Marjorie Bowen

“ The old man drew himself up in his rags and spoke with a mixture of pride and awe.
"Mastino della Scala perished in the flames of his burning palace; his wife is a prisoner, yonder in Milan, in the Visconti's hands. Thou hast not much to look for from Della Scala's court," he said.
"Hold thy peace! Hold thy peace!" cried angry voices. "What hast thou to do with such as he?" and the old man, whose better intelligence made him a source of danger to the others, was dragged away.
"But thou wilt not leave me here?" said Vittore, in distress. "Where shall I go? What shall I do?" ”

“ Is not life dear to thee?"
"Yes, I will live," said Conrad, "and I will take revenge both for my own wrongs and for a woman's sake."
Francisco turned quickly and looked at him keenly.
"A woman's sake! Thy motive is the same as mine: I too am living—for a woman's sake."
Then, at the other's questioning stare, Francisco continued more quietly:
"I am from Verona, Count; that will tell thee much. I belonged to Della Scala's court, and barely escaped with life from the sacking of the town. Thou see'st I can for that and other matters more than equal thee in hatred of Visconti." ”

“ A man, a prince; no hothead of a boy. This black offer will be the turning point and strengthen you. No man's cause is bettered by such means as this. All Italy will rise to cry shame on Visconti—heaven itself will turn against him and make you firm to overthrow him!"
"And Isotta!" said Mastino fiercely. "Isotta will be slain!"
"She is one woman—how many as fair and good as she will perish if Della Scala betrays Lombardy! She is one woman against the fate of half Italy."
"She is my wife!" cried Della Scala desperately; "that one woman is my wife! Thou hast forgotten!" ”

“ By now Vittore felt and showed respect.
"Then we will not enter Milan either," said the stranger, "since Visconti has not."
The boy gazed on him, struck by his tone, and Tomaso's eyes, half-closing, reopened and fixed themselves upon the stranger's face.
"Messer, you hate Visconti?" whispered Vittore.
The man laughed shortly. "There are many in Lombardy who hate Visconti," he said. "Perhaps I not less than others. Boy," he added, with sudden intensity, "I have only two things to live for: one is to tell Visconti to his face what one man's hatred is." ”

“ Half my men are dead against the walls of Milan! And now, am I to choose again what thou callest honor, am I to leave Isotta to die by his dishonoring hands—oh, canst thou think of it!—and then be crushed at his leisure for all my reward? Am I so tied by tradition as that? Does not Visconti fling all laws, all humanity, all honor to the winds—can I fight him within the bounds of a boy's code of honor? The time comes, Ligozzi, when such things hold one no longer—the soul thrusts them asunder and does what it must, regardless of the laws of men! ”

“ The chamber had light, and the sight of a human face had restored Visconti.
Once more he felt his hold on life and on reality, and he turned from that closed door with its superstitious horror to face real terror and a staggering mischance.
Milan! he had left Milan in an hour of need—and with no one to check Valentine. Only within the last few weeks had he known what she was capable of. What might she not attempt once she realized his absence? Giannotto too, and the Duke d'Orleans! What of their sincerity? He had left not one man within the city whom he could trust implicitly. ”

“ Where his blue velvet cloak fell back, it showed a splendid suit of black and gold, embroidered and decked out with ribbons, but the splendor hung upon a hollow frame: a skeleton. Long locks of pale gold hair heightened the ghastly hollowness of the pinched face. Conrad von Schulembourg was paying with this form of death for the favor of Valentine Visconti; as her brother's favorite, he had thought it safe to lift his eyes to her; being something of a gallant fool, very gay to face danger, very incredulous of it ever coming to him in this hideous shape. ”

“ Mastino laughed pitifully as he read the answer in Tomaso's frightened eyes.
"She will not care—she will not care," he said. But his voice was unsteady, and he supported himself against the saddle of his horse.
"The Duchess comes!" said Tomaso, and clutched Mastino's hand.
Out of a little wood of delicate trees, in front of them, the cavalcade was winding: Visconti's soldiers, Veronese soldiers, and a white, curtained litter in the midst.
Mastino's gaze flew to that, and to that only.
"Oh, my heart's desire!" he murmured. "I do not repent!" ”

“ Graziosa did not care for him; I thought him well-looking enough."
"His air was not a gay one, and he seems foolish," said Graziosa; "and since he is not marrying for love, I am sorry for the Lady Valentine."
"Thou art always sorrowing for some one," said her father. "A princess never marries for love."
"Then I am glad I am no princess," smiled Graziosa, looking up at her betrothed.
Ambrogio raised her hand to his lips and kissed it in silence.
Agnolo continued his recitals, refreshing himself every now and again with renewed glances from the window. ”

“ Della Scala, Duke of Verona, had owned fair lands and wide, Verona, Brescia, all now in Visconti's hands. The secretary wondered, as he thought, how long it would be before the triumphant Gian threw away the mere rag of respect, the mere mockery of a title which bound him to the Empire, and became King of Lombardy in name as well as power.
"And thou thyself, my lord," he said. "Thou wilt marry a Valois to thy sister! Who will be thy bride?"
Visconti smiled. "These marriages are for ambition. Dost thou think I shall marry for ambition? No, Giannotto, I have placed myself above need of that. ”

“ But if we grant the extraordinary precocity of talent implied in the mere writing of such a book as The Viper of Milan, it is, perhaps, less remarkable than it at first appears that Miss Bowen should have been so successful in grasping the purely Italian side of her subject, in rendering the Italian psychology. For is not youth the Italian age of life? Is there not something in the ardent dreams and in the swift, uncontrollable impulses of young natures, that finds itself in the spirit of that race which though the eldest is still the youngest race of Europe? ”

“ He is a fool, Giannotto, who thinks that because a woman is a prisoner she is powerless—let him remember her tongue."
"My lord, she may have thought the lady knew," faltered Giannotto.
"Silence!" cried Visconti. "She may have thought I wanted to give Isotta d'Este her liberty! Ah, let her beware! Graziosa, too; why did she not tell her that she lied? Had I not said he lived? Has she no spirit—no dignity—to shame me by her silence and her moans!" ”

“ I do not pay with ducats, Paduans, or measure my rewards with coin; follow me, and I will give you cities for your plunder, and nobles to hold for ransom. Like to the thunder will I circle Lombardy, and city after city shall surrender me its keys, and the meanest soldier in my train shall gain him fame and riches from my spreading greatness such as kings might envy! Now, who but a faint heart would follow Della Scala, who lost into my hands his very wife? So long as there is a Visconti, he rules in Italy! ”

“ I knew, and I did it!"
"Keep away!" yelled della Torre, and pulled him back.
Then he dropped to his knee and tore the signet-ring from the hand of the dying man.
"To Milan!" he cried, springing up. "Haste! to Milan!"
"To Milan!" echoed Arezzo; "to Milan and the army——"
"Back—all of you!" said de Lana, and he raised Visconti. "He is not dead——"
"He is past life. To Milan!"
The garden was one wild, yelling confusion; the news was spreading like fire; each thought and acted for himself; and Giannotto, instrument of vengeance, whimpered on his knees. ”

“ The Duke of Milan gives a day in which my Lord of Verona may decide upon his answer."
"Give them their answer now," whispered Ligozzi, eagerly. "Do not let them imagine for one moment that you hesitate."
Mastino did not heed him; he sat as if frozen.
"Leave me to—" the words died on his lips. "Leave me—to answer—I will give you my answer—anon."
[Pg 293]
De Lana and Giannotto moved in silence to the far end of the tent.
"Visconti is a fiend," said de Lana, with a gesture of revolt. "Santa Maria, I wish I had never seen this Della Scala. His face will haunt me." ”

“ The wealth of Verona is pouring into Milan! The spoils of Verona, Giannotto, the treasures from Mastino della Scala's palace!"
Giannotto winced before Visconti's passionate joy.
"'Twas a man I hated, Giannotto—I would he had lived to feel it. The only man I ever hated, because the only man I ever feared, the only man who ever dared to despise me! But he has fallen, he is dead, his wife is in my power, and in his fall he has placed me higher than my highest hopes." ”

“ Costanza glanced at her.
"I must confess," she replied, "I should be proud an it were my bearing. To be a Visconti on such a day as this would please me well; and though I am your friend, madama, I must say it."
"As do all the others," said Valentine, bitterly. "You are blinded by splendor and power—you see no deeper than the skin!"
"Maybe," said the other lightly. "Yet am I glad the Duke hath triumphed, and not Mastino della Scala, who is as sullen as a peasant, and a foe to all display." ”

“ Mastino looked out through the open entrance into the blinding summer day, and then back at Ligozzi. "I fear they come with no honorable terms—from Visconti victorious."
"They would never dare come with dishonorable ones—to thee, my lord," returned Ligozzi.
Mastino laughed bitterly.
"Dare! He is Visconti—with near all Italy at his back—he knows no such words as shame or honor. And I must see his messengers," he added, after a pause. "I know no such words now as pride or refusal."
Ligozzi turned, but hesitated at the entrance.
"And—alone?" he asked. "They are from Visconti." ”

“ Oh, it is impossible that thou couldst fall!"
"Impossible?" Mastino rose with clenched hands. "I think it is impossible that I could let her die."
Ligozzi looked at his changed face.
"The cities are not yours, my lord; the soldiers are not yours—would you be a traitor, Della Scala?"
Mastino winced.
"I would save my wife," he muttered, his face turned aside.
"Your wife! A woman!" cried Ligozzi. "Gian Visconti will burn in hell for tempting you, but, by all the saints, so will you, my lord, if you accept such terms."
Mastino was roused. The energy of Ligozzi broke the bonds of his dull agony. ”

“ In Milan there was much rejoicing, in its streets and palaces much splendor; it was the Lady Valentine's wedding day.
Among the throng outside the church of San' Apollinare, the eager crowd that fought and battled for a better chance of seeing the splendid procession, was a monk, seemingly a wandering friar, who pressed his face against the cold marble walls in the silent vexation of an utter disappointment. It was Conrad.
He had failed in his mad mission; success from the first had been hopeless; he had not redeemed himself. ”

“ All Gian's orders had not availed to prevent some whisper reaching Valentine of his evil humor and the cause of it: Conrad's escape, the threatening parchments; the hint that Della Scala lived. Alberic, glancing at her, saw a triumph and a malice in the lady's glance that made him doubly feel he did not care just then to wait Visconti's coming. But still he hesitated; the Duke might vent on him his fury with his sister.
"This business will not wait," cried Valentine, "give me the parchment to deliver, or knock at yonder door and hand it to the Duke yourself." ”

“ All Milan should see her ride to offer thanksgiving for his victories.
"Surely there is more good news," said Costanza, as they crossed the bridge that spanned the canal; "the air is full of rejoicing, and I have seen many messengers spur past."
Valentine set her teeth, and looked between the spears of her escort at the bright blue water beneath them. All the craft that covered its surface were gay with flags, its depth reflected buildings hung with the banners of the Viper.
"It fills the very air we breathe," shuddered Valentine, "the shadow of the Viper." ”

“ And with the end of his dagger he drove the paper into the crevice of the stone. "I never loved Verona," he added, with an evil smile.
But Visconti had not heard, nor was he heeding him; his eyes were riveted upon the door.
Again Padua raised the lantern above his head.
The glimmering light fell faintly on a dark chamber, and dimly lit a large black couch from which the tapestry coverlet was half dragged off. Visconti peered an instant over his rescuer's shoulder eagerly, then fell back.
"I cannot," he said sullenly. "I will stay and face Della Scala—I cannot pass that way." ”

“ Since I do not hurt thee by the recollection, messer, let me tell thee, it was a splendid sight, that night the Duke returned. I live a quiet life, as an artist may do, even in Milan. I know little, I care little for the wars of princes. They tell me the Visconti's crimes outnumber the stars; but, messer, his shadow has not fallen across my house, and what one does not see one does not fear—but when he returned from Verona! ”

“ Tomaso sank at his feet with a bitter cry.
"All is over!" he cried. "We are betrayed. Oh, would I were dead before I had to tell thee!"
"Betrayed?" echoed Della Scala. All the life was struck out of him, he steadied himself against the cavern wall and looked at the boy dully. "Betrayed?"
"Betrayed? By whom?" cried Ligozzi. "Ah, thou art hurt!"
"Nothing, nothing. I am in time—Visconti—his men guard the other entrance—with difficulty I escaped to warn thee," gasped Tomaso. ”

“ Agnolo Vistarnini stood in front of the secret door, with shining eyes. The spring had just slipped back behind Tomaso, the last arrangements had been made; to-night Della Scala should enter Milan—and he, Agnolo, would be the means.
Agnolo looked across the courtyard now in shadow to where a soldier kept his guard. The guard was the Duke's orders, and to the painter's face the soldiery showed all respect; yet well Agnolo knew they laughed at Visconti's whim, and shrugged their shoulders at the pale-faced girl who was to be Duchess of Milan. ”

“ Ten thousand men! I thought better of thee, d'Este."
"Then fifty thousand," replied Ippolito, stung by the reproach.
"A royal number," put in Conrad, but Della Scala turned on them in fury.
"No!" he cried. "Not fifty nor a hundred thousand men, to make sport for Visconti's leisure hours—Visconti who holds nine towns of mine alone, Visconti who is leagued with France and has the Empire at his heels, Visconti who has gained Bergamo, Lodi, and Bologna and has half the mercenaries of Italy in his pay! No, d'Este, I have been too great for that. ”