*CHAPTER XIII.*
The Castello di San Georgio, or, as it might more properly have beencalled, the "Casa" or Villa di San Georgio, was built upon the summit ofa small conical hill, amid the sloping bases of the Apennines, at a partof their long range where the summits were low and green. In thatdelightful region, the cultivation and richness of the plain is unitedto the wildness and beauty of the hills. The heat is tempered in theshady valleys and under the thick woods. A delicious moisture and softhaze hangs about these dewy, grassy places, which the sun has power towarm and gladden, but not to parch. Flowers of every hue cover theground beneath the oaks and elms. Nightingales sing in the thickets ofwild rose and clematis, and the groves of laurel and of the long-leavedolives are crowded with small creatures in the full enjoyment of lifeand warmth. Little brooks and rippling streams, half hidden by thetangled thickets, and turned from their courses by the mossy rocks, flowdown from the hill ravines, as joyful and clear as in that old time wheneach was the care of some protecting nymph or rural god. In the watersof the placid lake are reflected the shadows of the hills and thetremulous shimmer of waving woods.
In this favoured region, the Villa di San Georgio stood upon its leafyhill-top, set in the background of the mountains. The steep slope wasterraced here and there in patches of ground planted with fruit-trees,and at the foot, towards the south, a large lake slept beneath the bluesky, its shores lined with brushwood, interspersed here and there withgrassy slopes, where the orchis and hyacinth and narcissus sprang upfrom the green rich turf.
Through this pastoral land, at all seasons of the year, wanderingshepherds with their flocks, peasants with their cattle and dogs, ladiesand cavaliers from the neighbouring villas, woodmen, vine-dressers,fishermen from the lake, traversed the leafy stage, and diversified thescene; but when the grape was fully ripe, and the long year was crownedat last with the fatness of the vintage, a joyous age of rural wealthand jollity seemed for a time to fill the mellow, golden-tinted land.Then, indeed, wandering amid the woods and rocks interspersed withvineyards and patches of yellow wheat, as you met the loaded wain, orcame upon the wine-press, trodden by laughing girls and boys, you seemedto understand the stories of the rural wanderings of the gods, for youmet with many a scene to which it might well be fancied that they mightstill be allured, as to that garden at the foot of Mount Bermion wherethe roses grew. The gracious gods of plenty still filled the lusciousvats; rustling Zephyr still whispered love among the flowers, still cameladen with the ripening odours of the fruit. The little cherub Lovespeeped out from behind oak stems and ruined plinth and sculpturedfrieze, half hidden among roots and leaves.
The Castello was a modern building, although there were ruins in one ofthe courtyards of a very antique date. It consisted of three or fourlofty blocks of buildings, at right angles to each other, covered withlow, red-tiled roofs. The principal windows were in the upper stories,and gave light to large and handsome rooms, from which on all sides themost enchanting landscapes satisfied the eye.
The weeks that succeeded Inglesant's marriage grew into months, and themonths into years, in this delightful scene. The old Count spent somemonths in peaceful satisfaction with his daughter and her husband,delighted with the company of his one grandchild, a little boy. In thespacious dining-saloon, with its cool polished floor, it was a prettysight to see the old, courteous nobleman tempting the child with theripest fruit. The shaded light fell upon the plate and yellow ware onthe table, and upon the old cabinets of Italian marqueterie against thewalls; whilst by the carved mantel-piece sat the pleased parents, ofwhom it is recorded that in Rome they passed for the handsomest pair inItaly. In this way, the days of some three sunny summers passed away,while the winters were spent in the Papal city.
But this Arcadian life was not lasting. The old Count was not longcontent if absent from city life, and the time at the Castello hungsomewhat heavily upon the spirits of both Inglesant and his wife. Theywere neither of them fitted by previous habits and education for aretired country life; but the circumstance which outwardly appeared toweigh upon Lauretta's mind was uncertainty concerning her brother'sfate. From the time of the marriage the Cavaliere had disappeared, andfrom that day no word of tidings had been received respecting him. Itwas known that his circumstances were desperate, and the danger he layunder from secret enemies imminent. The account which her husband hadgiven her of the condition in which he had seen Malvolti dwelt in herimagination, and she brooded over the idea of her brother in a similarstate of destitution and misery. It seemed probable that, had he beenassassinated, tidings of the event would have reached his family; and ifalive, it was strange that he had made no application for assistance tothose who were so well able and so willing to render it. This suspenseand mystery were more insupportable than certainty of evil would havebeen.
The characters of Inglesant and his wife were of such a nature as mosteffectively to produce and aggravate this sleepless uneasiness. UponLauretta's lenient and gracious, if somewhat pleasure-lovingdisposition, the impression of the unkindness she had experienced fromher brother faded without leaving a trace, and she thought only of somepleasant, long-past incidents, when she had been a pretty, engagingchild; whilst the life of romance and excitement, combined with acertain spiritual Quixotism, which Inglesant had so long followed, hadrendered any other uncongenial to him, and it required little persuasionto induce him to re-enter upon it.
But there were other causes at work which led to the same result. Formany weeks a sultry wind had, without variation, passed over the southof Italy, laden with putrid exhalations from the earth, and by itssullen steadiness causing stagnation in the air. It would be difficultto describe the terrible effect upon the mind and system of the longcontinuance of such a state of the atmosphere. A restless fear anddepression of spirits prepared the body for the seeds of disease, andthe contagion, which was not perhaps generated in the atmosphere, wascarried by it with fearful rapidity. The plague struck down its victimsat once in city and in country, and spared no rank nor condition oflife. Then all bond of fellowship and of society was loosened, strangecrimes and suspicions,--strange even to that land of crime andtreachery,--influenced the lives and thoughts of all men. Innocentpersons were hunted to death, as poisoners and spreaders of infection;the terrors of the grave broke through the forms of artificial life, andthe depravity of the heart was exposed in ghastly nakedness, as thebodies of the dead lay unburied by the waysides.
The Castello di San Georgio, standing on the summit of a breezy hill, ina thinly-peopled district, was as safe a refuge as could perhaps befound, and, if uneasiness of mind could have been banished, might havebeen a happy one. Three hundred years before, in the child-likeunconsciousness of spiritual conflict which the unquestioned rule ofRome for so long produced, it had been possible, in the days ofBoccacio, for cultivated and refined society to shut itself up in someearthly paradise, and, surrounded by horrors and by death, to spend itsdays in light wit and anecdote, undisturbed in mind, and kept in bodilyhealth by cheerful enjoyment; but the time for such possibilities asthese had long gone by. A mental trouble and uneasiness, which pervadedthe whole of human life at the most quiet times, gave place, at suchperiods of dread and fear, to an intolerable restlessness, whichaltogether precluded the placid enjoyment of the present, howeverguarded and apparently secure.
The apprehension which most weighed upon Lauretta's mind, was that herbrother, flying from some city where the pestilence raged, might berefused succour and assistance, and might even be murdered in thevillage to which he might flee. Such incidents were of daily occurrence,nor can it be wondered at that human precaution and terror became crueland merciless, when it is an authenticated fact that the very birdsthemselves forsook the country places, and disappeared from their nativegroves at the approach of the plague. Nor were inanimate things, even,indifferent to the scourge; patches and blotches of infection broke outupon the walls and houses, and when scraped off would reappe
ar until thehouse itself was burnt down.
It was in the midst of this ghastly existence, this life in death, thata wandering mendicant, driven from Rome by the pestilence and cravingalms at the Castello, asserted that he knew the Cavaliere di Guardino,and that he was ill in Rome, doubtless by this time dead. The manprobably lied, or, if it were true that he had known the Cavaliere, ashe had passed him on the steps of the Trinita, the latter part of hisstory was certainly imaginary. It caused Lauretta, however, so muchdistress, that her husband, to comfort her, proposed to ride to Rome,and endeavour to discover the truth. The plague was not so virulent inRome as it was in the south of Italy, and especially in Naples, and to aman using proper precautions the danger might not be very great.Lauretta was distracted. The restless anxiety, which gave her no peaceuntil her brother's fate was known, urged her to let her husband go.How, then, should she be more at ease when, in addition to one vision ofdread and apprehension, she would be haunted by another? The newanxiety seemed a relief from the old; anyhow the old wasintolerable,--any change offered hope.
Upon his arrival at Rome Inglesant went hither and thither, from placeto place, as one false report and another led him. Every beggar in thecity seemed to have known the Cavaliere. The contagion was sufficientlyvirulent to stop all amusements, and to drive every one from the citywho was not compelled to remain. The streets were almost deserted, andthose who passed along them walked apart, avoiding each other, andseldom spoke. The most frequented places were the churches, and eventhere, the services were short and hurried, and divested of everythingthat could attract the eye. In the unusual silence the incessanttolling of the bells was more marked than ever. White processionscarrying the Host glided over the hushed pavements.
Once Inglesant thought he had discovered the man of whom he was insearch. The Cavaliere, the story now ran, had arrived in Rome a fewdays ago from Naples, where the plague had the mastery, so that theliving could not bury the dead. He had come, flying towards the healthynorth before the pestilence, which had overtaken him as he entered theGiovanni gate, and had taken refuge in a pest-house, which had beenestablished in the courtyard of a little church, "S. Salvatoris inLaterano ad scalas sanctas." Thither Inglesant repaired, in the fullglare of an afternoon in the late summer. In a sort of cloister, round alittle courtyard, the beds were laid out side by side, on which lay thedying and the dead. Between the worn stones of the courtyard, sprinkledwith water, bright flowers were springing up. The monks were flittingabout; two or three of these also were dead already. Inglesant inquiredfor the stranger who had arrived from Naples. He was dead, the monkstold him, but not yet taken away for burial; he lay there still upon hiscouch. They took Inglesant to a corner of the courtyard, where, lookingdown upon the dead body, he saw at once it was not that of theCavaliere. It was the body of a man in the very prime of life, of asingularly noble and lofty look. He lay with his hand clasped over alittle bit of crossed wood the monks had made, his eyes closed,something like a smile upon his lips.
"The Cavaliere will not look like that," thought Inglesant to himself.
Who was he? In some part of Italy, doubtless, there were at that momentthose who waited for him, and wondered, just as he and Lauretta weredoing. Perhaps in some distant lazaretto some one might be standingover the body of the Cavaliere, at just such a loss for a name and clue.It did not seem strange to Inglesant; he had wandered through thesecross ways and tangled paths of life from a child.
He went out into the hot sunshine and down the long straight street, bythe great church of the Sancta Maria, into the Via Felix, scarcelyknowing where he went. Across the whole breadth of Rome the few personshe met regarded him with suspicion, and crossed over to the other side.He himself carried a pomander of silver in the shape of an apple,stuffed with spices, which sent out a curious faint perfume throughsmall holes. He wandered down the steps of the Trinita, where even thebeggars were few and quiet, and seeking unconsciously the cooler air ofthe river, passed the desolate Corso, and came down to the Ripetta, tothe steps.
The sun was sinking now, and the western sky was all ablaze with astrange light. All through the streets the image of the dead man hadhaunted Inglesant, and the silent city seemed full of such pale andmystic forms. The great dome of St. Peter's stood out dark and clearagainst the yellow light, which shone through the casements below thedome till the whole seemed faint and ethereal as the air itself. In theforeground, across the river, were low meadows, and the bare branches oftrees the leaves of which had already withered and fallen. In thedistance the pollard firs upon the ramparts stood out distinctly infantastic forms; to the left the spires and domes of the city shone inthe light; in front flowed the dark river, still and slow. The largesteps by the water's edge, usually so crowded and heaped with marketproduce, were bare and deserted; a wild superstitious terror tookpossession of Inglesant's mind.
In this solitude and loneliness, amid the busiest haunts of life, withthe image of death on every hand, he felt as though the unseen worldmight at any moment manifest itself; the lurid sky seemed ready to partasunder, and amid the silent courts and pavements the dead wouldscarcely seem strangers were they to appear. He stood waiting, asthough expecting a message from beyond the grave.
And indeed it seemed to come. As he stood upon the steps a gray formcame along the pathway on the further side beneath the leafless treesand down the sloping bank. It entered the small boat that lay mooredbeneath the alders and guided itself across the stream. It stood erectand motionless, propelling the skiff doubtless by an oar at the stern,but from the place where Inglesant stood the boat seemed to move of itsown accord, like the magic bark in some romance of chivalry. In itsleft hand the figure held something which shone in the light; the yellowglamour of the sunset, dazzling to Inglesant's eyes, fluttered upon itsvestment of whitish grey, and clothed in transparent radiance thisshadowy revenant from the tomb. It made no stay at the landing-place,but, as though on an errand of life and death, it came straight up thewide curved steps, holding forward in its left hand a crucifix of brass.It passed within a step of Inglesant, who was standing, wonderstruck, atthe summit of the steps, his silver pomander in his hand. As it passedhim he could see the face, pale and steadfast, with a bright lustre inthe eyes, and looking full upon him without pausing, the friar, if itwere a friar, said,--
"He is in Naples. In that city, or near it, you will find the man youseek. Ay! and far more than you seek. Let there be no delay on yourpart."
Then, still holding the crucifix forward at arm's length, as though tocleave the poisoned air before him as he went, the figure passed up thestreet, turning neither to the right nor to the left, and, taking nonotice of any of the few loiterers in his way, passed quickly out ofsight.
Inglesant turned to two fishermen who were coming slowly down towardsthe ferry.
"Did you see that Servite friar?" he said.
The men gazed at him uneasily. "He is light-headed," one of themmuttered; "he has the plague upon him, and does not know what he says."
Though he said this, they might have seen the friar all the same, forInglesant's manner was excited, and those were perilous times in whichto speak to strangers in the streets. The two men got into the boat, andpassed over hastily to the other side.
Naples! It was walking straight into the jaws of death. The dead werelying in the streets in heaps, sprinkled hastily with lime; and lavishgifts of freedom and of gold could scarcely keep the galley slaves frombreaking out of the city, though they knew that poverty and probablydestruction awaited them elsewhere. But this strange message fromanother world, which bore such an impress of a higher knowledge, howcould he disobey it? "Far more than he sought." These words hauntedhim. He made inquiries at the monastery of the Jesuits in the Corso,but could hear nothing of such a man. Most of those to whom he spokewere of opinion that he had seen a vision. He himself sometimes thoughtit an illusion of the brain, conjured up by the story of the man whocame from Naples, by the afternoon heat, and by
the sight of the dead;but in all this the divine wisdom might be working; by these strangemeans the divine hand might guide. "Let there be no delay on your part."These words sounded like a far-off echo of Father St. Clare's voice;once again the old habit of obedience stirred within him. Wife andchild and home stood in the path, but the training which first love hadbeen powerless to oppose was not likely to fail now. Once again hisstation seemed to be given him. Before--upon the scaffold, at thetraitor's dock, in prison,--he had been found at the appointed post;would it be worth while now, when life was so much farther run out, tofalter and turn back? The higher walks of the holy life had indeedproved too difficult and steep, but to this running-footman's sort ofbusiness he had before proved himself equal;--should he now be founduntrustworthy even in this?
He resolved to go. If he returned at all, he would be back at theCastello before any increased apprehension would be felt; if it were thewill of God that he should never return, the Jesuit fathers wouldundertake the care of Lauretta and his child.
He confessed and received the Sacrament at the Church of the Gesu, inthe Chapel of St. Ignatio, in the clear morning light, kneeling upon thecold brilliant marble floor. It was the last day of July, very early,and the Church was swept and garnished for the great festival of theSaint. Inglesant did not wait for the saddened festival, but left Romeimmediately that the early mass was done.
John Inglesant: A Romance (Volume 2 of 2) Page 13
