THE NEW GOVERNESS AND HER PUPIL.
The English lesson next morning proved rather an ordeal. It took place
in one of the many sitting-rooms, a large room with an open hearth,
on which, however, no fire was lighted. But with a shawl round my
shoulders, and a _casseta_, or brass box filled with live charcoal, for
my feet, I managed to keep moderately warm.
Bianca rather sullenly drew a small collection of reading-books,
grammars, and exercise-books, all bearing marks of careless usage, from
a cabinet, and placed them on the table. Then drawing a chair opposite
mine, she fixed her suspicious, curious eyes on me, and said in French--
"Have you any sisters, Miss Meredith?"
"I have two. But we must speak English, Marchesina."
"I always spoke French with Miss Clarke," answered Bianca.
Miss Clarke, as I subsequently gathered, was my predecessor, who had
recently left the palazzo after a sojourn of eighteen months, and who,
to judge by results, must have performed her duties in a singularly
perfunctory fashion.
"Are your sisters married?" Bianca condescended to say in English,
looking critically at my grey merino gown, with its banded bodice, and
at my hair braided simply round my head.
"No; but one is engaged."
"And have you any brothers?"
"No; not one."
"And I have not one sister, and two brothers, signorina," cried Bianca,
apparently much struck by the contrast. "It is my brother Andrea who
is so anxious for me to learn and to read books, although I am past
eighteen. He writes about it to my father, and my father always does
what Andrea tells him."
"Then you must work hard to please your brother," I said, with my most
didactic air, examining the well-thumbed English-Italian grammar as I
spoke.
"What is the use, when he has been five years in America? Who knows
when I may see him? Ah! _molto indipendente_ is Andrea--_molto
indipendente_!" And Bianca shook her too-neat head with a sigh of
mingled pride and approbation.
We made a little attack on the grammars and reading-books in the course
of the morning, but it was uphill work, and I sat down to the piano,
feeling thoroughly disheartened.
But the music lesson was a great improvement on the English. Bianca had
some taste, and considerable power of execution, and we rose from the
piano better friends. A short walk before lunch was prescribed by the
Marchesa, and soon I was re-threading the mazes of the Pisa streets,
Bianca hobbling slowly and discontentedly at my side on her high heels.
My pupil's one idea with regard to a walk was shops, and now she
announced her intention of buying some _torino_, the sweet paste of
honey and almonds so dear to Italian palates. As we turned into the
narrow street, with its old, old houses and stone arcades, where,
such as they are, the principal shops of Pisa are to be found, I
could not suppress an exclamation of delight at the sight of so much
picturesqueness.
"Ah," said Bianca, not in the least understanding my enthusiasm; "you
should see the shops at Turin, and the great squares, and the glass
arcades, and the wide streets. I have been there twice. Romeo says it
is almost as beautiful as Paris."
The ladies drove out again after lunch in the closed carriage, and
again I set out alone to explore the town. This time I penetrated into
the interior of the cathedral, spending two happy hours in the dusky
richness of the vast building; lost in admiration, now of the soft rich
colour of marble and jasper and painted glass; now of the pictures on
walls, roof, and altar; now of the grandeur of line, the mysterious
effects of light and shadow planned by the cunning brain of a long
departed master.
The weather was much milder than on the previous day, and half a dozen
tourists, with red guide-books, were making a round of inspection of
the buildings on the piazza.
Two of these I recognized with a thrill to be my own compatriots. They
were, to the outward eye, at least, quite uninteresting; a bride and
bridegroom, presumably, of the most commonplace type; but I followed
them about the cathedral with a lingering, wistful glance which I am
sure, had they been conscious of it, would have melted them to pity.
Once, as I was standing before Andrea del Sarto's marvellous St.
Catherine, the pair came up behind me.
"It's like your sister Nellie," said the man.
"Nonsense! Nellie isn't half so fat, and she never did her hair like
that in her life. Why, you wouldn't know Nellie without her fringe,"
answered the woman in a superior way as they moved off to the next
object of interest mentioned in Baedecker.
They were Philistines, no doubt; but I was in no mood to be critical,
and must confess that the sound of their English voices was almost too
much for my self-control.
The ladies went out after dinner, and I was left to the pains and
pleasures of a solitary evening, an almost unprecedented experience in
my career. The next day was Sunday: the family drove to early mass,
and an hour or two later I made my way to the English church, the
sparseness of whose congregation gave it rather a forlorn aspect.
The English colony is small, and consists chiefly of invalids attracted
by the mildness of the climate, who at the same time are too poor to
seek a more fashionable health resort.
They did not, as may be imagined, present a very cheerful aspect, but
the sight of them filled me with a passing envy. Mothers and daughters,
sisters, friends; every one came in in groups or pairs, with the
exception of myself; I, the most friendless and forlorn of all these
exiles.
The chaplain and his wife called on me after I had sent in my name for
a sitting, but there was never much intimacy between us.
In the evening of this, my first Sunday away from home, the Marchesa
again "received," and once more I sat bewildered amid the flood of
unintelligible chatter, or exchanged occasional remarks with Bianca,
who appeared to have abandoned her suspicions of me, and had taken up
her place at my side.