CHAPTER XXXVII.
Two years had passed, and Leonora d'Orco had changed with everythingaround her. Alliances had been formed and broken; great commanders hadwon victories, and yielded to the stronger hand of Fate. Kings haddescended from the proud pitch of power and betaken themselves to thehumblest of beds; new combinations had been formed over the wholeearth; enemies had become friends, friends enemies; love was burningsoon to become cold; and there was coldness where the most ardentpassion had once been felt.
I must be pardoned if I pause in my simple tale to show how thestrange transforming-rod of time had affected Leonora d'Orco. Anguish,disappointment, anger--yes, I may say anger--had produced for a timethose results which mental excitement almost of any kind fails not towork on the human frame.
When a whole year had elapsed without tidings or explanation fromLorenzo Visconti, her cheek might be seen to become paler and palerevery day. Her limbs and form could not lose their grace, but theylost their beautiful contour. She became thin as well as pale; herbright eyes, too, lost somewhat of their lustre. She was still a younggirl, and it was painful to see how her loveliness faded as her besthopes faded. She sought solitude; she avoided all society; she shunnedespecially that of men. Her father's was an exception. Parent andchild seemed drawn closer together by the events which had inflicted adifferent kind of pain upon the heart of each. Often, after gazing ather for a while, cold, stern, remorseless Ramiro d'Orco would suddenlyseek his cabinet, and, pressing his hands together till the fingersgrew white, would utter but one word--"revenge!"
This state of things lasted but a few months, however, when suddenly anew change came over the beautiful girl. She had been studying hardand diligently, and strange books fell into her hands. It seemed as iffrom intellectual culture, new sources of happiness became opened toher. It might, indeed, be that pride came to her aid--that sheresolved to cast away all thoughts of a man she deemed unworthy ofher. It might be that she sought to cheer and solace her father. Andyet there must have been something more, some stronger power at workwithin, for she showed that she was not one of those "to love againand be again deceived." Oh, no, she would not hear the very name oflove.
The gayest, the brightest, the noblest, the most handsome strove forone smile, one token of her favour, but in vain. Yet she came forthfrom her solitude--she became the star of her father's little court.Amid admiring eyes and looks that seemed almost to worship her, shemoved in beauty, but as cold as ice. Colour came back to her cheek,light to her eye, roundness and symmetry to every limb. The sweet,arching lips regained all their redness, but the heart seemed to havelost its warmth for ever.
The tenderness of the young girl, too, had apparently gone--thetimidity, the shyness of youth. Not that she was hard, unkind, orharsh--oh, far from it. She was an angel of mercy in that city ofImola. She pleaded for the prisoner, turned often aside the blow fromthose appointed to die, solaced the sick and the needy. Her own greatwealth, left solely to her disposal, raised up many a drooping head,cheered many a despairing heart. But now she dared to do what shewould have shrunk from in the years passed by. She would approach herfather, fearless, in his sternest moods, entreat, argue, remonstrate,and often, by the power of her will, bend him from his most settledpurposes. Her beauty had acquired something of the character which hermind now assumed, and it must have been now that those pictures wehave of her were taken. Though it was of the finest, the mostdelicate, the most exquisitely engaging style both in line andcolouring, there was a dignity in the expression and in the whole airwhich the canvas can but faintly convey; and yet who could gaze uponher eyes, those wells of light, without seeing that there was somemarvellous self-sustaining power within.
Leonora became fond, too, of the decoration of her person. Jewels, andcloth of gold, and rich embroidery decked those lovely hands and arms,or were wreathed in the clustering masses of her jetty hair, orarrayed those graceful limbs; and her tire-women had no longer reasonto complain that she forgot her station or neglected her apparel asthey had once done. To them she was gentleness itself; but the suitorswho still would ask her hand could not but feel that their dismissalhad something of the sting of scorn in it. She strove to soften it,but she could not; and the beautiful lip would curl, however mild thewords might be, as if she thought it strange that any man could thinkshe would condescend to bestow herself on him.
It must be said, however, that no one had any right to complain ofhaving been led on to love merely to be refused. No approving smileever encouraged the first advance; and if the attentions were toomarked to be misunderstood, a sudden coldness gave the answer withouta word. Once only she showed her contempt plainly. It was when anobleman of pride and power declared he would appeal from her decisionto her father. She told him her father had no power to wed her to aman whom she despised, and, if he ever had possessed it, he had givenher fate into her own hands long before.
"I have his promise," she said--"a promise that, for good or bad, hasnot yet been broken to human being--that he will never, even by word,urge me to wed mortal man. So now go, my lord, and appeal to whom youwill, but let me not see you any more. I am no man's slave, not even afather's."
There were violent things done in Italy in those days; and I know notwhether it was some idle but threatening words, muttered by this boldlover as he left her, or the rumour that Imola was soon to be visitedby C?sar Borgia--the only being on earth she seemed to fear--that hadled her to a step which must be told.
There was a monastery of Cistercian monks upon a hill some five milesdistant from Imola, and, in the early morning of a summer's day, agallant cavalcade of some eight horsemen and three women, with Leonoraat their head, stopped at the gates. She dismounted, and, bidding theattendants wait, went in alone. She asked the porter to call FatherAngelo to her; but the old man, when he came, evidently knew her not.He was a servile-looking, shrewd-eyed man, and her air, as well as herattire, impressed him. "What is it, daughter?" he said. "Can I giveyou any spiritual aid?"
Leonora fixed her lustrous eyes upon him, and seemed to look into hisvery heart. "No, father," she answered; "I have my own confessor, anda holy and good man he is. It is aid of another kind I seek from you.I have heard that you have cultivated much the natural sciences, knowall the secret virtues of herbs and minerals, and have prepared drugswhich will remove from earth a dangerous friend or a potent enemy."
"But, daughter," said the monk, interrupting her, "these drugs are notto be intrusted to girls and children, and----"
"Hear me out," she said; "I seek none of these. What I demand, andwhat I must have, is for my own defence. One I loved very well wasonce injured by a poisoned weapon, and it took much skill and deepknowledge to save his life. It struck me then, and it has oftenoccurred to my mind since, that a weapon so anointed were no poordefence, even in a woman's feeble hand. Nay, more, that if placedbeyond all hope of safety, she might preserve herself from wrong by aslight scratch, when her coward hand might fail to plunge the weaponin her own heart. Once such a means might have been needful to me,but, thank Heaven, another mode of escape was found. See here. I havebought this dagger against time of need. The groove, you see, isperfect, but I want that which makes it efficacious. That you mustgive--sell me, I should have said, for you shall have gold enough; andif any scruple linger in your mind, I promise you, by all I hold mostsacred, never to use it but in my own defence."
"Well, there may be truth in what you say," replied the monk. "Rome isnot far off, and there are strange things, they tell me, taking placein Rome. But you are a strange lady, and approach boldly matters thateven men treat with some circumlocution."
"I do so because my purposes are holy," replied Leonora. "I havenothing to conceal, because I have nothing to fear, good father. Butlet us not waste time. Will a hundred ducats satisfy you?"
"It should be a hundred and fifty," said the monk. "Such things aredangerous, and our good father the pope has strictly forbidden thesale of these drugs to anybody out of his own family."
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p; "Well, take the hundred and fifty," said Leonora. "Bring the poisonquickly, for my attendants will grow impatient."
"But I must mark the phial 'Poison,'" he replied; "then, if you misuseit, the fault is yours."
"Mark it what you please," she answered. "Here is the money in thispurse when you bring the drug; but be speedy."
The old man gazed into her eyes for a moment as if to read her realpurposes; then bidding her remain beneath the arch, he hurried away.In a few minutes he returned with a small vial containing a whitepowder, and not only gave it to her, but showed her how to apply it tothe blade of the dagger so that the slightest scratch would provefatal. "Mix it with water," he said, "and then a drop not bigger thana drop of dew will do; and remember, daughter, this is no common drug,such as vulgar, unlearned assassins use. Its effects are instant,either taken by the lips or infused into the veins. Be cautious,therefore; and mind, when you apply it, use a thick gauntlet."
"There--there--there is the money," said Leonora, taking the vialeagerly; and then she added, speaking to herself, "Now, man, I defyyou. I have my safety in my own hands," and, paying the monk themoney, she remounted her horse and rode down the hill.
The old monk, while he counted the money carefully, gazed after her,muttering to himself, "Now that is for some fair rival, belike, orelse for some faithless lover. Mayhap her husband has played herfalse. Ay, Heaven help us! we have always some good excuse forcovering over our real intentions from the eyes of others. To save herhonour at the expense of her life! That is a likely tale indeed! Wehave no Lucretias now-a-days except the pope's daughter, and she is aLucretia of another sort."
Whatever the old man in his hardened nature might think, Leonorad'Orco had no purpose but the one she stated. She had long felt thenecessity of the means of self-defence. She had long known that theonly dread she ever experienced now, would vanish if she possessed theimmediate power of life or death over an assailant or over herself.The dagger she had bought in Florence some weeks after the burning ofthe Villa Morelli, but she doubted her strength--not her courage--touse it with effect. But when the least wound would prove fatal, theweapon had a higher value. "One scratch upon my arm or upon his hand,"she said to herself, "and I am safe from worse than death."
It must have been a terrible state of society which led a young girlto contemplate such a resource as a blessing. I cannot venture to giveanything like a picture of that state. Suffice it that the fears ofLeonora d'Orco were not superfluous, nor her precautions withoutcause.
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