Leonora D'Orco: A Historical Romance

by G. P. R. James

  CHAPTER XVI.

  "Bring lights," said Lorenzo to a girl who appeared as the songconcluded; and he sighed as if some sweet dream had been broken andpassed away. "Oh! music--music such as that is indeed divine."

  "Ay," answered the singer "music is divine and so is poetry--sosculpture, painting, architecture. Every art, every science thatraises man from his primitive brutality has a portion of divinityabout it; for it elevates toward the Creator. Christ has said, 'Be yeperfect, even as your Father which is in Heaven is perfect;' andthough we cannot reach perfection, we may strain for it.

  "Nor, as some have supposed, do the arts render effeminate. They maysoften the manners, as the old Roman says, but not the character. Onthe contrary, all that tends to exercise tends to strengthen. It isidleness, it is luxury which enfeebles. Athens in her highest pride ofart was in her highest pride of power, and her artists learned by thepencil or the chisel to put on the buckler and to grasp the sword. Andwhat does the combination of art and science do? What has it done, andwhat will it not do?"

  He gazed up for a moment like one inspired, and then added, "Godknows, for in extent and majesty the results are beyond even ourdreams. But I ever see the times afar when the yet undeveloped powersof man and nature shall work miracles--when mountains shall be movedor forced from side to side to smooth the path of our race, and bringnation closer to nation--when the very elements shall becomesubservient to the will of man, and when the energies of his nature,directed by science, shall no longer be squandered in war andbloodshed, but shall render war impossible, and bloodshed, underwhatever name, a crime.

  "Oh peace, how beautiful art thou! Oh goodness, how wide andcomprehensive ought to be thy reign! Angel of love, thou art theseraphim nearest to the throne of God! So help me Heaven, I would notkill the smallest bird that flutters from spray to spray, nor treadupon a beetle in my path!"

  There was something so exquisitely sweet in his voice, so sublime inhis look, so marvellously graceful in his manner, that the two younglovers, while they gazed and listened, could almost have fancied himthe angel of love whom he apostrophized. They sat silent when hepaused, listening eagerly for more; but when he began to speak again,all was changed except that captivating power which seemed to commandthe assent or overrule the judgment of all who heard him. His mood wasnow changed, and nothing could be more light and playful than histalk, till the door was opened and another mood came over him.

  "Ah, Catarina," he said to the girl who tardily brought in the lights,"if the world waits upon you for illumination, we shall have anotherdark age upon us. Now see what it is: this little candle in a momentbrings out of obscurity a thousand things which would not be discernedbefore. Thus it is in this world, Catarina; we grope our twilight wayamong things unseen till comes some light of science, and we findourselves surrounded by multitudes of beautiful things we could notbefore discern. Do you understand me, Catarina?"

  "No, signor," answered the girl, opening her great black eyes, "but Ilove to hear you speak, even when I know not what you are speakingof."

  "How can she understand such things?" asked Leonora. "Probably she hasnever been out of the village."

  "And she is wise not to go," answered the stranger. "What would shegain by going, to what she might lose? Do you love the cultivation offlowers, sweet lady? If so, you will know that there be some whichlove the shade and will not bear transplanting. That poor girl, righthappy here, with youth, and health, and a sufficiency of all things,might be very miserable in a wider scene. Oh no, God's will is best.We should never pray for anything but grace and peace, I cannot butthink that prayers--importunate, short-sighted prayers--are sometimesgranted in chastisement. There is one eye alone which sees theconsequence; of all things. There may be poison in a cup of nectar;but you cannot so well conceal the venom in a draught of pure waterfrom the well. Let the poor girl stay here. Now sit you still, and Iwill draw you both, one for the other; but talk at will; I would nothave you dull and silent. Any bungler can draw the body. I want tosketch the spirit likewise. Eyes, nose, and mouth are easily drawn;the heart and the soul require a better pencil. Ay, now you aresmiling again. You were all too grave just now."

  "But your discourse has been very serious," replied Lorenzo. "Somethings might well puzzle, some sadden us."

  "'Tis well," said the artist gravely, "to prompt thought, and I soughtto do it. You two were dreaming when first I saw you. I have butawakened you. I know not your names nor your history; but you are bothvery young; and when the Jove-born goddess took on bodily the part ofMentor, she knew that youth and inexperience require an almostsuperhuman monitor. I can give no such counsels, but every man canbring a little cool water where he sees a fire. Ah! lady, would I hadmy colours here to catch that rosy blush before it flies."

  "Fie! fie!" she answered, "or you will make me fly also. You cannotsuppose that either Lorenzo or I would wish or do aught that is wrong.Your admonitions were cast away upon us, for we needed them not."

  "God knows," said the artist, laughing, "but neither you nor I, younglady. Your speech is not Florentine, but his is: how comes that? Is hecarrying home a bride?"

  "The difference of our speech is soon explained," said Lorenzo,"though we are both of the same land. But she has ever lived inLombardy. I have travelled far and wide, but my youth was all spent inFlorence. I came there when I was very young, and remained till thedeath of Lorenzo de Medici, whose godson I am."

  "Then you are Lorenzo Visconti," said the artist; "but who is this?"and he pointed toward Leonora with the end of his pencil.

  "You divine," answered the young man without noticing his question;"are you skilled in the black art among all your other learning,signor?"

  "I am really skilled in very little," replied their companion. "In alife neither very long nor very short, but one of much labour and muchstudy, I have never produced one work--nay, done one thing with whichI was wholly satisfied. The man who places his estimate of excellencevery high may surpass his contemporaries, and yet fall far short ofhis own conceptions. Hereafter men may speak of me well or ill, asthey please. If ill, their censure will not hurt me: if well, theirfaintest applause will go beyond my own. As to the black art, SignorLorenzo, the blackest arts are not those of the magician; yet manythings seem magical which are very simple. Lorenzo de Medici had butone Lombard godson; and I remember you well, now, when you were alittle boy in Florence. The only marvel is that I ever forgot you. Butyou have not introduced me to this lady."

  "Nay, I know not whom to introduce," answered the young man.

  "Ah! you have entangled me in my own net," said the artist. "Well itis right you should both know who it is gives counsels unsought, andteaches lessons perhaps unneeded. A good many years ago there lived inFlorence a poor gentleman named Ser Pietro da Vinci. His means weresmall, but he had great capacity, though he turned it to but littleaccount. His taste for art was great, however, and he frequented thehouses of the best painters and sculptors in Italy.

  "Well, he had a son, a wild, fitful boy, who studied everything,attempted much, and perfected little. He plunged into arithmetic,mathematics, geometry, and used to find a good deal of fun in puzzlinghis masters with hard questions. Again, he would work untaught inclay, and make heads of children and of laughing women; and again hewould sing his own rude verses to the lute, or sketch the figures andfaces of all who came near him.

  "This was all when he was very young--a mere boy, indeed; but amonghis father's friends was the well-known Andrea Verrocchio, the greatpainter; and in his bottega was soon found the boy, studying hard, andonly now and then giving way to his wild moods by darting away fromhis painting, sometimes to some sister art, sometimes to somethingdirectly opposite. He drew plans for houses, churches, fortresses; hedevised instruments of war, projected canals, laid out new roads, sungto his lute, danced at the village festivals, studied medicine andanatomy.

  "But his fancies and designs went beyond the common notions of theday; men treated them as whims impossible of executio
n, projectsbeyond the strength of man to complete. His drawings, and hispaintings, and his sculpture, however, they admired, patted him on thehead, and called him the young genius.

  "At length he was set to paint part of a picture which his master hadcommenced, and the result was that Verrocchio threw away his pallet,declaring he would never paint more, as he had been excelled by a boy.That boy went on to win money and fame till people began to call himMaestro, and the wild little boy became Maestro Leonardo da Vinci,who, some say, is a great painter. By that name, Signor Lorenzo, youmay introduce me to the lady, for my sketches are now finished."

  The love for art in Italy at that time approached adoration: the nameof Leonardo da Vinci was famous from the foot of the Alps to theStraits of Messina, and Leonora took the great painter's hand andkissed it with as much veneration as if he had been her patron saint.

  "Ah! and so this is the fair Signora d'Orco?" said Leonardo. "Now Iunderstand it all. You are travelling to join your father. I met withhim at Bologna as I passed."

  "How, long ago was that, Maestro Leonardo?" asked Leonora, with somesurprise.

  "It was some days since," replied the painter, "and he must be in Romeby this time."

  The lovers looked inquiringly into each other's faces, and after amoment's thought, Lorenzo said:

  "We expected to overtake him at Bologna. His letters led us to believewe should find him there; but doubtless he has left directions for ourguidance."

  "Perhaps so," replied Leonardo, in a somewhat sombre and doubtfultone; "but, if you do not find such directions, what will you do?"

  "We can but go on, I suppose," answered Leonora; "Lorenzo must marchwith the French army, which directs its course to Rome, and I cannotbe left without some one to protect me."

  The painter shook his head gravely.

  "Far better, my child," he said, "that you should remain in Bologna.The ways are dangerous; Rome is no fit place for you. Besides, yourfather has gone thither, I am told, on affairs of much importance, andyou would be but a burden to him. He goes, they told me, to hold aconference with Cardinal C?sar Borgia, who seeks a man of great skilland resolution to hold in check the somewhat turbulent anddiscontented inhabitants of the territories in Romagna, bestowed uponhim by his father, Pope Alexander. Go not after him to Rome, but byhis express desire. I will give you a letter to the Abbess Manzuoli,in Bologna, who will be a mother to you for the time you have tostay."

  "All must be decided by my father's will," replied Leonora; "but Ithank you much, Signor da Vinci, for the promised letter, which cannotbut be of service to me in case of need."

  "Well, then," replied the great painter, changing his tone, "comeround here, and look over my shoulder. Here are the two portraits.'Did you ever see two uglier people? Is he not frightful, SignoraLeonora? and as to her face and figure, they are, of course, hideous,Lorenzo."

  Leonora took the rapid sketch, which represented Lorenzo with a drawnsword in one hand and a banner in the other, looking up to a cloudysky, through which broke a brighter gleam of light, gazed at it amoment with what may well be called ecstasy, and then placed it in thescarf which covered her bosom, while he pressed his lips upon theother paper in silent delight.

  "You need not do that, Lorenzo," said the painter, with a quiet smile;"your lips will soil my picture--my picture will soil your lips. Thereare others near where the paint will not come off, for they are limnedby a hand divine. But are you both satisfied?"

  "Oh, yes," exclaimed Leonora, joyfully; but Lorenzo answered at once,"No, unless you will promise me, Signor da Vinci, to paint me aportrait of her, as you can only paint, I cannot be satisfied."

  "When she is your wife," answered Leonardo, "you have but to write tome that Mona Leonora Visconti will sit, and be I at the distance oftwo hundred leagues, I will come. But now, I will hie me to the littlechamber they have given me, and write the letter I spoke of, and thenreturn. Perchance the lady may have retired ere then, but I shall findyou here, Lorenzo. Is it not so?"

  "Assuredly," replied the young man; "I have to visit the guards, andsee that all is rightly disposed in the town; but I will not go tillyou return."

  I will not follow the indiscreet example of Leonardo, and try tosketch them as they sat alone after his departure. Indeed, it were notan easy task. They were very happy, and happiness is like thechameleon, ever changing its hues. An hour and a half, or a moment;for such it seemed to them, had passed when old Mona Mariana, on whosediscreet and reasonable forbearance be a benediction, put her headinto the room, and said, in a sleepy tone:

  "Is it not time for rest, dear lady?"

  "You seem to think so Mariana, for you are half asleep already."

  "Ah, young hearts! young hearts!" said the old lady, who had slept forseveral hours; "they have thoughts enough to keep them waking, andstrength to bear it. Old people have only to pray and sleep. But,indeed, you had better come to rest; we have all to rise betimes."

  After a word or two more, Leonora parted from her lover, and soonseeking her bed, lay down and dreamed, but not asleep.

  As if the painter had heard her light foot on the stairs, she had notbeen gone a minute when Leonardo appeared. He took Lorenzo's handeagerly in his, and said, in a low, earnest tone:

  "Let her not go to Rome, I beseech you, young gentleman--let her notgo to Rome."

  "And why are you so eager she should not go there?" asked Lorenzo,somewhat surprised, and even alarmed by his new friend's manner. "Isthere any danger?"

  "Every danger," answered Da Vinci.

  "Why?"

  "For a thousand reasons, but they are difficult to explain. Yet stay;I remember rapping a fellow student's knuckles to prevent his puttinghis profane hand on a bunch of beautiful grapes, all covered withtheir vineyard bloom, when I was about to paint them. This younglovely girl--this Signora d'Orco, is like one of those grapes, rich inthe bloom of innocence. There is the sweet fruit within--there is, oris to come the ardent wine of love and passion, but the bloom is therestill. Oh, let it not be brushed away too soon, Lorenzo! Now listen:Rome is a place of horror and vice. In the chair of the Apostle sitsthe incarnation of every sin and crime. The example is too widely, tooeagerly followed by people ever ready to learn. The very air ispollution. The very ground in foul. Would you take her into apest-house? But more, still more--nay, what shall I say? How shall Isay it? Her father--her very father has been gained by the foulest ofthe foul offspring of Borgia. Ramiro d'Orco is now the bosomcounsellor of C?sar, who, in a shorter space of time than it took hisgreat namesake to make himself master of the Roman State, hasaccumulated more vices,--committed more crimes, than any man nowliving, or that ever lived."

  "But how have they gained him? Why have they sought him?" askedLorenzo. "He is himself wealthy; his daughter is more so. They cannotapproach him by mercenary means: and then, why should they seek a manwho has no political power?"

  "A tale long to tell, an intrigue difficult to explain," replied DaVinci. "I can show you why and how, in a few words indeed; but if youmust seek proofs of what I say, you may have to buy them dearly.Listen then to them, Lorenzo Visconti. Men seek that which they havenot. Money might not tempt Ramiro d'Orco. The prospect of thatpolitical power which he does not possess has tempted him. They havepromised him what I may well call prefectal power in one half ofRomagna, and he has yielded. What would he not sacrifice for that? Hisown honour--perhaps his child's. Thus your first question is answered.Thus they have approached and gained him.

  "Now to your second question, Why they have sought him? The firstmotive was to control, or, rather to restrain and mollify thebitterest and now most powerful enemy of the house of Borgia. Do youknow that he is nearly related to the family of Rovera? that he is notonly first cousin, but schoolfellow and playmate of that famouscardinal, Julian de Rovera, whose enmity to Alexander and to C?sar isso strong that, were it at the peril of his own life and the disorderof all Christendom, he would attempt to hurl the present pontiff fromhis seat, and has already branded the head of t
he Church with all theinfamies that can disgrace a man, much more a priest--ambition,avarice, fraud, heresy, adultery, murder?

  "With him, who now journeys with the King of France, Alexander and hisbastard hope to negotiate, and to mollify him through the intercessionof Ramiro d'Orco, the only one on earth who has influence worthconsideration with the stern Cardinal Julian. This is why they seekhim. There are many other motives, but this is enough. Take her not toRome, young man. Listen to the counsel of one who can have no objectbut your good and hers. If you do not listen, you are responsible forall the results."

  "I fear not that anything can make her aught but what she is," repliedLorenzo, with all the proud enthusiasm of young love. "Better, noblershe cannot be, and as the foulest breath cannot sully the diamond, socan no foul atmosphere tarnish her purity."

  A faint smile fluttered for a single instant round the lips of DaVinci; but he resumed his serious aspect instantly--nay, hiscountenance was more grave and stern than before.

  "Doubtless," he said, "doubtless; for they who study much the humanface, learn to read it as a book; and hers is a beautiful page--clear,and pure, and bright. But there are arts, young man, you know notof--drugs of terrible power, which lull the spirit into a sleep likethat of death, and leave the body impotent for resistance or defence.Nay, violence itself--coarse, brutal violence, may be dreaded in aplace--"

  "They dare not!" exclaimed Lorenzo, fiercely, "they dare not!"

  "What dare not a Borgia do?" asked Leonardo. "When they have set atnought every tie, moral and religious--when they have made crime theirpastime, vice their solace, poison and murder their means--provoked tothe utmost, without a fear, the wrath of man and the vengeance ofGod--what dare not the Borgias do? And what could be your vengeance,that they should fear it?"

  "But her father," said Lorenzo, "her father!"

  An expression almost sublime came upon the great painter'scountenance, and he answered, in a tone of stern warning.

  "Trust not to her father. His God is not our God! There are things soabhorrent to the first pure, honest principles which Nature hasplanted in the hearts of the young, that it is too dreadful a task toopen innocent eyes to their existence. But mark me, Lorenzo Visconti,there have been men who have sold their children for money. Ambitionis a still fiercer passion than avarice. I have done. My task isperformed, and I may say no more than this: take her not to Rome: lether not set foot in it, if you can prevent it."

  "I will not--no, I will not," replied the young man, thoughtfully. "Iwill prevent it--nay, it might be wise to acquire a right to preventit."

  "Never do a wrong to attain what you judge right," answered Da Vinci."And now good-night. You have your posts to look to; a calm walkbeneath the moon, with thought for your companion, will do you good."

  Lorenzo pressed his hand and they parted.