The Hill of Venus

by Nathan Gallizier

  CHAPTER VI

  THE BROKEN TROTH

  Spring triumphed with a vaunting pageant in the park of Avellino,where the gravelled walks were snowy beneath the light of the higherrisen moon, and were in shadows transmuted to dim, violet tints. Thesombre foliage of yew and box and ilex contrasted strangely with thepale glow of the young grass, sloping in emerald tinted terraces downto where the lake shimmered through the trees.

  It was an enchanted spot, second only to the gardens of CastelFiorentino, with their broad terraces and gleaming marble steps, wherepeacocks proudly strutted. At one end, a fountain sent its silveryspray from a tangle of oleanders. Marble kiosks and statues gleamedfrom the sea-green dusk of the groves. All around there rioted anuntamed profusion of shrubs: fantastic flowers of night, whosefragrance hung heavy on the air. Ivy clung and climbed along thecrannies of gray walls; roses sprawled in a crimson torrent of perfumeover the weather-stained torsos of gods and satyrs. In the centre ofan ilex-grove a marble-cinctured lake gazed still-eyed at the sky,with white swans floating dream-like on its mirrored black and silver.

  The dusk deepened; the golden moon hung low in the horizon, floodingthe garden with a wan spectral light. The pool lay a lake of silver,in a black fringe of trees. The night flowers breathed forth drowsyperfume, making heavy the still air of summer.

  Out of the velvet shadows there now came a woman, with dusky eyes andscarlet lips and jewels that gleamed among the folds of her perfumedrobe. Slowly, like a phantom, she passed through the grove towards theivy-wreathed temple of Pomona by the marble-cinctured lake.

  Francesco who had been waiting, his heart in his throat, rose with asigh of relief, mingled with a mighty dread. Would she understand?Would she grasp the enormity of the sacrifice he must make on thealtar of duty and obedience? Could she guess, could she read theterrible pain that racked his heart and soul at the thought ofparting,--a parting for life,--for all eternity? For never, even if bychance they should again cross each other's path in life, could therebe aught between them save a look; their lips must be mute forevermoreand the voices of their hearts hushed.

  So Fate had decreed it.

  Bound hand and foot, he had been sold to his own undoing, to his owndoom.

  In a faint whisper came his name. Two white hands were extendedtowards him.

  He arose, stumbled forward, and the next moment found them in closeembrace.

  "My darling! My own! I feared I had been too bold in my feelings foryou!"

  And again and again he kissed her mouth, her eyes, and the dusky sheenof her hair.

  "I love you!" she whispered, her arms about his neck, her witch-likeeyes drinking in the love and admiration which beamed from his. "Sincelast night, it seemed to me, we had been parted for months!"

  A dull insufferable pain gripped his heart.

  For a moment he closed his eyes, then, placing his arm about her,Francesco led her to a remote terrace where the velvet turf was bathedin bluish silver-light, while far below, turning a little to eastward,wound the shimmering thread of the Volturno, rippling softly throughthe perfumed night into the emerald shadows of the sleeping forest.

  All about these two lay dream-like silence.

  What wonder they were both loath to break the spell! Francesco, withheavy heart, watched the familiar scene, not daring to think, onlystanding passive beside her, whose faint breath stirred elf-like therose upon his breast.

  Ilaria, too, was silent, wondering, hoping, fearing, waiting for himto speak.

  A faint zephyr stole through the branches of the cypress and magnoliatrees. And from afar, as from another sphere, the faint sounds ofdistant convent bells were wafted through the impassioned silence ofthe southern night.

  A sudden mighty longing leaped into his heart.

  To banish it, he must speak. Yet, try as he would, he could not. Hislips refused to form the words and an ice-cold hand seemed to grip hisheart.

  Turning suddenly, he took the sweet face into his hands and held itfor a pace, and looked into her eyes with such a mad hunger, suchdelirious longing, that she too caught the moment's spell. Her breathcame in gasps; her lips were thirstily ajar; she began to lean towardshim, and at last he threw his arms about her and caught the dear headso wildly to his bosom, that woman-like she guessed there wassomething hidden beneath it all, and while she abandoned herself tohis caresses, softly responding to them, the waves of a great fearswept over her own heart.

  Looking up at him, she caught the strange, wild expression in hisface, an expression she had twice surprised since his return from hismysterious voyage, once in the rose-garden, then at the repast.

  "Francesco," she breathed, with anxious wonderment in her tone, "whydo you look at me like that?"

  Thoroughly frightened by his manner, she caught him by the arm.

  He looked at her with bewildered eyes, but made no immediate response.

  "Why do you look at me like that?" she repeated, her fear enhanced byhis fierce look, his heaving breath. "Speak! What is it you have totell me? They are stirring in the courtyard. We have scant time. Andyou--are you ready when the signal sounds? Your garb is ill-suited fora journey!"

  At her words he gradually shook off the lethargy which seemed tobenumb his senses.

  Absently he looked down upon his garb.

  "I forgot," he muttered, then the realization being forced upon himthat he must speak, he took a deep breath, and the words sprangfiercely from his lips.

  "Ilaria--can you guess the import of this hour? Can you guess why weare here at this moment?"

  She looked up at him questioningly, but did not speak.

  "We are here," he stammered, looking helplessly into her face,--"tosay farewell."

  "Farewell?" she repeated with wonderment. "Do you not ride with us?"

  A negative gesture was slowly followed by the words:

  "I do not ride with you."

  "I do not understand!" she said, hesitation in her tone. "Has theViceroy--"

  "I am no longer of the court!"

  She started. He saw the roses fade from her cheeks.

  "Dismissed?"

  The words stung him like a whip-lash.

  He bowed his head.

  "I will see Count Capece at once! He will not refuse a boon to IlariaCaselli!"

  She had arisen, as if to suit the action to the words.

  He gently drew her back, disregarding her resistance, her wonderinglook.

  "It is beyond recall!"

  From the castle court there came the sound of a fanfare.

  Neither noted it.

  Yet a touch of impatience tinged Ilaria's words, as she turned to himanew.

  "What ails you, Francesco? You are dealing in enigmas. Why are youdismissed? Why may I not see the Viceroy at once,--ere it be toolate?"

  "Because it _is_ too late. We part--for life!"

  A deadly pallor had overspread her features.

  "I do not understand!" she faltered.

  His head drooped. It was with difficulty he maintained hisself-control.

  "I feared as much,--and yet, the word must bespoken,--farewell--forever--these two words alone--"

  "Forever!" she exclaimed, "and between us? No,--no,--not that,--notthat!" She held out both hands to him. He caught them in his own, as adrowning man would hold on to a straw.

  "And yet,--we must!" he replied, with a choking voice. "Oh,Ilaria--Ilaria--my sweetheart--my darling,--save me! Save me!"

  He broke off suddenly and stared at her vacantly.

  "Lord Christ,--what do I say! No, no! I did not mean that! I pray toGod, that we may not."

  "May not--what?" she interposed, her eyes in his. "Francesco, speak!What troubles you? What is the meaning of it all?"

  "Oh, Ilaria," he said slowly, "it is indeed more difficult to tellthan I had guessed. When I leave Avellino, it will be never toreturn!"

  "But why--why, Francesco?" she questioned, alarmed by his words, butmore by the wild expression of his countenance.

  "How can I
tell it--how can I tell it? Is it not enough for you, toknow that I must go?"

  "You frighten me!" she whispered, drawing nearer to him.

  He took her in his arms and held her close, very close to him,pressing his lips upon her closed eyes. It was his farewell to love,to life.

  "Tell me that you love me!" he begged in piteous tones.

  "I love you," she breathed in whispered accents, broken by a sob. "Doyou not know?"

  "I love you," he cried with sudden fierceness, flinging the words inrebellion at the inexorable fate which was in store for him.

  "Then,--why must we say it,--the word?" she queried anxiously. "Thinkyou that I fear to follow you,--wherever you may go?"

  For a moment he held her in close embrace, then his arms fell, as ifparalyzed, from about her. He drew back one quick step, a lookcrossing his face that startled her even more than his strangeunexplained words.

  "There where I go, you could not follow me ever," he said at last withthe resolution of despair. "I am bound by a sacred oath to leave theworld. I have no right to ask any woman for her love! Henceforth, myhome--this castle--must be a dream, a memory to me, and you, Ilaria,will stand as far above me as yonder star soars above the earth!Ilaria! I have pledged my word to my father that I will bid farewellto life and happiness, to take in their stead the lonely vows of aBenedictine monk!"

  There was a dead silence.

  For a moment she looked at him, as if trying fully to comprehend whatit was he had said.

  Then his meaning pierced her brain.

  She shrank slowly away from him, then stood quite still, her eyes wideand dark with horror, her face white, as a mask of death. A great icywave of silence seemed to have swept between them, shutting them outfrom the world of life.

  In an instant all the softness and gentleness of her manner droppedfrom her like a discarded garment. She drew her trailing robes abouther as if she dreaded contamination from him. A single petal from theflower he wore had fallen upon her breast. She brushed it from whereit nestled. It fluttered down upon the grass.

  "A monk! And you have dared to touch me!" she hissed, as if she wouldhave spat upon him.

  A mist came over Francesco's eyes. For a few moments he was consciousof nothing. All life and expression had gone from his face. He did notsee the flood of grief, the anguish and the wounded pride thatprompted her action. He only saw her turn about without another word,and move swiftly from him towards the castle court, her eyes blindedwith tears.

  Like one dazed, Francesco stood and stared at the spot whence she hadgone. He saw and heard nothing save in memory. His white garbshimmered in the moonlight with more life in its purity than there wasin his face. His soul was wrapped in awful bitterness at hisdestiny,--the punishment for his father's sin.

  He had not told her. He had told no one. Twice on the same day he hadbeen misunderstood, his integrity assailed. He had hoped and prayedfor understanding. His prayer had been denied. None there was whounderstood, none who even vaguely guessed the enormity of thesacrifice. Pity only he had encountered, a pity akin to contempt, fromthose whose cause he had seemingly deserted; disdain from her whoselips might have alleviated the burden of his destiny by a blessingthat he might take with him on his lonely, solitary road.

  How long he stood thus, his limbs benumbed, paralyzed with grief,afraid to move, almost afraid to breathe, he knew not. An icy handseemed to clutch his heart.

  Suddenly from the castle there came the renewed sound of fanfares,repeated in brief intervals. They were preparing to start. No onethought of him. For them he had already ceased to be.

  With an effort he roused himself.

  Not a moment was to be lost. He had no longer any right here, nolonger the right to mingle with the happy companions of former days.The thought that she too had turned from him in his hour of need, lenthim wings. He must set out at once. All that had at one time delightedhim, now repelled with the consciousness, that it was not for him.

  He stole back to the castle over devious paths, reached his chamberand gathered up his scant belongings. A last look round the walls hehad learned to love, then he crept softly out into the corridor.Everywhere he met the rush and hubbub of hurried preparation fordeparture. No one heeded him. The hall below seemed to yawn beneathhim like a black pit as he descended.

  Crossing the courtyard amidst throngs of pages, squires, andpursuivants, he made for the stables, saddled his steed, and rode outby the postern, unheeded, unchallenged.

  The land of his heart's desire had vanished behind him, like thefairy-land of golden sunset dreams that fades away when darknesscomes.