again to the street of the Hyacinth. But he did not come to see her; his
visits were to her mother. He came two or three times a week, and always
during the hours when the daughter was absent. He sat and talked to Mrs.
Spurr, or rather listened to her, in a way that greatly cheered that
lady's monotonous days. She told him her whole history; she minutely
described Tuscolee and its society; and, finally, he heard the whole
story of "John." In addition, he sent her various little delicacies,
taking pains to find something she had not had.
Miss Macks would have put an end to this if she had known how. But
certainly Mr. Noel was not troubling _her_, and Mrs. Spurr resented any
attempt at interference.
"I don't see why you should object, Ettie. He seems to like to come, and
there's but few pleasures left to me, I'm sure! You oughtn't to grudge
them!"
In this way two months passed, Noel continuing his visits, and Miss
Macks continuing her lessons. She was working very hard. She now looked
not only pale, but much worn. Count L----, who had been long absent,
returned to Rome about this time. He saw her one day, although she did
not see him. The result of this vision of her was that he went down to
Naples, and, before long, the desirable second cousin with the fortune
was the sister of the Princess C----.
One afternoon in March Miss Macks was coming home from the broad, new,
tiresome piazza Indipendenza; the distance was long, and she walked with
weariness. As she drew near the dome of the Pantheon she met Raymond
Noel. He stopped, turned, and accompanied her homeward. She had three
books.
"Give them to me," he said, briefly, taking them from her.
"Do you know what I have heard to-day?" he went on. "They are going to
tear down your street of the Hyacinth. The Government has at last
awakened to the shame of allowing all those modern accretions to
disfigure longer the magnificent old Pagan temple. All the streets in
the rear, up to a certain point, are to be destroyed. And the street of
the Hyacinth goes first. You will be driven out."
"I presume we can find another like it."
He went on talking about the Pantheon until they entered the doomed
street; it was as obstinately narrow and dark as ever. Then he dropped
his Pagan temple.
"How much longer are you going to treat me in this way, Faith?" he said.
"You make me very unhappy. You are wearing yourself out, and it troubles
me greatly. If you should fall ill I think that would be the end. I
should then take matters into my own hands, and I don't believe you
would be able to keep me off. But why should we wait for illness? It is
too great a risk."
They were approaching her door. She said nothing, only hastened her
steps.
"I have been doing my best to convince you, without annoying you, that
you were mistaken about me. And the reason I have been doing it is that
I am convinced myself. If I was not entirely sure last spring that I
loved you, I certainly am sure now. I spent the summer thinking of it. I
know now, beyond the possibility of a doubt, that I love you above all
and everything. There is no 'duty' or 'generosity' in this, but simply
my own feelings. I could perfectly well have let the matter drop; you
gave me every opportunity to do so. That I have not done it should show
you--a good deal. For I am not of the stuff of which heroes are made. I
should not be here unless I wanted to; my motive is the selfish one of
my own happiness."
They had entered the dark hallway.
"Do you remember the morning when you stood here, with two tears in your
eyes, saying 'Never mind; you will come another time'?" (Here the
cobbler came down the stairs.) "Why not let the demolition of the street
of the Hyacinth be the crisis of our fate?" he went on, returning the
cobbler's bow. (Here the cobbler departed.) "If you refuse, I shall not
give you up; I shall go on in the same way. But--haven't I been tried
long enough?"
"You have not," she answered. "But, unless you will leave Rome, and--me,
I cannot bear it longer."
It was a great downfall, of course; Noel always maintained that it was.
"But the heights upon which you had placed yourself, my dear, were too
superhuman," he said, excusingly.
The street of the Hyacinth experienced a great downfall, also. During
the summer it was demolished.
Before its demolition Mrs. Lawrence, after three long breaths of
astonishment, had come to offer her congratulations--in a new direction
this time.
"It is the most fortunate thing in the world," she said to everybody,
"that Mrs. Spurr is now confined to her bed for life, and is obliged to
wear mourning."
But Mrs. Spurr is not confined to her bed; she drives out with her
daughter whenever the weather is favorable. She wears black, but is now
beginning to vary it with purple and lavender.
A CHRISTMAS PARTY
In 188- the American Consul at Venice was occupying the second story of
an old palace on the Grand Canal. It was the story which is called by
Italians the _piano nobile_, or noble floor. Beneath this _piano nobile_
there is a large low ground, or rather water, floor, whose stone
pavement, only slightly above the level of the canal outside, is always
damp and often wet. At the time of the Consul's residence this
water-floor was held by another tenant, a dealer in antiquities, who had
partitioned off a shallow space across its broad front for a show-room.
As this dealer had the ground-floor, he possessed, of course, the
principal entrance of the palace, with its broad marble steps descending
into the rippling wavelets of the splendid azure street outside, and
with the tall, slender poles, irregularly placed in the water, which
bore testimony to the aristocracy of the venerable pile they guarded.
One could say that these blue wands, ornamented with heraldic devices,
were like the spears of knights; this is what Miss Senter said. Or one
could notice their strong resemblance to barbers' poles; and this was
what Peter Senter always mentioned.
Peter Senter was the American Consul, and his sister Barbara was the
Consuless; for she kept house for her brother, who was a bachelor. And
she not only kept house for him, but she assisted him in other ways,
owing to her knowledge of Italian. The Consul, a man of fifty-seven,
spoke only the language of his native place--Rochester, New York. That
he could not understand the speech (gibberish, he called it) of the
people with whom he was supposed to hold official relations did not
disturb him; he thought it patriotic not to understand. There was a
vice-consul, an Italian, who could attend to the business matters; and
as for the rest, wasn't Barbara there--Barbara, who could chatter not
only in Italian, but in French and German also, with true feminine
glibness? (For Peter, in his heart, thought it unmasculine to have a
polyglot tongue.) He knew how well his sister could speak, because he
had paid her bills during the six years of her education abroad. These
bills had been large; of course, therefore, the knowledge must be large
as well.
Miss Senter was always chronically annoyed that she and her brother did
not possess the state entrance. As the palace was at present divided,
the tenants of the noble floor descended by an outside stairway to a
large inner court, and from this court opened the second water-door.
Their staircase was a graceful construction of white marble, and the
court, with the blue sky above, one or two fretted balconies, and a
sculptured marble well-curb in the centre, was highly picturesque. But
this did not reconcile the American lady to the fact that their door was
at the side of the palace; she thought that by right the gondola of the
Consul should lie among the heraldic poles on the Grand Canal. But, in
spite of right, nothing could be done; the antiquity-dealer held his
premises on a long lease. Miss Senter, therefore, disliked the dealer.
Her dislike, however, had not prevented her from paying a visit to his
establishment soon after she had taken possession of the high-ceilinged
rooms above. For she was curious about the old palace, and wished to see
every inch of it; if there had been cellars, she would have gone down to
inspect them, and she was fully determined to walk "all over the roof."
The dealer's name was Pelham--"Z. Pelham" was inscribed on his sign. How
he came by this English title no one but himself could have told. He was
supposed to be either a Pole or an Armenian, and he spoke many languages
with equal fluency and incorrectness. He appeared to have feeble health,
and he always wore large arctic over-shoes; he was short and thin, and
the most noticeable expression of his plain, small face was resignation.
Z. Pelham conducted the Consuless through the dusky space behind his
show-room, a vast, low, open hall with massive squat columns and arches,
and the skeletons of two old gondolas decaying in a corner. At the back
he opened a small door, and pointed out a flight of stone steps going up
steeply in a spiral, enclosed in a circular shaft like a round tower.
"It leads to the attic floor. Her Excellency wishes to mount?" he
inquired, patiently. For, owing to the wares in which he dealt, he had
had a large acquaintance with eccentric characters of all nations.
"Certainly," replied Miss Senter. "Carmela, you can stay below, if you
like," she said to the servant who accompanied her.
But no; Carmela also wished to mount. Z. Pelham preceded them,
therefore, carrying his small oil-lamp. They went slowly, for the steps
were narrow, the spiral sharp. The attic, when they reached it, was a
queer, ghostly place; but there was a skylight with a ladder, and the
Consuless carried out her intention of traversing the roof, while Mr.
Pelham waited calmly, seated on the open scuttle door. Carmela followed
her mistress. She gave little cries of admiration; there never were such
wonderful ladies anywhere as those of America, she declared. On the way
down, the stairs were so much like a corkscrew that Miss Senter, feeling
dizzy, was obliged to pause for a moment where there was a landing.
"Isn't there a secret chamber?" she demanded of the dealer.
Z. Pelham shook his head. "I have not one found."
"Try again," said Miss Senter, laughing. "I'll make it worth your while,
Mr. Pelham."
Z. Pelham surveyed the walls, as if to see where he could have one
built. His eye passed over a crack, and, raising his lamp, he showed it
to the Consuless. "One time was there a door, opening into the rooms of
her Excellency. But it opens not ever now; it is covered on inside."
"Oh, _that_ isn't a secret chamber," answered Miss Senter; "we have
doors that have been shut up at home. What I want is something
mysterious--behind a picture, or a sliding panel."
Partly in return for this expedition to the roof, and partly because she
had a liking for wood-carvings, Miss Senter purchased from Mr. Pelham,
shortly afterwards, his best antique cabinet. It was eight feet high,
and its whole surface was beautifully sculptured in odd designs, no two
alike. Within were many ingenious receptacles, and, better than these, a
concealed drawer. "You see I have my secret chamber, after all," said
the Consuless, making a joke. And there was a best even to this better;
for after the cabinet had been placed in her own room, Miss Senter
discovered within it a second hiding-place, even more perfectly
concealed than the first. This was delightful, and she confided to its
care all her loose money. She thought with disgust of the ugly green
safe, built into the wall of Peter's Rochester house, where she was
obliged to keep her gold and silver when at home. Not only was Miss
Senter's own room in the old palace handsomely furnished, but all the
others belonging to the apartment were rich in beautiful things. The
Consuless had used her own taste, which was great, and her brother's
fortune, which was greater, deferring to him only on one point--namely,
warmth. In Peter's mind the temperature of his Rochester house remained
a fixed standard, and his sister therefore provided in every room a
place for a generous open fire, while in the great drawing-room, in
addition to this fire, two large white Vienna stoves, like monuments,
were set up, hidden behind screens. As this salon was eighty feet long
and thirty feet high, it required all this if it was to be used--used by
Peter, at least--in December, January, and February; for the Venetian
winter, though short, is often sharp and raw.
On Christmas Eve of their third year in Venice this drawing-room was
lighted for a party. At one end, concealed by a curtain, stood a
Christmas-tree; for there were thirty children among their invited
guests, who would number in all over fifty. After the tree had bestowed
its fruit the children were to have a dance, and an odd little
projection like a very narrow balcony high on the wall was to be
occupied by five musicians. These musicians would have been much more
comfortable below. But Miss Senter was sure that this shelf was
intended for musicians; her musicians, therefore, were to sit there,
though their knees would be well squeezed between the wall and the
balustrade. Fifteen minutes before the appointed hour, which was an
early one on account of the children, the Consuless appeared. She found
her brother standing before the fire, surveying the room, with his hands
behind him.
"Doesn't it look pretty?" said the sister, with pride; for she had a
great faith in all her pots and pans, carvings and tapestries. Any one,
however, could have had faith in the chandeliers of Venetian glass, from
which came the soft radiance of hundreds of wax candles, lighting up the
ancient gilding of the ceiling.
"Well, Barly, you know that personally I don't care much for all these
second-hand articles you have collected," replied Peter. "And you
haven't got the room very warm, after all--only 60 deg.. However, I can
stand it if the supper is all right--plenty of it, and the hot things
really hot; not lukewarm, you know."
"We can trust Giorgio. But I'll go and have a final word with him, if
you like," answered Miss Senter, crossing the beautiful salon, her train
sweeping over the floor behind her. The Consuless was no longer young
(the days when Peter had paid those school bills were now far distant),
and she had never been handsome. But she was tall and slender, with
pretty hands and feet, a pleasant expression in her blue eyes, and soft
brown hair, now heavily tinged with silver. Her brother's use of "Barly"
was a grief to her. She had tried to lead him towards the habit of
calling her Barbe, the French form of Barbara, if nickname he must have.
But he pronounced this Bob, and that was worse than the other.
On her way towards the kitchen the Consuless came upon Carmela. Carmela
was the servant who had the general oversight of everything excepting
the cooking. For Giorgio, the cook, allowed no interference in his
department; in the kitchen he must be Caesar or nothing. Carmela was not
the house-keeper, for Miss Senter herself was the house-keeper. But the
American would have found her task twenty times, fifty times more
difficult if she had not had this skilful little deputy to carry out all
her orders. Carmela was said to be middle-aged. But her short, slender
figure was so erect, her little face so alert, her movements were so
brisk, and her small black eyes so bright, that she seemed full of
youthful fire; in fact, if one saw only her back, she looked younger
than Assunta and Beppa, who were Venetian girls of twenty. Carmela was
always attired in the French fashion, with tight corsets, a plain black
dress fitting like a glove round her little waist, and short enough to
show the neat shoes on her small feet; over this black dress there was a
jaunty white apron with pockets, and upon her beautifully braided
shining dark hair was perched a small spotless muslin cap. The younger
servants asserted that the slight pink tint on the tidy little woman's
cheeks was artificial. However that may have been, Carmela, as she
stood, was the personification of trimness and activity. Untiring and
energetic, she was a wonderful worker; Miss Senter, who had been much in
Italy, appreciated her good-fortune in having secured for her Venetian
house-keeping such a coadjutor as this. Carmela was scrupulously neat,
and she was even more scrupulously honest, never abstracting so much as
a pin; she economized for her mistress with her whole soul, and kept
watch over every detail; she told the truth, she swept the corners, she
dusted under everything; she worked conscientiously, in one way and
another, all day long. Even Peter, who did not like foreign servants,
liked Carmela; he said she was "so spry!"
"Is everything ready?" inquired Miss Senter, as she met her deputy.
"Yes, signorina, everything," answered Carmela, briskly. She was looking
her very best and tightest, all black and white, with black silk
stockings showing above her little high-heeled shoes. As she spoke she
put her hands in their black lace mitts in the pockets of her apron,
and, middle-aged though she was said to be, she looked at that moment
like a smart French soubrette of the stage.
"I am going to the kitchen to have a word with Giorgio," said the
Consuless, passing on.
"If the signorina permits, I carry the train," answered Carmela, lifting
the satin folds from the floor. Thus they went on together, mistress and
maid, through various rooms and corridors, until finally the kitchen was
reached. It was a large, lofty place, brilliantly lighted, for Giorgio
was old and needed all the radiance that could be obtained to aid his
failing sight. He was a small man with a melancholy countenance. But
this melancholy was an accident of expression; in reality, old Giorgio
was cheerful and amiable, with a good deal of mild wit. He was the most
skilful cook in Venice. But his health had failed some years before, and
he had now very little strength; the Consul, who liked good dinners,
paid him high wages, and gave him a young assistant.
"Well, Giorgio, all promises well, I trust?" said Miss Senter as she
entered, her steps somewhat impeded by the tightness with which Carmela
held back her train. "The Consul is particular about having the hot
things really hot, and constantly renewed, as it is such a cold night.
The three men from Florian's will have charge of the ices and the other
cold things, and will do all that is necessary in the supper-room. But
for the hot dishes we depend upon you."
Giorgio, who was dressed entirely in white, bowed and waved his hand.
"Mademoiselle need give herself no uneasiness," he said in French. For
Giorgio had learned his art in Paris, and whenever Carmela was present
he invariably answered his mistress in the language of that Northern
capital, even though her question had been couched in Italian; it was
one of his ways--and he had but few--of standing up, as it were, against
the indefatigable little deputy. For, clever though Carmela was, she had
never been out of her native land, and could speak no tongue but her
own.
"Are you feeling well, Giorgio?" continued Miss Senter. "I see that you
look pale. I am afraid you have been doing too much. Where is Luigi?"
(Luigi was the cook's assistant.)
"He has gone home; ten minutes ago. I let him go, as it is a festival.
He is young, and we can be young but once. _Che vuole!_ In addition, all
was done."
"No," said Miss Senter, who was now speaking French also; "there is
still much to do, and it was not wise to let Luigi go. You are certainly
very tired, Giorgio."
"Let not mademoiselle think of it," said the old man, straightening
himself a little.
"But I _shall_ think of it," said Miss Senter, kindly. "Carmela," she
continued, speaking now in Italian, "go to my room and get my case of
cordials."
Carmela divined that the cordial was for the cook. "And the signorina's
train?" she said. "Surely I cannot leave it on this _dirty_ floor! Will
not the signorina return to the drawing-room to take her cordial? Eh--it
is not for her? It is for Giorgio? A man? A _man_ to be faint like a
girl? Ha, ha! it makes me laugh!"
"Go and get it," repeated Miss Senter, taking the train over her own
arm. She knew that Carmela did not like the cook. Jealousy was the one
fault the hard-working little creature possessed. "She has tried to make
me dismiss Giorgio more than once," she said to her brother, in
confidence; "but I always pretend not to see the feeling that influences
her. It is only Giorgio she is jealous of; she gets on perfectly well
with Luigi, and with Assunta and Beppa; while for Ercole she can never
do enough. She is devoted to Ercole!"
Giorgio had not taken up the slur cast upon his immaculate floor. All he
said was, "_Comme elle est mechante!_" with a shrug.
"Where is Ercole?" said Miss Senter, while she waited.
"He is dressing," answered Giorgio. "He makes himself beautiful for the
occasion."
Ercole was the chief gondolier--a tall, athletic young man of thirty,
handsome and clever. Miss Senter had chosen Ercole to assist her with
the Christmas-tree. The second gondolier, Andrea, was to be stationed at
the end of the little quay or riva down below, outside of their own
water-door; for here on the small canal were the steps used by arriving
and departing gondolas, and here also floated the handsome gondola of
the Consul, with its American flag. The two gondoliers also had
picturesque costumes of white (woollen in winter, linen in summer), with
blue collars, blue stockings, blue caps, and long fringed red sashes,
the combination representing the American national colors. To-night
Ercole, having to appear in the drawing-room, was making a longer stay
than usual before his little mirror.
Carmela returned with the cordial-case. "Ah, yes, our cook _is_
pale--pale as a young virgin!" she commented, as Miss Senter, unlocking
the box, poured into one of the little glasses it contained a generous
portion of a restorative whose every drop was costly.
Giorgio, taking off the white linen cap which covered his gray hair,
made a bow, and then drank the draught with much appreciation. "It is
true that I am pale," he remarked, slyly, in Italian. "I might, perhaps,
try some rouge?"
And then the Consuless, to avert war, hastily bore her deputy away.
Half an hour later the guests had arrived; they included all the
Americans in Venice, with a sprinkling of English, Italians, and
Russians. The grown people assembled in the drawing-room. And presently
they heard singing. Through the anterooms came the children, entering
with measured step, two and two, led by three little boys in Oriental
costumes. These three boys were singing as follows:
"We three Kings of Orient are,
Bearing gifts we've travelled from far,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star."
Here, from the high top branch of the Christmas-tree which rose above
the concealing curtain, blazed out a splendid star. And then all the
procession took up the chorus, as they marched onward:
"Oh, star of wonder,
Star of might,
Star with royal
Beauty bright!"
Ercole, who was behind the curtain, now drew it aside, and there stood
the tree, blazing with fairy-lamps and glittering ornaments, while
beneath it was a mound composed entirely of toys. The children behaved
well; they kept their ranks and repeated their carol, as they had been
told to do, ranging themselves meanwhile in a half-circle before the
tree.
"We three Kings of Orient are,"
chanted the three little kings a second time, though their eyes were
fixed upon a magnificent box of soldiers, with tents and flags and
cannon. The carol finished, Miss Senter, with the aid of her gondolier,
distributed the toys and bonbons, and the room was filled with happy
glee. When Ercole had detached the last package of sweets from the
sparkling branches he disappeared. His next duty was to conduct the
musicians up to their cage.
Miss Senter had allowed an hour for the inspection and trial of the toys
before the dancing should begin. It was none too much, and the clamor
was still great as this hour drew towards its close, so great that she
herself was glad that the end was near. Looking up to see whether her
musicians had assembled on their shelf, she perceived some one at the
drawing-room door; it was Carmela, hiding herself modestly behind the
portiere, but at the same time unmistakably beckoning to her mistress as
soon as she saw that she had caught her eye. Miss Senter went to the
doorway.
"Will the signorina permit? A surprise of Ercole's," whispered Carmela,
eagerly, standing on tiptoe to reach her mistress's ear. "He has dressed
himself as a clown, and he _is_ of a perfection! He has bells on his cap
and his elbows, and if the signorina graciously allows, he will come in
to amuse the children."