LEONARDO GILARDONI’S STORY.
Had the earth yawned suddenly open at his feet, Paul Desfrayne could
not have expressed more utter amazement than was depicted in his face
and in his entire attitude on hearing the declaration made by Leonardo
Gilardoni. He stared as if confounded.
“Your wife!” he repeated, at length.
“Certainly. My wife,” answered the valet.
“Then--then----Great heavens, your _wife_! But it is impossible.”
“Why should it be impossible?” almost angrily demanded the Italian. “Do
you mean it is impossible that the famous star of the lyrical stage
should be the wife of a poor, penniless fellow like myself? It must
seem strange--I don’t deny it. But in her early days she was one of
the poorest and most obscure of peasant girls, and thought Leonardo
Gilardoni, with his little piece of land, and the savings bequeathed by
his father, quite a catch. No thought of English milords and Russian
princes then.”
Captain Desfrayne took a hasty turn or two, then again faced his
servant.
“You amaze me,” he said. “Then how did it happen, since you loved her,
as you say, that you came to be separated from her, and how has it come
about that you appear to be utter strangers, you two? How is it that
she contemplates--if report speak true--marriage with a Russian prince,
if she is already married, the wife of Leonardo Gilardoni?”
But as he spoke, Paul Desfrayne was thinking, with a half-dazed brain,
that if Lucia Guiscardini should prove to be the wife of this Italian
servant, her marriage with himself must have been perfectly illegal.
If she were the wife of another, why, he must be free. But it could not
be. He had yet to hear some explanation which would inevitably shut out
from view the bright vision of happy freedom conjured up for a moment
by the wild words of Gilardoni.
No; it was beyond hope that this poisonous sting could ever be taken
from out his blighted life.
The lovely, pure face of Lois Turquand, as he had seen it on the
terrace in the dim, dreamy light, rose before him, as if to reproach
him for a wrong unconsciously wrought against her by his fatal marriage.
It was evident Gilardoni knew nothing whatever of _la_ Lucia’s marriage
with Paul Desfrayne.
The Italian was watching his master’s countenance as if anxious to
discover the current of his thoughts. There was a momentary pause. Then
Gilardoni said, less excitedly:
“Why does she think of bettering her condition by a splendid marriage
with a great noble when she is the wife of a poor serving-man like
myself? Simply because she has destroyed the evidence of her unlucky
first marriage.”
In spite of his better sense, a sharp spasm of disappointment seized
the heart of Paul Desfrayne. He was, perhaps, worse placed than before.
Until now, he had given Lucia Guiscardini credit for being what
she really represented herself to be, and had imagined that balked
ambition rather than absolute wickedness had led to her vile deception
and iniquitous treachery toward himself. She had seemed a wild,
undisciplined creature, ignorant of the world and its ways, cold and
reserved except on a few occasions when she had permitted him to snatch
feverish kisses from her lips, and press her in his arms. But now, if
Gilardoni’s accusations were true, she was a crafty, evil, unscrupulous
woman, who had crushed an innocent man with the hope to step up into
wealth and power.
She was the wife of this servant, yet at any moment, did she so will,
she could claim to stand by the side of Captain Paul Desfrayne, whose
legal wife she was, until proof of a prior marriage could be obtained.
Wife of Paul Desfrayne, so proud of his untarnished family name and
descent, so adoringly fond of his mother, whose besetting sin was
family pride and love of the world’s homage.
“Destroyed the evidence of her first marriage!” Paul Desfrayne slowly
repeated. “I cannot understand you.”
“Sir, I will tell you the pitiful history. ’Tis not very long. As
children, Lucia and I were playmates. She was an imperious, overbearing
tyrant; but her beauty, her wiles, her artless ways, as they appeared
to be, gained for her complete dominion over my every thought and
action. I was some six or seven years her senior, and useful to
her--her slave, her jackall.
“She was an orphan, and lived with an old woman, some distant kind of
relation. I lost my parents when about eighteen or so, and was left my
own master. When Lucia was some ten or eleven years old, I resolved
that she, and none other, should be my wife at some future day. I told
her so many, many times, and she generally agreed, laughingly. When she
was sixteen, I found that I passionately loved her. Our future marriage
had been a kind of jest until then; but at last I discovered--or
fancied such to be the case--I took it into my head that I must obtain
her love, and make her my wife, or else my heart must break.
“I can scarcely conceive the wild state of my feelings _now_ when I
look back. I made a serious declaration of my love the day I gave
her this cross; I urged her to give me her promise, telling her how
madly I adored her, how rich I hoped to be some day by working hard,
and getting and saving money. She knew exactly how much I was worth.
She knew she would have her own way in everything--she knew how every
thought in my brain, every pulsation of my heart, was given to her.
“I was the best-circumstanced of those she had to choose from, and I
think--I believe--some beam of liking for me flickered in her cold
breast; but I don’t know. She decided to give me her promise.”
“Which she ratified?” said Paul Desfrayne, as Gilardoni paused.
“Yes. We were married within a few weeks at the nearest chapel. Some
time before our marriage, Lucia’s brother who had been brought up in
France by his mother’s uncle, and reared as a priest, had come to take
charge of our spiritual affairs. We were married by him. I believed
there had never been a happier man than myself when I led the cruel,
treacherous girl away from the little altar.”
“Go on, I beg of you.”
“For some months all went well. Lucia commanded, and I obeyed. There
was but one will in the house--hers; nothing clashed with it, and so
nothing clouded our happiness. She was very well satisfied; she had
fine clothes, a pretty house, an adoring husband, and triumphed when
she knew she was envied by some of her girl friends. Then, one day, a
famous singer came along. He was staying in the village--it was his
native place, and he roamed about all day. One morning, he was walking
near our cottage: he heard Lucia singing in the little rose-garden. I
was away at a neighboring town. He spoke to her--inflamed her ambition
by telling her she had a fortune in her throat. She did not tell him
she was married, or let him see the ring on her finger, and he told her
she might marry an emperor some day if she pleased.”
“Did she run away with him?” asked Captain Desfrayne.
“She told him she would give him an answer in a week, after she had
consulted with her friends, for he asked if she would go to Florence
with him. When I returned, she was like one crazy, her eyes all
a-glitter with joy and astonished delight. I instantly told her I
would never hear of her becoming a singer, and going on the stage. She
tried coaxing, storming, threatening, entreaties, crying, sullenness,
all to no purpose. I was inflexible. During the whole of the week the
same scenes occurred every day, from morning until night--nay, for
the twenty-four hours. The eve of the day when the signor was to come
for his answer found her as resolute as at first to follow the course
pointed out to her by his selfish hand--found me as doggedly determined
to keep her from destroying her own peace and mine.”
“You did not think you were flinging away a fortune?” said Paul
Desfrayne.
“All I thought of was that they asked me to scatter my happiness to the
winds,” replied Gilardoni. “What did we want with fortune when we had
enough for our needs? The signor came. He must have learned that this
young girl was married, but he made no sign. She was on the watch for
him, and ran to meet him before he reached the door.”
“Why did you not hinder them from speaking?”
“Pooh! Unless I could have locked her up in a cell, it would have been
utterly impossible to prevent her from communicating with him. She did
not call me, but let him depart. Then she came in and told me that he
had renewed his golden promises, that she had informed him her friends
objected to her becoming a stage singer, but that she hoped to gain
consent, and had requested him to return in three or four days. He was
resolved not to lose sight of her, and waited patiently. She tried
again to shake my determination, but in vain.
“I then thought of applying to her brother, the priest, for help in
combatting her fatal desires and intentions, but he had consented to
go to America as a missionary, and was at that time away making some
final arrangements--partly settling who should succeed him in his
humble cure. In a fortnight more he was to begin his journey. Lucia
nearly drove me frantic; but a day or two before that fixed for the
final decision, she suddenly became strangely calm and quiet, with the
horrible tranquillity of a wild beast which crouches to take its spring
upon a victim.”
All these explanations were necessary to render poor Gilardoni’s story
intelligible; but the suspense until he should arrive at the conclusive
point in his recital was almost sickening to his hearer, for whom the
facts possessed an absorbing interest, undreamed of by the narrator.
Captain Desfrayne did not utter a word when Gilardoni paused for a
moment.
“Lucia had made up her mind,” the valet continued, “to close with the
alluring offers of the stranger. How do you think she contrived to get
rid of the impediments caused by my stern obstinacy, as she considered
the opposition I raised?”
“How can I tell?”
“She made one or two faint efforts to move me that last day; then she
drugged some wine I was to drink in the evening. Having secured a fair
start, she went off with the crabbed old man who had thus torn her from
the home she had made so happy for a few short months.”
“Did she leave any clue to the place she was bound for?”
“None. A few lines scrawled on a bit of torn paper told me why she had
gone, and with whom. I found this paper the next morning when I roused
myself from my deathlike sleep. The drug left me weak in body and mind;
some days elapsed before I could gain sufficient strength to form any
plan. Then I made some careful inquiries, for I wished to avoid being
talked about and laughed at by the scandal-loving old women of the
village. I found that there was a probability of finding my wife and
her new music-master at Turin.”
Paul Desfrayne shuddered. The name of these beautiful Italian cities
always brought back feelings of pain and bitterness to his memory.
“I traveled day and night,” Gilardoni went on. “Such little property as
I had I sold, realizing a moderate sum of money, for I needed resources
in my pursuit, and knew that the pretty, happy nest could never be
the same to me again. My information, gleaned grain by grain, proved
correct. She was at Turin. Step by step, slowly, laboriously, with the
patience of an Indian, I tracked her out.
“My ardent love was then undergoing a change, and I felt deep anger
against her for her utter indifference to me, for her rank defiance
of my wishes, of my lawful authority. I discovered her living in an
obscure suburb with an old attendant. Every stratagem I used to obtain
an interview with her failed. I tried to bribe the old servant, or
duenna, or governess, and she first flung my money contemptuously in my
face, and then banged the gates. I wrote, but could not tell whether my
letters reached the cruel hands of my treacherous wife.
“I watched the doors of her house, but in vain, for I afterward found
that she rarely quitted the house, and then by a small gate at the end
of the large garden, which led into a sheltered lane little frequented.
Her singing-master entered by this gate, and as I was ignorant that
there was any way of obtaining admittance except by the iron gates in
the front of the house, I was baffled in my object of waylaying and
questioning him. By dint of inquiring ceaselessly, I found out where he
lived, and one day I went to his house, and confronted him.”
“And the result?”
“I demanded of him my wife--he laughed at me and my reproaches,
entreaties, and threats. At last he menaced me--said that if I again
annoyed him he would hand me over to the authorities as a dangerous
lunatic. He professed to know nothing of the person I asked for. In
spite of my fury, I had the sense to think that perhaps my wife had
given him a name other than her own or mine. I endeavored to reasonably
explain the circumstances of her flight. He sneered at me for an idiot,
or an impostor, and coolly showed me the door. I thank Heaven I did not
slay him in my frenzy and despair.”
“Then did you ever see the woman--your wife--again?”
“By accident, I discovered the existence of the little gate at the back
of the house. I was passing down the shaded lane, and noticed the gate
open. The idea of its belonging to the house where my wife was staying
did not occur to me at the moment. I happened to glance through, and
the wild beauty and luxuriance of the large garden attracted my eyes. I
stood for some minutes inhaling the delicious odor of the flowers, when
I heard a step, and the rustle of feminine garments.
“An instant more, and I saw--I saw my wife, Lucia, pacing slowly along
the path, her skirts trailing over the mingled flowers and weeds of
the flower-borders, her eyes cast down, her arms hanging by her side,
looking weary, and, I fancied, sad. I stood still, spellbound, as if
unable to move a step. For a second my heart melted; the mad love
I cherished rose in all its old intensity. I flattered myself that
perhaps she regretted her precipitation--I induced myself to imagine
that she was to a great extent influenced by the mercenary old dog
who had lured her away. The idea that she might welcome me with a cry
of gladness, and throw herself into my arms with tears of penitence,
unnerved me.”
“Well?”
“She drew nearer and nearer, unconscious of my presence, the shrubs
that grew about the door, or gate, serving to conceal me. As she came
close, when I could almost have touched her, she happened to raise her
eyes. She uttered one cry--a cry of fear, or surprise, or both, and
then stood perfectly still, as if turned to stone. I sprang toward her
with one long stride, and caught her by the arm, afraid that even now
she might elude me.
“I do not remember what either said--it was a repetition of what had
passed before. But I do remember that when I said I would compel her
to obey me, as my wife, and told her she could enter into no contract
without my consent, she stared at me, and broke into contemptuous
laughter--laughter of defiance. She answered that she was no wife
of mine, and acknowledged the authority of no one save her nearest
relative, her brother, the priest.
“For a moment I really thought her brain was turned. I asked her if she
could deny that her brother had joined our hands in the little chapel
of our native village. She declared I was uttering rank falsehood, or
impertinent folly. I swore I would soon prove our marriage, and bring
witnesses by the dozen. She laughed again, and said I was welcome to
indulge in my own fancies, unless they annoyed her.”
“You said she had destroyed the evidence of the marriage,” said Captain
Desfrayne, fixing his eyes on Gilardoni, as if to read his very soul.
“Thunderstruck, confounded, I knew not what to say. I thought it was
a ruse to get me to leave the garden, for perhaps she feared I might
enter the house, and then be difficult to dislodge. So I no longer
thought she had lost her senses, but that she was trying to do by
cunning what she could not hope to effect by force or persuasion. But
in the end she had her own way. It was of no earthly use arguing with
her, or threatening: she was immovable, and answered every sentence I
addressed to her by the same firm iteration of the fact that she was no
wife of mine.
“She laughed insultingly when I said the law would speedily decide
between us. Perhaps she knew it was an idle threat of mine, for what
could the law do to bring again to my arms the woman I had deluded
myself into imagining loved me? I was unable to guess what she meant by
so boldly denying she had been married to me. In brief, I left her. I
lost no time, but hurried back to obtain proof of my marriage.”