moment I have had at my disposal, here I am. How does it happen that you
are called Signor Lelio hereabouts, unless you are the famous singer who
is so much talked about at Naples, and whom I have never been to see?
for I always go to sleep at the theatre, you know, and as for music, I
have never been able to understand it. So the signora never makes me go
up to her box till the end of the play."
"The signora! oh! tell me about the signora, my old comrade."
"I was talking about Signora Alezia, for Signora Bianca never goes to
the theatre now. She has taken a Piedmontese confessor, and she has been
entirely wrapped up in religion since her second marriage. Poor, dear
signora, I am afraid that this husband hardly makes up to her for the
other. Ah! Nello, Nello, why didn't you----"
"Hush, Mandola; not a word about that. There are some memories which
ought not to come to our lips any more than the dead should return to
life. Only tell me where your mistress is at this moment, and how I can
send her a letter secretly and without delay."
"Is it something of importance to you?"
"It is much more important to her."
"In that case, give it to me; I will travel by post at full speed, and
deliver it to her at Bologna, where she is now. Didn't you know it?"
"No, indeed. So much the better. You can be with her this evening, can't
you?"
"Yes, by Bacchus! Poor mistress! how surprised she will be to hear from
you! for you see, Nello, you see, Signor"----
"Call me Nello when we are alone, and Lelio before other people, until
the old Chioggia affair is forgotten altogether."
"Oh! I know. Poor Massatone! But that is beginning to die out."
"What were you saying about Signora Bianca? That is what I am anxious to
know."
"I was saying that she will turn very red and then very pale when I hand
her your letter and whisper: 'This is from Nello! The signora remembers
Nello, who used to sing so well!'--Then she will say to me in a serious
tone, for she is no longer bright and cheerful as she used to be, poor
signora: 'Very well, Mandola, go to the pantry.' And then she will call
me back and say in a sweet tone, for she is just as kind-hearted as
ever: 'Poor Mandola, you must be very tired!--Give him some of the best
wine, Salomé!'"
"Salomé!" I cried; "is she married too?"
"Oh! she'll never marry. She is just the same, no older nor younger;
never smiling, never shedding a tear, adoring the signora as always, and
forever resisting her; very fond of the signora and always scolding her;
kind-hearted at bottom, but not amiable. Has Signora Alezia recognized
you?"
"No, indeed."
"I can believe it; I had much difficulty in recognizing you myself.
People change so much! You used to be so small and so slender!"
"Oh! not too slender, if I remember aright."
"And I," continued Mandola with comical distress, "I was so active and
graceful and quick and merry! Ah! how fast one grows old!"
I began to laugh when I saw how men delude themselves concerning their
youthful graces as they advance in years. Mandola was very much the same
Lombard giant that I remembered; he still walked sideways like a vessel
beating to windward, and the constant balancing of the gondola as he
rowed at the stern had caused him to contract the habit of standing on
one leg at a time. You would have said that he was always suspicious of
the level ground and was waiting for a wave to come to change his
position. I had much difficulty in shortening our interview; he took
great delight in it, and I derived a sort of sorrowful pleasure from
hearing of that home where my heart had been thrown open to poesy, art,
love and honor. I could not restrain a secret thrill of joy, overflowing
with emotion and gratitude, when the honest Lombard told me of Bianca's
long continued melancholy after my departure, her impaired health, her
secret tears, her languor, her distaste for life. Then she had recovered
her animation. A new love had touched her heart. A very charming man, of
decidedly ill-repute, a sort of aristocratic adventurer, had sought her
hand in marriage; she had been within an ace of believing in him. Being
warned in time, she had shuddered at the dangers to which her peace of
mind and dignity were exposed by her isolation; above all she had
shuddered for her daughter, and she had fallen back upon religion.
"But her marriage to Prince Grimani?" I said inquiringly.
"Oh! that was the confessor's work."
"Well, there is such a thing as fatality, no one can escape it. Off with
you, Mandola; here is some money, and here is the letter. Don't lose an
instant, and don't return to the Grimani villa until you have spoken to
me; for I have some important suggestions to make to you."
He left me. I threw myself on my bed and was just falling asleep when I
heard the rapid footsteps of a horse in the garden upon which my window
looked. I wondered whether it was Mandola returning because he had
forgotten a part of his instructions. I overcame my fatigue and went to
the window. But, instead of Mandola, I saw a woman in a riding habit,
with her head covered with a thick black crêpe mantle which fell over
her shoulders and concealed her whole figure as well as her face. She
was riding a superb horse, steaming with sweat; and, leaping to the
ground before her groom had found time to assist her, she talked in a
very low tone to old Cattina, who had hurried to meet her, impelled by
curiosity much more than by zeal. I trembled as I thought who it might
be, who it must be; and, cursing the imprudence of such a proceeding, I
hastily dressed. When I was ready, as Cattina did not come to notify me,
I rushed out into the hall, fearing that the reckless visitor might
remain on the stoop exposed to some inquisitive eye. But I found Cattina
at the foot of the steps, returning to her work after showing the
stranger into the house.
"Where is that lady?" I inquired eagerly.
"That lady!" repeated the old woman, "what lady, my _blessed_ Signor
Lelio?"
"What trick are you trying to play on me, you old fool? Didn't I see a
lady dressed in black come in, and didn't she ask to speak to me?"
"No, as I believe in baptism, Signor Lelio. The lady asked for Signora
Checchina, and didn't mention your name. She put this half-sequin in my
hand and bade me keep her presence a secret _from the other people in
the house_. That's just what she said."
"Did you see the lady, Cattina?"
"I saw her dress and her veil, and a great lock of black hair that had
got loose and fell on a beautiful hand, and two great eyes that shone
behind the lace like two lamps behind a curtain."
"Where did you put her?"
"In Signora Checchina's small salon, while the signora is dressing to
receive her."
"Very well, Cattina; keep your mouth shut, since she bade you."
I was uncertain whether it was Alezia who had come to confide in
Checchina. If so, it was my duty to prevent her, at any price, from
remaining in that house, where every instant of her stay might
contribute to the ruin of her reputation; but if it were not she, what
right had I to go and question a person who, doubtless, had some very
serious motive for concealing her actions in this way? I had been unable
from my window to judge of the height of that veiled woman, because our
respective positions were such that I could see only the top of her
head. I had scrutinized the groom as he led the horses to a clump of
trees which his mistress pointed out to him. I had never seen his face
before; but that was no reason why he might not belong to the Grimani
establishment, for I certainly had not seen all the servants. I disliked
extremely to question him and try to bribe him. I determined to go to
Checchina; I knew what a length of time she required to make the
simplest toilet. She could not have joined her visitor as yet, and I
could reach her bedroom without passing through the small salon. I knew
the secret passage which connected Nasi's apartments with his
mistress's, the villa of Cafaggiolo being a genuine _petite maison_,
built according to the French style of the 18th century.
I found Checchina half-dressed, and making ready with queenly
indifference for this early morning audience.
"What does this mean?" she cried, as I entered by way of her alcove.
"Just a word, Checchina," I said in her ear. "Send away your maid."
"Make haste," she said when we were alone, "for there is someone waiting
for me."
"I know it, and that is what I came to speak to you about. Do you know
this woman who has requested an interview with you?"
"How do I know? She refused to tell my maid her name, and at that I sent
word to her that I was not in the habit of receiving people whom I did
not know, at seven o'clock in the morning; but she wouldn't be refused,
and she begged Teresa so earnestly--indeed it is probable that she gave
her money in order to enlist her in her interest--that the girl came and
bothered me to death, and I backed down; but not without the greatest
reluctance to get up so early, for I read of the loves of Angélique and
Médor far into the night."
"Listen, Checchina; I think that this woman is--the one you know about."
"Oh! do you think so? In that case, go and join her. I understand why
she asked for me, and why you came here by the secret passage. I will be
close-mouthed, and delighted to go to sleep again, and you will be the
happiest of men."
"No, my dear Francesca, you are mistaken. If I had arranged an
assignation under your auspices, be very sure that I would have asked
your permission. But I have not reached that stage, and my romance is
drawing to a conclusion--to the least ardent and most moral of
conclusions. But this young woman is ruined unless you come to her
assistance. Do not listen to any of the romantic projects which she has
come here to confide to you; send her away at once; make her return to
her people instantly. If by any chance she asks to speak to me in your
presence, say that I am absent and shall not return during the day."
"What, Lelio! you are no more ardent than this, and she makes a fool of
herself for you! The deuce! That is what comes of being conceited--one
always succeeds. But suppose you are mistaken, _cugino_? Suppose this
beautiful adventuress turns out to be not your Dulcinea, but one of the
poor girls with whom every country swarms, who want to go on the stage
in order to escape from cruel parents? Look you, I have an inspiration.
Let us go into the small salon together. If we push the screen before
the door as we go in, you can creep in with me, keep out of sight, and
see and hear everything. If this woman is your mistress, it is important
that you should know at once just what is in the wind; and as I should
have to repeat to you word for word what she says to me, it will be a
much shorter way for you to hear it yourself."
I hesitated, and yet I was sorely tempted to follow that bad advice.
"But suppose it is some other woman," I objected; "suppose she has some
secret to tell you?"
"Have you and I any secrets from each other?" said Checchina; "and have
you less regard for yourself than I have for you? Come, no absurd
scruples; come!"
She called Teresa, said a few words in her ear, and, when the screen was
arranged, dismissed her and led me into the salon. I had not been in
hiding two minutes before I found a break in the screen through which I
could see the mysterious lady. She had not raised her veil, but I
recognized Alezia's graceful figure and beautiful hands.
The poor child was trembling in every limb. I pitied her and blamed her;
for the apartment in which we were was not decorated in the most chaste
style, and the antique bronzes and marble statuettes which embellished
it, although selected with exquisite taste as works of art, were by no
means suited to attract the glances of an enamored girl or a modest
woman. And as I reflected that it was Alezia Aldini who had dared to
find her way into that heathen temple, I was, in spite of myself, more
hurt than grateful for her action, because I still loved her a little.
Checchina, although she had dressed hurriedly, had omitted nothing to
accomplish the object so dear to women, of dazzling persons of their own
sex by the splendor of their costume. She had thrown over her shoulders
a cashmere _robe de chambre_, at that time a very rare object; she had
surrounded her dishevelled hair with a net of gold and purple, for the
antique was fashionable then; and over her bare legs, which were as
strong and as beautifully moulded as those of a statue of Diana, she had
drawn a sort of buskin of tiger's skin, which ingeniously supplied the
place of the commonplace slipper. She had covered her fingers with
diamonds and cameos, and held her brilliant fan like a stage sceptre,
while the stranger, to keep herself in countenance, played awkwardly
with her own, which was of simple black satin. She was visibly dismayed
by Checca's beauty,--beauty of a somewhat masculine type, but
incontestable. With her Turkish gown, her Median footwear, and her Greek
head-dress, she must have resembled the wives of the old satraps who
decked themselves out with the plunder of foreign nations.
She saluted her guest with a patronizing air bordering on impertinence;
then, reclining carelessly on an ottoman, assumed the most Grecian
attitude that she could invent. All this pantomime produced its due
effect: the girl was utterly bewildered, and dared not break the
silence.
[Illustration: _ALEZIA VISITS CHECCHINA._
"_Well, signora or signorina," said Checca, slowly
unfolding her fan, "for I haven't the slightest idea
with whom I have the pleasure of speaking--I am
at your service._"]
"Well, signora or signorina," said Checca, slowly unfolding her fan,
"for I haven't the slightest idea with whom I have the pleasure of
speaking--I am at your service."
Thereupon the stranger, in a clear and somewhat metallic voice, with a
very pronounced English accent, replied thus:
"Pray pardon me, signora, for disturbing you so early in the morning,
and accept my thanks for your kindness in receiving me. My name is
_Barbara Tempest_, and I am the daughter of an English nobleman who has
been living in Florence for a short time. My parents are having me take
music lessons, and I have already acquired some talent; but I had a most
excellent teacher who has gone to Milan, and my parents want me now to
take lessons of that stupid Tosani, who will disgust me with the art
with his antiquated method and his absurd cadenzas. I have heard that
Signor Lelio--whom I heard several times at Naples--was coming to this
neighborhood, and that he had hired this house, the owner of which I
know, for the season. I have an irresistible desire to take lessons of
that famous singer, and I asked leave of my parents, who consented; but
they have spoken about it to several people, and have been told that
Signor Lelio is a man of a very proud and somewhat eccentric character,
that, in addition, he is associated with what they call _charbonnerie_,
I believe, that is to say he has taken an oath to exterminate all the
rich and all the nobles, and that he detests them all. He doesn't miss
an opportunity, so my father was told, to show his aversion to them, and
if he ever, by any chance, consents to do them a service, to sing at
their parties, or give lessons in their families, he doesn't do it until
he has made them implore him in the most humble terms. If they prove to
him, by very earnest appeals, how highly they esteem his talent and his
person, he yields and becomes amiable; but if they treat him as an
ordinary artist, he refuses sharply, and is not sparing of his mockery.
This, signora, is what my parents have heard, and it is what they fear;
for they are a little vain of their name and their social position. For
my own part, I have no prejudices, and I have such profound admiration
for talent, that there is no price that I would not pay to obtain from
Signor Lelio the favor of being his pupil.
"I have very often said to myself that if I could only have an
opportunity to speak to him, he certainly would grant my request. But
not only am I not likely to have an opportunity to meet him, but it
would not be proper for a young woman to accost a young man. I was
thinking about it this morning as I was riding. In my country, you know,
signora, young ladies go out alone, and ride out attended by their
servants. So I ride early in the morning, to avoid the heat of the day,
which seems very terrible to us northern people. As I was passing this
pretty house, I asked a servant whom it belonged to. When I learned that
it was Count Nasi's, who is a friend of my family, I asked if Signor
Lelio had arrived, knowing that the count had let it to him. 'Not yet,'
was the reply; 'but his wife came on ahead to prepare the house for him;
she is a very kind and beautiful lady.' Thereupon, signora, it came into
my head to call upon you and interest you in my desire, so that you
might give me the benefit of your powerful influence with your husband,
and induce him to grant the request of my parents when they present it.
May I ask you also, signora, to be kind enough to keep my little secret
and to ask Signor Lelio to do the same? for my family would blame me
severely for taking this step, although it is, as you see, perfectly
innocent."
She pronounced this harangue with such genuinely British volubility,
jerking out her words, cutting short the long syllables, and drawling
over the short ones, her Anglicisms were so natural and amusing, that I
no longer believed that prudish yet reckless young lady to be Alezia.
Checchina, for her part, thought of nothing but making merry over her
eccentric performance. I would gladly have retired, as I was hardly in a
mood to enjoy that amusement; but the slightest sound would have
betrayed my presence and struck terror to Miss Barbara's guileless
heart.
"Really, miss," Checchina replied, concealing a strong desire to laugh
behind a phial of essence of rose, "your request is most embarrassing,
and I don't know how to answer it. I will admit that I have not the
influence over Signor Lelio which you are pleased to attribute to me."
"Can it be that you are not his wife?" inquired the young Englishwoman
artlessly.
"Oh! miss, to think of a young lady having such ideas!" exclaimed
Checchina assuming a prudish air that sat most awkwardly upon her. "Fie,
fie! Does custom permit young ladies in England to make such
suppositions?"
Poor Barbara was altogether bewildered.
"I do not know whether my question was insulting," she rejoined in a
trembling but resolute voice; "I certainly did not so intend it. You
could not live with Signor Lelio without committing a crime unless you
were his wife. You might, perhaps, be his sister--That is all I wanted
to say, signora."
"And might I not be neither his wife, nor his sister, nor his mistress,
but be living in my own house? May I not be Countess Nasi?"
"O signora," replied Barbara ingenuously, "I know that Signor Nasi is
not married."
"He may be secretly, miss."
"It must be very recently then; for he asked for my hand not more than a
fortnight ago."
"Ah! it was you, was it, signorina?" cried Checchina with a tragic
gesture which caused her fan to fall. There was a moment's silence. Then
the young stranger, being determined to break it at any price, seemed to
make a great effort, left her chair and picked up the singer's fan. She
handed it to her with charming grace, and said in a caressing tone which
made her foreign accent even more appealing:
"You will have the kindness to mention me to your brother, will you not,
signora?"
"You mean my husband?" rejoined Checchina, accepting her fan with a
mocking air and eyeing the young Englishwoman with malevolent curiosity.
The visitor fell back in her chair as if she had received her death
blow; and Checchina, who detested society women and took a savage joy in
crushing them when she was brought into rivalry with them, added as she
surveyed herself absent-mindedly in the mirror over the ottoman:
"Look you, my dear Miss Barbara. I wish you well; for you seem to me a
charming person. But you should have told me the truth: I fear that it
is not love of art which brings you here, but a sort of a fancy for
Lelio. He has unconsciously inspired many romantic passions during his
life, and I know as many as ten boarding-school misses who are wild over
him."
"Never fear, signora," retorted the English girl, with an Italian accent
which gave me a shock, "I could never have the slightest feeling for a
married man; and when I entered this house I knew that you were Signor
Lelio's wife."
Checchina was a little disconcerted by the firm and contemptuous tone of
this retort; but, being determined to force her to the last extremity,
she soon recovered herself, and said with a studied smile, and with
redoubled impertinence:
"Dear Barbara, you set my mind at rest, and I believe that you are too
noble-minded to wish to rob me of Lelio's heart; but I cannot conceal
from you that I have one wretched failing. I am of a frantically jealous
disposition and everything arouses my suspicions. You are lovelier than
I, perhaps, and I am much afraid that it is so, judging from the pretty
foot which I see and the great eyes which I divine. You will be
indifferent to Lelio, since he belongs to me, for you are high-spirited
and generous: but Lelio may fall in love with you; you will not be the
first one who has turned his head. He is a fickle creature; his blood
kindles for every pretty woman he meets. So pray be kind enough, dear
Signora Barbara, to raise your veil, so that I may see what I have to
fear, and, to use the French phrase, whether I can safely expose Lelio
to the fire of your batteries."
The English girl made a gesture of disgust, then seemed to hesitate; and
at last, drawing herself up to her full height, she replied, beginning
to detach her veil:
"Look at me, signora, and remember my features, so that you may describe
them to Signor Lelio; and if, as he listens to your description, he
seems moved, do not by any means send him to me; for, if he should be
faithless to you, I declare that it would be a most unfortunate thing
for him, and that he would obtain nothing but contempt from me."
As she was speaking, she uncovered her face. Her back was turned toward
me, and I tried in vain to see her features in the mirror. But what need
had I of the testimony of my eyes? was not that of my ears sufficient?
She had entirely forgotten her English accent and spoke the purest
Italian in that resonant, vibrating voice which had so often moved me to
the very depths of my being.
"I beg your pardon, miss," said Checchina, in nowise discomposed, "you
are so lovely that all my fears are revived. I cannot believe that Lelio
has not seen you already, and that you and he are not acting in concert
to deceive me."
"If he asks you my name," exclaimed Alezia, violently pulling out one of
the long pins of burnished steel that held the folds of her veil in
place, "give him this from me, and tell him that my crest bears a pin
with this motto: 'For the heart in which there is no blood!'"
At that moment, unable to rest under the burden of such contempt, I
suddenly emerged from my hiding-place and rushed toward Alezia with a
self-assured air.
"No, signora," I said, "do not believe my friend Francesca's jests. This
is all a comedy which she has enjoyed playing, taking you for what you
chose to appear, and unaware of the importance of her falsehoods; it is
a comedy which I have allowed her to play thus far because I hardly
recognized you, you imitated so cleverly the accent and manners of an
Englishwoman."
Alezia seemed neither surprised nor moved by my appearance. She
maintained the calmness and dignity in which women of rank surpass all
other women when they are in the right. One who had seen her impassive
features, lighted up little by little by a charming smile of irony,
might well have believed that her heart had never known passion, and was
incapable of knowing it.