 | The spectre steamer, and other tales |  |
OTHO VISCONTI:
OR, THE BRIDAL PRESENT.
A TALE OF FLORENCE.
The golden sunlight of an Italian autumn
evening poured through a gorgeously stained
window of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del
Fiore, in Florence, and fell upon the Mosaic
pavement in a flood of mingled crimson
and gold. In the light, knelt the figure of a
graceful girl before a crucifix; her veil had
fallen back from her face, and showed a
countenance very youthful, but exquisitely
beautiful. She could scarcely have passed
her fourteenth year; yet that nameless
charm of expression, that belongs to a lovely
woman, was already hers. Her eyes were
as black as night, and so very large and expressive,
that one instinctively shrunk, to
penetrate the secrets of the soul which were
so unguardedly laid open. The rose of
youth and health was on her cheek and lips;
and so bright was the smile that dimpled her
mouth, while she said her pretty prayers, as
if the duty were a pastime, that one could
not think of her and sorrow in the same
moment. Near her, but where the gorgeous
sunbeam did not shine upon her, knelt
a female attendant; while behind her, leaning
against a pillar, was a youthful page
scarce her own age; and further beyond
still, stood, silent and stern, three men-at-arms.
This tale is laid in the thirteenth century,
and in warlike times. The civil wars and
intestine turmoils caused by the feuds of the
rival houses of Guelph and Ghibeline, filled
all Italy; and the opposing combatants,
whenever they chanced to encounter—in
the street or on the highway, at mass or
marriage—were sure to come to blows.
This fair maiden was a daughter of the
house of Guelph, and therefore was she thus
formidably attended. As this story is founded
on an incident of this celebrated feud,
it may not be amiss here, to refresh the
reader's recollection of its origin and character.
In the beginning of the tenth century, a
German noble, whose castle, called Gueibelinga,
was situated in the mountains of
Hertfeld, became a warm partizan of the
German emperor; and, by his power and
influence, contributed greatly to the stability
of the empire. But his attachment to the
imperial throne was not less distinguished,
than his hostility to the papal power. On
the other hand, the Pope received the support
Roman Catholic, and who laid claim to the
crown of Germany, whose adherence to him
was not less strong, than the attachment of
the lord of Gueibelinga to the emperor.
During the life of Henry V, these two
houses made no open advances of hostility;
but his death, without issue, gave rise to a
contest for the crown, that has more or less
affected the present state of every European
dynasty. Guelph, duke of Bavaria, died
not long after Henry's decease, and his
countess, Matilda, soon afterwards bequeathed
all her immense possessions to the
See of Rome. The pope then took up the
quarrel for the Guelphs, against the defender
of the German crown, Duke Gueibelinga;
and the names Guelph and Ghibeline
soon came to denote the different parties
of the pope and emperor, having in both
cases lost their particular application to individuals.
Thus, all the families that adhered
to the pope were denominated Guelphs, and
all that adhered to the emperor, Ghibelines.
As many of the Italian cities had belonged
to Duke Guelph, and others to the Ghibeline
chief, Italy became divided by the feud;
and even those cities that owed fealty to
neither one nor the other, took sides and
plunged into the quarrel. In many instances,
a single city was divided by its
knights, half taking one side of the feud,
and the other half the opposite. Thus Florence,
itself, at the period of this historical
tale, contained forty-two noble families of
the Guleph party, and twenty-four of the
Ghibeline faction. All Italy was in arms
with the quarrel, and every day some new
murder alarmed the citizens of every city,
within the walls of which those two parties
stood opposed to each other; and although
often reconciled, every little accident renewed
their animosity, and they again flew
to arms to avenge their wrongs, and give
vent to their mutual hostility. The maiden
who knelt in the cathedral was a Guelph, of
the noble Florentine family of Donati. Her
name was Elise. She was an only child;
but her high name and exquisite beauty, as
she was still a child, had not yet brought
suitors to her feet.
Having ended her prayers, she rose from
her knees, while the attendant advanced,
and lifting the silked mat on which she had
knelt, placed it across her arm to follow her
out of the cathedral. But ere she moved
Elise turned her head to re-arrange her
veil, when her eye fell on a youthful knight,
who, half concealed in shadow, by the
shrine before which she had been kneeling,
had evidently been a witness to the whole of
her devotions. But Elise, after the first
blush of surprise, did not see that she ought
to be ashamed of being seen at prayers,
and so she completed the arrangement of
her veil; and beckoning to her page, who,
in his turn made a signal to the men-at-arms,
she tripped lightly along the marble
pavement of the cathedral, and, with the
young knight in her mind, disappeared.
As she did so, he stepped forth from the
concealment of the shrine. He had entered
the cathedral by a side door unobserved,
and struck with the girlish beauty
of the worshipper whom he discerned before
it, he had obeyed the impulse of the moment,
and sought, unseen, its shelter, to
gaze upon her face without interruption.
This young knight was Otho Visconti, the
nephew of the Archbishop of Milan, and the
son of the chief of the Florentine Guelphs.
He had that evening reached Florence from
Milan, after an absence of several years,
and had entered the church to lounge away
the half hour preceding vespers, when the
kneeling girl arrested his admiration. The
quarter of an hour he spent in gazing upon
the lovely face of the bright maiden, had
been sufficient to captivate his heart. He
felt she was a mere child, but he knew also
that she would not always remain a child;
and he inwardly resolved to watch the budding,
and then pluck the flower. He was
not quite in love with Elise, indeed, but he
was ready to be so when she was of the age
for wooing.
He had been so engaged in admiring her,
that it never occurred to him to look at the
men-at-arms, till their intervening forms, in
the far distance of the aisle, hid hers from
his gaze.
Otho Visconti had left Florence in his
boyhood, and so none of the faces of the
maidens of the city were known to him.
The instant his negligence to ascertain who
had so suddely ensnared his heart, occurred
to his mind, he hastened to follow her. On
gaining the street, neither she, nor page,
nor men-at-arms, were visible; and from
that time Otho Visconti searched Florence
in vain to behold once more the bright and
beauteous maiden who had appeared and
disappeared so mysteriously, leaving such
an impression upon his senses. Finally, he
came to regard the whole as a vision he
had seen in a waking dream, and strove to
banish the recollection of it from his mind.
Three years passed away, and Otho
Visconti ceased longer to think of the beautiful
girl he had seen in the cathedral, yet
her image remained indelibly impressed upon
his heart. He had now become one of the
gayest gallants of the Florentine court, and
as supremely favored by the smiles of
grace and beauty, as beseemed a cavalier
who was as handsome as he was gallant,
and, as he had often shown, was as bold in
battle as in boudoir.
At day-dawn one bright June morning, he
sallied forth from his palace in full armor,
mounted on a sable charger, whose broad
chest glittered with the steel plates with
which it was overlaid. He was preceded
by his gonfaloner, and attended on either
hand by a knight of lesser degree, and followed
by a hundred men-at-arms, all clad
in steel, with their battle axes swung at
their saddle-bows. Two and two trotting
beneath the stone arch of the Visconti palace,
the cavalcade took its way along the
street of the Palazzo Vecchio, in the direction
of the Milan gate. They rode on without
interruption, or meeting any one, save
now and then a cowled monk, or a veiled
devotee gliding along to the cathedral, or the
mounted page of some noble Guelph lady,
spurring on an errand for his mistress. At
length they entered the Place of the Loggia,
and moved forward towards the outlet at its
northern extremity. Ere they reached it
the young knight discovered that a chain
was drawn across from house to house, and
that their way was completely barricaded.
`How is this, Egidio?' he said, turning to
one of the knights that rode by his side;
`dost know its meaning?'
`I know not, my lord. There hath been
no open quarrel for the last three days between
the factions, that precautions taken
only in the midst of fight should be now
maintained.'
`It hath a hostile face upon it,' said Otho
Visconti, with haughty anger. `There
bends a monk of the Santa Croce over a
dying man. I will know what this means.
Ho, sir priest, hither! We would inquire
of you the meaning of this stoppage of the
public ways. Who hath drawn this chain
across?'
`Salvestro de'Medici,' answered the
monk, without looking up, or ceasing from
his spiritual duty with the soul of him who
lay upon the pavement.
`Ha, the Ghibeline chief? Hath he
known of my expedition to Milan, and would
he bar my road.'
`The Ghibeline chief doubtless knew of
thy expedition, my lord Visconti,' said a man
that stood near, leaning upon a broken
pike; `but this barricade hath another cause.
It chanced that half an hour since, Astor
de'Manfredi, the Guelph, attended by a
small company of his retainers at arms was
riding along this street, when meeting on
this spot, with the mad-cap son of Salvestro
de'Medici, they had some words together,
touching a maiden who equally favored
both, and drawing weapons, put their quarrel
to issue.'
`This is well. And how hung the victory?'
asked the young knight, with animated
interest.
`At first on the side of Astor de'Manfredi,
but a re-inforcement coming to the aid of
the Ghibeline, the Guelph was beaten off,
Medici, who headed the new force, on coming
up, barricaded the street to prevent
succor.'
`And this hath just happened?' demanded
the knight, impatiently.
`'Tis scarce ten minutes since Manfredi
fled towards the gate, pursued by the Medici
who outnumbered him four to one. Yonder
lies one of his esquires, at the last gasp.'
`So! my friend,' exclaimed the knight,
`this is a matter touching ourselves and our
honor. Let us to the rescue of young de'Manfredi,
and avenge the insult offered to
our faction. Send a smith hither! Nay,
break the stone in which the bolt is bedded,
with the heads of your battle axes!' he shouted.
`The Medici hath never driven bolt to
withstand the stroke of a Visconti!'
In a few moments the rough marble
block, in which the bolt upholding the chain
was imbedded, was shattered by the heavy,
smith-like blows of the men-at-arms.
`Now onward, to the Medici palace, to
which this passage leads. If our friends
are driven beyond it, we will assail the palace.
This stain de'Manfredi hath put upon
us must be wiped out! A Visconti! a Visconti!'
`A Visconti', shouted the knight, and
men-at-arms, and at full speed the fiery
Guelphs galloped along the silent streets.
The sun was just rising, and gilding the topmost
towers of the Medici palace as they
came in sight of it; but the ardent knight
gave little heed to the effect of the sunlight
upon the blazing pinnacles, for at the end of
the street, and directly opposite the gate of
the magnificent mansion of his hereditary
foes, he saw Astor de'Manfredi, and the
remnant of his party, whose flight had been
checked at this spot by a chain thrown
across the street, gallantly defending himself
against nearly the whole of the Medici faction.
`Dost see the cowardly villains, how they
set upon and worry the brave knight like a
pack of hounds driving at a single stag! Ho,
my friends! Let us aid them, if we have to
do it with our lives! A Guelph! a Guelph!—
A Visconti! To the rescue.'
With those fierce and warlike cries, the
Guelphs headed by the fiery Visconti, came
down the narrow street with a noise like
thunder, and ere the Medici were well aware
of their presence, they were upon them!
In a few moments the tide of battle turned,
and the Medici retreated towards the gates
and porticoes of their palace. But Astor
de'Manfredi, burning with rage and shame
for his defeat, and Otho Visconti, animated
by a desire to punish the haughty victims,
were neither, by any meansd isposed to let
the affair terminate with the retreat of the
foe. The two young knights, as the Medici
were retiring, merely exchanged glances,
and the next instant the rival factions were
fighting hand to hand in the galleries and
courts of the palace. In vain old Salvestro
de'Medici shouted his war cry of `A Ghibelinga!
A Medici!' In vain the young defended,
with lion-like courage, the chief entrance
to the palace. Every where the
Guelphs effected an entrance and dispersed
the Ghibelines.
The young Visconti, seeing the Mediciean
chief fly along up the broad marble steps
leading to the interior of the palace, left his
knights to take possession of the lower
court, and followed in pursuit, ambitious of
making prisoner, in his own house, the head
of the opposing faction. On gaining the top
of the grand stair-case, he discovered him
just entering a distant door at the extremity
of a gorgeous saloon. Without hesitation
he followed, and entered after him. The
door instantly closed behind, and shut out
the noise of the conflict below. He found
himself, not without surprise, in the wing of
the palace appropriated to the ladies. His
first impulse was to withdraw, for feudal
hostility had its courtesies, and not less remarkable
was the gentleness with which the
females of the opposing parties were treated
on occasions like the present, than the hatred
that existed between the males. As he
was in the act of turning round to retire, a
but only saw in his presence there
the most hostile purposes, suddenly threw
herself at his feet!
`Knight, save—spare my father!'
`Lady, I obey,' answered the youth respectfully.
`The lord of Medici is safe. Had I known
he had fled hither I should not have intruded.
Art thou, then, the lady Bianche?' he
asked, admiringly, as he gazed upon the
beautiful maiden.
`I am, my lord Visconti.'
`Ha, knowest thou me?' he demanded in
surprise.
`As other maidens of Florence do, by
seeing thee often ride by with thy men-at-arms.'
`And I have heard of thee, lady, and of
thy wondrous beauty; but, by the rood, the
half hath not been told, now mine eyes behold
thee.'
Lady Bianche looked up into his face as
he spoke, for there was a frank sincerity in
his voice that impressed her; she then
blushed, and dropped her eyes.
`Santa Croce,' cried the knight, bluntly,
`thou hast beauty enough to make me turn
traitor.'
`Good Knight, unless thy words are the
breath of idle mocking, prove their sincerity
not by becoming a Ghibeline, but by staying
the slaughter in the palace!'
`It shall be as you say, fair Bianche, and
for thy sake, tell thy father, that in ten minutes
hence there shall not be one of his foes
within his palace. Fare-thee-well, sweet
Bianche. Hadst thou been Eve and I Adam,
I should have lost Paradise also.'
Lightly touching his lip to her snowy
fingers, the free young knight quitted her
presence. Bianche stood an instant with
her gaze fixed on the door through which
he had disappointed, and then clasping her
hands together, with a joyful smile said, in a
low tone,
`And have I then met face to face Otho
Visconti, whom for one year I have so devotedly
loved. Have I spoken with him?—has
he pressed his lip to my hand? Oh, too, too
happy, the bliss has been bought, I fear me,
with the loss of many a Medici's life; yet
therefore should I prize it more! and what
said he? `that my beauty would tempt him
to turn traitor—to forfeit Paradise!' and
these were not coined compliments of the lip!
I marked his eye and tone well as he uttered
them. But, alas! why have I been so mad
to cherish this love for the foe of my
house? why do I rejoice at a meeting which
will only be followed by long hours of useless
grief. We can never wed! A Ghibeline
and a Guelph. It has been done, though,
and may be done again! But why do I hope
this? He loves me not—nay—ne'er saw or
thought of me till to-day—though, alas, his
dear image has been months graven on my
heart! He thinks me beautiful. My face
struck him! He seems free and frank, and
might be won by my beauty, though my
love (which yet he dreams not of) may not
touch his heart. If heaven aid me I will
boldly seek to win him. My beauty shall
be the snare. If I but please his eye a
maiden, I will have time to win his love a
bride. Now, Bianche Medici, if thou wouldst
not have thy rich love cast back upon
thy heart, and perish there, and thou with
it, awaken thine energies! Otho Visconti
may yet be won.'
Thus soliloquized the haughty and beautiful,
yet deeply enamored Bianche, of
Medici; and boldly, perseveringly, and successfully,
did she make use of the power her
wonderful beauty had given her over the
senses, (not the heart,) of the young knight
of Visconti.
The passion of Bianche de'Medici was
singularly forwarded by a treaty between
the Guelphs and Ghibelines of Tuscany;
ratified a few days after the attack on the
Mediciean palace. It was to a diet called
for this purpose that Otho Visconti was on
his way when the discomfiture of Astor
de'Monfredi drew him and his party into the
melee.
The fruits of this treaty after thirty-three
years of constant hostility, were equally enjoyed
well weary of fighting, and had long sighed
for a temporary suspension of arms. The
young knight of Visconti, remembering the
beauty of lady Bianche, soon became, therefore,
a voluntary visitant at the palace
which he had once entered as a foe.
The sweets of peace soon won the Florentines
to prize their truce, and in the interchanges
of mutual courtesies, and in repairing
the rents made in their fortunes and estates
by the protracted civil war, they were
not unwilling to let it remain undisturbed.
Bianche Medici soon established her power
over the mind of the gay Visconti; his
heart he had lost three years before in the
cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore! At
length, captivated by her illustrious beauty,
the young chief of the Guelphs offered his
hand in marriage to the daughter of the
leader of the Ghibeline faction. This intelligence
created throughout Florence no little
sensation. The body of the people received
it with joy as the precursor of a permanent
peace between the two rival houses. The
majority of the nobles on both sides were also
gratified to learn the contemplated union;
for one year's quiet and social intercourse
had made them in love with peace. There
were some few influential nobles of both
parties, who received the intelligence of this
contemplated union between the heads of the
belligerent houses with disapprobation; but
no one spoke openly his opinion. Thus the
nuptials were confirmed, and the day of the
ceremony of marriage was appointed.
The morning was not more bright and
cloudless than the spirit of Otho Visconti as
he pranced forth from the stately palace of
his ancestors in bridal pomp on his way to
the Mediciean palazzo to receive his bride
and conduct her to the church. He was
attended by a brilliant retinue of knights
and nobles, himself most conspicuous of all,
in silver armor and snowy casque, mounted
upon a milk white charger, which daintily
spurned the earth it moved upon. Beside
him a page led a beautiful palfrey for the
bride.
There was now no massive chains or oaken
barriers to disfigure, and give a warlike
aspect to the gay streets of Florence: but,
instead, the dwellings were hung with silken
banners, and the doors and windows were
filled with ladies waving scarfs, and dispensing
smiles on favored knights, which the
eyes of love singled out from the cavalcade.
The bridal cortege had passed the Ponte
Vecchio, and was winding round the statue
of Mars to enter the street leading to the
abode of Bianche de'Medici, when as the
bridegroom approached the Donati palace
which stood-near, he was thus addressed by
Astor de'Manfredi, who rode at his right
hand.
`Dost thou see, my lord, yonder tall and
stately matron, standing amid that galaxy of
maidens on the balcony of the Donati palace?'
`I do, Manfredi,' answered the youthful
knight; `and, save my own noble mother,
never have I beheld a lady with such dignity
of presence. She doth remind me of one of
our ancient Roman matrons. See, does not
she look earnestly upon us?'
`She does, my lord. As I rode past an
hour since, she sent her page to ask me if it
were true the lord of Visconti were really to
wed with the Medici?'
Methinks she should have known it ere
she put such question!'
`'Twas not asked, I thought, as if for information,
my lord, but as if she sought
particular confirmation of a fact before well
understood.'
`And what answered you her page?'
asked the knight carelessly, at the same
controlling the fire of his steed, who started
at the fluttering pennons from the balconies
opposite to the Donati palace.'
That this day the factions of Guelph and
Ghibeline were to be united by the union of
the Visconti and Medici.'
`You answered well. Ha, dost mark?
There is no banner or sign of compliment
from the palace!'
She doubtless hath taken offence at this
marriage,' answered de'Manfredi as they
men hail as the bond of peace in Florence.
She is too much Guelph to give her favor
to a Ghibeline. Look my lord! she waves
her hand to you.'
`In truth she doth! But we will pass on
nor heed her.'
`By her manner she will address you.'
`Then we will pause and listen; for ne'er
would I be so discourteous as to be wanting
in reverence to the noble lady Donati.'
As he spoke he reined in his charger, for
the matron in the meanwhile had stepped
forth upon the portico beneath which he was
passing, and again waved her hand commandingly.
`Stay thy gallant train, Otho Visconti,
till thou alight and enter my abode. I am
a Guelph as well as thou, and on this thy
bridal day, I would shame to have thee pass
my door unhonored. I have hung abroad no
silken banners to greet thy passage, but I
have prepared for thee a bridal gift meet for
a Visconti to receive, meet for a Donati to
bestow. Alight and enter that thou may'st
behold it!'
`Thou speakest fairly, noble lady!' answered
the knight courteously, `and the grace
of thy speech doth cancel thy want of banners!
Good knights, and gentlemen, by
your leave we will delay a brief moment,
that we may receive the gracious bridal
present of the noble lady.'
With these words the bride-groom alighted
and ascended the portico of the Palazzo,
`Follow me, Otho Visconti, to the room
where I have placed thy bridal gift. Know,
that my late lord Albert of Donati, conjointly
with thy noble father, the lord Valentino
Visconti, did before their deaths settle upon
this very bridal present for thee. In offering
it to thee now, I am but fulfilling their intentions.'
Thus speaking, the dignified matron led
the way to an inner apartment, the sides of
of which were tapestried with silver cloth,
while the ceiling was vaulted and of a cerulean
hue spangled with stars. She silently conducted
him to the opposite side of this cham
ber to an ottoman, over which was cast an
ample veil.
`Beneath this veil Otho Visconti, lies the
bridal gift I have seventeen years guarded
for thee;' said the matron. `Behold,' she
cried, preparing to lift the screen, `the
bride thy father chose, and which I have reserved
for thee. Like thee she is Guelph;
whilst thou takest one from the enemies of
thy church and race!'
She drew aside the veil as she spoke, and
the astonished young knight beheld, reclining
upon the ottoman, a virgin of dazzling
beauty. A second glance was not necessary
to assure him that she was the mysterious
maiden who had robbed him of his heart
before the shrine of Santa Maria del Fiore!
She was in the full bud of Italian beauty at
seventeen! And she in return recognized
the handsome knight who had been the witness
of her devotions!
`Signora,' he answered, dazzled and enamored,
`I do accept the bridal gift thou hast
reserved for me; if,' he added, kneeling beside
the lovely maiden, `the gift itself have no dissentient
voice against such bestowal of her
hand and person?'
`The daughter of a Donati has no other
will than that of the head of her house!' answered
the Signora with firmness.
The knight looked at the lovely Elise,
and her blushes were more eloquent than
speech. She in her turn had not forgotten
the knight of the shrine, and the more she
let her thoughts run upon him the more she
suffered his memory to impress itself upon
her heart. Her eyes answered to his, and
love was triumphant!
`The bridal procession awaits thee!' said
the lady of Donati, sternly.
`I obey,' answered the young knight, and
taking the hand of the beauteous virgin, he
led her forth to the portico of the palace.
`Behold,' he said, standing beside her, her
hand held in his, `while on my way to seek
a Ghibeline bride, I have here found one of
our own race and faith. Let us proceed to
the church, my friends, and leave Ghibeline
to wed with Ghibeline.'
Thus speaking, the fickle, yet also true
young knight, Visconti, mounted his bride
upon the palfrey, caparisoned and designed
for Bianche of Medici; and the cavalcade
turning from the street that led to the Mediciean
palace, proceeded to the Cathedral of
Santa Maria del Fiore; and there before the
shrine and altar where first he beheld the
lovely child who won his heart, he was united
to her, now become the most beautiful
maiden in Italy.
The bride elect, the haughty Bianche de'
Medici, with her train of maidens, knights,
and nobles, were impatiently awaiting the
arrival of the Visconti party when a messenger
came and communicated the news of
Otho Visconti's nuptial treachery. In an
instant the Ghibeline cavaliers were in the
saddle, and as the bridal procession reached
the Porte Vecchio, on its way to the Visconti
palace, it was attacked with a decision
and ferocity unparalleled in the wars of the
two factions. The Plaza Loggia was at
once turned into a battle field! Otho Visconti
while defending his bride fell by the
hand of the younger Medici at the foot of
the statue of Mars. At the same instant
Bianche de'Midici, the outraged bride of
the false and inconstant knight, appeared
sword in hand, mounted on her father's war
horse, her hair streaming in the wind, and
her whole bearing and aspect that of an
avenging Amazon. Her base bridegroom
had fallen ere she reached him; but the bosom
of Elise lay open to her vengeance,
and her glittering blade was instantly dyed
with the blood of the virgin bride! Elise
fell and expired upon her husband's body!
`No,' she cried springing to the ground
and casting her aside; `even in death they
shall not be united. This place alone is
mine!'
With these words she passed her sword
through her own bosom and fell dead, clasping
the recreant bridegroom's corpse in
her arms.
Thus once more was revived the feud between
the Guelphs and Ghibelines, which
continued for more than a century, without
cessation. Blood atoned for blood, and
Florence, and the major part of Italy, was
daily the scene of sanguinary contests.
Once more chains were thrown across the
streets, and barricades constructed in every
quarter, and around every palace. The
Ghibelines at length became masters of
Florence, and banished every Guelph noble
from the city. The palace of the Visconti,
and thirty-six others belonging to illustrious
families of that party, were demolished, and
peace was once more established to be broken
by some cause as light as that which has
furnished the subject of this feudal tale.
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