The Viper of Milan: A Romance of Lombardy

year 1360, when cities were beautiful and nature all-pervading. Here is Lombardy, spread like a garden in the hollow of the hills, ringed about with the purple Apennines, covered with flowe

ate blooms spring the slender stems of poplar-trees; these are red-gold, bursti

t and glorious with budding trees. And cold and magnificent the great city itself, with its huge walls and gates, crowned and emphasized the landscape's beauty. The lines of hundreds of turrets and spires, bold and delicate, leaped up against the sky. And paramount, catching the

he road toward Milan, men, women, and children, leading a few rough-haired mules, laden with scanty country produce. It was poor stuff, and a poor living they made at it. The wealthy grew their own fruit and vegetables, the poorer could not afford to buy. Crushed by hopeless oppression into a perpetual dull acceptance, the crowd trudged along, with shuffling feet and bent heads, unheeding the beauty and the sunshine, unnoticing the glory of the spring, with dull faces from which all

e in which they held their whispering excited conversation. The elder, whom his companion called Tomaso, was a fair-haired youth of about nineteen; the other, like enough to be a relative, a mere child of ten or twelve. The s

, the group of wretched figures was roused from its shuffling apathy

uttered from the canopy of a splendid coach, magnificent in gold and scarlet, issuing from the sombre shadow into the sunshine of the road; and as it drew nearer, he looked with pleasure not unmixed with wonder at the rich gildings, fine silk, the beauty of the four black horses, the size and magnificent liveries of the huge Negroes who walked at their heads. To him it was an interesting s

roadside, forcing the children back into the hedges; leaving clear the way. Cowering and awestruck, i

ls, and open under an embroidered canopy of scarlet silk. At the head of each black horse walked a Negro, r

not that which made them crouch as if they would ask the earth to hide them,

, and, loaded with rings, thin yellow hands, the fingers of which were clutching nervously at his heavy silken robe. The woman, painted and bedizened under a large red wig, weighed down by a gown of cloth of gold, and pearls around her neck, wrung her hands together, and whis

looking, but resplendent in a jewelled dress. The rider himself, slight and handsome, about thirty, plainly attired in green, gave, at a first glance, small token of the spell he exercised. He

litary rider, and the red-haired ma

ing, no one moved, though the wretched couple looked around keenly and eagerly, with the helpless misery of those who have fallen below everything save fear, and will stoop t

s lips, and a cut from the whip sent him back to his seat with a snarl of impotent fury. The woman sobbed aloud, but sat still, for the

an flowers grew Aro

d looked straight at the old man, who, at the words, had turned in

d, faltered, and dropped his eyes from that charmed and steady ga

the poplars grew The

misery. Hopeless indeed. Not a finger was raised, not a wor

e veil, from off that face, Fearing what secrets tho

and the faint hope that had leaped to life within the wretch

ands. The elder sprang to his feet and stepped forward impulsively. At sight of him in the roadway the horseman drew rein, and the terror-stricken crowd watched breathless, while the youth advanced boldly

n, as if noticing them for the first time, the horseman sent his glance on the c

rocession started again, winding thro

moaning in the road not a man, scarce a child among them, stirred from h

mid a babble of blame and fear. Vittore, rising from his stric

red at last to the woma

m the scattered vegetables

at thou knowest

said the lad quickly,

art not on thy wa

Milan. Three days ago we missed them, and thought to find th

anion and could scarce

peasant, turning sharply

again to his kne

he is done to death, I fear me - and I were trav

is hands. 'Oh, help me, s

arcely be called that was so inert and full of apa

know thou art from Florence, for thy mate here to have had such

ho alone of the cities of Italy had preserved her liber

s last year my father was slain in the wars with Venice, since then I have

red; he was half-dazed wi

'We have food and a little money

rostrate cousin an

with pity: the old peasa

self, 'as step into the path of the -' he stopped abruptly and cast uneasy glances

i! Aye! Gian Galeazzo

new terror. 'The Duke of Milan! He who latel

wer, for the peasant was of Milan. But the boy did not not

the carriage?

ity. Used to scenes of horror as they were, the cavalcade that had just passed th

child up from the ground and straine

child, it was his father and

arm. 'Marked you how she

utbreak, but looked down

near seventy - old for such an end. However, hush thee, woma

aid one, "tis a Viscont

, driving, and urging their beasts along. He dragge

go on; I dare not stay alone

e whipped to death for harbouring you; and Verona is in t

oy distractedly. The old man drew himself up in h

his wife is a prisoner, yonder in Milan, in the Visconti's hands.

thou to do with such as he?' and the old man, whose better intell

here shall I go? What shall I do?' But the peasant folk were not

'As for thy companion, it is his own mad doing. He is dead, and we ma

to his entreaties, and the thr

may return, then anyone found tending one of his victims will be in sorry

awful name. Gian Galeazzo Maria Visconti knew fea

. Tomaso lay in a deep swoon, for the blow had driven him back upon a stone. Terribly wounded about the face, Tomaso added to his young cousin's distress by his ghastly appearan

erona had fallen into the Visconti's hands; interchange of traffic was for th

and unresponsive. His consciousness had returned, but he was delirious with fever. As the day wore on, new and sickening terror seized on Vittore. The Visconti would return to Milan! Hiding his face in his hands, he sobbed aloud. Since the bright dawn of the morning, what a change in p

even turn in his saddle. A few peasants slowly came back from Milan, seeking their huts around the neighbouring villas. But they were as deaf to his cries as before; he could come with them if he liked; but the other - he was dead and killed by the Visconti; let him lie there. And now Vittore was in despair; the sun was beginning to drop behind the trees, the deli