The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy
delicate balustrade smothered in lemon and myrtle trees and clusters of
white roses.
Graziosa was in the midst of a brilliant company; the best-born dames in
Italy were among her women, and more knights and pages composed her
train than had ever waited on Visconti's sister.
Beneath them the garden, reached by a shallow flight of steps, spread in
perfect loveliness to the palace, above whose pink brick walls and
rugged gray fortifications floated the banner of the Viper.
The air was golden with the brightness of the sun, there was not a
cloud in the purple sky, and Graziosa's heart was singing in pure
happiness.
She rose from her chair impulsively, and walked to the edge of the
terrace, leaning over the balustrade, the ladies behind her.
"'Tis sad to think there should be fighting on such a day as this," said
one, handing Graziosa her fan. "God grant it may soon be peace!"
"God grant it!" repeated the painter's daughter fervently.
"They say the Veronese cannot hold out much longer," said another. "This
very morn there was news. Bassano has fallen----"
Graziosa picked a cluster of roses and buried her face in them.
"How beautiful they are!" she said. "See, they have little hearts all
gold, never showing till they die; a pretty fancy, is it not?" And she
stroked them tenderly.
"Bassano has fallen?" she repeated idly.
"Yes, and 'tis said they cannot fail in getting Reggio."
"Then my lord's arms are everywhere victorious!" cried Graziosa with
sparkling eyes.
"As ever, lady," was the answer.
"And we can hope for peace," continued Graziosa softly.
"And when peace is proclaimed you will be Duchess--almost Queen--of
Lombardy, Gian Visconti's wife!"
There was a note of envy in the speaker's voice at such a splendid
destiny, but Graziosa did not notice it. She even shuddered faintly at
Visconti's name; it had been associated with awe and terror too long for
her to be able to easily shake the fear away.
"Meanwhile, the sun is shining hot, lady," said a third attendant. "Will
you not come into the shelter?"
Graziosa moved away; the white roses at her bosom were not more pure
than her face. Two pages lifted her rich train, and as she crossed the
terrace a third came and spoke to her on bended knee.
"My Lord Giannotto waits your pleasure, lady."
"Tell him I am here," and the color rose in Graziosa's face at so much
honor.
She turned to the steps where Giannotto waited, cap in hand, and
advanced toward him.
"Lady," said the secretary, bowing low, "my lord sent me to say he will
wait on you himself; and meanwhile if you have any commands----"
Graziosa interrupted him.
"Indeed, my lord is too good; what commands should I have?--tell him so,
with my deepest thanks, sir."
Giannotto looked at her curiously, with a mixture of pity and wonder.
"He comes himself, lady, to hear your thanks, and learn your will."
And he stepped aside, joining the group that had been gathered about
Graziosa.
Gian Visconti was coming through the garden, a grave-looking man by his
side, a white hound at his heels, and two boys following, one bearing a
wooden case, the other carrying a roll of drawings.
Visconti was talking to his companion; he was in the best of humors, at
the height of triumph and success, his enemies well under his heel, his
ambitions on the point of being gratified.
Graziosa came to the head of the steps, and Visconti took his gold cap
off and waved it, coming up them gayly.
She stood silent in the glory of the sunshine and held out her hands,
and he kissed them, and looked at her and laughed pleasantly.
"Now art thou happy, _donna mia_?" he said. "Hast thou all that thou
couldst wish?"
"More than I ever dreamed of, my lord," she answered softly. "I did not
know the world could be so beautiful--or so happy."
"'Tis but a small return, Graziosa, my beloved, for what thou hast done
for me," returned Visconti. "And I will make it more--this is but an
earnest of the future. Visconti's wife shall live in such splendor that
men shall not see her for its dazzle."
"What am I, that thou shouldst give me so much joy!" cried Graziosa,
with swimming eyes.
Visconti smiled.
"Thou art thyself--it is enough!"
He turned to his companion, who stood respectfully at some little
distance.
"Come hither, Messer Gambera. Here is a lady who shall often pray within
your church--my betrothed, who saved us Milan."
Messer Gambera bowed low, and kissed the hem of her gown.
Visconti watched his homage with pleased pride, and turned again to
Graziosa.
"Now I have somewhat to show thee. This is the architect of my new
church, which shall be the wonder of Italy. Follow me, messer." And he
led the way into the entrance-hall.
It was low and wide, the walls covered with frescoes, the floor red
sandstone, the windows opening on to the terrace.
In the middle stood a gilt stucco table, and to this Visconti drew a
chair and bade Graziosa seat herself.
"Here is what I will make of Milan, sweet, when the war is ended!" he
said, as the architect unrolled and arranged his drawings.
"And will that be soon?" she asked, looking up at him.
"Aye, I hope so," laughed the Duke. "Mastino della Scala grows weaker
day by day--I have Bassano, and shall have Reggio. He has lost his wits
as well as his fortresses, for he bids me to a single combat: all to
stand or fall by our own swords. He has his answer, and I have his wife.
Now, look at these, Graziosa----" and he took the drawings from the
architect and spread them on the table.
"My new church," he said. "The plans, my well-beloved."
And he looked eagerly at Graziosa.
"Indeed, my lord, I do not understand them--it is no church, surely?"
And she raised a sweet, bewildered face.
"'Tis the plan of one. Messer Gambera will explain it," and he motioned
eagerly to the architect. "Here, messer, this is the porch?" And he laid
his finger on the drawing, absorbed in contemplation.
"Yes, my lord."
"Set on three steps?"
"'Tis so, my lord."
"I do not care for that, messer, and I will have more carving--would you
not, Graziosa?"
"You must not ask me; indeed I do not know," she smiled.
Visconti's face for an instant darkened. "You must learn," he said. "My
duchess must know architecture. Take away the plans, messer; I will look
at them alone."
"Perchance the lady might care for the model, my lord?" returned the
architect. He spoke bad Italian, and was shaking with nervousness.
"Bring the model," replied Visconti, and the page placed the box upon
the table.
Messer Gambera touched a spring and it flew apart, showing an exquisite
little model of white marble, some twelve inches high.
"Oh! it is beautiful!" said Graziosa, and Visconti looked at her with
sparkling eyes.
"You think so? Yes, it will be beautiful--the church of all Lombardy."
"It will be like this, of marble?" she asked, breathless.
"Every inch--from the porch to the pinnacles, and the floor shall be
precious mosaic, and the altars crystal and serpentine, jasper and
amethyst; men shall spend their lives in carving one pillar, and the
price of cities shall pay for the gold that shall be lavished on it. Not
in our life will this be done, nor in the lives of those that reign
after us--or even they that follow, but finished it shall be, and one of
the wonders of the world--and I shall be remembered as he who planned
it--to the glory of God and the house of Visconti!"
He turned with shining eyes to the architect, who gazed on him with
admiration, with a face that reflected the speaker's own fervor.
"Yes, mine will be the glory, though I shall never see the pinnacles
kiss the sky, or hear the mass beneath that marble roof--mine will be
the glory--even though I am not buried there, it will be my monument to
all eternity!"
Graziosa gazed at him in silence: she could not understand. Gian glanced
down at her with a smile.
"Would it not be a worthy tomb, even for a king, Graziosa?"
"For an emperor--but we will not talk of tombs, my lord," she answered,
"but of pleasant things, and--and--of something that I have to ask you."
"What?" smiled Visconti.
The pages had gathered up the drawings, and the architect had removed
his precious model and withdrawn.
They were alone, and Graziosa rose and looked at Visconti a little
timidly.
"I--I mean--there will be peace soon--you think, my lord?"
"I think so--but peace or war, it shall not touch thee, Graziosa."
"Indeed, I do not fear it--but----"
She hesitated a moment, and glanced anxiously at Visconti's smiling
face.
"Prince Mastino's wife--my lord----"
"What of her?" asked Gian, lightly. "How does she trouble thee?"
"I fear she is in sad woe," said Graziosa, encouraged by his tone. "She
will return to Della Scala when the war is ended?"
Visconti laughed.
"The war will not be ended till she does, methinks; yet be comforted,
Graziosa; before our wedding day she shall be in Della Scala's camp--and
the war over: now think of it no more."
"Indeed I am satisfied; and my father, my lord?"
"Now, can I help it an he will not come to the palace? My word on it, he
is safe; think no more of that, Graziosa. My word on it, he is safe! Now
are you content?"
"My dear, dear lord, I am content: I will trouble you no more with
questions. I am content to leave my father's safety in your
hands--content."
She laid her arms about his neck, and Visconti kissed the roses on the
breast that crushed them against his golden doublet, and then her
upturned face.
Through the open window came the distant sound of singing; some one
singing in French, and then a woman's laugh. Graziosa drew herself away,
and Visconti's face darkened.
"Please heaven, she will not annoy me long," he muttered.
He took Graziosa's hand in silence and stepped out on to the terrace.
Seated on the steps was d'Orleans, playing with the red ribbons of his
lute, and standing among the cluster of ladies at the foot of them was
Valentine Visconti.
She looked very brilliant and beautiful, and angry and scornful; her
laughter was bitter, and the veiled brightness of her eyes not pleasant.
The shade of Visconti's face deepened as he looked at her: compared to
his sister, Graziosa was a candle beside the sun; the contrast did not
please Gian.
D'Orleans rose and bowed low to the lady, yet in a way that was not
respectful.
"So there has been a challenge from the enemy," he lisped. "Now I shall
love to see a single meeting of brave swords again."
"Who said so?" asked Visconti. He came slowly down the steps; his manner
had quite changed, and his eyes were on his sister.
"The Lady Valentine," said the Frenchman. "She----"
"The Lady Valentine," interrupted the Duke sternly, "had best
remember--what I have often remembered to her advantage--that she is a
woman, and these affairs are none of hers."
And he gave her a glance that made her wince, as always did that glance,
for all her boldness.
Graziosa, her hand held lightly by the Duke, was following him down the
steps, her pages behind, and Visconti kept his eyes upon his sister.
There was a meaning pause, and d'Orleans grew restless in the silence
and moved away.
Valentine sent after him a look of bitter scorn, then walked slowly up
to Graziosa and saluted her humbly, though her eyes were burning
brightly.
Visconti watched them keenly, and noticed with displeasure how crushed
and silent Graziosa showed before his brilliant sister: she shrank into
herself, as if she divined the scorn Valentine concealed, and could
scarce stammer a few words of greeting in reply.
"I must back to the palace, Graziosa," said Visconti, as they reached
the garden, and his eyes roved over the crowd of attendants for