G. P. R. James
Leonora D'Orco
A Historical Romance
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066216498
Table of Contents
There is a mountain pass, not far from the shores of the Lago Maggiore, which has been famous of late years for anything but fêtes and festivals. There, many an unfortunate traveller has been relieved of the burden of worldly wealth, and sometimes of all earthly cares; and there, many a postillion has quietly received, behind an oak-tree or a chesnut, a due share of the day's earnings from a body of those Italian gentlemen whose life is generally spent in working upon the highways, either with a long gun in their hands or a chain round their middles.
But, dear reader, the times I speak of were centuries ago--those named "the good old times," though Heaven only knows why they were called "good."
The world was in a very strange state just then. The resurrection of art--the recovery of letters--the new birth of science, marked out the age as one of extraordinary development; but the state of society from which all these bright things sprang--flowers rising from a dunghill--was one of foul and filthy fermentation, where every wickedness that the corrupt heart of man can devise worked and travailed for the birth of better things. That pass, in those "good old times," saw every day as much high-handed wrong and ruthless bloodshed as any pass in all Italy at the present time.
But such was not destined to be the case upon the present occasion, though the times of which I write were the end of the fifteenth and the beginning of the sixteenth centuries. Guilt, and fraud, and even murder, often in those days covered themselves with golden embroidery and perfumed flowers; and, interposed between acts of violence, rapine, and destruction, were brilliant festivals, the luxurious banquet, and the merry dance.
Wickedness, like virtue, proposes to itself enjoyment for its object; and the Bible is right when, as it often does, it uses the word wisdom as synonymous with virtue, for in the wisdom of the means is the certainty of the attainment. But the men of those days, as if they felt--how could they avoid feeling?--the insecurity of the ground on which they based their endeavours for the acquisition of happiness, were content to take the distant and doubtful payment by instalments of fruition, and let the revel, the pageant, the debauch go to the great reckoning as so much gained, without thinking of the terrible per contra.
That pass was well fitted to afford a scene for many of the dealings of those or these days. There the robber might lurk perfectly concealed in the dark nooks and crannies of the rocks, to spring forth upon the unwary traveller when least prepared--there a handful of men might defend the passage against an army--there, the gay, happy party might raise the wild echo of the mountains to their joyous songs--and there the artist might linger for long hours, studying the fantastic shapes into which the ground has been thrown, and filling up the shadowy recesses with forms such as Rosa loved to draw.
For somewhat less than two miles, the road, which, even in those days, was a good and well-constructed highway, passed between two ranges of rocks. On one side--the left hand, going north--a stream ran by the side of the path, some twenty feet below its level; but the bank itself could be easily descended to the river, and the stream, though deep in some places, was easily to be crossed at others, where it spread out over fallen rocks and stones. But what was the use of crossing it? On the other side was no path, and nothing but tall, ragged cliffs, in some places upright and flat, as if they had been cut with a knife, in others assuming the most wild and fantastic forms. Here was a strange grinning face, of gigantic size, starting forth in stone from the surface of the cliff; there a whole statue standing out from the rocky mass, as if a sentinel guarding the pass; then would come a castle with towers and keep, ballium and barbican and all, and yet nought but mere rock, wrought by no hands but those of time, earthquake, and tempest. But every here and there, from pinnacle and point, or out of dell and cavern, would spring a dark pine or light green ash; and the sight of even vegetable life would harmonize the scene with human thoughts.
The average width of the bottom of the valley, including river and road, might be a hundred yards; but there was one place, nearly at the middle of the gorge--probably where, in ages far remote, before history or even tradition began, the stream, rushing new-born from the mountains, had paused in its course to gather strength ere it forced its way through the rocky barrier opposed to it--in which a little amphitheatre appeared, the mountains receding on either hand to let the river make a circuit round a low knoll and its adjacent meadow, some three hundred yards across. A clump of trees had gathered together on the top of the little hillock, the turf was short and smooth; the stream, though still rapid, and fretting at the fallen stones in its way, had less of the torrent-like turbulence which it displayed where the pass was narrower; now and then, too, it would lapse into a quiet, deep, unruffled pool, where the many-coloured rocks and pebbles at the bottom could be seen, glazed and brightened by its crystal waters; and the white clouds, floating over the deep blue Italian sky, would seem to pause, with curious pleasure, in their flight, to look down for a moment on that fair spot, amid so much stony ruggedness.
Through this wild gorge, toward noon of a soft but breezy spring day in the year of grace 1494, coming from the northwest, rode a gay, a numerous, and a brilliant party; too few, indeed, to constitute an army, but too many and too well armed to fear the attack of any party of banditti less in number than those great mercenary bands whose leisure in those days was seldom long enough to rob on their own account, so great was the demand for their services, in the same way, among the princes of the land. And yet the cavalcade of which I speak did not altogether assume a military aspect. It is true that the rear was brought up by a body of a couple of hundred lances, and that between these and those who rode foremost were a number of gentlemen, old and young, from beneath whose surcoats glanced corslet and cuissard, and who, though they rode with velvet cap on head and sometimes a hawk upon the wrist, had helmet, and lance, and shield near at hand, borne by gay and splendidly-dressed pages. But the most remarkable group had no warlike signs about it. All men but ecclesiastics and serfs, in those days, bore some kind of arms during their most peaceful avocations; and thus there were swords and daggers enough among the little party; but there were men in the robes of the Church--bishops, and archdeacons, and even a monk or two, while those of secular habit looked more like the carpet-treading, soft-lying children of a court than warriors born for strife and conquest.
Thrown a little in advance of the mass rode two men-at-arms, heavily harnessed, and behind them, at perhaps twenty paces distance, five or six others, lance in hand. Then, however, came the principal group, at the head of which, with a crimson velvet bonnet or round cap on his head, ornamented with a single large ruby clasping a long, thin feather, appeared, as it seemed, a mere youth. He was short in stature, and somewhat, though not remarkably, deformed; at least, the fall of his wide and fur-trimmed mantle concealed in a great degree the defect of symmetry in his figure. All, indeed, had been done that the tailor's courtly art could do to conceal it, and the eye was more inclined to rest upon the countenance than upon the form. The face was not very handsome, but there was a frank, bold expression about it which won upon the regard at first sight; and yet a certain look of suffering--the trace, as it seemed, of a struggle between a high courage and bodily infirmity--saddened his aspect. A mere passing stranger would have fixed the age of that young horseman probably