At that time a young Sicilian singer had lately made her first
appearance in Rome and had been received with great favour. She was
probably not destined ever to become one of the chief artists of the
age, but she possessed exactly the qualifications necessary to fascinate
a Roman audience. She was very young, she was undeniably beautiful, and
she had what Romans called a 'sympathetic' voice. They think more of
that latter quality in Italy than elsewhere. It is what in English we
might call charm, and to have it is to have the certainty of success
with an Italian public.
Aliandra Basili was the daughter of a respectable notary in the ancient
town of Randazzo, which lies on the western slope of Mount Etna, on the
high road from Piedimonte to Bronte and Catania, within two hours' ride
of Camaldoli, the Corleone place. It is a solemn old walled town, built
of almost black tufo, though many of the houses on the main street have
now been stuccoed and painted; and it has a very beautiful
Saracen-Norman cathedral.
Aliandra's life had been very like that of any other provincial girl of
the middle class. She had been educated in a small convent, while her
excellent father, whose wife was dead, laboured to accumulate a little
dowry for his only child. At fifteen years of age, she had returned to
live with him, and he had entertained good hopes of marrying her off
before she was seventeen. In fact, he thought that he had only to choose
among a number of young men, of whom any one would be delighted to
become her husband.
Then, one day, Tebaldo and Francesco Pagliuca came riding down from
Camaldoli, and stopped at the notary's house to get a small lease drawn
up; and while they were there, in the dusty office, doing their best to
be sure of what old Basili's legal language meant, they heard Aliandra
singing to herself upstairs. After that they came to Randazzo again,
both separately and together, and at last they persuaded old Basili that
his daughter had a fortune in her voice and should be allowed to become
a singer. He consented after a long struggle, and sent her to Messina to
live with a widowed sister of his, and to be taught by an old master of
great reputation who had taken up his abode there. Very possibly Basili
agreed to this step with a view to removing the girl to a distance from
the two brothers, who made small secret of their admiration for her, or
about their jealousy of each other; and he reflected that she could be
better watched and guarded by his sister, who would have nothing else to
do, than by himself. For he was a busy man, and obliged to spend his
days either in his office, or in visits to distant clients, so that the
motherless girl was thrown far too much upon her own resources.
Tebaldo, on the other hand, realised that so long as she lived in
Randazzo, he should have but a small chance of seeing her alone. He
could not come and spend a week at a time in the town, but he could find
an excuse for being longer than that in Messina, and he trusted to his
ingenuity to elude the vigilance of the aunt with whom she was to live.
In Messina, too, he should not have his brother at his elbow, trying to
outdo him at every turn, and evidently attracting the young girl to a
certain extent.
To tell the truth, Aliandra's head was turned by the attentions of the
two young noblemen, though her father never lost an opportunity of
telling her that they were a pair of penniless good-for-nothings and
otherwise dangerous characters, supposed to be on good terms with the
brigands of the interior, and typical 'maffeusi' through and through.
But such warnings were much more calculated to excite the girl's
interest than to frighten her. She had an artist's nature and instincts,
and the two young gentlemen were very romantic characters in her eyes,
when they rode down from their dilapidated stronghold, on their compact
little horses, their beautiful Winchester rifles slung over their
shoulders, their velvet coats catching the sunlight, their spurs
gleaming, and their broad hats shading their dark eyes. Had there been
but one of them, her mind would soon have been made up to make him marry
her, and she might have succeeded without much difficulty. But she found
it hard to decide between the two. They were too different for
comparison, and yet too much alike for preference. Tebaldo was a born
tyrant, and Francesco a born coward. She was dominated by the one and
she ruled the other, but she was not in love with either, and she could
not make up her mind whether it would on the whole be more agreeable to
love her master or her slave.
Meanwhile she made rapid progress in her singing, appeared at the opera
in Palermo, and almost immediately obtained an engagement in Rome. To
her father, the sum offered her appeared enormous, and her aunt was
delighted by the prospect of going to Rome with her during the winter.
Aliandra had been successful from the first, and she seemed to be on the
high road to fame. The young idlers of rich Palermo intrigued to be
introduced to her and threw enormous nosegays to her at the end of every
act. She found that there were scores of men far handsomer and richer
than the Pagliuca brothers, ready to fall in love with her, and she
began to reflect seriously upon her position. Artist though she was, by
one side of her nature, there was in her a touch of her father's
sensible legal instinct, together with that extraordinary
self-preserving force which usually distinguishes the young girl of
southern Italy.
She soon understood that no one of her new admirers would ever think of
asking her to be his wife, whereas she was convinced that she could
marry either Tebaldo or Francesco, at her choice and pleasure. They were
poor, indeed, but of as good nobility as any of the rich young noblemen
of Palermo, and she was beginning to find out what fortunes were
sometimes made by great singers. She dreamed of buying back the old
Corleone estates and of being some day the Princess of Corleone herself.
That meant that she must choose Tebaldo, since he was to get the title.
And here she hesitated again. She did not realise that Francesco was
actually a physical coward and rather a contemptible character
altogether; to her he merely seemed gentle and winning, and she thought
him much ill used by his despotic elder brother. As for the third
brother, Ferdinando, of whom mention has been made, she had rarely seen
him. He was probably the best of the family, which was not saying much,
and he was also by far the least civilised. He was undoubtedly in close
communication with the brigands, and when he was occasionally absent
from home, he was not spending his time in Messina or Randazzo.
Time went on, and in the late autumn Aliandra and her aunt went to Rome
for the season. As has been seen, it pleased fortune that the Pagliuca
brothers should be there also, with their mother and sister, Ferdinando
remaining in Sicily. When the question of selling Camaldoli to San
Giacinto arose, Ferdinando at first flatly refused to give his consent.
Thereupon Tebaldo wrote him a singularly temperate and logical letter,
in which he very quietly proposed to inform the government of
Ferdinando's complicity with the brigands, unless he at once agreed to
the sale. Ferdinando might have laughed at the threat had it come from
anyone else, but he knew that Tebaldo's thorough acquaintance with the
country and with the outlaws' habits would give him a terrible
advantage. Tebaldo, if he gave information, could of course never return
to Sicily, for his life would not be safe, even in broad daylight, in
the Macqueda of Palermo, and it was quite possible that the mafia might
reach him even in Rome. But he was undoubtedly able to help the
government in a raid in which many of Ferdinando's friends must perish
or be taken prisoners. For their sakes Ferdinando signed his consent to
the sale, before old Basili in Randazzo, and sent the paper to Rome; but
that night he swore that no Roman should ever get possession of
Camaldoli while he was alive, and half a dozen of the boldest among the
outlaws swore that they would stand by him in his resolution.
Aliandra knew nothing of all this, for Tebaldo was far too wise to tell
anyone how he had forced his brother's consent. She would certainly have
been disgusted with him, had she known the truth, for she was morally as
far superior to him and to Francesco as an innocent girl brought up by
honest folks can be better than a pair of exceedingly corrupt young
adventurers. But they both had in a high degree the power of keeping up
appearances and of imposing upon their surroundings. Tebaldo was indeed
subject to rare fits of anger in which he completely lost control of
himself, and when he was capable of going to any length of violence; but
these were very unusual, and as a general rule he was reticent in the
extreme. Francesco possessed the skill and gentle duplicity of a born
coward and a born ladies' man. They both deceived Aliandra, in spite of
her father's early warning and her old aunt's anxious advice.
Aliandra was successful beyond anyone's expectations during her first
engagement in Rome, and she was wise enough to gain herself the
reputation of being unapproachable to her many admirers. Only Tebaldo
and Francesco, whom she now considered as old friends of her family,
were ever admitted to her room at the theatre, or received at the quiet
apartment where she lived with her aunt.
On the night of the dinner-party at the Palazzo Saracinesca, Aliandra
was to sing in Lucia for the first time in Rome. Both the brothers had
wished that they could have been at the theatre to hear her, instead of
spending the evening in the society of those very stiff and mighty
Romans, and both made up their minds separately that they would see her
before she left the Argentina that night. Tebaldo, as usual, took the
lead of events, and peremptorily ordered Francesco to go home with their
mother and sister in the carriage.
When the Corleone party left the palace, therefore, Francesco got into
the carriage, but Tebaldo said that he preferred to walk, and went out
alone from under the great gate. He was not yet very familiar with the
streets of Rome, but he believed that he knew the exact situation of the
palace, and could easily find his way from it to the Argentina theatre,
which was not very far distant.
The old part of the city puzzled him, however. He found himself
threading unfamiliar ways, dark lanes, and winding streets which emerged
suddenly upon small squares from which three or four other streets led
in different directions. Instinctively he looked behind him from time to
time, and felt in his pocket for the pistol which, like a true
provincial, he thought it as necessary to carry in Rome as in his
Sicilian home. Presently he looked at his watch, saw that it was eleven
o'clock, and made up his mind to find a cab if he could. But that was
not an easy matter either, in that part of the city, and it was twenty
minutes past eleven when he at last drew up to the stage entrance at the
back of the Argentina. A weary, gray, unshaven, and very dirty old man
admitted him, looked at his face, took the flimsy currency note which
Tebaldo held out, and let him pass without a word. The young man knew
his way much better within the building than out in the streets. In a
few moments he stopped before a dingy little door, the last on the left
in a narrow corridor dimly lit by a single flame of gas, which was
turned low for economy's sake. He knocked sharply and opened the door
without waiting for an answer.
There were three persons in the small, low dressing-room, and all three
faced Tebaldo rather anxiously. Aliandra Basili, the young Sicilian
prima donna who had lately made her appearance in Rome, was seated
before a dim mirror which stood on a low table covered with appliances
for theatrical dressing. Her maid was arranging a white veil on her
head, and beside her, very near to her, and drawing back from her as
Tebaldo entered sat Francesco.
Tebaldo's lips moved uneasily, as he stood still for a moment, gazing at
the little group, his hand on the door. Then he closed it quickly behind
him, and came forward with a smile.
'Good evening,' he said. 'I lost my way in the streets and am a little
late. I thought the curtain would be up for the last act.'
'They have called me once,' answered Aliandra. 'I said that I was not
ready, for I knew you would come.'
She was really very handsome and very young, but the mask of paint and
powder changed her face and expression almost beyond recognition. Even
her bright, gold-brown eyes were made to look black and exaggerated by
the deep shadows painted with antimony below them, and on the lids. The
young hand she held out to Tebaldo was whitened with a chalky mixture
to the tips of the fingers. She was dressed in the flowing white robe
which Lucia wears in the mad scene, and the flaring gaslights on each
side of the mirror made her face and wig look terribly artificial.
Tebaldo thought so as he looked at her, and remembered the calm
simplicity of Corona Saracinesca's mature beauty. But he had known
Aliandra long, and his imagination saw her own face through her paint.
'It was good of you to wait for me,' he said. 'I daresay my brother
helped the time to pass pleasantly.'
'I have only just come,' said Francesco, quickly. 'I took our mother
home--it is far.'
'I did not know that you were coming at all,' replied Tebaldo, coldly.
'How is it going?' he asked, sitting down by Aliandra. 'Another
ovation?'
'No. They are waiting for the mad scene, of course--and my voice is as
heavy as lead to-night. I shall not please anyone--and it is the first
time I have sung Lucia in Rome. My nerves are in a state--'
'You are not frightened? You--of all people?'
'I am half dead with fright. I am white under my rouge. I can feel it.'
'Poor child!' exclaimed Francesco, softly, and his eyes lightened as he
watched her.
'Bah!' Tebaldo shrugged his shoulders and smiled. 'She always says
that!'
'And sometimes it is true,' answered Aliandra, with a sharp sigh.
A double rap at the door interrupted the conversation.
'Signorina Basili! Are you ready?' asked a gruff voice outside.
'Yes!' replied the young girl, rising with an effort.
Francesco seized her left hand and kissed it. Tebaldo said nothing, but
folded his arms and stood aside. He saw on his brother's dark moustache
a few grains of the chalky dust which whitened Aliandra's fingers.
'Do not wait for me when it is over,' she said. 'My aunt is in the
house, and will take me home. Good night.'
'Goodbye,' said Tebaldo, looking intently into her face as he opened the
door.
She started in surprise, and perhaps her face would have betrayed her
pain, but the terribly artificial rouge and powder hid the change.
'Come and see me to-morrow,' she said to Tebaldo, in a low voice, when
she was already in the doorway.
He did not answer, but kept his eyes steadily on her face.
'Signorina Basili! You will miss your cue!' cried the gruff voice in the
corridor.
Aliandra hesitated an instant, glancing out and then looking again at
Tebaldo.
'To-morrow,' she said suddenly, stepping out into the passage.
'To-morrow,' she repeated, as she went swiftly towards the stage.
She looked back just before she disappeared, but there was little light,
and Tebaldo could no longer see her eyes.
He stood still by the door. Then his brother passed him.
'I am going to hear this act,' said Francesco, quietly, as though
unaware that anything unusual had happened.
Before he was out of the door, he felt Tebaldo's hand on his shoulder,
gripping him hard and shaking him a little. He turned his head, and his
face was suddenly pale. Tebaldo kept his hand on his brother's shoulder
and pushed him back against the wall of the passage, under the solitary
gaslight.
'What do you mean by coming here?' he asked. 'How do you dare?'
Francesco was badly frightened, for he knew Tebaldo's ungovernable
temper.
'Why not?' he tried to ask. 'I have often been here--'
'Because I warned you not to come again. Because I am in earnest.
Because I will do you some harm, if you thrust yourself into my way with
her.'
'I shall call for help now, unless you let me go,' answered Francesco,
with white lips. Tebaldo laughed savagely.
'What a coward you are!' he cried, giving his brother a final shake and
then letting him go. 'And what a fool I am to care?' he added, laughing
again.
'Brute!' exclaimed Francesco, adjusting his collar and smoothing his
coat.
'I warned you,' retorted Tebaldo, watching him. 'And now I have warned
you again,' he added. 'This is the second time. Are there no women in
the world besides Aliandra Basili?'
'I knew her first,' objected the younger man, beginning to recover some
courage.
'You knew her first? When she was a mere child in Randazzo,--when we
went to her father about a lease, we both heard her singing,--but what
has that to do with it? That was six years ago, and you have hardly seen
her since.'
'How do you know?' asked Francesco, scornfully.
He had gradually edged past Tebaldo towards the open end of the passage.
'How do you know that I did not often see her alone before she went to
Messina, and since then, too?' He smiled as he renewed the question.
'I do not know,' said Tebaldo, calmly. 'You are a coward. You are also a
most accomplished liar. It is impossible to believe a word you say, good
or bad. I should not believe you if you were dying, and if you swore
upon the holy sacraments that you were telling me the truth.'
'Thank you,' answered Francesco, apparently unmoved by the insult. 'But
you would probably believe Aliandra, would you not?'
'Why should I? She is only a woman.'
Tebaldo turned angrily as he spoke, and his eyelids drooped at the
corners, like a vulture's.
'You two are not made to be believed,' he said, growing more cold, 'I
sometimes forget, but you soon remind me of the fact again. You said
distinctly this evening that you would go home with our mother--'
'So I did,' interrupted Francesco. 'I did not promise to stay there--'
'I will not argue with you--'
'No. It would be useless, as you are in the wrong. I am going to hear
the act. Good night.'
Francesco walked quickly down the passage. He did not turn to look
behind him, but it was not until he was at the back of the stage,
groping his way amidst lumber and dust towards the other side, that he
felt safe from any further violence.
Tebaldo had no intention of following. He stood quite still under the
gaslight for a few seconds, and then opened the door of the
dressing-room again. He knew that the maid was there alone.
'How long was my brother here before I came?' he asked sharply.
The woman was setting things in order, packing the tinsel-trimmed gown
which the singer had worn in the previous scene. She looked up
nervously, for she was afraid of Tebaldo.
'A moment, only a moment,' she answered, not pausing in her work, and
speaking in a scared tone.
Tebaldo looked at her and saw that she was frightened. He was not in the
humour to believe anyone just then, and after a moment's silence, he
turned on his heel and went out.