio with superior force, and
to have despoiled him of all power with security to herself, would
have been hateful to her feelings; and it appeared to her that in
acting such a part she would have merited the disapprobation of
mankind. But she approached the foundations of his power by a path
encompassed with danger; she groped through the murky air of night,
and owls and bats flitted before her, and flapped their wings in
her eyes; her footing was unsteady;--a precipice yawned on each
side, and the probable result of her undertaking was ignominy and
death. She felt all this. The name of Tripalda had extinguished in
her bosom every hope of success. She felt that the purity of her
intentions would excuse her in her own eyes; and she could then
endure with patience all of bitter and evil that might befall her.
She could not say in the words of the poet.

Roll on, the chariot-wheels of my dear plots. And bear mine ends
to their desired marks! As yet there's not a rub of wit, or
gulf of thought. No rocky misconstruction, thorny maze. Or other
let of any doubtfulness: As yet thy way is smooth and plain. Like
the green ocean in a silent calm.

No! the course she followed was a slippery path, that overhung a
chasm terrible as death: the sea on which she sailed was rife with
quicksands, and its breakers threatened instant destruction.

Sometimes the memory of her peaceful life at Florence obtruded
itself upon her, and more than that, her charitable occupations
when she attended the sick in that city, and whence, as from a
rough-hewn chalice containing nectarian drink, she had quaffed
happiness. Sometimes she reproached destiny that she had not fallen
a victim to her perilous exertions; but she endeavoured to shut out
these remembrances from her mind, to look before her and not
behind. What though dense clouds hid the future, and thunder
muttered above? she was borne on by a virtuous purpose, which would
be to her as the wings of an eagle, or the sure foot of the
precipice-walking chamois.

And then, if the enterprise succeeded, she would save
Castruccio. But for her he would be sacrificed by his insatiable
enemies. But her hand would avert their daggers, her voice bid them
"Hold!"--Her imagination pictured the whole scene. He
would be seized by his enemies, and expect death; he would be
conveyed aboard one of the vessels of the king of Naples; and she
would be there, to watch over and tend upon him. At first he might
repulse, perhaps spurn her: but patient forbearance, and her meek
demeanour would soften him; he would see the tears of her devotion;
he would hear her defence; and he would forgive her. They would
disembark on some lovely island on the sea of Baiae-- his prison. A
resting-place, whose walls would be the ocean, and whose bars and
locks the all-encompassing air--would be allotted to him on the
island of Ischia. Thence he would survey the land where the
philosophers of past ages lived; he would study their lessons; and
their wisest lore would descend into his soul, like the dews of
heaven upon the parched frame of the wanderer in the Arabian
deserts. By degrees he would love obscurity. They would behold
together the wondrous glories of the heavens, and the beauty of
that transparent sea, whose floor of pebbles, shells and weeds, is
as a diamond-paved palace of romance, shone on and illustrated as
it is by the sun's rays. He would see the flame arise from
Vesuvius, and behold afar off the smoke of the burning lava,--such
was the emblem of his former life; but he would then have become,
like the land he trod, an extinguished volcano; and the soil would
prove more fertile, more rich in beauty and excellence, than those
cold natures which had never felt the vivifying heat of mighty and
subdued passions.

Thus she dreamed; and thus she cheated herself into
tranquillity. She arrived at Pisa, where she was met by Orlando
Quartezzani, who explained to her much of the minutiæ of the plot,
and besought her to hasten its execution. "I pine, in
exile," he said, "still to behold that ungrateful tyrant
seated on a throne, which, if it be not formed of our skulls, yet
exists only to torture and destroy us. My brothers are tardy, those
Avogadii, lazy and inert. They are still at Lucca; they see its
fertile valleys; they live among its mountains. Sometimes indeed I
dare go to the top of the hill of San Giuliano, and behold its
towers almost at my feet: but I long to make one with my fellow-
citizens, to enter again into the lists of life."

Euthanasia quitted Pisa. She crossed the plain to the foot of
the hills, and passed along through Pugnano and Ripafrata. She was
very melancholy. How could it be otherwise? She had entered upon a
race, whose penalty was death, whose prize was yet hidden in the
mists of futurity;--it might turn out even more blighting and
terrible than death itself. But there was no room for retreat; the
path was narrow, and her chariot could not turn; she must fix her
eyes upon the goal, for be the consequence good or evil, she must
arrive there, she must there seek and find the fulfilment of her
destiny.

She entered Lucca at the beginning of the month of December; and
she went immediately to the palace which had been assigned her by
the Lucchese government, in compensation for her demolished castle.
The same evening that she arrived, the two chiefs of the
conspiracy, Ugo Quartezzani and Tripalda, visited her. The name of
Tripalda, so often and so fearfully repeated by the dying Beatrice,
made her shrink from all communication with one who had tarnished
his life with the foulest crimes. On this occasion she was obliged
however to smother her indignation; and he, from a sense of his own
importance, was more presumptuous and insolent than she had ever
seen him.

"Madonna," said he, stalking forward with an erect
mien, and half shut eyes, which, although they were not bent on the
ground, yet ever avoided the direct gaze of those to whom he
spoke;--"Madonna, I much praise your wisdom in entering into
this conspiracy. We all know that, when you choose to exert your
abilities, you are the cleverest woman in Tuscany. This is a period
which will shew you in your true colours."

"Messer Battista, let us leave to speak of me and my poor
talents: we come to talk of far weightier matter; and I bear a
message to Messer Ugo from his brother Orlando."

They now began to speak of the future; but Tripalda would allow
no one to talk but himself; and he walked up and down the room
delivering his opinion in a loud voice.

"Hush, for Jesu's sake!" cried Ugo, "some one
will overhear us, and we are all lost."

Tripalda looked suspiciously around, approached on tiptoe the
sofa on which Euthanasia and Ugo sat, and, speaking in a whisper,
he said,--"I tell you we shall succeed. Look! I have already
sharpened the dagger which is to stab the tyrant to the
heart."

"Now the Mother of God defend him!" cried Euthanasia,
turning pale: "that is beyond my contract. Bear witness, Ugo,
that I entered into this plot on condition that his life should be
saved."

"Women! women!" said Tripalda, contemptuously.
"By the body of Bacchus! I wonder what Bondelmonti meant by
introducing a woman into the plot. One way or another they have
spoiled, and ever will spoil, every design that the wisdom of man
has contrived. I say he must die."

"I say he shall not, Sir Priest. And remember, you are not
one who dares place your warrant on the life of Antelminelli. That
is guarded by spirits of whose very existence you are ignorant; it
is guarded by devoted love and disinterested virtue; and you shall
not endanger it."

"You indeed talk of spirits, of which I and all the wise
among men know nothing. In the present case I do not exactly see
what devoted love has to do with a conspiracy to overthrow the
party beloved; and as for disinterested virtue, all the virtue I
know any thing about bids me stab the tyrant. He shall
die."

"Nay, as you say that you understand me not, you may well
leave to speak of what dwells without the circle of your
intelligence. Are you not a priest? a man of peace? and dare you
avow such thoughts? They shame your profession; and, if any spark
of virtue dwelt within you, you would now blush as deep a red, as
your hands would shew, stained with that blood you think to
shed."

"Madonna," said Ugo, "you are now animated beyond
all prudence. Speak mildly; and Messer Tripalda will
yield."

"That will I not!" cried Tripalda, compressing his
thin lips, and elevating his high brows. "I have doomed him to
death; and he shall die. By my soul's salvation, he
shall!"

"Then is your soul lost, for he shall live."

The gentle modulation of Euthanasia's voice, now first
attuned to command, carried with it an irresistible force, while
she extended her fair arm in earnest gesture; then, calming
herself, she continued: "I entered into this conspiracy on one
condition; and I might well say, `If you keep not your words with
me, neither will I keep mine with you; if you betray me, so will I
betray you.' But I say not this; I have other means of
silencing this man. I know you, Tripalda; and you are well aware,
that I can see through the many folds which you have wound round
your heart. You oblige me to menace you. I can tell a tale,
Tripalda, a tale the knowledge of whose exceeding horror is
confined to your own polluted heart; but whose slightest sketch
would fill mankind with detestation, and your destruction would
quickly follow. Dare not even to imagine the death of Castruccio;
while he is safe, you are safe; otherwise you know what will
follow."

"So far from knowing, I cannot even guess your
meaning," replied Tripalda; but with a subdued voice and
humble manner. "In truth, Madonna, you speak enigmas to me.
But since you are resolved to save the life of the prince, so let
it be. But I suppose you will allow us to secure his
person."

Other books

DoG by Unknown
Off The Clock by Kenzie Michaels
Beaches by Iris Rainer Dart
Fatal by Arno Joubert
Words Fail Me by Patricia T. O'Conner
How I Fly by Anne Eliot
The Wolves of London by Mark Morris
Mistress Mommy by Faulkner, Carolyn, Collier, Abby