CHAPTER III.
If the world be a stage, as the greatest of earth's poets has said,and all the men and women in it merely players, human life dividesitself not only into acts, but scenes. The drop curtain falls for alonger or a shorter period; and, without whistle or call, the place isshifted, and the interval is filled up with nought which affects theactors before the public, or the general course of their own parts, orthe end of the great drama played. Let us pass over the mere shiftingsof the scene; the pompous reception of Charles VIII. in Milan; thetime he wasted there in youthful merriment and courtly gallantry; theintrigues ending in nothing which went on during his stay in theLombard capital; all the French _gaiet? de coeur_ with which thedashing and daring warriors of the most charming land in the world cuta throat, or make love, or stake a fortune on a card--let us pass themall by, with the exception of one slight incident, which had someinfluence upon the fate of one of our principal characters.
It is very customary--indeed, it is always customary with menof impulse, especially when the impulses are impetuous andill-regulated--for persons possessing great power to be awed, as itwere, for a short time by the terrible responsibilities of theirposition--to seek uninterrupted thought, with an endeavour in theirown mind to find support under the weight from their own intellect,or, frustrated in their dependence upon so frail a reed, to apply to ahigher guide, who can give not only direction but strength--not onlycounsel but capability. There is many an occasion in which the mostself-relying and resolute feels the need of an intelligence higherthan his own, and a force beyond the force of his own character.
In many respects the character of Charles VIII. was to be admired. Hisexpedition to Italy was rash, ill-conceived, and ill-executed; but theconception was great, the objects when rightly viewed, noble, and theresult, though not fortunate, such as showed in the young king thehigher qualities of fortitude, resolution, and that courage whichcrushes obstacles by boldly confronting them. But many a time Charlesdoubted of his own course--only, indeed, in times of success andseeming prosperity--and asking himself whether that course was right,was prudent, was wise, sought guidance and instruction from on high.
On these occasions he avoided all companionship, and asked directionfrom the throne of wisdom in solitary prayer. It was thus he cameforth in the early morning to the Church of St. Stephen, attended onlyby a single page, and habited plainly enough to attract no attention.He had entered the chapel of St. Ambrose, the patron saint of thecity, and was in the very act of kneeling, when the voices of twoother men, speaking somewhat loud in the general stillness, attractedhis attention.
"Ah!" said the one, "it was there he slew him, and had there been mento second him, Lombardy would have now been free."
"It goes about the city," said the other, "that young Lorenzo, hisson, is close at the gates of Milan, ready to avenge his father'sdeath upon the Sforzeschi."
"He had better look to his own safety," replied the first speaker,"for he has to do with powerful enemies, and what the strong hand andthe sword cannot accomplish, the dagger or the cup can perchanceperform."
The king listened, but nothing more of interest met his ear, and whenhis prayer was finished he returned to his private cabinet, and wrotea few words in haste, without consulting even his most approvedcounsellors. It was done; and then he rang a little hand-bell on thetable. It was not like a modern bell, being four-sided, but it had agood, loud sound, and it immediately brought an attendant from theante-room.
"Call hither the Baron de Vitry," said the king. He spoke of that DeVitry who was the ancestor of the well-known Marechal de Vitry, andwho, a few days after, became Marquis de Vitry on the death of hisfather. "Tell him to be quick, for he sleeps late when there is nofighting to be done."
The man hastened away to execute his commands, but it was some twentyminutes before the officer summoned appeared, and then, to say sooth,he was but imperfectly apparelled. There was a point here and thereuntrussed, and his collar was certainly not placed in its usual andintended position--indeed, some severe critics of costume might havesupposed that it was turned wrong side before.
"Always behind, De Vitry," said the monarch, who had grown impatientin waiting.
"I was not behind at St. Aubin, sire," replied the young officer witha gay confidence; "but, sire, we were bound to sit up so late lastnight for the honour of France that our eyes had leaden weights uponthem this morning."
"Ay, a revel, of course," said the king; "too much revelling, DeVitry. We must think of more serious things."
"Good faith! sire, we are all ready," replied the young officer; "weonly revel because we have nought else to do. While your majesty andyour wise counsellors are gravely deliberating in the cabinet, we havenought else to do but dance, and drink, and sing in the hall; and I amsure you, sire, would not have us behind the Italian in dancing anddrinking, when they go so far before us in singing; but only give ussomething else to do, and we are ready to ride, or fight, or work inany way tomorrow."
The young king mused for a moment, and then murmured the words, "Ajust reproof!" Then taking the paper he had written, he added, "Take ahundred men of your company of ordnance, De Vitry, and set out at oncetoward Vigevano. Five miles on this side of the town, on the bank ofthe Ticino, you will find a villa belonging to the Count of Rovera.There you will find young Lorenzo Visconti. Give him that paper,appointing him to the command of the troop of poor young Moustier, whowas stabbed, no one knows why or how."
"Oh, sire, I know why, and how too," answered De Vitry, in his usualgay, light-hearted tone; "he was stabbed because he chose to makelove to the daughter of the confectioner who lives just below thecastle--she is, indeed, a wonderful little beauty; but she isbetrothed to a young armourer, and Moustier was not right to seek herfor his leman, under her promised husband's very nose. There areplenty of free-hearted dames in Milan, without his breaking up thehappiness of two young people who never sought him. Then, as to theway, sire, that is very easily explained---a dark corner, a stronghand, and a sharp dagger over the left shoulder, and the thing wassoon accomplished. Ludovic says he will have the young armourer brokenon the wheel, to satisfy your majesty; but I trust you will tell himnot; for, in the first place, nothing can be proved against him; and,in the next, according to his own notions, he did nothing but what wasright; and, in the next, De Moustier was all in the wrong; and, in thenext, this youth, Tomaso Bondi, is the best armourer in Italy--no manI ever saw can inlay a Milan corslet as he can."
"All very cogent reasons," answered the king, "and the regent shall donought to him, to satisfy me. De Moustier forgot the warning I gavehim after I was ill at Lyons, when he insulted the young wife of thedean of the weavers; and as he has sought his fate, so he must abideit. But, as I have said, seek out my young Cousin Lorenzo, give himthe paper, and tell him to join you next day at Pavia or Vigevano; butdo not let your men dismount, and take care that they commit nooutrage on the lands of Signor Rovera. At Vigevano you may halt tillyou hear that I am on my way to Pavia. You shall have timely notice."
The officer took the open paper from the king's hand, and in anonchalant way gazed at the contents, exclaiming as he did so, "On myfaith, it is fairly written!"
The cheek of Charles turned somewhat red, and, fixing his eye keenlyupon De Vitry, he said, "You mean no offence, young sir, I believe;but, Baron de Vitry, I tell you, if two years ago your king could notwrite his name, it was not his fault. Would that all my nobility wouldtry to retrieve their errors as I have striven to remedy the defectsof my education."
The young monarch was evidently much pained at what he thought anallusion to the ignorance in which he had been brought up; and DeVitry, whose thoughts were perfectly innocent of such offence, benthis knee and kissed his sovereign's hand, saying, in his frank way,"On my life, sire, I only admired the writing, and wished I were asgood a clerk. Heaven knows that, though I can write fast enough, noman can read as fast what I have written. It has cost me many a timemore James, than an hour to make out my o
wn letters. This carrying aconfounded lance, ever since I was eighteen, makes my finger unfit forhandling a quill; and, unless I fall in love, and have to write sweetletters to fair ladies--which God forfend--I dare say the time willcome when I shall be unable to write at all."
The king smiled good-humouredly at his blunt officer, for Charles'sanger soon passed away, and, bidding him rise, he said, "There, go, DeVitry; you are a rough specimen of our French soldiers, for thesesilken ladies of the South. I fear you will not make much way withthem."
"Oh, they love me all the better, sire," answered De Vitry; "I'm a newdish at their table. But I go to perform your will, sire; and, goodfaith! I am not sorry to be in the saddle again. But what am I to dowith that young fellow, Bayard, who struck the big Ferrara man forcalling us barbarians? We have kept a close eye upon him, for he seemsnever to dream that, if the signor were to meet him alone, he wouldput a dagger in him, or break his back as a storm breaks a hard youngsapling. Good faith, sire, the man would eat the boy up as the oldgiants used to do with the princes and princesses of I don't knowwhere in days of yore."
"That is well bethought," replied the king. "I wish to have nobrawling, De Vitry. Take Bayard with you to Pavia. Stay! let meconsider what I can do to smooth his removal from the court, for he isa brave lad, and will some time make a name in life. They are hardysoldiers, these men of the Isere."
"He is of such stuff as kings of France have most need of," answeredDe Vitry. "Give him ten years more, and I would match him againstMohammed. But the cornet of my troop, you know, sire, died on Fridaylast of wine poison at Beccafico's--we hold our life on slender tenurein this land--and if your majesty would please to name Bayard to fillhis place, he would be very well content, for he loves Bellona'sharness more than Cupid's, as my old tutor, the Abb? de Mortemar, usedto say when he could not get me to construe Ovid. But I know not howBayard may take Signor Lorenzo's appointment to De Moustier's troop,he being also one of your pages, and more than a year older."
"Lorenzo Visconti is our cousin, sir," replied Charles, somewhatsternly; "and, were he not so, we suffer no one to comment on our willin ordaining how we shall be served. If Pierre de Terrail hesitates atthe honour we confer on him so young, because we name our own kindredto a higher command at a younger age, let him remain as he is. We willnot resent such conduct, but we will make him feel that we are King ofFrance."
There was sufficient irritation in his tone to induce the youngofficer to withdraw; and he left the king's presence, repeating tohimself, "Our cousin! I see not how that is; but we are all cousins inAdam, God wot; and the affinity must be somewhere thereabout, I takeit. Well, God send me some royal cousins, or right noble ones, for'tis the only road to promotion in this world."
Leonora D'Orco: A Historical Romance Page 3
