performing the duties which they had undertaken, and they attracted
attention by their manly appearance and by a touch of picturesqueness in
their holiday attire. The majordomo had evidently selected them from
among the most _presentable_, and they were well aware of it; for they,
too, posed artlessly: one put forward each shoulder in turn to display
its enormous breadth; another made the most of every inch of his great
stature as he passed many a diminutive great personage; a third elevated
the arch of his eyebrows to show the fair dames an eye as bright as a
carbuncle.
Michel was surprised to see those honest fellows transform themselves
so, and sacrifice the advantages of their natural dignity or their
attractive exterior by an affectation, perhaps involuntary, but
certainly ridiculous.--"I knew," he thought, "that all men eagerly
sought approbation, to whatever class or profession they might belong.
But why does this craving to attract attention suddenly deprive us of
the charm or the dignity of our manners? Can it be that the desire is
over-eager, or that the object is contemptible? Must beauty necessarily
be unconscious of itself in order to lose nothing of its splendor? Or am
I alone endowed with this intolerable clearness of vision? Where is the
intense enjoyment that I expected to find here? Instead of following
with interest the actions of other people, I am exerting myself to pass
judgment in cold blood on everything that meets my eye, and to deprive
myself of any external enjoyment!"
By dint of watching so closely and making so many comparisons, Michel
had forgotten the main object of his presence at the ball. He remembered
at last that he was especially desirous to study calmly a certain
figure, and he was about to ascend the great staircase and wander about
the interior of the palace, where all the rooms were open and lighted,
When, happening to turn his head, he saw close at hand a detail of the
decorations of which he had forgotten to observe the effect.
It was a rockwork grotto, which formed a recess of considerable size
under the staircase. He had himself decorated with shellwork, branches
of coral and picturesque plants, that cool retreat, at the farther end
of which an alabaster naiad poured water from her urn into a huge shell,
always brimming full of clear running water.
The taste Michel had displayed in all the details entrusted to him had
induced the majordomo to allow him to arrange many things as he chose;
and as this naiad had impressed him as a charming creation, he had taken
pleasure in placing in her grotto the prettiest vases, the daintiest
garlands and the finest rugs. He had spent a full hour surrounding the
mother-of-pearl shell with a border of moss, as fine and soft as velvet,
in selecting and arranging in graceful and charming disorder bunches of
iris and water-lilies, and those long ribbon-like leaves which harmonize
so perfectly with the undulating movement of running water.
Now the grotto was lighted by a pale light concealed behind the foliage;
and as everybody was intent upon watching the dance, the entrance was
unobstructed. Michel entered stealthily; but he had not taken three
steps when he saw a person seated, or rather reclining, in the
half-light, at the naiad's feet. He hastily concealed himself behind a
jutting rock, and was about to retire; but an irresistible fascination
detained him.
XI
THE GROTTO OF THE NAIAD
Princess Agatha was reclining on a divan of dark velvet, where her
graceful and noble figure resembled a ghost in the moonlight. Michel
could see her profile in the dim light, and the reflection of the
candles behind her outlined with admirable distinctness features as
delicate and pure as a young maid's. Her long full white gown assumed
all the shades of the opal in that soft light, and the diamonds in her
coronet shot flames of changing hue, now like the sapphire and again
like the emerald. Michel lost altogether the idea that he had formed of
her age when he first saw her. It seemed to him that she was a child,
and when he remembered that he had believed her to be above thirty, he
asked himself whether she was thus transfigured by a celestial radiance
or by a gleam from hell, wherewith she was able, like a sorceress, to
envelop herself in order to deceive the senses.
She seemed fatigued and depressed. But her attitude was modest and her
expression serene. She was inhaling the perfume of her bouquet of
cyclamen and playing idly with her fan. Michel gazed at her a long time
before he heard, or, at least, attached a meaning to the words she was
saying. She seemed to him lovelier than any of the beauties he had been
scrutinizing so closely, and he could not understand the unmixed,
boundless admiration which she aroused in him. He strove in vain to
examine her features in detail and analyze her charms; he could not
succeed. She seemed to be floating in a magic fluid which protected her
from being studied like other women. From time to time, thinking that he
understood her, he closed his eyes and tried to sketch her portrait in
his memory, to draw her in imagination, in strokes of flame, on the
black veil which he spread before his own eyes by lowering his lids. But
he saw naught but confused lines, and could not conjure up any distinct
face. He was compelled to reopen his eyes in haste and gaze at her with
anxiety, with intense delight, and above all, with surprise.
For there was a something indescribable about her. She was perfectly
natural; of all the women Michel had seen, she alone seemed to have no
thought of herself; she had assumed no studied air or manner; she did
not know, or did not choose to know, what people thought of her, what
they felt as they looked at her; she had the tranquillity of a mind
disassociated from all human things, and the entire freedom from
constraint that she might have had in absolute solitude.
And yet she was arrayed like a genuine princess; she was giving a ball,
she displayed her magnificence, she played her rôle of a great lady and
of a woman of the world, like any other, to all appearance. Why then
that madonna-like air, that inward meditation, or that rapt
contemplation of a soul above human vanities?
She was a living enigma to the young artist's restless imagination.
Something still more strange perplexed him beyond measure; and that was
that it seemed to him that he had not seen her that day for the first
time.
Where could he have seen her before? In vain did he rack his memory.
When he arrived at Catania her very name was strange to him. A person of
such exalted rank, and so remarkable by reason of her wealth, her
beauty, and her reputation for virtue, could not have come to Rome
_incognito_. Michel cudgelled his brain. He could recall no occasion
when he could have seen her; especially as when he looked at her, he had
a feeling, not that he had known her slightly, but that he had known her
intimately and for a long time, ever since he was born.
When he had exhausted his memory, he said to himself that there must be
some abstract reason for that sensation. It must be due to the fact that
she was the ideal type of beauty of which he had always dreamed, but
which he had never been able to grasp and produce. That was a poetic
commonplace. He was fain to be content with it for lack of a better.
But the princess was not alone, for she was talking; and Michel soon
discovered that she was tête-à-tête with a man. That was certainly a
reason to impel him to withdraw, but it was difficult to do so. To
preserve the mysterious obscurity of the grotto and exclude the
brilliant light of the ball-room, the entrance had been masked by a
heavy blue velvet curtain, which our inquisitive hero, by the merest
chance, had drawn aside a little way when he entered, without attracting
the attention of the two persons who were talking there. The entrance to
the grotto being only half as wide as the grotto itself, formed a frame,
not of artificial rocks, as would have been the case with us, in our
imitations of _rococo_, but of genuine blocks of lava, vitrified, and of
divers shades of color, curious and valuable specimens collected long
before in the very crater of the volcano to be set like jewels in the
masonry. This beautiful door-frame protruded far enough into the grotto
to conceal Michel, who was able to see because of its uneven surface.
But, in order to go out, he must raise the curtain again, and he could
hardly hope that both the princess and her companion would be
sufficiently engrossed not to notice him.
Michel thought of all this too late to avert the consequences of his
imprudence. It was too late for him to go out naturally, as he had
entered. Moreover he was nailed to his place by the most intense
curiosity and anxiety. Doubtless that man was the princess's lover.
He was a man of about thirty-five years, tall, and with a grave, sweet
face, wonderfully handsome and regular. In his manner, as he sat facing
Agatha at a distance, which indicated something betwixt respect and
intimacy, there was nothing to criticise; but when Michel had recovered
his presence of mind sufficiently to listen to the words that fell upon
his ears, he fancied that he could detect an indication of mutual
affection in this observation of the princess:
"Thank heaven it has not yet occurred to anyone to raise the curtain and
discover this delightful retreat; although I might naturally take some
pride in bringing my guests here,--for it is beautifully decorated
to-night,--I would like to pass the night here all alone, or with you,
marquis, while the fête and the dancing and the tumult run their course
behind the curtain."
The marquis replied, in a tone which did not indicate a presumptuous
man:
"You should have had the grotto closed altogether by a door to which you
alone had a key, and have transformed it into a private salon, whither
you could come from time to time to obtain some repose from the heat,
the glare and the compliments. You are not accustomed to society now,
and you were over-confident of your strength. You will be terribly tired
to-morrow."
"I am already; but it was not the crowd and the noise that broke me down
so in an instant."
"I understand that, my dear friend," said the marquis, pressing Agatha's
hand fraternally in his. "Try to think of something else, at least for a
few hours, so that your preoccupation may not be manifest; for you
cannot escape people's eyes, and, outside of this grotto, you have not
left yourself a single corner of your whole palace where you can take
refuge without running the gauntlet of obsequious salutations,
inquisitive glances--"
"And trite remarks with which I am already sated," added the princess,
struggling to smile. "How can anyone be fond of society, marquis? Can
you understand it?"
"I can understand it in the case of people who are satisfied with
themselves, and who think that it is always an advantage to exhibit
themselves."
"To my mind, the ball is delightful thus, at a distance, when we cannot
see it or be seen. There is something piquant--almost poetic--in the
buzzing, this distant music that we hear, and in the idea that people
are being amused or bored outside, and that we are not compelled to take
any part in it."
"But it is reported to-day that you are about to become reconciled to
society, and that this magnificent fête, which you are giving for love
of good works, will incline you to give or to see others. In short, they
say that you are going to change all your habits and reappear in the
world, like a star too long eclipsed."
"And why do people say such an extraordinary thing?"
"Ah! in order to answer that question, I should have to constitute
myself the echo of all the laudations to which you refused to listen;
and I am not in the habit of telling you even the truth when it bears a
resemblance to insipid compliments."
"I do you that justice, and I authorize you to-night to repeat all that
you have heard."
"Very well! People say that you are still lovelier than all those women
who take pains to appear lovely; that you outshine the most brilliant
and most admired women by a certain charm peculiar to yourself, and by
an air of noble simplicity which wins all hearts. They are beginning
anew to be surprised that you live in solitude, and--must I tell
everything?"
"Yes, absolutely everything."
"They say--I heard it with my own ears as I brushed against people who
had no idea that I was so near: 'What strange whim prevents her marrying
the Marquis della Serra?'"
"Go on, go on, marquis; say on; have no fear. They say, doubtless, that
I am the more ill-advised in that you are my lover?"
"No, signora, they do not say that," replied the marquis, in a
chivalrous tone; "and they will not say it, so long as I have a tongue
to deny it, and an arm to avenge your honor."
"Dear and generous friend!" exclaimed the princess, offering him her
hand; "you take that too seriously. I will wager that everybody believes
and says that we love each other."
"They may believe and say that I love you, for that is the truth; and
the truth always comes out sooner or later. That is why people know also
that you do not love me."
"Noble heart! But, now less than ever---- To-morrow I will talk to you
more freely on this subject than I have ever done. I will tell you
everything. This is neither a fitting time nor place. I must return to
the ball, where it is probable that my long absence causes surprise."
"Are you sufficiently rested and calm?"
"Yes; now I can resume my mask of impassibility."
"Ah! it costs you little to assume it, terrible woman!" cried the
marquis, rising and pressing convulsively to his breast the arm that she
had passed through his. "You are as invulnerable in the depths of your
heart as you are on the surface."
"Do not say that, marquis," said the princess, detaining him and looking
at him with a clear penetrating glance that sent a thrill through
Michel's whole being. "At this solemn moment of my life, that is a stab
of which you do not realize the depth. To-morrow, for the first time in
the twelve years that we have known without comprehending each other,
you will comprehend me perfectly! Come," she added, shaking her lovely
head, as if to banish serious thoughts, "let us go and dance! But first
let us say good-night to the naiad, so lovely in this light, and to this
charming grotto, which will soon be desecrated by the indifferent
multitude."
"Was it old Pier-Angelo who decorated it so beautifully?" inquired the
marquis, turning toward the naiad.
"No," replied the princess, "_it was he!_"
And hurrying from the room, as if impelled by a courageous resolution,
she suddenly drew the curtain aside and threw it upon Michel, who, by
unhoped-for good-fortune, was thus doubly concealed when she passed very
near him.
As soon as the disquietude due to his own situation as an interloper was
dispelled, he entered the grotto, and finding that he was quite alone
there, he sank upon the divan, beside the place the princess had
occupied. All that he had heard had agitated him strangely; but all the
reflections in which he might have indulged were overshadowed by the
last words that extraordinary woman had uttered.
Those words might have been an enigma to an absolutely humble and
innocent young man: "_No, it was not Pier-Angelo; it was he!_" What a
mysterious reply, or what extraordinary abstraction! But to Michel it
was not abstraction: that _he_ did not relate to Pier-Angelo, but to
himself. To the princess, therefore, he was a person whom it was not
necessary to call by name, and she spoke of him in that concise and
emphatic way to a man who was in love with her.
That inexplicable sentence, and the reticence which had preceded it, her
refusal to admit that she loved the marquis, that _solemn moment of her
life_ to which she had referred, that terrible shock which she said that
she had had during the evening, that important confidential
communication which she was to make the next day--did all of these
relate to Michel?
When he remembered the inexplicable glance she had bestowed upon him
when she saw him for the first time before the opening of the ball, he
was tempted to give way to the most insane presumptions. It is true
that, while she was talking with the marquis, there had been a moment
when her dreamy eyes had shone with no less extraordinary brilliancy;
but it seemed to Michel that their expression was not the same as when
they had looked into his. Glance for glance, he preferred the one that
had fallen to him.
Who could describe the marvellous and gorgeous romances which that rash
youth's brain developed during the next quarter of an hour? They were
all built upon the same foundation, the unheard-of genius of a young
artist who was ignorant of his own powers, and who had suddenly revealed
them in a brilliant and extensive piece of decorative work. The lovely
princess for whom that masterly work was undertaken had come often, by
stealth, to observe its progress, and during the week that the artist
had spent in the enchanted palace, taking his siesta and eating at
certain hours, in certain mysterious rooms, this invisible fairy had
come to gaze upon him, sometimes from behind a curtain, sometimes from a
rose-window in the wall. She had been smitten with love for his person
or with admiration for his talents--at any rate with an infatuation of
some sort for him; and that sentiment was so intense that she could not
summon the necessary self-possession to manifest it by words. Her glance
had revealed everything to him in spite of herself; and how should he,
trembling and bewildered as he was, find a way to tell her that he had
understood her?
He had reached that point when the Marquis della Serra, the princess's
adorer, suddenly reappeared before him and surprised him holding in his
hands the fan the princess had left on the divan, and gazing at it
without seeing it.
"I beg your pardon, my dear child," said the marquis, saluting him with
charming courtesy, "but I am compelled to deprive you of that object,
for which a lady has sent me. But if the Chinese pictures on this fan
interest you, I can place at your disposal a collection of interesting
vases and images from which you will be at liberty to choose."
"You are much too kind, signor marquis," replied Michel, offended by an
air of benevolence in which he fancied that he could detect an
impertinent assumption of superiority; "the fan does not interest me,
and Chinese painting is not to my taste."
The marquis perceived Michel's irritation, and rejoined with a smile:
"Presumably you have seen only coarse specimens of the art of that
people; but there are colored drawings, which, despite the elementary
simplicity of the process, are worthy to be compared with the Etruscan
vases in purity of outline and delightful artlessness of subjects. I
shall be happy to show you those that I own. It is a small pleasure
which I should be glad to afford you, but which would by no means pay my
debt to you, for I have taken very great pleasure in looking at your
paintings."
The marquis's tone was so sincere, and his face wore such an
unmistakable expression of kindliness, that Michel, attacked on his weak
side, could not refrain from saying ingenuously what he felt.
"I fear," he said, "that your lordship desires to encourage me by more
indulgence than I deserve; for I cannot suppose that you would stoop to
make sport of a young artist at the outset of his career."
"God forbid, my young friend!" replied the marquis, holding out his hand
with an irresistibly cordial air. "I know your father too well and
esteem him too highly not to be predisposed in your favor; that much I
must admit; but I can say to you in all sincerity that your paintings
disclose genius and give promise of talent. You see, I do not flatter
you; there are still great faults in your work, due to inexperience or
to overheated imagination: but there is a stamp of grandeur and
originality of conception which can neither be acquired nor lost. Work,
work, my young Michelangelo, and you will deserve the noble name you
bear."
"Are others of your opinion, signor marquis?" queried Michel, strongly
tempted to introduce the princess's name in the conversation.
"I think that everybody shares my opinion. Your defects are criticised
indulgently, your good qualities warmly praised; people are not
surprised at your brilliant performance when they learn that you are
from Catania and the son of Pier-Angelo Lavoratori, an excellent
workman, full of fire and spirit. We are loyal compatriots hereabout,
Michelangelo! We rejoice at the triumphs won by a child of the country,
and everyone generously claims a share in them. We esteem so highly
those who are born on our beloved soil, that we forget all distinctions
of rank, and nobles and peasants, artists and artisans, mutually
overlook their ancient prejudices and unite their prayers in a fervent
desire for national unity."
"Oho!" thought Michel, "the marquis is talking politics to me! I don't
know his opinions. Perhaps, if he has guessed the princess's feelings,
he proposes to try to ruin me! I will not trust him.--Will your lordship
tell me," he said aloud, "if the Princess of Palmarosa has deigned to
look at my paintings, and if she is not altogether dissatisfied with my
work?"
"The princess is enchanted, do not doubt it, my dear fellow," replied
the marquis, with extraordinary warmth; "and if she knew that you were
here she would come and tell you so herself. But she is too much engaged
at this moment for you to obtain speech of her. To-morrow, I doubt not,
she will give you the praise that you deserve, and you will lose nothing
by waiting. By the way," he said, turning again as he was about to leave
the grotto, "will you come and see my Chinese paintings, and some other
pictures not altogether without merit? I shall be delighted to see you
often. My country house is close at hand."
Michel bowed, as if to thank him and accept his invitation; but,
although he could not help being flattered by the marquis's gracious
manner toward him, he was depressed, crushed as it were. Evidently the
marquis was not jealous of him. He was not even disturbed.
XII
MAGNANI
Nothing is so mortifying as to have believed, though it were only for a
single hour, in the reality of a romantic, intoxicating adventure, and
to discover that you have simply been dreaming an absurd dream. Each new
reflection in which our young artist indulged cooled his brain and led
him back to the dismal field of probabilities. Upon what foundation had
he built so many castles in Spain? Upon a glance which he had doubtless
misinterpreted, and upon a remark which he must have misunderstood. All
the convincing arguments which offered a flat contradiction to his
extravagant conceit stood like a mountain in his path, and he felt that
he was falling back from heaven to earth.
"I am very foolish," he said to himself, "to give all my thoughts to a
problematical pair of eyes and to unintelligible words from a woman whom
I do not know, and whom consequently I do not love, when I have far more
important matters on hand. I must go and see if this marquis did not
deceive me, and if everybody really considers that my paintings show
genius in default of science. And yet," he continued, as he left the
grotto, "there is something that savors of mystery at the bottom of all
this, none the less. How does this marquis know me, when I never saw
him? How does it happen that he accosted me without hesitation, with
such familiarity, and called me by my Christian name, as if we were old
friends? To be sure, he may have been at some window, or in a church, or
on the public square on the day I walked through the city with my
father; or when I was looking at the aërial gardens of the Semiramis
who employs me, he may have been in one of those boudoirs, apparently so
tightly closed, whose windows look in that direction, and where he is
allowed, doubtless, to go and sigh hopelessly for her lovely capricious
eyes."
Michel walked through the crowd, and attracted no one's attention. His
features were not known, although his name had been on many lips, and
people talked freely of his work in his very ears.
"That is promising," said some.
"He still has much to learn," said others.