COSTANZA MARCHETTI.
One morning after breakfast I found the whole family assembled in
the yellow drawing-room in a state of unusual excitement. Even the
bloodless little Marchesa had a red spot on either shrivelled cheek,
and her handsome old husband had thrown off for once his mask of
impenetrable and impassive dignity in favour of an air of distinct and
lively pleasure.
Bianca was chattering, Romeo was smiling, and Annunziata, of course,
was smiling too. Beckoning me confidentially towards her, and showing
her gums even more freely than usual, she said: "There is great news.
The Marchesino Andrea is coming home. We have had a letter this
morning, and we are to expect him within a fortnight."
I received with genuine interest this piece of information. From the
first I had decided that the rebel was probably the most interesting
member of his family, and had even gone so far as to "derive" him from
his father, in accordance with the latter-day scientific fashion which
has infected the most unscientific among us.
Bianca was quite unmanageable that morning, and I had finally to
abandon all attempts at discipline and let her chat away, in English,
to her heart's content.
"I cried all day when Andrea went away," she rattled on; "I was quite
a little thing, and I did nothing but cry. Even mamma cried, too. When
he was home she was often very, very angry with Andrea. Every one was
always being angry with him," she added presently, "but every one liked
him best. There was often loud talking with papa and Romeo. I used to
peep from the door of my nursery and see Andrea stride past with a
white face and a great frown." She knitted her own pale brows together
in illustration of her own words, and looked so ridiculous that I could
not help laughing.
I judged it best, moreover, to cut short these confidences, and we
adjourned, with some reluctance on her part, to the piano.
Lunch was a very cheerful meal that day, and afterwards Bianca thrust
her arm in mine and dragged me gaily up to the sitting-room.
"Only think," she said, "mamma is writing to Costanza Marchetti at
Florence to ask her to stay with us the week after next."
"Is the signorina a great friend of yours?"
Bianca looked exceedingly sly. "Oh yes, she is a great friend of mine.
I stayed with her once at Florence. They have a beautiful, beautiful
house on the Lung' Arno, and Costanza has more dresses than she can
wear."
She spoke with such an air of naïve and important self-consciousness
that I could scarcely refrain from smiling.
It was impossible not to see through her meaning. The beloved truant
was to be permanently trapped; the trap to be baited with a rich,
perhaps a beautiful bride.
The situation was truly interesting; I foresaw the playing out of a
little comedy under my very eyes. Life quickened perceptibly in the
palazzo after the receipt of the letter from America.
Plans for picnics, balls, and other gaieties were freely discussed.
There was a constant dragging about of heavy furniture along the
corridors, from which I gathered that rooms were being suitably
prepared both for Andrea and his possible bride.
At the gossip parliaments, nothing else was talked of but the coming
event; the misdemeanours of servants, the rudeness of tradesmen, and
the latest Pisan scandal being relegated for the time being to complete
obscurity.
In about ten days Costanza Marchetti appeared on the scene.
We were sitting in the yellow drawing-room after lunch when the
carriage drove up, followed by a fly heavily laden with luggage.
Bianca had rushed to the window at the sound of wheels, and had hastily
described the cavalcade.
A few minutes later in came Romeo with a young, or youngish, lady,
dressed in the height of fashion, on his arm.
She advanced towards the Marchesa with a sort of sliding curtsy, and
shook hands from the elbow in a manner worthy of Bond Street. But the
meeting between her and Bianca was even more striking.
Retreating a little, to allow free play for their operations, the young
ladies tilted forward on their high heels, precipitating themselves
into one another's arms, where they kissed one another violently on
either cheek. Retreating again, they returned once more to the charge,
and the performance was gone through for a second time.
Then they sat down close together on the sofa, stroking one another's
hands.
"Costanza powders so thickly with violet powder, it makes me quite
ill," Bianca confided to me later in the day; "and she thinks there is
nobody like herself in all the world."
When the Contessima, for that I discovered was her style and title, had
detached her fashionable bird-cage veil from the brim of her large hat,
I fell to observing her with some curiosity from my modest corner. She
was no longer in her first youth--about twenty-eight, I should say--but
she was distinctly handsome, in a rather hard-featured fashion.
When she was introduced to me, she bowed very stiffly, and said, "How
do you do, Miss?" in the funniest English I had ever heard.
"It is so good of you to come to us," said the Marchesa, with her usual
stateliness; "to leave your gay Florence before the end of the Carnival
for our quiet Pisa. We cannot promise you many parties and balls,
Costanza."
Perhaps Costanza had seen too many balls in her time--had discovered
them, perhaps (who knows?), to be merely dust and ashes.
At any rate, she eagerly and gushingly disclaimed her hostess's
insinuation, and there was voluble exchange of compliments between the
ladies.
"Will you give Bianca a holiday for this week, Miss Meredith?" said the
Marchesa, presently.
"Certainly, if you will allow it," I answered, saying what I knew I was
intended to say.
Costanza looked across at me coldly, taking in the modest details of my
costume.
"And when does the Marchesino arrive?" she asked, turning to his mother.
"Not till late on Thursday night."
Bianca counted upon her fingers.
"Three whole days and a half," she cried.
"On Friday," said the Marchesa, "we have arranged a little dance. It is
so near the end of Carnival we could not put it off till long after his
arrival."
"Ah, dearest Marchesa," cried Costanza, clasping her hands in a rather
mechanical rapture, "it will be too delightful! Do we dance in the
ball-room below, or in here?"
"In the ball-room," said the Marchesa, while Annunziata nodded across
at me, saying--
"Do you dance, Miss Meredith?"
"Yes; I am very fond of it," I answered, but it must be owned that I
looked forward with but scant interest to the festivity. My insular
mind was unable to rise to the idea of Italian partners.
Costanza raised her eyeglass, with its long tortoiseshell handle, to
her heavy-lidded eyes, and surveyed me scrutinizingly. It had been
evident from the first that she had but a poor opinion of me.
"I hope you will join us on Friday, Miss Meredith," said the Marchesa,
with much ceremony.
I could not help feeling snubbed. I had taken it for granted that I was
to appear; this formal invitation was inexpressibly chilling.
I did not enjoy my holiday of the next few days. I had always been
exceedingly grateful for my few hours of daily solitude, and these were
mine no more.
The fact that the ladies of the household never seemed to need either
solitude or silence had impressed me from the first as a curious
phenomenon. Now, for the time being, I was dragged into the current
of their lives, and throughout the day was forced to share in the
ceaseless chatter, without which, it seemed, a guest could not be
entertained, a ball given, or even a son received into the bosom of
his family.
Here, there, and everywhere was the unfortunate Miss Meredith--at
everybody's beck and call, "upstairs, downstairs, and in my lady's
chamber."
"It is fortunate that it is only me," I reflected. "I don't know what
Jenny or Rosalind would do. They would just pack up and go." For, at
home, the liberty of the individual had always been greatly respected,
which was, perhaps, the reason why we managed to live together in such
complete harmony.
As for Bianca and her friend, they clattered about all day long
together on their high heels, their arms intertwined, exchanging
confidences, comparing possessions, and eating _torino_ till their
teeth ached. In the intervals of this absorption in friendship my pupil
would come up to me, throw her arms round me, and pour out a flood of
the frankest criticisms on the fair Costanza. To these I refused to
listen.
"How can I tell, Bianca, that you do not rush off to the Contessima and
complain of me to her?"
"Dearest little signorina, there could be nothing to complain of."
"Of course," I said, "we know that. I am perfect. But, seriously,
Bianca, I do not understand this kissing and hugging of a person one
moment, and saying evil things of her the next."
Bianca was getting on for nineteen, but it was necessary to treat her
like a child. She hung her head, and took the rebuke very meekly.
"But, signorina, say what you will, Costanza does put wadding in her
stays because she is so thin, and then pretends to have a fine figure.
And she has a bad temper, as every one knows...."
"Bianca, you are incorrigible!" I put my hand across her mouth, and ran
down the corridor to my own room.