DON GIOVANNI ARRIVES
It was a few days after Nina's arrival in Italy; one of the glorious
mornings when the famous Sansevero gardens were full of golden light,
bringing into high relief the creamy marble of statues that in other
centuries had been white. Against the deep waxy green of shrubs and
hedges, the fountains seemed to be tossing liquid diamonds; and beyond
the marble balustrades of the descending terraces, the hills rolled away
in soft gray billows of young olive leaves and powdered slopes of
blossoming orange branches. In contrast with this background of green
and marble and roses and flowers and fountains stood Nina reaching up to
pick a pink camellia. In front of her, the princess was looking vaguely
into the finder of a camera.
"Now what shall I do? Just press the bulb and let go?"
"W-w-ait a moment until my teeth stop chattering!"
Nina had taken off her coat and was wearing a dress as summery in
appearance as the garden. "All right, Auntie. This ought to be lovely--I
hope gooseflesh and a blue nose won't show."
The picture taken, she lost no time in getting back into her long fur
coat again and wrapping it tightly around her, still shivering.
"I do hope the pictures will be good--I am going to write under them 'In
a rose garden at Christmas Time.' I shall not tell that I never was so
cold in my life as at this minute. What I can't understand is how the
flowers are hypnotized into believing it warm weather. It is every bit
as cold as New York, yet if we were to ask these same shrubs to live in
our gardens, they would hang their heads and die at the mere
suggestion." Nina wanted to take snap shots of the princess, but the
latter refused to remove her coat, and the incongruity of furs dispelled
the midsummer illusion. Slipping her hand through her aunt's arm she
drew her into a brisk walk. The temperature of Italy is low only by
comparison with its summery appearance, and by the time they reached the
terrace end she was in a glow.
She looked up at the irregular stone pile of the old castle, against
which semi-tropical vines climbed so high as partially to cover even the
great square tower; and involuntarily she exclaimed, "It is so
beautiful, so beautiful--it almost hurts; even the color of the
sunshine--the brilliancy, yet the softness--and then to be with you!"
Enthusiastically she pressed her aunt's arm.
"But tell me," she went on, "what rooms are these along here? Do I know
them? Let me see--mine is far around on that side over there, isn't
it?"
"That is your room in the corner, the one by the fountain of the
dolphins."
Just then there was the sound of tramping on the gravel walk. Nina
turned, and the next instant her curiosity was aroused. "Who in the
world were all these people?" As her aunt paid no attention, she
repeated her question, and the princess casually glanced in their
direction. It was probably a party of Cook's tourists. Yes, she
recognized the conductor.
Nina watched the party with increasing interest. "Look how funny that
little woman is. When the guide tells her anything, she follows his
directions as though he had a string tied to her nose." Nina began to
laugh, and the princess turned to see two of the tourists, who, like
rodents, seemed to be judging a statue of Hermes entirely by the sense
of smell. The party came nearer, and the princess turned away. But Nina,
alert, exclaimed, "The guide is pointing you out to them."
"Very likely; one gets used to that. Come, let us go on; they will be
all over here in a few minutes." The crowd craned after her as she went
down the terrace, followed by Nina.
"Do you mean to say you give up your own home like this to strangers?"
the girl asked. "It must be a perfect nuisance!"
"It is all a matter of custom," the princess answered. "Besides, the
people don't annoy us. They go usually on the lower terraces; at most
they come up to the old courtyard galleries, perhaps mount the tower to
see the view, or go into the catacombs."
At the bare mention of catacombs Nina was greatly excited, and looked
eagerly toward the tourists who were going under the archway where the
drawbridge once had been, but the Princess showed very little interest.
They were merely underground passageways that were probably used by
slaves, although there was one that undoubtedly was built as a means of
escape. It ran many kilometers and ended in a cave in the forest. "Oh,
come! Please come!" Nina fairly dragged her aunt after the party to the
steep dark entrance leading from an old stone dungeon that was falling
in ruins. The tourists were descending in an awed silence in which
nothing could be heard but the groping shuffle of cautious feet, broken
by the hollow echo of the guide's voice reciting his sing-song jargon of
what he supposed to be English. He held a lantern that revealed a long
alleyway of crumbling, mud-colored stone. Nina tried to make out
something of his glib discourse, but soon gave it up.
"What is he talking about?" she whispered.
The princess disentangled the tradition from the overburdening names and
dates: those scratches he was pointing out on the walls were supposed to
be a cryptic message from some refugees in need of provisions. It was
not a very authentic story, though.
As the princess spoke in English, two tourists detached themselves from
the huddled group around the guide and sidled up to her.
"Can you tell me," asked one, a wizened small person who, in the
flickering light of the lantern, was strongly suggestive of a mouse,
"are there many buried here? The guide has been explaining, and I am
stupid, I know, but for the life of me I can't understand a word he
says." Her voice was a little dejected, and altogether apologetic.
"We do not think there are any," the princess answered.
The little tourist blinked, hesitated, and then asked, confidentially,
"Did the guide say you were the princess of this castle? We couldn't
make out."
By this time two others, inquisitive and gaping, joined the spokeswoman,
who, as the princess assented, exclaimed, "My!"
That ended the conversation for the time being; and the party trooped on
in silence. But after a little the small mousy one's curiosity overcame
her diffidence. "Land, it'd be queer to live in a place like this! Do
you come down here much, Your Highness?"
Nina nearly giggled, but the princess replied, "I have been down only
once or twice. There is no use to which we can put these passageways
nowadays. There was a deep pit that descended from one of the upper
rooms of the castle through a trap in the floor. The bottom of it was
far below here, but it is all done away with and cemented over now."
"You know, Your Highness," returned the little tourist, now glibly at
ease, "I think it'd be a good place for growing mushrooms."
The guide interrupted by mounting a pair of stairs and holding up his
lantern with the order to "come this way." They all stumbled up the
crumbling steps after him and suddenly found themselves behind the altar
of a chapel that stood at the far end of the garden.
"For pity's sake!" cried the little tourist, her eyes again
blinking--this time at the light. "I never was in such a wonderful place
in all my life. My! It won't seem like anything at all to go down cellar
at home after I get back! Is this the way you go to meeting? Oh, no--you
said you hadn't been down often. Maybe this is the way to go when it
rains! It don't rain much here, does it? My, but that's an idea--to go
underground to church. I wonder how ever you get used to it." And then
irrelevantly she added, "All these beautiful churches over here in
Yurrup, not a pew in one of 'em."
"They bring out these kneeling chairs for service," the princess said,
pointing to a number against one wall of the chapel.
Again all the tourist could say was her ever ready "My!"
"Would you like to see some of the castle?" the princess asked. "There
is a picture gallery not usually opened to visitors, also some
apartments with frescoes that are worth seeing." Then to the guide, "You
may take them into the west wing." The tourists looked variously,
according to their several dispositions; the little one beamed.
"Oh, that's real kind of Your Highness," she exclaimed, her small gray
person fluttering, more than ever like a mouse. "I must say that's real
kind. I just dote on pictures. Do you like crayons? Well, I like oils
best myself, but there are some who have a taste for crayons. The
photographer's son--out where I live--he is real talented. He did some
beautiful portraits. Folks thought he ought to come over here right away
and study art. But others thought there was just as good art right at
home. Now, what'd you say?"
Her good intention quite won the princess, and her accent warmed her
heart in a way that Nina would have been at a loss to understand.
They had reached the west door, and the Princess sent a gardener around
to the main entrance for the porter to bring his keys. The old man came
quickly enough, fumbling in the pocket of his greatcoat, but he did not
look at all edified at the whim of Her Excellency which allowed a lot of
strangers to track mud through the best rooms of the Castle. He preceded
the party, however, with all signs of deference, unlocking doors as they
went.
The little New Englander was meekly trailing after the guide, leaving
Nina and her aunt for the moment alone.
"Oh, but these are beautiful rooms, Aunt Eleanor! Why don't you use
them?"
"We do in summer sometimes, but one needs a staff of servants to keep
them up. Besides in winter it is impossible to get them warm."
"Then why," Nina spoke as though she had discovered an obviously simple
solution, "don't you have the proper heating put in? You won't mind if I
ask you something, will you?"
"Ask what you like, dearest."
"Why don't you make yourself more comfortable? For instance, why don't
you have modern plumbing put in? And don't you prefer electric light?"
The Princess smiled as though she had never felt the need of any of
these things. "You have left the land of modern improvements and come
over to the land of romance!" For a moment she kept the illusion, but
the next she seemed to change her mind, for she said practically and
with no veiling of the facts: "Quite apart from the difficulty of
putting pipes and wires through these thick stone walls, even if every
modern improvement were already installed, the cost would make it
prohibitive to attempt either heating or lighting."
Nina gasped, "I don't understand! You don't have to think of such a
thing as the expense of keeping warm, do you?"
"Indeed we do. Fuel is a very serious item."
"But, you have plenty of money, surely. I thought living
abroad--especially in Italy--was cheap."
"I did have a bigger income than now--one does not get as good a rate of
interest as one used." She colored a little at the false inference and
dwelt with more emphasis on the next sentence.
"When we go to Rome we spend much more money; we have all the rooms open
there, and we have a great number of servants--in short we live like
princes." She smiled brightly. "But you see in order to do that we have
to live quietly and save during the rest of the year."
Nina looked perplexed. "That sounds very queer," she said. "I should
think you would even things up and be more comfortable all the time."
"Then we would have nothing. It would be additional expenditure on
things that don't matter, and no money left for things that do. Opening
these rooms, for instance, would not greatly add to our pleasure. After
all, we can only sit in one room at a time. To have many guests and
motors and horses for hunting, and to have big shooting parties--all
that is an expense not to be thought of. It amuses us more to go to
Rome, so we prefer to save for nine months in order to live well the
other three."
Nina was trying to do a sum in mental arithmetic; she could not quite
make the diminished interest account for her aunt's evident lack of
income, but did not like to ask for more details. However, something
else happened that diverted her attention. They went through
innumerable rooms, always to the distant droning sing-song of the
guide's explanations.
Finally they came to the picture gallery. It was not a notable
collection, with one or two exceptions; and one of these exceptions was
strikingly absent. The guide left the group and approached the princess,
exclaiming, "Excellency! The Raphael!"
"It has been sent to be repaired." Her hesitation was scarcely
perceptible. "The background was sinking a little."
The man quite forgot himself and in his excitement dared a retort--"It
was one of the best preserved Raphaels extant." But the expression in
the princess' straight-gazing eyes held his further speech in check, and
though she said no word the man cringed.
"Pardon, Excellency," he said, and went back to explain to the waiting
group that the great painting of the Sansevero collection at that moment
was being carefully examined, by experts, as to its preservation.
Nevertheless, there was a look in his face that caused Nina to turn to
her aunt with an apprehension, that gave rise to a vague suspicion that
the princess, who was walking slowly, her head very high and her
beautiful shoulders well back, was struggling to hide some strong
emotion. She thought later that she might have been mistaken, for a
moment later her aunt asked with her usual composure, "Have you a watch
on? What time is it?"
Nina consulted the diamond and enamel trinket hanging on a chain around
her neck. "It is ten minutes to one. Is it lunch time?"
"Nearly. Are you hungry? We are not having lunch to-day until half
after. I have a surprise for you."
"For me? What is it to be?"
"My young brother-in-law, Giovanni, comes home to-day. I expect him on
the twelve-thirty train. Your uncle has gone to the station to fetch
him--they ought to arrive at any moment."
Nina's face looked brightly expectant. "Tell me something about him! Is
he half as good-looking as his pictures?"
"Ah? So she has been examining his photographs!"
"Of course!" Nina laughed. "Oh, please tell me something about him! Does
he speak English? French? Or shall I have to struggle in broken Italian?
Is he like Uncle Sandro?"
"Wait until you see him."
"At least tell me does he speak English?"
"He speaks beautiful French."
"Which means, I suppose, that he speaks monkey English!"
But the princess vouchsafed no reply.
"Well, but really, I _do_ think you might tell me something! Is he
attractive?"
The Princess assumed a tantalizing air--"That also I am going to leave
you to find out when you see him. At all events he is young--that is
compared to your uncle and me. It has been dull for you, darling, with
no one your own age."
Nina interrupted her reproachfully. "Don't you dare! To hear you, one
might suppose you were a hundred. I don't care a bit whether Don
Giovanni is a Calaban or an Antinous--All the same," she laughed, "had I
better tidy my hair--or does it not matter?"
The tourists were all filing out of the castle now, and as the porter
locked the doors, the princess shook hands with the little American.
"Thank you, Your Highness," she said, "you have been real kind. We--I
didn't think, when I left home that I was going to be talking this way
to princesses. I never dreamed they were like you; and you talk
beautiful English, too."
With a warm impulse the princess laid her left hand over the
cotton-gloved one in her right.
"Ah, but I was an American myself," she said, "and it does me good to
see a country-woman."
They parted. Again the guide made a deep reverence to "Her Excellency,"
but to Nina the look in his eyes seemed both sly and suspicious.
In the meantime, the pony-cart carrying the prince and his brother was
jogging slowly up the hills from the station.
Don Giovanni Sansevero--by his own title the Marchese di Valdo--was
still on the hither side of thirty, but if a reputation for being
"irresistible to women" goes for anything, he must by this time have
had some experience in their ways. At all events, his appearance so
tallied with hearsay that, whether founded upon fact or not, the
reputation remained.
He was supple and beautifully built, his bones were small and finely
jointed, his features chiseled with classic regularity--later on his
lips might grow coarse, but as yet they were merely full. The chief
characteristic of his expression was its mobility, but it was the
mobility of an actor who knows every emotion that the muscles of a face
can command. Sansevero's face, also changeable as an April day, was the
spontaneous expression of unconscious mood. Giovanni was of a type to
smile sweetly when most angry, or to assume an air of sulkiness when at
heart he might be well content. Just now, with an assumption of extreme
indifference, he turned to his brother.
"What is she like, this heiress of yours whom you are so anxious to have
me marry?" he asked. "Plain, stupid, a nonentity?--So much the
better--those make the easy wives to manage. Give me a woman with little
real success--I mean, one who has seen only the imitation fire that is
lighted when man pursues with reason and not with feeling. The American
men make it easy for the rest of us--they are what you call curtain
raisers in the play of love. They keep the gallery busy until the
entrance of the hero. I hope she is not a beauty."
"_Per Bacco_, how you do talk!" interrupted the prince. "I have no
chance to answer. Miss Randolph is not a beauty; but she is
_simpatica_; she has an air, a _chic_."
"So much the better, so long as the _chic_ is one of appearance and not
of personality. I don't want my wife to be a siren." Suddenly he laughed
and hit his brother's knee. "But what nonsense! Imagine a cold American
miss having the power to make a man's pulses leap! Oh, don't make a face
like that--I am not speaking of my honored sister-in-law; she is indeed
of the true type of our mother." Mechanically both men indicated the
sign of the cross at the word "mother."
"But," continued Giovanni, "I am not exactly worthy of a saint--it would
not suit my disposition. It is bad enough associating always with good
Brother Antonio as it is. By the way, where is he?"
He gave a shrill whistle and looked back down the road for the gray
figure of his inseparable friend and companion: not a monk as the name
indicated, but a Great Dane. A distant cloud of dust proclaimed that the
whistle had been heard. "Poor Sant Antonio!" he called as soon as the
dog had caught up, "Where have you been? I suppose you were meditating
along life's highway. No," he continued, "it were best I did not pretend
to be better than I am; my good monk would not absolve me else. Still,
do you know, sometimes I seriously doubt even Brother Antonio's morals!"
He shrugged his shoulders and laughed in great delight. Sansevero seemed
undecided whether to be shocked or amused; ordinarily he would have
laughed easily enough, but Giovanni in some way had seemed to involve
Eleanor in his levity.
"Well," continued Giovanni, "I suppose at least Miss America, not being
a Catholic, will make no objections to Sant Antonio's short-comings!"
At this Sansevero bristled, "Giovanni, I will ask you not to air your
irreligious remarks about that dog with an unseemly name, in connection
with the family of my wife."
For answer Giovanni blew a whistle into the air.
Sansevero grew sulky. "I warn you! Don't let Leonore hear you make
remarks that she might think slighting about her darling! She is like
her own child to her!"
For a few moments both men were silent. Giovanni's face was no longer
mocking; he was watching the beautiful lope of his huge dog. Sansevero
looked straight ahead, quite pensively for him. "Poor Leonore," he said
at last. "It is often such as she who have no children!" Unconsciously
he sighed.
Giovanni smiled, "I don't see what she wants of another child than you!"
"And you will inherit----"
"Please! I am not quite so bad as that. Believe me, I should rejoice for
you if you had children. Leonore would have made a wonderful mother.
Even I might be respectable if a woman such as she loved me as she loves
you. But," he grew flippant again, "to marry one of those
nose-in-the-air, soulless, school-teacher prudes--Never! And in any
event, my dear, I am not so sure I want to marry your heiress. I am very
well as I am!" He shrugged his shoulders. A moment later, though, he put
a question. "What is her first name?--I have forgotten."
"Nina."
"Nina! Really a charming name, that! One that can be said without
breaking consonants against the teeth. There was a girl once, very
pretty, but she was called--I can never pronounce it--E-d-i-t-h--those
are the letters. But Ni-na! It has a delicious sound." He let it slip
over his tongue. Then he put his head on one side and asked quizzically,
"How much has she?"
Sansevero looked up quickly; he hesitated a moment, then answered
stiffly: "She has a great fortune, but she is also my niece."
Giovanni raised his eyebrows, and then burst into shouts of laughter.
"What has come over you? It was you who suggested the match! You know as
well as I that my debts don't disturb me in the least. It is quite easy
always to--borrow, if one must pay."