*CHAPTER VII.*
The Duke had engaged the next morning to be present at a theatricalrepresentation of a religious character, somewhat of the nature of amiracle play, to be given in the courtyard of the "Hospital of Death,"which adjoined to the Campo Santo of the city.
Before accompanying his Highness, Inglesant had given orders to have theman, who had been the cause of so much excitement the evening before,brought into his apartment, that he might see whether or no hiseccentricity made him sufficiently interesting to be presented to theDuke.
When the stranger was brought to the palace early in the morning, andhaving been found to be quite harmless, was entrusted by the guard totwo servants to be brought into Inglesant's presence, he thought himselfin a new world. Hitherto his acquaintance with Italian life had beenthat of a stranger and from the outside; he was now to see somewhat ofthe interior life of a people among whom the glories of the Renaissancestill lingered, and to see it in one of the most wonderful of theRenaissance works, the ducal palace of Umbria. Born in the dulltwilight of the north, and having spent most of his mature years amongstthe green mezzotints of Germany, he was now transplanted into a land oflight and colour, dazzling to a stranger so brought up. Reared in thesternest discipline, he found himself among a people to whom life was afine art, and the cultivation of the present and its enjoyments the endof existence. From room to room, as he followed his guide, who pointedout from time to time such of the beauties of the place as he consideredmost worthy of notice, the stranger saw around what certainly might haveintoxicated a less composed and determined brain.
The highest efforts of the genius of the Renaissance had been expendedupon this magnificent house. The birth of a new instinct, differing insome respects from any instincts of art which had preceded it, producedin this and other similar efforts original and wonderful results. Theold Greek art entered with unsurpassable intensity into sympathy withhuman life; but it was of necessity original and creative, lookingalways forward and not back, and lacked the pathos and depth of feelingthat accompanied that new birth of art which sought much of itsinspiration among the tombs and ruined grottoes, and most of itssympathetic power among the old well-springs of human feeling, read inthe torn and faded memorials of past suffering and destruction. Thisnew instinct of art abandoned itself without reserve to the pursuit ofeverything which mankind had ever beheld of the beautiful, or had feltof the pathetic or the sad, or had dreamed of the noble or the ideal.The genius of the Renaissance set itself to reproduce this enchantedworld of form and colour, traversed by thoughts and spiritual existencesmysterious and beautiful, and the home of beings who had found this formand colour and these mysterious thoughts blend into a human lifedelicious in its very sorrows, grotesque and incongruous in its beauty,alluring and attractive amid all its griefs and hardships; so much soindeed that, in the language of the old fables, the Gods themselvescould not be restrained from throwing off their divine garments, andwandering up and down among the paths and the adventures of men. Bygrotesque and humorous delineation, by fanciful representation of humanpassion under strange and unexpected form, by the dumb ass speaking andgrasshoppers playing upon flutes, was this world of intelligent lifereproduced in the rooms and on the walls of the house through which thestranger walked for the first time.
He probably thought that he saw little of it, yet the bizarre effect wasburning itself into his brain. From the overhanging chimney-piecesantique masques and figures such as he had never seen, even in dreams,leered out upon him from arabesque carvings of foliage, or skulkedbehind trophies of war, of music, or of the arts of peace. The door andwindow frames seemed bowers of fruit and flowers, and forests of carvedleaves wreathed the pilasters and walls. But this was not all; with aperfection of design and an extraordinary power of fancy, this world ofsylvan imagery was peopled by figures and stories of exquisite grace andsweetness, representing the most touching incidents of human life andhistory. Men and women; lovers and warriors in conflicts and dances andfestivals, in sacrifices and games; children sporting among flowers;bereavement and death, husbandry and handicraft, hunters and beasts ofchase. Again, among briony and jasmin and roses, or perched upon earsof corn and sheaves of maize, birds of every plumage confronted--so thegrotesque genius willed--fish and sea monsters and shells and marinewonders of every kind.
Upon the walls, relieved by panelling of wood, were paintings oflandscapes and the ruined buildings of antiquity overgrown with moss, orof modern active life in markets and theatres, of churches and cities inthe course of erection with the architects and scaffold poles, of theprocessions and marriages of princes, of the ruin of emperors and ofkings. Below and beside these were credenzas and cabinets upon whichluxury and art had lavished every costly device and material which theworld conceived or yielded. Inlaid with precious woods, and glitteringwith costly jewels and marbles, they reproduced in these differingmaterials all those infinite designs which the carved walls had alreadywearied themselves to express. Plaques and vases from Castel Durante orFaience,--some of a strange pale colour, others brilliant with agrotesque combination of blue and yellow,--crowded the shelves.
Passing through this long succession of rooms, the stranger reached atlast a library, a noble apartment of great size, furnished with books inbrilliant antique binding of gold and white vellum, and otherwiseornamented with as much richness as the rest of the palace. Uponreading desks were open manuscripts and printed books richlyilluminated. Connected with this apartment by open arches, was ananteroom or corridor, which again opened on a loggia, beyond the shadyarches of which lay the palace gardens, long vistas of green walks, andreaches of blue sky, flecked and crossed by the spray of fountains. Thedecorations of the anteroom and loggia were more profuse and extravagantthan any that the stranger had yet seen. There was a tradition thatthis portion of the palace had been finished last, and that when theworkmen arrived at it the time for the completion of the whole was verynearly run out. The attention of all the great artists, hithertoengaged upon different parts of the entire palace, was concentrated uponthis unfinished portion, and all their workmen and assistants werecalled to labour upon it alone. The work went on by night and day, notceasing even to allow of sleep. Unlimited supplies of Greek wine werefurnished to the workmen; and stimulated by excitement and the love ofart, emulating each other, and half-intoxicated by the delicious wine,the work exceeded all previous productions. For wild boldness andluxuriance of fancy these rooms were probably unequalled in the world.
In the anteroom facing the loggia the stranger found Inglesantconversing with an Italian who held rather a singular post in the ducalCourt. He was standing before a cabinet of black oak, inlaid withrepresentations of lutes and fifes, over which were strewn rosesconfined by coloured ribbons, and supporting vases of blue and yellowmajolica, thrown into strong relief by the black wood. Above thiscabinet was a painting representing some battle in which a former Dukehad won great honour; while on a grassy knoll in the foreground thehuntsmen of Ganymede were standing with their eyes turned upward towardsthe bird of Zeus, who is carrying the youth away to the skies,emblematical of the alleged apotheosis of the ducal hero. Richlydressed in a fantastic suit of striped silk, and leaning against thecabinet in an attitude of listless repose, Inglesant was contemplatingan object which he held in his hand, and which both he and his companionappeared to regard with intense interest. This was an antique statuetteof a faun, holding its tail in its left hand, and turning its head andbody to look at it,--an occupation of which, if we may trust themonuments of antiquity, this singular creature appears to have beenfond. The Italian was of a striking figure, and was dressed somewhatmore gaily than was customary with his countrymen; and the whole groupwas fully in unison with the spirit of the place and with the wealth ofbeauty and luxury of human life that pervaded the whole.
The man who was standing by Inglesant's side, and who had the air of aconnoisseur or virtuoso, was an Italian of some fifty years of age. H
isappearance, as has been said, was striking at first sight, but on longeracquaintance became very much more so. He was tall and had been dark,but his hair and beard were plentifully streaked with gray. Hisfeatures were large and aquiline, and his face deeply furrowed andlined. His appearance would have been painfully worn, almost toghastliness, but for a mocking and humorous expression which laughedfrom his eyes, his mouth, his nostrils, and every line and feature ofhis face. Whenever this expression subsided, and his countenance sankinto repose, a look of wan sadness and even terror took its place, andthe large black eyes became fixed and intense in their gaze, as thoughsome appalling object attracted their regard.
This man had been born of a good but poor family, and had been educatedby his relations with the expectation of his becoming an ecclesiastic,and he had even passed some time as a novice of some religious order.The tendency of his mind not leading him to the further pursuit of areligious life, he left his monastery, and addressed himself to live byhis wits, among the families and households of princes. He had madehimself very useful in arranging comedies and pageantries, and he had atone time belonged to one of those dramatic companies called "Zanni," whowent about the country reciting and acting comedies. Combined with thistalent he discovered great aptitude in the management of seriousaffairs, and was more than once, while apparently engaged entirely ontheatrical performances, employed in secret State negotiations whichcould not so well be entrusted to an acknowledged and conspicuous agent.In this manner of life he might have continued; but having becomeinvolved in one of the contests which disturbed Italy, he received adangerous wound in the head, and on rising from his sick bed in theAlbergo in which he had been nursed, he was merely removed to another asa singular if not dangerous lunatic. The symptoms of his disease firstmanifested themselves in a very unpleasant familiarity with the secretsof those around him, and it was probably this feature of his complaintwhich led to his detention. As he improved in health, however, heceased to indulge in any conversation which might give offence, but,assuming a sedate and agreeable manner, he conversed with all who cameto him, calling them, although strangers and such as he had never beforeseen, by their proper names, and talking to them pleasantly concerningtheir parents, relations, the coats-of-arms of their families, and suchother harmless and agreeable matters.
What brought him prominently into notice was the strangely propheticspirit he manifested before, or at the moment of the occurrence of, morethan one public event. He was taken from the hospital and examined bythe Pope, and afterwards at several of the sovereign Courts of Italy.Thus, not long before the time when Inglesant met him in the ducalpalace at Umbria, he was at Chambery assisting at the preparation ofsome festivals which the young Duke of Savoy was engaged in celebrating.One day, as he was seated at dinner with several of the Duke's servants,he suddenly started up from his seat, exclaiming that he saw the Duke deNemours fall dead from his horse, killed by a pistol shot. The Duke,who was uncle to the young monarch of Savoy, was then in France, wherehe was one of the leaders of the party of the Fronde. Before many dayswere passed, however, the news reached Chambery of the fatal duelbetween this nobleman and the Duke of Beaufort, which occurred at themoment the Italian had thus announced it.
These and other similar circumstances caused the man to be much talkedof and sought after among the courts of Italy, where a belief inmanifestations of the supernatural was scarcely less universal than inthe previous age, when, according to an eye-witness, "the Pope woulddecide no question, would take no journey, hold no sitting of theConsistory, without first consulting the stars; nay, very few cardinalswould transact an affair of any kind, were it but to buy a load of wood,except after consultation duly held with some astrologer or wizard."The credit which the man gained, and the benefits he derived from thisreputation, raised him many enemies, who did not scruple to assert thathe was simply a clever knave, who was not even his own dupe. Setting onone side, however, the revelations of the distant and the unknown madeby him, which seemed inexplicable except by supposing him possessed ofsome unusual spiritual faculty, there was in the man an amount ofknowledge of the world and of men of all classes and ranks, combinedwith much learning and a humorous wit, which made his company well worthhaving for his conversation alone. It was not then surprising that heshould be found at this juncture at the court of Umbria, where thepeculiar idiosyncrasies of the aged Duke, and the interest attached tothe intrigue for the session of the dukedom, had assembled a strange andheterogeneous company, and towards which at the moment all men's eyes inItaly were turned.
"Yes, doubtless, it is an antique," the Italian was saying, "though inthe last age many artists produced masques and figures so admirable asto be mistaken for antiques; witness that masque which Messire GeorgioVassari says he put in a chimney-piece of his house at Arezzo, whichevery one took to be an antique. I have seen such myself. This littlefellow, however, I saw found in a vineyard near the Miserecordia--aplace which I take to have been at some time or other the scene of someterrible event, such as a conflict or struggle or massacre; for thoughnow it is quiet and serene enough, with the sunlight and the rustlingleaves, and the splash of a fountain about which there is some goodcarving, I think of Fra Giovanni Agnolo,--for all this, I never walkthere but I feel the presence of fatal events, and a sense of dimfigures engaged in conflict, and of faint and distant cries and groans."
As he spoke these last words his eye rested upon the strange figure ofthe man so hardly rescued from death the night before, and he stopped.His manner changed, and his eyes assumed that expression of intenseexpectation of which we have spoken before. The appearance of thestranger, and the contrast it presented to the objects around, wasindeed such as to make him almost seem an inhabitant of another world,and one of those phantasms of past conflict of which the Italian hadjust spoken. His clothes, which had originally been of the plainesttexture, and most uncourtly make, were worn and ragged, and stained withdamp and dirt. His form and features were gaunt and uncouth, and hisgesture stiff and awkward; but, with all this, there was a certainsteadiness and dignity about his manner, which threw an appearance ofnobility over this rugged and unpleasing form. Contrasted with thedress and manner of the other men, he looked like some enthusiasticprophet, standing in the house of mirth and luxury, and predicting ruinand woe.
At this moment a servant entered the room, bringing a sottocoppa ofsilver, upon which were two or three stiff necked glasses, calledcaraffas, containing different sorts of wine, and also water, and one ortwo more empty drinking-glasses, so that the visitor could pleasehimself as to the strength and nature of his beverage. Inglesantoffered this refreshment to the Italian, who filled himself a glass anddrank, pledging Inglesant as he did so. The latter did not drink, butoffered wine and cakes to the stranger, who refused or rather took noheed of these offers of politeness; he remained silent, keeping his eyesfixed upon the face of the man who, but a few hours before, had savedhim from a violent death.
"I have had some feelings of this kind myself, in certain places," saidInglesant, in answer to the Italian's speech, "and very frequently inall places the sense of something vanishing, which in another moment Ishould have seen; it has seemed to me that, could I once see this thing,matters would be very different with me. Whether I ever shall or not Ido not know."
"Who can say?" replied the other. "We live and move amid a crowd offlitting objects unknown or dimly seen. The beings and powers of theunseen world throng around us. We call ourselves lords of our ownactions and fate, but we are in reality the slaves of every atom ofmatter of which the world is made and we ourselves created. Among thisphantasm of struggling forms and influences (like a man forcing his waythrough a crowd of masques who mock at him and retard his steps) wefight our way towards the light. Many of us are born with the seedswithin us of that which makes such a fight hopeless from the first--theseeds of disease, of ignorance, of adverse circumstance, of stupidity;for even a dullard has had once or twice in his life glimpses of thelight. So we go
on. I was at Chambery once when a man came before theDuke in the palace garden to ask an alms. He was a worker in gold, agood artist, not unworthy of Cellini himself. His sight had failed him,and he could no longer work for bread to give to his children. He stoodbefore the Prince and those who stood with him, among whom were aCardinal and two or three nobles, with their pages and grooms, tryingwith his dim eyes to make out one from the other, which was noble andwhich was groom, and to see whether his suit was rejected or allowed.Behind him, beyond the garden shade, the dazzling glitter stretched upto the white Alps. We are all the creatures of a day, and the punyafflictions of any man's life are not worth a serious thought; yet thisman seemed to me so true an image of his kind, helpless and half-blind,yet struggling to work out some good for himself, that I felt a strangeemotion of pity. They gave him alms--some more, some less. I was afool, yet even now I think the man was no bad emblem of the life of eachof us. We do not understand this enough. Will the time ever come whenthese things will be better known?"
As the Italian spoke the stranger took his eyes off Inglesant and fixedthem on the speaker with a startled expression, as though the tone ofhis discourse was unexpected to him. He scarcely waited for the otherto finish before he broke in upon the conversation, speaking slowly andwith intense earnestness, as though above all things desirous of beingunderstood. He spoke a strange and uncouth Italian, full of roughnorthern idioms, yet the earnestness and dignity of his manner ensuredhim an audience, especially with two such men as those who stood beforehim.
"Standing in a new world," he said, "and speaking as I speak, to men ofanother language, and of thoughts and habits distinct from mine, I seebeneath the tinsel of earthly rank and splendour, and a luxury of lifeand of beauty, the very meaning of which is unknown to me, something ofa common feeling, which assures me that the voice I utter will not beentirely strange, coming as it does from the common Father. I see aroundme a land given over to idolatry and sensual crime, as if the old Paganswere returned again to earth; and here around me I see the symbols ofthe Pagan worship and of the Pagan sin, and I hear no other talk thanthat which would have befitted the Pagan revels and the Pagan darknesswhich overhung the world to come. Standing on the brink of a violentdeath, and able to utter few words that can be understood, I call, inthese short moments which are given me, and in these few words which Ihave at command--I call upon all who will listen to me, that they leavethose things which are behind, with all the filthy recollections of agessteeped in sin, and that they press forward towards the light,--thelight of God in Jesus Christ."
He stopped, probably for want of words to clothe his thoughts, andInglesant replied,--
"You may be assured from the events of last night, signore, that you arein no danger of violent death in this house, and that every means willbe taken to protect you, until you have been found guilty of some crime.You must, however, know that no country can allow its customs and itsreligion to be outraged by strangers and aliens, and you cannot besurprised if such conduct is resented both by the governors of thecountry and by the ignorant populace, though these act from differentmotives. As to what you have said respecting the ornaments and symbolsof this house, and of the converse in which you have found us engaged,it would seem that to a wise man these things might serve as anallegory, or at least as an image and representation of human life, andbe, therefore, not without their uses."
"I desire no representation nor image of a past world of iniquity," saidthe stranger, "I would I could say of a dead life, but the whole worldlieth in wickedness until this day. This is why I travel through alllands, crying to all men that they repent and escape the most righteousjudgment of God, if haply there be yet time. These are those latterdays in which our Saviour and Redeemer Jesus Christ, the Son of God,predicted that iniquity 'should be increased;' wherein, instead ofserving God, all serve their own humours and affections, being rocked tosleep with the false and deceitful lullaby of effeminate pleasures anddelights of the flesh, and know not that an horrible mischief andoverthrow is awaiting them, that the pit of Hell yawns beneath them, andthat for them is reserved the inevitable rigour of the eternal fire. Isit a time for chambering and wantonness, for soft raiment and daintyliving, for reading of old play-books such as the one I see on thetable, for building houses of cedar, painted with vermilion, and deckedwith all the loose and fantastic devices which a disordered anddebauched intellect could itself conceive, or could borrow from Pagantombs and haunts of devils, full of uncleanness and dead sins?"
"You speak too harshly of these things," said Inglesant. "I see nothingin them but the instinct of humanity, differing in its outward aspect indifferent ages, but alike in its meaning and audible voice. This houseis in itself a representation of the world of fancy and realitycombined, of the material life of the animal mingled with thosehalf-seen and fitful glimpses of the unknown life upon the verge ofwhich we stand. This little fellow which I hold in my hand, speaks tome, in an indistinct and yet forcible voice, of that commonsympathy--magical and hidden though it may be--by which the wholecreation is linked together, and in which, as is taught in many anallegory and quaint device upon these walls, the Creator of us all has akindly feeling for the basest and most inanimate. My imagination followshumanity through all the paths by which it has reached the presentmoment, and the more memorials I can gather of its devious footsteps themore enlarged my view becomes of what its trials, its struggles, and itsvirtues were. All things that ever delighted it were in themselves thegood blessings of God--the painter's and the player's art--action,apparel, agility, music. Without these life would be a desert; and asit seems to me, these things softened manners so as to allow Religion tobe heard, who otherwise would not have been listened to in a savageworld, and among a brutal people destitute of civility. As I tracethese things backward for centuries, I live far beyond my natural term,and my mind is delighted with the pleasures of nations who were dustages before I was born."
"I am not concerned to dispute the vain pleasures of the children ofthis world," exclaimed the stranger with more warmth than he hadhitherto shown. "Do you suppose that I myself am without the lusts anddesires of life? Have I no eyes like other men, that I cannot take acarnal pleasure in that which is cunningly formed by the enemy to pleasethe eye? Am not I warmed like other men? And is not soft clothing anddainty fare pleasing to me as to them? But I call on all men to riseabove these things, which are transitory and visionary as a dream, andwhich you yourself have spoken of as magical and hidden, of which onlyfitful glimpses are obtained. You are pleasing yourself with fond andidle imaginations, the product of delicate living and unrestrainedfancies; but in this the net of the devil is about your feet, and beforeyou are aware you will find yourself ensnared for ever. These thingsare slowly but surely poisoning your spiritual life. I call upon you toleave these delusions, and come out into the clear atmosphere of God'struth; to tread the life of painful self-denial, leaving that of thepowerful and great of this world, and following a despised Saviour, whoknew none of these things, and spent His time not in kings' housesgorgeously tricked out, but knew not where to lay His head. You speakto me of pleasures of the mind, of music, of the painter's art; do youthink that last night, when beaten, crushed, and almost breathless, inthe midst of a blood-thirsty and howling crowd, I was dimly conscious ofhelp, and looking up I saw you in the glare of the lanterns, in yourcourtier's dress of lace and silver, calm, beneficent, powerful forgood, you did not seem to my weak human nature, and my low needs andinstincts, beautiful as an angel of light? Truly you did; yet I tellyou, speaking by a nature and in a voice that is more unerring thanmine, that, to the divine vision, of us two at that moment you were theone to be pitied,--you were the outcast, the tortured of demons, thebound hand and foot, whose portion is in this life, who, if thisfleeting hour is left unheeded, will be tormented in the life to come."
The Italian turned away his head to conceal a smile, and even toInglesant, who was much better able to understand the man's meaning,thi
s result of his interference to save his life appeared somewhatludicrous. The Italian, however, probably thinking that Inglesant wouldbe glad to be relieved from his strange visitor, seemed desirous ofterminating the interview.
"His Grace expects me," he said to Inglesant, "at the Casa di Morte thismorning, and it is near the time for him to be there. I will thereforetake my leave."
"Ah! the Casa di Morte; yes, he will expect me there also," saidInglesant, with some slight appearance of reluctance. "I will follow youanon."
He moved from the indolent attitude he had kept till this moment beforethe sideboard, and exchanged with the Italian those formal gestures ofleave-taking and politeness in which his nation were precise. When theItalian was gone Inglesant summoned a servant, and directed him toprovide the stranger with an apartment, and to see that he wanted fornothing. He then turned to the fanatic, and requested him as a favournot to attempt to leave the palace until he had returned from the Duke.The stranger hesitated, but finally consented.
"I owe you my life," he said,--"a life I value not at a straw's weight,but for which my Master may perchance have some use even yet. I amtherefore in your debt, and I will give my word to remain quiet untilyou return; but this promise only extends to nightfall; should you beprevented by any chance from returning this day, I am free from myparole."
Inglesant bowed.
"I would," continued the man, looking upon his companion with a softenedand even compassionate regard, "I would I could say more. I hear asecret voice, which tells me that you are even now walking in slipperyplaces, and that your heart is not at ease."
He stopped, and seemed to seek earnestly for some phrases or argumentswhich he might suppose likely to influence a courtier placed as heimagined Inglesant to be; but before he resumed, the latter excusedhimself on the ground of his attendance on the Duke, and, promising tosee him again on his return, left the room.
Inglesant found a carriage waiting to convey him to the "Hospital ofDeath," as the monastic house adjoining the public Campo Santo wascalled. The religious performance had already begun. Passing throughseveral sombre corridors and across a courtyard, he was ushered into theDuke's presence, who sat, surrounded by his Court and by the principalecclesiastics of the city, in an open balcony or loggia. As Inglesantentered by a small door in the back of the gallery a most extraordinarysight met his eyes. Beyond the loggia was a small yard orburial-ground, and beyond this the Campo Santo stretching out into thefar country. The whole of the yard immediately before the spectatorswas thronged by a multitude of persons, of all ages and ranks,apparently just risen from the tomb. Many were utterly withoutclothing, others were attired as kings, bishops, and even popes. Theirattitudes and conduct corresponded with the characters in which theyappeared, the ecclesiastics collecting in calm and sedate attitudes,while many of the rest, among whom kings and great men were not wanting,appeared in an extremity of anguish and fear. Beyond the shelteringwalls which enclosed the court the dazzling heat brooded over the CampoSanto to the distant hills, and the funereal trees stood, black andsombre, against the glare of the yellow sky. At the moment ofInglesant's entrance it appeared that something had taken place of thenature of an excommunication, and the ecclesiastics in the gallery were,according to custom, casting candles and flaming torches, which thecrowd of nude figures below were struggling and fighting to obtain. Awild yet solemn strain of music, that came apparently from the opengraves, ascended through the fitful and half-stifled cries.
The first sight that struck upon Inglesant's sense, as he entered thegallery from the dark corridors, was the lurid yellow light beyond. Thesecond was the wild confused crowd of leaping and struggling figures, ina strange and ghastly disarray, naked or decked as in mockery with thetorn and disordered symbols of rank and wealth, rising as from the tomb,distracted and terror-stricken as at the last great assize. The thirdwas the figure of the Duke turning to him, and the eyes of the priestsand clergy fixed upon his face. The words that the fanatic had utteredhad fallen upon a mind prepared to receive them, and upon a consciencealready awakened to acknowledge their truth. A mysterious convictionlaid hold upon his imagination that the moment had arrived in which hewas bound to declare himself, and by every tie which the past hadknotted round him to influence the Duke to pursue a line of conduct fromwhich his conscience and his better judgment revolted. On the one hand,a half-aroused and uncertain conscience, on the other, circumstance,habit, interest, inclination, perplexed his thoughts. The conflict wasuneven, the result hardly doubtful. The eyes of friends and enemies, ofagents of the Holy See, of courtiers and priests, were upon him; theinquiring glance of the aged Duke seemed to penetrate into his soul. Headvanced to the ducal chair, the solemn music that streamed up as fromthe grave, wavered and faltered as if consciousness and idea were nearlylost. Something of the old confusion overpowered his senses, the figuresthat surrounded him became shadowy and unreal, and the power of decisionseemed no longer his own.
Out of the haze of confused imagery and distracting thought whichsurrounded him, he heard with unspeakable amazement the Duke's words,--
"I have waited your coming, Mr. Inglesant, impatiently, for I have acommission to entrust you with, or rather my daughter, the GrandDuchess, has written urgently to me from Florence to request me to sendyou to her without a moment's delay. Family matters relating to some inwhom she takes the greatest interest, and who are well known, she says,to yourself, are the causes which lead to this request."
Inglesant was too bewildered to speak. He had believed himself quiteunknown to the Grand Duchess, whom he had never seen, but as he hadpassed before her in the ducal receptions at Florence. Who could thesebe in whom she took so great an interest, and who were known to him?
But the Duke went on, speaking with a certain melancholy in his tone.
"I have wished, Mr. Inglesant," he said, "to mark in some way the regardI have conceived for you, and the obligation under which I conceivemyself to remain. It may be that, in the course that events are taking,it will no longer in a few weeks be in my power to bestow favours uponany man. I desire, therefore, to do what I have purposed before youleave the presence. I have caused the necessary deeds to be preparedwhich bestow upon you a small fief in the Apennines, consisting of somefarms and of the Villa-Castle of San Georgio, where I myself in formerdays have passed many happy hours." He stopped, and in a moment or tworesumed abruptly, without finishing the sentence.
"The revenue of the fief is not large, but its possession gives thetitle of Cavaliere to its owner, and its situation and the character ofits neighbourhood make it a desirable and delightful abode. The lettersof naturalization which are necessary to enable you to hold thisproperty have been made out, and nothing is wanting but your acceptanceof the gift. I offer it you with no conditions and no request save that,as far as in you lies, you will be a faithful servant to the GrandDuchess when I am gone."
The Duke paused for a moment, and then, turning slightly to hischaplain, he said, "The reverend fathers will tell you that this affairhas not been decided upon without their knowledge, and that it has theirfull approval."
These last words convinced Inglesant of the fact that had occurred.Although the Duke had said nothing on the subject, he felt certain thatthe deed of cession had been signed, and that for some reason or otherhe himself was considered by the clerical party to have beeninstrumental in obtaining this result, and to be deserving of rewardaccordingly. He had never, as we have seen, spoken to the Dukeconcerning the succession, and his position at the moment was certainlya peculiar one. Nothing was expected of him but that he should expresshis grateful thanks for the Duke's favour, and leave the presence.Surely, at that moment, no law of heaven or earth could require him tobreak through the observances of civility and usage, to enter upon asubject upon which he was not addressed, and to refuse acts of favouroffered to him with every grace and delicacy of manner. Whatever mightbe the case with other men, he certainly was not one to whom such acourse was poss
ible. He expressed his gratitude with all the grace ofmanner of which he was capable, he assured the Duke of his readiness tostart immediately for Florence, and he left the ducal presence beforemany minutes had passed away.
He found before long that all his conjectures were correct. The Duke hadsigned the deed of cession, and the report which was sent to Rome by thePapal agents stated that, in the opinion of the most competent judges,this result was due to Inglesant's influence. Before his arrival theDuke had leaned strongly towards the secular and anti-Papal interest,and had even encouraged heretical and Protestant emissaries. "Avoidingwith great skill all positive allusion to the subject," the report wenton to state, "Il Cavaliere Inglesant had thrown all his influence intothe Catholic and religious scale, and had by the loftiness of hissentiment and the attraction of his manner entirely won over thevacillating nature of the Duke." Too much satisfaction, the Cardinal ofUmbria and the heads of the Church in that city assured the Papal Court,could not be expressed at the manner in which the agent of the Societyhad fulfilled his mission.
Inglesant's departure from Umbria was so sudden that he had noopportunity of again seeing the stranger whom he had left in the palace,and he was afterwards at some trouble in obtaining any informationrespecting him. As far as could be ascertained he waited in the palace,according to his promise, until the evening, when, finding thatInglesant did not return, he walked quietly forth, no man hindering him.What his subsequent fate was is involved in some obscurity; but it wouldappear that, having publicly insulted the Host in some cathedral in thesouth of Italy, he was arrested by the Holy Office, and thrown intoprison, from which there is reason to believe he never emerged.
John Inglesant: A Romance (Volume 2 of 2) Page 7
