THE PHANTOM OF LUCREZIA BORGIA.
I was duly introduced by the Marchese, and Signora Morone received me
in the most amiable manner. She was certainly a very charming woman,
and had I not known her true character, I would doubtless have been
fascinated by her gracious affability; but, in spite of her courtesy,
I could hardly speak to her without a feeling of repulsion. This
beautiful woman, so suave, so smiling, so seductive, inspired me with
that sensation of absolute dread which one experiences at the sight of
a sleek, velvet-footed pantheress--a comely beast to admire, but a
terrible one to caress. I replied to her polite inquiries in a
somewhat mechanical fashion, which she doubtless put down to my
imperfect knowledge of Italian, for in spite of all my efforts to feel
at ease in her society, yet I was unable to do more than behave with
strained courtesy towards this woman whose mask I had torn off, whose
secret I had penetrated, and the wickedness of whose heart I knew.
There were several other gentlemen in the room, who talked gaily with
the Contessa, and amused themselves by eating the bonbons and
crystallised fruits provided for refreshments. The last act of the
opera had not yet commenced, so Signora Morone sank gracefully into a
velvet-cushioned chair, and permitted her courtiers to retail all the
news of the day for her amusement. I am afraid this description sounds
somewhat hyperbolical, but indeed it is the only way in which I can
describe this woman, whose every movement was full of sinuous grace
and feline treachery. Cat, tigress, pantheress as she was, her claws
were now sheathed in her velvet paws, but the claws were there all the
same, and would doubtless scratch at the least provocation.
Some people do not believe in transmigration, but I am a true disciple
of Pythagoras in that bizarre doctrine, and I firmly believe that in a
former existence the soul of Giulietta Morone had animated the body of
some tawny tigress who had stolen through the jungle beneath the
burning skies of Hindostan, slaying and devouring her victims in
conformity with the instincts of her savage nature. Now she was a
woman--a fair, majestic woman--but the instinct of the beast was
there, the desire for slaughter and the lust for blood. What made me
indulge still more in this fancy was the colours of the dress she wore
black and yellow--all twisted in and out with a curious resemblance to
the sleek fur of the beast to which I had likened her. The soft
glimmer of the pearl strings twined in her magnificent red hair seemed
out of place as ornaments for this woman; but the rubies suited her
nature well, the red, angry rubies that shot flashes of purple fire
from her neck at every heave of her white bosom. Leaning back in her
deep chair with a cruel smile on her full crimson lips, the glimmer of
pearls, the fire-glint of the fierce-tinted gems, and the bizarre
mixture of amber and black in her dress, she slowly waved her
sandalwood fan to and fro, diffusing a strange, sleepy perfume through
the room, and looking what I verily believed her to be, the type of
incarnate evil in repose.
While I was thinking in this fanciful fashion, the Contessa was
talking to her friends in a slow, rich voice, and Beltrami--well,
Beltrami was watching me closely. Do you know that strange sensation
of being watched? that uneasy consciousness that some unseen eye is
observing the least movement? Yes, of course you do! Every one has
felt it, in a more or less degree, according to their nervous
susceptibility. At the present time, with all my senses on the alert
for unexpected events, it was therefore little to be wondered at that
I felt the magnetism of Beltrami's gaze, and, on looking up, saw his
keen black eyes fixed upon me with an enigmatical expression. For the
moment I was startled, but immediately that feeling passed away for I
well knew the strange nature of the Marchese, which was a peculiar
mixture of good and evil, of kindness and cruelty, of hate and love,
which must have proceeded from some aberration of his subtle
intellect.
Beltrami's face always put me in mind of that sinister countenance of
Sigismondo Malatesta, which sneers so malevolently at the curious
onlooker from the walls of the Duomo at Rimini. He had the same
treacherous droop of the eyelids, the same thin nose with wide,
sensitive nostrils, and the same malignant smile on his thin lips. Yet
he was handsome enough, this young Italian; but his face, in spite of
my friendship, repelled me--in a less degree, it is true, but still it
repelled me in the like manner as did that of the Contessa Morone. So
he was going to marry her. Well, they were certainly well-matched in
every respect, and if the man had not the active wickedness of the
woman, still the capability of evil was there, and would awaken to
life when necessary to be exercised. Both Beltrami and his future wife
were anachronisms in this nineteenth century, and should have lived,
smiled, and died in the time of the Renaissance, when they would have
been fitted companions of those Italian despots of whom Machiavelli
gives the typical examples in his book "The Prince."
The Marchese saw my inquiring look, and with an enigmatic smile walked
across to where I was standing in the warm, yellow light.
"Ebbene! Signor Hugo," he whispered, with a swift glance at the
Contessa, "tell me what you think of my choice."
"It does you credit, Marchese. You will have a beautiful wife."
"And a loving one, I hope. Tell me, mon ami, do you not envy me?"
I hesitated a moment before replying, and then blurted out the
truth,--
"Honestly speaking, Signor Luigi, I do not!"
"Dame! and why?"
"Well, I can hardly tell you my reasons, but I have them,
nevertheless."
Beltrami looked hard at me with an inquisitive look in his dark eyes,
and a satirical smile on his thin lips.
"You are not complimentary, my friend," he said, turning away with a
supercilious laugh.
I laid my hand on his shoulder and explained,--
"Pardon me, Beltrami, you do not understand----"
"Eh! do not apologise! I understand better than you think."
He was evidently not at all offended, and I felt puzzled by his
manner. It was true he had candidly acknowledged that he was making
this marriage for money, but surely he must also love this woman,
whose ripe beauty was so attractive to the passionate nature of the
Italians. Yet, judging from his mode of speech, he evidently had some
mistrust--a mistrust for which I could not account. He could know
nothing of the affair at the Palazzo Morone, so there certainly could
be no reason for suspicion on his part. She was a beautiful woman, a
rich woman, an attractive woman, so with this trinity of perfections
she decidedly merited a warmer love than Beltrami appeared inclined to
give her. Could it be that her evil beauty repelled him, as it did me?
No! that was impossible, seeing that, according to my idea, their
natures were wonderfully alike. Altogether the whole demeanour of the
Marchesa perplexed me by its strangeness, and I watched him narrowly
as he approached the Contessa, to see if she perceived the lack of
warmth on the part of her lover.
To my surprise, as he bent over her chair to speak, she shrank away
with a gesture of disdain, and the rubies shot forth a red flame, as
if to warn the lover that there was danger in pressing upon this woman
his unwelcome attentions. Unwelcome, I am sure they were, for as he
adjusted her cloak and aided her to rise, in order to return to the
box, I saw that she accepted all his politeness with forced civility
and cold smiles. So then she did not love him--he had almost openly
acknowledged to me that he did not love her, and yet these two people,
who had no feeling of love in their hearts, were about to marry. It
was most extraordinary, and I marvelled greatly at the juxtaposition
of these two human beings, who evidently hated one another heartily.
At this moment the Contessa spoke of the man she had murdered, and I
was horrified in the cold, callous tones in which she veiled her
iniquity.
"Do you know, gentlemen, if anything has been heard of this lost
tenor?"
Beltrami shot a keen glance at her, then a second at me, and I felt
more bewildered than ever by this strange action.
"Nothing has been heard of him, Contessa," he said quickly, before the
others could speak; "he has vanished altogether, but no doubt he will
appear again."
"Ah, you think so?" observed the Contessa, with a cruel smile.
"I am sure of it!"
She winced, and looked at him in a startled manner, upon which,
impelled by some mysterious impulse, I know not what, I joined in the
conversation,--
"On the contrary, madame, I do not think Signor Pallanza will ever be
seen again."
All present turned round in surprise, and the Contessa darted a look
at me which seemed to pierce my soul. Only Beltrami was unmoved, and
he, with a smile on his face, laid his hand upon my shoulder.
"Eh, Signor Hugo, and why do you think so?"
"A mere fancy, Marchese, nothing more."
"Ma foi! and a fancy that may turn out true!"
I was annoyed at having yielded to the impulse and spoken out, as,
unless I told all about my adventure, I could not substantiate my
statement, and I was certainly not going to reveal anything I knew,
particularly in the presence of the woman so deeply implicated in the
affair. Beltrami's mocking manner irritated me fearfully, the more so
as it was so very unaccountable, and I was about to make some sharp
reply, when the opening chorus of the last act sounded, and all the
gentlemen, after making their adieux to the Contessa, left the room.
The Marchese offered his arm to Madame Morone, but she dismissed him
with a haughty gesture.
"One moment, Marchese--I wish to speak with this Signor for a few
minutes."
Beltrami darted one of his enigmatic looks at us both, and with a low
bow to conceal the smile on his lips, left the room. As soon as he had
disappeared, Madame Morone turned round on me with a quick gesture of
surprise.
"Signor Hugo, why did you say the tenor Pallanza would never be seen
again?"
"I have no reason, Signora," I replied, being determined to baffle her
curiosity; "I merely spoke on the impulse of the moment."
"Do you know Signor Pallanza?"
"No, madame, I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance."
"Ah!"
She heaved a sigh of relief, and looked at me long and earnestly, as
if to see whether I was speaking the truth. Apparently she was
satisfied with her scrutiny, for she laughed softly, and placed her
hand within my arm.
"Confess now, Signor Hugo, you think me most mysterious, but I will
tell you why I speak thus. I heard Pallanza at Rome, when he sang at
the Apollo, and I hoped to see him again here, therefore I am annoyed
at his disappearance and anxious for him to be found. A selfish wish,
Signor Hugo, for it is only my desire to hear him sing again. Ecco!"
"I do not think your wish at all selfish, madame, for I hear he is a
charming singer."
"Oh, yes! the New Mario they call him in Milan. Will you not hear the
rest of the opera in my box?"
"If you will excuse me, madame, I will say no, as I have an
engagement."
This was a lie, but I was so fearful of betraying myself to this
terrible woman, who had evidently a half-suspicion that I knew
something of Pallanza, that I was anxious to get away as soon as
possible. She, saying good-night, in a cold, polite manner, re-entered
the box, and I was moving away when Beltrami suddenly appeared.
"Eh, Hugo, how cruel! the Contessa tells me you must go?"
"Yes. I will see you again, Marchese!"
"To-morrow then; if not, the next day. Here is my card, and I am
always at home in the afternoon. Do not fail to come, mon ami--I wish
to speak to you about--about----"
He paused, and I asked curiously,--
"About what?"
"Eh, dame! I forget. I will tell you at our next meeting' A rivederci!
Signor Hugo. Don't forget your old friend, or he will quarrel with
you."
He nodded, smiled, and vanished, then I took my departure from the
theatre, and wandered up and down the street in the moonlight. I felt
that to sit out the ballet would be more than I could bear, as I was
so excited over the meeting with the Contessa Morone, therefore I
strolled up and down the street, smoking and thinking. As time passed
on I grew calmer, and thought I would return to the Ezzelino, not to
see the ballet, but to catch a glimpse of the Contessa once more.
As I reached the portico of the theatre she was just coming down the
steps to her carriage, leaning on the arm of Beltrami, and I, hidden
in the crowd, could see her looking hither and thither as if searching
for some one. She could not see me, and in order to satisfy myself in
every way as to her identity with the creature of the night I had seen
leave the graveyard, with a sudden inspiration I hummed a few bars of
the strange song I had heard in the fatal chamber.
Being close to me she could hear quite plainly, and gave a kind of
gasping cry as she fell back into the arms of Beltrami, just as he was
helping her into the carriage.
"What is the matter, cara?" he asked quickly.
She clutched his arm with so powerful a grasp that it made him wince,
and I heard her mutter with white lips,--
"Pallanza! Pallanza!"
This was all I wanted to hear, and, fearful of discovery, I threaded
my way quickly among the crowd, and hastened home to my hotel.
I had recognised Guiseppe, I had found the woman who had slain him,
but I had yet to discover where she had hidden the body of her
victim--and then!--well, my future movements would be guided by
circumstances.