L I n> R A RY OF THt U N I V ER5 ITY or ILLI NOIS THE POPE A NOVEL. BY AN OLD AUTHOR, IN A NEW WALK. " I speak not of men's creeds : they rest between Man and his Maker."— Byron. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. L LONDON: SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT- STREET. 1840. DKNSLEY, PRINTER. ^2 3 BHl.3p ^.i PREFACE. " We speak not of men's creeds : they rest between Man and his Maker." Such is our motto. We think the pages of a novel unsuited to polemical discussions. We could not, indeed, have introduced any into the following narrative which would have afforded interest to the English Reader : for the period to which it refers is anterior to the Reformation in England. Luther had but just commenced teach- ing in Germany. The few sentences, in which his doctrines are alluded to, are. 11 PREFACE. necessarily, in conformity with the known sentiments of the speakers. Having given a hst of our principal Dramatis Personae, we need not add that the ground-work of our narrative is strictly historical. Yet have we striven not to encroach upon the province of the regular historian : we have not recorded any public event which did not influence our final catastrophy. A novel is, or ought to be, essentially a work of entertainment. It cannot be made a royal road to knowledge. But may it not be so based upon recorded facts as to allure many who object to the trivialities of the merely fashionable novel, and to enable those who read solely for entertainment to renew the memory of important historical events without finding those events check their pursuit after enter- tainment ? In reviewing a recent publication, PREFACE. iii The Times newspaper has expressed our view of the matter in language which we are glad to quote : — ** The main ohject ol art," says the reviewer, " is to please, not to convey instruction, moral, historical or of any other kind. If instruction can be con- veyed without impediment to the main design, if a certain course of historical events chance to fall in so pleasing an order that the artist cannot do better than take them up as they are, well and good ; but these are merely the chances, not the es- sentials of art." We have endeavoured to select an epoch in which these " chances" should be abundantly offered to us. If we have failed, it can be from no lack of histo- rical materials : for we have most daringly involved ourselves in what Shelley calls " the episodes of that cyclic poem written by time upon the memories of men." IV PREFACE. One word more as to the character of our chief Personage, Clement VII : — we had endeavoured to pourtray it such as the history of the times represents it to us : and the recent pubhcation in EngUsh of Ranke's talented history has given us the very sa- tisfactory assurance that the sources from which we had drawn our impressions had, in no single instance, misled us ; had, in no single instance, induced us to represent the Pontiff in colours different from those in which he is revealed to the minute and searching enquiries of the historian. June 13, \yiU). PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS INTRODUCED. Clement VII, reigning Pontiff. Francis I, King of France. The Duke of Bouubon. Ferdinand d'Avalos, Marquis of Pescara. ViTTORiA, daughter of Colonna, his wife. Hilda Colonna, her friend. The Chevalier Bayard. Sir Maurice Tilton, Envoy of Cardinal Wolsey Warren de Whittinoham, his friend. Anselmo, a crazy hermit. Moninna Stella, a Roman girl. Raffaelle Monza, a trooper. Don Domenico de Massimi, a rich miser. GiULiETTA, Geacinta, Francesco, his children. Colonel Maldonato, a Spanish Condottierre. Barone dello Sguardo, a noble bandit. ScHOMBERG, ArchblsJiop of Capua, ) Counsellors of GiBERTo, i^w/top of Verona. J Clement. Benvenuto Cellini. Mich^l-Anoelo Buonarotti. GiULio Romano. Correoio. ViDA. Bembo. Sadoleti. Fra Giovanni, a lay brother. Charles de Lanoie, Viceroy of Naples. MoRONE, Chancellor of Milan. Cardinals Cajipeggio, Farnese, Orsim, ice. THE POPE CHAPTER I. [THE PILGRIMS Ave Maria ! blessed be the hour The time, the clime, the spot were I so oft Have felt that moment in its fullest power Sink o'er the earth so beautiful and soft, While swung the deep bell in the distant tower. Or the faint dying day hymn stole aloft. And not a breath crept through the rosy air. And yet the forest leaves seemed stirr'd with prayer. Btron. " Blessed be God for having made so beauti- ful a prospect ! I tell thee, Maurice," said a youusT pilgrim to his companion as they lightly bounded, from rock to rock, adown one of the rugged paths which, stretching from the valley of Aoust towards the East, was, at that time, one of the most frequented VOL. I. B THE I'lLGRIMS. tracks across the now-mucadamised Alps — '* I tell thee, Maurice, that I envy thee thy ten yeais' seniority of me, for that they have enabled thee often to visit before now this magnificent country." ** Nay, Warren ; this is but my third journey to Italy. But I confess that I am not sorry that our bluff Kin^ Harry knows his own mind so little that the Cardinal is obliged to send me once more on a secret mission. That, however, must be a secret, even to thee : not but that I believe a man of eisrhteen to be quite as deserving of confidence as one of thirty : — he is innocent of the wicked ways of us men of honour and of the world." '• Halt, halt, Maurice Tilton ;" exclaimed Warren de Whittingham as they turned round an advancing buttress of the mountain. *' A truce to argument. Let mine eyes drink in this glorious scene !" (Jlorious, indeed, was the scene spread out l)cforc the young men, as they seated them- selves on a ledge of rock to admire ! Who THE PILGRIMS. 3 lias not paused in rapture as the view of the Borrommcan lake and islands first opened belore him ! Behind our travellers, all was bleak, cold, and barren : before them, almost beneath their feet, verdant shores enclosed a lake of crystal, whose waters glistened in the setting" sun as they reflected the leaf- tutted islets which dotted, in the distance, their smiling- surface. Many a fisherman's skift' spread its white sail to the evening breeze, as it bounded to its island home. Many a labourer toiled, with his cream-co- loured steer and his lumbering wain, over the vine-covered hills of the undulating shore. The evening bell faintly tolled from the tower in the Fisherman's Island, and summoned ail to doff their bonnets and repeat the " Angelus'' prayer. The scarcely audible notes of a bugle, which iiad ascended, at times, from the Isola Bella, were silenced at the sound. The lofty turret of the parish church of Arona loudly echoed back the summons which the Fisherman's Island had first given. The belfry B 2 4 THE PILGRIMS. of the embattled castle clanged forth the ap- peal ; and many an embowered church on the banks of the Ticino river prolonged the strain. Further and further, faintly and more faint did it arise from the many churches that studded the vast plain of Arona ; till the air seemed to have become vocal with the sum- mons to prayer and the gentle breathings of cheerful thousands, who, pausing in their several employments, repeated, during a few moments, the same supplication. Our two pilgrims stood up, and joined in the prayer of the christian world. Again the sound of the bugle arose : again Warren de Whittingham uplifted his head. The clash of arms was heard at no great distance. " This way, Tilton," he cried ; " down in that ravine !" and he bounded away. ** If we arc to turn aside," muttered Tilton, " to join in every brawl within ear-shot, good coats of mail would have stood us in better stead than these pilgrim weeds. However, he THE PILGRIMS. 5 will soon tiro of such knight errantry in Italy." Thus consoling himself, Maurice Tilton slowly followed his less calculating com- panion. In a sheltered lane, worn deep between over- hanging banks, he soon came upon the party the noise of whose contest had struck upon his ear. A third pilgrim — in those days, n(»t only were real pilgrims frequent, but the garb Mas often assumed by travellers who wished to pass unquestioned and unnoticed — a third pilgrim was defending himself, with a short rapier, the use of which was then general amongst the gentry of France, from the at- tack of five soldiers clad in steel caps and iron back and breast pieces, who, with battle- axe and dagger, pressed hard upon him. The pilgrim stood with his shoulders to the over- hanging bank ; and wielded his weapon with a grace, dexterity, and dignity which Tilton had rarely seen equalled. One of the as- sailants fell at that moment, pierced through 6 THE PILGRIMS. the body : and de Whittingham was closing with a second. It needed no further glance to call forth all Maurice Tilton's exertions : he sped forwards, uplifting, as he went, his pilgrim frock, and drawing forth a rapier like that used by the other two. This time, how- ever, there was no occasion to employ it : the ruffians, seeing a further addition to the unexpected aid which their intended victim had already received, speedily drew off Ironi the conflict. One alone remained, writhing on de Whittingham*s sword ; to look after whom his three fellows paused at a little distance. " He has got his supper," said one. '' He'll never live long enough to tell who was his pay-master : so let us make off for more help.^* So saying, and uttering some gross Spanish oath, these three disappointed worthies retired up the ravine. '* Xever, Signor," said Tilton to the stranger, ** never was better demonstrated the superiority which, in the hands of you THE PILGRIMS. 7 Italians, the rapier possesses over every other arm. I cau scarcely judge how even your skill could make it defend your person against these five banditti." " I am, sometimes. Seigneur," answered the pilgrim, sheathing a dagger in his belt, '• put to such straits that I do not entirely trust to my rapier, like this noble youth ; noble I am sure he is, Irom the ardour with which he iiastened to my assistance, and from his bear- ing in the fray." As de Wittingham made a shy, it niiuiit be mistaken for a reserved, bow, *' Young gentleman," continued the stranger, " you have saved my life ; even in the land to which we are both journeying, and which, 1 think, is foreign to us both, it may not be out of my power to testify to you my gratitude other- wise than in words. My coat of steel links, which this rent in my petticoat," jerking aside his robe, '* has betrayed, would not have long protected me against those assassins without your assistance. You have served 8 THE PILGRIMS. He paused awhile to arrang:e the folds of his dress, so as to conceal the shirt of raail, visible through the rent. '* Messires," he continued, to the two Eng-lishmen, *' I need not represent to you that it is my wish to be thoug-ht a pilgrim only. I may trust to you to respect my wish. Now, however, as by assisting me you have exposed yourselves to other vengeance than you wot of, it would be as well did we proceed forwards, in com- pany, to seek a lodging for the night. I am a stranger in this country; and, as a holy pilgrim," he added, with a gay, but super- cilious smile, "I would jjrefer to lodge in holy precincts. Know you of any monastery or convent in this neighbourhood ? and, if it possess the right of sanctuary, it may be the better for us all." " You forctcl to us hidden dangers of the cause of which we are unable to judge,'' replied Tilton. ** My friend here would rather prefer to encounter them, 1 know; but as this ^arb is not assumed by us, any more than by THE PILGRIMS. V yourself, Seip^neur, without cause, I am un- willing^ that the disguise should be torn off before mine own time. I have been in this country before, and think I can undertake to guide you." " Thanks, sir," responded the stranger. " Pray what may be the strong fortress in the valley beneath us ?" *' That is the castle of Arona. There we might, indeed, remain safe, if its owner has managed to keep it through these varying wars. Count Gilbert of Borromeo is a good and skilful man, and has managed to pre- serve a neutrality and the favour of both the emperor and the king of France. Yet am I inclined to your opinion, that a convent will afford us a better lodging; and an hour's brisk walking will bring us to a rich Bene- dictine abbey, which is held by a worthy priest of the same noble family. We will bear, if you please, to the right, so as to avoid the vicinity of the castle, and the more frequented level country." H 5 10 THE PILGRIMS. " To the light, be it/' said the stranger : " you add, fair Sirs, to my obligations received iVoni you." Thus saying, did the party, in which we have interested ourselves, wend their way amongst the hills, avoiding the then impreg- nable castle of Arona, and the rock on which now rises the most colossal statue in Europe ; — reared by a grateful people to record the humble virtues of the son of him who now ruled in the lordly fortress, and held wide dominion over the surrounding district, and the lovely lakes.* The moon shone out in the clear, but deepening sky, as our travellers skirted the shores of the lake of Orta ; and while they press forward, engaged in such courteous, but restrained, converse as might pass, in those troubled times, amongst persons unknown to one another, and who admitted that they were travelling under false charac- ters, we will take the opportunity of describ- • The statue of St. Charles Borromeo. at Arona, is lie feet high, includuig the pedestal, and of beautiful proportions. THE PILGRIMS. 11 ing to our readers the appearance of the several individuals of the group, for each of whom we hope to have bespoken his willing- interest. The figure of each was concealed by the frock of the pilgrim, of black serge, sur- mounted by the tippet covered witli scollop shells. In the hand of each, was the usual walking staff, at the top of which was sus- pended the small gourd provided to contain the supply of water often needed in warm and arid climates, but which we may suppose our pretended pilgrims to have tilled with some more generous liquor, ere they had under- taken the passage of the Great Saint Berucird. The staff in the hand of the stranirer, whose language declared him to be a French- man, was so much curtailed of its usual proportions as to assume the appearance of a stout walking-stick, which might serve, in case of need, for attack or defence. The appearance, and still more the manners, of this stranger excited intense curiosity, and 12 THE PILGRIMS. even interest, in the breast ot Warren de Whittingham. But a few years older than himself, unknown, and avowedly in lear of his life, what was it that, in this stranger, repressed and overawed the elastic spirits of the English youth? Nothing could be more graceful than his manner, more cour- teous than his speech; and yet both his speech and manner assumed and asserted a supe- riority which the other voluntarily acknow- ledged, while he marvelled at himself for doing so. The stranger was indebted to him for his life ; this tie alone ought na- turally to have established, at least for the moment, an equality of feeling between them ; whereas the manner of the other appeared to convey the assurance that the Englishman was as fortunate in having rescued him, as he himself was in having been rescued. And, in spite of himself, de Whittingham acknowledged, in his own breast, a similar feeling. These internal struggles in the mind of THE PILGRIMS. 13 the young Englishman were the natural workings of his truthful, his buoyant, and yet his shy, character. His elastic step, the bearing of his slim and graceful form, but, above all, the steady thoughtfulness of his sunken eye, betrayed an innate con- sciousness of his own powers of mind and of body ; this was, however, tempered by a pallid cheek, by a suggestive manner of expressing himself, which is graceful, at all times, in youth ; and by the dropping of his dark eye-lashes, whenever the person whom he addressed gazed fully upon his features. No man of superior mind, who has mixed in any degree with the world, can be igno- rant of his own superiority : he may regret that he has not the brilliant wit of one, the conversational powers of another ; but he cannot be insensible to the elevation which mind gives him over matter. That de Whit- tingham felt this mental elevation was evi- dent : he admitted to himself a belief that the stranger possessed it also : yet his 14 THE PILGRIMS. attempts to overcome his own nervous ti- midity not being equal or sustained, could only assume the appearance of forwardness battling with shyness and reserve. He had, in short, a manner which is often natural to Englishmen, and which is often acquired by those who move in a circle in which their just pretensions are either unknown or unadmitted, while circumstances prevent them from steadily asserting their claims to consideration. Maurice Tilton understood not or felt not any of these sensations. An active man of the world, in a spirit-stirring age, of an old and wealthy family, he felt no inferiority to those into whose society he was generally thrown : he had established a character for ability and diplomatic discretion beyond his years: the mental inferiority of others, be had often the sweet satisfaction of test- ing ; if he chanced to meet with mental superiority, which, we will do him the jus- tice to say, was not often the case, he was THE PILGRIMS. 15 too well pleased with himselt to acknowledge the master mind, and generally character- ised it as being that of a dreamer or an enthusiast. He saw, at once, that, in the French pilgrim, he had fallen in with a gentleman of birth and habits equal, if not superior, to his own : but it was not his wish to throw off his present disguise, and to as- sert himself to be other than he appeared. He, therefore, cheerfully submitted to the con- descending courtesy of the stranger, and en- tered, with apparent freedom, into whatever subject of conversation the circumstances ol the walk might call forth. "By lodging to-night amongst these hills,'^ observed Tilton,**we shall defer, at least for one day, all probability of catching the plague which rumour says now rages in Milan.' "So I have heard," replied the Frenchman: ** I cannot, however, admit that I have much fear on that score. My various pilgrimages, we are all pilgrims, gentlemen, have led me into so many similar dangers that I am 16 THE PILGRIMS. inclined to adopt the taith of the Turk, who is said to be the best niediciner in all cases of plague.'' " His medicine consists, I have heard," said de Whittingham, *' in shunning all fore- thought and anticipation of evil, leaving the event to God. How sad that his faith cannot be better directed \" "Aye," asserted the stranger: "the holy fathers have long preached a crusade against the Turks, though not exactly one of mission- aries; but they, as well as other European sovereigns, generally are too much engaged in good offices towards one another to attend to more distant calls. So as we will not go to Mahommet, Mahommet is moving towards us by rapid strides through Hungary.*' " Know you," said Tilton, who was dip- lomatist enough to wish to turn the conver- sation from all questions of national policy, "know you the origin of the plague which now infects Milan ?" " Doubtless, the temperature of the air, and THE PILGRIMS. 17 the pre - disposition ot the inhabitants, have occasioned it ;" evasively replied the strani^^er. ** The Milanese must have imported it with the plunder of the French camp;" interposed de Whittingham. " Bieg-rassa, we heard from a stranger this morning-, is now taken, and the French are retreating from Italy on every side. You, sir, I fear, will scarcely be sale, even in that disguise," he added, with a look of interest, to the stranger. The stranger turned sharply upon him a glance in which haughtiness mingled w ith kind- ness and gratitude. De Whittiugham'seyes fell. ** Though I do not own to more than thirty," again interposed Tilton, " I believe I am the oldest of our party ; and I am not sorry to see there the turret of the abbey glistening in the moonbeams. A walk from the top of St. Barnard is enough to try my old limbs." Through the branchy chesnut trees wliich crowned the side of the ravine down which our travellers were journeying, and whose spring foliage was yet too young to afford an effectual 18 THE PILGRIMS. screen, a loity turret was now seen to spring from a large mass of buildings that crowned the precipitous cliff. They passed along the lace of this wooded precipice, and soon came to a wide bridle path, which led them up- wards, through stunted brush wood and jutting rocks rising amongst them : they stood upon the grassy summit of a hill which sloped away on all sides, covered with cultivated fields and wide-spreading garden walls. A massive and extensive building crowned its summit. A plain flight of steps led up to the wide doors, which were closed on account ot the lateness of the hour — for it was now eight o'clock. The stranger pilgrim advanced first up these steps : then, drawing back with re- membered courtesy, said to Tilton, ** Chevalier, you have been our successful guide to this abbey. Let me be indebted to you still further for an introduction within its hallowed walls." They all ascended the steps : and the pull THE PILGRIMS. 19 which Tiltoii gave at an iron chain whicli swung beside the door, was answered by a deep-toned bell that resounded in an interior court. 20 THE REXCONTRK. CHAPTER II. THE RENCONTRE. Sceglieronne una, e sceglierolla tale Che superato avr^ 1' invidia in modo Che nessun' ultra potra avere a male Se r altre taccio, e se lei sola lodo. Quest ' una ha, non pur se fatta immortale. Col dolce stil, di che il miglior non odo. Ma pu»3 qualunque di cui parli o scriva Trar del sepolcro e far ch' eterno viva. Vittoria h'l nome. Ariost<.. Maurice Tilton's pull at the rusty cliain at the door of the abbey was answered, in due time, by a lay brother, who opened a little door, about eight inches square, which was framed at the height of his own face in the main gates ; and who, peering out through the iron bars that were closely interlaced across it, enquired who rang the bell at thatlate hour. " Pilgrims, padre," answered Tilton ; " poor pilgrims who have ])een beset by banditti, and THE RENCONTRE. 21 who pray for a night's lodging and sanctuary." "Banditti do not often attack poor pilgrims," retorted the porter ; " and I am no padre, but simply Fra Giovanni. However, as there are only three of ye, there can be no great danger in admitting ye." Thussaying, Fra Giovanni unbolted a wicket, wide enough to admit one person at a time, and which, as is usual in all foreign carriage gates, was cut in the main doors. He counted the three pilgrims as they crossed the threshold; and having, as he thought, carefully rebolted the wicket, conducted them to the little room adjoining, which served him for a porter's lodge. As, by the light of the upright three branched lamp, he there surveyed the ap- plicants, a marked change come over his man- ner and announced itself in his altered tones. " Excuse, Signori," he said, ** excuse me that I kept you waiting at the gate : but in these troubled times, I have made it a rule never to admit any applicant after the 22 THE RENCONTRE. gates have been once closed lor the night, until I have once repeated to myself the ' Pater noster/ that I may be directed how to act. What with the Switzers, the French, the Germans, the Spaniards, and the Italians, who quarrel with one another for the re- mains of this poor country, it requires super- human intelligence to guide a poor lay brother in his most simple avocations. And now, Signori, without doubt, you will wish to be warmed and refreshed?— I thank God and St. Gratiniano that I see no evidence of wounds to be tended !'' ** You might have seen plenty of them, good brother," answered the French pilgrim, had it not been for the prowess of this gentle pilgrim, who saved your holy fathers the trouble of burying my corpse, which some neighbours of yours wished to inflict upon them. However, we will now willingly go to your hospitable hall within the Clatisura." * ' The Clausvra is the enclosure or boundary beyond which no monk or nun can pass, save on particular occasions ; and within which no person of a different sex is ever admitted. THE RENCONTRE. 23 " Within the Clausura it must needs be, Monsignore,'* answered the porter, doing homage to the dignified bearing of the pil- grim, *' for all our principal apartments in the strangers' quarter are now occupied by a noble lady and her followers, who have taken refuge here from the plague which now devastates the city of Milan, and the con- tlicting armies which render all fortresses unsafe. Thank God, there are few who would be hardy enough to molest the Abbot of San Gratiniano, who may rely upon the veneration of the whole district — not to mention the power of his brother, the Count Gilbert of Borrommeo." Thus speaking, and with evident pride in his monastery, his abbot, and his worldly patron, the old porter led the way, across an extensive court, to an arch-way that opened under a pile of buildings which enclosed the yard on the right-hand sidr This arch-way was lighted up by a heavy iron lamp ; and Fra Giovanni was explfil - 24 THE RENCONTRE. ine^ to his guests that, as this was the quarter lor strangers, and as they wished to be admitted within the Clausura, they must tarry awhile until he summoned another porter to lead them into the interior court- yard, whose high wall rose in front of them, when an elderly man, dressed in a garb some- what partaking of that of a soldier, a clerk, and chamberlain in a noble family, crossed the arch-way, and paused to consider the group. A stout leathern jerkin, fastened in front, closed tightly around his throat, affording good protection against any but a direct thrust; over this, a furred doublet, of the richest brocaded satin, was cast with dignified negligence, and drawn around him as a protection against the evening air. On his head was a plain black circular, globular cap, very like an inverted porringer, and which, descending lower behind than it did in front, sheltered the nape of his neck, and covered and warmed his cars. A gold-hilted dasrirer was stuck in his broad leathern belt. THE RENCONTRE. 23 When the intelligent, but somevvhat heavy and rotund features of this imposing per- sonage had been, for some time, directed towards our travellers, they suddenly lighted up with surprise and pleasure; then, darting towards Tilton, he exclaimed, in mingled Italian and French, '* Milordo Maurizio Til- tone I how delighted I am to have the honour of the surprise of receiving you again in Italy ! Would that I could now do to you the honours of the palace at Milan !" *' Don Ferdinando, the Marquis of Pes- cara, is, I presume, with the army," replied Tilton. " We have all heard of his progress. How came you here. Major-domo? Where is Donna Vittoria? " " The Signora Marchesa is in this very house, Don Maurizio, and will be rejoiced to see a friend of former times ; La Signorina Hilda is with her/* he shrewdly added. "Per- mit me to have the honour of conducting you to the hall in wliich she is even now sitting down to supper with the Abbot.'' Vol. I. C 26 THE RENCONTRE. Tilton gazed hesitatingly on his friends. " Take them in with you, Siirnor Tilton. The Marchesa will be glad to see any friend of one whom her husband esteems so highly. I heard old Fra Giovanni muttering something about clausura and santuary ; I hope there is no cause for either," added the old man, with a look of concern. " But even if there should be, no one would presume to intrude on the privacy of the Marchesa.*' Tilton turned towards the French pilgrim, in doubt whether he ought to introduce one, of whose quality he was ignorant, although he fully believed him to be well-born, into the society of the first woman, in every respect, who adorned that age. The Frenchman saw his hesitation, and dissipated it, although he encreased his curiosity, by calmly saying, '' I can have no objection. Every one must be proud to enjoy the society of Vittoria Colonna." As the old Major-domo left them, to an- nounce their approach to his mistress, de THE RENCONTRE. 2j Whitting^ham hurriedly whispered to Tilton, " \Vho is she ? Tell me before we enter." '' Who?" answered Tilton. '' Is it possible you are ignorant ? She is an angel. The daughter of the commander, Fabrizio Colonna — betrothed to her husband when both were infants— grew up, endowed with- every grace, every accomplishment, every talent : both passionately fond of one another : — she is the first poet of the day : pious, sincere, thought- ful ; and, above all, adoring her husband ; so mind what you are about; for whether other Italian women do or do not justify your English opinions of them, this one, most assuredly, does not." The old major-domo returned, followed by a dignified clergyman, whose dress, and the plain gold cross suspended round his neck, showed him to be the Abbot Giulio Bor- rommeo. " Seigneurs," he courteously said, ** I re- joice that this Abbey is favoured by your visit ; and that one of you will find an old c 2 28 THE RENCONTRE. iViend, who is impatient to meet you again — Permit me to lead you into the hall." Taking Tilton's hand in both his, he kindly led him forward. The other two followed. The room which they entered was an eating-hall of handsome proportions ; the ceiling and walls of which were painted a fresco, in the glowing and classical style which MichacP Angelo had just introduced. Huge logs of wood blazed upon an ample hearth, and several lamps lighted up a table on which vegetables, fruits, pastry and glasses Avere elegantly arranged. Small notice, how- ever, were these able to attract from our pilgrims ; for from the top of the tabic arose a lady, who, coming forward with graceful- ness, held out her hand to Tilton, exclaiming, *' Welcome, Don Maurizio, again to Italy. I rejoice that you have been discovered and brought to me, in spite of your mascherade/' ** Bella Vittoria,'* replied Tilton, bending over the hand winch, with Italian devotion, he raised to his lips, " no disguise, no falsehood. THE RENCONTRE. 29 could exist a moment in the presence of so much truth, beauty, and candour." *' 1 am delig-hted to see that you have not lost any of your politeness during^ your ab- sence. But now introduce your friends to me ; for I do not remember to have had the pleasure of seeing" them before." '* Those who have once been blessed by tlie sight of the Marchesa di Pescara," said the Frenchman coming forwards, *' can novt r forget the honour they have enjoyed. I, how- ever, Madam, am only a pilgrim, bound upon a pilgrimage, with no name save that of a pilgrim." ** We do not wish. Sir, to intrude upon your privacy," replied the 3Iarchioness. " In these times, heaven knows that a man tan scarcely tell who is a friend and who a foe But be assured that, having been received into the temporary abode of Vittoria Colonna, you shall be perfectly safe while you abide umhr the same roof." " Lady, I am gratelul," replied the Frt in h- 30 THE RENCONTRE. man. " Yet, though unknown myself, permit me to present to your notice this noble youth, the companion of your friend. To his gal- lantry I owe my life. Tt is fitting that I should be the first to publish his merit." *' A friend of yours is he, Don Maurice?" enquired the lady. " You, I think, won your spurs from the Marquis of Pescara, ere he w as taken prisoner at the battle of Ravenna, and when you were a mere boy. To judge from the bearing of your friend, and the testimony of this gentleman, this pilgrim I mean, it will not be long ere, by some noble action, he acquire as full a right to his — un- less, indeed, he have already achieved them ?'' " Had he shown the same spirit in a stricken field," interposed the Frenchman, ** as he exhibited in my private cause, I myself should not have hesitated — " He paused, conscious that he was betraying more respecting himself than he had intended. The Miircliioness did not appear to notice his embarrassment, but exclaimed, THE RENCONTRE. 31 *' Chevalier Tilton, have you not discovered your old friend? But no; I am jjlad to see that you are not so remiss," she added, as she perceived that he was conversing with a fair girl beside the supper table. ** Do you, Sir/^ she continued, turning to de Whittinji- ham, ** do you, whose merit, but not whosf name, I have been able to learn, do you anti this good pilgrim return with me to the board. You must need refreshment after >uur wanderings.'' She extended her hand to that of de NV hii- tingham, who reverently, but timidly, and as one not used to female society, conducted licr to her seat. And, during this short walk, how felt dt Whittingham ? — for many sensations may be crowded into as short a space. Had Tilton spoken to him of Vittoria Colonna as of any other woman, his words would have pro- duced little impression ; had he not spoken of her at all, he might have been, indeed, dazzled by her beauty, but he would have 32 THE KKNCONTRE. met her as the wile of another man ; and his own principles were too hig-h to have allowed him to form a thoug-ht beyond. But uhcn he heard Maurice Tilton, who seldom praised any one except before his face or when he anticipated that his words would be repeated, speak in those rapturous terms of the woman they were about to meet ; when he heard him pourtray a character, such as the enthusiastic imaginings of his solitary hours had often pictured to him, but which he had never believed really to exist ; w hen, above all, he heard him caution him not to fall in love with her; thus forcing upon the mind of one as yet only accustomed to a retired country existence that it was possible for him to do so — he certainly allowed his imagination to be so awakened that it could ill withstand the appearance of the si)lendid woman who had so graciously received liim. Nothing is so likely to make a man fall in love as telling him not to do so. Warren de Whittingham was not ueak THE RENCONTRE. ^^ cnougfh to have done any thing so foulisli. Ho merely acknowledi^ed to himself his ad- miration of Vittoria Colonna: he wished that he mig-ht become better acquainted with her. He thought that their tastes and their minds were congenial ; perliaps he even wished tliat she were not married ; but beyond lliis, he thought, he felt, he dreamed not. '*And now, young gentleman," said tlieMar- chesa of Pescara to de Whittingham, as she seated him beside her at table, ** Now as the Chevalier Tilton is all engrossed with his old friend, my dear Hilda, and as the pilgrim, as he calls himself (though my woman's eye has discovered a coat of mail through that rent in his scallop-shell cape), is talking the his- tory of the campaign with the good Abbot, and could not, even were he less pleasingly occupied than he appears to be, give us any account either of himself or of you, you must excuse my curiosity ; and as you arc the friend of an old iViend of mine and Don Ferdinand's, and 1 hope will be better ac- c 5 34 THE RENCONTRE. quainted with us vouisclf ere lon*,^, you must allow me to apply at the fountain head, and to ask you yourself, at once, who are you, and w hy are you come to Italy in a disguise which neither you nor your friend appear very anxious to maintain ?" We have said that de Whittingham was unused to female society, even in Eni^land ; still less was he prepared for the familiarity and apparent earnestness of Italian women. Instead of replying playfully to the half-se- rious, half-playful curiosity of the Marchesa, he felt himself unable to parry her enquiries, and thought that a display of frankness and sincerity was the only means of extricatinir himself from his imagined difficulty, and might lead to that better acquaintance between them to which she alluded, and which he was so anxious to bring about. " Alas ! Signora," he therefore gravely re- plied, " I scarcely know who I am, and am scarcely allowed to use the name I bear. iMy father, is, indeed, a man of family, fortune THE RENCONTRE. 35 and great eminence : his residence in Eni^land is not far from that of my friend. But thai father has never looked upon me as a son : never since I was a chfid have 1 been permit- ted to approach him. My mother, 1 am told, was an Italian, altliouj^h even that is doubtful ; and my dark hair and complexion,'^ he more playfully added, '* seems to be as stron*^ a proof of the fact as any I can learn." ** An Italian!" exclaimed Donna Vittoria, ** you have established at once a community of feelings and of country bet wen us ; and I cannot now let you off from one single event in your strange history. Is your mother living?" *• I fear not." " What could induce your father to behave so to his child?" " My father and mother," he replied, "lived most happily together for the first year or two after their marriage. She had presented him with twins — myself and a sister. My father, as is often the case, bestowed most of his 36 THE RENCONTIIE. iilVection upon the little irirl, of whom he was doating:ly fond. One night, the household was awakened by the g:lare of flames, which had broken out in the maid body of the hall. All was confusion. My father left his wife and servants to remove the family, while he di- rected the workmen in their endeavours to subdue the flames. All was attempted in vain : the hall was soon a heap of ruins. When he rejoined my mother, what was his horror, on discoverinj? that, in her eagerness to save herself, she had fori»otten her infants!* He reproached her : he struck her: he drove her from his sii^ht, and from his home. I was soon after broui,^ht in by a peasant. My father eagerly enquired lor his daughter: it could not be found. Enraged, ratlier than grieved, he refused to receive me : swore that he never would acknowledge or see again cither me or his wife. I was carried from his house, and am indebted to tiic father • That a similar instance of selfishness recently occurred, is W'ell known. TlIK RKNCONTRF. 37 of my friend Tilton, and to him himself, tor whatever advantages and education I liave enjoyed. My lather has kept his word, and I have never yet been permitted to approach him. He seems never to have forg:iven me that I did not die instead of my sister." "And your mother?'^ enquired the Marchesa. "She has ever been considered to have died. It was not likely that her Italian spirit — par- don me, Signora Marchesa — should endure such treatment ; and I fear the w orst.'* '* 'Tis a strange tale," thoughtfully observed the lady. " I would not speak lightly of it ; but my friend Ludovico Ariosto has written not any more curious. You have interested me much in your welfare. May I ask what are your present plans?" *' My youth, lady, was spent in the acqui- sition of all martial accomplishments. 1 may also have other tastes ; but they w ill not serve me in the world, and I must carve my way with my sword." *'My friend," interposed Tilton, "notwilh- 38 THE RENCONTRE. standing- his name, which in our outlandish lang-uagc implies scholarship ; and notwith- standing that his family crest represents a hand holding an open book, has heard that Italy was the cock-pit of Europe, and would not rest till I had enabled him to take his part in the sport." " Sport it is not, Tilton," replied the youth, " and war will never be so considered by me. But these contests must soon have an end ; and there is then hope of a crusade against the Turk." " Would that peace were concluded !" mur- mured Hilda. ''The Marquis never passes a month without being in some engagement ; and dear Donna Vittoria lives in perpetual fear." " But without such occasions to call forth their charming talents,'^ interposed the Abbot, " we should neither be delighted by the Mar- chesa's beautiful stanzas, nor by Don Ferdi- nand's poetic dialogue on Love, which he ad- dressed to her from his imprisonment, after THE RENCONTRE. .ii) the field of Ravenna. However, Signohua Hilda, I sincerely participate in your prayer Tor peace, and hope our noble visitors, and you ladies, will join us, and quaff a goblet to the same holy wish/' "Joyfully!" exclaimed Vittoria; and the word was timidly echoed by Hilda, as she raised the spiced wine to her ruby lips. No contrast could be greater than that which was offered by the frank self-possession and dignified manner of the Marchioness to the retiring timidity of her friend. In tht- carriage of the former, there was nothing bold, nothing obtrusive ; it was that of a perfect lady, aware that she occupied, and always had occupied, the first place in society ; and that she had only to act in the manner whicli was natural to her station and character. In person, she was tall; but so perfectly formed that none would have remarked her as being above the usual height of w omen. Never were feet or hands more finely formed than hers. Her small head, well poised upon her 40 THE RENCONTRE. slender Deck, was g^euerally thrown rather back^ so as to draw up and exhibit her Juno- like bust in its fair proportions. Those small regular features would have been scarcely remarked had it not been for the full black eye, standing- out beneath its straight eye- brow and its silken lashes, which immediately drew attention to its melting and varying lustre. And when attention was once attract- ed to that peerless face, who could withdraw from the study which it ever exhibited to such as could read the living soul through its speaking tabernacle? How faded the lustre from her pale olive cheek when Hilda alluded to the dangers to which her husband was exposed ! How quickly returned that crimson glow, as the Abbot called for the pledge of peace ! The inward mind was seen through every feature : and lair as those features would have been, even had no celestial spark enlight- ened them, what must they have been when illumined by the soul of Vittoria Colonna ! How difl'crent from all this was Hilda! Of THE RENCONTRE. 41 exquisite proportions, but below the middle size ; she appeared timidly to shrink into her- self when exposed to the «^Iance of a stranj[j:er. Her complexion of the fairest roseate hue, her hair of the very palest flaxen shade, her eyes of the deepest blue, her lips of the most deep- dyed carnation, were not, indeed, impassible to the emotions of her mind ; no, they beamed forth, or were clouded with every feelini,^ that aj^itated her. But her feclinj^s, her sympathies alone acted upon them. Without being- inca- pable of the noble thoug^hts and ])rilliant as- pirations which constantly flitted through the mind of her friend, Hilda exerted not her men- tal powers upon them. That which was beau- tiful she admired ; that which was painful distressed her. In a word, her countenance glowed responsive to her feelings : that of Vittoria Colonna was the index of her feel- ings and of her thoughts also. Scarcely had the cup been quafl*ed, and the wish for peace been uttered by the now united company, when a loud knocking was heard 42 THE RENCONTRE. to mingfle with the sound of the bell at the front g-ate of the convent. It had continued for some moments, when Fra Giovanni, the porter, regardless of decorum, rushed into the hall, exclaiming- *' Dio mio ! Dio mio ! what is to be done? I looked through the wicket, and a blow with a battle axe was aimed at me. They will break in the g-ate. Ahi mi, there it goes! I must have left it unbolted when I let in these noble gentlemen. Dio mio, have mercy on us ! Santa Maria ! pray for us ! " The cause of the noise, and of Fra Gio- vanni's dismay, we must explain in the next chapter. THE SURPRISE. 43 CHAPTER III. THE SURPRISE. Fr^re Jaques ! Frt^re Jaques ! Domicz V0U8 ? Dormcz vous ? Sonnez les niatines, Sonnez les matinefl : Ding — dong— bell ! Ding — dong — bell !— Old Glbe. Oh, gran bonti dei cavallieri antichi ! Ariosto. While the conversations which we have related were passing: within the hall of the monastery, how beautifully tranquil was the scene without its walls ! The season was the end of April. The air was warm and balmy, though braced by the vicinity of the eternal snows of the Alps. The moon, nearly at her full, rode triumphant through a sky of the deepest purple. So bright was her 44 THE SURPRISE. nightingales, as they nestled amongst the young leaves of the forest, and the tolling of a distant convent bell as it pealed out the hour of evening prayer. Occasionally, in- deed, the boom of a single cannon, or the distant report of musketry would break upon the stillness of the evening and proclaim that man was, as usual, intent upon marring the peace and the loveliness of that world which a benificent Providence had assigned to him for very different purposes. A whisper was heard amongst the copse- wood in the bridle path, up which our tra- vellers had ascended to the abbey. '^ Art sure, Raffaelle," murmured the voice, ** art sure that they came up this road ?" " Sure enough, Colonel : for after the stran- gers had beaten us off from the Frenchman, I light that the glimmer of the stars was almost quenched in its splendour. The white peaks of the Alps stood sharply out from the un- fathomable back ground. Not a sound was heard save the occasional notes of the THE SURPRISE. 45 followed in their track and marked them ob- tain admission into the monastery." ** Thou didst well ; 'twas only I that was to blame in not setting more of ye upon him, so as to make sure of him. However, we cannot miss him now." ** But, Senhor Colonello," replied the troop- er, " I scruple much about attacking- any one that has taken sanctuary." " Bestia che sei !" replied the Colonel ; *' plague not me with thy scruples ; but call up the other men, and remember the reward." ** Aye ; but we know that he is coming* to join our own party ; how then can we attack him?" '* How can we refuse the reward which the Queen Regent of France offers for his appre- hension ? It need not be known that we have delivered him up." '• La scusi, Senhor, as these Italians say," replied the trooper; "but I do not like the job : — and this attack upon a convent too — " " Fellow," insisted felie Colonel, angrily, '* I 46 THE SURPRISE. have argued with you too long ; you presume upon past services of the kind. Call up the men instantly.'' ** I do, Colonel, presume upon past ser- vices to refuse to act a part any longer in such. When I attacked him this morning, I had not learned who he was. I have served under him, and conquered under him before now/' doggedly insisted Raflfaele. " Morte di Dios, traitor ; you serve under me now and shall obey me, or it will be the worse for you. Call up the men.'* " To commit treachery and sacrilege, I will not. T would rather put the good Fathers on their guard. They tended my wounds last year, after our attack on Milan.'' " Let them tend that, an their art reach so far ;" swore the Colonel, striking him with his dagger. " Think not I will allow a caitiff like thee to talk of thwarting the plans of Colonel Maldonato !" Now, though the point of the Spanish Colonel's dagger glanced off from the collar- THE SURPRISE. 4/ bone of Raffaelle Monza, yet was he knocked down by the violence with which the hilt and the steel glove of the assassin smote against his chest. Though somewhat stunned by his tall, he had yet judgment enough left to lie still, and thus escape from the further ven- geance of his commander. Having accomplished this doughtly deed, the Spaniard descended the hill some fifty yards, and presently appeared again on the platform with twenty dismounted troopers at his back : they had, in fact, tied their horses to the trees in the adjoining wood. On the platform of the hill all was clear ; the moon shone brightly on every side, and shewed no chance of interruption to what- ever might be the design of the party. Not a moving object chequered the glistening landscape. Emboldened by this prospect of security, the Colonel moved steadily up to the gate of the monastery, and gently pulled the porter's bell. 48 THE SURPRISE. Now it SO chanced that, after Fra Gio- vanni had resigned the pilgrims to the care of the major-domo, who had announced their arrival to the abbot, he had lingered in the passage till the return of that worthy func- tionary; and, not anticipating any other call at the gate so late in the evening, he had promised to himself an hour's pleasant con- versation with the great lady's great man. " Mi rallcgro con lei Signor Bartolomeo," he began, " I rejoice that I was the means of introducing to you an old acquaintance." " You the means ! " retorted the major domo. *' However, if you have anything to say, come into my room, for your mountain air is not cheering at this time of night/' He tightened his furred cloak round his chin and walked away. Although the invi- tation was none of the most gracious, so anxious was the poor porter for a chat, that he eagerly caught at it, and humbly followed the well -poised steps of the other, as he stalked before him into a little room opening THE SURPRISE. 49 upon the passage, and in which a fire briijhtly blazed, glinting upon the glasses and bottle which stood on a neatly set-out little supper table before it, lu a recess, at the further end, was a small bed, with heavy green fustian curtains. **The night is, indeed, chilly,'' humbly oli- served Fra Giovanni ; " and I thank your Ex- cellency for having invited me into your apartment." " I did not invite you," muttered Signor Bartolomeo ; he was, however, soothed by the title which the diplomatic lay -brother had applied to him, and with less rudeness added, " Since you are here, sit down and take a draught of wine." ** Thank your Excellency ; as I am only a lay-brother, I am not called upon to fast ; those vows would never suit me." "Nor me either," said the major-domo, putting a large steak of stewed chevreuil on his plate. *' It must be a great delight to you, * in- VOL. I. D 50 THE SURPRTS sinoated Fra Giovanni, like a skilful general, approaching^ \varily to the point on which he proposed to open the attack ; " It must be a great delight to you to see so many of the great people of the world with whom you be- come acquainted ; and some of whoin you fall in with again, wherever you go. Now I dare afiirm that Signor Tiltone is a great man, notwithstanding his scallop-shells and staff.'' '* I suspect, though, the Frenchman is a greater than he/* replied the major - duomo. ^' Monsignor Tilton is, however, an eminent personage, I assure thec.'^ *'I doubt it not," said the porter, "and I envied you the pleasure he exhibited to see you again/' '• Why, yes," replied Don Bartolomeo, now fully yielding to his naturally gossiping dis- position, which we must do him the justice to say he generally repressed, although he now showed himself no match for the wily lay brother, whose situation of porter made it part of his duty to worm out the secrets of all THE SURPRISE. 15 who came within his domain : ** Why, yes, the Chevalier Tilton was naturally g^lad to see me. He has been often and much at our house in former times." *' He was on the personal staff of the Mar- quis, was he not ?'' interrogated Fra Giovanni, at a venture. *' Something like it. While his father was living, he served as a volunteer with the Marquis ; but since his father's death, he has retired from the army, and I suspect has great influence in his own country as an ambassador, or agent to foreign Courts. I'll bet my gold hilted dagger against an ebony rosary that he is now come to Italy on some such errand." *' Then he has had enough of military glor\ , ' said the porter : " I fancied that, when the Abbot led him into the saluy his first look was not bent, as it should have been, on the Signora Marchesa, but on that white-faced little girl who has accompanied her.'' **Signor Fra Giovanni," said the major- D 2 r' OF ILU^UMI 52 THE SURPRISE. duomo, with assumed dignity/* what business hast thou to note such matters? Recollect that thou art half a monk." " The dress does not make the monk," said the porter jocosely ; " I am only a lay-brother ; but she is a beautiful little girl — a sister, I suppose, to the Marchesa." " Then thou supposest quite wrong- ; which only proves how absurd it is for such as thee to form any supposition respecting noble families. Now I will tell thee but no ; I will not." ** Nay, Signor Bartolomeo," said the porter, " remember that I have not the opportunities, nor the talent of your Excellency to discover the quality and conditions of persons from their outward garb ; nay, in despite of it, as you showed, this evening, in the case of these pilgrims.'' " Well, as thou admittedst thy inferiority, I have no objection to tell thee that none of us, unless it be the Marchesa herself, know any more of this matter than thou. I remem- THE SURPRISE. 5$ ber me, indeed, although they all please to fancy that I have forgotten all about it, I remember a wild looking '' But if Bartolomeo chose to commit a gross breach of the secrecy which he owed to his patron's family, we cannot deem ourselves justified in repeating and perpetuating his treachery. Let us rather seek to excuse him by declaring that he soon perceived and repented him of his fault, as was testified by the sudden burst of anger with which he interrupted himself, exclaiming, ^* But bestia cli 'io sono! to tell all this to thee! Say thou didst not understand a word of it ; swear ! " "Nay, but, Don Bartolomeo — " " Swear, I tell thee/' cried the major duomo, catching hold of his collar, and draw- ing his golden-hilted dagger; ''Swear that thou didst not understand, or even liear, a word of it. T must not expose myself to be accused of treachery to my patrons by such as thee, thou wily, insinuating, would-be monk. Swear, therefore, I say.'' 54 THE SURPRISE. "Any thing, any thing,'' cried Fra Giovan- ni, in alarm, ** but surely you hear all that thundering at the gate. I shall be sought for. We shall be discovered together." " I discovered with such an one as thou !" cried Bartolomeo, indignantly. " Off to thy post this instant, and beware how thou leave it again, to pry into the secrets of noble families. Off, I say ! " The poor lay brother was but too happy to obey the injunction. But during this alterca- tion between the two official gossips, Colonel Maldonato and his party had exhausted their patience in gentle summons at the door, and imagining that they were discovered, and pur- posely excluded, had adopted the more violent means to obtain admission which were hinted at the conclusion of the last chapter. In his eagerness to talk with the strange pilgrims, Fra Giovanni had, in truth, as he himself suspected, left the door unbolted; and the Spaniard and his troopers having discovered this omission, had profited by it, and now THE SURPRISE. 55 hastily entered the eating-hall, driving before them the poor porter, who was endeavouring to escape, he knew not whither, nor from ' what. The Abbot rose with dignity as Colonel Maldonato entered the hall, his troopers at his back. *' I regret," he said, '* that the remissness of the porter of the Abbey should have put you to the trouble of knocking so loudly at the door. In what can this monastery have the honour of serving you ?" " Abbot,*' replied the Colonel, *' my business is not with you. I will soon free your halls from my presence. Constable," he conti- nued, advancing towards the French pilgrim, **I cannot ask you to deliver up your arras, be- cause the very becoming dress you have cho- sen precludes the supposition of your carrying any, but I arrest you as a prisoner of war." *^ Charles of Bourbon,'' replied the French- man, drawing up his noble and elegant figure to its full height, " Charles of Bourbon has 56 THE SURPRISE. not yet learned to surrender liimsell", even to an honourable foe. It is not Colonel Maldo- nato who can now teach him the leson.^' Warren de Whittinghara silently drew his sword ; but the action was not unobserved by the Prince of France. *' Resistance, Monseig-neur,'' more civilly re- plied the Spaniard, " is useless. You are a Frenchman. As an oiBcer in the Imperial army it is my duty to make you my prisoner." •' You must be aware," interposed the Ab- bot, *' that his Royal Highness is flying from France to join the allied armies ; and that, according to the treaties of which we have all heard, he is admitted, by the united princes, as a principal in their league." ** I know and care nothing of all that, please your reverence. He is a Frenchman, and tliis very day he slew an Imperial soldier. I must do my duty." " And earn the reward offered by the Queen Regent," exclaimed a voice in the hall. It was that of RalVaelle Monza, w ho had crept THE SURPRISE. 5? in, by the open wicket, after the men at anus. '* Abbot," said Vittoria Colonna, " have what force you possess collected. I have passed my word to the Prince that he should be safe while under this roof; and aIthoui;:li, were it his own, the Marquis would burn it to the ground as the only means of purifying it after it had received so mighty a traitor to his king, his cousin, and his country, yet shall he be protected while in this house." '*Dio raio, Dio mio ! " shouted again old Fra Giovanni, in his fears, '* they are going to fight, and we shall be killed and burned to death. Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis ! " He rushed past the Abbot, and, darting through a side door, forci!)ly banged it behind him, and then, mindful of his negligence in an earlier part of tlie evening, locked and double-bolted it on the outside. Tlif only egress from the room, save that !)y which the troopers had entered, was thus cut ofl' from the pilgrims and the ladies. The cheek of D J 59 THE SURPRISE. Hilda ^rew more deadly pale, as Tilton, un- sheathing his rapier, placed himself beside her. That of Vittoria flushed crimson with noble resolution and daring. For a few moments, the parties stood thus undecided ; the Spaniard, not fearful of the impending" fray, but measuring the great risk he was about to run, for he well knew the truth of the Abbotts account of de Bourbon's purposes. At the one end of the hall, he stood advanced in the front of his men ; at the other, stood the two women ; Vittoria upright and collected ; Hilda leamiig, uncon- sciously, and almost fainting, on the arm of Tilton. The two Englishmen were side by side; their weapons in their hands. Next to de Whittingham, was the Constable, also pre- pared ; gazing with indignation on his oppo- nents, but dropping his fine eyes when they chanced to encounter those of Vittoria Co- lonna. Raffaelle and a couple of attendants had, also, seized weapons, and had ranged themselves beside the Abbot. THE SURPRISE. 59 Suddenly the hu.uif<. Oiir roads coiiM not agree." De Bourbon looked grave; and Uairatlle added, ** Is there any thing else I can do for your Eccellenza ?" *' Yes; find out (|uietly what sleeping room in the monastery is given to the youngest ot 92 ENTIirSIASM. the two Eng^Iishmcn ; and. come and tell rae when he has retired to it." Raffaclle cheerfully promised to obtain the desired information, and to return again to impart it to the Duke. ** And so," thoue unequalled when conjoinetl. Now let me entreat,'' he added ; ** on the claims of an old friend.'* *' Indeed it was a foolish feeling on my part/' said the marchioness; "and was prompted rather by the habits of society than by my own judgment. That I do occasional) v 130 THE PAST, PRESENT, endeavour to write is no secret, since some kind person lias, without my sanction, pub- lished several ol my attempts. And I know not why a woman should feel additional shyness because she has addressed her lines to her husband. I am sure that no other source of inspiration could produce any effect on me, unless, indeed, I wrote on religious subjects. Hilda, there is the paper," she continued, as she returned the loose sheet. '' It is a song,'' said Hilda, turning to Tilton, "that the Marchioness has just composed, and addressed to Don Ferdinand. I was try- ing if it would suit an old tune. So you must make allowances for a first attempt." *' I shall make no allowance at all, fair Hilda," said Maurice, with animation. "I shall use my own privilege of finding all the fault I can ; but then, I could never find any opportunity of exercising it on you." While the two old friends thus endeavoured to recognise one another as such, Donna Vit- loria had raised a handkerchief to those full \M) FITIRE. IH black eyes, and silently dried up the moisture which had suffused their lustre at the close of her last observation. No one made any re- mark upon the emotion which had been called up by the thought ol' her husband's dan«rers. Maurice placed an embroidered stool to sup- port the musician^s foot ; and observed, with pleasure, that its tiny proportions corres- ponded with the rest of her delicate ligiire. He seated himself on another somewhat hiirli- er at the feet of the two ladies ; while Hilda, in a tremulous voice, of little compass, but of beautiful softness, warbled the follouinL: lines. Gone — gone — why did he leave me'* Gone — gone — must it be so I' War — war — ever must grieve me. Ever bring abeence and woe. Sad — sad is absence, believe me. When hearts with fondness o'erflow ! Hope — hope smiles to deceive me. But all its falseness I know Vain— vain his triumphs ! for ever Foes •till suooeed to the slain. • These lines are written for the pretty German uir,"Du, du Megst mir im Herien." 132 THE PAST, PRESENT, Still — still must he conquer, and never Peace, that he fights for, obtain. Scarce — scarce do we meet, but we sever ; Honour still calls him again, Vain — vain every silent endeavour. Still must I weep and complain. Come — come, my dear one, I pray thee ! War has its triumphs, I own. But say, can glory repay thee Hours that in absence are flown ? What — what though princes obey thee. Offering sceptre and crown ; Come — come — let me delay thee. This — this fond heart is thy throne. Dark — dark ev'ry hout that comes o'er me. When thou art distant away. Love — love still shadows before me Terrors I may not betray. Come — come — come, and restore me Joys that can never decay ; Come — come I and if thou implore me, I will thy fondness repay. As Hilda concluded, Maurice respectfully raised the hand of the fond wife to his lips. " Console yourself, dear lady," he said . " These wars must soon draw to a close ; and Don Ferdinand will then retire, covered with such AND FUTIRE. 133 a lasting: fame as will compensate to you for all your distresses." The Marchesa silently signed to him not t(» notice her, as she endeavoured to repress her emotion by rising", and walking to the window. " You have made much proijress iu your singing, fair Hilda," said Maurice, laying- the guitar on the table : " as I anticipated, I see no opportunity of finding fault with you. The air suits the words most perfectly. Do you you yourself write verses as well as you sing them when written?" " Me, seigneur !" exclaimed Hilda. ** 1 love all that is written by my dear friend, and most of that which she points out to me in the pro- ductions of tlie writers with whom she is ac- quainted. But it is enough for me to admire others.'' **And which of the many writers who now illustrate Italy do you most admire?" enquired Maurice, anxious to obtain some insight into the mind and acquirements of his old friend. *'The Marclicsa's dear fri.-nJ tlw Countess 134 THE HAST, PRESEXTj Gambara^is a sweet and animated writer. But 1 tear that so many ladies have lately given themselves up to writing poetry, in imitation of these two friends, that they will bring the art into discredit. If none write but those who could equal the dear Marchesa, we need not fear having too many poets.'* "Why, dear Hilda, interposed the Mar- chioness, *' why wouldst thou wish to checic them? The occupation amuses and interests them ; and several arc persons of superior talent. What, however, I most lament, Mau- rice, is the mass of satirical and burlesque writings with which Italy has been inundated of late years. I can scarcely pardon Ariosto, for having given the sanction of his immortal name and example to this style of compo- sition." "But surely, Vittoria," Hilda interposed, " nothing can be more charming than his Orlando r' "I do not speak of it. Carina," replied lier friend ; " but of his satirical pieces. That on AND PUTUR . 135 his mean patron the Cardinul Ipolito d'Kste, who withdrew his quarterly pension of twenty- tour crowns because he refused to sacrilice his health and leisure in order to accompany his stupid Reverence into Hungary — that satire is most excusable. But he has, at other times, yielded too much to the spirit of the age ; and even his great poem bears traces of this con- descension. In many passages, he has cer- tainly degraded the poet into a mere relater of piquant stories. Poor Ariosto ! 1 have lately heard that he has been sent on some trouble- some business to Ferrara." "It strikes me," said Maurice, "that, ex- cepting of course yourself. Donna Vittoria, Italy has never possessed a real poet whose writings have declared him to be such. Ari- osto, you have just insinuated, is a most en- tertaining story-teller: Tasso hud, iiuUcd. dne feelings and perceptions, and would have risen to the rank of an original poet, could he have renounced his slavish imitation ol Viru^ii. But yet 1 km>w not if I can justly award hint 13C THE PAST, PRESENT, even this merit. My friend de Whittingham, who is somewhat of a judge in matters ot taste and feeling, declares that, if he had, like Tasso, occasion to speak of the powers of darkness — he would endeavour to make them to be pitied as well as feared : and would never degrade them as they have been degraded by Tasso^s description of them with horns and tails twisted and knotted according to the re- presentation given in every strolling exhibition of a Christian mystery.' " How then would he describe them V asked the Marchioness with interest. *' As emanations from the Godhead — degra- ded from the order for which they were created, but still mindful of their original high destiny, and appearing and acting like fallen angels, not like natural-born monkeys." " I never heard of feelings like those you describe," the lady replied thoughtfully. *' That young man must be gifted with a supe- rior mind. But still, Sir ^^aurice, 1 must not allow you to cry down our whole Italian poetic AND FTTIRE. 13? phalanx in order that a northern harbarian may triumph in their defeat. What say you to Petrarch — what to Dante's divine comedy?' ''Forgive me, dear ladies both," replied Tilton ; ''but not even the high names just mentioned can induce me to change my opi- nion. Petrarch has chosen to represent himself — whether truly or not, I care not — as a love- sick sonnetteer. Dante had, indeed, the mind of a poet: but by his choice of a subject and by the manner in which he has treated it, he has degraded himself into a writer of political squibs and pasquinades — into a mere party and factious libeller. Had his feeling been more sublimed and elevated above the interests of his day, ho would have chosen a subject more adapted to his naturally gentle and pa- thetic muse : as it is, she is only occasionally perceived amongst the crowds of ignoble images and rancourous and vindictive feelings which he has called up in her name." " Basta ! basta !" cried the Marchioness, uplifting her hands in allected horror. "No 138 THE PAST, PRESENT, more ot }uur barbarous criticisms,! conjure you. This is just the way with you En^^lish \ you come amongfst us aud frankly tell us ho>\ inferior everything on which we pride ourselves is to what you yourselves possess in your little island. And then you expect us to be might- ily obliged and gratified by the sincerity of your unvarnished opinions ! I'll hear no more." *' Do not, dear Vittoria," exclaimed Hilda, " Sir Maurice will otherwise give his equally kind opinion of your own compositions. ^ uu cannot escape, where Ariosto, Tasso, Dante and Petrarch, are so roughly condemned.'' '*The very power of perceiving the luults of the great men you have named," gallantly replied Maurice, *' enables me to appreciate the chaste elegance of the Princess of poets." " Tush, tush," cried the Marchioness. *^ Vou cannot, by personal flattery, efl'ace the remem- brance of the affront you have ofl'ered to my country. Let us fly from his rude satire, Hilda. The day is cheerful ; let us stroll AM) KITL'RE. 131i throujfh these pleasant-lookiogp woods. For you, discourteous chevalier, wo forbid you not, but we do not invite you, to accompany us. Ah, how much you miu^ht have profitted by fol- lowing the gallant and polite Bayard ! These Frenchmen are not, with all their faults, so plain-spoken as you triumphantly pride your- selves upon being. The Chevalier Bayard would have taught you more politeness than you have just exhibited." Tilton made some answer in accordance with the spirit in which the Marchesa had merged her late anxieties ; and gaily followed the ladies as they sallied forth into the adjoining woods. For awhile they paced the Icvtlled paths that had been cut by the monks in the im- mediate vicinity ol the monastery. The country was in too unsettled a state to per- mit them, with safety, to extend their ualk to a greater distance from the house. Lightly they conversed ; with animation, with spirit and with feeling. The lady of Pescaru 140 THE PAST, PRESENT, naturally assumed to herself the principal por-* tion of every arg-ument; but Maurice Tilton strove, and that not unsuccessfully, to maintain the bantering style which she had adopted. Hilda was an attentive, but, in general, a silent, listener to them both. To both she appeared to listen with almost equal interest. 'Tis true that, when the Marchion- ness made any observation which she deemed peculiarly happy, a identic pressure from the hand by which Hilda clasped her arm, showed that she participated in the slight intellectual triumph of her friend : but these signs of partisanship may, perhaps, be thought to have been counterbalanced by the downcast, yet beaming, eyes, and the placid, cheerful, smile that dimpled those roseate lips and that graceful chin, whenever Maurice replied to the happy sally, by an answer or an illus- tration still more happy. Calm, sweet, and unacknowledged, even to herself, was the new-found satisfaction which the fair girl re- ceived from that spriglitly walk : and the AND FTTURE. 141 evident pleasure which each one of the party thus bestowed upon the others, animated and excited each to a liveliness, elasticity and spriu^htliness of tone, than which nothing- in human society is more delightful. The happy feelinj^s in which all three par- ticipated were, however, destined to receive an unexpected check. They had, hitherto, as we have said, paced the walks nearest to the walls of the monastery. Emboldened, however, by the bracing coolness of the morn- ing air, and rendered thoughtless by the animation of the dialogue in which they had indulged, they now descended a more rugged path which wound aslant down the steep side of the iK'iglibouring precipice. Trees still overshadowed them, and low brushwood cloth- ed the sides of the hill. After descending a short way, a still narrower, and, evidently, less frequented, road branched off from the one they had hitherto followed, and, turning to the left, gradually conducted them again to the summit of the cliff— though at the 142 THE PAST, PRESENT^ distance of a quarter of a mile from the abbey. Thus, ia the midst of an animated discussion on general literature and the fine arts, they suddenly found themselves on a small platform, raised somewhat above the immediately surrounding landscape, and af- fording* them an extended view on all sides, excepting that on which it was bounded by the table hill on which the monastery was seated. An open door-way, formed in rude masonry and overhung by ivy and creeping plants, opened upon this platform ; and, in front of it, was seated, upon a log of wood, a man, passed, indeed, the prime of life, but whose long beard being superadded to the usual dress of the adjoining Dominican monks, gave him the appearance of being much older than he really was. The two ladies and Maurice started, as, on turning a corner of the cliff, they first beheld this unexpected figure. The Marchesa, however, immediately advanced towards him. " Have I the advantage," she enquired, as AND FTTTRE. 143 she asked for his blessing-, ** have I tlie ad- vantag-e of speaking to Padre Anselmo, of whom I have heard so much since I came into the monastery V " What have you heard ?" enquired the hermit, in a rough, abrupt tone of voice, and with a manner totally devoid of suavity or deference. " What have I heard?" repeated the lady, unabashed by the rudeness of the enquiry. ** I have heard that Father Anselmo is a great, and good, and kind man, though he wishes to be thought less amiable than he really is ; and I have heard that nothing occurs, or can occur, without his sanction ; or, at least, without his being forewarned of it. ' ** Then you have heard a vast deal of non- sense. Do you believe the absurdities which you repeat ?" asked the stranger. " Believe them? No : most assuredly I do not," replied the lady, rather piqued. ** I may believe that you arc a good and pious 144 THE PAST, PRESENT. man, although you do not waste your words in phrases of mere politeness : but I certainly do not believe that you foretell what is about to happen, any better than other people." *'-Then you are quite wrong, again, lady, ' g-rowled the old man, *' as you may one day find out. Aye, you, and that pale-faced child there, will both think of me when you are led captives at the order of one whom you most despise." •'What mean you, holy father?" timidly enquired Hilda. " Heed not the Marchesa's repartee. She was only piqued by your man- ner. I, myself, fully believe in the power which good people, at times, possess; and, you, yourself, dear V^ittoria, surely remember the supernatural warning which the Marquis received before the capture of Milan ? " *' Supernatural nonsense!" retorted the hermit, with a grim smile. ** Why, it was I, myself, who appeared disguised before the Mar- quis and theCardinalGiulioof Medicis — lie was a military knight then, he is Pope now — I, AND FUTURE. 1 l'> myself, appeared before them, and told them that, if they would instantly attack the town, the ^reat bell of the Duomo would rin;;, and the gfates be opened to them. And you think that the effect of supernatural informa- tion, do you? Poor child, what nonsense people will believe! Why, I had been sent by the Pope's friends in the city to ^iw this intellig-ence to tlic allies. I grave it mysteri- ously, in order that I might gain access to their tent ; but I never knew, till now, that people fancied I had been a supernatural a<^ent." *' Then you do not profess to have prophetic powers? " enquired the Marchesa. *' I do not profess any thintr, except a wish to live here in peace and quiet. But if silly people will come and ask me questions, I must answer them according to the information 1 possess. Now, I suppose you are come to ask the fate o( the battle that is expected out yonder? Can I help tellinir you that the French have been beaten, and driven beyond the river 8essia i '' VOL. I. " 146 THE I'AST, I'RKSENT, '* Holy Father Anselmo ! " cried Hilda, '• then you have the power you disclaim. But how — pray how is the Marquis?" she anx- iously added. "Whatever I miprht reply, fair child, would have no effect or influence on the Marchioness, as she has just told us. I have, however, no doubt but that he will do — for the present : — his time is not come yet." " Cruel old man ; what mean you]? " ex- claimed the Marchesa, bursting into a flood of tears. " Nothing, nothing-, dear lady," replied the hermit, in an altered tone. ** Forgive me, I jiray you. It was only the annoyance which I felt at your incredulity respecting my pow- ers which prompted me to revenge myself on you. Be assured I lament my weakness and ray sin, now I see the efl'ect it has produced. I only meant to hint that the constant warfare ifi which the Marquis takes so prominent a p;irt, must expose him to great danger. No one, dear lady, shall, henceforward, pray more AND FrriJiiE. 1 17 earnestly than I, that he may not succiiinl). Will you deign to forgive me my harshness? " The poor woman still wept so violently, over the danger which had been threatened against the husband, that she was unable to reply to the old man's humble supplication tor forgiveness. Maurice Tilton, however, interposed : " You have explained. Sir,*' he said, "your cruel observation on the Marquis of Pescara. You have, however, permitted yourself other allusions which must not pass unheeded. Who and what are you ? " " You do right, young man," replied the now thoroughly humbled Anselmo, " You do right to punish me for my presumption. Let me shew my contrition by literally replying: to your question of who and what I am. May I thus remove any unpleasant impression which my foolisli spturh iiuiv havo hit upon your minds ! ** My natural disposition/' he continued, "led me to prefer the life of a soldier: my II 2 Its TIIK PAST, PRESENT, coDdition in the world made me well satisfied w ith the pay and profits of a common trooper. In strife, violence, and sin, my youth and much of my manhood passed away. Occa- sionally, I projected a change of habits ; but some new division of booty would ever happen to aflford me renewed means of gratifying- my passions, and binding me more firmly to them. I was in the dreadful battle of Ravenna ; I there fought with the troops of the church : I am, indeed, by birth a Roman. 1 was wounded and left for dead on the field. The past, and the dreadful future, then rushed upon mind. I I vowed amendment, should I be saved for the present from the jaws of hell. I raved, I absolutely raved in despair, that no minister of God was at hand to receive my confession. ' But no, so it ever is,' I wildly cried, ' with those cursed clergy — foremost in every festi- val, instigating to every broil and war, they always skulk into their churches and their convents when they are most needed!' In the midst of my madness, a noble figure rose AND FITURE. 149 up near me. I turned and saw the Papal legrate, Giovanni of Medicis, who was after- wards Pope Leo X. I saw this great man rise from the side of a wounded trooper to whom he had been administering spiritual consolation. Unarmed and defenceless in the midst of the battle, he had often encouraged us to withstand the dreadful attacks of the French ; now, when our force was routed and driven from the ground, he still lingered behind to assist the dying. " ' What is it, my poor friend V he gently said to me, as he kneeled on one knee, at my head ; * thou callest lor a priest. God, in his mercy, sends thee one. If thou art re- pentant, confess thy sins, and hope in his goodness.' *' I did so, lady ; with tears and sorrow I did confess me, and promise amendment should my life be spared. I uept, perhaps as much at the goodness of the great Cardinal as at the mercy of God. But I did weep, lady. It is always good to weep. IJis Emi- 150 THE I»AST, I'RESENT, iience had but just given me his priestly absolution when the Chevalier Pietase, of lioloijna, u;alloped suddenly up : " * Save yourself, Eminence/ he cried. ' You will fall into the hands of the enemy ; take my horse and fly. I can easily catch another/ ''^My son,* replied the Cardinal, * as war has produced these results, this is the proper place for the priest who witnesses them. Go ; leave me to my duty.' *' I saw him bend over another dying sol- dier; but at that moment he was rudely seized upon by two horsemen, who were pro- ceeding to treat him with indignity, when he was rescued from them by the interference of the same gallant knight who had before urged liim to fli'^^ht. I saw him, soon after, taken prisoner by a body of French cavalry. Loss of blood had so much weakened me that I fainted where I lay. '* Forgive, lady," continued the hermit, ** forgive me if my story is tedious. I recount AND FTTIRK. 151 It as a penance to myself ; but 1 would not willingly inflict one on you." Our two heroines both anxiously pressed the old man to continue the history of his con- version. "Slowly, lady," he proceeded, "slowly I returned to life, and strength — without which there is no real life. In a penitential spirit, and firmly resolved to act upon the resolu- tion which I had formed on the field of Ra- venna, I made my way to Rome. There, misery awaited me. A daughter, a young child to whom, alone, on the uide earth I was passionately attached, had disappeared from the charge of the people uith whom I had left her. The house had been pillaged in one of the frequent contests between the Colonna and the Orsini, and my little lass had not, since, been heard of. Hut too many reasons were given to make me believe that she had been slain in the fray, and her little body ca5t into the huge cistern in the centre of the court-yard of the house. Sick at heart, I re- 152 THE PAST, PRESENT, joined my troop for a while, but I soon left it airain, and wandered for some years as a pilcrrim throutrh the different states of Italy. At all the most holy shrines, I oUtTed up my prayers to God for pardon to myself, for I had sinned a^ain, lady; grievously sinned again ; and for the recovery of my child if she were still in life. Two years since, returning from a pilgrimage to Mount Varese, 1 was kindly refreshed at this monastery. You have called me Father Anselmo ; I am no padre. God knows that, with the mighty sin upon my con- science, I am not worthy to take any vows. I am too wandering in my habits — too madly urg- ed by inward guilt ever to bind myself to reside in any fixed place. The good monks, how- ever, made allowance for my failings, in con- sideration of my wish to correct them, and that they do not know all that I liave done. I made a prayer to the Abbot that I might be permitted to enclose this cavern and to reside in it. This he kindly allowed. I attend the services in the abbey; but am no further u AM) M 11 HE. 15S monk than that I wear somcthiug d! the habit." " Your story has much interested me,'* said the xMarchcsa, kindly. " You mentioned that your child had sufl'cred in a tVay between the Colonna and the Orsini. In the house of which family did she live .' '' '* In one ol the Colonna palaces, laily, replied the old man. "The persons with whom i had placed her lived in a couple of rooms iu the house, such as the Italian nobles are wont to let out to their dependents." " But," remarked Tiltou, interposin^s ** you have told us your history, 8ig:nor Anselmu, but you have not told us the meaning' oi those pretensions to prophecy which you made when we first spoke to you, and of which it seemed that the Signora Marchesa had before heaid some rumour." ** That, Signor, IS but u \tniin, oi ^Mln n 1 own that I have been guilty, and of whiclt I might strive to correct myself, were it my only one. In the busy life which I have led, ii 5 154 THE PAST, PRESENT, in the ten years, particularly, which I have spent in wandering through Italy, exceptinj^ the time which I again spent with that cursed Maldonato, I have naturally seen much, and have acquired the habit of observing much which escapes the notice of those who are differently constituted. By detailing inform- ation which I had thus obtained, and by concealing the source whence I derived it, I have often astonished the minds of the curious and the ignorant. Signor, when a man has that within him which tells him that he is a devil, he is glad to be told by others that he is a god. I had a devil within me; I have a devil within me now ; he tells me of what I have done, and jeers me that it is too horrible to be forgiven ; he bids me hug my secret sinj and never, by confessing it, brand myself as But ha ! ha ! '' he cried, wildly interrupting himself; ''dost think, Signor, that I shall tell it to thee? No; no; I may tell the future, but not the past— not the past. And so I do tell the future to many silly \ND FUTURE. 155 people," he resumed, after a pause : " I tt II them what is most likely to happen, and the y consider me a prophet — almost a g-od. I do wrong, lady, I know, but it is only a slii^ht sin for one who has served Colonel Maldu- nato. Besides, 1 never allow any one to leave me without assuring: them that I derive my knovvleds;:c from natural causes ; but tliey do not believe that — they think me a prophet ; Ha! ha!" " And pray," enquired Tilton, anxiously, ** what is the real meaninj^ of those dark hints you threw out respectinir the captivity of these ladies ?" '* I know not, Signor. Last eveniiii:, soon after the alarum bell in tlie convent tower had ceased to ring, a party of Spanish troopers passed near my cell as they descended the cliff. They saw not me : but I gathered from their talk to one another that they had been thwarted in their attempt to obUin some prize ; and one who appeared to l)e a leader and who came last and uhoin 1 hiul irood 156 THE PAST, PRESENT, cause to recognise as Colonel Maldonato, my curse on him ! spoke with great violence to his comrade, and, in broken sentences, vowed vengeance upon those who had thwarted him. His words were intermixed with curses and with admiration of some lady whom he ap- peared to have met in the abbey. 'IT I die in the attempt,' these were the last words I was able to hear, 'if I die for it, I will get them both into my power.' I meant, Signor, to have warned you of this before we should part ; but my foolish words to that lady alarmed her, and turned our discourse." "You did not overhear more?" enquire(? the Englishman. ''Not a word distinctly., Signor; but, in- deed, ladies," the hermit added, turning to them, '' you have little to fear. No soldier now dare insult those who have taken pro- tection in a convent. Since the sack of Ra- venna, of which I have before spoken, when, as I have been informed, the French General seized thirty-four of his own soldiers who had AND FUTURE. 15? broken into a convent and instantly hung them out of the windows as warnings to the others — since that time, the religious houses have been generally respected." " Let rae ask what you meant,'* enquired the Marchesa, " by saying that the French had been driven back this morning. We have not received any advices of a battle." ** No, Lady ; but in the silence of this ele- vated hermitage, I was able to hear the sound of the artillery in the direction of the Sessia ; and as it did not cease, but became indistinct owing to the increasing distance, I imagined that the Imperialists had attacked the French Admiral Bonnivet, and had driven him fur- ther into the mountains. I was still listening to the firing when you first addressed me ; and this interruption was one cause of the abruptness of my mode of speech." On receiving this matter of fact explana- tion of those statements and denunciations which had before appeared so astounding, our friends, if we may be permitted to call 1^8 THE I'AST, PRESENT, them so, turned to leave the platform of the hermitage. " Farewell, ladies," cried the hermit, ** while something of his old temper again came over him ; Farewell, heaven defend you against all those dangers which, most assuredly, me- nace you. Pardon me that 1 announced them so abruptly ; but, rely upon it, they will prove to be not imaginary. Farewell, Siynor;" he continued, addressing Tilton. *' We may meet again. You now think yourself far superior to the mad hermit of Monto-Verde: we may meet again : the course of love is not so smooth as lovers always imagine — particularly when they love — they know not whom. I know, i could tell : but I will not now. No, no ; Fra Giovanni, I can keep a secret, and help my child to a noble husband ; I can keep a secret — particularly when my powers and foreknowledge are contemned. Aye ? start you, fair Sir ? You should have spoken to me more civilly before. I will never tell ye who she is — till thou liasi AND KUTURK. 159 wedded hcr—theii how the poor trooper, then how the poor mad hermit, uil! triumph I Twill be a hravo wedding ! till then, fare- well ! rarewell thou, too, my child." He turned him and entrrod Jiis low l)n»ued cell. " The poor fellow's intellect," observed Tilton, as they descended the path, * has been evidently disturbed by wounds received in that battle. Pray, dear Donna Vittoria, do not attach any importance to his rude ravings." "1 will not," replied the Marchioness; ** and yet I cannot but admit that his account of the battle and of the conduct of tiic Car- dinal John of Medici is perfectly true : nor can I the less conceal from myself that the fate he foretold for Ferdinand is most likely to overtake him, if he follow on in his pre- sent pursuits. God help me! (iod help me! I can scarcely say, God's will be done !" IFilda fondly tried to console her friend ; and thus »" -i''M'«' mxI «} oi threatened 160 PAST, PRESENT, ANU FUTURE. dangers ug^ainst the annunciation ot which they vainly strove to harden themselves, they slowly returned to the monastery. How dif- ferent were their present feelings from those with which they had left it two hours before ! PRODIGIES. 161 CHAPTER VIII. P H O U I (i I K S . " Then on the battlement they saw A rision passing nature's law. Strange, wild, and dimlj seen ; Figure* that seemed to rise and die» Gibber and sign, advance and fly. While nought confirmed could ear or eye Discern of sound or mien." Scott's Marmion It will easily be supposed that, in the waver- ing state of his feeling^s towards Hilda, Tilton could not hear, without deep interest, of the (lark tlireats and unintelligible hints which Anselmo had pronounced against her. Long did he pace the floor of his apartment, pic- luring to himself all the dangers to which she might be exposed by the unbridled violence of 1G2 PRODIGIES. sucli a man as Colonel Maldonato ; tor that he was the unseen person, who had used the threatening- language, there could not be a doubt. In the division of interests and the balanced state of parties which then afflicted Jtaly, no restraint could check the license which every condottiere, or comnaaiider of mercenary troops enlisted for the time under his banner, exercised wherever his power extended. Tilton w^ell knew that Maldonato had brought a large body of Spaniards to the service of the duke of Urbino, the leader of the Italian allies, and was, therefore, too powerful for a stranger to attempt any thing against him without the clearest proofs of his treachery. The Spaniard had, indeed, com- mitted himself by attempting to arrest the duke of Bourbon, who, he must have well known, was endeavouring to join the Impe- rialists, with whom he himself then served ; but the Duke was not likely to bring dissen- sion into the camp at that critical moment, in order to punish the daring- attempt of an individual upon his personal freedom. PRODIGIES. 163 From the Marquis of Pescara, iudeeil, Mau- rice Tilton might be certain of obtaining every protection for his wife and her friend ; but he felt that he could scarcely apply to him against a powerful leader on no better evidence than the doubtful statement of a half-crazed en- thusiast. The conclusion, to which the conflicting judgment and wish of the Englishman led him, was the same as that usually arrived at when inclination, anxiety ,'and insuperable difticul- ties contend for mastery in the stunned mind ; he sutfered his thoughts to escape from the perplexities in which they were involved, by allowing fancy to supersede them and present more soothing and attractive imaires. The image of the fair-haired Hilda thus gradually attained full possession of his mind. Those personal perfections which liad been matured and developed since he had last seen her, sweetly harmonized with the gentle and amiable disposition which he remembered her to have possessed, and which all that he had 164 PRODIGIES. observed in her, for the last twelve hours, proved to be her unaltered attribute. Nor could he, instructed beyond the habits ot those of his years in the study of the human heart and all those slij^^htest symptoms which may betray its inward working's — be heedless to the interest which this timid girl had inad- vertently betrayed in his own proceedings. The exhibition of the sentiments with which she had first welcomed him in the convent had, indeed, been restrained within the usual boun- daries of pleasurable surprise ; but the man- ner in which she had drawn towards him fui^ protection on the irruption of Maldonato, the exclamation with which she had received the intelligence that he did not intend to accom- pany his friend to the expected engagement — these, and many other symptoms of interest which she had exhibited towards him. had not been unmarked by Tilton ; and would have been too flattering to his vanity not to have produced some impression, even had he not been predisposed to hail with delight every PROIMGIK8. \t',j sisrn of her tavoural)lc dispositions towards him. Yet we will not say that Sir Maurice Tilton loved Hilda Colonna. He felt a deep interest in her from old associations ; a deep admira- tion on account of her fairy and bjeauteous person; a dcli<:^htcd vanity at the symptoms of concern in his wellurc, and of trust in his protection, wliich she had unwittingly ex- hibited towards him : these sentiments, when combined, approximate, wo admit, to incipient love. But, as yet, the love was only incipient. " Who is she ? " was the question whicli con- stantly presented itself to his mind — which constantly cliilled all his more fervent aspi- rations towards her. " That old fool in the cavern,'* thout^ht Tilton, ** appeared to know something- on the subject. But, besides that it would be un- handsome to attempt to discover, through such an one as he, the secrets of d'Avalos family ; the crazy mountebank is evidently offended with the manner in which I resented 166 PRODIGIES. his would-be prophecies ; and will never con- descend to hold friendly intercourse with me. Fool that I was ! Had I humoured him when in his repentant mood, I might have led him to tell every thing-. But now — now the Mar- chesa," he continued, adopting a sudden de- termination, ** will, perhaps, be able to dis- close to me all I wish to know. I will hie to her, and frankly interrogate her." So engrossed had Maurice Tilton been by his own thoughts that he had not perceived how many hours had sped away since he had sepa- rated from the Marchesa and Hilda Colonna, after their eventful walk in the morning. As he now strode through the court-yard with the resolution of instantly acting up to his deter- mination, and discovering the real origin of the fair girl in whom he could not disguise to himself that he was deeply interested, Barto- lomeo, the Major-Duomo, met him, and in- formed him that the ladies and the Abbot had already entered the dinner hall and had enquired anxiously after him. PRODIOIB8. ir>7 ** Dinner already !" cried Tilton in surprise; '* why we have but just broken our fast." " La scusi," replied the self-important func- tionary ; "your Excellency breakfasted early, and it is now two hours after mid-day. But when the mind isoccupied on pleasant subjects," he added half deferentially, half sarcastically, **it notes not now fleetly the hours speed away." Tilton eyed him with an enquirinpr irlanre. It was evident that he knew soniethin*^, perhaps suspected more, of the state of his mind : but even bad the hour permitted him to delay, the young man could not have condescended to enter into conversation even with a trusty servant, on the subject of his own feelincrs, or the private history of a member of the hitrh family whom Harlolomco served. Had he known that even the old porter Fra Giovanni had read, in his first glance, the interest uitli which the lady Hilda inspired him, Maurice Tilton would not have marvelled to discover that the state of his affections was no secret to the a1]-oli>:erv;tnt IVutnbunro. 168 PRODIGIES. As Tilton entered the dining-hall, he com- posed his mind and his features to their usual unruffled cast, and blandly apologised to the Abbot and to the ladies for the lateness of his appearance. The conversation of the party was calm, but not without restraint. Each of the three strang-ers was pre-occupied by the threats and insinuations of the hermit ; which that worthy's subsequent confession and expla- nations had not entirely effaced. The Abbot alone was calm and benevolent as usual : he knew nothing of the incidental meeting to which his guests had been exposed in the morning ; and expressed much regret when informed of the annoyance they had endured. " I scarcely know what to do with the poor man/' he observed in continuation. *' When he came here, it was evident that his intellect had been shaken by wounds or sorrows that he had endured : — probably the effect of the former caused him to magnify in imagination the greatness of the latter. At all events, as he declared himself penitent for whatever the past might have concealed, and prayed only PRODIGIES. IG9 for peace and tranquillity, and for leave to spend his days in this neij^hbourhood, I thought that his mind mig-ht be brought to a firmer tone by yielding to his wish. Still, at times* 1 am tempted to regret that I have afforded him the shelter of our woods." " Does he ever seriously abuse your confi- dence ?" enquired Tilton. ** I have little to complain of," replied the Abbot, ^* beyond the pretensions to superna- tural knowledge which he often puts forth. He has observed much during his wanderings, and possesses an unfailing memory: by em- ploying these faculties, he often practises upon the credulity of the peasantry to such an extent that we have difficulty in counteracting the superstitious faith whicli his prophecies engender." '^ He attempted to arouse a similar faith in us this morning ; but he afterwarJs prayed torgiveness, and apj)eared sincerely to repent him,'' observed the Marchesa. " And told you all his history, I doubt not?" VOL. I. I 170 ' PRODIGIES. enquired the Abbot. ''That is the usual course of his wild fancy when his pros^nostica- tions have seriously grieved those to whom they are addressed. I am much pained to gather, from his having followed this course with you, that he permitted himself to utter rhapsodies w hich could distress either of your party. The worst of the matter, however, is tliat his repentance is only momentary : on the first provocation, or the first opportunity of displaying his fancied lore, he immediately forgets every good resolve, and re-enacts his prophetic part with as much violence as ever." " So it appeared in my case," said Tilton. " But may I ask your Reverence whether the account which he gives of himself in his honest moments, if such he really have, be true?" *' I firmly believe it to be so," replied the Abbot. " I doubt not but that he gave you many details of the battle of Ravenna, and of the kindness he met with from the Cardinal of Medici— afterwards Leo the Tenth. That PRODIGIES. 171 his Holiness did act in that manner is a fact. But from some hints which, in his wildest moments, this poor fellow throws out, I fear that, at some subsequent period, he must have ill requited the attention of the pontiff." "He!" exclaimed Tilton ; "what inter- course could possibly exist thenceforward be- tween this mad trooper and one so exalted as 1^0 the Tenth?" *' I know not ;" responded the Abbot, thougrhtfully : ** but I have my suspicions that he was not always so bent down by sorrow as he represents himself to have been after his recovery from his wounds. From ex- pressions which have, at times, dropt from film, I fear that he airain joined his com- mander, this Colonel Maldonato who annoyed us all last nitrht ; and that, while in his ser- vice, some trreat crime was committed, the dread and remembrance of which has ever since acted upon his previously shattered and excited intellect. I know not; I pray that I may be mistaken: but I wish it were con- I 2 17- PRODIGIES. sistcnt with Christian cliarity for mc to expel him from the neiijfhboiirhood of my monastery." There was a pause in the conversation, each one of the party being engrossed with his own thoughts as they had been excited by the hermit Anselrao. The silence had con- tinued a few minutes when the door of the hall was flung rudely open, and Anselmo himself rushed in, with wild and distracted looks and gestures, followed by the old porter, Fra Giovanni, who shrieked out, at the highest pitch of his cracked voice, ** Dio mio ! Dio mio ! What will become of us? what will become of us? Save me, holy Abbot ! for the sake of the Blessed Virgin and St. Doraenic, save us !— save us!" "Save us!" cried the hermit, in loud and fearful accents of mingled sarcasm, pride, and despair. " Save ye, dost say, old fool ! none ran save ye. No one can save us ! 1 knew it — I foretold it. — It is all owing to my crime. Absolution, holy Abbot ! give me absolution. I must ask for it, at last !" PRODIGIR8. 173 He cast himself on his knees at the feet of the astounded Abbot. " There ! see — see — there it is again," cried old Giovanni — "merciful heaven, wliat will happen to us !" •' Absolution," loudly expostulated the Her- mit, crawling^ on his knees after the Abbot, who had hastened to the oriel ivindow from which all the rest now ^azed in terror and surprise. " 1 demand a!)solution. The end of the world is come. My crime occasioned it all. 'Twas I who poisoned him." ** Oh, holy father," shrieked Fra Giovanni, also fallings on his knees, " stop it, stop it. Bless it, exorcise it, curse it. Order out the holy relics and make a procession. Diu mio, Dio mio, I wish I had not told Bartolomeo so many lies ; nor left the door open ; nor broken my fast last Friday. I will confess, I \sill confess it all." ** It is, indeed, a fearful sight !** exclaimed the Abbot. " But do not be alarmed, ladies, althouirh we cannot understand it/' 174 PRODIGIES. The ladies and Tilton, could not, however, lielp feeling alarmed ; althoug-h they spoke not in answer to the Abbot's attempted reas- surances. They stood grazing, fixed and silently, on the portentous spectacle which the clouded sky presented to them. A thick forest was imag-ed in the quarter of the heavens on which they gazed ; and out of this issued several batallions of foot soldiers, each of which seemed to contain, at least, ten thousand men ; each batallion being supported by a troop of at least one thousand men at arms. Amongst these, advanced such mighty pieces of ordnance as not even Charles the Eightlh had ever imported into Italy. Scarce was this mighty army ranged in battle array, when, from the opposite side advanced an opposing force of equal power. The difi'erent leaders met and consulted together ; kings, with crowns on their heads, joined in the conference. At length, one mighty form, and to whom all the flickering shadows bent down with the great- est reverence * * * * PRODIGIES. 175 " Who can it be?" shrieked Fra Giovanni, with his eyes starting from their sockets, at this period of the awful pantomime. **Who?" bellowed the mad hermit, on his knees. "I know him well. The Pope ! The Pope! My benefactor ! Absolution, abbot, absolution !" The Abbot moved aside, to escape his con- vulsed grasp, and to mark, in silence, the pro- gress of the threatening appearance. The mighty shadow we have mentioned now advanced before all the rest ; and meeting one of the opposing kings, drew its gauntlet from its right hand, and cast it high in air. Instantly trumpets sounded in the heavens, the hostile squadron met, the cannon tliun- ♦dered. *' I will be absolved. 1 tell thee, before the world crumble into ruins," exclaimed the mad- man on his knees, dragging the abbot into a seat beside him. *' I have a right to be absolved. I have confessed my crime. Mea culpa, raea 176 PRODIGIES. culpa : thouirh it was not so much my fault. The colonel ordered it ; and the Duke of Ur- bino set him to the work. But each one for himself. I confess and I demand absolution/' Several monks now rushed into the room ; and, seizing" the maniac, released the terrified abbot from his clutches. They, at the same time, all spoke together their fears respectinj;^ the awful prodigy ; and summoned their supe- rior to lead them to the chapel, that they might together deprecate the wrath of heaven. Willingly the abbot rose to accompany them ; but, gazing from the window, perceived, \Nith astonislimenl, that the sun again shone se- renely ; that the figures had disappeared ; that not a trace remained of the awful pantomime which had so alarmed all beholders. *' Blessed be God," devoutly exclaimed the abbot, "for all his mercy. Let us, my brethren, to the chapel, to praise Him together for liis infinite goodness.^' At the head of the ilionks, be led the way from the hall. Tlie mad PRODIGIES. 177 Anseliuo ruslied from the room exclaiui- ing» ** Pray ! pray ! But it is not over yet. Hea- ven will never hv appeased till I am ab- solved."* * Guicciardini records, that an appearance in the heavens, fuch an we have described, was first witne»H*d in Italy at thin period. I 5 1/8 LOVE AND PRIDE. CHAPTER IX. LOVE AND PRIDE. " Thou wilt be like a lover presently. And tire the hearer with a book of words. If thou dost love fair Hero, cherish it. And I will break with her, and with her father. And thou shalt have her. Was't not to this end. That thou began'st to twist so fine a story?" Much Ado about Nothing. The prayers were ended. The sky was serene. Each one in the monastery had retired tO his own apartment. Search had been made, by order of the abbot, for the hermit Anselmo : he was nowhere to be found. Tilton had wan- dered awhile to compose his mind, after the alarming phenomenon all had witnessed, and which, though of a kind more frequent in the South of Europe since the commencement ot the last rontury, had never before been ob- ^ LOVE AM) PUIUE. 179 served at the period of our history. The as- tonishmeot and alarm it created in those who happened to witness it may, therefore, be easily imairined. Those who did not personally behold it, at once denied tlie evidence of those who did, and declared their tale to be incredi- ble, and the creation of their own fancies. Thus are the assertions of travellers, and of those who first orii^^inate discoveries in the arts and sciences, often decried as falsehoods and impossibilities: althoui^h the advance of knowledLTC and of accurate research as often proves the truth of the original assertions. Thus too is the world now no longer aston- ished by those beautiful etlects of reflected and refracted light which filled our predeces- sors with wonder and alarm. Still bent upon carrying out tlic resolution he had adopted in the morning of enquiring from the Marchesa of Pescara what was the real origin of Hilda, our friend Tilton now sought the apartment in which he was in- 180 LOVE AND I'KIDE. formed that the lady would gladly receive his visit. "What think you, dear chevalier," said the Marchesa, as he entered the room, ** now that dear Hilda is not here to be alarmed by the expression of your opinion, what do you really think of the awful spectacle we have wit- nessed?" " Dear Madonna Vittoria," replied the En- glishman, ** I know not what to think. I cannot believe, with the crazy hermit, that the whole pageant referred to hirasell; although I doubt not that he has committed the awful crime of which he madly accuses himself. I fear it rather portends general wars and disasters amongst Christian nations." "Who, then,' enquired the lady, "could that mighty figure be whom the hermit de- clared to be the Pope?" '• I should rather imagine it to represent the Emperor. lie is now, doubtless, the first Sovereign in the world ; and the enmity and jealousy \>hich exist between him and the king LOVE AND PRIDE. 181 of France certainly betoken much distreaji to all the nations." The lady was silent and appeared buried in her own anxious reflections. *' Fear not, cara Madonna," continued Tilton more cheerinyrly : ** whatever wars may be foretold in this way, they cannot con- cern us farther than that they will give the Marquis continued opportunities of winning the admiration of Europe, and afford me con- stant occasions of mediating and treating where, fortunately for my love of diplomatic procrastination, neither treaty nor mediation will be of any avail.'' "Such times will just suit your chivalrous young friend," observed the Marchioness with a smile. '* Exactly," replied Tilton. " You must not, however, suppose that he follows war for war's sake. While his father disowns him, it is per- force his profession. He cannot help himsi»lf. Permit me now, however, bella Marchesa, to speak to you as an old friend of an old friend. 182 LOVE AND PRIDE. You have never told me who is the lair irirl who bears your name. Yet I believe she is not a member of your family — she is not really a Colonna?" " Per esempio !" exclaimed the Marchesa. " And what importance can it be to the Ca- velliere Maurizio Tiltou of Eng-land, whether my little Hilda be my first cousin or not?" *^Make allowance," urged Tilton, *' for the curiosity which beauty, such as hers, must excite in one who has known her so long- as I have." " Do you ask then on account of her beauty, or on account of the antiquity of your ac- quaintance ?" " For both reasons, do not deny me, dear lady." " Oh, you wish to know w hether your lonir endurini^ acquaintance and friendship has not been misplaced ?'* ** Never," protested Tilton : " it could not be misplaced while centered on Hilda, on a friend of yours.*' LOVE AND PRIDE. 185 *'Then you are only curious to ascertain," said the Marchesa in a bantering tone, " whe- ther nature have not misplaced its fairest gitt of beauty by bestowing it on one of unknown birth ?" ** You are too hard upon me, per Bacco I as you Romans say," exclaimed Tilton. *' Nay, nay," said Donna Vittoriu ; " 1 merely wish you to ask yourself how much importance you ought really and truly, as a rational man, which all you Englishmen con- sider yourselves, to attach to the family and parentage of a young girl whom you have known from childhood to be endowed with every charm of mind and temper, and whom you now perceive to possess every grace of person " But surtiy a Colonna," said Tilton, "would not deny theadvantagesof hii;h birth ?" '* No," said tlie lady with encreascd anima- tion ; '' I would not, in a land where that high birth is known and has its proper weight. But of what importance to a stranger, merely 184 LOVE AND PRIDE. travelling in the country, can be the birth and family of a young" girl whom he admires for every attribute that should adorn a woman ?" *' I am no passing stranger/' said Tilton, piqued by her manner of refusing the inform- ation he pleaded for ; '^ I would wish to be no passing stranger in regard to the fair Hilda : but Maurice Tilton must know somewhat of the real family of her whom he would think of as his wife." "Victory! victory!" exclaimed the Mar- chesa ; *' I have driven the great diplomatist, who comes amongst us in disguise and bent on all important and all secret missions, to be- tray the real object of all his enquiries. I have compelled him to speak out for once before he intended to do so !'^ '* Who could resist the practices of Madonna Vittoria?" said Tilton, vainly endeavouring to conceal the little annoyance he felt at hav- ing committed himself. "Diplomacy can never be successfully employed against one who rifles all hearts at her pleasure.'^ LOVE AND PRIDE. 185 "Excepting^," &aily added the Marcbesa, *' exceptinjj those hearts which have already been rifled by her friends. But now," she continued chanj^ing- her tone, '* now that you have shown me tiiat you are not prompted by mere curiosity, I will reply to you in a difl*er- ent strain. I know not who Hilda Colonna really is." " Is that possible !" exclaimed Tilton. " Most certain," replied the Marchesa. " I may have my suspicions ; those suspicions may have been very lately strengthened. But I will not be the means of occasioning possible disappointment by prematurely de- claring them.'' *' At least say it she be entitled to the name she bear?" " I cannot. 1 believe lier to be related to the Colonna family ; but I have no suflicicnt assurance of the fact to induce me to urge it upon you." •' Do you believe her to Ijc well born ?" •'I do." 186 LOVE AND PRIDE. " May I enquire how your intimacy first commenced ?" ** No, Tilton, you may not. I was a child when she was an infant. My father gave her to me as a companion and a play-fellow. We have grown up together. She is now my dear friend.'^ *^Was your father aware of the circum- stances of the playmate he allotted to you ?" *' Not with certainty. He knew no more than I myself now do. Before his death, he informed me of all that he had learned. But both he and I may have been imposed upon ; and I will not be the means of raising hopes in you that may prove delusive. Poor Hilda is, I believe, aware of her uncertain position in life ; and will, I fear, dedicate herself to a cloister, to escape from it." '' Hilda become a nun !'' exclaimed Tilton. *' Yes, I attribute to her friendship for me that she has not already taken the veil. She has a sweet, calm, cheerful disposition, which LOVE AND PRIDE. 187 would, I believe, render her happy in the cloister." *' Impossible. This must not be,*' asserted the Englishman. *^I will tell you frankly," said the Marchesa smiling*, **that I tliink you have the power to prevent it. A woman can always see into a woman's heart ; and Hilda's behaviour towards you, since you came here last evening, has not been unobserved by me." " Do you really think she loves me V asked Tilton delighted. *' Loves you! No: conceited stranger! Dost think an Italian girl, brought up as Hilda has been, would love any one before she has been asked by him to do so in return for his plighted faith? No: but I think Hilda is very well inclined towards you, and would be glad to love you were she entitled to do so. And believe me, Maurice," she continued with earnestness, ** that never was a truer prize oflfered to the ambition of man than the heart of Hilda C'olonna. Her whole 188 LOVB AND PRIDE. affection centres in quiet domestic pursuits. She may not be endowed with brilliant ta- lents; but she possesses a sweetness of tem- per, a calm rectitude of judgfment, and an affectionate disposition, which will secure the happiness of any man on whom her affections are placed ; and Hilda will never wed one who does not command her best affections.'* A strange fancy suddenly crossed Tilton's mind, that the unknown Hilda was, in fact, the long" lost daughter of the raving hermit. " Speak not, bella Marchesa,'* he gallantly said, in an altered tone, '^against brilliant talents, as though they were necessarily a bar to happiness. You yourself and D'Avalos at once disprove the calumny." *n said not that they were necessarily a bar to happiness,*' replied the Marchesa, mortified that Tilton had thus unaccountably turned the conversation away from her friend. " But Ferdinand and I were peculiarly circum- stanced. We were contracted to one another in our cradles so to say : — we grew up toge- I.OVK AND PRIDE. 189 ther, to love one another, and to confide in one another; and, what was most essential to the happiness of our union, we were able to esteem and cidmirc one another. Not only did the handsome person of D'Avalos mark him out for my admiration, but the brilliant talents he displayed secured my respect, soothed my vanity, and made me proud of him. There ( ould not be anythini? common-place in our union. Ferdinand has a depth of feeling and a natural enthusiasm which must always pre- serve warm and animated the sentiments of those who associate witli him. His thougrhts and feelings are as fresh and buoyant as those «)f your youngs friend, dc Whitting^ham." ** I fear de Whittinirliam is rather too ro- mantic," said the worldly-minded Tilton. '* He should have lived in the days of the trouba- dours, when, if he had not taken the viol him- self, he would have at least afforded filtinj^ themes to employ the talent of those chron- iclers of the deeds of chivalry." ** Fear not for your friend, ' replied the 190 LOVE AND PRIDE. Marchcsa. '^ Depend upon it that an excess of enthusiasm is the greatest blessing* with which one can start on the journey of life. It but wears away too soon ; or it is rather more generally frittered away willingly on the ina- nities and puerilities of what are called the real interests of life.'* The lady spoke rather bitterly ; for she could scarcely disguise the annoyance she felt at the levity with which Tilton had turned the conversation from the first subject of his en- quiries, her dear friend. Her old opinion of the mere worldliness of his character was thus confirmed within her ; and although she lamented and despised the materialism, if the expression may be permitted, of his pursuits, yet was she herself so much a woman of the world as to be aware that a man of his station, who possessed the common fund of probity and honour, and was stained by no prominent vice, as he was adorned by no prominent virtue, afforded to her whom he should ^^ed all those prospects of happi- LOVE AND PRIDE. 191 ness that arc anticipated or hoped for in nine hundred and ninety -nine unions out of one thousand of those which are celebrated uitli the greatest approbation and rejoicings of parents and kinsfolk. As a woman of the world, therefore, she had rejoiced to see him return the predisposition of her friend to- wards him, and was proportionally annoyed at the anxiety he had exhibited to turn the conversation into another channel, lest lu' should be led to commit himself. Their talk was soon interrupted by fre- quent pauses; and, at lenj^th, on Hilda's entering the room, Tilton arose ; and with polite phrases and ready gallantry, took his leave, and returned to his own cell. 192 THE DEATH. CHAPTER X. THE DEATH '* Oh ! Thou who dry'st the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be If, when deceived and wounded here. We could not fly to Thee ! The friends who in our sunshine live. When winter comet, are flown ; And he who has but tears to give Must weep those tears alone. But Thou wilt heal the broken heart Which, like the plants that throw Their fragrance from the wounded part. Breathes sweetness out of woe. MooRK. It is time that we follow our hero, Warren een sent to reinforce him, tarried, for causes best known to themselves, at a few miles' dis- tance on the right bank of the river Sessia. These it was his anxious object to join. Meanwhile, the Im|K*rialist and allied forces pressed at diflferent intervals on his rear, in the hope either of annihilating' his remnant of VOL. I. K 194 THE DEATH. ail army ere he should effect an union with the fresh recruits, or, if that were impossible, of drivings the whole force beyond the frontier, and thus effectually deprivin^^- the few towns in the Milanese, which still held out for the French, of any prospect of future assistance. The valley alon^ which the French army had retreated was so thronged by different parties of detached Imperialists that Bayard was oblig-ed to conduct his small troop across the higher grounds, so as to avoid, as much as possible, all engagements with the straggling, but yet constantly advancing, bodies of the ene- my. Arrived at the river Sessia, he forded it near the village of Romagnana; and beheld, from a height, the rude bridge which Bonnivet had hastily cast over the swollen torrent the evening before, and over which he had safely conducted his numerous train of artillery. When Bayard and de Whittingham looked down on this bridge, they saw it thronged by numerous and impatient bodies of the enemy, some of whom, in their eagerness to pursue, THE DEATH. 195 forded the torrent above and below it without the least order or respect to military discipline. The pursuers, in fact, had much more the appearance of a routed and retreatinj^ army than of one followinj^ up a dying foe. With all the speed which the nature of the i^rouud permitted, Bayard led his little troop up the eastern bank of the river. From the elevation which he there attained, he per- ceived the French army, re-united with the compact body of Swiss infantry, retreating in •jTOod order, while, at the same time, it sus- tained the incessant, but irregular, attacks of the pursuers. Our Chevalier instantly cheer- ed on his men to their support ; but he had the pain of joining- his commander just as the latter had, by a simultaneous, but unsuccess- ful, attack, attempted to drive back the whole collected body of his pursuers. In this sally, as it may be called, Uonnivet had not only been worsted with much loss, but had also received a severe wound, which disabled him from directing, any longer, tlie movements of K 2 19S THE DEATH. liis army. Bayard rode up to him as he was lifted from his horse. Short greeting passed between these gallant men — for with all his faults, the Admiral had shown a brilliant courage — particularly in this last affair. '* Welcome in our greatest need, mon cher Chevalier," exclaimed the wounded command- er. " I knew that it was useless for you to attempt to liold out with your small force ; but so great is the number of deserters who hasten back over the mountains, that even your troop will be of essential service to me. I can do no more. You must take the command.'* *' I, Admiral ? " exclaimed Bayard in sur- prise. " Aye, you. Do not suppose that we do not know your merit, though you are so bad a courtier that you know not how to get it publicly honoured. In danger, you are ap- preciated." ^' I ask for no honour save that of serving my king like a loyal knight." THE DEATH. 197 '* I know it; I know it: and so much the better ; for you can win little honour here. However, I can speak no more. I faint already. Lead the army back as speedily a.s you can. Make these Swiss roc^ues bear what you can of the brunt. Canaille ! if they had joined me sooner — " His speech was interrupted by encrcased faintness ; and Bayard directed him to be re- moved, with all care, to the advanced column. He then endeavoured to take order with his disordered bands. His name and character had much influence ; and inspired more con- tidencc in the men than they had gathered from the disabled Admiral. By exhortation, by commands, by entreaties, and by threats, he got the several captains to draw their men into closer ranks, and restored some order in the routed army. The repulse which it had received in the last charge had compelled Bonnivet to abandoned several pieces of heavy artillery ; standards, ammunition, and pro- visions, had also fallen into the hands of the 198 THE DEATH. victors. Discouraging and unenviable was the post to which his new friend had been ex- alted ; and yet de Whittingham marvelled as he observed the courage, the method, the resolution, and the quick, yet steady, decision, Mith which he laboured to convert the general ilight into an orderly retreat. In the midst of these endeavours, a party of the victorious Italians made a fresh charge upon the discomfitted army, and cut off a few prisoners, amongst whom was the Captain de la Vergne we have already mentioned in Bay- ard's troop — an excellent officer to whom the Chevalier was very particularly attached, and who had been, at the moment, most success- fully exerting himself to restore order in the confused mass. The sight of his friend car- ried beyond the river deeply afl'ected Bayard. He smote his forehead with his steel gauntlet, and, in few, but heart-felt, words, regretted that his position forbade him to make any attempt to rescue him. " But I am prevented," cried de Whitting- THE DEATH. 199 ham, who was beside him, " 1 am prevented by no such trust as that which hampers you. Let me attempt to mark my sense of tht favour you have shewn me." lie instantly darted off in pursuit of the retreating party. Bayard directed a score of men to follow and support him. Without looking- back, the youth dashed into the deep stream. His excellent horsemanship was shown by the gallant style in which he enabled his beast to stem the torrent. Those who followed to his assistance turned their horses ti* a ford twenty paces higher up the river, which de Whittingham, in his eagerness, had not remarked. At the same instant they reached the opposite bank under the dropping fire of the enemy. Gallantly did tlie young Englishman charge the retreating party, and gallantly was he supported by those who had, all along, marked and admired the spirit whi( h had induced him to join their standard m its retreat. De la Vergne was rescued after a flbort, but spirited, resistance. Again they 200 THE DEATH. forded the torrent; and, after a quarter of an hour, with the loss only of one trooper, de Whittingrham had the satisfaction of seeing the Captain and Bayard grasp each others* hands with the warmest congratulation which the warmest frendship could prompt. *' To this, however, to this brave young volunteer we are indebted," said Bayard. " You have done as gallant a deed as I ever witnessed. I have not now time properly to express my thanks." If ever de Whittingham had known happi- ness, that happiness was far exceeded at the present moment. His visor, indeed, concealed the warm glow of pride and joy with which he returned the approving grasp of his com- mander's hand : but that commander so well could sympathise with pure and lofty feelings that he had no difliculty in accounting for the single dew drop which, through the closed bars of the youth's helmet, he perceived to glisten on the long eye-lash within. Gradually, while this little incident oc- TUB DEATH. 201 curred, had some order been restored in the retreating" army : and they now advanced more steadily towards the little village ol'Gattinara. Here a halt was called, and every dispositiiui was made as if the army were takin<^ up its quarters for the night. But whih*, deceived by these appearances, the Italian leaders re- called their advanced parties and prepared to bivouac after a most fatiguini^ and event- ful day, Bayard, secretly, and as silently as possible, sent forwards all the artillery and bajr- i^age which remained since the engai^emeiit of the morning. When it was thus placed in security. at the head of the column, he pro- titted by the darkness of the early evenin^^, and again pushed on half-a-dozen miles towards Ivrea. Either the enemy did not perceive the retreat of the Frencli army, t»r deemed it more prudent to await until the next morning, ere it should renew the attack. The moon rose, and shed her silent splen- dour on as grand and as interesting a scene as she had ever lighted up. The valley of K 5 202 THE DEATH. Aosta opened before them, bounded by the noble snow - covered peaks of the Great St. Bernard. Nearer was a varied landscape, in which cultivated fields and vineyards, blended with the dark woods and rocky sides of some advancing branch of the mighty Alps. Around the base of these, wound, in succes- sion, the heavy artillery on its lumbering carriages ; the wearied, the lame, and the wounded ; the dense masses of slowly advanc- ing foot-soldiers; the more impatient cavalry, fretting that their march and their escape beyond the mountains should be delayed by what seemed the laggard pace of the in- fantry. Onwards wound the lengthened column, in the pale moonlight, till, at length, came in sight the serried ranks of the Swiss, with whom Bonnivct had effected his junc- tion, and who now protected the rear of that army, which, had they sooner joined it, they might liave saved, and even rendered trium- phant. From many a corslet, and from many a helmet — from the point of many a lance THE DEATH. 2C*3 and the wide curve of many a shield — glanced the reflected moonlij^ht, or soltly seemed to blend with the diinciuii^ plume on many a lotty crest. And there in front rose those eternal mountains — still piercing the highest heavens —still snow-bound and impassive, though seemingly not unconscious of all that occur- red beneath them— still proclaiming the power and the grandeur of their Almic:hty Creator — still vyeing, in their whiteness, with the lustre of the silvery orb suspended in the blue vault beside them — still attempting to cnclo.se and protect the beautiful land beyond; as they vainly did of yore, when Hannibal first in- vaded it. The mind and the heart of Warren de Whit- tingham were formed to appreciate such a scene ; and long did be lie in blissful reverie ere he closed bis eyes in sleep, in the quarters which the wearied army had at length taken up for the night. That same moon lighted the Iinpcriulists across the foaming river Se:»sia. 204 THE DEATH. On the following^ raoming", the second alter the evening on which our story opened. Bayard was ajrain on his march. Steadily, slowly, and in the order which he had planned for battle, in case he should be attacked, his troops proceeded towards the little village ot Revisiijno. In the rear, marched the Swiss, who now did g-ood service, by gallantly repel- ling the first troops of cavalry, which, with the wild disorder they had exhibited on the pre- ceding evening, rushed madly to attack the retreating foe. The steady discipline of the mountaineer mercenaries easily repelled their irregular assaults; but a more danger- ous foe now advanced on the rear of Bayard's army. The Marquis of Pescara, at the head of his own light cavalry, came up, and per- sonally directed a charge, which threatened once more to throw the retreating army into utter confusion. To oppose this. Bayard col- lected his men-at-arms, while the rest of the column still continued its retreat. At the head of these, and of a few gentlemen who were THB DEATH. SOS around him, he received uiul repelled for awhile the impetuous charg-e of the maniuis. It is needless to say that de Whittini^ham did not desert his chosen commander. Like him, he fou<:!pht lonestowed upon me more mercy and grace that I have ever deserved." The slight dispirited charge which he had headed against Fesrara having !)cen easily re- pulscHl, Captain d' Alegre with his other atten- dants now joined in proposing to remove the wounded knight, lest he should fall into the hands of the advancing enemy. *' Leave mc to think of my conscience for the few moments 1 have yet to live,*' prayed Bayard earnestly. ** Retire yourselves, lest you should he made prisoners. It is all over with me : you can bo of no assistance to me. Farewell, my good friends," he added, as they reluctantly retired. *^ I recommend my soul to your prayers.'* " Wherefore, my kind young friend," he continued to de Whitlingham, " do you linger 208 THE DEATH. near mc? Save yourself with the others." ** You permitted me to accompany you in this field. I will never leave you upon it/' resolutely replied the youth. '* If sucli is thy kind determination," re- joined the wounded man, " I will try thy friendship still further. No priest, alas, is here throug^h whom I might confess my sins to my Creator: do thou be the channel by means of which I may testify my sorrow and crave forgiveness." Though surprised at the high-wrought icvl- ings ot the dying Chevalier which prompted him to adopt this unusual mode of appeasing his conscience, de Whittingham, with christian sympathy, assented to his request, and declared that whatever he might confess should rest in his bosom as securely as if it were delivered under the seal of sacramental penance. For the space of five minutes, the pious knight breathed forth his sentiments of contrition and hope into the breast of the Englishman. ** Let mc now beg of thee," he added at TBB DBATH. 209 length, ** to find some opportunity of assuring the king that I die his servant, and only re- gretting that 1 cannot serve him any more.'" 80 strange was the situation in which de Whittingham thus found himself — the sole attendant and confidential companion at his hour of death of the first knight in Europe — that he felt rather relieved when the Marquis of Pescara at the head of a small body of his victorious cavalry came up to the spot uhere he reclined beside the wounded hero. " What have we here?" cried the Marquis; '* a knight lingering beside a wounded man > such examples of attachment are rare, that one should deliver hiinseir a prisoner rather than desert his triend 1" As the Italian general approached nearer however and recognised the proud bearing ol the knight and his now pallid features, ** Good God !' he cried, *' it is the chevalier Bayard ! would to heaven, Seigneur,'* he added, as bin eyes were suffused with tears, " would to hea- ven that 1 had shed all but my life-blood, if 210 THE DEATH. hy SO doinu^ 1 could have now held you my prisoner in good health ; I would prove to you how much 1 have ever esteemed your person, your valour, and your many virtues. Never, in faith, do I again hope to meet your equal." The noble-minded Marquis then sent for his own tent, which he caused to be spread over the dying hero ; and, having assisted to place him upon a couch, he set a guard of honour around him, and went himself to fetch a priest to administer the last consolations of religion. De Whittinghara watched at the door of the tent while the wounded knight confessed him- self to the minister of God. Many a leader and many a humble trooper in the hostile army gathered, in silence and sorrow, around the pavilion. It was, in sooth, an affecting sight: — proving how great the inHuence of individual private character, even in those long ages of war and violence, in which it might be supposed that all individual influence would sink unheeded in the general conflict of discordant interests. THE DBATn. 211 When the priest intimated that his penitent had unburdened his mind, the Duke of Bour- bon, who had joined the Spanish forces in the morning, and whose counsel had much tended to their present success, advanced to the door of the tent. 'A sudden start, as he looked on de Whittingham, proved that he had not forgotten the youth who, although unfriended, had yet spurned the tempting offers of the traitor. De Wliittingham could not judge, from his manner, whether he still retained against him that animosity which he now feared his own frankness must have provoked. The duke did not recognise him by word or intentional sign, but passed on \vithin the tent. ** My dear Captain Bayard," exclaimed the Prince, as he drew near the couch on wbicb lay the dying man ; *' my dear Bayard, be- lieve that I am grieved to see you in this plight. No one has loved and honoured you more than I have ever done. I do, indeed, sincerely pity you ! " 212 THE DEATH. •* I thank you, my lord, " replied Bayard, summonini^ up the little strength that re- mained to him, " 1 thank you. But there is nought to pity in my state. I die as a man of honour should — in the service of my king. Oh, my lord, pity rather yourself, who bear arms against your prince, your country, and your oath." *' What could I do ?" responded the prince, much affected. *' You know how I was placed — degraded, disgraced, impoverished. I have but taken the only steps that were left open to me.'' "Not so; not so, prince," faintly replied the knight. "Seek the king's pardon—pray for his reconciliation. Neither wealth nor honour can attend your present course. But 1 can speak no more," he added, after a pause. " Let me only crave of you the freedom of this noble-minded youth. ^' *'My God," he continued, aloud, as de Whittingham's tears fell fast at this token of his kindness, '' Oh, my God ! who hast THE DEATH. 21S promised to have mercy on repentant sin- ners, in Thee I hope; I confide in Thee. My God! my Creator! my Redeemer! par- don me, in thy g^oodness, the many sins of my life. Although no repentance on my part could suffice to efface them, yet, oh God ! thou knowest I had resolved to repent and amend my ways, hadst thou proiong^ed my life. But let me trust in thee, and in thy mercy, without which I never could deserve to join thee.*' "Oh, my God! my Father!" he conti- nued, in broken sentences/' forget my sins — listen only to thy clemency. Let thy justice be appeased by the merits — by the blood of Jesus Christ '* Death cut short the sentence. Thus, on the iMHh of April, 1524, in the forty-eighth year of his age, expired the Chevalier sams poor ei sans reproche. We trust that we have not detained the Reader too long while recounting the details, %%hich history confirms, of the death of this 214 THB DEATH. Christian knight. For several generations, had his ancestors so died on the field of battle. We will add but few more words on the subject. Pescara, we are informed, order- ed the body of Bayard to be embalmed and sent to his relations ; and such was the re- spect paid not only to the military talents, but also to the high chivalrous character, of the deceased, that the Duke ol' Savoy com- manded it to be received with royal honours in all the cities of his dominions. In Dau- phinee. Bayard's native country, the people, of all ranks, came out in solemn procession to meet it. Having thus chased Bonni vet's army be- yond the Iroutiers of Italy, Pescara did not deem it prudent to pursue it farther without artillery or military stores. The French gene- ral was, theretore, allowed to lead back its shattered reuiains into France. The few towns in the Milanese, which had held out for him, iiiimediately capitulated to the victorious THE DEATH. 215 leaders ; and at the end of this short campaign not a single Ibrtress, or a single ally, remained beyond the Alps to support the ruined cause of Francis the First.* * The militar/ details in thit Chapter are taken from Guicciardini and Robertaon. The conduct and verjr laofua^e of Bayard are transcribed from M de iWrriUcB ** Iliatoire de Pierre Terrail, dit le Cheralier Bajard. sans peur ct aans reproche " 16 AFTER THE BATTLE CHAPTER XI. AFTER THE BATTLE. *• "Son bisogna la morte ; Ch'a stringer nobil core Prima baata la fiede, e poi I'amore. Ne quella che si cerca E si difficil faraa Seguendo chi ben ama ; Ch'araore^ raerce e con amar si merca. E cercando ranior,8i trova spesso Gloria iminortale appresso." — Tasso's Aminta. The Christian hero was no more. Slowly and silently the leaders of the allied forces, who had witnessed his edifyinj^ death, turned them to leave the tent. De Whittin^ham made a step forwards to the Due de Bourbon, who, in the conflicting- emotions awakened by Bayard's last words of advice, had evidently forgotten the presence of the young stranger. *' To whom, my lord duke, am I to deliver my sword?" enquired the Englishman, uith AFTER IIIK IIAIII.K. 21/ teeliugs embittered by the recollection of bis last conversation with de Bourbon, as well as by rej^ret at tin- siirht they had Hi<*t vvjt- nessed. *' Tush, poor lad !'* exclaimed the prince kindly. ** Lend me thine arm.** With condescendinir familiarity, he passc<1 his grauntletted hand within the arm of the Englishman, and silently and pen'^i^«•lv l.-.I him from the sad pavilion. ** And didst thou really think," asked dc Bourbon, as they slowly paceil the c^round near the spot where the body of troops whom he commanded were gradually collectins^ and re-forming their ranki» — ** didst thou really think that 1 could retain as prisoner one who, but two days ago, rescued me from the attack of a traitorous assassin— one who has perilled himself to attend, in his last moments, the very flo.ver of chivalry, whom we all mourn — one who is recommended to me by that very knight with his latent breath? No, no: think bi^tter of Charles of Bcurlion. He may have VOL. I. L 218 AFTEK THE BATTLE. been drawn to do that which thou canst not comprehend ; he may have been driven to do that which thou canst not justify, because thou canst not measure the enormity of the injuries to which he has been exposed ; but," continued the prince, his eye Hashiui::, and his cheek reddenings with a glow of enthusiasm which Bayard's last words had called up ; and in very deed, his spirit was addressing- that of the departed chevalier, rather than the un- known youth on whom he leaned — " but," he continued, ''Charles of Bourbon is the keeper of his own honour, and is responsible only to Europe for the propriety of his actions. And Charles of Bourbon," he added more calmly, '* is incapable of forgetting what he owes to the saviour of his own life, to the latest friend and follower of Bayard, or to the last wishes of the knight himself. Thou art free." A deep inclination of his head marked de Whittingham's sense of the noble feelings ex- pressed by the traitor prince. His heart was too full for meet reply in words. Al I hn 1 UK MA TTLE. 2ID *' And now," continued the duke, *' now that we have all lost tlie captain to whom you liad so enthusiastically attached yuurselt — what are your plans ? Do you still decline to ad- here to one who offers you his favour?" ** Believe me, my lord," replied de Whitting- ham, "that I am not less grateful than I was the day before yesterday. IJut my friend, to whose family I owe every advantai^e which I have possessed, tarries for me at the monas- tery. I must avail myself of the boon of per- sonal freedom, for which I am indebted to your royal highness, and immediately lipecd to join him." •* So be it !" said the prince, with some slight show of offended pride, which he evidently, though vainly, endeavoured to suppress. "So be it! Here, Pescara," he called to that no- bleman, who now rode up towards them — "here is this prisoner, to whom, al poor Bay- ard's request, 1 have restored his freedom, .so anxious to re-visit your fair Lady Vittoria, that I attempt in vain to persuade him to tarry l2 220 AFTER THE BATTLE. N\ith me. lie will needs on to the monastery, to lay his trophies at her beautiful feet." "Have you, young- crentleman," — civilly en- quired the General, — " Have you lately been at the monastery where the Marchesa di Pes- cara has taken up her abode V "Two evenings ago, I was indebted to the gfood monks for a night's lodg-ing", and some kindness. I sought it with my friend Sir Mau- rice Tilton, who there aw aits my return." **Tilton in Italy again!'* exclaimed Pes- cara in surprise. " ^yhat can be his errand now V "One, I believe, to the Court of Rome, whither he proceeds so soon as I rejoin him.'' ** So it is, then !" said the Marquis. " Peace and war travel in company — diplomacy and knight-errantry. However, I have no time to unravel all the threads which you would put into my hands/' he continued, turning to the duke. ** I leave this field in half an hour, young sir," he said to de VVhittingham, " and shall call at the monastery on my road to AFTER THE BATTLE. 22! Allessandria. ll you have no objection, you shall detail your adventures to me as wv ridt- on together." De Whittiuarham eagerly expressed his thanks to the Marquis for this considerate arrangement. The light cavalry, which the latter kept in better order than was the case with the rest of the troops at that period, had soon returned to their ranks. RafTaelle Monza, who had acted, throughout the day, the part of a faithful, attentive, and valorous squire to the young man — although he bad thought it most prudent to skulk amongst some neighbouring rocks and brushwood w hen he saw the army routed and his master place himself in the power of the enemy that he might attend his dying Captain — Raffaelle Monza now rejoined him in high spirits ; as he gathered from the bearing and friendly looks of the two leaders that no harsh im- prisonment would repay his confidence. " As you w ill accept no other boon from me," said the Duke de Bourbon, as he now took 222 AFTER TUF. HATTI.K. leave of tlie young adventurer with all the natural suavity which he had at lenj^th re- V^ained," perhaps you will refuse my pass or safe-conduct for yourself and your friend. It may, liowever, be useful to you in your wandering through Italy." ** Take it — take it. Seigneur," interposed Katiaelle, rather too freely, to his master. '• I only wish the Duke of Urbino could sign it, as I do not feel very safe from his officer, Colonel Maldonato." ** True, true ;" said the Prince, overhearing the half muttered suggestion of Raffaelle. '• I forgot that I and you and your friend, as well as this good fellow, are not on. the best terms with Urbino's Colonel. He shall sign tlie pass also." " What can you be talking about?" asked Pescara. " Only get your pass ready ; and then, if I sign it also, I suppose it will hv of avail over all tlie vagabonds in Europe — for I sus- pect that the greater number serve under our three united commands. I shall hear all AFTER THE BATTLE. 22.S about it as we riile alonu:," he added. Tht n after ridintj^ apart awbilo with do Hourboii, Urbino, and the other principal leaders of the allied forces, the Marquis rejoined his corps, which had already beii^un its retrograde march; and, sending- for de Whittinjrham to his side, he entered into lengthened enquiries res|>cct- ing the state in which the youth had left Donna Vittoria, and the meanings of those allusions from the Duke of Bourbon which had been unintellii^ible to him. He was pleased with the manner in which our hen» replied to his queries ; and thus, in easy and flattering converse with another of the ablest generals of the age, and with a feeling of self-satisfaction and self-confidence derived from the consciousness of the noble and ap- proved part he had lately arteelieve it because every body .says so.*' 1:28 A NEW SCENE. " But no one knows ^vby he says so," replied the first speaker. *' Not know why lie says so ! " cried the expounder of the doubt. *' Nay ; he knows that he says so because he heard it from another; he only does not know where that other heard it. Now, for my part, I believe every general rumour. I never knew a ge- neral rumour without some foundation in truth." '*The Governor knows nothing about it, at all events,'' said his comrade; '' for he has not been out of the castle to-day, and no messenger has been in to him." " The Governor ! bless thee ! why such as he never hear reports until such as we are tired of them. Depend upon it, the Pope liiniself knows nothing at all of what we are all talking about." *' That I'll bet a bottle of wine he does not ! No special messenger has come over the bridge to him to day, and he does not keep so many clever fellows about him, to tell him all the news, as his cousin Leo did." A NEW SCENE. 229 " No : they say this new Pope has n*t any fool yet : those are the chaps to pick up news, and to make the most of it too.' " Here, however, comes some one at last/* cried the g'uard who had first spoken. '* I wish I knew what he is hurrying on so for ! '' "Order!" cried the ofliccr, as he strode back and ])osted liimself under the archway. The soldiers silently drew up on their posts. A clattering of hoofs was now heard speeding down the narrow street that opened upon the further end of the bridge : instantly it re-echo- ed on the crown of the arch, as two knights, the one in white armour, the other in a cout of burnished steel, urged their foaming horses towards the castle. Twelve mounted troop- ers followed, keeping as close to their leaders as the evidently exhausted state of their horses would |>erniit. They were all wrll-armed and sturdy-looking followers : but the whole com- pany was evidently too much bent upon bu- siness to attend to any of those observances of style and etiquette which, in those times, often rendered the progress of a single knight 230 A NEW SCENE. a splendid pageant. The whole troop crossed the bridg^e, swept round to the left between the castle and the river, and proceeded, at the same pace, along the street of Santo Spirito. What a scene of confusion opened upon our friends — for, as we do not wish to be unneces- sarily mysterious with the Reader we will, at once, admit that the strange company was composed of de Whittingham and Tilton, fol- lowed by Rafi'aelle Monza and other troopers, whom they had found no difficulty in enlisting in their service ere they left the monastery in Lombardy — what a scene of confusion opened upon our friends, as they emerged from this street into the noble opening, at the top of which now towers the mighty church of St. Peter, whose sides are enclosed by the wide- stretchini,*- colonnade, and in the centre of which the obelisk and the beautiful fountains rise and glitter in fairest uniformity ! A shape- less mass of unfniished masonry rose before them at the bottom of the square. In some placc8, the walis t"\\, i,.l i . i 1 iir elevation ; in others they srarct Iv io.m above the g^round ; and in others again, not even the outline or the trench for the foundation was traced in the soil. Immense blocks, nay heaps, of stone and of marble encumt>ered the ground on every side. Amongst these, teams of cream-colounnl oxen slowly drew their ponderous loads— either bringing* more stone from the river or moving that which was already collected. Crowds of workmen, of every description, swarmed over the g-round. Chisels rung*, tro- wels clicked, saws gritted and windlasses creaked. Oaths were imprecated, jokes flew, laughter responded, orders were loudly given ; the water hissed as it was dashed upon the hot lime, clouds arose above the seethinu' cauldron, and mixing with the canopy of dust that ever hung upon the busy scene, veiletl the whole, for awhile, from the ♦•\'- *»r »tM- travellers. Maurice Tilton had witneftsed all this before at a tbrmer visit to Italy : for sixty years had 232 A NEW SCENE. the work already continued, and one hundred and fifty years more were to elapse ere that scene of confusion should settle down into harmony, mat^nificence and repose. What, though Raffaello and other architects had constantly laboured at the mifj^hty mole ? — So little apparent was the progress they had made, that Tilton perceived not the least ad- vance towards the completion of the vast design. To de AVhittingham the whole was new ; and he gladly halted his troop at the entrance of the adjoining Vatican palace, that he might liave full opportunity of overlooking the busy and interesting scene, while his friend should deliver his credentials and his news within. There, too, on the left of the court, uprose those four tiers of elegant colonnades, but just completed under the direction of Rufiaellc, and on the walls and ceilings of which his immor- tal pencillings then glowed with recent fresh- ness from the master's hand. AA'ith a light smile, de Whittingham gazed from the open A NEW SCENE. 233 lodg-cs (as the irallcries have l)cen culled) to the cloudless sky above, and blessed himscll that he had visited a climate in which those invaluable painting-s might be safely com- mitted to the plaster wall of a colonnade ever open to the northern aspect. ** In England," thought he, " those walls, nay those pillars themselves, would be covered w ith green mould in the course of two years ; and the colours of the artist would, long ere that period, have been washed down by rain, fogs, and incessant damps.'' Again he smiled : and light was his heart and full of hope as he drew up his follow er> outside tlir ( oiirt of tlic pontiticul palace. 231 ENLISTING. CHAPTER XIII ENLISTING. " No8 soldats 86 battirent en soldats du Papu : ils se rairent a genoux en demandant absolution tnaWtcu/o mortis.'" — Voltaire. In one of those rooms in the Vatican palace which are now known as the stanze, or cham- bers of Raffaello, a small party of ecclesias- tical dij^nitaries slowly walked. At their head, that is to say, rather advanced before them, was one whose commanding- figure, whose large black eyes — the peculiar feature of the iMedici family — whose rather military carriage, dark beard, earnest and thoughtful expression, showing a mind trained to serious contempla- tion, and to strict habits of business, would, even without the appropriate dress, have ENLISTING. 235 pointed him out as the sovercig^n pontiff, Clement the Seventh. Scarely a step behini ii>. Clement suggested, '* that you surely ought to have acquired a taste for the fine arts. They alone are, in some degree, allowed to human- ise this discordant, this iron age." '* Your Holiness may well say, in some de- gree,'* observed (Jiberto. '* All the favour which your cousin, Ix'O the Tenth, of blessed memory, showed to the professors of litera- ture, and ot the tine arts, was not able to quench the match that fired one single can- non." " No; and a ( aused a i:^ood mt4ii> « iunons to be fired," added Schomberg. *' The money which be squandered on Tersc-makcra and 238 ENLISTING. buffoons might have paid those who would have enforced the peace of Italy." ''Impossible, my dear friend," rejoined the Pontift'. ** You two know, as well as our- selves — for we transacted almost the whole public business of Giovanni's splendid reiirn — you two know how impossible it was to quell the animosity of the two miji^hty rivals, Fran- cis and the Emperor, who divide and spoil Italy between them.'^ '^The Emperor," replied Schomberg, witli the domineeriniJT national sympathy of a Ger- man, *' the Emperor only wishes to be left in peace." •'And so says the King of France also," Clement replied ; ''and yet, between them both, neither will be at peace himself, nor allow his neighbour to be so. For our part," he added with a sigh, " we know not on what to deter- mine.'' "You have determined, my dear Sovereign," kindly interposed the Italian counsellor. *' Let. not your mind be fatigued by recurring ENLibilNt. 239 again it» ihiii which has bvcii resolved in coun- cil. Vou have deteruiincil to cnlorct* the truce planned by your predecessor, Adrian." •• And what were the consequences of Fo|>e Adrian's forbearance during bitf short ponti- ficate of twenty months ?" Schomberg enqui- red, with a sarcastic smile. *' As he wa« a Dutchman and I am a German, Monsignor (liberto will not suspect me of iH'in^ preju- diced against bis policy : What did the Romans think of him ?' ** Oh, you mean the pasquinade !'* exclaimed Giberto. ** You should not have recalled it to his Holiness at a time when we purpose to follow the same policy." "The pasquinade?'* exclaimed the Fopo. "What was it? We remember indeed to have heartl of one, but other cares drive such light matters from our mind.'* "Only one of the foolish Roman »quib?.,'' said Giberto. " Poor Adrian was licnt only upon reforming abuses and controuling the license of the city ; and so rejoiccn this way ! Well if they do not lose themselves amongst all Baldassar Peruzzi's heaps of stone ! We wish to God that noisy, litterini: work had never bftn hcL'mi, or had been begun upon 246 ENLISTING. such a scale that we mig-Ut see some prospect of its being" ever finished.'' ** Your Holiness, we may anticipate, on the contrary," said Fra Niccolo, " will have the honour of completing the grandest monu- ment the world has ever beheld." "Well, well;'* replied the Pontiff: "God grant that it be so ; and may its splendour (iraw as many souls to God as the expense it has occasioned threatens to alienate !" A chamberlain was now seen to approach at the other end of the gallery. Giberto advanced to meet him ; and, returning to Clement, an- nounced that the knights, whose arrival his Holiness had just observed, brought im- portant news from the Milanese territory, and craved an audience. This w as immediately granted ; for, during his whole reign, Clement constantly made himself accessible to all whom public affairs, talents, or sanctity, ren- dered deserving of his notice. With all, lie freely conversed — displaying a fund of varied information, which even his previous exalted ENLISTING. 247 reputation had scarcely entitled the world to expect. In truth, sudi high anticipations as the >vhoIe world had formed, I'roni tlic election ol ('ardinal Julius of Medici to the Pontifical throne, had never hailed any of his prede- cessors. Brilliant as had been the reign ot his first cousin, Leo X., its brilliancy had been considered to be chiefly owinij to the directing spirit of Julius. Leo had been noted as a man of great talent, indeed, and of lofty aspirations ; as one who was ambitious to render his epoch illustrious, by protecting and availing himself of all that galaxy of literary and artistical talent which had arisen upori Italy during tiie Pontificate of his predecessor Julius II.: but Leo was supposed to be to«> much engrossed in promoting the splendour of his Court and in his own social pleasures, to direct the widely spread interests uhich then centered in the papal chair, iiis cousin, the present PontilT, bad early attached him- self to his fortunes ; bad been employed by 248 ENLISTING. him in all the most difficult civil and military transactions — for, as a Knight of Rhodes, the latter were not incong:ruous with his clerical character ; had acted as his friend, adviser, minister, during the whole of his brilliant reign. When, to these public pledges that he had given of his capacities, we add that Clement was known to be a man of severe virtue, temperate in all his actions, hostile to the wicked prodigality which he had never been able to check in Leo, well informed on every subject, whether of policy, of literature or of religion ; and, above all; intelligent and assiduous in the conduct of public business — it will easily be supposed that the highest anticipations of a new era had hailed his recent election. But, alas ! for the new Pope's plans of ge- neral pacification and apostolic rule! For although Clement's high qualities had alone possessed such weight that, on his exaltation to the papacy, the Duke of Ferrara and others, whose forces were even then attacking the BNLI8TIN0. 249 States of the church, surrendered what they had already acquired and spontaneously retired within their own territories ; yet that anticipation of a " new era" was destineil t<» produce more misfortunes than ever character- ised any sin^^rle reign. We know the old proverb which says — the nearer the church the further from dod ; thus, thou^:h governed by an ecclesi- astical power, the people of Home were knoun to be more turbulent than the subjects of any temporal prince. Nothing could exceed, no- thing could equal, the license which had ever characterised tile great Roman Barons. Each princely family had ever maintained its army of followers, whose constant occupation had been rapine, murder, war upon each other, or. not less freely, upon the sovereiifn himself. The turbulence ol their own subjects, no less than the aggressions of foreign powers, had compelled the popes to increase, a^ much as possible, their own temporal power, in order that, according to Macchiavelli, *' they might no longer be dependent on every petty baron 250 ENLISTING. who chose to attack them.*^ fn order to re- press the license of their powerful nobles, it had also been the policy ol the pontiffs not to introduce any members of either party into the Colle^:e of Cardinals ; so that the latter might remain a strang-cr to the different factions which rent the city. Leo the Tenth had un- fortunately departed from this prudent prac- tice ; and had bestowed the Cardinal's hat upon several of his principal nobility, amonirst whom was Pompeo, the head of the house of Colonna— a warm imperialist at all times, and a most inveterate enemy of the Medici family. In the time of Julius the Second, this younj^ man had even attempted to enact the part of a ]>atrician Rienzi, by calling upon the people of Uome to rise and cast off the diss^raceful thraldom of an ecclesiastical government, ills subsequent entrance into the church had probably bern dictated by a similar design to assume to himself the supreme power; al- though he was now willing to exercise it under the sanction of the triple mitre. ENLISTING. 251 Ijet the Reader suppose that, while he has perused this short resutne of the state of pub- lic feelini^ at Home, our old acquaintance. Maurice Tilton, has mounted those weary flights of steps which lead up to the chambers of Raffaello ; and that, conducted by Fra Niccolo Schomber^, w houi he had well known in former years, he is now kneeling' to receive the pontifical blessing. **God bless thee, my son," exclaimed the Pope, siu^ninf^ the sii^n of the cross with two Angers, over Tilton*s brow. '' God bless thee. Thou bringesfnews from what may be aptly called the terra di /aroro— the land where the best blood of Europe is shed, to secure none knows well what.'" '* I have hastened to your Holiness,'^ replieii Tilton, rising up with more a.ssurance than was generally sheun by young men admitted into so high a presence — *' I have hastened to your Holiness to announce a glorious victory." " No victory, my son, can be glorious save such as conduce to the glory of God — such u» 252 ENLISTING. we knights of Rhodes were wont formerly to achieve against the Turks ; and even then," continued the Pontiff, **we must regret the necessity which has occasioned so harsh a remedy." Clement having thus satisfied his con- science, by saying that which was decorous for a christian pastor, now enquired, with the lively interest of a soldier and a politician, particulars of the reported engagement. '' The duke of Bourbon, '^ hastily narrated Tilton, '* has efl'ected his escape from France and has joined the Imperial *army with the title of Lieutenant-General from the Emperor. He and the Marchese of Pescara have totally routed the French in the valley of Aosta, and driven them beyond the Alps. The Chevalier Bayard has been slain." " Important news, indeed,'' exclaimed the Pope. " Poor Bayard ! I am sorry for him. I well remember his light-hearted courtesy when, after the battle of Ravenna, I obtained a safe conduct to visit my cousin. Cardinal BNLI8T1NO. 25.1 Giovanni, who waa then prisoner with hi.H troops. And when, fair Sir, did this cngap^c- nient occur ? " " Five d«iys since ; on the thirlicth day of last month.*' ** Were you present?'' "May it please you Holiness, I was not; I am an envoy rather of peace than of war. 1 shall have the honour of dcliverinji: my credentials to the Archbishop of Capua," replied Tiltoii. • 1 have met this young; knijBrht l>eforc,** ob.served Schomberg ; ** a faithful servant to his kin^ and the emperor.'' *' Well ; well;** interposed the i'ope, * ut- will consider of such matters hereafter. We would now prefer hearing some particulars of this important battle of which he brin^^s us word.'* '* My friend, the knip:ht, who accompanied me hither,*' suiriresteour Holiness nouhl permit '' ** Santa Maria!'* exclaimed the Popo,** why 254 ENLISTING. does he not come up ? Send for him directly, Monsignore Giberto." During the few minutes that elapsed ere de Whittingham entered the apartment, Cle- ment walked aside to the hall of Constantine, fearful lest, in his present uncertainty as to the real state of parties, his German counsel- lor mig'ht take him by surprise, and lead him to commit himself by an unconsidered opinion. Indeed the feelings were very contradictory with which he looked upon Schomberg ; he loved and respected him for his long friend- ship and his tried services, while he began to fear him for the obstinate and domineering temper which he had exhibited since his pa- tron's elevation. All the sympathies, more- over, of Schomberg were with the Emperor ; and the Pope, as a true Italian, could not look upon either Cliarles or Francis in any otiier light than as ' ultramontanes ' and * bar- barians,' battling with each other for usurped dominion in his own fair country. Giberto, the bishop of Verona, fully participated in these national feelings, and was therefore EX LI STING. 255 more loved by the Pope, aithoupli, perhaps, not more trusted than his other counHellor. •' And so. younp: man," exclaimed Clement to de \\ hittiiiirham, after the usual ceremonial of presentation had been performed, ** and so we hear that you were enira|[5'ed in this last encounter with the French and Impeiialists. Now recite to us all that you were enabled to tibserve/' With bashfuliM >. .um ^wlh revtr< m i , War- ren de \\ hittint^ham bc^an to comply with the Pope'd order. We say with ba>ihfulneiM; but yet de Whitting^ham was no lon(,?er the shy youth he first ap|>eared to us. UU short intercourse with Bayard, with Dourbon, with l*escura, and the fetlinir that he had honour- ably and valiantly acquitted himself in scenes of some trial, had given him a proper confi- dence which his manner did not before possejui. The big^h praises which all the leaders \%e have mentioned had lavished upon his conduct, and the assurance he had reeeived from both the latter of the u illinirness with which they 256 ENLISTING. would receive him, and take charge of bis future fortune in life, had perhaps, even still more, tended to remove the uncertainty and diflidence which had long withheld him from displaying- his full character. To former bashfulness, modest assurance had now suc- ceeded ; this feeling dictated his words as he detailed the course of the action he had wit- nessed, and this prompted his regrets for the Chevalier sans peur et sans reproche, and the high admiration he expressed towards Pescara for the respect he had sliown towards the dying captain. ** And on wliich side, my fair youth," the Pope asked, much pleased with his manner, *' on which side wert thou thyself engaged? For thou speakest with equal enthusiasm both of the French and the Imperial commanders?" '*On neither, if your Holiness will permit me the expression. Arms must be my busi- ness in life, and 1 could not resist the oppor- tunity which was afl'orded me of entering my first field under the bannrr iind at the side ol ENLISTING. 257 Bayard. But I have long hoped that the Turk will soon employ the united swordri of Christendom, animated by the wishes of your Holiness, as by those of your predecessor.'* ** And so thou liast come to Rome to get the first news of the crusade?" enquired the Pope with a good-natured smile. '• I liave come to Rome,'* replied de Whit- tingham, kneeling, while the blood rushed over his fine enthusiastic fiatures, *' to l;iy my sword at the feet of your Holiness.' He suited the action to the word, and placed his weapon on the marble floor, between himself and the Pontifi'. '^ Refuse it not, most Holy Father,** he con- tinued with earnestness. "This sword I took from the relaxed grasp of Bayani, when he received his death-wound. I am com|K>lled to adopt the profession of arms ; I am driven by circumstances from my own country, and am accidentally led into Italy. Oh, permit me to place myself at your Holiness's disposal until such time as the crusade be organiiied to repel the Pagan invaders from Hungary. * 258 ENLISTING. " What circumstances have driven thee from thine own country ? for I perceive thou art an En*^lishman, although thy speech has been well schooled :" enquired the Pope. The poor youth, however, notwithstanding his newly-acquired nerve, was so overcome by his own feelinj^s and the situation in which he found himself, that he was unable to reply to the Pontiff's question. With difficulty, he rose from his knees and was obliu^ed to steady himself by restinsr his hand on the arm of Maurice Tilton. The latter, the while, briefly explained that de Whittingham, being- dis- carded by his father, could not bring himself to serve as a soldier of fortune in his own coun- try in which he ought to hold a high station ; and that he himself had induced him to ac- company him into Italy. The friend then began to repeat the very high terms in which Pcscara had spoken of his conduct at the Sessia ; but he was interrupted by Clement. "We need not,'' exclaimed the Pope, "we need not the recommendation of a tramontane ENLISTING. 259 leader. My good youlh, thine own looks and thy lanjfuag:e have already secured to thee our favour. Tliou shalt have honourable com- mand in the Black Hands, or^^anised by our kinsman Giovanni de Medici ; and shalt, ai present, at all events, while he is absent with the army, be one of the j^uards nearest our person. We pray you, Monsignor Giberto, to give directions to this effect." ** When will your Holiness receive this other English knight who has credentials from the Cardinal of York?" enquired Schomberg, piqued by the Pope's allusions to his tra- montane fiiends, and by the favour so suddenly shown to the strange young man, who was no creature of his. ** Not now," said the l^upt- : " thou lor^t'tii-M, Fra Niccolo, that we have already undergone the Council-chamber this morning : no slight infliction while thou and Giberto draw differ- ent ways. We walked hitherward for some little relaxation ; and our peaceful projects have, as usual, terminati'd in news of war: 260 ENLISTING. however," he cheerfully added, " one party of barbarians is, at all events, driven out of Italy. Very impolitic, are we not, Schomberg ? we read that thou thinkest so in that dark scowl : but we will tell thee a secret, man, and let thee look into an Italian heart : — we care for no state policy save that which may free our dear country from all foreign rulers. Aye ; thou niayest frown, an' thou wilt ; but thou knowest that this was our secret hope and object while we acted for Leo the Tenth ; though we were never strong enough openly to avow it. Go ; Fra Niccolo ; with thy mighty emperor, whose wide rule compels thee to hail a Spaniard, a Dutchman, or a wild Indian, as a brother subject, thou canst not comprehend feelings of pure patriotism : still less canst thou understand the intensity of those feelings when applied, as old Dante fondly hath it, " Al bel pacse la dove il Si suona." So saying, and leaning familiarly on the arm of his sturdy counsellor, Clement wended his way along the far stretching galleries of the Vatican. PALAZZO MAttlMI. 961 CHAPTKU XIV. FALAZ/o MASS I MI. Veda I'oro, tceaking to the Cavoiliere Tilton, of England V* " The honour is mine, Monsij^nore," replied Maurice. '* We have indeed heretofore trans- actee that 262 PALAZZO MASSIMI. you return with pleasure to our beautiful Italy. But now let me ask whether this bel- !»:iovane, tliis brave enthusiast, your friend, has ever been in Rome before ?" enquired the Bisho]). " Never, reverend father," replied de Whit- tin«^ham ; " and I must the more ijratefuUy appreciate the kind reception I have just met with from his Holiness/' " But, Dio mio," exclaimed the Minister, ** if thou hast never seen Rome, his Holiness must not coop thee up at once with his black bands in the Castel Sant' Angelo ! We must jrive thee a holiday, and a breathings time after thy journey." De Whitting^ham expressed his anxiety to enter at once upon his military duties. But Giberto insisted : — " No ; no ;" lie exclaimed. " I will not have such an afl'ront put upon Rome as to imply that it is no better worth examiniui^ tluui a common g^arrison town ! Cjo, rest thy- self; see all that is to be seen: put thyself PALAZZO MA881M1. 2^ 111 the way of his lioliiiciis as often as thou wilt : but tliou shult not yet enter upon rcj^ular duty. ' " Hut liis Iloliiiesjs," lUM.-.uti lic N\ hiiiinj,'- hiuu. " I will explain all," replied the minister ; ** and it" thou do but admire my country with that enthusiasm which I see is natural to thee, 1 shall have the more pleasure in furthering the Holy Father's kind intentions towards one so brave and so inji^enuous. And now," con- tinued the Bishop, turning to Tilton without attending- to the expressions of gratitude w hich Warren would have poured forth, ** no;v, my good Sir, what do you purpose to do with yourself and your followers? N\'here do you take up your quarters! Shall I havf the pleasure of pro\iding you?" Maurice Tilton, like an old diplomatist, declined the proposed honour ; alleging that he wished to appear at Rome in the character of a mere private individual. ** I, therefore," he added, *' propose to enquire if my old 264 PALAZZO MASSIMI. landlord, Don Domenico dei Massimi, will y-ive up to me aj^ain the south y\'\n^ of his palace, near the Foro Trajano." ** Give it to you?" cried Giberto : "does your experience lead you to imairine anythin«r so contrary to his nature? No; he will not (jive it up to you. But if you will pay him for it, bis palace and everything else that he possesses will be at your service.*' ** I am glad to understand," Tilton replied, ** that the old gentleman has not lost his most amusing characteristic." With easy and friendly manner, the Bishop now took his leave, and the two Englishmen rejoined their followers in the court of the Vatican. That he might attract less atten- tion, and reach his proposed quarters as speedily as possible, Maurice Tilton now turned to the right and led his company along the Lungara, or Western bank of the Tiber. An able Cicerone did Maurice prove himself as he pointed out to his young friend the several remarkable objects they passed on their road. PALAZZO MA88IMI. 265 " There," said he, " is the splendid palace or old Cardinal di Riario, * whom Leo X. was so afraid of that he inspired his eminence with a mutual fear, which led him to reside at Naples, where I have heard that he died a year or two ago. But this palace on our left t I must brings thee to see on the fir«t opportunity. It belongs to Agostino Chigi, a merchant. ..." " A merchant !" exclaimed Warren ; " why even our London merchants do not own such palaces as that." *' Nor are thy London merchants sovereign princes, as they are at Venice and Genoa. However, this Chigi is a mere Roman mer- chant : though he rivals the Popes themselves in splendid patronage of the arts. When I was in Rome before, he was printing some books in Greek — the first thai had ever been printed : and they may be the last for aught I care ; for their letters are so strangely shai>ed that it is impossible any one can read them.'* * Nov Palatio Cortini. t Nov know u the FamctitiA. VOL. I. N 266 PALAZZO MA8SIMI. " And yet, I hear," observed dc Whit- tini^^ham, "that, in some schools, they have undertaken to teach this newly discovered language." "Let them," said Tilton, " so that I be not expected to learn it. I bless my stars that I was born before all this learning came to be so mighty fashionable. I wonder what good they expect will come of all their rage for educating people?'' This was a question which puzzled de Whittingham as much as it does some would- be-benighted-ones in the present age. He, therefore, made some further enquiry respect- ing the beautiful palace on their left. " r was at a feast," said Tilton, "that the merchant gave on the baptism of one of his children. Pope Leo and all the cardinals and foreign ambassadors in Rome were in- vited. He gave us several dishes of parrots' tongues." " Parrots' tongues I " cried Warren. "Aye," replied his more educated friend; PALAZZO MAS8IMI. 9$J '* parrots' toni^ues ; the very g^rcatcst rarity and delicacy that can bo produced. All the plates uiui goblets were of wrought silver; and what thinkost thou my merchant did with them so soon as they had been once used? ** " Most likely, he had them washed clean and set again before the guests,** innocently replied the youth. ** No such thing. He had them Ciist into the Tiber, which flows at the back of the house, and replaced them with others which shared the same fate.*' *' Just," saiddc \\ hittingliam, *' just as scho- lars tell us that Cleopatra gave her lover a pearl to drink dissolved in wine. What ^traiiire ways great people have of testifying their regard for one another!" "Yes;" responded Tilton niii>iiiL:. •this muddy river has swallowed up a good many curious things in its time. That little island, tor example, is said to have been formetl by the cargoes of corn belonging to some king whom the Romans formerly expelled from 268 PALAZZO MAS8IMI. their town, and whose corn they threw into the river, in order to testify their abhorrence of monarchy." Eng^ajs^ed in conversation of this description, they passed on to the Ponte Santa Maria, now known as the Ponte Rotto, and of which only two arches remain standing. Here they crossed the Tiber. Thence their road lay to the left, towards the still populous Campus Martius. On the eastern side, the near Palatine hill was seen bearing up many ail extensive and towering, but now crumbled, relic of the state of the olden Caisars : and w as intersected by many a long row of spreading arches through which the western sun threw gay lines of roseate light. But our travellers felt none of the antiquarian interest which now induces modern tourists to inspect the impe- rial monuments: the degree of knowledge amongst the gentry of their own country was not such as to induce them to veil total iiidilTerence under a mask of eager enthusiasm. They, therefore, rode steadily forward, pausing PALAZZO MAtSIMI. M9L only to recal nome faint images of classiGal lore as they passed beneath tlic still venerable capitol. * Still venerable/ oh Header ! is our ex- pression ; for as yet, Michael Vntrrlo had not desecrated the halloued locality by the trum> pery gint^erbread palaces which, a few years later, occupied the immortal site. Capitolii im- mobile saxum still stood boldly up in pristine grandeur; its ruij^i^ed sides had not yet liecn smoothed down to receive rc^rnlar flii:hts of steps and spreadin<<; terraces, nor levelled to form the ^Travelled court of a psuedo-grccian palace. From the base of the then venerable Capi- toline hill, our travellers passed onwards till a stunted column, risinp above the surround- ing soil, and covered with sculptures ol beau* tiful design and masterly execution, ennobled the surrounding square with the name of the Forum of Trajan. Tilton rode up to a handsome house in the neighbourhood of this open space; and much was de Whittingham surprised uln n In 1. am- 370 PALAZZO MA8SIMI. ed that here his friend had formerly taken up those quarters which he now hoped attain to occupy. Tlie house exhibited that mixed archi- tecture in which respect for ancient art con- tended with those plans for defence which the unsettled state of the times rendered necessary. In a roug-h basement oT unhewn stone, surmounted by pilasters of the Ionic order, small windows were indeed left ; but so strongly were these guarded by massive iron bars that the owners of the mansion evidently considered defence and protection from ag- gressors as essential to comfort as light and air. The whole pile of building had a dirty and desolate appearance, which encreased as the party rode through the strong porfes cocheres ; one of the which doors hung in- deed upon its rusty hinges, while the other was dismounted and reclined against the wall of the archway. The inner court was ex- tensive ; but had a cold, damp, and neglected appearance. Over the side on which they had entered, the mansion arose; and it ex- PALAZZO MASSIMI. 271 tended also in a southern direction on the other side of the court. Opposite, was a pile of stables, with chambers and offices above them. The fourth side of the court was en- closed by the wall of some church or ancient building;. From a lion's mouth, projectinir from the base of this monument, a stream of purest w ater fell into an ancient carved sar- cophagus, which served the purpose of a reservoir. Beside the fountain, was an open well, to which iron rods extended from dif- ferent windows of the mansion ; and much was de Wliittingham astonished to see buck- ets, apparently self-impelled, slide down these rods on a pulley, descend into the well, and rise again to the window from which they had first glided. Both the cavaliers dismounted in the court- yard ; and although the southern w ing of the palace — as Tilton informed his friend it was called — had a separate entrance and staircase from tbo yard, Maurice, nevertheless, led the way back again to a flight of marble steps 272 PALAZZO MASSIMI. which ascended on the left hand of the arch- way under which they had entered. This staircase, of handsome width and proportions, was lijjhted by open arches, of the size of fi^othic cathedral windows ; but which no glass, nor even stone mullions, protected against the outward air. We may add that the steps were in so littered and filthy a state that ^Yarren would never have presumed them to be of marble, had not his friend positively assured him of the fact. At the top of the first flight they found themselves on a wide landing place, which stretched on to the left. On either side of the gallery thus formed, old busts, engrained with dirt, stood upon pedestals of painted wood. Between them, our adventurers passed on to a wide doorway, whose double doors occupied almost the whole end of the gallery. Here they pulled a rusty iron rod : it produced no sound from a respon- sive bell. ^ *' I remember,'' said Maurice, *'that this bell was broken when I was here years ago. PALAZZO MASSIMT. 273 But the door is on the latch, let us, therefore, enter." They did so, and stood within a square lofty hall, of beautiful proportions. The domed ceilings was painted a fresco, and was lighted up by three immense windows, glazed indeed, but unadorned with hangings of any kind. A small table, bearing an open book and an ink- stand, was the only furniture of this apart- ment. Not a sound was heard — not a human figure was seen. Desolation seemed to reign triumphant. Maurice, however, wended his way towards a huge screen which stood in one corner of the hall, and partitioned off a small space near one of the mighty windows. He turned round at the end of this screen, and within the contracted enclosure discovered an old man with a large hump on his back, and with large spectacles on his nose, seated at a table covered with party - coloured strips of cloth, old woollen hose, silk doublets, furred collars, and various other pieces of soiled garments ; he was intently bending N 5 274 PALAZZO MASSIMI. over a tarnished crimson short cloak, and, with a pair of clumsy scissors, trimming the rough edges of a seam which he had been stitching. The two Englishmen gazed in silence. The old man continued his work. At length, he chanced to look up, and, perceiving the intrud- ers, stared firmly at them. He spoke not, moved not ; but his prominent large black eyes appeared to grow still wider, larger, and more prominent as he stared. " So thou dost not remember me, old An- drea?'^ enquired Maurice at length. *' Not I," the old man replied, in a queru- lous tone. ** I never remember any one; for all the world knows that nothing is to be had in this poor house by begging ; that nothing is ent to him who would borrow ; and that the thief might steal all its master owns, and go his way as poor as he came. So, Signor, you will easily conceive that I am never called up- on to remember any one, seeing that no one will ever come twice to a house where nothing is to be got.'' PALAZZO MA88IMI. 275 After deliverinj^ himself of this pithy ad- dress, the old man again bent him over his crimson cloak, and took up a greasy collar which he prepared to fit and sew upon it. "If no one comes to the palace, Andrea," enquired Tilton, '' why does thy master keep the book open on the table for visiters to write their names in?" ** Mere habit — custom ;" said the old man. " Look into it : the last name was writ- ten five years ago : — a hungry cousin — never found Don Domenico within — came and wrote his name five times ; I told him my master was scarce able to find himself in food and raiment, notwithstanding all my tailoring." Heie he bent anxiously over his work: then added, with a tone evincing an inward chuckle, *' the cousin went away in despair: robbed one of the Orsino family, to find wherewith to buy bread : was overtaken by the other people — and hanged. Never came here again !" Tilton silently took out his well-stuffed purse; and, lifting it high in the air, shook it 276 PALAZZO MAS8IMI. over the old servant. At the same time he cried, " Look here ! Dost remember me now, thou miserly old rascal V *'Corpode Bacco, Signor Maurizio!" exclaim- ed the old man, rising- with alacrity, and coming- towards the knight, ** I am rejoiced to see your Excellency. Will your Excellency want the south wing of the palace which you fitted up so handsomely when you occupied it before? Ah ! those who have money can do great things ! How strange that I did not remember your Excellency at once ! Will your Excellen- cy see Don Domenico? — he is at dinner in the inner room. He always dines late : poor gentleman, it saves the cost-of suppers, which, you know, Milordo, he can ill afford. '^ *' I know, you old rascal,^* replied Maurice much amused, ** that your master is one of the very richest men in Rome. However, conduct me to him." '' Rich !" shrieked Andrea; ''Heaven forgive you, heaven forgive you the imputation. But this way, your Excellency, this way." PALAZZO MA8SIMI. 2/7 Openings that which appeared to be a picture, but which, ill truth, was a door covered with canvass on which a painting in oils, in good taste and of moderate execution, was tightly stretched, he led the two Englishmen into a smaller room, in which, on chairs covered with laded tapestry, a family group was seated round a large table, which bore an empty dish and a few fragments of bread. Andrea whis- pered to his master, who came to meet the visitors and politely checked the civilities with which Tilton began to apologise for interrupt- ing them at their meal, by saying ** we had finished, Signor Maurizio ; we had finished our maccaroni ; a large dish of maccaroni it was : an excellent dish for hungry people ; and a cheap one for poor people like us. It is only extravagantly dear when boiled in milk and mixed up with butter and cheese, in which way I understand that some great folks pre- pare it. Excuse me that I say grace," con- tinued the old gentleman returning to the table : *' For all his bountiful provisions to us 278 PALAZZO MASSIMI. may God be praised ! Here, Andrea, put away these crusts of bread carefully : perhaps thou wilt want one or two of them for thy dinner ; put away the rest for our breakfast to-morrow morning." " And now, Si^nori/' he added, turning to the two friends with polished and even elegant manners ; ** permit me to offer you a chair; and permit me to cover my head as the air is still chill and fire-wood in Rome is too expensive to be burned except for cooking our meals — so'' he added, as he cast a worn greasy black cap on his bald head. *' These are my sons and daughters ; very expensive to support so many mouths, and to clothe so many backs ! I think they were all at home when you were last in my poor house." De Whittingham could not but look w itli interest and pity towards the handsome family to whom his attention was thus directed. It consisted of four persons — two brothers and two sisters, whose looks and manner plainly shewed how bitter were tlic feelings uith which they heard their father's declarations of mean- PALAZZO MA88IMI. 279 iicss and pretended poverty. One of the daughters, a young girl ol about seventeen years of age, leaned her head upon her hand \\hilc large tears silently dropped from her full blue eyes, and broke themselves on the bare table before her. The other, about one twelvemonth older, exhibited adiflferent spirit. Diminutive in person, possessing a slim but rounded figure of exquisite proportions, she tossed her little head with an exhibition ot bitter scorn as her lather proceeded ; and the jet-black falling tresses cast a shade of heigh- tened meaning over her sallow, but pretty, features. Pretty, those features ought not, perhaps, to be called : but no one who met the expressive flash of those dark eyes and marked how the blood, rushini:: to those pale cheeks, lighted up witii passing brilliancy that otherwise dark olive complexion — no one who marked all this and the beautiful bust and rounded arms tipped with hands and fingers of almost infantine proportions, would have hesitated an instant to call Giulietta Massimi, 280 PALAZZO MASSIMI. if not a beautiful, yet a most witchinir, girl. The two brothers appeared to partake the feel- ing's and spirit of their elder sister. One of them turned aside to the window, impatiently humming' a popular air : the other, after walk- ing once to the door, returned to the dinner- table, and exclaimed, in answer to the old man's words in which he introduced his children, '* Enough, father ; I will introduce myself to these strangers, should there be occasion for it. Signori,'' he said, advancing to the Englishmen, " my father seems to know you ; consequently you know him. I may not say more on the subject than to pray you to be- lieve that neither I nor my brother and sisters would wish to be judged of from public or pri- vate report, or what are supposed to be family characteristics. We beg to stand or fall on our own actions and sentiments." " I am sure," replied de Whittinghani, pity- ing the evident shame and mortification to which this fine-spirited family was exposed by PALAZZO MA88IMI. 281 their father's miserly meanness — *' I am sure," he replied^ as he grasped, and, with friendly frankness, shook the yountr man's hand, ^' that you will ever rise in the opinion of whoever may have the pleasure of bccomini;' accjiuiinled with you." Warren de Whittingham and the children of old Massimi were friends from that hour. The Reader may remark that, although we have given some description of the younger members of the family group, to whom we have introduced liim, we have not said one word descriptive of the father. In truth, gentle Reader, the old man was the very image of bis old servant Andrea ; or, perhaps, Andrea was the image of his master; just as thou maycst have observed that dogs generally ac- quire all the characteristics of their ditferent owners. Didst ever see a short, pursy man whose dog was not pursy, short - legged, stump-tailed, and endowed with a wheezing alTection in the throat? Didst ever see a dashing^ devil-me-care fire-eater whose pet dog, 282 PALAZZO MASSIMI. if he endured one^ was not either a setter, an Italian sheplierd do^, or a descendant of Newfoundland? So was Andrea the exact image of Don Domenico ; and, having" de- scribed the one, we have exhibited the per- son, though not the really gentlemanly and polished manners, of the other. " And now,^^ said the old gentleman to Tilton, " now you will want your wing of the palace again ? It is just as you left it. But this new Pope draws to Rome so many of the strangers, who went away from the dullness of his predecessor Adrian, that you must pay me more. People expect that Rome will be as brilliant as it was under Leo De- cimo ; besides, I have been at great expense in keeping the apartments aired/' ** For your own proiSt, Signor Domenico. Well, I can easily get quarters elsewhere. Good afternoon to you. My horses and fol- lowers are in the yard below." And he walked towards the door. "Siurnor Cavelliere! Milordo!'' shrieked the PALAZZO MASSIMI. 283 old man, at the top of his cracked voice, "the apartment is yours. Do not suppose I would disoblige an old friend for the sake of a few hundred ducats, although they are very scarce, and would be a great help. Andrea shall go and open the doors for you." **Be it so then," replied Tilton. "Excuse us now," he added to the young people. ** Our men and horses are tired. I look forward to much pleasure to be derived from our fu- ture intercourse. '^ And, indeed, if this were the case with Maurice, it was evidently so with those whom he addressed. Their eyes sparkled, and they arose with unwonted buoyancy of feeling, at the anticipation that their monotonous im- prisonment with their father was to be bro- ken by two lively, handsome, and stylish young men. On descending to the court-yard, the En- glishmen found that Rafl'aello Monza had, with the prudence and license of an old 284 PALAZZO MAS8IMI. trooper, already taken possession of the exten- sive stables, and broken open a bin in which a lew bushels of corn had been carefully locked away. Hearing that his master had engaijed to occupy the palace, he now quickly despatched his troopers to provide provender of every description for horse and man ; for he justly calculated, from the exter- nal appearance of the house, that little enter- tainment, according to the modern phrase, would be found in it for either. Maurice Tilton introduced his friend into his old quarters. The apartments were hand- some, commodious, and roomy ; and looked all the better that he had, at his former visit, thoroughly repaired, cleaned, and burnished them up. In the course of the evening, Raf- faello had provided all that was needful ; and after a cheerful supper and a good many glasses of Orvietan wine, poured from rush- covered flasks, de Whittingliam retired to bed, and dreamed all night that he was alternately PALAZZO MAS9IMI. eng-aged in single combat with Francis the first of France, with the Emperor of Germany, and with the Grand Sultan Soleyman ; \Nhile the Pope stood by giving his benediction, and Viltoria Colonna wcaved garlands of flowers with which to encircle his victorious brows. 286 THE PAPAL COURT. CHAPTER XV. THE PAPAL COURT. " But see each Muse in Leo's golden days Starts from her trance, and trims her wither'd bays. Rome's ancient genius, o'er its ruins spread. Shakes off the dust and rears its reverend head. Then Sculpture and her sister arts revive, Stones leap'd to form, and rocks began to live: With sweeter notes each rising temple rung ; A Raphael painted, and a Vida sung. Immortal Vida I on whose honour'd brow The poet's bays and critic's ivy grow : Cremona, now, shall ever boast thy name As next in place to Mantua, next in fame." Pope's Essav on Criticism. Thus beautifully writes our most classical and most chaste of English poets : we must, however, be permitted to contradict one or two of liis implied assertions. The *' golden THE PAPAI^ COURT. 287 days," which are here restricted to the reig^n of Leo the tenth, had, we opine, risen upon Rome forty years before, when Sixtus the fourth founded the Vatican library ; they had beamed with noon-day lustre under the pon- tificate of Julius; nor were they overcast until the miserable event which impends over this our history. We must also, secondly, be allowed to challenge Pope's estimate of literary immortality and of that which secures it. Vida stands forth, indeed, as one of the first, if not the very first, of Latin poets of this second Augustan age: but the Italian language which had been first ennobled by Petrarch, was then formed ; and by it alone was popular immortality to be obtained by modern writers. So felt Ariosto, while apos- trophising a writer of the same age and vastly inferior to Vida : '• la vcggo I'ietro, Bembo, ch' il puro e dolce idioma noslro, Levato fuor del volgrar uso tetro, Quale esst-r dee, ci ha col 8uo esscmpio mostro." 288 THE PAPAL COURT. In one of the smaller ^nd constantly inhabited rooms of the Vatican palace, Pope Clement was seated on a straight- backed, but well-stuflfed, elbowed chair co- vered with scarlet velvet. Beside him were his two friends and counsellors, Schombcrg:, the Archbishop of Capua, and Gianmatteo Giberto, the Bishop of Verona. Near them, and joining" freely in the conversation, to which all contributed, stood the two most eminent apostolic secretaries, Jacopo Sado- leti and Pietro Bembo. For many years had these talented men been united \\ith Clement and the rest of the group in the con- duct of the most important public affairs, and had, nevertheless, found time to make for themselves a high and widely-spreading repu- tation by those poems and varied compositions which still endure. Other eminent persons swelled the assembly, whom we may or may not individually introduce to the Reader. ^*I cannot reconcile myself, '^ observed Mon- signor Sadoleti, at the moment when we cast THE PAPAL COURT. 289 our eyes on the interesting^ group, and markeil a middle-aged man cloathed in a prelate's pur- ple robe, whose fine, thoughtful, serious cast of features betrayed a religious, contemplative, and mild disposition — "I cannot reconcile myself to Cardinal Grimani's bequest. Tt was very patriotic and very proper for him to leave his library to the canons of Saint Sal- vador at Venice ; but I must grudge the loss of his eight thousand volumes to Rome." *' Mind then, Sadoleti," said the Pope, jocosely, " mind that we shall remember your opinions, and expect that you will never remove your own library from home. No ; not even to your bishoprick of Carpentras : ill luck betide them if you attempt it !" * '* With every respect for your Holiness," replied Sadoleti,**! do not fear your powers ot prophecy." * Some vears later this excellent library was sent l»y its owner on board a coasting vessel to Marseilles ; but when arrived in port, it was discovered that some of the jiassengers were infected by the plague. The books were, therefore, not allowed to be landed ; and the vessel, having set sail again, was never heard of more. VOL. r. o 290 THE PAPAL COURT. " However/' interposed Cardinal Scipando, an old man who stood with conscious import- ance in the group, ** there will soon be no lack of books to form as many libraries as there are readers. And it is my proud duty TO present to your Holiness a poem which the author trusts may endure, and do honour to his country.'' " What author was ever deficient in a similar confidence ! " exclaimed the Pope. '* But let us see the book. Who is it by, and what is it called? " '' It is Sanazzaro's poem de partu Virginis," replied the Cardinal : '* a poem which he has been working? at for twenty years, and which he now prays to be permitted to inscribe to your Holiness." '^Let us see the inscription," said the Pope. "These lines," he added, after looking at them, '^ were, most assuredly, written for Leo, and have now been turned to us for want of a better patron. And we must, in sooth, pa- THE PAPAL COURT. 291 tronise the author. Write to him, Sadoleti, our deep gratitude for having- associated our name with a work whose tendency must be so pious and whose fame so extensive and en- during; and tell him if he will come to Rome we shall be delighted to receive him. Yet," continued Clement, '* the Incarnation of our Lord is a curious subject on which to write a long poem ; and we can scarcely approve ut dilating-, for three books, on a mystery re- vealed for our belief, indeed, but so awful and incomprehensible that we see not how it can be treated by a poet with delicacy, de- corum, and respect. And thou, Giroiamo Vida,'' added the pontiff, addressing himself to another of his secretaries who was seated writing at a table placed at one side of the room, *' how dost thou get on with the Christiad ? " Deep grief was seated on the tine features of the young man whom Clement thus ad- dressed. He rose from his desk, and replied with all humility and courtesy, but yet in a o 2 292 THE PAPAL COURT. tone to shew that his heart and thoughts were not in the scene before him, and that he attached, for the moment, but little conse- quence to the subject to which he referred. **The Christiad, most holy father, has ad- vanced, 1 trust, auspiciously. How could it fail to do so, sug-g-ested, as it was, by the late pontiff, Leo, and supported and encou- raged, as the author is, by your Holiness?*' He placed a handkerchief to his eyes, and, hastily retreating to his desk, buried his face in his hands. ''What occasions his distress?" kindly enquired Clement. '' Has auj^ht untoward occurred V " My dear young friend," replied Giberto, " has but lately heard of the death of his lather and mother, who expired within a few hours of one another. He told me of his loss yesterday, and I have recommended him to occupy his mind as much as possible on public business and in composition. Here THE PAPAL COURT. 293 are some lines which be shewed me this morn- ing and which are touching:." Although this was said in an under tone, the sensibilities of the mourner enabled hini to catch its purport ; and he quickly rose and quitted the apartment. ** Poor younjj man !" exclaimed the Pope, using- a term of endearment which the age of Marco Girolamo Vida, who was then in his thirty-fourth year, scarcely warranted. "Poor young man ! He possesses a fine and noble mind ; and, I doubt not, will write a poem which shall contain nothing indecorous or contrary to the exalted purity of the Christian dispensation. Let us hear the verses, Gian- matteo." '* They are these," replied the favourite counsellor. '* You must know, holy father, that he had not written to his parents lor some time — anticipating the pleasure lit- would give and receive from an unexpected visit.'* o 3 294 THE PAPAL COURT. He then read some Latin lines, of which the following is a translation. How oft I dream'd — dream'd o'er and o'er again, Of home, of joys, of you — nor dream'd of pain ! Still did fond fancy picture forth the day — That day of bliss, when I might speed away And claim your fond embrace : — then, one by one, Tell the proud honours I had proudly won. While, dreaming still of you, I strove at Rome, And felt Cremona's cottage was my home. Not until the Pope had given silently a sign of sympathy and approbation did Bembo exclaim, " What a pity it is that people should still persist in writing in a dead lan- guage, now that our native Italian has been reduced into order, and proved to be so very rich, soft and energetic !" " Rich and soft, an ye will, but energetic no," said Clement. *^ Why, thou knowest, Pietro Bembo, that thou hast only taken to writing in Italian because Sanazzaro and Vida are so successful in Latin. However, we wish that both thou and Sanazzaro would be somewhat more cliristian and less hea- THE PAPAL COURT. 295 thenish in your compositions. Thou thyselt hast written that we were elected to the chair of Saint Peter by the favour of the immortal j^ods : this is not to our taste, any more than are all these Pai^an deities who, we see, pre- side, in Sanazzaro's poem, at the Incarnation of the Saviour." " I bow with all gratitude and humility," Pictro Benibo replied ; " but, if 1 may be permitted to say so, we fail in the subjects of our compositions no less that in the com- positions themselves. I know not whether your Holiness may permit my opinion : still, I cannot but consider the poem of my friend Girolamo Fracastoro superior in classical elegance, propriety of diction, and selection and management of subject, to that of any writer since the old Augustan age, which your Holiness has brought back to Italy."* ** He is, indeed, an eminent man," Clement replied ; " and heathen that thou art, tliou • The title of Fracastoro's great poem in — ** Sive de Morbo Gallico." 29G THE PAPAL COL'RT. wilt, doubtless, say that Apollo marked him lor his own, when, his mother bein^ struck dead by lightning-, he, a child in her arms, received not the least hurt.'' " Esculapius has no less a claim on my friend Fracastoro," interposed Giberto ; " since a surgical operation was necessary to open his lips that were closed at the time ol his birth." " Basta !" said Clement, cheerfully, " you have both accounted, in very Christian style, for his being as eminent a poet as he is a skilful physician. But now, Pietro Bembo," he continued, ** tell us that thou art about to return to Rome. You truly say that we wish to encourage literature : as one great step towards that end, let us hope you will again illustrate Rome by making it your residence." " Would that my health. ..." began Bembo in apologetic tone. '' Say, rather," interrupted Clement, *' would that thy amica, thy mistress. Aye ; we have THE PAPAL COURT. 29/ heard of thy domestic circle, and of thy con- stancy to the Morosina, which some think so praise-worthy. But we wish, for thine own sake, as well as for the cause of religion and public decorum, that such scandals could be arrested. None mijjht rise higher than Pictro Bembo : and depend upon it that the time approaches when the strong hand of au- thority, backed by outraged public opinion, will ruthlessly enforce the ancient and whole- some discipline of the church. Attribute to our old friendship," continued the Pontiff, " and to our wishes for thy welfare that we speak openly in this manner." Bembo replied with humility to the censure of the Pontiff; and eagerly attempted to deny the well known immorality which subsequently again interfered with his promotion under Paul the third. He then prayed to be permitted to recommend to his Holiness a poor author, whom the liberality of Leo had encouraged beyond his deserts — Antonio Tebaldeo — but who was now reduced to great distress. 298 THE PAPAL COURT. " We will see what can be done/' kindly replied the Pope : '' but we must not allow all these verse-makers to suppose that the profu- sion of Leo is again to be expected. Why, according- to the Coryciana, w hich Palle, or as he pleases to call himself, Blosius Palladius, has just published, there are no less than one hundred and twenty makers of respectable Latin verses now living in Rome. We cannot support them all. We have not yet organised our new financial system which, by God's bles- sing, will enable us to avoid some of those expedients for raising money which our pre- decessors have resorted to. How much money, think you," he said, turning to the group, ** was expended on the mock coronation of the buffoon and arch-poet Querno, which the sculpture on that door perpetuates ? No; we must take a lesson from that carved elephant, who, you all see, is much too sagacious to minister any longer to the silly rhymster, and is endeavouring to cast him from his back over the bridge of Sant Angelo. Of such as him THE PAPAL COURT. 299 and Bernardo Accolti — though we suppose that we ought to call him the divine Unico Aretino — posterity will think much the same as did our poor predecessor Adrian who complained so bitterly of their voracious appetites." A young man poorly drest, but in the garb which then characterised the important and honoured brotherhood of painters, was now in- troduced by Giulio Romano, whom we have before brought before the reader. " Giulio,*^ enquired the Pontiff, " have you shown him poor Raffaello's transfiguration?" " I have, holy father." '^ And what did he say to it ?" The young stranger here signed timidly to his patron, as if requesting him not to betray him : the other, however, remarked'him not. *'He gazed at it, most reverend father," he replied, ** long and silently. At length, he opened his lips, but not to praise the paint- ing." 300 THE PAPAL COURT. *'No!" exclaimed Clement. '* What said he then ?" " fie cried out earnestly and enthusiastically Ed io anche sono 2)ittore ! — then I too am a painter!" The Pope mused awhile, and then said to the stranger "What is your name, young man?" *^ Antonio da Correggio, most holy father," replied the poor painter, timidly and devoutly dropping on one knee. " Well, well,'* replied the Pontiff : "we will see what thou canst do. But we think better of thy exclamation than does Signor Giulio. Thou hast paid a higher compliment to that picture of Raffacllo's than it ever received belore. By the bye, gentlemen," he added, "you are all fond of the fine arts— all at least except Schomberg, who says he is no judge of paintings: — you will, therefore, be glad to hear that we have changed our intention of sending that picture to the cathedral of Nar- bonnc, for which we had it painted originally. Tllfe PAPAL COURT. 301 We now purpose placing it in the church of San Pietro in ^lontorio ; so that we may retain it at home. " All present, but particularly Giberto, who was ever foremost in his admiration of the tine arts and literature, of which he was a munificent patron, expressed their satisfaction at this intelligence. But as Giulio Romano and his young proteg^ left the presence, Schomberg addressed himself to Clement, and insinuating that much time had been spent in idle talk, on idle subjects, asked permission to introduce the English Knight who had brought the first news of the battles of the Sessia. ** No, Fra Nicolo," replied the Pontiff, " we will not see him. Did he come to Rome in the character of a regular and avowed envoy from the king of England, we would show all courtesy to the ambassador of so faithful a son of the church : but he is here, if we under- stand aright, as the friend of the Cardinal of York and his Sovereign, but without any de- VOL. I. p 302 THE PAPAL COURT. dared character. It would not be advisable to commit ourselves by treating on public matters with such an agent. We would see him with pleasure in his private capacity, and let him bring his friend with him — our officer of the Black Bands that is to be : for we think you have deferred his commission, Monsignor Giberto?" *^ Only that the fine lad may enjoy himself awhile in Rome," answered the minister. *' He will be ever within our call, I will answer for him, and grateful for any opportunity of serving your Holiness and of distinguishing himself." '' But, most holy father,'^ Schomberg insisted, " the other Knight, Sir Maurice Tilton, has shewn me most valid reasons why your Holi- ness should not utterly discountenance the Imperial interests.'^ " We discountenance no one,^^ exclaimed the Pope. " As we replied, after our coronation, to the emperor's ambassadors, we are now the common father of all, and can no longer fa- THE PAPAL COURT. 303 vour particular interests. All we strive for is universal peace araongrst Christian princes. Say you not so, Monsignor Giberto?'' Clement added, addressina: his Italian counsellor with that sort of feverish anxiety for the support of another's opinion, which indicated that he felt uncertain of his own resolutions. Giberto strenously supported the policy declared by his sovereign ; and some little sparring-, as courteous and insidious as was required by the presence they were in, ensued between the two favourite ministers. Although at his first election, Clement had indeed so far acted up to the treaty formed by his prede- cessor with the emperor as to subsidise his armies to the stipulated amount ; yet he had declared, at the time, his purpose of perfect neutrality for the future, and had ever since laboured to establish either a long truce or a permanent peace amongst the contending sove- reigns of Spain, France, and England. All his apostolic efforts were, however, rendered unavailing by the conflicting interests of the 304 THE PAPAL COURT. diiFerent parties. Francis was, indeed, willing to assent to a truce, that it might aflford him time to organise his resources for the further pro- secution of his designs; to guard against these, the Emperor would agree to nothing but a lasting peace ; while Henry of England, or more properly Wolsey, whom Clement had invested with a legantine commission and extraordinary ecclesiastical powers over the whole kingdom, as some compensation for the disappointment he had endured in not being elected to the papal throne at the last vacancy — Henry and Wolsey opposed any treaty between the belligerents which should be instigated by Rome, as they wished to constitute themselves the grand referees and mediators for all par- ties. AVith great difficulty Clement adhered to his first resolution — occasionally vacillat- ing between the contending opinions of his councillors, and the angry reclamations of the Imperial envoys, who demanded, rather than prayed for, his active support ; but still recur- ring to his determination, and still secretly THE PAPAL COURT. 305 constant to the wish of every native Italian, that neither French nor German should obtain preponderating influence v/ithin the Alps. The conversation, perhaps we miu^ht say, the discussion, on these matters, still continued in the papal council chamber, or, at least, amongst the papal counsellors, as they were not now formally drawn together on any par- ticular matter of business, when a chamber- lain entered to state that the Signor Jacopo, the Pope's principal musician, requested to be admitted to his Holiness. Clement, delighted to interrupt the controversy amongst those to whom he could not listen, without being suc- cessively swayed by each, and thus increasing that nervous hesitation which he now felt was growing upon him — Clement gladly ordered that the applicant should advance. *' So, Signor Jacopo," he exclaimed, as an old musician entered the room, " art thou come to tell us that thou hast engaged that young flute-player for our service V *' With some difliculty I have succeeded in VOL. I. Q 306 THE PAPAL COURT. doing SO, most holy father: he is a j^oldsmith by trade, and made me await his determination for some days, so fearful was he of injuring his business by taking up this new pursuit." "Truly," said Clement, ^*if he set so much store upon his trade, he ought to be a good workman. However, set down his name as one of our band : we never heard a more skil- ful player upon the flute ; and tell him that, if he be equally clever as a goldsmith, we will find him occupation in that business also. As he is a Florentine, we would willingly patron- ise a countryman. Cellini is his name, is it not?" "Benvenuto Cellini, most holy father. A wild youth ; but son to old Cellini, the engineer and organ-maker of Florence." END OF VOL. I. B. BKNSt.KV, PRI.VTEK. NEW WORKS PLBLI8HED BY MESSRS. SAUNDERS AND OTLEY. I. la Two Vols. Post Hvo. THE INFLUENCE OF DEMOCRACY. THE COMPLETION OK UE.MOCK.\CY IN .\MEKICA By M. a. De TotQUEVlLLK. Translated by H. Rrbve, Esq. " At a ftudy of political icJcnce this bwik standi unrivalled in our time, equally remarkable for lucidity of •tyle, aeutencM and delicary of reasoninff. and for the iimral and intellectual vi^ur with which it has been conceived and completed " — T'rr- II. In Two Vols. Post Jlvo. TIMON— BUT NOT OF ATHENS. This work contams Correspondence between George the Fourth and Queen Caroline previous to and after their marriage — Letters to and from George the Third, Queen Charlotte, Lor-I Liverpool, Lord Thurlow, Lady De Clifford, inc. ; and the Private Journal of Queen Caroline, recording the principal occurrence* of her eventful lile. Now first published from the originals. HI. In Three Vols. Post 8vo. SOCIAL LIFE IN GERMANY ILLUSTRATED. IN THE DRAMAS OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCESS AMELIA OF SAXONY. Translated, with an Ifitroduction. By Mils. Ja.mkson. "Theae volumes art full of interest, especially at a moment when ererr thinR Gfrman is interesting to thr Knghsh public. e«pecial!y German princes und princesses, and the social life of Germany. With her usual go<>d ta»te. Mrs. JamMon ha« cho«en »ome of the most beautiful upecimens of the in-door romedr of t' '■ - r«— f ,r tran«fusion into her native ianiruage. These pieces are all >. and womanly, graceful, and true, and moral; and Mr». Jai. -")od service to her rea'lers— a large and extending circle — in i>t.: k.;j|r iiKiM ....|U4intfd with »uch compositions."— .{//as. IV. DU W A AG EN'S RUBENS. In one vol. PETER PAUL RURHNS, HIS LIFE AND GENIUS. Translated from the German of Or. Wa.\«.kn by R. R. Nokl, Esq. Edited i>y Mh«j. Jamkmin. • We cannot too earnestly recommend this work to the study of the artist arcl conn ■.»«»-ur ; :t is beyond all comparison the most complete and perlect anaUiia of ■ " "id works of Ru»>ens which has ever )>ecn given to thcpuliiif. Al' JVC produced no volume which de»enres to l>e more pri/ol ar.d stu 'ITS who would learn the road to success, or attentively rra i ty those wli'j vv.;ui.J acquire a c-rrect and refined taste .n art."— Uriraitnia! iVt'W Works pit/i/ixhr/I //// V, In Three Volu. Post 8vo. ARUNDEL; A TALE OF THE FliENCH REVOLUTION. By Sir Francis Vincent, Bart. " We can confidently recommend this book iis the beat historical wovel that has proceeded from the press since Sir E. L. Bulwer withdrew — we triut temporarily— from this class of composition." — Exumintr. VI. In Three Vols. Post 8vo. RECORDS OF REAL LIFE. By Miss Harriott Pigott. Revised by the Late J<»hn Galt. " Mr. Gait adopted Miss Pixott's MS. with intense interest. The preface and notes were the last efforts of his mental powers." — Introduction "The author, having moved in the best circles of society, and travelled a good deal on the continent, has, in these volumes, presented us with many pleasant reminiscenses of her sojourn and associates, forming a miscellany, in the way of light and polite literature, which we can safely recommend to the upper classes tor their entertainment." — Literary Gazette. VII. In Two Vols. Post 8vo. THE REAL AND THE IDEAL; UK, ILLUSTRATIONS OF TRAVEL. " The Author appears to have fused down whole volumes of notes and journals into these pages, in which he not only passes in review all that he has seen or heard among the scenes in which he has mored, but supphes, from the stores of a graceful and accomplished mind, every thing which couJd be expected to illus- trate the subject of his criticism. He has given, in fact, a sort of philosophy of travel." — Xaial and Military Gazette. VIII. In Two Vols. Post 8vo. CAMP AND QUARTERS: OK, SCENES OF MILITAHV LIFE. By Major Patterson, Author of " Adventures in the oOth, Or Queen s Own Regiment." " Major Patterson hits the right temper in these lively volumes — his work will be a useful addition to our anecdotical library, reflecting with the fidelity of a mirror the vicissitudes and contretemps of a soldier s experience." — Atlas. IX. In Three Vols. Post Bvo. HAWK WOOD: A ROMANCE OF ITALY. "This work bears the air of much care and research, evincing talents of the highest order. The characters are vigorounly conceived and boldly sketched. the descriptions spirited urid crtcctivc. the uialoguc graceful and brilliant." — Britannia. Messrs. Saunders and Otley. COMPLETE WORKS :S1K E. L. BLLVVEU, liAKT., M.P., M.A. Negociations having been concluded with Mr. Colbum and Mr. Beiitk-y for permission to include the Novels, of which the Copy- righta had been purchased by them, in this Series ; the Edition will now contain TH?: ENTIRE WORKS OF SIR E. L. Bl'LWER. In a complete and uniform shape. A von ME PUBLI.SHED 0.\ THE FIRST OF EVERY MONTH. f'uluNits ulitudy published, prtci. Six S/iiilhti/s tucfi. THE PILGRIMS OF THE RHINE AND THE STUDENT, Beautifully illustrated by Cattkr.mole. GODOLPHIN. Beautifully illustrated by Mallisb and Creswu k. RIENZI: THE LAST OF THE TRIBUNES. Beautifully illustrated by Maclise und Ckeswk k. ERNEST MALT RAVERS. Beautifully illustrated by Cattkrmoi k. ALICE: OR THE MYSTERIES. Beautifully illustrated by Von Holst and Stbpha.nokk. " It )• with ffreat pleasure we lee commenced au editiun uf the wurk« of Sir Edward Bulwer ; and our KTAtification i« increased by the circumstance of their adopting a succinct form, beinf; at once extremely neat, and eitremely chcaj . Popular as they have deservedly been, both at home and abroad, they will thui* obtain a wider circulation in their native land, and we shall no longer sutfrr tl.r reproach of knowing that in America, and all over the Continent <.A Furt>(^>e. a writer of his distin^^uished ftenius is more univcmally read, and more hijjhly priin:, than in the country adorned by his talents. It is for these reasun* that we ■>(• entirely appruve oi their iosue in this shape ; for the more they arc read, the higher will the reputation of their author rise." — Literary Gatettr. " 1 he admirers of Hulwcr't genius, that is, the whole readins public, will re- ceive with lively satisfaction the announcement of a new, and the tirst ur:f' ru-. edition of the works of thi be [.ulilmhcd In i. ■ ' . Tolumen, price aiz ahillinirii, with original illustrations, from di»i>:n< by t!.i • r- ar* -• ' ■ -t tinished style ; thus enabling every person •> ' at and adorn his library with a correct and t • >:i. reationi of tiulmcr't im.iginaine and acron.i Utliiii — . i;i' r..-ii'( ■ ■!» < iri/. jVcw Worfa published by Messrs. Saunders ^- Otley. " This beautifal edition of the works of Sir E. L. Bulger, in it« illustration, typography, and general execution, is worth v of one of the timt geniuses of rl,»- aae. This is the first attempt which has been made in Kncland at a coHi ctt-n emtit-n of his works ; though in Germany fwhere he i« even more read ilia. i .i. England and in France, various imperfect collected editions have been published. There can be no question that it will be hailed with the utmost satisfaction, and meet with the best encmiragement of the public." — LeeiU Tunes " This new edition of the works of Sir E. L. Bulwer, Bart., is to appear in monthly volumes. The price is exceedingly moderate, and the style in which they are gut up much superior to that of any other series of novels we have yet seen. Each volume will be illustrated with engravings by first-rate artists."— Bac<6n Free Prtss. ^^ " The second volume of the Hun. Baronet's Works, as issued by MeaA. Saunders and Otley, is got up in the same beautiful manner as the prece'in. ; and, if common care be taken by the reader, it may stand, unbound, or..- c : ti.t handsomest books in your case. Indeed, it is a model of what is called cloth- binding ; and this volume, so brought out, is sold for Six Shillings — a much handsomer book than the original edition in three volumes, which sells for a guinea-and-a-half — more than /i'e times the pnce of the present volume." — Dublin Erening Fust. " This elegant and cheap reprint of the works of one of thtr most popular writers in the department of Fiction and Romance that ever lived .always ex- cepting Sir Walter Scott cannot fail to attract the patronage of all those who, in the selection of novels, look for sense, scholarship, good taste, and useful moral, combined with a rich and fertile fancy, glowing eloquence, and a profound knowledge of the human heart, in its vices' and frailties, as well as in its sound and valuable propertie!"."— Ba