THE SENATOR ENTRAPPED.--THE WILES AND WITCHERY OF A QUEEN OF SOCIETY.
--HIS FATE DESTINED TO BE, AS HE THINKS, ITALIAN COUNTESSES.
--SENTIMENTAL CONVERSATION.--POETRY.--BEAUTY.--MOONLIGHT.--RAPTURE.
--DISTRACTION.--BLISS!
The blandishments of Florentine society might have led captive a
sterner soul than that of the Senator. Whether he wished it or not,
he was overcome. His friend, the Minister, took him to the houses of
the leaders of society, and introduced him as an eminent American
statesman and member of the Senate.
Could any recommendation be equal to that? For, be it remembered, it
was the Revolutionary time. Republicanism ran high. America was
synonymous with the Promised Land. To be a statesman in America was
as great a dignity as to be prince in any empire on earth. Besides,
it was infinitely more honored, for it was popular. The eyes of the
struggling people were tamed to that country which shoved them an
example of republican freedom.
So if the Florentines received the Senator with boundless hospitality,
it was because they admired his country, and reverenced his dignity.
They liked to consider the presence of the American Minister and
Senator as an expression of the good-will of the American Government.
They looked upon him diplomatically. All that he said was listened to
with the deepest respect, which was none the less when they did not
comprehend a word. His pithy sentences, when translated into Italian,
became the neatest epigrams in the world. His suggestions as to the
best mode of elevating and enriching the country were considered by
one set as the profoundest philosophy, and by another as the keenest
satire. They were determined to lionize him. It was a new sensation
to the Senator. He desired to prolong it. He recalled the lines of
the good Watts:
"My willing soul would stay
In such a frame as this."
He thought of Dr. Franklin in Paris, of his severe republicanism amid
the aristocratic influences around. How like his present situation
was to that of the august philosopher!
The marked attention which the Minister paid to the Senator added
greatly to the importance of the latter. The Florentines reasoned
thus: A Minister is a great man. As a general thing his travelling
countrymen pay respect to him. What then must be the position of
that travelling fellow-countryman who receives attention instead of
paying it? What would the position of an Englishman need to be in
order to gain the attention of the British Embassador? Ducal at
least. Hence there is only one conclusion. An American Senator ranks
with an English Duke.
Others went beyond this: Mark the massive forehead, the severe eye,
the cool, self-possessed mien of this American. The air of one
accustomed to rule. Listen to his philosophic conversation. One of
America's greatest statesmen. No doubt he has a certain prospect of
becoming President. President! It must be so; and that accounts for
the attention paid by the American Embassador. He, of course, wishes
to be continued in his office under the next administration. After
all, the Florentines were not so far out of the way. A much worse
man than the Senator might be made President. In the chapter of
accidents his name, or the name of one like him, might carry the
votes of some roaring convention.
For two or three days the Senator was the subject of an eager
contest among all the leaders of society. At length there appeared
upon, the scene the great Victrix in a thousand contests such as
these. The others fell back discomfited, and the Senator became her
prey.
The Countess di Nottinero was not exactly a Recamier, but she was a
remarkably brilliant woman, and the acknowledged leader of the
liberal part of Florentine society. Of course, the haughty
aristocratic party held themselves grandly aloof, and knew nothing
either of her or the society to which she belonged.
She was generally known as _La Cica_, a nickname given by her
enemies, though what "Cica" meant no one could tell exactly. It was
a sort of contraction made up from her Christian name, Cecilia, as
some thought; others thought it was the Italian word _cica_ given
on account of some unknown incident. At any rate, as soon as she
made her appearance driving down the Lungh' Arno, with the massive
form of the Senator by her side, his fame rose up to its zenith. He
became more remarked than ever, and known among all classes as the
illustrious American to whom belonged the certainty of being next
President of the United States.
Rumor strengthened as it grew. Reports were circulated which would
certainly have amazed the worthy Senator if he had heard them all.
It was said that he was the special Plenipotentiary Extraordinary
sent by the American Government as a mark of their deep sympathy with
the Italian movement, and that he was empowered, at the first
appearance of a new Government in Italy, to recognize it officially
as a first-class Power, and thus give it the mighty sanction of the
United States. What wonder that all eyes were turned admiringly
toward him wherever he went. But he was too modest to notice it. He
little knew that he was the chief object of interest to every house,
hotel, and café in the city. Yet it was a fact.
His companions lost sight of him for some time. They heard the
conversation going on about the sayings of the great American. They
did not know at first who it was; but at length concluded that it
referred to the Minister from Turin.
_La Cica_ did her part marvellously well. All the dilettanti, the
artists, authors, political philosophers, and _beaux esprits_ of
every grade followed the example of _La Cica_. And it is a fact that
by the mere force of character, apart from any adventitious aids of
refinement, the Senator held his own remarkably. Yet it must be
confessed that he was at times extremely puzzled.
_La Cica_ did not speak the best English in the world; yet that
could not account for all the singular remarks which she made.
Still less could it account for the tender interest of her manner.
She had remarkably bright eyes. Why wandered those eyes so often
to his, and why did they beam with such devotion--beaming for a
moment only to fall in sweet innocent confusion? _La Cica_ had the
most fascinating manners, yet they were often perplexing to the
Senator's soul. The little offices which she required of him did
not appear in his matter-of-fact eyes as strictly prudent. The
innate gallantry which he possessed carried him bravely along
through much that was bewildering to his nerves. Yet he was often
in danger of running away in terror.
"The Countess," he thought, "is a most remarkable fine woman; but
she does use her eyes uncommon, and I do wish she wouldn't be quite
so demonstrative."
The good Senator had never before encountered a thorough woman of
the world, and was as ignorant as a child of the innumerable
little harmless arts by which the power of such a one is extended
and secured. At last the Senator came to this conclusion. _La Cica_
was desperately in love with him.
She appeared to be a widow. At least she had no husband that he had
ever seen; and therefore to the Senator's mind she must be a
spinster or a widow. From the general style in which she was
addressed he concluded that she was the latter. Now if the poor
_Cica_ was hopelessly in love, it must be stopped at once. For he
was a married man, and his good lady still lived, with a very
large family, most of the members of which had grown up.
_La Cica_ ought to know this. She ought indeed. But let the
knowledge be given delicately, not abruptly. He confided his
little difficulty to his friend the Minister. The Minister only
laughed heartily.
"But give me your opinion."
The Minister held his sides, and laughed more immoderately than ever.
"It's no laughing matter," said the Senator. "It's serious. I think
you might give an opinion."
But the Minister declined. A broad grin wreathed his face during
all the remainder of his stay at Florence. In fact, it is said that
it has remained there ever since.
The Senator felt indignant, but his course was taken. On the
following evening they walked on the balcony of _La Cica_'s noble
residence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming.
The conversation of a fascinating woman does not look so well when
reported as it is when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her
glance, her manner. Who can catch the evanescent beauty of her
expression or the deep tenderness of her well-modulated voice? Who
indeed?
"Does ze scene please you, my Senator?"
"Very much indeed."
"Youar countrymen haf tol me zey would like to stay here alloway."
"It is a beautiful place."
"Did you aiver see any thin moaire loafely?" And the Countess looked
full in his face.
"Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant he blushed.
He had been betrayed into a compliment.
The Countess sighed.
"Helas! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to moartals to
sociate as zey would laike."
"'Your Senator,'" thought the gentleman thus addressed; "how fond,
how tender--poor thing! poor thing!"
"I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he.
"How I adamiar youar style of mind, so differente from ze
Italiana. You are so strong--so nobile. Yet would Maike to see
moar of ze poetic in you."
"I always loved poetry, marm," said the Senator, desperately.
"Ah--good--nais--eccelente. I am plees at zat," cried the Countess,
with much animation. "You would loafe it moar eef you knew Italiano.
Your langua ees not sufficiente musicale for poatry."
"It is not so soft a language as the _I_-talian."
"Ah--no--not so soft. Very well. And what theenka you of ze
Italiano?"
"The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days."
"Ah, now--you hev not heard much of ze Italiano, my Senator."
"I have heard you speak often," said the Senator, naively.
"Ah, you compliment! I sot you was aboove flattera."
And the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her little fan.
"What Ingelis poet do you loafe best?"
"Poet? English poet?" said the Senator, with some surprise.
"Oh--why, marm, I think Watts is about the best of the lot!"
"Watt? Was he a poet? I did not know zat. He who invented ze
stim-injaine? And yet if he was a poet it is natnrale zat you
loafe him best."
"Steam-engine? Oh no! This one was a minister."
"A meeneestaire? Ah! an abbé? I know him not. Yet I haf read mos of
all youar poets."
"He made up hymns, marm, and psalms--for instance: 'Watts's Divine
Hymns and Spiritual Songs.'"
"Songs? Spiritnelle? Ah, I mus at once procuaire ze works of Watt,
which was favorit poet of my Senator."
"A lady of such intelligence as you would like the poet Watts," said
the Senator, firmly.
[Illustration: La Cica.]
"He is the best known by far of all our poets."
"What? better zan Sakespeare, Milton, Bairon? You much surprass
me."
"Better known and better loved than the whole lot. Why, his poetry
is known by heart through all England and America."
"Merciful Heaven! what you tell me! ees eet possbl! An yet he is
not known here efen by name. It would plees me mooch, my Senator,
to hajre you make one quotatione. Know you Watt? Tell to me some
words of his which I may remembaire."
"I have a shocking bad memory."
"Bad raemora! Oh, but you remember somethin, zis mos beautful
charm nait--you haf a nobile soul--you mus be affecta by beauty--by
ze ideal. Make for a me one quotatione."
And she rested her little hand on the Senator's arm, and looked up
imploringly in his face.
The Senator looked foolish. He felt even more so. Here was a
beautiful woman, by act and look showing a tender interest in him.
Perplexing--but very flattering after all. So he replied:
"You will not let me refuse you any thing."
"Aha! you are vera willin to refuse. It is difficulty for me to
excitare youar regards. You are fill with the grands ideas. But
come--will you spik for me some from your favorit Watt?"
"Well, if you wish it so much," said the Senator, kindly, and he
hesitated.
"Ah--I do wis it so much!"
"Ehem!"
"Begin," said the Countess. "Behold me. I listen. I hear everysin,
and will remembaire it forava."
The only thing that the Senator could think of was the verse which
had been running in his head for the last few days, its measured
rhythm keeping time with every occupation:
"'My willing soul would stay--'"
"Stop one moment," said the Countess. "I weesh to learn it from
you;" and she looked fondly and tenderly up, but instantly
dropped her eyes.
"'Ma willina sol wooda sta--'"
"In such a frame as this,'" prompted the Senator.
"'Een socha framas zees.' Wait--'Ma willina sol wooda sta in
socha framas zees.' Ah, appropriat! but could I hope zat you were
true to zose lines, my Senator? Well?"
"'And sit and sing herself away,'" said the Senator, in a
faltering voice, and breaking out into a cold perspiration for
fear of committing himself by such uncommonly strong language.
"'Ansit ansin hassaf awai,'" repeated the Countess, her face
lighting up with a sweetly conscious expression.
The Senator paused.
"Well?"
"I--ehem! I forget."
"Forget? Impossible!"
"I do really."
"Ah now! Forget? I see by youar face--you desave. Say on."
The Countess again gently touched his arm with both of her
little hands, and held it as though she would clasp it.
"Have you fear? Ah, cruel!"
The Senator turned pale, but finding refusal impossible, boldly
finished:
"'To everlasting bliss'--there!"
"'To affarlastin blees thar.' Stop. I repeat it all: 'My willina
sol wooda sta in socha framas zees, ansit ansin hassaf awai to
affarlastin blees thar.' Am I right?"
"Yes," said the Senator, meekly.
"I knew you war a poetic sola," said the Countess, confidingly.
"You air honesto--true--you can not desave. When you spik I can
beliv you. Ah, my Senator! an you can spik zis poetry!--at soch a
taime! I nefare knew befoare zat you was so impassione!--an you
air so artaful! You breeng ze confersazione to beauty--to poatry--to
ze poet Watt--so you may spik verses mos impassione! Ah! What
do you mean? Santissima madre! how I wish you spik Italiano."
The Countess drew nearer to him, but her approach only deepened his
perplexity.
"How that poor thing does love me!" sighed the Senator. "Law bless
it! she can't help it--can't help it nohow. She is a goner; and what
can I do? I'll have to leave Florence. Oh, why did I quit Buttons!
Oh, why--"
The Countess was standing close beside him in a tender mood waiting
for him to break the silence. How could he? He had been uttering
words which sounded to her like love; and she--"a widow! a widow!
wretched man that I am!"
There was a pause. The longer it lasted the more awkward the
Senator felt. What upon earth was he to do or say? What business had
he to go and quote poetry to widows? What an old fool he must be!
But the Countess was very far from feeling awkward. Assuming an
elegant attitude she looked up, her face expressing the tenderest
solicitude.
"What ails my Senator?"
"Why the fact is, marm--I feel sad--at leaving Florence. I must go
shortly. My wife has written summoning me home. The children are
down with the measles."
Oh, base fabrication! Oh, false Senator! There wasn't a word of
truth in that remark. You spoke so because you wished _La Cica_ to
know that you had a wife and family. Yet it was very badly done.
_La Cica_ changed neither her attitude nor her expression.
Evidently the existence of his wife, and the melancholy situation
of his unfortunate children, awaked no sympathy.
"But, my Senator--did you not say you wooda seeng yousellef away
to affarlasteen belees?"
"Oh, marm, it was a quotation--only a quotation."
But at this critical juncture the conversation was broken up by the
arrival of a number of ladies and gentlemen.
But could the Senator have known!
Could he but have known how and where those words would confront him
again!