Authors: Mary Shelley
When they arrived at Florence, they were welcomed with kindness
by the chiefs of the Bianchi of that city. Charles of Valois had
just sent ambassadors to the government, to offer his mediation in
composing their differences; and on that very day the party of
Ghibelines who composed the council assembled to deliberate on this
insidious proposition. It may be easily supposed therefore, that,
entirely taken up with their own affairs, they could not bestow the
attention they would otherwise have done on the Lucchese exiles. On
the following day Ruggieri left Florence.
The exiles proceeded to Ancona. This was the native town of the
Lady Dianora; and they were received with hospitality by her
relations. But it was a heavy change for Ruggieri, to pass from the
active life of the chief of a party, to the unmarked situation of
an individual, who had no interest in the government under which he
lived, and who had exchanged the distinctions of rank and wealth
for that barren respect which an unblamed old age might claim.
Ruggieri had been a man of undaunted courage; and this virtue,
being no longer called into action, assumed the appearance of
patience and fortitude. His dearest pleasure was the unceasing
attention he paid to the education of his son. Castruccio was an
apt and sprightly boy, bold in action, careless of consequences,
and governed only by his affection for his parents. Ruggieri
encouraged his adventurous disposition; and although he often
sympathized in the fears of his anxious wife, when Castruccio would
venture out to sea on a windy day in a little fair-weather skiff,
or when he saw him, without bridle or saddle, mount a horse, and,
heading a band of his companions, ride off to the woods, yet he
never permitted himself to express these fears, or check the daring
of his son.
So Castruccio grew up active; light and graceful of limb,
trusting that by his own powers he should always escape. Yet the
boy was not without prudence; he seemed to perceive instinctively
the limits of possibility, and would often repress the
fool-hardiness of his companions, and shew his superior judgement
and patience in surmounting the same difficulties by slower and
safer means. Ruggieri disciplined him betimes in all the duties of
a knight and a soldier; he wielded a lance adapted to his size,
shot with bow and arrows, and the necessary studies to which he
applied, became, on account of their active nature, the source of
inexhaustible amusement to him. Accompanied by a troop of lads,
they would feign some court surrounded by an old wall, or some
ruined tower, to be Troy Town, or any other famous city of ancient
days, and then with mimic balestri, and slings and arrows, and
lances, they attacked, and defended, and practised those lessons in
tactics which their preceptors inculcated at an early age.
During the first year of their banishment his mother died; her
weak frame was destroyed by hardship and disappointment. She
recommended her son to his father in terms of tender love; and then
closed her eyes in peace. This circumstance for a considerable time
unhinged the young mind of Castruccio, and interrupted his studies.
His father, who loved her tenderly, and who had found in her a
friend to whom he could confide those regrets which pride forbade
him to impart to any other hearer, now lamented her with excessive
grief.
He did not dare check the silent tear that started into the eye
of Castruccio, when, returning from his exercises with his
companions, he was no longer embraced by his mother; he felt that
his own sentiments would refute the lesson he wished to
impress.
Ruggieri was consoled for all his past misfortunes by the
promising talents and disposition of his son, and parental
tenderness, the strongest of all passions, but often the most
unfortunate, was to him the sunbeam, solitary, but bright, which
enlightened his years of exile and infirmity.
Yet at the moment that he most enjoyed this blessing, his
security was suddenly disturbed. One morning Castruccio
disappeared; and the following perplexing note addressed to his
father, was the only trace that he left of his intentions:--
"Pardon me, dearest father; I will return in a very few
days; I am quite safe, therefore do not disquiet yourself on my
account. Do not be very angry with me; for, although I am indignant
at my own weakness, I cannot resist! Be well assured that in less
than a fortnight your unworthy son will be at your feet.
"Castruccio."
This was the year 1304, when Castruccio was fourteen years of
age. Ruggieri hoped and trusted that he was safe, and that he would
fulfil his promise and soon return; but he waited with
inexpressible anxiety. The cause of Castruccio's flight was
curious, shewing at once the manners of the age and country in
which they lived, and the imagination and disposition of the boy.
A TRAVELLER had arrived at Ancona from Florence, and had
diffused the intelligence that a strange and tremendous spectacle
would be exhibited there on the first of May of that year. It had
been proclaimed in the streets of the city, by a herald sent by the
inhabitants of the quarter of San Frediano, that all who wished to
have news from the other world, should repair on the first of May
to the bridge of Carraia or to the quay of the Arno. And he added,
that he believed that preparations were made to exhibit Hell, such
as it had been described in a poem now writing by Dante Alighieri,
a part of which had been read, and had given rise to the
undertaking.
This account raised the curiosity, and fired the imagination of
Castruccio. The idea darted into his head that he would see this
wonderful exhibition; and no sooner had he conceived the
possibility of doing so, than his determination was fixed. He dared
not ask his father's permission, for he knew that he should be
refused; and, like many others, he imagined that it was better to
go, not having mentioned his design, than to break a positive
command. He felt remorse at leaving his father; but curiosity was
the stronger passion, and he was overcome: he left a billet for
Ruggieri; and, during the silence of a moonlight night, he mounted
his steed, and left Ancona. While proceeding through the streets of
the town, he several times repented, and thought that he would
return; but no sooner had he passed the walls, than he seemed to
feel the joy of liberty descending on him; and he rode on with wild
delight, while the mountains and their forests slept under the
yellow moon, and the murmur of the placid ocean was the only sound
that he heard, except the trampling of his own horse's
hoofs.
Riding hard, and changing his horse on the road, he arrived in
five days at Florence. He experienced a peculiar sensation of
pleasure, as he descended from the mountains into Tuscany. Alone on
the bare Apennines, over which the fierce wind swept, he felt free;
there was no one near him to control his motions, to order him to
stay or go; but his own will guided his progress, swift or slow, as
the various thoughts that arose in his mind impelled him. He felt
as if the air that quickly glided over him, was a part of his own
nature, and bore his soul along with it; impulses of affection
mingled with these inexplicable sensations; his thoughts wandered
to his native town; he suffered his imagination to dwell upon the
period when he might be recalled from exile, and to luxuriate in
dreams of power and distinction.
At length he arrived at the fair city of Florence. It was the
first of May, and he hastened from his inn to the scene of action.
As he approached, he observed the streets almost blocked up by the
multitudes that poured to the same spot; and, not being acquainted
with the town, he found that he had better follow the multitude,
than seek a way of his own. Driven along by the crowd, he at length
came in sight of the Arno. It was covered by boats, on which
scaffoldings were erected, hung with black cloth, whose accumulated
drapery lent life to the flames, which the glare of day would
otherwise have eclipsed. In the midst of these flames moved legions
of ghastly and distorted shapes, some with horns of fire, and
hoofs, and horrible wings; others the naked representatives of the
souls in torment; mimic shrieks burst on the air, screams and
demoniac laughter. The infernal drama was acted to the life; and
the terrible effect of such a scene was enhanced, by the
circumstance of its being no more than an actual representation of
what then existed in the imagination of the spectators, endued with
the vivid colours of a faith inconceivable in these lethargic
days.
Castruccio felt a chill of horror run through his frame; the
scene before him appeared for a moment as a reality, rather than a
representation; the Arno seemed a yawning gulf, where the earth had
opened to display the mysteries of the infernal world; when
suddenly a tremendous crash stamped with tenfold horror the
terrific mockery. The bridge of Carraia, on which a countless
multitude stood, one above the other, looking on the river, fell.
Castruccio saw its props loosening, and the curved arch shake, and
with a sudden shriek he stretched out his arms, as if he could save
those who stood on it. It fell in with a report that was
reverberated from the houses that lined the Arno; and even, to the
hills which close the valley, it rebellowed along the sky,
accompanied by fearful screams, and voices that called on the names
of those whom they were never more to behold. The confusion was
beyond description terrible; some flying, others pressing towards
the banks of the river to help the sufferers; all, as himself,
seized with a superstitious dread, which rebuked them for having
mimicked the dreadful mysteries of their religion, and which burst
forth in clamorous exclamations and wild horror. The heroism of
Castruccio failed; he seized with eagerness the opportunity of an
opening in the crowd; and, getting into a by street, ran with what
speed he could, while his knees still shook beneath him, from the
spot he in the morning as eagerly sought. The sound of the shrieks
began to die away on his ear before he slackened his speed.
The first idea that struck him, as he recovered his breath,
was--"I am escaped from Hell!"--And seeing a church open,
he with an instinctive impulse entered its doors. He felt as if he
fled from the powers of evil; and, if he needed protection, where
should he seek it with more confidence, than in the temple where
the good God of the universe was worshipped? It was indeed as a
change from Hell to Heaven, to have escaped from the jostling of
the crowd, the dreadful spectacle of mimicked torments, the
unearthly crash that bellowed like thunder along the sky, and the
shrieks of the dying--to the silence of the empty church, the faint
smell of incense, and the few quiet lights that burned on the high
altar. Castruccio was seized with a feeling of awe as he walked up
the aisle; and conscience, alive at that moment, reproached him
bitterly for having quitted his father. When the idea struck
him--"If I had been on that bridge,"--he could no longer
resist his emotions; tears ran fast down his cheeks, and he sobbed
aloud.
A man, whom he had not perceived before kneeling in a niche
beside the altar, arose on hearing the voice of grief, and drew
near the boy. "Why do you weep?"--he said. Castruccio,
who had not heard his approach, looked up with surprise; for it was
the voice of Marco, the servant of his father's friend, Messer
Antonio dei Adimari. Marco instantly recognised him; for who that
had once seen, could ever forget his dark eyes, shaded by long,
pointed lashes, his sun-bright hair, and his countenance that
beamed with sweet frankness and persuasion? The boy threw himself
into the arms of his humble, but affectionate friend, and wept
there for some time. When he had become more calm, his story was
told in a few words. Marco was not inclined to find fault with an
adventurous spirit, and soon consoled him.-- "You are
safe,"--he said; "so there is no harm done. Come, this is
rather a fortunate event than otherwise; my lord and lady are in
Florence; you shall stay a night with them; and to--morrow morning
we will send you home to your anxious father."
The eyes of Castruccio sparkled with hope.--"Euthanasia is
here?"
"She is."
"Quick then, dear Marco, let us go.--How fortunate it was
that I came to Florence!"
The life of Messer Antonio dei Adimari had been spent in the
military and civil service of his country; he had often been
Priore; and now, that age and blindness had caused him to withdraw
from the offices of the state, his counsels were sought and acted
upon by his successors. He had married the only daughter of the
Count of Valperga, a feudal chief who possessed large estates in
the territory of Lucca. His castle was situated among the Apennines
north of Lucca, and his estates consisted of a few scattered
villages, raised on the peaks of mountains, and rendered almost
inaccessible by nature as well as art.
By the death of her father the wife of Adimari became Countess
and Castellana of the district; and the duties which this
government imposed upon her, often caused the removal of her whole
family from Florence to the castle of Valperga. It was during these
visits that Adimari renewed a friendship that had before subsisted
between him and Ruggieri dei Antelminelli. Messer Antonio was a
Guelph, and had fought against Manfred under the banners of the
Pope: it happened during one campaign that Ruggieri fell wounded
and a prisoner into his hands; he attended him with humanity; and,
when he perceived that no care could restore him if separated from
his prince, and that he languished to attend at the side of
Manfred, he set him free; and this was the commencement of a
friendship, which improved by mutual good offices, and more than
all by the esteem that they bore one to the other, had long allied
the two houses, though of different parties, in the strictest
amity.