AURELIA FORGIVES
The mingling of emotions, like that of two waters, may produce a volume
whose direction cannot be calculated by any previous knowledge of the
separate streams. In my case, just described, the reader has seen that
while my heart was still palpitating at the news of the recovery of a
mistress, it was to be shaken anew by the sight of a dear friend. Two
sorts of joy met and blended their forces within me; their issue in one
turbulent flood, which I should have thought to see heading to Aurelia
at the convent, instead of that poured themselves upon the bosom of
Virginia. I raised her from my knees where, upon her own, she was
clinging, and clasped her in my arms. I was, indeed, happy to see her
again, and so much so that I forgot entirely that I had only myself to
blame for our long separation. For the first time in our lives our lips
met.
But if I was moved, what is to be said of her? I can hardly express the
painful scene which followed. She lost all control of her senses; she
clung to me as if I had been a spar in some stormy sea wherein she
drowned; she uttered incoherent cries, she gasped, sobbed, was clean
distraught. When I held her, when I kissed her, she struggled like a
caught bird, fought furiously, used her teeth, her nails. And yet all
the time she was caressing me with every diminutive, every sweet term of
love which the most passionate people in the world can find as
expression of their love-thoughts. She stroked my cheeks, hair and
shoulders, crooned over me like a brooding dove, held me so straitly
that I was near choking; or with tragic mouth and eyes of sombre fire
she adjured me to kill her there and then, lest any subsequent moment of
her life might be less full of bliss than the present. I know that my
fancy was inflamed, and suspect that my senses--from whose occasional
dominion I was no more free than most men--must have sprung into flame
from this dangerous contact, had it not been that her excessive joy
induced an attack of hysterics. For a time she was like a madwoman,
beyond all human power; and she ended by fainting in my arms, and had to
be carried by myself and Scipione, my servant, to a bed. There she lay
moaning and muttering to herself for an hour or more. It may be imagined
whether all this tended to calm my own agitation or to turn my thoughts
towards that road whereby alone honour and salvation could be reached. I
could not go out to see Aurelia; I could hardly even think of Aurelia
while Virginia lay in my house with closed eyes, clenched hands and
shuddering breath. I left Scipione in charge of her, and returned to my
saloon, to pace the floor until he brought me word that she could be
spoken with. This he did not do for some hours.
He came in at last, shaking his head. "That is a bad case, sir--porca
miseria!" says he.
I hoped that she was better.
"She's ashamed of herself, sir," he said, "as well she may be. What a
scandal, my word! But these baggages have no modesty."
The term offended me. I told him he was talking nonsense. "She is a true
friend," I said, "whose sympathy may be excessive; but to take joy in my
joy is the act of a friend."
Scipione saluted me. "Sir, if her joy is your honour's, I have no more
to say. A gentleman is entitled to his pleasures, I hope. And she is a
handsome girl, though she is thin."
"That will do, my man," said I. "You say that she is better."
"She is as well, sir, as she deserves," replied this assured fellow,
"but she is mad."
"Mad!" I cried.
"Why, yes, sir," says he. "Judge for yourself. Here is a girl frying in
love, wanting to tell your honour that another is yours for the asking."
He angered me by this freedom--which I can assure the reader is not
uncommon in this country--and I dismissed him with a few directions. I
said that I must go out at once and was uncertain when I should return.
Meantime Virginia was to have every care, and was to be provided with--
among other things--suitable clothes for one in the position of a house-
servant. Those in which she had made her sudden appearance before me
were obviously peculiar to the convent in which she worked, and to her
standing there. I left some money with Scipione and went out.
Perhaps it had been better to have interrogated Virginia before taking
the step I now took, and so I should have done had I not been rather
disturbed in my mind, first, by my own pleasure at seeing her again--
which I now considered to have been disloyal to Aurelia--and next, by
Scipione's account of her state of heart. Virginia in love with me! This
was not the first time I had suspected it; but, reflecting upon our
meeting, I was not able to deny that she had been very much moved. Now,
should it be true, I thought to myself, what on earth was I to do? What,
indeed, were the MERITS of the case? Was the fault mine--and how could I
best repair it? These questions were beyond my then powers of resolution
while I was uncertain of Aurelia's fate and prospects, and I
deliberately put them aside. I turned all my powers of mind and heart to
consider her injuries, probable sufferings and monstrous humiliations,
and by the time I was near the Convent of SS. Maria e Giuseppe I was
trembling in every limb, and in the state of apprehension and desire
which becomes the devout lover of a lady incredibly lovely and wise.
I approached the shabby gate, and with uncovered head saluted the posts
which held it up. I rang the bell, the portress appeared; I asked her
for my mistress by name; she said that she would take up mine to the
Lady Superior if my lordship would be pleased to wait. Then she
disappeared, and my lordship stood fainting there.
Father Carnesecchi, I perceived, was with Aurelia; for the note brought
back by the portress was all in his handwriting but the signature. The
initials A. L. were in her own. She said, or the respectable Jesuit said
for her, that she was highly sensible of my courtesy in waiting upon
her, and deplored that, as she was somewhat fatigued and about to return
to Padua, it was impossible for her to receive me at the moment. She
hoped on a future occasion to find suitable expression of her feelings,
and begged in the meantime to assure me of her entire respect.
At any other time I might have been chilled by the studious repression
of this note; but at that moment I had but one aim. Begging the portress
to wait, I tore a leaf from my pocket-book, wrote upon it, "Madam,
forgive the wicked F. S.," and gave it over to the good nun. "I beg of
you, my sister, to give this note into the hands of Donna Aurelia," I
said. "It touches on a matter of the utmost consequence to me." She
agreed, with an indulgent and somewhat intelligent smile, and retired
once more. In half the time she came back with a little twisted note. "I
hope that I can please you this time, sir," she said. "At any rate you
may be sure of your correspondent, for Donna Aurelia wrote every word of
it." There were but three words, "Si, si, si--Aurelia," I read, and
turning my face to the Heavens, thanked God that I was absolved by the
dear subject of my crimes.
Transformed, indeed, I trod upon air between the Prato and the Palazzo
Giraldi. I was told that his Excellency was visiting the Contessa
Galluzzo. I sailed, I soared, I flashed over Arno and into the house at
the Porta San Giorgio. "Absolved! Absolved!" I cried, and kissed Donna
Giulia's hand. The count pressed mine very warmly.
"Either the Church," said he, "has gained in you a remarkable champion,
or the world lost a promising scoundrel. I had not suspected you of such
a load of sin." I showed my precious paper and commented upon it with
rapture.
"Count," I said in conclusion, "a truce to your sallies. Confess my
Aurelia a pattern among ladies. What modesty! What clemency! What divine
compassion! It is too much grace; it is dangerous; it tempts one to sin
again." At the time of utterance I undoubtedly believed what I said.
"I am of your opinion," said the count. "I fancy that the lady is very
ready to forgive you. I speak for myself when I say that I shall do
everything in my power to assist her."
"Speak also for me, caro mio," said Donna Giulia. "I will wait upon
Donna Aurelia as soon as may be. She will be better here than in the
tiresome convent. I shall invite her to pay me a visit, which I hope,"
she added with a smile, "will not deprive us of the society of Don
Francis." I warmly thanked my friends and took my leave.