I PREPARE FOR BLISS
I must return to the natural order of my history, and relate my first
interview with Aurelia in order that I may prepare the reader for the
last. It was brought about by Father Carnesecchi, to whom I applied for
it after my visit to the convent and reception of the note of
forgiveness. I had a great respect for the good man, and owed him much
for his kindness to me in my hour of need, but, as I never had the knack
of concealing my feelings, I could not help showing him, I suppose, that
I was aware that my mistress had been a week in Florence without my
suspecting it. If I had thought to confuse him by any such reproach--
which I had not--I should have been quickly undeceived.
Father Carnesecchi at once admitted that he had withheld, for what
seemed very proper reasons, the fact of Aurelia's arrival. "The poor
little lady," he said, "when she had recovered from fatigues which
(without being harsh), I must say, were not brought upon her entirely
unassisted, developed a very becoming and dutiful state of the soul. I
have seldom been more hopeful of a case of conscience. But it is a
sensitive plant, the soul of a young and naturally amiable girl; rough
blasts may bruise it; even excessive nurture may cause an exuberance of
growth and weaken the roots. I do not doubt your real repentance, my
Francis--Heaven forbid it me, but I confess I do gravely doubt the
expediency of your assuring Donna Aurelia of it otherwise than by a
letter which I shall willingly convey to her. May I ask you now--since I
stand to you in loco parentis; yes, yes, in loco parentis--how it was
that you became acquainted with the fact of her having been a week in
the Sienese convent?"
I told him the truth; and if the father was vexed he was not surprised.
"Beware," he said, "of that little parasite. You have a dangerous liking
for female society, as I have told you before. Of your two intimacies, I
much prefer that of Donna Aurelia for you. There, now, is a girl
naturaliter Christiana--but that is characteristic of her nation: the
elect city of Mary, indeed, as the pious Gigli has observed in a large
volume. Come," he said suddenly, "come, Francis, I will take you to see
Donna Aurelia this moment. There shall be no drawbacks to our mutual
affection. What do you say?"
I stammered my thanks, shed tears and kissed my director's hands. The
acts of the next half-hour were done to a wild and piercing music. I
could scarcely breathe, let alone think or speak. I was swept along the
streets, I achieved the portal, I achieved the parlour. Pictures of
saints, wholly Sienese, reeled from the walls: a great white crucifix
dipped and dazzled. Father Carnesecchi, after a time of shrill suspense,
came in to fetch me, took me tottering up the stairs. My heart stood
still; but the door was open. I blundered in, I saw her again--her
lovely childish head, her innocent smile, her melting eyes, her colour
of pale rose, her bounty, her fragrance, her exquisite, mysterious
charm! Blushes made her divine; she curtseyed deeply to me; I fell upon
my knee; and Count Giraldi rose from his seat and performed a graceful
salute.
She told me that she freely forgave me an indiscretion natural to my
youth and position, whose consequences, moreover, could not have been
foreseen by either of us. She said that she was about to return to her
husband, who would probably come to Florence to meet her--and she added
that she hoped I should resume my studies at the university, and in
serious preparation for the future obliterate all traces of the past. At
these words, which I am inclined to fancy had been got by rote, she
sighed and looked down. I promised her entire obedience in every
particular, and growing bolder by her timidity, said that, with the
doctor's permission, I should wait upon her at her convenience. Aurelia
pressed me to come; and then told me that, thanks to the benevolence of
Donna Giulia conveyed to her by the excellency of Count Giraldi, my
visit might be made at the Villa San Giorgio at her ladyship's next
reception. "I believe, Don Francis, that you know the way thither," she
said. Very much affected, I kissed her hand again, and Father
Carnesecchi, suggesting that she might be fatigued, took me away. My
next visit to her was paid at the Villa San Giorgio, and on that
occasion I saw her alone. Count Giraldi was, in fact, at that very hour,
engaged with Virginia in my lodgings.
This time I was neither ridiculous nor thought to be so. My lady came
into the saloon where I was and ran towards me, begging me not to kneel
to her. She resumed for that happy moment at least her old part of
guardian angel, sat on the couch by my side, and looking kindly at me
from her beautiful eyes, said in the easiest way, "I see very well that
you have not been cared for so well in Florence as in Padua. Now you are
to be your good and obedient self again and do everything I tell you."
I murmured my long-meditated prayer for forgiveness, making a sad botch
of its periods. She put her hand over my mouth.
"Not a word of that hateful affair," she said firmly. "You were absurd,
of course, and I was to blame for allowing it; but I could not be angry
with such a perfect little poet, and that monster should have known with
whom he had to deal. He knows it now, I believe. He knows that a
Gualandi of Siena is not at the beck and call of a pig of Padua. When he
comes here, he will come in his right senses, you will see."
I begged her to tell me her story; but she said there was little to
tell. She had not left Padua, as I had supposed, but had stayed with
friends of hers in the hope that what she called the pazzeria of the
doctor would be blown away. Finding that he was obstinate, she had gone
to Modena, where she lived for a while as companion to an ancient lady,
who became very fond of her. It needed, indeed, a convenient bronchitis
to give her her liberty again. When this occurred she found herself
provided with a pretty legacy--enough to make her independent of the
doctor, but at the same time more necessary to his happiness. She had
intended, she said, for Siena; but the hospitality of Donna Giulia was
pressed upon her, and the good services of the count were freely hers.
There was talk of a judgeship for her husband; she would see how events
turned about before she made any plans. "And you, Francis," she
continued, "are not to be ridiculous any more, nor wander about without
shoes, nor consort with rubbish any more. You are to go back to your
studies and your books, and take your degree. You are to say good-bye to
Aurelia as soon as you are well enough, and forget that you ever knew
her, if you can."
"If I forget you, Aurelia, I shall forget Heaven," I said.
"We will talk about Heaven another time," said Aurelia. "Who was that
saucy girl I met at the convent, who seemed to know all about you?"
I told her Virginia's story exactly. She said, "The piece is madly in
love with you." I assured her that she was mistaken, but she shook her
head, then nodded it many times. "Certainly, certainly she is in love
with you," and after a pause--"and I don't wonder. You have greatly
improved, Francis."
To this I said that nothing was further from my thoughts than to do
Virginia any harm. I promised to marry her to my man Scipione as soon as
possible, since protection of some sort was necessary to a bondswoman
who had run away from the land to which she belonged. Aurelia heard me
thoughtfully, tapping her little foot on the floor in that quick,
impatient way I loved so well in her. "Marry her--yes," she said, "that
will be only prudent on your part. Well! it is not for me to quarrel
with you--but--" she shrugged and went on quickly--"Oh, I don't deny
that the wench is well enough in her broomstick way!" she cried out.
I said, No, she looked very well when she was dressed. This was an
unlucky speech.
"So I have understood, sir," cried Aurelia, breathing fast. "I hear that
you were seen with her at Prato; that she was dressed in silk and a
hoop, and had her hair on a cushion, and I dare say a fan, of the
afternoons. And you think her very well? So--so--so!" My beloved Aurelia
had tears in her eyes--one dropped and lay upon her bosom. I fell on my
knees before her and would have kissed her foot, but she sprang from me,
and went quickly out of the room.
I was left alone in the greatest agitation. It was the recollection of
this scene which troubled me when, returning to my lodging, I found
Virginia again in masquerade.