Arrangements with Milord—His Son—Brain-fever—Fruitless
Attempts—My Marriage—My Husband’s Conduct—The Avarice of my
Parents—An Envoy from England.
Though my engagement at the theatre was to end in a fortnight, my father
got a substitute for me, and himself gave up his post; maintaining that
all that was henceforth incompatible with the high rank I was to attain.
Nevertheless, he did not forget to take his precautions, but effected
an agreement greatly to his own advantage, and, with no thought for my
future, simply put me at the mercy of my elderly adorer in consideration
for a sum of fifteen thousand _francesconi_, a pension of thirty ducats a
month, and the proprietorship of a magnificent country house at Fiesole,
very well furnished, with a courtyard, gardens, and two immense vineyards.
Moreover, milord promised to pay the expenses of the whole family during
his whole stay in Italy on condition that he and his son were allowed to
live with us.
That young man was then sixteen years old, tall and well made; Nature had
endowed him with ability and a good heart, but he was so ignorant and
uncouth that it was pitiful to see him. He could neither read nor write,
and used the coarsest expressions; his greatest pleasure was the company
of low people or servants.
He talked a great deal about a Signora Bussoti, wife of milord’s cook,
telling any one who choose to listen that this _very respectable_ person
had caused his mother’s death, and was daily eating up his father’s
fortune; that she had children whose legitimacy was anything but certain,
and for whose sake he himself had often been beaten.
These speeches, and many other blemishes I caught sight of through the
trouble my future husband took to prevent my being entirely disgusted
with him, finished by making me realize completely the depth of the abyss
into which I was to be thrown. My youthful imagination took fright, and I
could no longer bear the weight of my misery.
All at once I was seized with violent pain, my senses were benumbed, my
head turned, and for twenty-six days my life was despaired of. Even
in my delirium the thought of my unhappiness did not leave me; I cried
aloud; I breathed complaints; I made incoherent murmurs. My grandmother
and my aunt were inconsolable; they were always with me, and their
constant and affectionate care greatly contributed to my recovery.
Alas! as soon as I recovered consciousness, I regretted that I was alive;
I rose and rushed to the balcony; but my father came in, took hold of me
and stopped me.
Vainly I took the opportunity to repeat my humble remonstrances and to
swear perfect obedience to him in every other respect; he only put before
me, in his turn, all the supposed advantages I should gain, and averred
that the Grand Duke, knowing all about me, absolutely required me to be
ennobled.
As soon as I was well enough to go out, the doctors advised country air,
and we went to Fiesole, a little town three miles from Florence.
There a new idea came to me, which at first I believed might be very
useful. I urged the difference of religion and the impossibility of my
marrying a Protestant.
But the old heretic did away with that difficulty at once.
“I’ll turn Jew!” he exclaimed; “I’ll turn Mussulman; I’ll turn idolater;
I’ll turn anything you like so long as you’ll consent to be my wife.”
And he called in priests and monks to instruct him, and neglected nothing
necessary for becoming a member of the Roman Church.
After that there was nothing to be done but fix the day for my immolation.
The fatal day arrived, and by the first light of dawn we made ready to
start for Florence.
Before getting into the carriage, for the last time I threw myself at the
feet of my inexorable parents, watering them with my tears, while sobs
choked my voice.
My mother grew angry and heaped abuse on me; my father raised me roughly,
saying crossly, “The Grand Duke wishes it; there’s no way of going back
now.”
We set off at once, and fearing that the populace might rise against
the unjust violence done to a girl of thirteen, we went not to a public
church but to a private chapel.
I was led to the foot of the altar and placed by the side of the man I
abhorred.
Questioned by the minister, I had nearly answered in the negative, when
my father pinched me, and, with a muttered threat that he would kill me,
somehow extorted from me the fatal vow which put the seal on my wretched
fate.
The ceremony over, we returned to Fiesole, where a number of friends came
to offer their congratulations.
Instead of receiving them, I shut myself up in my room, and it was in
vain that they sent for me. I took no food but what my grandmother and
aunt brought to me in secret.
At the end of four days my father burst open the door, forced me to go
out, and put me into the arms of my husband, or rather my insufferable
keeper; for he was so full of jealousy that he could not endure the
presence of a man. If I went out, he wanted to accompany me, or sent some
one after me.
Scores of times he was guilty of rudeness to people who honoured me with
their salutations, and on every hand he thought he saw favoured rivals or
dangerous emissaries.
Every day the fumes of wine upset his weak mind; he gave way to
frightful fits of anger, and after having infinitely increased the usual
discomforts of our dreary household, he would fall into a deep sleep in
which he snored loudly.
He speedily conceived such an antipathy for the various members of my
family that he never spoke of them but by the most filthy names.
When I reminded him of the affectionate and loving names he constantly
called me by, he always answered, “As for you, my dear better-half, you
may feel quite sure there is nothing in common between your charming self
and that odious stock.”
And truly I was often astonished myself that there was so obvious a
difference, whether in the colour and shape of the face, whether in
the disposition and temperament, the bearing and speech, or the mental
faculties and the inclinations of the heart.
The contrast was especially striking between my generosity and the
well-known avarice of the Chiappinis.
They were in constant torment from this passion; they were for ever
exhorting me, urging me to ask for money, to demand ornaments, to go to
shops to buy them whatever they wanted.
My humouring them, their own extravagances, and, even more, the
insatiable claims of the _charming_ Bussoti, soon exhausted the exchequer
of milord, whose credulity let him be robbed of nearly his last farthing.
I don’t know what would have become of him if Mr. Price, his man of
business, had not opportunely arrived.
This gentleman handed over some ready money to him, and prepared to
return and send him back some larger sums.
There was waiting, and impatience, and counting of days and hours! At
last the post brings a letter. My father goes to fetch it, breaks the
seal, has it translated, and its contents are known before it reaches the
person to whom it is addressed.
It announces the sending off of several trunks. Joyful news! Clapping of
all hands!
But what a surprise! When the trunks, so longed for, were opened, nothing
was to be seen but a heap of old rubbish that Mr. Price had doubtless
got together from the wardrobes of milord’s grandmamas, and by which he
had thought he might temporarily assuage the raging thirst of my greedy
relatives.
I could not help laughing, while my mother, bawling at the top of her
voice, accused me of carelessness, declaring that if there was nothing
better, it was because I had not been willing to ask for anything.