marquis's villa, leaving Mila in anxious expectation of the monk's
visit, while Magnani, working on the gallery opposite her room, was far
from suspecting that, after asking his assistance, she was watching for
an opportunity to steal out of sight. She had promised her father to go
and dine with her friend Nenna, as soon as she had washed and ironed a
veil which she said that she must have to wear. Everything happened as
her unknown friend had predicted. She saw the monk at the fountain, and
had no need to feign a most intense fear of being taken by surprise, for
she asked herself in dire distress what Magnani would think of her if,
after what she had told him, he should see her voluntarily talking with
that miserable wretch.
To avoid the necessity of speaking to him and looking at his disgusting
face, she tossed him a written paper which he read with the utmost
delight; then he went away, throwing her kisses which made her quiver
with disgust and indignation.
At that moment her father, brother, and uncle, having no shadow of
suspicion of the perils to which the poor child was about to expose
herself for them, entered the Della Serra palace. That sumptuous
dwelling, more modern than that of Palmarosa, from which it was
separated only by their respective great parks and a narrow valley
covered with gardens and grass, was filled with artistic objects,
statues, urns, and magnificent paintings, which the marquis had
collected with the enthusiasm of an earnest and enlightened connoisseur.
He came forward in person to meet the Angelos, shook hands with them
cordially, and, pending the dinner-hour, took them all over his noble
residence, showing to them and explaining courteously, and with no less
wit than good sense, the masterpieces of art with which it was
embellished. Pier-Angelo, although a simple decorator, had excellent
taste, and a due appreciation of the beautiful in art. He was peculiarly
susceptible to the charm of all those marvellous things with which he
was already familiar, and his artless yet profound reflections enlivened
the most serious conversation instead of lowering its tone. Michel was a
little embarrassed at first in the marquis's presence; but as he soon
discovered that his father's natural and unconstrained manner seemed to
a man of sense like the marquis in unexceptionable taste and most
becoming, he felt more at ease; and finally, when he found himself
sitting at a table laden with silver plate, decorated as handsomely and
with as great an abundance of flowers as for the entertainment of the
most illustrious guests, he forgot his prejudices, and talked as freely
and interestingly as if he had been the marquis's own son or nephew.
A single thing disturbed him strangely during the dinner: the expression
and attitude which he attributed to the marquis's servants; I say which
he attributed, because he dared not look at them. He had dined many a
time at the tables of the rich when he was in Rome, especially after his
father returned to Catania, and he no longer had a family to keep him at
home and prevent his seeking the society of the fashionable youth of the
city. So that he did not fear any affront for himself; but, as it was
the first time that he and his father had been invited to dine abroad
with a patrician, he suffered torments at the idea that the lackeys
might shrug their shoulders and pass the dishes rudely to the excellent
old man.
In truth those lackeys might well have had a feeling of anger and
contempt, having seen Pier-Angelo on his ladder so many times in that
same palace, and treated him as their equal.
Nevertheless, whether because the marquis had prepared them by a word or
two of kindly and straightforward explanation calculated to flatter and
soothe the sensitive self-love of men of that class, or because
Pier-Angelo was so great a favorite with all who knew him that even
footmen laid aside their customary pride in his favor, they served him
with much deference. Michel observed it at last, when his father,
turning to an old servant who was filling his glass, said to him with a
smile:
"Many thanks, old fellow; you wait on me like a friend. I'll do as much
for you when I have the chance."
Michel flushed and glanced at the marquis, who smiled with a touched and
gratified air. The old servant also smiled at Pier-Angelo with a
friendly glance.
After the dessert was removed, the marquis was informed that Master
Barbagallo, the princess's majordomo, was waiting in one of the rooms of
the palace to show him a picture. They found him in conference with Fra
Angelo, whose sobriety and restless activity made him impatient of a
long sitting at table, and who had asked leave to walk about the grounds
immediately after the first course.
At first, the marquis went alone to Barbagallo, to ask if he had any
private message for him from the princess; and when they had exchanged
in an undertone a few words which seemed to be of no importance, to
judge by their faces, the marquis returned to Michel and said, putting
his arm through his:
"Perhaps it will afford you some pleasure to see my family portraits,
which are in a separate gallery, and which I had forgotten to show you.
Don't be alarmed at the multitude of ancestors assembled under my roof.
You can look them over at a glance, and I will call your attention
particularly only to those which are the work of some great master.
However, it is an interesting collection of costumes, which a historical
painter might consult with advantage. But, before going in, let us cast
a glance at this one which Master Barbagallo has brought to us, having
just disinterred it in the lofts of Villa Palmarosa.--My dear child," he
added, in a low voice, "pray bestow a greeting on the poor majordomo,
who is outdoing himself in reverences, being ashamed, doubtless, of his
behavior to you at the princess's ball."
Michel at last noticed the majordomo's advances, and replied to them
without resentment. Since he had become reconciled to his position and
to himself, he felt that he was cured of his over-sensitiveness, and
believed, with his father, that no impertinence can reach the man who
possesses his own esteem.
"This which I present to your excellency," said the majordomo to the
marquis, "is a very much dilapidated Palmarosa; but, although the
inscription had almost disappeared, I have succeeded in deciphering it,
and here it is on a bit of paper."
"What!" said the marquis, with a smile, "you succeeded in reading that
this swashbuckler was a captain in the reign of King Manfred, and that
he accompanied John of Procida to Constantinople? That is wonderful. For
myself, I read the original inscription with the eyes of faith!"
"You can be perfectly sure that I am not mistaken," replied Barbagallo.
"I knew this gallant captain well, and I have been trying for a long
time to find his portrait."
Pier-Angelo roared with laughter.
"Ah! so you lived in those days!" he said; "I knew that you were older
than I am, Master Barbagallo, but I didn't suppose that you saw our
Sicilian Vespers!"
"Would that I had not seen it!" exclaimed Fra Angelo, with a sigh.
"I must explain Master Barbagallo's learning, and the interest he takes
in my family gallery," said the marquis to Michel. "He has passed his
life in this labor of patience, and no one is so familiar as he with
Sicilian genealogies. My family was connected by marriage in the past
with the Princess of Palmarosa's, and even more closely with the family
of Castro-Reale, of which you have doubtless heard."
"I heard a great deal about it yesterday," replied Michel, with a smile.
"Very good; when I became the last heir of that family, after the death
of the famous prince known as the _Destatore_, all that came to me by
that succession--to which I gave very little thought, I promise you--was
a collection of ancestors which I did not even care to unpack, but which
Master Barbagallo, being enamored of curios of that sort, took pains to
clean and classify, and to hang in their proper order in the gallery you
are about to inspect. There were already in that gallery, in addition to
my own direct ancestors, a goodly number of ancestors of the Palmarosa
line, and Princess Agatha, who cares nothing for collections of the
sort, sent me hers, saying that it would be better to collect them in a
single place. That gave Master Barbagallo a very long and difficult
task, which he executed with honor to himself. Come, all of you, for I
have many characters to present to Michel, and it may be that he will
need his father's and uncle's assistance to hold his own against so many
dead men."
"I retire, in order not to impose my presence upon your lordships," said
Master Barbagallo, after accompanying them to the gallery to deposit his
Sicilian captain; "I will return some other time to put my picture in
place; unless the signor marquis desires that I should give Master
Michelangelo Lavoratori, whose very humble servant I am to-day and
always, the history of the originals of these portraits."
"What, signor majordomo," laughed Michel, "you know the story of all
these characters? There are more than three hundred of them!"
"There are five hundred and thirty, your lordship, and I not only know
their names and all the incidents of their lives, with their precise
dates, but I also know the name, age, and sex of all the children who
died before their features were reproduced, to be transmitted to
posterity. There have been three hundred and twenty-seven, including
those born dead. I have omitted none but those that never were
baptized."
"That is marvellous!" said Michel; "but if I had been in your place,
having such a memory, I should have preferred to learn the history of
the human race rather than that of a single family."
"The human race doesn't interest me," replied the majordomo, gravely.
"His excellency, Prince Dionigi de Palmarosa, father of the present
princess, did not entrust me with the duty of teaching his children
history. But, as I loved to be occupied, and as I had much time to
myself, in a house where no banquets or parties have been given for two
generations, he advised me, for amusement, to make a summary of the
history of his family, which was scattered through a multitude of
manuscript folio volumes, which you can see in the library at Palmarosa,
and all of which I examined and studied to the last letter."
"And did it really amuse you?"
"Much, Master Pier-Angelo," the majordomo solemnly replied to the old
painter's jocose question.
"I see," rejoined Michel, ironically, "that your lordship is no ordinary
steward, and that you are far more cultivated than your duties require."
"My duties, while not brilliant, have always been very pleasant,"
replied the majordomo, "even in Prince Dionigi's day, and he was
pleasant to nobody but me. He had much consideration, almost friendship
for me, because I was an open book which he could consult at any hour
concerning his ancestors. As for the princess, his daughter, as she is
kind to everybody, I cannot but be happy with her. I do almost exactly
as I choose, and there are only three things about her that grieve me,
and those are her giving up her family gallery, her never consulting her
genealogical tree, and her not deigning to investigate the science of
heraldry. And yet it is a delightful science, and one which ladies used
to cultivate with success."
"And now it is a part of the stock in trade of decorators and gilders of
wood," said Michel, laughing anew. "They are attractive ornaments of
which the bright colors and the flavor of the days of chivalry please
the eye and the imagination; that is all."
"That is all?" rejoined the scandalized steward; "pardon me, your
lordship, that is not all. Heraldry is history written in hieroglyphics
_ad hoc_. Alas! the time will soon come, perhaps, when we shall know how
to read this mysterious writing better than the sacramental characters
which cover the tombs and monuments of Egypt! And yet what profound and
ingeniously expressed meaning there is in that figurative language! To
place upon a seal, upon the bezel of a ring the whole history of one's
own race--is not that the result of a marvellous art? And what more
concise and more impressive signs have civilized people ever used?"
"What he says is not without a basis of reason and common sense," said
the marquis, in an undertone, addressing Michel. "But you listen to him
with a disdainful expression which impresses me, young man. Come! say
all that you think; I would like to hear it, in order to ascertain
whether you have good reason for laughing at the nobility with a touch
of bitterness, as you seem inclined to do. Do not be embarrassed; I will
listen to you as calmly and disinterestedly as yonder dead men, who look
down upon us with lifeless eyes, from their frames blackened by the
lapse of time."
[Footnote 10: A black silk cloak, which covers the whole body and the
head.]