CHAPTER VII. THE SUMMONS FROM ROME
If Madonna Paola did not achieve quite all that she had promised me soreadily, yet she achieved more than from my acquaintance with the natureof Giovanni Sforza--and my knowledge of the deep malice he entertainedfor me--I should have dared to hope.
The Tyrant of Pesaro, as I was soon to learn, was greatly taken withthis fair cousin of his, whom that morning he had beheld for the firsttime. And being taken with her, it may be that Giovanni listened themore readily to her intercessions on my poor behalf. Since it was shewho begged this thing, he could not wholly refuse. But since he wasGiovanni Sforza, he could not wholly grant. He promised her that mylife, at least, should be secure, and that not only would he pardon me,but that he would have his own physician see to it that I was made soundagain. For the time, that was enough, he thought. First let them bringme back to life. When that was achieved, it would be early enough toconsider what course this life should take thereafter.
And she, knowing him not and finding him so kind and gracious, trustedthat he would perform that which he tricked her into believing that hepromised.
For some ten days I lay abed, feverish at first and later very weak fromthe great loss of blood I had sustained. But after the second day, whenmy fever had abated, I had some visitors, among whom was Madonna Paola,who bore me the news that her intercessions for me with the Lordof Pesaro were likely to bear fruit, and that I might look for myreinstatement. Yet, if I permitted myself to hope as she bade me; I didso none too fully.
My situation, bearing in mind how at once I had served and thwarted theends of Cesare Borgia, was perplexing.
Another visitor I had was Messer Magistri--the pompous seneschal ofPesaro--who, after his own fashion, seemed to have a liking for me, anda certain pity. Here was my chance of discharging the true errand onwhich I was returned.
"I owe thanks," said I, "to many circumstances for the sparing ofmy life; but above all people and all things do I owe thanks to ourgracious Lady Lucrezia. Do you think, Messer Magistri, that she wouldconsent to see me and permit me again to express the gratitude thatfills my heart?"
Mosser Magistri thought that he could promise this, and consentedto bear my message to her. Within the hour she was at my bedside anddivining that, haply, I had news to give her of the letter I had bornher brother, she dismissed Magistri who was in attendance.
Once we were alone her first words were of kindly concern for mycondition, delivered in that sweet, musical voice that was by no meansthe least charm of a princess to whom Nature had been prodigal of gifts.For without going to that length of exaggerated praise which some havebestowed--for her own ear, and with an eye to profit--upon MadonnaLucrezia, yet were I less than truthful if I sought to belittle herample claims to beauty. Some six years later than the time of which Iwrite she was met on the occasion of her entry into Ferrara by a certainclown dressed in the scanty guise of the shepherd Paris, who profferedher the apple of beauty with the mean-souled flattery that sincebeholding her he had been forced to alter his old-time judgment infavour of Venus.
He lied, like the brazen, self-seeking adulator that he was, and forwhich he should have been soundly whipped. Her nose was a shade toolong, her chin a shade too short to admit, even remotely, of suchcomparisons. Still, that she had a certain gracious beauty, as I havesaid, it is not mine to deny. There was an almost childish freshness inher face, an almost childish innocence in her fine gray eyes, and, aboveall, a golden and resplendent hair as brought to mind the tresses ofGod's angels.
That fair child--for no more than a child was she--drew a chair to mybedside.
There she sate herself, whilst I thanked her for her concern on mybehalf, and answered that I was doing well enough, and should be abroadagain in a day or two.
"Brave lad," she murmured, patting my hand, which lay upon the coverlet,as though she had been my sister and I anything but a Fool, "count meever your friend hereafter, for what you have done for Madonna Paola.For although it was my own family you thwarted, yet you did so to serveone who is more to me than any family, more than any sister could be."
"What I did, Madonna," I answered, "I did with the better heart since itopened out a way that was barred me, solved me a riddle which my Lord,your Illustrious brother, set me--one that otherwise might well haveovertaxed my wits."
"Ah?" Her gray eyes fell on me in a swift and searching glance, a glancethat revealed to the full their matchless beauty. Care seemed ofa sudden to have aged her face. The question of her eyes needed notranslation into words.
"The Lord Cardinal of Valencia entrusted me with a letter for you, inanswer to your own," I informed her, and from underneath my pillow Idrew the package, which during Magistri's absence I had abstracted frommy boot that I might have it in readiness when she came.
She sighed as she took it, and a wistful smile invested the corners ofher mouth.
"I had hoped he would have found better employment for you," she said.
"His Excellency promised that he would more fitly employ me in thefuture did I discharge this errand with secrecy and despatch. But byaiding Madonna Paola I have burned my boats against returning to claimthe redemption of that promise; though had it not been for Madonna Paolaand what I did, I scarce know how I should have penetrated here to you."
She broke the seal, and rising crossed to the window, where she stoodreading the letter, her back toward me. Presently I heard a stifledsob. The letter was crushed in her hand. Then moments passed ere sheconfronted me once more. But her manner as all changed; she was agitatedand preoccupied, and for all that she forced herself to talk of me andmy affairs, her mind was clearly elsewhere. At last she left me, nor didI see her again during the time I was confined to my bed.
On the eleventh day I rose, and the weather being mild and spring-like,I was permitted by my grave-faced doctor to take the air a little on theterrace that overlooks the sea. I found no garments but some suits ofmotley, and so, in despite of my repugnance now to reassume that garb, Ihad no choice but to array myself in one of these. I selected the leastgarish one--a suit of black and yellow stripes, with hose that was halfblack, half yellow, too; and so, leaning upon the crutch they had leftme, I crept forth into the sunlight, the very ghost of the man that Ihad been a fortnight ago.
I found a stone seat in a sheltered corner looking southward towardsAncona, and there I rested me and breathed the strong invigorating airof the Adriatic. The snows were gone, and between me and the wall sometwenty paces off--there was a stretch of soft, green turf.
I had brought with me a book that Madonna Lucrezia had sent me while Iwas yet abed. It was a manuscript collection of Spanish odes, withthe proverbs of one Domenico Lopez--all very proper nourishment fora jester's mind. The odes seemed to possess a certain quaintness, andamong the proverbs there were many that were new to me in framing andin substance. Moreover, I was glad of this means of improving myacquaintance with the tongue of Spain, and I was soon absorbed. Soabsorbed, indeed, as never to hear the footsteps of the Lord Giovanni,when presently he approached me unattended, nor to guess at his presenceuntil his shadow fell athwart my page. I raised my eyes, and seeing whoit was I made shift to get on my feet; but he commanded me to remainseated, commenting sympathetically upon my weak condition.
He asked me what I read, and when I had told him, a thin smile flutteredacross his white face.
"You choose your reading with rare judgment," said he. "Read on, andprime your mind with fresh humour, prepare yourself with new conceitsfor our amusement against the time when health shall be more fullyrestored you."
It was in such words as these that he intimated to me that I waspardoned, and reinstated--as the Fool of the Court of Pesaro. That wasto be the sum of his clemency. We were precisely where we had been. Oncebefore had he granted me my life on condition that I should amuse him;he did no more than repeat that mercy now. I stared at him in wonder,open-mouthed, whereit he laughed.
"You are agreeably surprised, my Boccadoro?" said he, his fin
gersstraying to his beard as was his custom. "My clemency is no more thanyou deserve in return for the service you have rendered to the House ofSforza." And he patted my head as though I had been one of his dogs thathad borne itself bravely in the chase.
I answered nothing. I sat there as if I had been a part of the stonefrom which my seat was hewn, for I lacked the strength to rise andstrangle him as he deserved--moreover, I was bound by an oath, which itwould have damned my soul to break, never to raise my hand against him.
And then, before he could say more, two ladies issued from the doorwayon my right. They were Madonna Lucrezia and Madonna Paola. Upon espyingme they hastened forward with expressions of pleased surprise at seeingme risen and out, and when I would have got to my feet they stayed meas Giovanni had done. Madonna Paola's words seemed addressed to heavenrather than to me, for they were words of thanksgiving for this recoveryof my strength.
"I have no thanks," she ended warmly, "that can match the deeds by whichyou earned them, Messer Biancomonte."
My eyes drifting to Giovanni's face surprised its sudden darkening.
"Madonna Paola," said he, in an icy voice, "you have uttered a name thatmust not be heard within my walls of Pesaro, if you would prove yourselfthe friend of Boccadoro. To remind me of his true identity is to remindme of that which counts not in his favour."
She turned to regard him, a mild surprise in her blue eyes.
"But, my lord, you promised--" she began.
"I promised," he interposed, with an easy smile and manner never sodeprecatory, "that I would pardon him, grant him his life and restorehim to my favour."
"But did you not say that if he survived and was restored to strengthyou would then determine the course his life should take?"
Still smiling, he produced his comfit-box, and raised the lid.
"That is a thing he seems to have determined for himself," he answeredsmoothly--he could be smooth as a cat upon occasion, could this bastardof Costanzo Sforza. "I came upon him here, arrayed as you beholdhim, and reading a book of Spanish quips. Is it not clear that he haschosen?"
Between thumb and forefinger he balanced a sugar-crusted comfit ofcoriander seed steeped in marjoram vinegar, and having put his questionhe bore the sweet-meat to his mouth. The ladies looked at him, and fromhim to me. Then Madonna Paola spoke, and there seemed a reproachfulwonder in her voice.
"Is this indeed your choice?" she asked me.
"It is the choice that was forced on me," said I, in heat. "They left meno garment save these of folly. That I was reading this book it pleasesmy lord to interpret into a further sign of my intentions."
She turned to him again, and to the appeal she made was joined that ofMadonna Lucrezia. He grew serious and put up his hand in a gesture ofrare loftiness.
"I am more clement than you think," said he, "in having done so much.For the rest, the restoration that you ask for him is one involvingpolitical issues you little dream of. What is this?"
He had turned abruptly. A servant was approaching, leading amud-splashed courier, whom he announced as having just arrived.
"Whence are you?" Giovanni questioned him.
"From the Holy See," answered the courier, bowing, "with letters for theHigh and Mighty Lord Giovanni Sforza, Tyrant of Pesaro, and his noblespouse, Madonna Lucrezia Borgia."
He proffered his letters as he spoke, and Giovanni, whose brow had grownovercast, took them with a hand that seemed reluctant. Then bidding theservant see to the courier's refreshment, he dismissed them both.
A moment he stood, balancing the parchments a if from their weight hewould infer the gravity of their contents; and the affairs of Boccadorowere, there and then, forgotten by us all. For the thought that roseuppermost in our minds--saving always that of Madonna Lucrezia--was thatthese communications concerned the sheltering of Madonna Paola, and werea command for her immediate return to Rome. At last Giovanni handed hiswife the letter intended for her, and, in silence, broke the seal of hisown.
He unfolded it with a grim smile, but scarce had he begun to read whenhis expression softened into one of terror, and his face grew ashen.Next it flared crimson, the veins on his brow stood out like ropes, andhis eyes flashed furiously upon Madonna Lucrezia. She was reading, herbosom rising and falling in token of the excitement that possessed her.
"Madonna," he cried in an awful voice, "I have here a command from theHoly See to repair at once to Rome, to answer certain charges that arepreferred against me relating to my marriage. Madonna, know you aught ofthis?"
"I know, sir," she answered steadily, "that I, too, have here a lettercalling me to Rome. But there is no reason given for the summons."
Intuitively it flashed across my mind that whatever the matter mightbe, Madonna Lucrezia had full knowledge of it through the letter I hadbrought her from her brother.
"Can you conjecture, Madonna, what are these charges to which my lettervaguely alludes?" Giovanni was inquiring.
"Your pardon, but the subject is scarcely of a nature to permitdiscussion in the castle courtyard. Its character is intimate."
He looked at her very searchingly, but for all that he was a man ofalmost twice her years, her wits were more than a match for his, andhis scrutiny can have told him nothing. She preserved a calm, unruffledfront.
"In five minutes, Madonna," said he, very sternly, "I shall be honouredif you will receive me in your closet."
She inclined her head, murmuring an unhesitating assent. Satisfied, hebowed to her and to Madonna Paola--who had been looking on with eyesthat wonder had set wide open--and turning on his heel he strode brisklyaway. As he passed into the castle, Madonna Lucrezia heaved a sigh androse.
"My poor Boccadoro," she cried, "I fear me your affairs must wait awhile. But think of me always as your friend, and believe that if I canprevail upon my brother to overlook the ill-turn you did him when youentered the service of this child"--and she pointed to Madonna Paola--"Ishall send for you from Rome, for in Pesaro I fear you have little tohope for. But let this be a secret between us."
From those words of hers I inferred, as perhaps she meant I should, thatonce she left Pesaro to obey her father's summons, our little northernstate was to know her no more. Once again, only, did I see her, on theoccasion of her departure, some four days later, and then but for amoment. Back to Pesaro she came no more, as you shall learn anon; butbehind her she left a sweet and fragrant memory, which still enduresthough many years are sped and much calumny has been heaped upon hername.
I might pause here to make some attempt at refuting the base falsehoodsthat had been bruited by that time-serving vassal Guicciardini,and others of his kidney, whom the upstart Cardinal Giuliano dellaRovere--sometime pedlar--in his jealous fury at seeing the covetedpontificate pass into the family of Borgia, bought and hired to do hisloathsome work of calumny and besmirch the fame of as sweet a lady asItaly has known. But this poor chronicle of mine is rather concernedwith the history of Madonna Paola di Santafior, and it were a divergencewell-nigh unpardonable to set my pen at present to that other task.Moreover, there is scarce the need. If any there be who doubt me, or iffuture generations should fall into the error of lending credence to thelies of that villain Guicciardini, of that arch-villain Giuliano dellaRovere, or of other smaller fry who have lent their helot's pens toweave mendacious records of her life, dubbing her murderess, adulteress,and Heaven knows what besides--I will but refer them to the archivesof Ferrara, whose Duchess she became at the age of one-and-twenty, andwhere she reigned for eighteen years. There shall it be found recordedthat she was an exemplary, God-fearing woman; a faithful and honouredwife; a wise, devoted mother; and a princess, beloved and esteemed byher people for her piety, her charity and her wisdom. If such records asare there to be read by earnest seekers after truth be not sufficient toconvince, and to reveal those others whom I have named in the light oftheir true baseness, then were it idle for me to set up in these pages apassing refutation of the falsehoods which it has grieved me so often tohear repeated.
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It was two days later that the Lord Giovanni set out for Rome, obedientto the command he had received. But before his departure--on the eve ofit, to be precise--there arrived at Pesaro a very wonderful and handsomegentleman. This was the brother of Madonna Paola, the High and MightyLord Filippo di Santafior. He had had a hint in Rome that his connivanceat his sister's defiant escape was suspected at the Vatican, and hehad wisely determined that his health would thrive better in a northernclimate for a while.
A very splendid creature was this Lord Filippo, all shimmeringvelvet, gleaming jewels, costly furs and glittering gold. His facewas effeminate, though finely featured, and resembled, in much, hissister's. He rode a cream-coloured horse, which seemed to have beensteeped in musk, so strongly was it scented. But of all his affectationsthe one with which I as taken most was to see one of his grooms approachhim when he dismounted, to dust his wondrous clothes down to his shoes,which he wore in the splayed fashion set by the late King of France whowas blessed with twelve toes on each of his deformed feet.
The Lord Giovanni, himself not lacking in effeminacy, was greatly takenby the wondrous raiment, the studied lisp and the hundred affectationsof this peerless gallant. Had he not been overburdened at the time bythe Papal business that impended, he might there and then have cementedthe intimacy which was later to spring up between them. As it was, hemade him very welcome, and placed at his and his sister's disposalthe beautiful palace that his father had begun, and he, himself, hadcompleted, which was known as the Palazza Sforza. On the morrow Giovannileft Pesaro with but a small retinue, in which I was thankful not to beincluded.
Two days later Madonna Lucrezia followed her husband, the fact that theyjourneyed not together, seeming to wear an ominous significance. Hereyes had a swollen look, such as attends much weeping, which afterwardsI took as proof that she knew for what purpose she was going, and wasmoved to bitter grief at the act to which her ambitious family wasconstraining her.
After their departure things moved sluggishly at Pesaro. The noblesof the Lord Giovanni's Court repaired to their several houses in theneighboring country, and save for the officers of the household theplace became deserted.
Madonna Paola remained at the Sforza Palace, and I saw her only onceduring the two mouths that followed, and then it was about the streets,and she had little more than a greeting for me as she passed. At herside rode her brother, a splendid blaze of finery, falcon on wrist.
My days were spent in reading and reflection, for there was naught elseto do. I might have gone my ways, had I so wished it, but something keptme there at Pesaro, curious to see the events with which the time wasgrowing big.
We grew sadly stagnant during Lent, and what with the uneventful courseof things, and the lean fare proscribed by Mother Church, it was a verydispirited Boccadoro that wandered aimlessly whither his dulling fancytook him. But in Holy Week, at last, we received an abrupt stir whichset a whirlpool of excitement in the Dead Sea of our lives. It was thesudden reappearance of the Lord Giovanni.
He came alone, dust-stained and haggard, on a horse that dropped deadfrom exhaustion the moment Pesaro was reached, and in his pallid cheekand hollow eye we read the tale of some great fear and some disaster.
That night we heard the story of how he had performed the feat of ridingall the way from Rome in four-and-twenty hours, fleeing for his lifefrom the peril of assassination, of which Madonna Lucrezia had warnedhim.
He went off to his Castle of Gradara, where he shut himself up with thetrouble we could but guess at, and so in Pesaro, that brief excitementspent, we stagnated once again.
I seemed an anomaly in so gloomy a place, and more than once did I thinkof departing and seeking out my poor old mother in her mountain home,contenting myself hereafter with labouring like any honest villano bornto the soil. But there ever seemed to be a voice that bade me stayand wait, and the voice bore a suggestion of Madonna Paola. But whydissemble here? Why cast out hints of voices heard, supernatural intheir flavour? The voice, I doubt not, was just my own inclination,which bade me hope that once again it might be mine to serve that lady.
An eventful year in the history of the families of Sforza and Borgia wasthat year of grace 1497.
Spring came, and ere it had quite grown to summer we had news of theassassination of the Duke of Gandia, and the tale that he was done todeath by his elder brother, Cesare Borgia; a tale which seemed to lackfor reasonable substantiation, and which, despite the many voices thatmake bold to noise it broadcast, may or may not be true.
In that same month of June messages passed between Rome and Pesaro, andgradually the burden of the messages leaked out in rumours that PopeAlexander and his family were pressing the Lord Giovanni to consent to adivorce. At last he left Pesaro again; this time to journey to Milan andseek counsel with his powerful cousin, Lodovico, whom they called "TheMoor." When he returned he was more sulky and downcast than ever, and atGradara he lived in an isolation that had been worthy of a hermit.
And thus that miserable year wore itself out, and, at last, in December,we heard that the divorce was announced, and that Lucrezia Borgia wasthe Tyrant of Pesaro's wife no more. The news of it and the reasonsthat were put forward as having led to it were roared across Italy ina great, derisive burst of laughter, of which the Lord Giovanni was theunfortunate and contemptible butt.