Leonora D'Orco: A Historical Romance

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER II.

  General conversation between the two courts of France and Milan wassomewhat difficult; for, to say sooth, there were many there who couldnot speak the language of their neighbours, or spoke it veryimperfectly. But Frenchmen, and Italians likewise, are famous fordelivering themselves from such difficulties. They talk with a happycarelessness of whether they are understood or not, and eke out thedefect of language with a sign or gesture. But there were some, therepresent, to whom both tongues were familiar; and while the King ofFrance sat beneath the trees with Lodovico Sforza and his lovely wife,one of the youths who had followed him might be seen at the other sideof the little grove, stretched easily on the ground between two younggirls who had accompanied the princess, and with one of whom, atleast, his acquaintance seemed of early date.

  The young man was tall, well formed, and handsome; and he looked olderthan he really was, for he had not yet seen more than eighteensummers. The two girls were younger still, neither having reached theage of fifteen years. Both gave promise of exceeding beauty--otherwiseperhaps they would have been excluded from the gay train of theprincess; but, though womanhood ripens earlier under Italian skiesthan in colder climates, they were still evidently in girlhood, and,what was more rare, they had apparently preserved all the freshnessand innocent frankness of their age.

  One called the young man "Cousin Lorenzo," and teased him gaily withcriticisms of his dress and appearance; vowed he had promised to bringback a beard from France, and yet he had not even a moustache;declared that she abominated the hair cut short before and hangingdown behind after the French mode, and assumed that the large sleevesof his surcoat must be made to carry provisions in, not only forhimself, but for all his company. She was the younger of the two, andprobably not yet fourteen years of age; and though there was a worldof merriment in her sparkling blue eyes, and a gay, bright smile keptplaying lightly round her lips, yet it would have been a hard criticwho could, in her, have discovered any of that coquetry from whicheven her age is not exempt. On the contrary, she seemed to strive todirect her cousin's admiration to her fair companion, who, in hereyes, was the most beautiful and perfect creature in the universe;and, in truth, there was many a one in after days who thought so tohis cost.

  Very different in personal appearance was she from her youngercompanion: tall for her age, and of that light, slender form which, inearly youth, often promises the rich, flowing contour at an afterperiod, which Guido loved, and even Raphael and Julio Romano did notundervalue. She was dark in complexion, too--that is to say, her hairwas black as a raven's wing; and her full, almond-shaped eyes, withthe lashes that shaded them, and the arched eyebrows above were darkas the hair. But yet there was something that softened all. Either itwas the flowing of the lines into each other, or the happy blending ofthe tints, but nothing in the face or form was sharp or too defined.The skin was clear, and soft, and bright--so far dark, indeed, as toharmonize with the hair and eyes; but through the slight olive tint ofsouthern climes shone the clear, warm rose of health; and, over all,youth and dawning womanhood shed their thousand inexpressible graces,like the winged loves which, in one of Albano's pictures, flutterround the Goddess of Beauty. She was gay, too--gay even as herbright-eyed companion at times; but it was with sudden fits andstarts; and every now and then would intervene lapses of thought, asif she were questioning with herself of things beyond her knowledge.It is not rare to find that a thoughtful youth ripens into apassionate maturity. Her dress was one common at that day, we find, inthe court of Ferrara; but it had not long been the mode in any part ofItaly; and to the eyes of the young Lorenzo, who had been nearly twoyears absent from his native country, it seemed strange and hardlydecent. It consisted of a robe somewhat like that of the princess,except that the ground of the cloth of gold, instead of green, was ofa pale delicate rose colour. The sleeves, in the young girl's case,fitted tight to the rounded arms, but the front of each, from theshoulder nearly to the wrist, was cut open, showing the chemise ofsnowy lawn, except where, every two or three inches, a small jewel, inthe form of a button, gathered the edges of the cloth of goldtogether. The robe in front also was thrown back from the neck andbosom, which was only shaded by the profuse curls of jetty hair.Instead of the small hat, with its plume of feathers, worn by the wifeof the regent, a veil of rich black lace, fastened at the back of thehead with a jewelled pin, thence to the shoulders; and round her waistwas a knotted cord of gold, the tassels of which, strangely twistedand contorted, fell almost to her feet.

  Such was the appearance of Leonora d'Orco at the age of fourteen, orvery little more. Of that which is beyond appearance I may haveoccasion to speak hereafter.

  Facts may seem trite, which nevertheless must be said in explanationof the character he depicts by any one who writes the history ofanother. We lose the key of a cabinet, nearly new, perhaps, and wesend to a vender of old iron to see if we cannot find one to fit it.We select one and then another for trial, and find at length a keywhich seems to conform to the shape of the keyhole. Would any oneobject to its trial because it is old and rust-worn? Well, it is old;it may have served in a hundred locks before, for aught we know; butit fits, and opens, and shuts this lock, and that is all we have to dowith it.

  It has often been said, and was frequently insisted upon by Goethe,that each human being is a different being at each period of his agefrom that which he was at an anterior period. The very substance ofthe body, say the physiologists, is entirely changed in every sevenyears. What of the mind? Do cares, and sorrows, and experience, andjoys, and hopes, and fruitions, effect no change in it? God forbid! Ifwe believe the mind immortal, and not subject, like the body, to deathand resurrection, still greater must be the changes; for its statemust be progressive towards evil or towards good. Expansion certainlycomes with knowledge; every day has its lesson, its reproof, itsencouragement; and the very development or decay of the mortal frameaffects the tenant within--hardens, strengthens, elevates, instructs;or, entenders, enfeebles, depresses, depraves. Suffice it here to say,that perhaps no one ever in life experienced greater changes ofthought, feeling, character, than Leonora d'Orco, as the wingedmoments flew over her head. And yet the indestructible essence was thesame; every essential element remained; it was but the combinationsthat were modified. A few years later, had you asked her if she hadever felt such sensations, or thought such thoughts as she felt andthought now, she would instantly have said "No;" but one moment'slifting of the veil which hides the pictures of the past would haveshown her that she had felt, had thought such things; one moment'sscrutiny of her own heart would have shown her that, in another form,she felt them, thought them still.

  But let us regard her only in the present. See how her eye sparkles,how her lip wreaths itself in smiles, and how the joyous laugh breaksforth clear, and sweet, and musical, finding expression not only inits own melodious tones, but in every feature--aye, and even in thecolour that rises in a gay bashfulness, and spreads suddenly overcheek and brow, as if a ray of morning sunshine had found its waythrough the green branches and lighted up her face. And then all isstill again--still, and quiet, and thoughtful--and her eyes bend downand the long lashes kiss her cheek--and the rose has faded away--andthe clear skin is paler than before, till something from one or theother of her gay companions awakens merriment again, and then shechanges once more with the sudden change of mountain skies.

  But see! they are talking of more serious matters now.

  "Not enter Milan!" cries Leonora; "not enter beautiful Milan! SignorLorenzo, how is that? Have you lost all love and pride in your ownfair country?"

  "I must not enter Milan," he answered with a sigh; "but if I might,Leonora, I could not."

  "But why--why?" she asked eagerly; "are you one of the exiles? Oh, ifthat is so, the princess loves me well, and besides, when you comewith the King of France, a guest of Count Ludovic, the past must beforgotten in the present, and you be welcomed too. Oh, do not say youwill not come."

  She spoke eagerly, and then ca
st down her eyes, for his met hers witha look too full of admiration to be mistaken.

  "Do not ask him--do not ask him," said sweet Bianca Maria di Rovera;"he is going to my grandfather's villa till the king marches on. Thatis already settled, Leonora."

  "And you never told me, when your grandfather engaged us to go theretoo," said Leonora; "but how will the King of France be pleased?"

  "He has given permission," answered Lorenzo; "he understands well thatthe son of Carlo Visconti could only enter Milan in one manner."

  The young girl bent her head, and only answered, in a low tone, "Iwould fain hear more. It seems to me a strange arrangement."

  "You shall hear all, at some other time and place, Signora Leonora,"replied Lorenzo: "every minute I expect the trumpets to sound tohorse; and my tale, which is a sad one, should have some quiet spotfor the telling, and evening skies, and few listeners near."

  The listeners, indeed, were, or might be, too many in a place whereall was suspicion and much was danger. Every instant some one waspassing near them--either one of the pastoral gentry who had waitedfor the meeting of the two courts, or some one from the suites of thetwo princes.

  The latter part of the lad's reply seemed at once to awaken Leonora tothe necessity of caution. Her younger companion, indeed, who seemedignorant of her cousin's early history, pressed him with girlisheagerness to tell all then and there; but the other, who even thenknew more of Italian life--not without an effort, yet with muchdelicacy of judgment and feeling--directed their conversation intoother channels, and soon brought back the gaiety and the sparkle whichat that time was cultivated almost as an art by the higher classes ofItaly. Speedily thought, and sentiment, and mood followed the courseof even such light things as words: serious topics and darkremembrances, and even present dangers and discomforts, wereforgotten;--and, as if in order to give relief to the lights in thefuture of life some dark shades were needed--the young three theregathered appeared to find in the faint allusion made to more painfulthings an accession of gaiety and enjoyment. The strangeness of firstacquaintance was cast away between the two who had never met before.Bianca Maria, or Blanche Marie, as the French would have termed her,forgot how long a time had passed since she had seen her cousin, andall for the time was once more joy and light-hearted merriment. Thesame spirit _seemed_ to pervade the whole party there assembled. It ishard to say _seemed_, for any eye that gazed upon that scene wouldhave boldly concluded that all was peace and joy.

  Oh, false word! Oh, false seeming! There was doubt, and fear, andmalevolence, and treachery there in many a heart; and of all thegroups into which those two gay courts had separated themselves,perhaps reality, and enjoyment, and careless mirth were more truly tobe found among those three young people, who, forgetful of courtlyceremony, had taken their seats beneath the trees on the west of theknoll, with their backs turned toward the royal and princelypersonages present. They, at least, knew how to enjoy the hour; andthere let us leave them, with the benediction and applause of Lorenzothe Magnificent upon them:

  "Quant' e bella giovinezza Che si fugge tuttavia Chi vuol esser lietto, sia Di doman non c'e certezza."