exist between you and a great lady to-day will quickly be surmounted,
and, as you yourself have said, the day will come when those women will
make advances to you. Those words, which escaped from your heart, seemed
to me presumptuous and absurd at first. Now that I understand you they
seem perfectly natural and legitimate to me. Yes, you will win the favor
of women of the most exalted rank, because you are in the bloom of
youth, because your beauty is of a refined and somewhat effeminate type,
which gives you a resemblance to the men who are born to a life of
idleness; because you are accustomed to fashionable society, because you
have the instinct of good manners and seem perfectly at home in the
clothes you wear; for all these things, added to genius and success, are
essential to induce proud women to overlook the artist's plebeian
origin. Yes, you will be able to appear a man in their eyes, while I
should disguise myself to no purpose; I should never be anything but a
mechanic, and my rough shell would show in spite of me. It is too late
for me to begin: I am twenty-six years old! But I thrill with strange
emotion when I think that, five years ago, when I was still as pliable
as wax, if someone had encouraged and ennobled in my eyes the instincts
that were springing to life within me, if someone had spoken to me as
you have just done, I might have followed a course not unlike yours, and
have started upon a soul-stirring career! My mind was open to the
sentiment of the beautiful; I could sing like the nightingale, without
understanding my own notes, but with the power of untaught inspiration.
I could read, understand, and remember many books; I understood nature,
too; I could read in the sky and in the broad expanse of the sea, in the
verdure of the forests and the blue-capped mountains. It seems to me
that I might have been a musician, or a poet, or a landscape painter.
And love was already speaking to my heart; already she had appeared to
me from whom I cannot detach my thoughts. What a stimulus for me if I
had surrendered to my violent temptations!--But I forced them all back
into my heart, fearing to be false to my kindred and friends, fearing to
degrade myself in their eyes and my own by seeking to rise. I have
inured myself to work; my hands have become callous, and my mind as
well. My chest has increased in size, it is true, and my heart has kept
pace with it, like a polypus which feeds upon me and absorbs all my
vitality; but my brow has retreated, I am sure of it; my imagination has
collapsed; poesy is dead within me; I have nothing left except the
reasoning power, loyalty, resolution, and self-sacrifice--that is to
say, suffering! Ah! Michel, spread your wings and leave this land of
sorrows! fly, like a bird, to the domes of palaces and temples, and from
that height look down upon this wretched people, grovelling and groaning
at your feet. Pity me at least, love me if you can, and never do
anything which can lower you in your own eyes."
Magnani was deeply moved; but suddenly his emotion changed its nature;
he started, hastily turned his head and put his hand on the branches of
a dense clump of rose myrtle, which masked a dark recess in the wall
behind him. That curtain of verdure, which he put aside with a
convulsive movement, concealed the entrance to a secret passage, which,
as it presumably led only to the servants' quarters, was not open to the
princess's guests. Michel, surprised at Magnani's movement, glanced into
the passage, which was dimly lighted by a dying lamp, the farther end
being in total darkness. It seemed to him that he saw a white figure
gliding through the shadows, but it was so vague that it was hardly
perceptible, and it might have been an illusion caused by the sudden
introduction of a brighter light when the bushes were put aside. He was
about to enter; but Magnani detained him, saying:
"We have no right to watch what takes place in the reserved portions of
this sanctuary. My first curious movement was made without reflection; I
thought that I heard a light step close beside me, and--I was dreaming,
doubtless!--I fancied that I saw this bush move. But it was an illusion
due to the fear that seized upon me at the thought that I was on the
point of letting my secret pass my lips. I must leave you, Michel; these
outpourings of the heart are dangerous, they upset me; I feel that I
must withdraw into myself and give my reason time to allay the tempests
raised in my breast by your words and your example."
Magnani hurried away, and Michel returned to the ball. The confession of
his young companion, that he was beset by an insane love for a great
lady, had reawakened in him an emotion which he thought that he had
conquered. He hovered about the dancers, trying to divert his thoughts,
for he felt that his folly was as dangerous for the moment as Magnani's.
Many years must pass before he could consider that his genius had placed
him on the level of the most exalted social ranks; so that he derived an
agonizing sort of amusement from watching the youngest of the dancers
and dreamily seeking among them one whom he might some day gaze upon
with eyes inflamed with love and presumption. Probably he did not
discover her, for he transferred his fancy from one to another, and, as
one risks nothing by being hard to please in that variety of castles in
Spain, he continued to seek, and to discuss with himself the comparative
merits of those youthful beauties.
But in the midst of these aberrations of his brain he suddenly saw the
Princess of Palmarosa pass. He had been careful hitherto to remain at
some distance from the dancing groups, and to keep well out of sight
behind the benches of the amphitheatre; now he involuntarily approached;
and, although the crowd was not dense enough to justify or conceal his
presence, he walked on until he was almost in the front row, among
persons each nobler and richer than his neighbor. This time his
instinctive pride did not warn him of the perils of his situation. An
invincible magnet drew him on and detained him: the princess was
dancing.
Doubtless it was for form's sake, to satisfy the proprieties, or from
good nature, for she simply walked, and did not seem to take the
slightest pleasure in it. But she walked better than the others danced,
and, without a thought of striving to be graceful, she displayed every
variety of grace. That woman really possessed an extraordinary charm
which penetrated like a subtle perfume, and finally dominated or effaced
everything about her. One would have said that she was a queen in the
midst of her court, in some kingdom where moral and physical perfection
reigned.
It was the chastity of the celestial virgins with their omnipotent
serenity--a pallor in nowise extreme or sickly--which denoted the
absence of intense emotions. People said that the secret of that
mysterious life was either systematic abstinence from excitement or
extraordinary indifference. And yet her appearance was not that of a
lifeless statue. Kindness of heart lent animation to her somewhat
absent-minded glance and gave an indescribable sweetness to her faint
smile.
In the glare of those countless lights she appeared to Michel an
entirely different woman from her he had seen in the grotto an hour
earlier, when the peculiar light or his own imagination had made her
appear a little terrifying to him. Now her indifference was calm rather
than depressed, habitual rather than forced. She had recovered just
enough animation to vanquish the heart and leave the passions
undisturbed.
XIV
BARBAGALLO
If Michel could have removed his eyes from the object of his
contemplation, he would have seen his father playing a flageolet in the
orchestra a few steps away. Pier-Angelo had a passion for art in any
form in which he could assimilate it. He loved and understood music, and
played several instruments by instinct in almost perfect tone and time.
Having attended to several details of the fête which had been placed
under his supervision, and having nothing more to do, he had been unable
to resist the desire to mingle with the musicians, who knew him well,
and who took pleasure in his gayety, his attractive, kindly face, and
the enthusiasm with which he produced from time to time a shrill
_ritornello_ on his instrument. When the minstrel whose place he had
taken returned from the buffet, Pier-Angelo seized upon the vacant
cymbals, and, toward the end of the quadrille, was sawing with great
delight the heavy strings of the bass-viol.
He was enchanted above all things to play for the princess, who, having
espied his bald head on the platform among the orchestra, bestowed upon
him from a distance a smile and an imperceptible friendly nod which the
old man stored away in his heart. Michelangelo would have considered
perhaps that his father gave his time too lavishly to the service of his
dear patroness, and did not maintain strictly enough his dignity as an
artisan. But at that moment Michel, who believed that he had forgotten
or been cured of the effect of Princess Agatha's glance, had fallen so
completely under its influence that he cared for nothing but to
encounter it again.
His only fine clothes, which a lingering remnant of ineradicable
aristocratic feeling had led him to bring through the gorges of Ætna in
a travelling-bag slung over his shoulder, were of fashionable cut and in
good taste. His face, too, was so handsome and so noble that there
certainly was nothing to which exception could be taken in his person or
in his dress. And yet his presence in the circle immediately surrounding
the princess had, for some moments past, offended the eyes of Master
Barbagallo, the majordomo of the palace.
That individual, ordinarily the mildest and most humane of men, had
nevertheless his antipathies and his spasms of comical indignation. He
had recognized Michel's talent; but the young man's impatient air when
he ventured to address some trivial remark to him, and the small respect
he had seemed to entertain for his authority, had caused the majordomo
to look upon the painter with distrust and something like aversion.
According to his ideas--and he had made a special study of titles and
heraldry--nobody was noble but the _nobles_, and he looked upon all
other classes of society with silent but unconquerable disdain. He was
shocked and offended, therefore, to see the haughty palace of his
masters thrown open to what he called a mob--tradesmen, lawyers,
Jewesses, suspicious travellers, students, petty officers; in a word, to
anyone who chose to pay a gold-piece for the privilege of dancing in the
princess's quadrille. This subscription fête was a new invention,
imported from abroad, and it overturned all his notions of decorum.
The retirement in which the princess had always lived had assisted this
worthy majordomo to retain all his illusions and all his prejudices
touching the excellence of castes. That is why he became more and more
distressed, restless and morose as the night advanced. He had seen the
princess promise a contra-dance to a young lawyer who had had the
audacity to invite her; and when he saw Michelangelo Lavoratori gazing
at her at such close quarters with enraptured eyes, he wondered if that
dauber of canvas would not also enter the lists to dance with her.
"The world has turned upside down in twenty years, I see," he said to
himself; "if such a ball as this had been given here in Prince Dionigi's
time, things would have been managed differently. Each class would have
kept apart from the rest; they would have formed different groups, and
no group would have mingled with its superiors or inferiors. But here
all ranks are jumbled together; it's a bazar--an infernal revel!--But,
by the way," it occurred to him, "what is that little painter doing
here? He didn't pay any money; he has not even the right which anyone
can buy to-day, alas! at the door of the noble Palmarosa palace. He is
only admitted here as a workman. If he chooses to play the tambourine
beside his old father, or look after the lamps, let him stand back from
where he is now. I will take down his conceit a peg, and it won't do him
any good to play at being a great painter. I'll send him back to his
sizing. It's a little lesson that I owe him, as his old madman of a
father spoils him and doesn't know how to manage him."
Armed with this noble resolution, Messire Barbagallo, who dared not
approach the princess's circle himself, tried to attract Michel's
attention from a distance by making innumerable signs, of which the
young man remained utterly unconscious. Thereupon the majordomo, seeing
that the contra-dance was nearly at an end, and that the princess could
not fail to see young Lavoratori, who had planted himself so audaciously
in her path, determined to accomplish his purpose by a coup d'état. He
glided among the spectators like a hunting-dog in a field of grain, and,
gently passing his arm through the young man's, he tried to lead him
aside without any noise or disturbance.
At that moment Michel had met the glance from the princess which he had
been seeking and awaiting so long.
That glance had thrilled him like an electric shock, veiled though it
was by instinctive prudence; and when he felt some one grasp his arm,
without deigning to turn his head to ascertain with whom he had to do,
he repelled with an energetic dig of the elbow the indiscreet hand that
had touched him.
"What are you doing here, Master Michel?" said the indignant majordomo
in his ear.
"What business is it of yours?" he replied, turning his back and
shrugging his shoulders.
"You ought not to be here," replied Barbagallo, on the point of losing
patience, but restraining himself sufficiently to speak in a low tone.
"It is all right for you to be here, I suppose!" replied Michel, glaring
at him with eyes inflamed with wrath, hoping to get rid of him by
intimidation.
But Barbagallo had a certain courage of his own; he would have submitted
to be spat upon rather than fail in the smallest degree in what he
conceived to be his duty.
"I am doing my duty," he said; "go and do yours. I am sorry to disturb
you; but everyone must keep in his place. Oh! don't be insolent! Where
is your card of admission? You haven't one, I know. If you are allowed
to see the fête, it is only on condition that you look after the buffet
or the lights, like your father; let us see, what were you told to do?
Go and find the butler, and he will tell you what to do; and if he
doesn't need you, go away, instead of staring ladies out of
countenance."
Master Barbagallo continued to speak so low that nobody could hear him
save Michel; but his wrathful eyes and his convulsive gestures were
eloquent enough, and people were already beginning to look at them.
Michel had fully determined to retire, for he knew that he had no way of
resisting the order. The idea of striking an old man was most
distasteful to him, and yet never before had the blood of the common
people itched more fiercely in the hollow of his hand. He would have
yielded smilingly to an impertinence couched in polite phraseology; but,
not knowing what to do to rescue his dignity from that absurd attack, he
felt as if he should die of rage and shame.
Barbagallo was already threatening, under his breath, to call for help
to overcome his resistance. The persons who were nearest them glanced
with an expression of satirical surprise at this strange young man at
odds with the majordomo of the palace. The ladies gathered up their
skirts and drew back into the crowd, to be farther away from him. They
thought that he might be a pickpocket who had found his way into the
ball-room, or some insolent intriguer who was about to cause a scandal.
But just as poor Michel was on the point of swooning with wrath and
shame, for the blood was already roaring in his ears, and his legs were
giving way, a faint cry, not two yards away, drove all the blood back to
his heart. It seemed to him that he had heard that cry before, a cry of
grief, surprise and affection, all in one, in the midst of his sleep on
the evening of his arrival at the palace. Obeying an instinctive impulse
of confidence and hope, which he could not explain to himself, he turned
in the direction of that friendly voice and darted forward at random, as
if to seek refuge on the breast from which it issued. Suddenly he found
himself close beside the princess, with his hand in hers, which pressed
it tremblingly but warmly. That movement and that expression of their
mutual emotion were as rapid as the lightning flash. The amazed
spectators opened a passage for the princess, who walked across the
hall, leaning upon Michel, leaving her partner in the middle of his
final bow, the majordomo in utter dismay, wishing that he could sink
through the floor, and the spectators laughing at the good man's
discomfiture, and concluding that Michel was some young foreigner of
distinction recently arrived at Catania, to whom the princess made haste
to atone, with graceful tact and without useless words, for her
majordomo's blunder.
[Illustration: _THE BALL AT THE PALMAROSA
PALACE._
_When Signora Agatha reached the foot of the
great staircase, where there were few people, she
had recovered her tranquillity; but Michel was
trembling more than ever._]
When Signora Agatha reached the foot of the great staircase, where there
were few people, she had recovered her tranquillity; but Michel was
trembling more than ever.
"Doubtless she is going to show me the door herself," he thought,
"without allowing anyone to divine her purpose. She is too great and too
kind not to rescue me from the insults of her servants and the contempt
of her guests; but the advice she is going to give me will be none the
less deadly. This probably means the ruin of all my future prospects,
and the wreck of the life I have dreamed of will lie here on the
threshold of her palace."
"Michelangelo Lavoratori," said the princess, putting her bouquet to her
face to deaden the sound of her voice, which might have reached some ear
on the alert with curiosity, "I have discovered to-day that you are a
genuine artist, and that a noble career lies open before you. A few more
years of earnest work, and you may become a master. Then the world will
receive you, as you deserve to be received to-day, for the man who has
nothing more than well-founded hopes of his personal glory is at least
the equal of those who have only the memory of the glory of their
ancestors. But tell me if you are in haste to make your appearance in
this society which you have seen to-night, and whose spirit you can
already divine? If you wish it, I have but to say a word, to raise my
hand. All the connoisseurs here noticed your figures, and asked me your
name, your age, and your antecedents. I have only to present you to my
friends, to declare that you are an artist, and from this day you will
be so considered, and practically emancipated from your present social
position. Your father's humble profession, far from injuring you, will
be an added source of interest; for the world is always surprised to see
a poor man born with genius, as if artistic genius had not always sprung
from the common people, and as if our caste were still fruitful in
superior men. Answer me, Michel; do you wish to sup to-night at my
table, by my side, or do you prefer to sup in the buttery, beside your
father?"
This last question was put so concisely that Michel thought that he
could read his sentence in it. "This is either a delicately administered
but most severe lesson that I am receiving," he thought, "or else it is
a test. I will come forth pure!"--And at once recovering his wits, which
had been violently agitated a moment before, he replied proudly:
"Signora, most fortunate are they who sit at your side and whom you
treat as friends! But the first time that I sup with persons in
aristocratic society, it will be at my own table, with my father sitting
opposite me. That is equivalent to saying that it will never happen, or
that, in any event, many years still separate me from glory and wealth.
Meanwhile, I will sup with my father in the buttery of your palace, to
prove to you that I am not proud and that I accept your invitation."
"Your reply gratifies me," said the princess; "continue to be a man of
spirit, Michel, and destiny will smile upon you; remember that I predict
it!"
As she spoke, she looked him in the face, for she had dropped his arm
and was about to leave him. Michel was dazzled by the flames that gushed
from her eyes, usually so soft and dreamy, but animated for him
alone--that was certain now--with an irresistible affection. And yet he
was not disturbed by it as before. Either it was a different expression,
or he had misunderstood it at first. What he had taken for passion was
affection, rather, and the desire which had swept over him like a flood
changed to a sort of enthusiastic adoration, as chaste as she who
inspired it.
"But listen," added the princess, motioning to the Marquis della Serra,
who passed at that moment, to give her his arm, and thus admitting him
to a share in the conversation: "although there is nothing humiliating
to a sagacious mind in eating in the buttery, and although there is
nothing intensely exhilarating in supping in the salon, I desire that
you should do neither. I have reasons for that which are entirely
personal to you, and which your father must have explained to you. You
have already attracted attention to-day by your work. Avoid showing
yourself freely for a few days more, but without concealing yourself
with an affectation of mystery, which course would have its dangers. I
could have wished that you had not come to this fête. You should have
understood why I did not order a card of admission to be given to you;
and your father tried to remove any desire that you might have to be
present by telling you that, if you remained, you would be charged with
some duty which would not suit you. Why did you come? Tell me frankly:
are you very fond of spectacles like this? You must have seen as
beautiful ones at Rome?"
"No, signora, I have never seen any that were beautiful at all, for you
were not present."
"He wishes to make me believe," said the princess, with a smile of the
utmost amiability, addressing the marquis, "that he came to the ball on
my account. Do you believe it, marquis?"
"I am sure of it," replied the marquis, pressing Michel's hand
affectionately. "Let us see, Master Michelangelo, when are you coming to
see my pictures and dine with me?"
"He also declares," said the princess, hastily, "that he will never dine
with people of our sort without his father."
"Why this exaggerated timidity, pray?" said the marquis, fixing his eyes
upon Michel's with an expression of penetrating intelligence, in which a
touch of severity was mingled with kindliness; "can it be that Michel is
afraid that you or I would make him blush because he is not yet as
respectable as his father? You are young, my boy, and no one can expect
to find in you the virtues for which the noble-hearted Pier-Angelo is
admired and loved; but your intelligence and your excellent sentiments
are enough to justify you in going anywhere with confidence, without
being compelled to efface yourself in your father's shadow. However,
have no fear; your father has already promised to come to dine with me
the day after to-morrow. Will it be convenient for you to accompany him
on that day?"
Michel having accepted, struggling the while to conceal his confusion
and surprise beneath an affected ease of manner, the marquis added:
"Now allow me to tell you that we shall dine together on the sly: your
father was accused of conspiracy long ago; I am an object of suspicion
to the government; we still have enemies who may accuse us again of
conspiring."
"Well, good-night, Michelangelo, we shall meet again soon," said the
princess, observing Michel's bewilderment; "be charitable enough to
believe that we know how to appreciate real merit, and that we did not
wait for yours to be revealed before discovering your father's. Your
father has been our friend for many years, and if he does not eat at my
table every day, it is because I fear to expose him to persecution by
his enemies by making him conspicuous."
Michel was perturbed and out of countenance, although he would not for
anything in the world have given the impression that he was dazzled by
the sudden favors of fortune; but at heart he felt humiliated rather
than overjoyed by the affectionate lesson he had received. "For it was a
lesson," he said to himself, when the princess and the marquis, being
accosted by other guests, had walked away, after bidding him good-night
with a friendly nod; "these wise and philosophical grandees gave me to
understand clearly enough that their affability is a mark of homage
bestowed upon my father rather than myself. I am invited on his account,
not he on mine; so that it is not my merit which procures me these marks
of distinction, but my father's virtuous qualities. O God! forgive me
for the proud thoughts that led me to desire to enter upon my career
apart from him! I was mad, I was wicked; I have received a most useful
lesson from these great nobles, upon whom I sought to impose respect for
my origin, and who have, or pretend to have, a more heartfelt respect
for it than I have myself."