The Heir of Mondolfo (3 page)

She sang to him; he listened, and the notes built around him a
magic bower of delight. He trod the soil of paradise, and its winds
fed his mind to intoxication. The inhabitants of Mondolfo could not
recognize the haughty, resentful Ludovico in the benign and gentle
husband of Viola.

His father's taunts were unheeded, for he did not hear them.
He no longer trod the earth, but, angel-like, sustained by the
wings of love, skimmed over it, so that he felt not its
inequalities nor was touched by its rude obstacles. And Viola, with
deep gratitude and passionate tenderness, repaid his love. She
thought of him only, lived for him, and with unwearied attention
kept alive in his mind the first dream of passion.

Thus nearly two years passed, and a lovely child appeared to
bind the lovers with closer ties, and to fill their humble roof
with smiles and joy.

Ludovico seldom went to Mondolfo; and his father, continuing his
ancient policy, and glad that in his attachment to a peasant-girl
he had relieved his mind from the fear of brilliant connections and
able friends, even dispensed with his attendance when he visited
Naples. Fernando did not suspect that his son had married his
low-born favorite; if he had, his aversion for him would not have
withheld him from resisting so degrading an alliance; and, while
his blood flowed in Ludovico's veins, he would never have
avowed offspring who were contaminated by a peasant's less
highly-sprung tide.

Ludovico had nearly completely his twentieth year when his elder
brother died. Prince Mondolfo at that time spent four months at
Naples, endeavoring to bring to a conclusion a treaty of marriage
he had entered into between his heir and the daughter of a noble
Neapolitan house, when this death overthrew his hopes, and he
retired in grief and mourning to his castle. A few weeks of sorrow
and reason restored him to himself. He had loved even this favored
eldest son more as the heir of his name and fortune than as his
child; and the web destroyed that he had woven for him, he quickly
began another.

Ludovico was summoned to his father's presence. Old habit
yet rendered such a summons momentous; but the youth, with a proud
smile, threw off these boyish cares, and stood with a gentle
dignity before his altered parent.

"Ludovico," said the Prince, "four years ago you
refused to take a priest's vows, and then you excited my utmost
resentment; now I thank you for that resistance."

A slight feeling of suspicion crossed Ludovico's mind that
his father was about to cajole him for some evil purpose. Two years
before he would have acted on such a thought, but the habit of
happiness made him unsuspicious. He bent his head gently.

"Ludovico," continued his father, while pride and a
wish to conciliate disturbed his mind and even his countenance,
"my son, I have used you hardly; but that time is now
past."

Ludovico gently replied:

"My father, I did not deserve your ill-treatment; I hope I
shall merit your kindness when I know--"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Fernando, uneasily, "you
do not understand-- you desire to know why--in short, you,
Ludovico, are now all my hope-- Olympio is dead--the house of
Mondolfo has no support but you--"

"Pardon me," replied the youth. "Mondolfo is in
no danger; you, my lord, are fully able to support and even to
augment its present dignity."

"You do not understand. Mondolfo has no support but you. I
am old, I feel my age, and these gray hairs announce it to me too
glaringly. There is no collateral branch, and my hope must rest in
your children--"

"My children, my lord!" replied Ludovico. "I have
only one; and if the poor little boy--"

"What folly is this?" cried Fernando, impatiently.
"I speak of your marriage and not--"

"My lord, my wife is ever ready to pay her dutious respects
to you--"

"Your wife, Ludovico! But you speak without thought. How?
Who?"

"The violet-girl, my lord."

A tempest had crossed the countenance of Fernando. That his son,
unknown to him, should have made an unworthy alliance, convulsed
every fiber of his frame, and the lowering of his brows and his
impatient gesture told the intolerable anguish of such a thought.
The last words of Ludovico restored him. It was not his wife that
he thus named--he felt assured that it was not.

He smiled somewhat gloomily, still it was a smile of
satisfaction.

"Yes," he replied, "I understand; but you task my
patience--you should not trifle with such a subject or with me. I
talk of your marriage. Now that Olympio is dead, and you are, in
his place, heir of Mondolfo, you may, in his stead, conclude the
advantageous, nay, even princely, alliance I was forming for
him."

Ludovico replied with earnestness:

"You are pleased to misunderstand me. I am already married.
Two years ago, while I was still the despised, insulted Ludovico, I
formed this connection, and it will be my pride to show the world
how, in all but birth, my peasant-wife is able to follow the duties
of her distinguished situation."

Fernando was accustomed to command himself. He felt as if
stabbed by a poniard; but he paused till calm and voice returned,
and then he said:

"You have a child?"

"An heir, my lord," replied Ludovico, smiling--for his
father's mildness deceived him--"a lovely, healthy
boy."

"They live near here?"

"I can bring them to Mondolfo in an hour's space. Their
cottage is in the forest, about a quarter of a mile east of the
convent of Santa Chiara."

"Enough, Ludovico; you have communicated strange tidings,
and I must consider of them. I will see you again this
evening."

Ludovico bowed and disappeared. He hastened to his cottage, and
related all that he remembered or understood of this scene, and
bade Viola prepare to come to the castle at an instant's
notice. Viola trembled; it struck her that all was not so fair as
Ludovico represented; but she hid her fears, and even smiled as her
husband with a kiss hailed his boy as heir of Mondolfo.

Fernando had commanded both look and voice while his son was
within hearing. He had gone to the window of his chamber, and stood
steadily gazing on the drawbridge until Ludovico crossed it and
disappeared. Then, unrestrained, he strode up and down the
apartment, while the roof rang with his impetuous tread. He uttered
cries and curses, and struck his head with his clenched fist. It
was long ere he could think--he felt only, and feeling was torture.
The tempest at length subsided, and he threw himself in his chair.
His contracted brows and frequently-convulsed lips showed how
entirely he was absorbed in consideration. All at first was one
frightful whirl; by degrees, the motion was appeased; his thoughts
flowed with greater calmness; they subsided into one channel whose
course he warily traced until he thought that he saw the result,
Hours passed during this contemplation. When he arose from his
chair, as one who had slept and dreamed uneasily, his brows became
by degrees smooth; he stretched out his arm, and, spreading his
hand, cried:

"So it is! and I have vanquished him!"

Evening came, and Ludovico was announced. Fernando feared his
son. He had ever dreaded his determined and fearless mode of
action. He dreaded to encounter the boy's passions with his
own, and felt in the clash that his was not the master-passion. So,
subduing all of hate, revenge, and wrath, he received him with a
smile. Ludovico smiled also; yet there was no similarity in their
look: one was a smile of frankness, joy, and affection--the other
the veiled grimace of smothered malice. Fernando said:

"My son, you have entered lightly into a marriage as if it
were a child's game, but, where principalities and noble blood
are at stake, the loss or gain is too momentous to be trifled with.
Silence, Ludovico! Listen to me, I entreat. You have made a strange
marriage with a peasant, which, though I may acknowledge, I cannot
approve, which must be displeasing to your sovereign, and
derogatory to all who claim alliance with the house of
Mondolfo."

Cold dew stood on the forehead of Fernando as he spoke; he
paused, recovered his self-command, and continued:

"It will be difficult to reconcile these discordant
interests, and a moment of rashness might cause us to lose our
station, fortune, everything! Your interests are in my hands. I
will be careful of them. I trust, before the expiration of a very
few months, the future Princess Mondolfo will be received at the
court of Naples with due honor and respect. But you must leave it
to me. You must not move in the affair. You must promise that you
will not, until I permit, mention your marriage to any one, or
acknowledge it if you are taxed with it."

Ludovico, after a moment's hesitation, replied:

"I promise that, for the space of six months, I will not
mention my marriage to any one. I will not be guilty of falsehood,
but for that time I will not affirm it or bring it forward in any
manner so as to annoy you."

Fernando again paused; but prudence conquered, and he said no
more. He entered on other topics with his son; they supped
together, and the mind of Ludovico, now attuned to affection,
received all the marks of his father's awakening love with
gratitude and joy. His father thought that he held him in his
toils, and was ready to sweeten the bitterness of his intended
draft by previous kindness.

A week passed thus in calm. Ludovico and Viola were perfectly
happy. Ludovico only wished to withdraw his wife from obscurity
from that sensation of honest pride which makes us desire to
declare to the whole world the excellence of a beloved object.
Viola shrank from such an exhibition; she loved her humble
cottage--humble still though adorned with all that taste and love
could bestow on it. The trees bent over Its low roof and shaded its
windows, which were filled with flowering shrubs; its floor shone
with marble, and vases of antique shape and exquisite beauty stood
in the niches of the room.

Every part was consecrated by the memory of their first meeting
and their loves--the walks in snow and violets; the forest of ilex
with its underwood of myrtle and its population of fire-flies; the
birds; the wild and shy animals that sometimes came in sight, and,
seen, retreated; the changes of the seasons, of the hues of nature
influenced by them; the alterations of the sky; the walk of the
moon; and the moving of the stars--all were dear, known, and
commented on by this pair, who saw the love their own hearts felt
reflected in the whole scene around, and in their child, their
noisy but speechless companion, whose smiles won hopes, and whose
bright form seemed as if sent from Heaven to reward their constant
affection.

A week passed, and Fernando and Ludovico were riding together,
when the Prince said:

"Tomorrow, early, my son, you must go to Naples. It is time
that you should show yourself there as my heir, and the best
representative of a princely house. The sooner you do this the
quicker will arrive the period for which, no doubt, you long, when
the unknown Princess Mondolfo will be acknowledged by all. I cannot
accompany you. In fact, circumstances which you may guess make me
desire that you should appear at first without me. You will be
distinguished by your sovereign, courted by all, and you will
remember your promise as the best means of accomplishing your
object. In a very few days I will join you."

Ludovico readily assented to this arrangement, and went the same
evening to take leave of Viola. She was seated beneath the laurel
tree where first they had made their mutual vows; her child was in
her arms, gazing with wonder and laughter on the light of the
flies. Two years had passed. It was summer again, and as the beams
from their eyes met and mingled each drank in the joyous certainty
that they were still as dear to one another as when he, weeping
from intense emotion, sat under that tree. He told her of his visit
to Naples which his father had settled for him, and a cloud passed
over her countenance, but she dismissed it. She would not fear; yet
again and again a thrilling sense of coming evil made her heart
beat, and each time was resisted with greater difficulty. As night
came on, she carried the sleeping child into the cottage, and
placed him on his bed, and then walked up and down the pathway of
the forest with Ludovico until the moment of his departure should
arrive, for the heat of the weather rendered it necessary that he
should travel by night. Again the fear of danger crossed her, and
again she with a smile shook off the thought; but, when he turned
to give her his parting embrace, it returned with full force on
her. Weeping bitterly, she clung to him, and entreated him not to
go. Startled by her earnestness, he eagerly sought an explanation,
but the only explanation she could give excited a gentle smile as
he caressed and bade her to be calm; and then, pointing to the
crescent moon that gleamed through the trees and checkered the
ground with their moving shades, he told her he would be with her
ere its full, and with one more embrace left her weeping. And thus
it is a strange prophecy often creeps about, and the spirit of
Cassandra inhabits many a hapless human heart, and utters from many
lips unheeded forebodings of evils that are to be: the hearers heed
them not--the speaker hardly gives them credit--the evil comes
which, if it could have been avoided, no Cassandra could have
foretold, for if that spirit were not a sure harbinger so would it
not exist; nor would these half revealings have place if the to
come did not fulfill and make out the sketch.

Viola beheld him depart with hopeless sorrow, and then turned to
console herself beside the couch of her child. Yet, gazing on him,
her fears came thicker; and in a transport of terror she rushed
from the cottage, ran along the pathway, calling on Ludovico's
name, and sometimes listening if she might hear the tread of his
horse, and then again shrieking aloud for him to return.