Romance of Roman Villas Part 27

Malespini shook his head. "The Signorina believes, as we all did until recently, that you made your escape to your own country. She is entirely absorbed at present with her approaching marriage, for your emba.s.sy was successful. Your papers, which Radicofani carried to the Grand Duke, initiated negotiations that have been carried to a successful termination. The Duke of Nevers, who is a Gonzaga, and a cousin of the Marquis of Mantua has come to Italy, as proxy of the French king, to betroth the Signorina."

"May she have all happiness," Brandilancia exclaimed fervently, "but to whom then do I owe my release?"

"Partly to the friend now before you, but in great measure also to one whom you will hardly guess, that little package of ruse and malice Leonora Dosi."

"Not the Owlet!"

"My friend you might have rotted in this mountain dungeon but for her cleverness, and Radicofani's stupidity. The Grand Duke sent him a fortnight since to escort us all from the Villa Medici to Mantua, where the Marchioness Eleonora de' Medici Gonzaga is preparing a brilliant fete in honour of her sister's approaching marriage. On the way Radicofani, who is loquacious in his cups, bragged to Leonora of how neatly he had captured you. The Owlet took counsel with me, and together we so intimidated the Captain with threats to report him to the Grand Duke, convincing him at the same time of your utter insignificance (for Leonora declares that you confessed to her mistress in her presence that you were not the Earl of Ess.e.x), that he consented to your release.

"By good luck I am commissioned to present a comedy in the palace and am now supposed to be travelling in search of artists to a.s.sist in the performance. You shall return with me in that capacity. Though the Signorina knows not as yet of your presence in Italy she will be rejoiced to see you again and will speed you on your homeward journey,--for Mantua is on your way to Venice whence you told me you would take ship."

"I would be overjoyed to carry out your plan, my good friend," replied Brandilancia, "but shall I be safe? I have found such difficulty in tearing myself away from the hospitalities of Italy that I am wary of accepting further entertainment."

"I wonder not at your reluctance, but with the Gonzagas at Mantua you will be beyond the power of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, who though he is indeed expected to attend the festivities, will never suspect that you played another role at his Roman villa. The play is to be acted in part by n.o.ble amateurs, and the Signorina herself will take the princ.i.p.al part. It is the comedy which you dramatised from Ser Giovanni's story of the heiress of Belmont, for nothing else would suit the Signorina. You shall impersonate the successful lover. There have been many aspirants for that role but I have held it for you. Can you resist my lord?"

"No, Malespini, I cannot resist, for I am indeed what you would have me seem, a simple player. I will go with you since you need my service, and will bid your mistress and the Owlet also a grateful farewell."

Thus, though he had thought never again to see the woman who had so powerfully influenced his imagination and because he honestly believed her influence at an end, Brandilancia ventured himself again within its domain.

Tranquil, lily-starred lakes, blue as the heavens they mirror, lapped with caressing ripples the foundations of the immense Gonzaga palace and gave it the same enchanting environment on the morning of his arrival as to-day. Its rosy walls glowed in the morning light like a cl.u.s.ter of pink lotus-blossoms, while, a little apart from the main group of buildings, a slender tower shot into the air, and suspended from its summit, like some bell-shaped flower which droops its head, an iron cage was sharply etched against the glowing sky.

"Is that a beacon?" asked Brandilancia. "If so, though unlighted, I accept it as a good omen, as it were a signal hung out for my welcome."

"Heaven forfend that it should have aught to do with you, my lord, or you with it," replied Malespini. "The flame of many a poor fellow's life has gone out in that sinister cresset; but think not of it, for my lady awaits you within the palace. You are to learn how the Medici love, not how they hate."

Through interminable apartments regal with paintings and statues, collected earlier in the century by Isabella d'Este Gonzaga, the secretary led Brandilancia to the small writing-room of the Marchesa.

Marie de' Medici was standing alone at the window gazing at the darkening lake. She turned as he entered, and her cry, "At last you have returned, at last, O my beloved!" broken by sobs and wild caresses, made good Malespini's promise.

She believed that the King of France, instead of sending the promised proxy, had himself returned to betroth her at the approaching festival, when he would doubtless declare himself publicly. Since it pleased him, to make further proof of her affection, she accepted his confession that he was only a poor comedian with apparent faith and with protestations of unshaken love. She told him of the despair with which she faced her brilliant future, of the loathing which overcame her at the thought of any husband but himself; and she begged him to rescue her from so hideous a fate.

How could he brutally tell so adorable a creature that the burning words, which he had spoken on the night before his flight from the Villa Medici, were but a poetic rhapsody, inspired by a frenzy which had pa.s.sed with the glamour that evoked it? He strove instead to recall her to a sense of her own position, and he urged every consideration of honour and of interest, apparently with some success; for she became calmer, and promised to do whatever he desired, if he would but remain and sustain her through the ordeal of her betrothal.

He believed himself abandoned by the woman whom he had loved, but his heart was cold. He told himself that he would live henceforth without love, but would endeavour in purest friendship to save this woman who leaned on him for strength from making shipwreck of her life. They met constantly in the intimacy of rehearsals, and as these proceeded personal sentiments were occasionally introduced into the lines.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Choosing the Casket

From the painting by F. Barth. Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co.]

"Ah, me! this word choose," Marie de' Medici exclaimed on one occasion.

"I may neither choose whom I would nor refuse whom I dislike. So is the will of a living daughter curbed by the will of a dead father."

On the evening of the final presentation of the play she startled Brandilancia by laying her hand in his as she interpolated the declaration: "My spirit commits itself to yours to be directed, as by her lord, her governor, and king."

The play ended, she led him to a portico overlooking the lake.

"I have only a moment," she said, "while I am supposed to be dressing for the dance which follows. You doubtless recognised in the small dark man seated at my uncle's side the Duke of Nevers, and you have probably informed him of your presence here; but my uncle little suspects that we have antic.i.p.ated their negotiation. Now surely is the proper time to announce yourself. Wait in the ante-room of the Marquis, it adjoins the library, and after the Grand Duke has set his signature to the settlement, and the Duke of Nevers is about to sign for the King of France, enter, take the pen from his hand, and sign for yourself. If you wish I will accompany you, and we will confess that we are already affianced. Why do you hesitate? Surely this is now the only thing to do."

He gazed at her in uncomprehending astonishment. "Nay, dearest lady," he protested, "put this wild fancy from your mind. Your uncle would never accept me as your suitor; you would gain only dishonour by such a course. Bid me farewell, and forget me in the glory of your new life; and G.o.d help us both."

"Nay, I can not, I can not give you up," she cried pa.s.sionately her arms about his neck, "you have made me love you. I shall die if you leave me."

"If this is true," he stammered, "if by some miracle you do indeed love me beyond all earthly considerations, and your heart is great enough to sacrifice all for the devotion of a heart that will at least be loyal, then fly with me from this world of shame and cruelty, to some paradise beyond the power of all who know us."

"Fly," she repeated in bewilderment, "and leave your kingdom, your crown?"

"Oh! what is fame, what is honour," he cried, "to love like yours?

Listen, it is perfectly feasible. When I parted with my friends at Cadiz Ess.e.x told me he would return with the fleet as soon as he could refit, and cruise about the Azores, hoping to intercept the Spanish treasure-fleet. He should be there at this time, and Raleigh with him.

But Raleigh purposed after aiding his friend in his enterprise to continue his voyage to the new world, where he has planted a colony. In Venice we can take pa.s.sage with some merchant-man and join Raleigh at Flores. Come with me, my Queen to the new world, where we will found a new dynasty, for I can wait for my kingdom. I can write my plays and my poems there, in some lodge in the forest, and years hence, when cities have sprung up in that wilderness great actors will give them presentation before men who can appreciate them, who will honour our memory and glory that we were Americans."

She regarded him with eyes widening with alarm. "Surely you are mad,"

she said, "to throw away the Crown of France for which you have fought so bravely."

"The crown of bay and laurel for which I am fighting has no root in France, sweetheart, but in English soil," he replied wonderingly.

"Good G.o.d!" she cried, "then you are not--not Henry of Navarre?"

"Nay, how could that be possible? I am, as I long since told you, only a simple English playwright who, much against his will, came hither on the business of his friend the Earl of Ess.e.x. If you love me not I would to G.o.d that I had never so come, since, by some strange delusion, I have troubled your pure heart and have brought upon myself grief, and dishonour.

"But forgive me, sweet lady, this madness shall be as though it had not been, soon forgotten by you and safely hidden in the deepest chamber of my heart."

For a moment she gazed at him astounded, for her mind refused to credit the truth. In despite of his words she believed that he was putting her disinterestedness to a supreme test which she must not fail. She clung to him convulsively. "I love you, you alone," she declared, "and I will go to El Dorado. I will meet you to-morrow at this hour at the water-gate of the palace. I will come in the Gonzaga barge, and we will flee together to Venice, and thence whither you will."

As she spoke the door leading into the palace was flung open, and the Grand Duke followed by courtiers and ladies came toward them.

"Ah! here are our actors," he exclaimed, "bring the laurel crowns. This for my niece and this for the gifted artist who has honoured our festival. Come forward Brandilancia and receive the token of our appreciation." But as the wreath was presented the Grand d.u.c.h.ess caught her husband's arm, exclaiming: "Ferdinando, this is the false Earl of Ess.e.x who deceived us all in Rome. Ask Radicofani, ask your niece, she cannot have failed to recognise him."

"Nay, ask the French envoy," replied Marie de' Medici, "his Highness the Duke of Nevers will tell you whom we have the honour to entertain as our guest."

"I, Mademoiselle," exclaimed the representative of the French King, "truly, I have never before looked upon his face."

"Declare yourself Sire, I beseech of you," Marie de' Medici implored, and Brandilancia answered calmly:

"I am the authorised representative of the Earl of Ess.e.x. Brandilancia is the Italian equivalent of my name, which in English is plain Will Shakespeare. That I am an actor and playwright you have graciously conceded, and that is the only distinction which I have ever claimed."

His words carried overwhelming conviction to the brain of the deluded girl, and she sank fainting into the arms of the man whom she had so misunderstood and who was still far from comprehending the cause of her emotion.

"Leave my niece to the care of her women," the Grand Duke commanded sternly. "Radicofani, is this indeed the rogue who slipped from your clutches?"

"It is, my lord," replied that worthy, as he grasped the actor's arm.

"Then consign him to the hospitalities of our sky-parlour. In the cage suspended from that tower, young man, you may await my investigation of your case."

From his lofty outlook in the iron cage, dizzily suspended between earth and heaven, our adventurer obtained a new and wider view. The palace and its life dwindled to a speck. Far away to the north he could discern the white summits of the mountains that cradle the blue lake of Garda, while at his feet the Mincio flowed peacefully toward the Adriatic, where a good ship (on which, but for his folly in pausing at Mantua, he might on the morrow be voyaging homeward) was impatiently tugging at her moorings. Fool that he was, he had made his bed and must lie on it. It was a very uncomfortable bed at the present moment, for he could neither stretch himself at full length nor stand erect, but sat with his hands clasping his knees and his head bowed upon them. How long must he retain this cramped position? Malespini's words came to him with sinister emphasis. Would he be left here until starvation released him from agony and his bones bleached in the sun? The Angelus chimed from the belfries, the only structures which reached his plane, and gave him a sense of human companionship, but the tones of the bells sounded thin in the empty air, and his loneliness increased with their cessation. The sun climbed the heavens and beat unmercifully upon his unprotected head, but just as his thirst became intolerable and he groaned in agony, a low, chuckling laugh replied from a window in the tower near his cage, and turning his head he saw the malicious face of the dwarf Leonora Dosi. Repugnant as she was to him he greeted her appearance now, for it flashed through his mind that she might have brought him some message from Marie de' Medici.

"It is good of you, Signorina," he said, "to think of me in my trouble; or is it perchance your mistress who has sent you?"

He could not have asked a question which would have angered her more.