"That is God's doing, not man's," replied the earl; "and man cannot undo it. This should be some comfort, for he deals better for us than we could deal for ourselves; but think of what I have said, and let me know the expense of a new boat, this night at the village there. Can you tell who was the other unfortunate man who has been drowned?"
"His name I don't know," answered the boatman; "but when I wanted to keep him out of the boat, which was too heavy laden as it was, he whispered that he was a messenger of the holy office, and told me to refuse him a passage at my peril. He brought a curse into our boat, I trow, or we should not have had such a storm; but there is no use of my sitting here and watching the water. Two horses and two men have gone down beside the boat, and no one will ever rise again till the last trumpet calls them out of the grave. I may as well go with you to the village as sit here watching the water that rolls over them all;" and getting up, he followed the rest of the party with his hands behind his back, in dull and silent grief.
CHAPTER VIII.
Do you know well, dear reader, any of those large villages which are scattered over what may be called the Mantuan plain? They deserve not, indeed, the name of towns, though they often approach them in size. I mean such places as San Felice, Gonzaga, Bozzolo, Sanguinetto, and others of that class, which now present a number of small scattered stone houses, with gardens generally around them, and a road running through the midst; and here and there a much larger house falling rapidly to decay, with no windows to keep out the storm or the tempest, and very often the roof completely off, while the tall square tower, which is certain to be found stuck somewhere about the building, rises one, if not two stories above the rest. The church is generally placed upon any little rising ground, sometimes at one extreme of the village, sometimes in the middle, with the priest's cottage close by; but in any of these at the present day, you might as well look for an inn as for the shop of a diamond merchant, unless you chose to call by that name the little hovel, surrounded by a garden, where, on festival days, the peasantry go to drink their glass of Rosolio and water, wine, lemonade, or, since the Austrians have bestrid the land, vermouth.
In the days I speak of, however, when journeys were almost always performed on horseback, and cross-roads shared more liberally with highways in the patronage of travellers, those larger houses which I have mentioned were all inhabited by wealthy contadini, who often combined with their ordinary occupation of farmers the more lucrative calling of inn-keeping. The large farms which they held furnished abundance of provisions for any accidental guests, and the upper parts of the house, though scantily decorated, were kept ready for the reception of travellers, in case the blessing of heaven, the plague in a neighbouring town, or the bad reputation of the high road, brought the wayfarers to villages in preference to cities. Very different, indeed, were the customs and habits of such inns at that time, from those which have prevailed within the last century, or, perhaps, even more; for though not more than two hundred and fifty years have passed, yet from the end of the sixteenth to the beginning of the seventeenth century, were times of great change in the habits and manners of all the nations of Europe; and at the small village inn in Italy, instead of seeing waiters, tapsters, or drawers, or even barmaids and chambermaids, all running eagerly to receive the unexpected guest, the landlord would rise up from under his fig tree or his olive, with a courteous salutation, and his sons and daughters would be called upon to attend his guests.
Such was the reception of the Earl of Gowrie and his companions, at the little inn in the village which I have described upon the banks of the Po. One of the first houses they met with was a large building, such as I have described, with its tall square tower of five stories at one corner, the whole situated at the distance of a hundred yards from the road, with a farm-yard in front. On the left of that farm-yard was a vineyard, rich with grapes; and from a pole leaning over the wall, hung suspended a garland, as indication sufficient that hospitable entertainment was to be found within. The host himself was seated under a tree in the vineyard, pigliar la fresca, as he called it himself; but no sooner did he see the party enter the court-yard, than up he started, notwithstanding his age and his fat, both of which were considerable, and hurrying forward to do the honours to his guests, called loudly for Bianca and Maria, and Pietronillo, to assist in making the visitors comfortable. The whole house was bustle and confusion in a moment; and although it could not afford accommodation to all, yet the Earl of Gowrie and his own immediate companions found every thing they could desire. Austin Jute was immediately sent back to bring his fellow-servants, who were coming down the river with the horses; and the boatmen were lodged in the neighbouring houses, to fill the pitying ears of the villagers with moving tales of disasters undergone.
Such details were not wanting to excite the interest, and in some degree the wonder of the host, his daughters, and his son. There was something in the air, the countenance, and even in the dress of the gentlemen who made the house their temporary residence, which seemed to show that they were foreigners; yet two of them spoke the language with the most perfect purity even of accent, and not the slightest tone of their fair companion indicated that she was not a native of the country. But then, in her case, her dress was that of a mere Paduan peasant on a gala day, while her language, her manners, and her whole appearance, denoted a much higher station, and from time to time she spoke to her companions in another tongue, without the slightest appearance of difficulty or hesitation. The pretty country girl, too, who aided her to change her wet garments for others which she kindly and willingly supplied, brought down the report that every part of her dress but the mere gown and bodice, were of the very finest materials, and that she had taken from her bosom a trinket shaped like a heart, surrounded with what seemed to her, jewels of inestimable value.
The rooms which were assigned to the travellers were somewhat difficult to allot, for each, as was and is still very common in Italian houses, opened into the other; and the young earl had determined that thenceforth Julia should be guarded by himself. When he pointed out, therefore, as they passed through them, the end chamber of the whole suite as that which was best suited to her, and took possession of the next for himself, good Mr. Rhind's severe notions seemed a little shocked, and though he did not venture to make any observation, he looked exceedingly grave.
Lord Gowrie took no notice, though he did not fail to remark the change of expression, for from the few private words which had passed between himself and Julia, he felt that the time had come when it would be necessary very speedily to give whatever explanation he thought needful. It could not, indeed, be afforded at the moment, but a few minutes after, stopping one of the daughters of the host, he said, "Stay a moment, Bianchina. The signora may be alarmed at sleeping in a strange house alone. You must kindly take the other bed in her chamber."
"With much pleasure, sir," replied the girl, and tripped away. This being arranged to the satisfaction of Lord Gowrie, and even to that of Mr. Rhind, there remained another feat to be accomplished, which was, to obtain a quiet unwatched private conversation with Julia, in which he might learn all that had befallen her. The few words which she had spoken on the bank of the river had given him a general knowledge of the greater misfortunes which had happened, but to a heart that loved as his did, the smallest particular, the most minute detail was interesting. He longed to hear her tell all, to comfort her for all, and his imagination, which was quick and eager, painted all that she had endured--the sorrow, the terror, the agitation. He grieved bitterly that he had not been present to protect and to console her at the time when such evils had over-shadowed and such difficulties obstructed her path of life, and he thirsted to pour the balm of sympathy and affection into the gentle heart so bruised.