CHAPTER II.
THE DUCHESS IN SAFETY.
Emerging from the gallery, the Duchess uttered a faint cry, and wouldhave shrunk back again on seeing some dark figures stealthilyapproaching; but they proved to be only two of her own servants, eachwith a led horse, on which she and Cynthia were speedily mounted, and ontheir way to Vallecorsa.
Meantime a desperate conflict was raging in the town and castle, led onby the fiery Barbarossa himself, his lieutenant Dragut, and the renegadeSinan, the most relentless of his corsairs. Again and again resounds thecry "Where is the Duchess, ye Christian dogs?"--"Out of your reach!"they shout back; and a volley of stones descends from the battlements.Defence is vain; the gates are forced in, the assailants pour throughthe rooms, and, disappointed of their prey, hack and spoil the richfurniture, and carry off what comes ready to hand. Faithful retainersare cut down; others have their hands tied and are carried off to besold into slavery; among them, a youth called Tebaldo Adimari, the prideand hope of Fondi.
Day was breaking when the corsairs, laden with booty, drew off from thetown in good order and formidable numbers, leaving very few of theirparty behind them. The little town was sick and gasping. Here and therewere low wails and continuous sobbings in-doors. Here and there a hollowgroan from some ditch. Here and there a broken scimitar, an unrolledturban, a pool of blood. Monks now began to steal forth in couples fromthe Dominican convent in which St. Thomas Aquinas had taught theology.They went to shrive the dying, bury the dead, and console the bereaved.A Jewish physician, with a couple of Hebrew servants, was also engagedin offices of benevolence; causing some to be carefully removed; bindingup the wounds of others on the spot. The peril of the Duchess--thoughshe escaped unscathed--caused great commiseration and excitement at thetime. The death and captivity of the nobodies elicited a slight shudderor a shrug, and was passed over.
Cautiously the withered face of the Mother-of-the-maids peered forthfrom the cellar-door when all was quiet; and fearfully issued forth thetrain of scared, bewildered females who had taken shelter under herwing. They were relieved to find themselves alive and safe; butlamentations soon succeeded gratulations. Isaura's betrothed had beencarried away captive; Tonina's father lay stark and stiff. As for the_cameriera_, she was weeping herself blind to find the Duchess's roomransacked, the mirror smashed, the gowns tossed like hay, the picturesstabbed, and many of the properties made booty of. She smote her breastand wrung her hands to that degree that it was dreadful to see her.
The news of the attack reaching Rome, Cardinal Ippolito de' Medici, whowas much more of a warrior than a churchman, hastened to the rescue witha troop of horse.
Meanwhile, a messenger from Vallecorsa brought a billet from theDuchess.
"Are the wretches gone? Have they done much harm? I have nothing to puton. Is anybody hurt? I suppose I may come back?"
As everybody was at sixes and sevens without the Duchess, a council washeld, the Dominican prior was consulted, evidence was heard, and it wasfinally reported that the Paynims had made off, _via_ Itri, and put tosea.
On this, back came the Duchess, in very miscellaneous toilette; and shewas met by a general turn-out of the people of Fondi--a rough,wild-looking set at their best, poor creatures! furnishing more thantheir due quota, then as now, to the briganti. In the midst were twobiers, supporting the corpses of men who had been slain in the lateattack, and borne by monks, while the populace confusedly pressed aroundthem, beating their breasts, tearing their hair, and filling the airwith their lamentations. These were redoubled at sight of the Duchess,whose tender heart melted at the scene. The sight of their liege-lady intears redoubled their woe; they closed round her, kissing her dress,hands, and feet, recounting their losses, and each doing his possible toprove himself more in want of solace than the rest. She condoled withall, promised monetary restitution to the living and masses for thedead; and, to crown all, proceeded straight to church to give thanksfor her deliverance and pray for the souls of the slain. Then shere-entered her castle in a chastened frame of mind.
"Caterina," said she to her old nurse, "how little we know what a fewhours may bring forth! It seems an age since yesterday. What a turn itgave me when Cynthia first shrieked out! By the way, do you think shewas really frightened?"
"Really frightened, Eccellenza?"
"Yes. Do you not think it possible she might be glad the Moors werelanding and might carry her off?"
"Barbarossa, Signora?"
"Well, I know it was Barbarossa; but still he was her own countryman,and--"
"I do not think she would acknowledge Barbarossa for a countryman,Illustrissima. She claims descent from the old Moors of Grenada--fromthe Abencerrages."
"Oh, yes, she may claim descent, and call herself a princess and allthat. They all do, I believe. You should have seen her look when I toldher Mahound was a false prophet--"
"She's very touchy about that, I well know," said Caterina.
"Touchy? Why, I believe she prays to him still--swears by him at anyrate. There is no sounding the depths of these Paynims."
"I believe you would find great love for yourself in the depths ofCynthia's heart,--poor, darkened young thing--if you could sound it,Signora."
"Ah, but unfortunately, I cannot; and she behaved very improperly to mein the cavern."
"You shock me, Illustrissima!"
"She thrust the lamp into my hand, saying: 'Hold the light!' andstamped!"
"Inconceivable! Abominable!" ejaculated Caterina. "What could she havebeen thinking of?"
"And she brandished a dagger! Not to kill me, but telling me to kill_her_. So uncalled for!"
"I fear I must give her up," said Caterina, "though Perez lent her thedagger to defend you, and she has returned it. I was beginning to growfond of her. She must be corrected, Signora."
"Well, truly, I think she must. Let me speak to her first. I dare sayshe is as hard as a stone. Call her."
To the Duchess's surprise, when Cynthia was brought to the bar ofjustice, and accused of _lese-majeste_, she at once pleaded guilty,saying her proud heart sometimes got the better of her; and kneelingdown, kissed the hem of her mistress's garment, in token of submission.This appeased the placable Giulia, who contented herself with askingwhat business she had with pride.
"You doubted my fidelity, Leila," said Cynthia. "No one must doubt thefidelity of an Abencerrage."
"Tut! how do I know that you are an Abencerrage?" said the Duchesslightly. "And what are the Abencerrages, or any other Moors, in the eyesof Christians?"
"They may be nothing now, but they were something once," said Cynthiaproudly; without rising, however, from her knees; or rather, sittingupon her heels. "While the western Caliphate lasted, the Christians werefew and straggling in the land; and the mountains of Spain echoed backthe cry of the muezzins: 'There is no God but God, and Mahomet is hisprophet!'"
"Ah, profanity!" exclaimed the Duchess, in disgust; and at the sameinstant, her seneschal, bowing low, announced to her the arrival ofCardinal Ippolito de' Medici. The Cardinal was already standing in thedoorway, noting at his leisure, and with admiration, the contrastbetween Giulia's high-born beauty and that of the dusky Moorish girl ather feet.
He then advanced, with the mien of a prince and the tread of a soldier,and said:
"Your peril compelled me to fly to your succour. I have brought a troopof horse, and will not leave you till danger and alarm be past."
"How very good of you!" said the Duchess. "I was, indeed, sorelyscared--"
"Fear no more," said he. "No harm shall reach you but through myself."
"How very good of you," repeated the Duchess. "I was, indeed, as I said,sorely scared; but all danger, and even the fear of it, is now over--"
"That is more than you can tell," interrupted the Cardinal, "and sinceyou, the noblest and fairest lady in Italy, are so utterly unprotected,I shall make your safety my care as long as Barbarossa is off thecoast."
"Though I hope to have no need of you as a guard, you are mos
t welcomeas a guest," said the Duchess. Then, addressing her seneschal, she said,"Let suitable apartments be instantly prepared for his Eminence and alsofor his suite, and provide good quarters for his Eminence's troops andgood stabling for their horses--"
"I lodge with the Dominicans," interrupted the Cardinal, "and the Priorwill tell me where to bestow my men--"
"Nay, then," said the Duchess, "direct immediate refection to be servedfor his Eminence, and bid the Prior and a few select friends to supper;to wit, Sertorio Pepe and his sister, Madonna Bianca, the Abate Siffrediand the Abate Vincenzo."
The seneschal bowed low and withdrew.
"Giulia," said the Cardinal, reproachfully, "I am unwelcome."
"On the contrary, you are most welcome," said she; "but I seek to gracemy guest, and distrust my own powers of entertainment. You find us insad disorder, but I will send a line to the Bishop--"
"Pray do nothing so unnecessary, so unwished for--Ah, Giulia! it wasnot thus I hoped you would welcome me! You will never understand that Iam your true friend, and prefer your conversation to that of any oneelse. Your welfare, your safety, are dear to me; and yet you alwaysdistrust me."
"How can you say so?" said she, dropping her eyes.
"How, indeed, save that you always betray it! Come, cannot we befriends?" said he, pleasantly. "Once we might have been more, and nowneed we be less?"
"By no means, Cardinal, and--"
"I am always Ippolito, to _you_--"
"By no means, Cardinal; I enjoy using your title, it is so noble, soimposing, it becomes you so well. You have taken a decided part at last,and I esteem you all the more for it. Your learning and genius willadorn your high vocation. What influence you now possess! how many lookup to you! Surely your position must be an enviable one?"
A complex expression crossed his face, as he said, with emphasis,
"Very! And yours?"
"Oh, mine is what it has long been. It has its lights and its shadows."
"Shadows?"
"Not very dark ones, certainly; but three-fourths of my life are spentin a sort of dull twilight, that is--infinitely melancholy!"
"Whence proceeds that melancholy?"
"I know not. My natural disposition, perhaps. I have everything I canwant or wish, yet it sometimes seems to me that there is only one thingto reconcile us to life--"
"What is that?"
"The fear of death."
"Just so," said he, abruptly.
"Can you, a churchman, tell me how to overcome that fear?"
"There is no fear of your dying--"
"Die I must, soon or late! Death comes to all. Can you, a churchman,tell me how to meet it?"
"Surely, surely! The Church has provided supports. There are thesacraments. There is absolution. There is extreme unction."
"I do not know how these may support me when the time comes. Meanwhilethey do not remove the fear of death."
He looked at her earnestly for a moment, and was about to speak, butrefrained. At the same time, the customary refection of wine andcomfits was brought in by two of the Duchess's damsels, while a thirdbrought a golden ewer of rose-water, and a fourth a basin andgold-fringed napkin. The duenna and Moorish girl were embroidering atone of the windows.
When the girls had withdrawn, the Cardinal and Duchess resumed theirconversation, like two old and familiar friends, who had at some formerperiod seen a good deal more of one another than of late.
He spoke of Hayraddin Barbarossa's descent upon Fondi, and minutelyinquired into the particulars, and the amount of damage done. He endedwith "Well, a wilful woman must have her way. All this may happen again,and with a worse end."
"Please do not frighten me," said the Duchess. "It is very unkind."
"I mean it for kindness, for I want to put you on your guard."
"I shall be on my guard now. My poor people have suffered sufficientlyto be on the alert. And I have long thought I should like to winter atNaples. Now I have a sufficient reason for going."
"The sooner the better. Giulia, how you surprised me just now by whatyou said! How can one so good, so blameless as you are, be afraid ofdeath? You have never done anything wrong. I cannot conceive you ever tohave offended God, even in thought. Can _you_, then, be afraid to meetHim?"
"Ah! I am always shy of strangers; and, to me, God is such astranger!--"
"But you _believe_ in Him, do not you? You believe that He _is_?"
"Of course! But that is so little!"
The Cardinal looked as if he thought it a good deal.
"Your nerves are weak," said he, after a pause. "Your organisation istoo delicate. I should advise you to dwell as little as you can onthese things."
"Oh, I speak of them to _no_ one. I don't know how I came to do so now.Only, I suppose, because you are a friend and a churchman."
"I _like_ you so to speak. Say on."
"Why, then, I will add that, apart from this fear of death, whichsometimes thrills me, and especially did so last night, is a far morepermanent feeling--a desire for some higher good. An intensedissatisfaction with myself and with all the things of this life."
"Do you really suppose that that feeling is peculiar to yourself?Everybody has it!--everybody who thinks and feels. I myself suffermartyrdom from it."
"Can you--a churchman--prescribe its remedy?"
"There are two ways," said the Cardinal, after a pause, "in which youmay overcome it. In the first case, you must fast, you must pray, youmust keep painful vigils, you must perform pilgrimages barefoot, youmust deny yourself every innocent enjoyment, you must bestow all yourpossessions on the Church--"
"Hold, hold, I can never do all that," interrupted the Duchess. "Tell mesome other way, I beseech you, of remedying the weariness of life andthe fear of death."
"The only other way," said he, hurriedly, "is to take the world as youfind it; enjoy the passing hour, indulge every innocent desire, and--letcome what may."
"Is there no other course?"
"None, Giulia, none! There is no middle path.[5] You must choose foryourself."
[5] Non c' e mezzo termine.
"Of course I know which I ought to choose," said she, sorrowfully. "Butto give up _all_--and to the Church!--ah! this Church must have charmsfor you that she has not for me!"
"I am not very deeply in love with her," said the Cardinal, attentivelyregarding his nails. "But my part is taken and I will play it out. Come,shall we talk of something pleasanter?"
"Yes, and, some of these days, I will try this better way you pointout--this watching, this fasting; only I know beforehand, I shall notcarry it out."
"No good in trying then."
"I am afraid you are right. I so dread the world's laugh! And I sodislike doing what is disagreeable!"
"Why on earth should you, then?" said he briskly.
"Ay, why indeed?" said she, laughing and changing the subject.Afterwards she thought, "What an answer for a priest! I was a goose tosay so much to him. I will not do so again."