The Duchess of Trajetto Part 13

"Of course, poor girl, I could not help pitying you. By the bye, Cynthia--would you do anything that would make me better?"

"Try me, Leila."

"Well then, Cynthia--do tell me--frankly, as a friend--I'll forget I am your mistress--I will not punish you. _Did_ you have any communication with Barbarossa?"

Cynthia's face changed. "Oh, Leila! how can you ask?"

"Well then, say no! It is so easily spoken."

"It is not easy."

"Easy or difficult, you _must_ say."

Cynthia's obstinate look came on, which showed the case to be hopeless.

"Oh, very well, Cynthia; then you do not love me, that is all." And the d.u.c.h.ess turned her face away.

"I _do_ love you, Leila."

"No, I don't believe you."

Cynthia took her hand and wetted it with tears. The d.u.c.h.ess drew it away.

"I wish you would kill me, Leila."

"Don't tell such stories, Cynthia. You know it is not my nature to kill people; though there were persons wicked enough to say I had killed poor Muza, after cutting out his tongue, which you know he had lost before he ever came to me."

"I know it, Leila."

"Muza was perhaps sent back as a spy; though he pretended he had escaped. There are so many wicked people in the world that I do not know who to trust--I believe I shall end by distrusting everybody."

"Oh no, Leila. Do not!"

"Why, how can I trust _you_? You have eaten of my bread and drank of my cup these two years, and you are no more _of_ us than if you were a stone."

"I love my own people, I own," said Cynthia. "And so would you love yours, if you were exiled from them."

"I love mine without being exiled from them."

"But you would find you loved them still more if you were sold into slavery."

"If Barbarossa had taken me to Constantinople! Well, I believe I should.

There is no making anything of you, Cynthia. You are a riddle. I believe I could love you if you were not so close. But you shut yourself up like a hedgehog. Sing me one of your Moorish songs--that one about Zelinda and Ganzul. Perhaps you may quiet my poor nerves."

So Cynthia immediately began a long, wailing ballad, the Spanish version of which begins:--

"En el tiempo que Zelinda Cerro ayrada la ventana A la disculpa, a los zelos Que il Moro Ganzul le dava."

Before she reached the happy reconciliation of Ganzul and Zelinda, the d.u.c.h.ess was asleep.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE CARDINAL TEMPTED.

How fared it with Cardinal Ippolito, after he left Fondi? In a general way we may be pretty sure that he fared sumptuously every day, clothed in purple and fine linen; that he entertained a constant succession of n.o.ble, learned, witty, and intellectual guests; that a certain portion of broken victuals from his table was daily given to beggars full of sores at his gate; that he read the Greek and Latin poets a good deal more than the Old and New Testament; that he bought whatever pleased him in the way of intaglios, cameos, mosaics, ivory carvings, rare ma.n.u.scripts, and paintings,--out of the revenues of the Church; that he now and then gave a ring, chain, or purse of gold to some poor author or artist,--out of the revenues of the Church; that he took part in high solemnities, and looked and acted his part well when relics were to be exhibited, or pontifical ma.s.s performed, or martyrs to be canonised.

Did he believe in them, think you? Did he believe in "the most holy cross," "the most holy visage," the "sacred spear"? I very much doubt the poor Cardinal's faith in much holier things than these. He would have been very glad to possess the faith of that barefooted little contadina with the silver dagger in her hair, whom he saw pressing her lips so undoubtingly and affectionately to a dirty little box held by a still dirtier friar. To him it was all an extremely well got-up scene; interesting in an artistic point of view; painfully unreal whenever he came to think of it. He liked the thrilling music, the air heavy with incense, the various costumes and draperies, the heaps of church plate, the shrines encrusted with gems, the portraits of famous beauties with haloes and palms; but oh! they did not even touch his feelings; and as for his thoughts, his thoughts!--

It seemed to him quite as hard to believe that the bread and wine on the altar were what they purported to be, as that the imprint of the Redeemer's face was stamped on the kerchief of St. Veronica. Sometimes he was ready to persuade himself he blindly believed all; at other times, he was too sadly sure he believed in nothing. Nothing but death!--and it was almost death to think of it. "Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die!"

Well, but there was his old uncle, the Pope, who had a good deal more on his conscience than he had, and must be a good deal nearer that catastrophe than he was, he was so much older!--and how comfortably he took it all!--was.h.i.+ng the pilgrims' feet, blessing the horses, borne aloft in that tottering seat between the two great fans of ostrich feathers, stretching out his fingers in continual benediction--the king--the vice-G.o.d of the hour--forgiving the sins of all the world--_he_ seemed to get through it all very well--

But, just as the Cardinal had reached this point, Pope Clement _died_--and how did the people show their sense of his holiness? He died on the 26th of September, 1534; just two months after the sack of Fondi; and during the period between his decease and the election of a successor, the contempt and hatred of the Romans showed themselves by the most outrageous insults to his memory. Night after night, his bier was broken and defaced. On one occasion his body was actually torn from its grave-clothes, and found in the morning transfixed with a sword. And there were those who scrupled not to say it would have been dragged through the streets with a hook, but for respect for Cardinal Ippolito.

All this was very terrible for Ippolito. Death, in all its grisly horrors, and without any of its holy and softening a.s.sociations, was brought before him whether he would or no; with no sacrament of tears and blessings, no cherished memories of the last look, the last sigh; no death-bed sanct.i.ties.

And then the new Pope, Paul the Third, was a Farnese. The Medici party had gone out, the Farnese party had come in; and Ippolito was looked on as an enviable pluralist, whose benefices the new Pope's friends would gladly share. Ippolito knew it was so, because it must be so: it would not be Roman human nature if it had been otherwise. And in the night, he would lie awake and think, "What a juggle, and a struggle, and a farce it all is!--What a seeming, and a sham!--Why did I ever accept this detestable hat? Why should I have been put off with it? Why should not I have been Grand Duke of Florence instead of Alessandro? I am of the elder branch, and any way I would have played my part better. O, Giulia, why would not you have me? It would have been better for both of us!"

And he got into the way of fancying that all his faults were _her_ fault.

He was just in that state that he lay open to any temptation. And temptation is never long coming, when we are in that case. He was ready for anything that seemed to promise to put him in Alessandro's place; and there was a large body of banished Florentines, or _fuorusciti_ as they were commonly called, who burned to dethrone the tyrant and abolish tyranny. Their views were larger and more patriotic than Ippolito's, for he only wished to transfer his cousin's power to himself: however, Felippo Strozzi, the richest and most crafty citizen in Florence, knew enough of both parties to think he could make them serve his own purposes.

Felippo Strozzi therefore opened his mind to Ippolito on the subject of getting rid of Alessandro, and found it easier to do than it might have been, because Ippolito was already a guilty man concerning his cousin--he had already been trying to induce the Archbishop of Ma.r.s.eilles to a.s.sa.s.sinate him. What churchmen!--That scheme had not answered, but his part was taken now; with a colour of patriotism in it; for he must keep his selfish views out of sight of the _fuorusciti_, or they would have nothing to say to him.

The simplest way appeared to be to get Charles the Fifth to change the government of Florence by an act of his sovereign will; and then, no a.s.sa.s.sination need be in question.

This appeared so bright an idea to the Cardinal, that, without troubling himself to take counsel with his confederates, he sent a trusty messenger on his own account to the Emperor, to lay such a statement before him as would, he hoped, convince him of the justice and expediency of subverting Alessandro's government. But alas, the messenger brought back word that the Emperor would have nothing to say to it; the Cardinal had nothing to expect from him.

On this, Ippolito had recourse to his bad adviser, Strozzi, and put it to him--

"What say you? Shall I, under these circ.u.mstances, please the Emperor by making up matters with Alessandro, and accept the ecclesiastical preferments which have, in that case, been offered me?"

"Please yourself," says Felippo, with his cynical smile. "I wouldn't, if I were you, but that's not my affair. Such a peace-making would doubtless be very acceptable to the Duke, as relieving him of a dangerous enemy; but it would be both injurious and disgraceful to yourself. At least, that's the way _I_ take it."

"Here am I all at sea again, then," said the Cardinal.

"You talk of a reconciliation as if it could really be made," pursued Strozzi; "whereas it would a.s.suredly come to nothing: because such matters have already pa.s.sed between you as that Alessandro would never really trust you; and this feeling on his part would make you, or ought to make you, equally distrustful of him. So that you never could live safely in Florence as long as he was in power there. And as to the appanages he has promised you, depend upon it, that as soon as his alliance with the Emperor was secured he would snap his fingers at you, and you might go whistle for them!"

"If you think _that_--" said Ippolito.

"I do think that, I promise you," said Felippo Strozzi. "I don't want to make differences between relations, not I; but if you ask me for my plain opinion, there you have it. He would take care to gain the ear of the Emperor so as that you should never have one of those benefices, for his cue will be to keep you down as much as he can."

"Nay then--" said the Cardinal.

"Besides," continued Strozzi, "such a reconciliation would make you despicable in the sight of all the world; for every one knows your opinion of Alessandro, and would be quite aware that nothing but mere hope of profit could have brought you to make it up with him--they would never believe in any more honourable motive."