THE ITALIAN TEACHER.
Lady Clara was right. Olympia had brought her daughter to London after a
professional tour on the continent, not as her daughter. Olympia would
not force herself to admit that the tall Juno-like girl, who outshone
her in beauty, and rebuked her flippant grace by a dignity at once calm
and regal, could, by any possibility, be her own offspring, at least as
yet. She had arranged it with Brown that no public acknowledgment of
Caroline's relationship should be made, and that she should pass as an
adopted child or protege, at least until her success on the operatic
stage was confirmed.
Brown had stipulated, on his part, that the girl should receive her
musical training in strict privacy, so far as that was possible, and, in
no case, should be moved from his personal supervision, a condition that
Olympia accepted with delight, for, after a month or two, she began to
feel the presence of her cast-off husband something of a restraint, and
regarded the quick growth and blooming loveliness of the young girl as
almost a wrong to her own ripe beauty. Still she would not loosen her
hold as a parent on the girl's life, but still hoped to reap a golden
harvest from her talent, and sun her own charms, as they waned, in the
splendor of her child's beauty.
With these feelings, Olympia opened her campaign in Europe, and swept a
brilliant career from France to Italy, and from thence to Austria and
St. Petersburg, leaving Caroline with her guardian and maid, in a
village near Florence, where she could perfect herself in Italian and
music at the same time.
There Caroline's life really began. They were staying at a pretty villa,
terraced up from the banks of a bright little stream, that emptied
itself into the Arno, so isolated and lonely, that it was perfect heaven
to Brown, who was set down at once as the young lady's father, and to
Eliza, who delighted in the chance of rest this arrangement promised.
While in Florence, Brown had taken his charge to one of the best
teachers in Europe, who consented to break through his usual rules and
give her lessons in the pretty home she had decided on. He would also
charge himself with selecting a teacher of the language, who should make
her pronunciation of the sweet Tuscan perfect as her voice, which was,
in fact, something wonderful.
Some persons were in the musician's room when these arrangements were
made, and one of them, a young man, drew slowly toward the piano, like a
bird charmed against its will, and listened with rapt attention while
Caroline took her first lesson. The girl looked up once or twice, as her
voice rang out with unusual power, and unconsciously answered back the
warm smile that enkindled his whole face. A musician himself--she knew
by the very expression of his dark eyes.
Brown saw it too, and was delighted with the effect of her genius; which
he, in his partial affection, deemed transcendent.
"He is a professor, I dare say, or perhaps a great singer," thought the
kind old man; "but she charmed him at once."
Brown was confirmed in this idea when the eminent teacher he had
consulted fell into a discussion with the man in Italian, which Caroline
did not hear, and Brown himself could not understand, but which
evidently turned upon Caroline's performance. They were both delighted
with it; that was evident from the very ardor with which they spoke.
Brown was pleased with all this, but Caroline, perhaps, remembered it
with greater interest than he had felt, for the young man's face haunted
her long after she was settled in the pretty villa, and had made herself
at home among the vines and flowers that turned those terraces into a
jungle of fruit and blossoms.
Nothing could be more lovely than the home Brown had chosen, and
certainly no place could have been found more completely isolated. The
coming of her teachers even became a matter of deep interest to
Caroline.
One morning, when her language-master was expected, she went out early
and stood upon the lower terrace, looking down the little stream which
led to the Arno, as I have told you, impatient for his coming; impatient
to know what sort of a person he would prove, and if his society might
not break the monotonous stillness of that beautiful place. It was early
yet. She had no reason to believe that her new teacher would be there
for hours. She felt it very tiresome, walking up and down those terraces
and watching the ripe olives drop one by one into the long grass from
the branches overhead. The restlessness of youth was upon her, and she
longed for some means of leaping over the next three hours, when the new
teacher would come, perhaps with a disappointment.
He might be some poor old soul, whose very presence would prove an
annoyance. No matter; a disappointment or an annoyance was better than
utter stagnation. She wished the new man would come, she wished there
was something for her to work at till he did come.
A flight of stone steps fell down to the water from the lower terrace.
Fastened to an iron staple sunk deep into the granite, was a little boat
swinging by a cable. Caroline's heart gave a leap at the sight.
She ran down the steps, untied the cable, and in a moment was sweeping
down the little stream, pulling her oars like an Indian girl.
It was a lovely flow of water, clear as crystal. The sky was mirrored in
it softly blue; the sun struck it with arrows of silver, the flowering
shrubs trailed down from its banks, and rippled the waters like the lost
plumage of a peacock; fruit-laden vines broke away from the olive
branches, and dipped their purple clusters in the stream, where they
shone out richly--amethysts gleaming through crystal. Everything was
beautiful around her. Full of youth and health she gloried in the
exercise of rowing; gloried in the sunshine and quivering shadows
through which her pretty boat ploughed its way, breaking up pictured
trees and clouds, and turning them to foam.
The current was with her, the wind swept softly down stream, bringing a
scent of wall-flowers and jessamines with it. The boat shot downward
like the shuttle through a web. The water deepened, the stream grew
wider; she could hear the broad, free rush of the Arno, a little way
off. Still she went on.
It would be glorious, finding herself in the broad river sweeping toward
Florence, in her arrow-like boat. Of course she could turn at any time,
but not yet.
Something stopped the boat. A wild vine, hidden in the water, had seized
upon it, and swept it half around, then a current tossed it forward into
a sweeping whirl of waters. She was close by a vortex near the mouth of
the river, a ravenous little whirlpool that threatened to swallow her
up. The oars dropped from her hands; she seized the sides of her boat
and sat still, rigid as stone, white as death. Then a great arrow, or
what seemed to be one, shot through the water close by her, ploughing it
white with foam. Then a man leaped into her boat, pitching a pair of
oars in before him, and holding the cable of another boat in his hand.
He neither spoke nor looked at her, but twisting the cable around one
ankle, and setting the other foot upon it further up, seized his oars,
and for a minute or two battled like a tiger with the waters.
The boat rocked, wheeled slowly away from the awful danger, then plunged
forward with a shock that brought a sharp cry from Caroline's white
lips.
"Do not be afraid. The danger is over."
She turned her pallid face, and over it came a flash of recognition. It
was the man who had listened to her first lesson in Florence. He
recognized her, pale as she was, and slackened his oars--they were out
of danger now.
"Am I so fortunate? My pupil! This is a great happiness."
Caroline leaned forward and held out her trembling hands. Words of
gratitude were on her lips, but they only trembled there, without
utterance. He leaned over the little hands, as they came quivering
toward him, but could not touch them, his own being sufficiently
occupied with the oars.
"There is nothing to fear now sweet lady," he said, in Italian, which
never sounded so sweet to her before. "The danger is wholly past--but it
_was_ danger!"
Caroline shuddered; she almost felt those curling waters sweep over her.
The sensation was terrible.
"And you saved me?--you, whose face I have seen before so often, so
often. It seems like that of a friend."
"Once--only once. I wish it had been a thousand times, if that could
lessen your fright."
"Tell me how it was," said Caroline, beginning to recover herself. "I
cannot realize it."
"Nor I, sweet lady, it was all so sudden. I saw a boat whirling toward
that treacherous vortex, the flash of a blue mantle, the whiteness of an
upturned face. What I did, you know. I cannot tell how it was done; did
not dream who the person was. Now, I long to fall upon my knees and
thank God."
Caroline clasped the hands which had fallen to her lap, bent her head,
and unspoken words of thanksgiving trembled in her heart. The man looked
upon her eagerly. That gentle glow of devotion gave her face the
sweetness of a madonna.
He thought this, and almost dropped the oars, the longing to fall down
upon his knees by her side was so intense.
She saw this, understood it, and smiled for the first time.
"I was asking God to forgive me for being grateful to you before I
thought of Him."
"And I was asking Him to make me grateful enough for having saved you.
Surely that should bring his blessing on us both."
Caroline bent her head, and a sweet smile crept over her lips. Then she
bethought herself of the things of this world, and grew troubled.
"But I am taking you from your course. Forgive me!"
"From my course? Not so. It was for this purpose I come. Perhaps you are
not informed that I am to make your Italian more perfect than it is,
which is scarcely needed."
"You sir!--you?"
She said no more, but her face lighted up, and he saw her hands softly
clasp themselves, as if she were thanking God over again. Then his own
head bent forward, and he made a great effort with the oars, but it was
only to hide the smile that broke over it.
So up the little river these two people went more and more slowly, for
the stillness and the beauty were pleasant beyond anything, and both
dreaded the moment when this delicious happiness would end. But they
reached the steps at last, and there was Mr. Brown and Eliza, on the
lower terrace, in great trouble.
They had missed her and the boat. Dreading they scarcely knew what
danger, both were anxious to follow her, but they had no means. Thus an
hour of keen anxiety had passed, while they stood watching the river.
"There is your father, looking anxious," said the young man. "I hope he
has not suffered much."
Caroline did not answer him, but sprang to the steps and ran up them,
holding out her hands.
"My child! my dear, dear child!" cried Brown, throwing both arms around
her.
He often used endearing terms like this when much affected, and she
thought nothing of it, but kissed his face, and kissed Eliza also, who
scolded her terribly, as was her habit when disturbed by a sudden fit of
tenderness--a state of feeling she was sure to resent.
"Father Brown, this is my new teacher. The professor sent him. He has
just saved my life. I have tried to thank him, but could not. You have
more power."
Brown and Eliza both came close to the young man; but he shook his head,
and tried to evade them. After her tender thankfulness, their gratitude,
generous and pure as it was, seemed coarse to him.
"We must begin the lesson," he said, laughing, and drawing a book from
his pocket. "This little accident, which was nothing, has made us lose
time."
He said this in Italian, which, of course, silenced them; and at this
moment the man could say nothing which his companion would not confirm.
Caroline smiled, and went up the steps from terrace to terrace, while he
kept by her side. Her color had come back more vividly than ever. The
sunshine struck her hair, and turned all its brown to gold. She was
dressed like a peasant of the better class, with some scarlet in her
blue bodice, and more bordering the bottom of her skirt. Her neck was
uncovered, for the blue mantle had fallen off and now lay in the bottom
of the boat. It was a becoming dress, but not for her--she was too
queenly.
They went into that old stone dwelling, forming one group; but the
moment the parlor was reached, Eliza went off to her work, she said--but
if any one had followed her, it would have been to a chamber under the
roof, where she was upon her knees full twenty minutes, thanking God for
Caroline's escape from death.
Then Brown went away, and seated himself in an arbor on one of the
terraces, where he was seen once or twice to take out his handkerchief
and wipe his eyes, as if the dust troubled him.
The man up yonder, brave as he was, had rather evaded his gratitude; but
he knew that God would listen.
Then Caroline took one of the volumes her new teacher had brought, and
retreated to a latticed window, which had a cushioned seat in it large
enough for two, though I really do not believe she thought of that. At
any rate, he did not accuse her of it, even in his thoughts, but went
quietly to the window and took a seat by her side, at which she blushed
a little, but did not move.
Caroline was very well grounded in her Italian; so, instead of grammars,
these young people fell to reading the native poets, and began with
Tasso--a course of studies well calculated to produce more results than
one; but Brown did not understand Italian, though he was a splendid
musician, and repeated it like a parrot. Besides, what did Eliza know
about Tasso, Petrarch, Dante, or any of those wild fellows that
disseminate love-poison by the line?
When her teacher was ready to go, Brown asked his name. I have no idea
that Caroline had thought of it. The young man seemed quite taken aback
for a minute, but answered, after that, something that would have
sounded like an English name rendered in Italian, had a thorough
Italian scholar been present, which there was not.
Well, for three months those young people sat twice a week in the seat
in the lattice-window, and read the poets together. Need I say more
about that?
At the end of three months Olympia had an engagement in London, and sent
for Brown to join her there with his charge.