CHAPTER XXXI.
Lorenzo had mounted the many steps leading to the top of the belfry ofthe church, and there, with the old monk who was keeping watch, hegazed over the beautiful valley of the Arno. High--high up in the airhe stood, far above the rocks and treetops, with the whole countryround, as it were, mapped out before him. The sun was rapidly nearingthe horizon, and there was that undefinable transparent purple in theatmosphere which in Italy precedes, for nearly an hour, the shades ofnight; but yet all was still clear and bright, and the various objectsin the landscape could be distinguished perhaps more sharply than inthe full light of day.
"There they go," said the old monk who was on watch, pointing with hishand in the direction of the mountains. "They have a good guess thatthe people of Florence would not have them here much longer, and sothey are taking themselves away."
Lorenzo turned his eye in the direction to which the monk pointed, andsaw, winding along the mountain road to San Miniato, a long troop ofhorse, evidently the same which had been ranging the Valley of theArno. He watched them over the several undulations of ground, nowdisappearing, now rising again into sight, till at length the foremosthorseman reached the gap over the farthest hill in view, and one byone they passed out of the range of vision, except a small party whichlingered for a moment or two on the side of the hill, as if taking asurvey of the country they were leaving, and then, following theircompanions, disappeared.
"I must go down and tell the prior," said the monk; "but I may as wellring the bell as I go, to let the people of the country know they aregone."
Thus saying, he began to descend; but Lorenzo lingered still a fewminutes on the top of the tower, while the great bell below him tolledout in quick, and, to his ear, joyful tones, the announcement to thewhole country round that the brutal marauders had departed. Hardly hadthree or four strokes been given upon the bell when Lorenzo couldperceive a number of women issuing from the various peasants' housesin sight, and taking their way by narrow mountain paths towards themonastery or the villa.
He followed the monk down, however, without much delay, and at thebase of the belfry found the old man talking with the prior betweenthe church and the tower.
"Come with me, my son," said the prior; "I can now keep my promisewith you;" and he led him on through the close around the church,through the cloisters, and through a long, dimly-lighted passage,which opened by a key at the prior's girdle, and the next momentLorenzo found himself in a small octagonal room, the arched ceiling ofwhich was supported by a light column in the centre. It seemed welland tastefully furnished, and on one of the sides was a little recess,where hung a crucifix and a vessel of holy water.
"Wait here, my son, a few minutes," said the monk; "as soon as thewomen come up from below, the signora will join you. She can remainwith you till the hour you have named for your departure. Be wise, begood, and may God bless you and reunite you soon."
The light in the room was very dim, for the windows consisted only ofthose light plates of marble which have been mentioned before; and theprior, turning before he departed, added, "I will bid her bring alamp, otherwise you will soon be in darkness."
He went not out by the same door through which he had entered, andLorenzo could hear for some moments the fall of his sandal upon thepavement, as if he were walking through a long and vaulted passage.The sound ceased, and the young man's heart beat high with hope andexpectation; but still many a minute elapsed--and to him they seemedlong minutes indeed--before any sound again met his ear. Then therewas a slight rustle, with a quick, light footstep, and through thechink of the door, which the prior had left ajar, came a ray of lightas from a lamp.
But poor Lorenzo was to be again disappointed. True, the door opened,and a female form appeared bearing a light; but it was that of acountry girl, who, setting down the lamp on the table, looked up inLorenzo's face with a frank good-humoured smile, saying:
"The signora will be here as soon as I get back to attend on MonaFrancesca."
Thus saying, she tripped away, and in a few moments more, a sound notto be mistaken met Lorenzo's ear, the well known fall of Leonora'sfoot, which had so often made his heart thrill in the halls of theVilla Rovera.
He could not wait till she had reached the room, but ran along thepassage to meet her, and then she was in his arms, and then their lipswere pressed together in all the warmth of young and passionate love,and then her face was hid upon his bosom, and the tears poured forthabundantly; and then he kissed them away, and, with his arm cast roundher, and her hand in his, he led her into the room to which the priorhad conducted him.
Let us pass over some five or ten minutes, for all was now a tumultand confusion of sensations, and words, and caresses, which it wouldbe difficult to distinguish, and which had meaning only for those whofelt and heard them.
At length, when some degree of calmness was restored, the quick andeager explanations followed. Leonora told him how the news of theking's arrival at Pisa had been brought two days before by thepeasantry, and how she had waited, and watched, and could not sleep,and rose while day was yet infirm and pale, in order not to lose onemoment of his beloved company. Then she told him that on the morningof that eventful day she had left her bed early, and was hardlydressed when the sound of horses' feet on the road had made her startto the window in the joyful hope that they had come at length. She sawstrange arms and strange faces by the pale light of morning, but stillshe fancied they were French corps which she did not know; and,imagining that he must have dismounted and entered before hiscompanions, she ran along the broad corridor to meet him. To hersurprise and terror, however, she saw a stranger gorgeously habitedand followed by two men in arms, and turning suddenly back, she fledtowards her own apartments. She heard her own name called aloud, shesaid, and a sweet and musical voice bidding her stop; but, as if itwere by instinct, she continued her flight. Then came a fierce oath,and an angry command to follow and bring her back.
"In Heaven's name, how did you escape, my beloved?" exclaimed Lorenzo,pressing her closely to him.
"Most happily," replied Leonora; "Mona Francesca--it was butyesterday--had made a great exertion for her, and shown me all theapartments of the villa, the passages, the corridors, and even theprivate way, which her husband constructed before his death, from theold part of the villa to the monastery above. He was a very pious man,she said, and often ascended by that passage to pray alone in thechurch. I know not why, but I had remarked the passage particularlyand the secret door that led to it; and, without any reason that Iknow of, I had opened and shut the door several times, as if to makemyself completely mistress of the means. It would almost seem that Ihad a presentiment that my safety might depend upon it; and yet I donot remember any such feeling at the time. Now, however, when I heardthe footsteps of the three men following me fast, I darted past my ownroom, and, winged with fear, fled through the corridors toward theapartments of Mona Francesca; but I heard voices and loud words inthat direction, and, turning sharply to the right through the oldstone hall, I came suddenly on the secret door, and had opened, passedin, and closed it before I well knew what I was doing. I stopped assoon as I had entered the passage, and leaned against the wall forsupport, for I was terrified and out of breath with the rapidity of myflight. Every moment I expected to hear them at the door, and, thoughit was well concealed in the masonry, feared they might discover itand break in. I suppose that my quickness in threading passages whichthey did not know had puzzled them, for I heard no steps approach thedoor while I stood there. But other and terrible sounds met my ear. Iheard the shrieks of women. Oh! dear Lorenzo, I heard the voice of myown poor girl Judita crying for mercy; and I fled onward to themonastery; hoping that the good monks might be able to give that helpwhich I could not give. I know not well how I came hither, but it wasthrough long passages, and up many flights of steps, and at last Ifound myself in the church. Nor can I well describe to you all thatfollowed, for my brain seemed confused and stupified with terror. Theprior, and, indeed, all th
e monks, were very kind to me; but when Ibesought them to go down and help the poor people in the villa, theyshook their heads sadly, and pointed to the red light that was risingup over the tree-tops. The prior, however, brought me along thesepassages to a room beyond--it is in one of the towers upon the walls,I believe--and, leaving me there told me I should be safe, and that hewould go to see what could be done for my poor kinswoman. Oh, Lorenzo,what a terrible half hour I passed there; and, at length, sorrow wasadded to fear, for they bore in upon a pallet poor Mona Francesca,living, it is true, and, I trust, likely to live, but dreadfullyburned; her neck, her face, her hands, all scorched and swollen, tothat you would not know her. She is suffering agony, and the livelongday I have sat bathing her with water from the cool well. I have hadnone to help me till a few minutes ago, for the peasant girls, itseems, have been afraid to come up as long as these terrible men werein sight. At length, however, the girl you saw just now arrived, andthen the prior told me you were here, but must depart tonight. Oh,Lorenzo, is it so? and will you leave me again so soon?"
Lorenzo's tale had now to be related, and he told her all--the bond ofhonour which he felt himself under to accompany the King of France,and the hopes--the wild, delusive hopes--with which he had comethither. Leonora listened sadly, and for a few moments after he haddone speaking she sat silent, with the tears glittering in her eyes,but not overrunning the long black lashes.
"You must go, Lorenzo," she said at length--"you must go. God forbidthat I should keep you when honour and duty call you hence, though myselfish heart would say, 'Stay.' Oh that you had been a day earlier!Then all this day's terrible agonies might have been spared us, andeven the pain of parting which is before us. Willingly--willingly, myLorenzo, would I have been your bride at an hour's notice, and I dobelieve that poor Francesca would have gone with us. But now, ohLorenzo! you cannot ask me to leave her. I know you will not. If youcould see the agony she is suffering, you would not have the heart todo it."
Lorenzo was silent, for the struggle in his bosom was terrible. Shespoke in such a tone that he thought he might still prevail if he hadbut the hardness to press her urgently, and yet he felt that he shouldesteem, if not love, her less if she yielded. He remained silent, forhe could not speak; but at length her sweet voice decided him."Lorenzo, strengthen me," she said; "I am very weak. Tell me--tell methat it is my duty to remain--that not even love can justify such acruel, such an ungrateful act; and, as I tell you to go because honourcalls you away, oh bid me to stay because it is right to do so."
He pressed her to his heart more fondly than ever; he covered herbrow, her cheeks, her lips, with kisses; he held her hand in his as ifhe never could part with it, and but few more words were spoken tillthe prior came to tell him his horses were prepared and his menmounted. Then came the terrible parting.
"Father," he said, "I leave her to your care. Oh! you can not tellwhat a precious charge it is! In a few weeks I will return to claimher as my own. Oh! watch over her till then. My brain seems disorderedwith the very thought of the dangers that surround her in these daysof violence and wrong."
"Be calm, my son--be calm," said the prior. "Trust in a holier andmore powerful protector. He has saved her this day; He can save herstill. As for me, I will do all that weak man can do. But the firstthing is to remove her, as soon as may be, to the city. Even such holywalls as these are no safeguard from the violence of man in thesedays; but in the city she will be secure. And now, my son, come. Doyou not see how terribly a lingering parting agitates her? Do notprotract it, but come away at once, and then rejoin her again, as soonas it is possible, to part no more."
Both felt that what he said was just, and yet one long, last,lingering embrace, and then it was over. All seemed darkness to theeyes of Leonora d'Orco as she sat there alone. All seemed darkness toLorenzo Visconti as he rode away.
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